So Far I’ve Survived 100% of my Worst Days

Last month, as the days were dreary with grayness and dampened by continual rain, my sister fell ill with the flu. I gave her a little stone with the word STRENGTH etched onto it. She said just seeing it helped her hold on through the long painful days and sleepless nights of coughing coughing coughing and finally through sheer determination and in answer to many prayers, she is well again and this week…she gave the stone back.  She knew that this week I’m the one that needs strength.

Margaret Thatcher once said that “You may have to fight the battle more than once to win it” and I’m thinking that’s the case as I clasp the stone in my hand and ask the Lord “What woulds’t Thou have me learn from this experience?”

I turn to my ancestors, reading story after story and examining photo after photo, I fly through the decades and further back into the centuries as their names, some so very foreign, roll off my tongue and I get to know their strengths. Strengths that I realize were often grown out of trials. Triumphs out of tragedies. Beautiful blessings rising from the ashes of great loss.

Between the dates of their births and the dates of the deaths, these people lived. They made their lives matter. Some were great soldiers who fought in great wars, some were farmers who fed the hungry with the fruit of their labors, some were religious men and women who saved souls and gave succor, some simply pushed forward one step in front of the other and inspired others to do the same. So many women that raised children in love and taught them values and integrity even in the most trying times. So many of them lost their husbands and continued on, courageously learning to be strong on their own. I see that they were always growing, always having challenges and overcoming them. I recognize that these experiences won’t cease, because that is life.

I read once that sometimes when you’re in a dark place you think you’ve been buried, but actually you’ve been planted! So I ask again, “Lord, what woulds’t Thou have me learn from this experience?”

I search and find a statement by Orson F. Whitney that gives me strength as I read it … “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God.”

And Larry Richman stated: “Trials give us opportunities to show the Lord and ourselves that we will be faithful. We can choose to feel sorry for ourselves and ask, “Why me?” or we can grow from our trials, increase our faith in the Lord, and ask, “How can I be faithful in the midst of this trial?” We can let adversity break us down and make us bitter, or we can let it refine us and make us stronger. We can allow adversity to lead us to drift away from the things that matter most, or we can use it as a stepping-stone to grow closer to things of eternal worth.”

I somehow feel that my ancestors knew that.  Knew it and even embraced it and created lives filled with successful triumphs and courageous, intelligent solutions.

Can I?

Well, actually, as the saying goes, I guess that so far I have made it through 100% of my worst days. So give me strength here I go and with a good deal of hope...here I grow…again.

Giant Problems

Good Morning World.  It’s another day, another chance to put on my courage and face today’s Goliaths. It seems that in times past I was able to hurl huge boulders at the challenges that arose each day, stand triumphant with my hands on my hips and with my chin in the air exclaim, “Ha! Take that!!”

But as I get older the metaphorical stones in my slingshot are smaller and the thrust has less oomph even though powerful Goliaths return day after day…the old familiar health issues, the general being-a-widow issues, weather related issues and the assorted people utilizing their free agency to get in the way of my free agency issues.

But today instead of summoning the strength to go to into battle, my thoughts float to a distant memory of “The Little Chapel in the Pines” nestled in the forest a few miles from our cabin. We spent the summers of my childhood at the cabin and this became our Sunday morning meetinghouse.  It was a tiny log cabin with a few benches inside; too few on many occasions as most often we would sit on logs arranged in an orderly fashion outside with the doors and windows of the little church flung wide open. We could hear the organ, sing the songs and almost hear the talks, if they projected really well.  I loved sitting out there in the forest, with my family; looking down the length of the log I can still envision my Dad next to Mother holding my baby brother and then my sister/best friend next to me.  The smell of the pine trees filled my senses and the frolicking and chattering of the chipmunks and squirrels supplied endless entertainment. Wild strawberries flourished around the logs and I would secretly (in all of my childhood innocence) select the brightest red one to eat with the bread and water of the Sacrament when it was passed to us. Delicious!  I felt I got to know Heavenly Father at this little church. Surrounded by the beauty He created and the peace that came with it, I felt Him close and I cherished it.

