“There’s No Way I Signed Up For This!”

I believe the doctrine that teaches that we chose to  come to earth, that before we came we were prepared for mortality over eons of time by God Himself, and that we were aware of the trials that might come our way. On Spirit filled days I sometimes form a faithful picture of my final pre-earth moments. I visualize receiving final instructions and warnings. I try to imagine what it must have been like to have the King of Heaven and the Prince, His Son, circle me in Their loving arms, kiss me tenderly, and send me on my way, knowing They had done everything possible to ready me for mortal days ahead.

Now that I’m here though, in the middle of hard things, it’s tempting to think, “There’s no way I signed up for this!”  Or “Why did I ever sign up for this?”  Or “I’m sure this was not what I was expecting! I’m not prepared for this!” The following experience changed my perspective:

A laundry basket and pillow, a small serving tray, a handful of Fishy Crackers, a cheese stick, a sippy cup and the TV remote cued on “Curious George”—These are the things Gracie gathered to “practice”—the things she set up in the family room for her trial run.

“Grandma,” she called across the house as I entered the front door.  “Come and see.” I proceeded toward the squeaky little girl voice and found her lounging inside a white laundry basket made cozy by her bedroom pillow. Balanced across the front of the basket was a small serving tray laden with all the snack food she could gather. With remote in hand, she was just finishing up an episode of Curious George. She smiled from ear to ear and with her blue eyes twinkling she said, “I’m practicing for my suguwy. Are you coming to see me at Primaries when I have my opewation?  They’re gonna put my name on the door so you can find me!”

I promised.

The “surgery class” she’d attended had obviously had the impact the doctors, nurses, and social workers hoped.  Several weeks before surgery Gracie and her mom and dad were invited to spend the day at Primary Children’s Hospital with other children awaiting medical procedures. The purpose of this class is to educate parents and calm the fears and prepare the minds of little children, well before the “grand opening.”

They go to extraordinary lengths. While there, the children are encouraged to express any concerns and ask any question they might have.  Each child is given a “hospital buddy”—a doll complete with hospital gown, EKG leads, a marker to draw on a face and hair, and bandages for “making things all better.” They get to smell the many flavors of “sleepy gas” that will help them take a nap during surgery and pick the scent they like best. They tour the route to the operating room and are shown the exact place they will have their “before” picture snapped, say goodbye to mom and dad, and then greet their parents after surgery. Someone has had the inspiration to paint the ceiling with road signs so little ones lying on gurneys moving from here to there will know exactly where they are in the process. I tell you, they’ve thought of everything. They took Gracie to the room that would be her home away from home for seven to ten days, showed her the TV—her TV—and let her play with the remote, showed her the cupboards where she could keep her things, taught her how to move the bed up and down, and last but not least they introduced her to the menu where she would be allowed to order chocolate milk three times a day if she liked. Gracie was ready!

Weeks passed.  Gracie could hardly speak of anything but her anticipated hospital stay. The surgery would address critical spina bifida issues. Her big day finally arrived, and we anxiously awaited permission to visit.  When it came we piled in the car, excited to make good the promise we’d made to Gracie, to visit her as soon as possible. Grandma, grandpa, her siblings, two aunties and two small cousins headed down the freeway. Upon arriving, our little entourage made its way toward Gracie’s room. As we trundled down the hospital hallways we peeked into special rooms filled with things to help little ones “wait” and parents survive—puzzles, blocks, dolls, trucks, picture books, Legos, and racks of colored movable beads. We made our way down sea green corridors—walls lavishly splashed with color, friendly whales, dolphins, and all manner of sea life. Every inch shouted loud and clear that this was not just any hospital. From stem to stern, this is a hospital for little children.

Gracie’s daddy met us outside her room. “Things are a little rough right now,” he warned. “We can only take a few of you in at a time.” I was excited to see Gracie and have her introduce me to the fun hospital setup she’d rehearsed at home. I let the siblings and small cousins go first and waited my turn.

When I finally walked into Gracie’s room I was the one who was not prepared. What was I expecting? If you can, cast your mind back to the dear little book “Madeline.” Do you remember the picture in the story just after she’s had her appendix out and everyone comes to visit and there are toys strewn everywhere and she is standing on the bed showing all her friends her scar and the little friends leave the room wishing they could have their appendix out too? I think that describes best the scene I wanted to jump into. I had never seen a child after surgery.

