My son Jordan works at a facility for troubled youth. When they take in new students, they have orientation sessions to help them identify the thinking and communication patterns that led to the choices that landed them there in the first place. One of the concepts they introduce is that we all have an “itty bitty mind committee” made up of people who influence us the most. It got me thinking about my choices and the greatest influences on me. At some periods of my life, I've had some pretty negative people and attitudes dictating my behavior.
A few months ago I was in a meeting where a presenter challenged us to think of our life as a corporation. She asked us to name the twelve people who have influenced us the most and who might be called our board of directors. Like a board of directors guides the course a company may take, friends, families, philosophies, principles and values influence each one of us. Christians would list Jesus Christ, of course, on their board of directors. I also listed family members and particularly influential teachers. I am who I have become because of them. Whether we're shy or outgoing, an optimist or a pessimist, we all make judgments about the world according to our own experience, and those on our board of directors are most often the people we trust to help us interpret and make sense of the world.
We could all probably find specific areas of our personal lives where we have a board of directors, too - work, volunteerism, family, parenting. As a writer, I include my alpha readers and my editor as people who influence me the most. My board of directors changed with changing circumstances of my life - when I left home, when I married, when I had children, when we moved to a new neighborhood. That's the ebb and flow of life. But we don't pass through this life in isolation. Consciously or unconsciously, we are always influenced by our belief system as well as who and what is around us.
Who’s on your board of directors? Is it a large group or a small one? What standards do you require of them? Who needs to have more or less influence on you? How can you dismiss someone from that position of influence? When we stop to think about it, we're all on somebody else's board of directors, too, and the inevitable question is: are we doing a good job?
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Generosity
My mother would have been 90 years old on February first, and in March it will be 20 years since she passed away. I miss her profoundly in so many ways, but one of the greatest ways that she influenced me is that she was one of the most generous people I've ever known, both with her hands and with her heart.
Mother was a child of the Depression. In 1930 her father took his family to wait out the bad economic times living off the land on a homestead in Southern Oregon. Mother's memories of that time read like "Little House in the Cascades," complete with carrying water from the creek, going to a one-room school, and picking wild berries. Grandma, one of 14 kids, had grown up on a ranch in Idaho and knew how to sew and can. She made underwear for the girls out of flour sacks and scrimped and made do. Grandpa sold cord wood in town and did odd jobs to earn money when he needed to buy things at the general store. Knowing Grandpa was out there with four little kids, the storekeeper kept an eye on him. Once he gave Grandpa a case of unlabeled cans that he couldn't sell, but not knowing what it was didn't matter when the kids were hungry. Mother said she'd never forget the smell when the can opener pierced the tin. It was spinach, and it tasted good.
For Christmas that year, the family got a box of used clothes and toys and were so grateful that someone remembered them. Grandpa, orphaned at eight, had grown up in a Masonic Home where the thoughtful matron saw to it that each child had fifty cents to spend for Christmas every year. Likewise, Grandpa took his children to Woolworth's in Roseburg and gave them each fifty cents to buy gifts for their siblings and parents.
For the rest of her life, Mother tried to make life better for other people. She appreciated what she had and though my parents were never wealthy, they shared their blessings. Mother gleaned apples from nearby orchards and made sure her widowed or financially struggling friends had a box of apples. Every year she bottled a thousand jars of fruits, vegetables, juice, jam and sometimes meat. She made sure all the kids in the family had coats and boots for the winter if their parents couldn't afford it. When she took me to school at BYU, she'd stop on the way home at a dry bean warehouse in Idaho for a couple of sacks to divide up among friends and family in Portland. She noticed when other people needed something and was always on the lookout for a way to satisfy that need. When something came into her hands that she couldn't use, she'd pass it along to someone who could. Other people might have been insulted and thrown the thing in the trash, but not Mother.
Growing up with this kind of mother, I never resented the treasures she brought home from the Good Will store. I understood what it meant to have a generous heart. Our children will never forget the trips we took with my parents, full of adventure and laughter and good food and endless interesting information (Mother was a walking encyclopedia). When we moved in 2009 and downsized, I had the kids come and help me clean out closets so they could take away what they wanted. They can enjoy their "inheritance," such as it may be, and I have the pleasure of watching that.
In our world of selfishness and narcissism and "what's in it for me," a generous person is a rare find, even a treasure. I could do a lot worse than to be like my mother.