I have been to many of the great cathedrals of the world with all their exquisite architecture and inspiring artwork and I’ve been inside many, many modern chapels but etched into my heart are the pristine moments I felt while sitting on that little log in the forest; studying the soft brilliance of the shafts of morning sunlight filtering through the trees and humming the hymns at the Little Chapel in the Pines.

I think the most powerful stone in my arsenal was also nurtured there in the forest since the organist had a rather small repertoire and each and every week we would sing…”Did You Think to Pray”.  I listened to the words as my Dad sang it.  The song somehow made me happy even though it was laden with phrases like “When your heart was filled with anger” or “When sore trials came upon you” or the worst one... “When your soul was bowed in sorrow” all things that my contented nary-a-care in the world little mind could hardly begin to comprehend.  But the chorus always solved the woeful problem “Oh how praying rests the weary, prayer will change the night to day, so when life seems dark and dreary, don’t forget to pray”.

Prayer has been the most dominant stone I’ve used against the many Goliaths I have faced since Dale died. In my arsenal bag I also have other smooth, well used stones labeled ‘Sing’  ‘Study’  ‘Laugh’  ‘Renew’ ‘Serve’  ‘Be Aware’ ‘Music’ ‘Art’  ‘Ask for Angels’ ‘Love’.  I’ve heard it said that sometimes God will put a Goliath in your life for you to find the David within you.

When I was studying art and sculpting in Florence Italy I took upon myself the project of sculpting the hand of David.  Many days I walked into Galleria dell’Accademia to study and marvel at Michelangelo’s famous David.  Towering 17 feet tall, the sculptor had created the youth’s likeness in a single giant size block of marble. A magnificent tribute to a boy who had overpowered the dreadful Goliath with a single stone slung from a slingshot - powered by prayer. David had become the symbol of Florence who stood to fight against its much larger foes and who faced Rome with his warning glare.

His hand held the stone and I worked on that hand day after day for weeks in bringing it to life in clay with my own hand. I felt the power of that hand and the power of that small stone.  I thought of that little girl sitting on a pine log in the forest singing…”When sore trials came upon you, when your soul was bowed in sorrow..Did you think to pray?”.

David surely did.  Prayer was the power behind the stone.

He had to actually do something with that stone though. He followed his prayers with inspired actions.  And so today, this morning as daylight sets in, I need to do the same since a giant problem has already raised its ugly head and even though the forecast for the weather today; COLD AND WET has proven to be accurate…I need to head out quickly but before I leave my room this morning I will pray and I will armor myself with my metaphorical stones and head out to battle this foe while keeping in mind Thomas S. Monson's reminder that "There will be times when you will be frightened and discouraged. You may feel that you are defeated. The odds of obtaining victory may appear overwhelming. At times you may feel like David trying to fight Goliath. But remember - David did win!"

On a Note of Triumph

I came upon some old letters the other day. Letters my father had sent to my mother during the long, unspeakable horrors on the battlefields of World War II.  The letters are filled with hope, encouragement, bravery and love in a frightful time that was so often out of their control. Their words gave me strength and a new perspective for the challenges that I face today.

And then in one letter… it was over, this war that involved the entire world was simply...over. 

Just today, I heard someone reciting “The Prayer” as heard by an estimated 60 million people as they clustered around their radios on V-E Day in 1945 a few months before V-J Day.

I can close my eyes and envision Mother (only 20 years old) with her parents and sisters sitting together, clasping hands in grateful, tearful jubilation having just heard that the war in Europe had ended. And as Grandpa turned the radio knobs hoping to land on a clearer signal, they would have listened with tears in their eyes to the hope that this prayer provided.

“The Prayer”

An Excerpt from “On a Note of Triumph”

By Norman Corwin

(First broadcast on CBS May 8, 1945)

Reprinted in a "Reverberations" article posted by Peter Manseau 7/24/2013*

Lord God of trajectory and blast,
Whose terrible sword has laid open the serpent
So it withers in the sun for the just to see,
Sheathe now the swift avenging blade with the names of nations writ on it,
And assist in the preparation of the plowshare.