My heart sank at the look of her, lying there like a worn out rag doll, her bright blue eyes now gray, her already fair skin pale against her red hair, dark circles under her eyes, IVs in both of her thin arms, and two sets of tubes going into her tummy. Before our arrival she had experienced a reaction to one of her drugs. It caused her to itch from head to toe, like bugs crawling all over her already traumatized body.  The only thing Mom and Dad could do to protect the IV and surgical sites was restrain her flailing arms and legs until prayer and medication took over—a true miracle. Gracie won the battle, but it was hard fought. At one point during the ordeal this sweet little five-year-old yelled at her parents, “Get your stinkin’ hands off me!!!”

There was nothing of the pre-surgery excitement for private TV and a personal remote. A doll house sat on her tray table untouched. The room was decorated with brightly colored gift bags. They were filled with little girl crafty projects from loved ones who hoped to help fill Gracie’s after surgery hours with fun. But as far as I could see there was no room in this room for fun.

At Primary Children’s Hospital they have an amazing plan for preparing little children for surgery.  Nothing is left undone. Gracie was prepared in every detail possible. Her parents, the doctor, her nurses, and the staff did absolutely everything within their power to calm her little mind and get her ready for what was to come.  But no amount of loving preparation could have prepared her for or saved her from this part of her experience—not even the possibility of all the chocolate milk her little heart desired. No, this was the reality that no human power, no matter how tender or honest could spare her.

That day we took turns loving and encouraging Gracie and her parents the best we humanly could, but grandmotherly concern, a kiss on the forehead, and a gift bag of new nightgowns from the Disney Store only go so far.

As we walked toward the car past the waiting rooms filled with toys and on down the happy sea-green halls, the fish were still smiling. Nothing had changed about the child-friendly staff or environment, but something was happening inside of me.  Through the rest of the day my thoughts kept returning to her room and to her suffering little body. As I thought of Gracie’s careful preparation and her at-home rehearsals for this day I felt sad and confused.

“Dear Heavenly Father,” I called out in my mind. “What was the purpose of all the preparation? Was it a trick to get her in the door? How could anyone be prepared for this?!?!  I’m certainly not prepared! This mortal estate seems to call for one spiritual or physical operation after another. We hardly recover from one when something else appears on the horizon!”

Then I left this question on His altar: “What should we do when it seems like life is more than we bargained for, when we’re tempted to question whether or not we “signed up” and if we really are “prepared”?

Sometimes when I pray “on the go” as I did that day, the Lord responds “as I go” by placing little thoughts in my mind when He can get my attention, thoughts like these:

You really are prepared Nannette.  Gracie is prepared. Preparation doesn’t completely eradicate suffering. Rather it makes you ready in advance to endure the challenging, even heart-wrenching events your very personal, mortal, internship requires. What you experience during earth life has divine purpose and no amount of preparation will ever be allowed to rob you of the pain that brings learning and growth toward Eternal ends.

Think about the caring, detailed “pre-op” experience Gracie had at the hospital. Do you think I did any less for you?

Now picture Gracie sitting in the laundry basket, on the pillow, sipping her drink with remote in hand, rehearsing what she was about to experience to the best of her understanding, in circumstances that couldn’t possibly give her the entire picture. You were a good student like Gracie. You did practice hard. But you were there, not here. You were spirit, not body. The MTC is not the mission field. Basic training is not the front lines. There’s no thing like the real thing, Nannette.

The good news is that in the middle of surgery you can come unto Me, the One who was prepared for His mortal experience from the foundation of the world. Come to Me, the One who admitted to His Father on the brink of surgery, “Would not that I should drink the bitter cup?” Believe that I was prepared and that I did drink it!—recognize that I drank it so that before, during, and after your surgery I can sit with you and bless you and love you and comfort you and encourage you and teach you and heal and sanctify you, purify you and prepare you to go Home. My mortal surgery required that I experience your pain. I have pulled my chair over to your mortal hospital bed and Gracie’s and I will never leave.

Gracie is up and going now and enjoying some of the blessings of her opewation.  Before she left the hospital she tried the remote many times, watched a movie of her own choice ten times, and ordered chocolate milk and ice cream for lunch. She’s worn all the pretty new nightgowns, and every gift bag that sat untouched for a time has been opened and enjoyed to the fullest. All the pre-op promises are coming true.