Mother was a child of the Depression. In 1930 her father took his family to wait out the bad economic times living off the land on a homestead in Southern Oregon. Mother's memories of that time read like "Little House in the Cascades," complete with carrying water from the creek, going to a one-room school, and picking wild berries. Grandma, one of 14 kids, had grown up on a ranch in Idaho and knew how to sew and can. She made underwear for the girls out of flour sacks and scrimped and made do. Grandpa sold cord wood in town and did odd jobs to earn money when he needed to buy things at the general store. Knowing Grandpa was out there with four little kids, the storekeeper kept an eye on him. Once he gave Grandpa a case of unlabeled cans that he couldn't sell, but not knowing what it was didn't matter when the kids were hungry. Mother said she'd never forget the smell when the can opener pierced the tin. It was spinach, and it tasted good.
For Christmas that year, the family got a box of used clothes and toys and were so grateful that someone remembered them. Grandpa, orphaned at eight, had grown up in a Masonic Home where the thoughtful matron saw to it that each child had fifty cents to spend for Christmas every year. Likewise, Grandpa took his children to Woolworth's in Roseburg and gave them each fifty cents to buy gifts for their siblings and parents.
For the rest of her life, Mother tried to make life better for other people. She appreciated what she had and though my parents were never wealthy, they shared their blessings. Mother gleaned apples from nearby orchards and made sure her widowed or financially struggling friends had a box of apples. Every year she bottled a thousand jars of fruits, vegetables, juice, jam and sometimes meat. She made sure all the kids in the family had coats and boots for the winter if their parents couldn't afford it. When she took me to school at BYU, she'd stop on the way home at a dry bean warehouse in Idaho for a couple of sacks to divide up among friends and family in Portland. She noticed when other people needed something and was always on the lookout for a way to satisfy that need. When something came into her hands that she couldn't use, she'd pass it along to someone who could. Other people might have been insulted and thrown the thing in the trash, but not Mother.
Growing up with this kind of mother, I never resented the treasures she brought home from the Good Will store. I understood what it meant to have a generous heart. Our children will never forget the trips we took with my parents, full of adventure and laughter and good food and endless interesting information (Mother was a walking encyclopedia). When we moved in 2009 and downsized, I had the kids come and help me clean out closets so they could take away what they wanted. They can enjoy their "inheritance," such as it may be, and I have the pleasure of watching that.
In our world of selfishness and narcissism and "what's in it for me," a generous person is a rare find, even a treasure. I could do a lot worse than to be like my mother.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Camelot - NOT!!!
With the jetstream pumping Arctic air into the Rockies and a massive storm paralyzing the Midwest and Northeast, there's a lot of complaining now about the weather. In parking lots we drive past the piles of dirty snow, reminders of our heavy December storms that will still be there a month from now.
Yesterday morning the faucet in our kitchen was frozen. Since the sink is on an outside north wall, and the temperatures were subzero, of course something's going to freeze. Duh. Why didn't we anticipate that. Roger called the plumber, who was having an insane day and would not be able to get here until 6 o'clock. Fine. In the meantime, we didn't have a spare space heater to aim under the sink, so Roger went to Home Depot to get one. "Sorry," they said, "the only heaters we have left are the ones on display." And they weren't what he wanted. So he bought some insulated sleeves for the outside faucets and Home Depot employees went on unloading the summer fans that have just arrived. Don't you love irony?
Instead, Roger went to Sears and found a small space heater. Good ol' Sears. In the meantime, the line unfroze itself and water started running again. We canceled the plumber and left the faucet dripping overnight with the little heater aimed at the pipes underneath.
But it got me thinking. No fact of our lives - not love, not genius, not even babies - provides more immediate proof of the existence of God than does the weather. He gave us rocks and trees and autumn and Eagle Creek Falls, and we do nothing but complain about snow and cold and the serendipitous randomness of the world. Come on, people - He never promised us Camelot, where the rain may never fall till after sundown, but we can be sure of this: our world is never boring.
On the contrary, we should be grateful that the seasons change and the world renews itself in spite of whether we've lost ten pounds or apologized or taken down the Christmas lights by Valentine's Day. Seasons of planting, growing, maturing and harvesting are gifts we take for granted. We remain reticent and skeptical while all around us is proof that God loves us and believes we can straighten things out.