Lord God of fresh bread and tranquil mornings,
Who walks in the circuit of heaven among the worthy,
Deliver notice to the fallen young men
That tokens of orange juice and a whole egg appear now before the hungry children;

That night again falls cooling on the earth as quietly as when it leaves Your hand;
That freedom has withstood the tyrant like a Malta in a hostile sea,
And that the soul of man is surely a Sevastopol 

Which goes down hard and leaps from ruin quickly.

Lord God of the topcoat and the living wage
Who has furred the fox against the time of winter
And stored provender of bees in summer’s brightest places,
Do bring sweet influences to bear upon the assembly line:
Accept the smoke of the milltown among the accredited clouds of the sky:

Fend from the wind with a house and a hedge
Him who You made in Your image,
And permit him to pick of the tree and the flock,
That he may eat today without fear of tomorrow,
And clothe himself with dignity in December.

Lord God of test-tube and blueprint,
Who jointed molecules of dust and shook them till their name was Adam,
Who taught worms and stars how they could live together,
Appear now among the parliaments of conquerors
and give instruction to their schemes;

Measure out new liberties so none shall suffer for his father’s color
or the credo of his choice:
Post proofs that brotherhood is not so wild a dream
as those who profit by postponing it pretend:

Sit at the treaty table and convoy the hopes of little peoples through
expected straits,
And press into the final seal a sign that peace will come
for longer than posterities can see ahead,
That man unto his fellow man shall be a friend forever.

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*Journalist Peter Manseau posted:

In his masterpiece, “On a Note of Triumph,” broadcast on V-E Day, 1945, Corwin put his skills as a deadline poet to work in the creation of secular scripture. Celebrating the Allied victory in Europe, he used the opportunity not for chest-thumping but introspection. He surveyed what had been gained and what had been lost in the war, and in the closing moments of the 58-minute broadcast, entwined the ancient tradition of divine petition with the technologies and politics destined to grant or deny the prayers of the future.

The broadcast gave Corwin a larger simultaneous audience than any writer had ever had before. It ran twice on all four networks and was heard by more than 60 million people—at the time nearly half the U.S. population. Out of a technology that seemed to some to breed isolation, Corwin used his radio pulpit to reach the biggest congregation in history.

What Do You Say To a Widow?

One spring morning many years ago (I think I was 9 years old) my eager and smiling family settled into the family station wagon and joined a caravan of other folks from our little town who were heading to a distant natural hot springs area. The intended journey's end being an Olympic sized indoor pool that was filled with water from the natural hot springs.  Warm and inviting, albeit a bit murky, it was a pleasurable outing for our winter weary bodies and souls!

My father used to tell me that I had taken to the water like a fish, which indeed I had as I learned to swim in the lake along with the rainbow trout when I was just over three.  And so entering the pool area after our long journey and quickly joining up with my best friend, Kathy, we took each other’s hands and skipped to the diving board at the deep end of the pool to the sound of “WALK” coming from the life guard tower. 

There was a line at the diving board. We waited, eagerly watching as swimmer after swimmer clad in bathing suits and those uncomfortable rubbery swim caps, jumped or dove into the warm water. I was in line before Kathy and when it was finally my turn I climbed up, walked to the end, bounced up and down just a bit and then jumped in feet first. 

Down, down, down I went.  I remember thinking that wow this was a very deep pool but my feet finally touched the bottom and I pushed off and while hoping I had taken enough breath to make it back to the top I headed up.  Above me but still well under the surface I saw Kathy.  Her arms and legs were flailing and she was turning as if confused as to which direction was up and which direction was down. I simply grabbed her hand as I was passing by and together we rose to the top. Still holding hands we swam to the ladder and climbed out of the pool; she went to her mother and I headed back to the line for another fun jump.