When I become peaceful and observant I begin to notice that the pre-earth promises about the wonders of this life do come true in spite of the pain and sometimes because of it. When I settle into the arms of the Lord and become calm I see that every get-well card in my mortal “hospital room” is signed with His name. Not only will the Lord sit with me, He is also the One who provides the promised sweet and lovely things that help me get through. His promises are sure.

I may not be able to drink all the chocolate milk my little heart desires, but the gift bags in my room are real and full. They are full of snowcapped mountains, brand new babies, beautiful music, kisses and hugs, a wonderful family and priceless friends, learning and progress toward Home—an endless supply of all things that make my earth life hospital stay as enjoyable as possible.

Thank you for the important lessons, Gracie. The truth is we did sign up, and we are as prepared as we can be.  The good news is that we have a Savior who is absolutely prepared to see us through.

Nannette W.

Posted March 10, 2013

Copyright 2011 by Nannette W. All right reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.

“Hey, I Didn’t Break My Leg!”

Sometimes the best entertainment in the house comes with the house.  In fact, sometimes it is the house, or part of it. We are the proud owners of one such piece of equipment. Who knew that a simple piece of lumber could be such a draw to little ones looking for excitement? But paint a board with high gloss white latex, slant it,  and run it down the side of the staircase going to the basement, and you have a six inch wide, six foot long banister that provides small thrill seekers a pretty adventuresome way to the bottom of the stairs.

The grandkids don’t see it as part of the house.  They think it’s a piece of indoor playground equipment. Of course we, and especially Grandpa, discourage using it as a quick way to the bottom of the stairs. And no harm had befallen any of the fourteen little daredevils until last year when little Hattie gave it a try, tipped over the side onto the carpet below, and broke her leg.

All mended now and a year older our Hattie still likes to zip to the bottom.  “Don’t do that Hattie. Come upstairs now. You’re going to break your leg,” I hear my daughter warn.

Hattie’s reply isn’t, “Oh yes, I remember mother. Thanks for the warning.  Good idea. I’ve learned from my past. I’ll be right up.”

No sir.  Hattie sits her little bottom at the top of the slide and zooms to carpeted safety. Then she stands up with her arms stretched out like she’s just taken the Olympic Gold in the event for courageous two years old and says with glee, “I didn’t break my leg!!!”

Hattie’s thinks its fun to beat the odds. Some people refer to Hattie’s place on life’s timeline as “the terrible twos.” It’s an age and stage we all go through where we can’t or won’t look down the road (or slide in this case) and see the possible consequences, terrible as they may be.

In my addiction I experienced the terrible teens and twenties and thirties.  In addiction we all get a certain kind of thrill out of being dangerous and escaping the consequences—lost trust, lost freedom, lost health, lost relationships.

Time after time I convinced myself it was OK to slide down a slippery little slope and congratulate myself when the outcome was less than catastrophic.  Thankfully I am not experiencing the “Terrible 50s.” I’ve learned that living on the edge and hoping to escape what I’ve got coming to me is no way to live. Better to take the conventional way and skip the speedy, slippery side trip to possible destruction, don’t you think?

The “Gold’ in recovery comes from standing at the top of the stairs day after day after day and walking down the boring way.  If we do, in time we will each raise our arms like Hattie, filled with joy, and say, “Hey, I didn’t break my leg, I didn’t even come close, and thanks to Thee, Lord, I’m never going to break my leg again!”

So today I am calling out to people who, like me, have experienced some terrible years beyond the “twos.” “Don’t break your leg!”

By Nannette W.

Posted Monday, January 21, 2013

Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All right reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.

“Come In”

Let’s face it, Sunday parenting is not easy.  I have early memories of conversations over Sabbath afternoon mashed potatoes and roast beef that went something like this:

Dad, who sat on the stand and participated as a member of the bishopric much of his life, would say, “Wasn’t sacrament meeting wonderful today.  I learned so much. I was so inspired by ‘Brother So-And -So’s talk.”

Mother, who Sunday after Sunday sat part time in the congregation striving to maintain the reverence of her seven children, and the rest of the time in the foyer wrestling with a baby, would look at him like he must have just fallen out of the tree, sigh, and respond with something about wondering if they had even been to the same meeting.