According to people who have studied the phenomenon, spring starts at sea level and moves up eleven miles per day. You see? God loves us. He gives us time to adjust and change.
Yesterday morning the faucet in our kitchen was frozen. Since the sink is on an outside north wall, and the temperatures were subzero, of course something's going to freeze. Duh. Why didn't we anticipate that. Roger called the plumber, who was having an insane day and would not be able to get here until 6 o'clock. Fine. In the meantime, we didn't have a spare space heater to aim under the sink, so Roger went to Home Depot to get one. "Sorry," they said, "the only heaters we have left are the ones on display." And they weren't what he wanted. So he bought some insulated sleeves for the outside faucets and Home Depot employees went on unloading the summer fans that have just arrived. Don't you love irony?
Instead, Roger went to Sears and found a small space heater. Good ol' Sears. In the meantime, the line unfroze itself and water started running again. We canceled the plumber and left the faucet dripping overnight with the little heater aimed at the pipes underneath.
But it got me thinking. No fact of our lives - not love, not genius, not even babies - provides more immediate proof of the existence of God than does the weather. He gave us rocks and trees and autumn and Eagle Creek Falls, and we do nothing but complain about snow and cold and the serendipitous randomness of the world. Come on, people - He never promised us Camelot, where the rain may never fall till after sundown, but we can be sure of this: our world is never boring.
On the contrary, we should be grateful that the seasons change and the world renews itself in spite of whether we've lost ten pounds or apologized or taken down the Christmas lights by Valentine's Day. Seasons of planting, growing, maturing and harvesting are gifts we take for granted. We remain reticent and skeptical while all around us is proof that God loves us and believes we can straighten things out.
According to people who have studied the phenomenon, spring starts at sea level and moves up eleven miles per day. You see? God loves us. He gives us time to adjust and change.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Counting My Blessings Again
It's been two years for me and Barack. He only got sworn in as President of the United States. But I got my life back.
Two years ago today I had my left knee replacement surgery. I'm doing much better with simple things like walking, but not so much with more complicated things like kneeling. These days I sit to say my prayers, but mentally I'm kneeling. I'm not doing 5K races and I'm not sprinting all over big box stores like a teenager, but I am out there and into life. My second surgery was February 17, meaning the left one had to be the "good" leg I could depend on. It sort of worked that way.
Now I note the milestones – doing stairs, shopping without riding the motorized cart, even just standing around talking is progress. I'll never take for granted the ability to walk without pain.
I'm so grateful for modern medicine. And plastic and steel and the way the human body adapts. I've catalogued my experience here before so I won't repeat it, but today I'm thinking about where I might be if I hadn't done it - in a wheelchair.
Two years ago today I had my left knee replacement surgery. I'm doing much better with simple things like walking, but not so much with more complicated things like kneeling. These days I sit to say my prayers, but mentally I'm kneeling. I'm not doing 5K races and I'm not sprinting all over big box stores like a teenager, but I am out there and into life. My second surgery was February 17, meaning the left one had to be the "good" leg I could depend on. It sort of worked that way.
Now I note the milestones – doing stairs, shopping without riding the motorized cart, even just standing around talking is progress. I'll never take for granted the ability to walk without pain.
I'm so grateful for modern medicine. And plastic and steel and the way the human body adapts. I've catalogued my experience here before so I won't repeat it, but today I'm thinking about where I might be if I hadn't done it - in a wheelchair.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Cattle Call
In the theatrical world, auditions are known as cattle calls, but that's what I felt like yesterday when I went to get my driver's license renewed at the East Bay location in south Provo. I dreaded waiting in long lines and sitting there with nothing to do while the process moved like a herd of snails on parade, so I came prepared with a sandwich and a book.
However, the line was surprisingly short and I went happily to the first window where the process begins. My good mood didn't last long. I'd forgotten my social security card - not my number, but the card that proves it's my number. Never mind that the number is in my head, on the medicare card in my possession, and I had to have it to get the passport I presented to them, but no, that wasn't enough. If I couldn't find the actual card itself, the clerk told me with a smile (am I paranoid or did I detect a certain sense of power-mad glee in it?) that I could get a replacement at some other government office some distance away where I would be privileged to stand in another line.