Many years later the conversation went to that spring day and Kathy said, “Thank you for saving my life!” Frankly I didn’t think it had been a big deal.  I hadn’t stood like Supergirl at the edge of the pool and heroically jumped in to save a drowning victim; I had simply just been there and reached out my hand.

So many times since Dale died I have felt like I have been drowning emotionally and then someone is just “There” and reaches out their hand and saves me.   

My cousin mentioned the other day that her neighbor had passed away leaving a widow about my age. One would think that after all that has been said and done over the last three years that I would be an expert in knowing just what to say.  The truth is, the last thing I could say is that I totally understand what she is going through.  Surprising as that is, it has occurred to me that we all grieve differently. We all experience a different loss.  I remember when my father died, I was 28 years old and I had idolized my dad, we had been very close. At the funeral that was attended by hundreds of people, several came up to me individually and said, “I understand exactly what you’re going through, I lost my dad too!” Even though grateful for their kindness, my first thought was, “But you didn’t lose MY dad!” No one else can totally understand your loss and no one will grieve exactly the same as you do. 

It is a journey we each must take alone but oh how we need your helping hand!

Some people come to this earth like magnificent lions and others, just as important, come like peaceful lambs.  Some have talents that the world can enjoy in museums or concert halls while some present to a smaller group, their smaller gifts from the heart which are just as important. Some come with the power to teach and lead some with simple words that calm a trouble soul and uplift hearts.  Some have compassion for the few some can organize great works of humanitarianism, both equally important.

To me, it seems that the differences in each of us is what not only makes the world go round and what we alone can give but it is also what makes us unique and makes us find others who fit our uniqueness (whether alike or polar opposite) and fall deeply in love.  A love that is so strong that it hurts beyond anything else when you are parted. If grief is the price of love, then I accept it. Realizing it only hurts this much because our relationship mattered.

So what can you say to a widow?  Well in all humility and hoping to help…I can tell you what you might want to reconsider saying:

Even though you mean it and the widow knows you mean it…in my experience, these statements don’t really help:

• “It will get better”  (That’s not for you to judge.  I read once but can’t find it again where someone said “You don’t get over it you get through it…it doesn’t get better it gets different)

• “I understand” (You can’t possibly)

• “Call me if you need anything” (it’s the equivalent of saying kiss kiss “Let’s do lunch”)

• “You are blessed. It surely could have been worse” (so what if it could? He’s still gone!)

• “He’s in a far better place” (better than being here by my side!)

• “He was too good to be on this earth” (perhaps but what does that say about me?)

• “I’m here for you if you ever need me” (Great. But don’t say it unless you can and will actually follow through with that)

• “I’m sorry for your loss”  (that simply means - I needed to say something and that is generally accepted and I probably won’t ever  talk to you again anyway)

• “Time heals everything” (Nope…time can make you stronger, time can give you things to do but you never heal and become your same old self again no matter how much time passes)

• But after all this I must say that the worst thing you can do is to say nothing at all.  I have felt how some people don’t know what to say so I just don’t ever hear from them. 

So what Do you say?

Something like…. I am so sorry.  I can’t begin to understand how you feel losing him. But I have come to understand that grief only happens to those who have loved deeply like you two did. Please know, that I love you and I care.

And then, when you can, reach out your hand.  In a way that only you with your unique talents can. Every heartfelt act along the way is a rescue. It doesn’t have to be heroic.

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There are some heroes that I would like to thank here though.  My sister and brother-in-law have given more than anyone will ever know to make certain I am ok.  My son also makes certain at all costs that I am cared for and not one day goes by without hearing from him in one way or the other even though he lives many states away. And my cousin with her daily emails giving me support and encouragement. They all treat me like I am a different me but still me!  I adore all of you and will spend eternity trying to think of a way to repay your heroic acts of pure love. I so need you and your unconditional love.

And of course to quote the words of a hymn, “How Firm a Foundation” that I sing often…

Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed,

For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.

I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,

Upheld by my righteous, upheld by my righteous,

Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.

                                                                                       image found on Pinterest