I think it must have been just such a day when my Grandson “T” and his little brother were sent to their room directly after church for some quiet time, due to their less than stellar behavior during sacrament meeting.  With the two of them quarantined and the baby asleep in the room next door, the parents envisioned a little Day of Rest kind of peace, but it was not to be had.  Instead of sitting soberly in their room, inventorying their irreverent behavior at church, and making plans to turn over a new leaf, the loud horse play continued.  Imagine that!!!

With the very real threat that the baby might not sleep through the shenanigans (the bouncing on the bunk-beds, wrestling—stuff that comes so naturally to two boys under eight) my son-in-law asked them to please settle down.  He tried to encourage them toward quiet obedience several times.  After issuing multiple warnings and feeling inspired by the “reproving betimes with sharpness” verse of scripture, he laid down the law with a bigger bark and walked out in frustration. Just the regular Sunday afternoon drama—nothing most of us have not experienced as kids and as parents of children of a certain age.

Finally the Sunday afternoon Family Drama gave way to quiet, and the two boys  took advantage of the “time out” to do some thinking and a little creating. With some comprehension of the error of their own ways, along with certainty that their “Father of the Year” had taken a tumble from his pedestal, they set to work. After a few minutes of unprecedented solitude the older of the two sheepishly crept out of the bedroom and requested some tape.  He had created a message he wanted to attach to the door, in plain sight.

Sometime while no one was looking he taped the following humble little note firmly to the outside of his bedroom/reformatory door.

{Sorry Dad, you can come in so I can forgive you!}

May daughter photographed the note and posted it.  As I read the note the words, “And a little child shall lead them,” came to mind.

As we struggle to make things right with others there is rarely a clear-cut line between repentance and forgiveness.  My daughter writes, “It’s amazing to me how quickly kids forgive and forget, but also how quickly they apologize. My son knew he needed to apologize, but he also knew he needed to forgive.”  Imagine being five years old and having such a clear picture of what is necessary in order to make things right with another person. It would take a thousand “grown-up” words to express T’s eleven word sermon. There’s no sense putting my finger prints all over his perfect message, but while I stared at this humble little note I was reminded that the Lord can use eleven words in multiple ways.

As I read T’s invitation to his daddy, I heard the Savior’s words to me, “Nannette, this is also the sign on My door. “ ‘Sorry, Nannette.  Sorry that life is difficult.  I have felt your pains. I know your worries. I know your desire to grow and change. Turn the handle and take the “steps” that bring you to Me. ‘You can come in so I can forgive you.’”

By Nannette W.

Posted November 5, 2012

Copyright 2011 by Nannette W. All right reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.

So What Does Love Have To Do With It? – Step 2 Hope

Recently my brother stopped by for a short visit.  He came from North Carolina where he lives with his family and was accompanied by his son who just returned home from his mission.  Their ultimate destination was Idaho where my brother would help his son get settled for a new year of university education and then return home to North Carolina.

We are a close family, but we don’t see this particular brother/uncle very often.  That’s what makes it so curious that over the past little while my five year old granddaughter, Gracie, comments frequently to her mother, out of the blue, “I really love Uncle Paul.  I really miss him.”  Wondering if Gracie actually has any idea who she’s talking about my daughter finally had Gracie point him out to her the other day.  Dragging a kitchen chair over to the fridge, she climbed up, pointed to the Christmas card photo collage of aunts and uncles and cousins stuck on the refrigerator door and said, “That’s Uncle Paul!  I love him!”

On Sunday night as usual my children and grandchildren gathered at our house for Sunday dinner.  Before leaving home my daughter told Gracie that Uncle Paul was coming to dinner too.  Her response was, “Uncle Paul! (Gasp!) I love Uncle Paul!”  My daughter laughed at her little drama queen who has only seen this uncle a handful of times in her little life and proceeded up the hill to Grandma Nan’s house.

When Paul entered the house Gracie was standing on the staircase and pretended to faint when Paul entered the room.  All evening she was very attentive and as everyone departed she made sure that out of the 22 of us at dinner she said good-bye especially to her Uncle Paul. As he prepared to leave she handed him her own artistic rendering of the two of them together rolled into a scroll.  She gave him a big hug, and as he exited she said with a bit of sorrow in her voice, “Grandma, I’m really gonna to miss him!”