No thanks. It was mid-afternoon and I knew that by the time I went home and found the card, I'd come back to this office and find longer lines. It was risky since the office buttons up precisely at 4 p.m. No exceptions, no mercy.
Though I didn't remember exactly where the card was, I knew sort of where I might have put it in my desk, so I went home to west Provo, found it, and drove back to the driver license office. There's only one Window #1 where the process starts. Other people at windows 2, 3 and 4 weren't that busy because people weren't funneling through Window #1 very quickly. (I'm reaching for a dysfunctional alimentary canal metaphor here that would apply to dealing with government institutions but it isn't working so I'll skip it.)
In its infinite wisdom, the Utah Legislature changed the law so new and renewal licensees have to show four forms of identification. I brought my passport, birth certificate, proof that we paid property taxes in Utah County this year, copies of paid utility bills, and my driver's license. In lieu of the social security card I could have brought a W-2 form, but I don't work, so I don't get those anymore. Faxed or photocopied documents are unacceptable, and if your name is different than the last time you got a license, the law says you have to have documentation for the change. We have government assurance that images of all these documents will be kept in a "secure database."
Now if the Utah Legislature doesn't think I am who I say I am with proof from three documents and 35 years of paying taxes in this state, what makes them think four will be stronger proof? And how do I know that database is really secure? I'm just asking. If the Legislature wants to do something useful, they could put the social security office, the passport office, and the driver license office all in the same vicinity, next to the city office and the county courthouse. With drink dispensers.
As I left those hallowed precincts, was it my imagination or did I really hear sounds of mooing from the 20 people still standing in line?
Anyway, I medicated with chocolate as soon as I got home and I'm fine now. My new license should be here in time for my birthday next week.
However, the line was surprisingly short and I went happily to the first window where the process begins. My good mood didn't last long. I'd forgotten my social security card - not my number, but the card that proves it's my number. Never mind that the number is in my head, on the medicare card in my possession, and I had to have it to get the passport I presented to them, but no, that wasn't enough. If I couldn't find the actual card itself, the clerk told me with a smile (am I paranoid or did I detect a certain sense of power-mad glee in it?) that I could get a replacement at some other government office some distance away where I would be privileged to stand in another line.
No thanks. It was mid-afternoon and I knew that by the time I went home and found the card, I'd come back to this office and find longer lines. It was risky since the office buttons up precisely at 4 p.m. No exceptions, no mercy.
Though I didn't remember exactly where the card was, I knew sort of where I might have put it in my desk, so I went home to west Provo, found it, and drove back to the driver license office. There's only one Window #1 where the process starts. Other people at windows 2, 3 and 4 weren't that busy because people weren't funneling through Window #1 very quickly. (I'm reaching for a dysfunctional alimentary canal metaphor here that would apply to dealing with government institutions but it isn't working so I'll skip it.)
In its infinite wisdom, the Utah Legislature changed the law so new and renewal licensees have to show four forms of identification. I brought my passport, birth certificate, proof that we paid property taxes in Utah County this year, copies of paid utility bills, and my driver's license. In lieu of the social security card I could have brought a W-2 form, but I don't work, so I don't get those anymore. Faxed or photocopied documents are unacceptable, and if your name is different than the last time you got a license, the law says you have to have documentation for the change. We have government assurance that images of all these documents will be kept in a "secure database."
Now if the Utah Legislature doesn't think I am who I say I am with proof from three documents and 35 years of paying taxes in this state, what makes them think four will be stronger proof? And how do I know that database is really secure? I'm just asking. If the Legislature wants to do something useful, they could put the social security office, the passport office, and the driver license office all in the same vicinity, next to the city office and the county courthouse. With drink dispensers.
As I left those hallowed precincts, was it my imagination or did I really hear sounds of mooing from the 20 people still standing in line?
Anyway, I medicated with chocolate as soon as I got home and I'm fine now. My new license should be here in time for my birthday next week.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Belated Christmas
We will be celebrating Christmas this year with two of our children and two of our grandchildren.
Almost.
Our REAL Christmas will come in a few weeks when another grandchild arrives. Our son Jordan and his wife Heather have been chosen by a birth mother to be the parents of a little boy who will be born in late January. That's a unique Christmas gift, to say the least, an example of the most selfless kind of love. Christmas will never be the same. Is it any wonder we can't hear or sing lullabies and songs about Joseph this year without floods of tears.