The next day I tended Gracie for a little while and as she chattered I questioned her, “Hey Gracie, how come you love Uncle Paul so much?”

“Cuz he loves me so much,” she responded.

“How do you know he loves you?”

“Well, he always hugs me and he always smiles when he sees me.”

As she scurried off to help her brothers with their Lego creations I thought, “Nannette, you’re being taught a big lesson in love from a five year old.” Her answers to my questions reminded of the very instructive words I discovered one day in 1 John 4:19 that speak of the relationship of a group of people in ancient times with my Eldest Brother, Jesus. “We love him, because he first loved us.”  In other words, their love for the Lord grew out of their knowing and experiencing His love for them.

Before discovering this verse, the only scripture I had memorized on the subject of loving the Lord was John 14:15 where Jesus said, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).   This verse had always been a spring-board for feelings like, “Nannette, not only don’t you keep His commandments perfectly, but not doing so is actually a sign that you don’t love the Lord.”  That’s a painful thought for a little girl or a grown one.  But the Spirit of the Lord is an expert at cross referencing. When I finally discovered the eight words of scripture in 1 John the Lord linked them to the verse I had memorized as a child, the one I had used to beat myself up.  In fact seeing these two verses side by side—“We love him, because he first loved us” and “If you love me, keep my commandments”—really got me thinking.

I don’t know if you are like me, but I always want to start with the “keep the commandments” part.  Maybe I need to start with the “love.”  I don’t know if you’re like me, but I always want to start with the “love Him” part, but maybe it’s more helpful to start with the “He loves me” part.  Maybe when I am struggling to be obedient the most beneficial thing I can do is pray to be aware of His love for me—to see it all around me and to believe it’s real, that it’s personal and as tender as I can imagine.  Then my keeping His commandments will be the fruit or the result of His love for me—His mercy, His grace, His sacrifice—His hugs and smiles undeserved.  My obedience will be my loving response to His love.

That’s what Gracie was really saying.  “Grandma, when I know I am loved, I love back.”

By Nannette W.

Posted Sunday, April 22, 2012

Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All right reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.

The Circle – Step 12 Carrying the Message

Matthew has escaped once again.  Three-year-old on the soccer field! Out into the middle game he darts.  Dodging the bevy of eight-year-old superstars, his big sister among them, he makes a beeline for his daddy, the coach. I leave my lawn chair behind and make my way on to the field to fetch Matthew and save the game from sudden destruction.  My son gives me the nod.  “It’s OK. I’ve got him!”  With one giant swoop Matthew is sitting on his daddy’s shoulders smiling like he just won the gold cup.  The game goes on with father and son carrying out all coaching duties together. As the game come to an end Matthew follows right behind his daddy giving high fives to the opposing line up of little female soccer stars.  My son takes his whistle and put it around Matt’s neck.  It comes down to his little knobby knees.  I sit in my lawn chair watching the two of them and think, “There is something bigger going on here than simply a dad being patient with his three-year-old at a soccer game.”

Matthew is in training for something wonderful, and I really think that to some degree this little guy knows it.  The other night for their Family Home Evening Matt’s mom and dad told him and his sister Sammy and his baby brother Christopher the story of Lehi’s vision of the “strait” and narrow path. At the end of the lesson Matthew said, “I know—I’m going to follow Father and Christopher is going to follow me.”

In President Eyring’s address to the priesthood last October 2011 he said, “Most of us must wonder to ourselves at times, ‘Am I prepared for this assignment in the priesthood?’ My answer is, ‘Yes, you have been prepared.’…Our Heavenly Father has been preparing us since we were taught at His knee in His kingdom before we were born…Because a veil of forgetfulness was placed over our minds at birth, we have had to find a way to relearn in this life what we once knew and defended.”

Matthew is about the work of remembering, and his daddy is part of the team of men and women placed in Matt’s life to wake up that memory

This call to go before and awaken divine memory in the sons and daughters of God is no small thing, but President Eyring assured us with these words:  “ I promise you if you do all that you can, God will magnify your strength and your wisdom. He will season you. I promise you that those whom you train and set an example for will praise your name…” (Conference Report October 2011)

It’s important to keep in mind that not one of us will make all the difference in the life of someone following down the path—relearning.  And if a trainee is serving time in the mission-field our work is still not completed and if he is serving time in the jail all is not lost. President Eyring simply encourages us to continue to “teach and show…through all our strength in what might appear to be little tasks with small consequences.