They have named him Samuel, which means 'asked of God.' For more than nine years Jordan and Heather have prayed for a baby. This one is an answer to prayer. A string of happy miracles has brought him to our family. And there will be more miracles in the life of his birth mother as she reaches for new goals in seeking to renew her own life. We will never forget her, and we will always be grateful for her faith and trust.
Because of various scheduling circumstances we had two Thanksgivings this year, and now we are going to have two Christmases. No family could be more blessed!
Almost.
Our REAL Christmas will come in a few weeks when another grandchild arrives. Our son Jordan and his wife Heather have been chosen by a birth mother to be the parents of a little boy who will be born in late January. That's a unique Christmas gift, to say the least, an example of the most selfless kind of love. Christmas will never be the same. Is it any wonder we can't hear or sing lullabies and songs about Joseph this year without floods of tears.
They have named him Samuel, which means 'asked of God.' For more than nine years Jordan and Heather have prayed for a baby. This one is an answer to prayer. A string of happy miracles has brought him to our family. And there will be more miracles in the life of his birth mother as she reaches for new goals in seeking to renew her own life. We will never forget her, and we will always be grateful for her faith and trust.
Because of various scheduling circumstances we had two Thanksgivings this year, and now we are going to have two Christmases. No family could be more blessed!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
How Shall We Celebrate Christmas?
Recently I read an article that suggested there are three ways to keep Christmas –
…at the Santa Claus level, with the decorations, trees, presents and food,
…at the Silent Night level, with the carols, Bible reading to review the story of Christ's birth, and traditions involving the symbols of Christmas,
…at the Adult Christ level with its lasting joy, lasting peace, and lasting hope.
It seems like the first two levels get the most attention, but they don't last and they go away quickly. However, the third level is one that requires spiritual maturity to become like Christ, with his forgiving touch and boundless love.
Here are some thoughts that help me keep my attention focused on the Christ in Christmas:
This Christmas, mend a quarrel, seek out the forgotten friend, dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Try to understand. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak love, and then speak it again. (Howard W. Hunter)
Gifts in God's Name
by Sigrid Undset
When we give each other
Christmas presents in His name,
Let us remember that He has given us
the sun and the moon and the stars,
the earth with its forests and mountains
and oceans –
and all that lives and moves upon them.
He has given us all green things
and everything that blossoms and bears
fruit –
and all that we quarrel about
and all that we have misused –
And to save us from our foolishness,
from our sins,
He came down to earth
and gave us Himself.
(author unknown)
If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things,
and again with things;
if we consider ourselves so unimportant
that we must fill every moment of our lives with action,
when will we have the time
to make the long, slow journey
across the desert as did the Magi?
Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds?
Or brood over the coming of the Child as did Mary?
For each one of us, there is a desert to travel,
a star to discover,
and a being within ourselves to bring to life.
…at the Santa Claus level, with the decorations, trees, presents and food,
…at the Silent Night level, with the carols, Bible reading to review the story of Christ's birth, and traditions involving the symbols of Christmas,
…at the Adult Christ level with its lasting joy, lasting peace, and lasting hope.
It seems like the first two levels get the most attention, but they don't last and they go away quickly. However, the third level is one that requires spiritual maturity to become like Christ, with his forgiving touch and boundless love.
Here are some thoughts that help me keep my attention focused on the Christ in Christmas:
This Christmas, mend a quarrel, seek out the forgotten friend, dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Try to understand. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak love, and then speak it again. (Howard W. Hunter)
Gifts in God's Name
by Sigrid Undset
When we give each other
Christmas presents in His name,
Let us remember that He has given us
the sun and the moon and the stars,
the earth with its forests and mountains
and oceans –
and all that lives and moves upon them.
He has given us all green things
and everything that blossoms and bears
fruit –
and all that we quarrel about
and all that we have misused –
And to save us from our foolishness,
from our sins,
He came down to earth
and gave us Himself.
(author unknown)
If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things,
and again with things;
if we consider ourselves so unimportant
that we must fill every moment of our lives with action,
when will we have the time
to make the long, slow journey
across the desert as did the Magi?
Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds?
Or brood over the coming of the Child as did Mary?
For each one of us, there is a desert to travel,
a star to discover,
and a being within ourselves to bring to life.
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