Several Saturdays ago Matthew’s sister Sammy was baptized and confirmed.  As the men proceeded to circle up I took my paper and pen from my purse and got ready to record the blessing.  All eyes were closed but mine as her daddy began to pronounce her a member of the church.  That’s how I happened to notice my three year old grandson in training inch his way to the front of the room and squeeze his little pint-sized body between two uncles in the circle, his little hand reaching to touch his sister’s head. Matthew wants to join the circle.  Matthew is remembering.

So if a brother darts out onto your field of influence today, think a minute before shooing him off the green.  Whether he is six or ninety-six, swing him up onto your shoulders and give him a whistle.  He is a coach in training.  He’s remembering.  He’s looking to take your post someday.  Show him how it is done.

By Nannette W. posted Sunday, March 25, 20112

Copyright 2008 by Nannette W.  All rights reserved.  Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.

 

The Other Shoe – Step 12 Service

My daughter-in-law and I went together to buy a gift for my son’s birthday.  We bought him a new pair of new running shoes.  They were quite expensive, but he is very much in need of shoes that can take a beating.  I joked with him yesterday that I bought him “a shoe” for his birthday.  We had a good laugh, but come to think of it, that’s how I feel about all my efforts to bless people’s lives these days.  I’m never capable of giving people exactly and completely what they need, just a little part, a little portion, a little token of my love.  Even the pittance I give did not originate with me.  It all comes out of the store I’ve received from the Lord. One of the most important things I can remember as I prayerfully go about today delivering less than a complete pair of shoes to those who are in need,  is that the Lord will complete all my efforts.  One way or another, the Lord always comes along with the other shoe.

By Nannette W. Posted Friday, February 10, 2012

Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All right reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.

“Happy Are We” – Step 3 Trust in God

We live in a time when toys have buttons that awaken magical electronic powers.  As we search the retail shelves for just the right toy, even grownups are taken in by the invitation on packaging that reads, “Try Me.”  One day, just after Christmas, I was waiting while my mother stood in the return line at Kohls and there before my eyes, in the middle of an aisle, was a large display of piggy banks with a “Try Me” invitation on every box.  So I did!   Standing there, looking at them, something came over me and I pushed every piggy’s button in the display.  Then I just stood there, unashamed, in the middle of the isle, with children looking on in dismay, laughing at the cacophony of oinking that erupted.  Something crazy gets into me those first few days after Christmas.

One of my “grands” is a life-size 17 month old dolly.  She’s a tiny little thing.  It’s still surprising to look down at the white feathers starting to grow on her baby head and see her walking about.  She’s learning to talk and has recently started stringing words together.

Hattie doesn’t have a magical button.  This little dolly is more technologically advanced than the dollies on the shelf at Wal-Mart. She’s actually voice activated. If I sing a few words to a song she has heard several times she responds.  For example:   If I sing “Twinkle Twinkle” she sings, “little star.”  This is not really too surprising in the world of raising babies.   What is unusual is that she quickly catches on to difficult songs. We were all a bit flabbergasted the other day when her daddy sang, “We are all enlisted ‘til the conflict it o’er,” and immediately, without hesitation, she looked up at him with those heavenly blue eyes and sang out, “Happy are we, are we, are we!”

Her older cousins love to hear her perform, and she is happy to comply—“Happy are we! Happy are we!” she responds to their prompt, and the air erupts with laughter. (The cousins are as bad as me at Kohls with the piggies.)  I’ve heard the opening words to the song “We Are All Enlisted” countless times now throughout the house.  Each time I hear her sing I think, “What a great reminder!”  These words tell us that we are in this to the end and we can be happy even though life is hard—It’s full of conflict between nations and neighbors, within our communities and families, and within ourselves as we battle it out with Satan or simply wrangle with the hundreds of tough decisions that have to be made every day.  According to the song we can somehow endure happily.

One day as I heard her performing for someone, in my mind I pointed the following thought in the Lord’s direction—“I get the general message Lord, but how?  How am I to be happy throughout and until the end of all the conflict in my daily life?”  I told Him that I knew that a great part of the answer to that question lies in whether or not I pick up and use the magnificent tools of the Gospel that bring the Spirit of the Lord into every situation.   I know that when I have the Spirit with me I do find greater happiness, even in difficult situations, but was there more to be learned here?

Once again I allowed the words to run through my mind, only this time I felt the Spirit invite me to focus on the words we sing to Hattie—“We are all ENLISTED.”  In my mind’s eyes the word ENLISTED was in capital letters.  Was that my clue?  I searched my understanding for some sense of the word.  I remembered that during the Korean War my dad “enlisted” in the army to escape being drafted, and he had a great experience serving in Germany, and most recently, my youngest son has “enlisted” in the United States Air Force.  This is not exactly what I had in mind for my son. From the moment the doctor announces “It’s a boy,” I dread the thought that one day my sons might be drafted. But come to think of it, except for the two years he served the people in Uruguay on an LDS mission, I’ve never seen him more resolute and yes, happy.

Hmmm… “Drafted?”  “Enlisted?”  I got my dictionary.  To be “drafted” is “to be enrolled in the armed forces by compulsion or conscription.” To “enlist” is “to join up or sign on to the armed forces.”

That’s it!—one of the great keys to being happy!  I enlisted – on purpose! I signed up!  I’m not here having earth life, with its huge range of experiences, because I was forced or ill informed about the hard parts.  I was not drafted.  I chose.

Every day I experience some of the pain that comes from frustration, anger, sickness, sadness and disappointments over situations, some of my own making and those I am completely powerless to control. It’s tempting to imagine I’ve been forced into difficult situations by life, by people, and by God Himself!  If I dwell in self-pity, imagining that I am simply a pawn on the chess board of life, then all I want to do is something, anything, to make me feel better, something to dull the little pains and the big ones. And why would I reach out to God for help if I think He sent me into this mess against my will? Drafted! So I turn to something I can trust, something immediate—eat a little food, spend a little money, watch a little TV, take a little pill…Addiction is about doing something to make myself feel better, knowing that God can’t possibly be the answer.  My addiction is anything I turn to habitually, that’s destructive, instead of turning to God.

Today I know that my pain only multiplies with every thought that I was conscripted into this War that started in Heaven. There is actual pain relief and power to endure connected with the recognition that I enlisted in this earth life experience, that I was not compelled against my will. In Lehi’s vision He says he follows a Man in White to a dark and dreary waste.  On some days life is dark and it is dreary, but there is something really important to my ability to get through hard times in acknowledging that following Jesus Christ into this world was a decision I made.  That thought actually hastens my travels on that strait (difficult) and narrow (single file) path to the fruit that ensures joy in the battle zone.

Step 3 of recovery is to “Decide to turn my will and my life over the care of God the Eternal Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.  In essence it is to surrender to an experience in which I chose to participate.  Sometimes during hard seasons I say to myself: “Life just is not going according to my plan.”  Though that may seem true with my limited vision—there is a PLAN and I signed on!

A new recruit has recently been assigned to our family squadron, one of earth life’s newest enlistees.  His tiny feet were not even planted on earth’s soil before life became challenging.  In fact life was a challenge for him the minute he was assigned his body and for his family from the moment the doctors suggested they might be seeing signs of Down Syndrome.

As I hold my nephew in my arms, all hooked up to feeding and breathing apparatus, as I feel the rapid  pulse of his tiny heart that needs mending, I sense that his faith in the truth that he was not compelled, not drafted into this body for his earth-life experience, is very much intact. It’s the rest of us who need to keep this understanding burning in our hearts. Not only did he know what he was getting into, but so did all of us who are blessed to be a part of his life and blessed to participate in all of life.

Thanks for the reminder Hattie.  “We signed on! We chose!  We enlisted!  “Happy are we!”

By Nannette W.

Posted Thursday, February 2, 2012

Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.

The Holiday Miracle We Pray For That We Will Not Be Given

Holidays and food—they just go together.  This though comes to mind every time I’m invited to a holiday celebration that involves lots of food—and don’t they all?  It’s called “Michael’s Thanksgiving Day Prayer” but it might just as well be called “Everyone’s Christmas Prayer,” or “The Holiday Miracle We Pray For That We Will Not Be Given.”  Enjoy!

“Michael’s Thanksgiving Day Prayer” – Abstinence

It was finally pie time.  So many pies! So many flavors! So many decisions! Pie with whipped cream? Pie with ice cream?  “Maybe just a little of both,” I heard someone say. The turkey and rolls started to make their way back out onto the counter, something to balance out all that pie I suppose. “Hey, who brought the eggnog and 7-Up?” questioned one of the uncles with great excitement!

The Thanksgiving Day sun was setting. The cousins were starting to get a little wound up.  My grown children, the parents, were starting to say things like, “Stop! Remember we don’t run in Grandma’s house!” and “No you may not have a fourth piece of pie!” In our family, generally speaking, the later it gets the more energy the children have. With 17 children and 21 adults we were almost outnumbered and it was time to either mesmerize them by playing The Santa Clause 1, 2, 3, and 4 videos, or for the adults to gather up all the energizer turkeys and head toward home for a long post-pie nap.

I stood at the kitchen sink visiting with my brother. “Before we leave,” he said, “I’ve got a story to tell you: This morning before driving down to your house for dinner, I gathered everyone for family prayer.  I called on Michael (age 14) to pray for the family and this is what he prayed, ‘Please bless us that we will be able to eat as much as possible without getting sick.’”

We had a good laugh.  I’ve prayed that prayer myself a thousand times. I’ve been so certain Heavenly Father would hear my prayer and grant me my wish that I’ve gone ahead and put Him to the test.  Time and time again I have hoped for a negligible outcome as I’ve taken in more food and more calories than my body has the capacity to deal with in a healthy way only to be shocked at the after pains.  Without exception I felt sick not only physically, but also emotionally and spiritually.

I don’t think you have to be a compulsive eater to relate to Michael’s prayer. In many Addiction Recovery Meetings I’ve heard participants say, “Hi, I’m _____ and I’m addicted to MORE.”  It doesn’t seem to matter if our destructive practices center around the computer, the bar, the refrigerator, the mall, or the neighborhood pharmacy, our prayer has been much like Michael’s Thanksgiving Day request.  “Dear Heavenly Father, please, just this time, grant me the miracle of indulging without consequence.”

This year I am happy to be a compulsive eater who is a grateful Thanksgiving dinner survivor, ninety-seven pounds down from my top weight, but I certainly have not finished my course work on the subject of cause and effect.  I had to smile at the Lord’s sense of humor the other night.  I started developing this little piece of writing late in the evening.  Before climbing into the covers and without thought of what I had just finished writing, I knelt at the foot of my bed and said, “Dear Heavenly Father, once again I’ve stayed up much too late. I know I should have been in bed a long time ago, but please bless me with the ability to wake up early, feeling great, and with energy to accomplish good things in the morning.” As I whispered these words Heavenward I could almost see the corners of the Lord’s mouth turn up just a bit, and with a twinkle in his eye, and His brows slightly raised. He seemed to whisper back, “Oh, I see Nannette, might you be asking for the miracle of indulging without consequence? It reminds me a of the Thanksgiving prayer of a little boy I know, ‘Please bless us that we will be able to eat as much as possible without getting sick?’”

By Nannette W.

Posted Monday, December 7, 2009

From Nannette’s Christmas Archives Re-posted December 20, 2011

Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.

“Falling” Into Christmas – Step 10 – Daily Accountability

Quoting my daughter…“Sometimes I think the most constant thought in the mind of a little boy is, “What should I do next to drive my mother crazy?”

My daughter called and related the following experience to me.  She said she might call it, “Wild Boys on the Loose,” “Irresponsible Mothers,” “Christmas Tree Festival Gone Bad,” or “So There I Was…” but her first thought after it happened, after everyone in an auditorium full of Christmas Tree Charity Cheer was staring at her and her children, was “Here’s Something For Mom To Blog About.”

Today my daughter and her children went with some friends and their children to a charity event where decorated, donated Christmas trees are on display. They remain on exhibit for several days.  Each tree is sold to the highest bidder and the money goes to charity. Things were going great in the beginning. There was a band playing. The children had a great time dancing to the music. They walked up and down all the rows of trees. She reports being pretty impressed at how good the kids were about not touching things.

The moms decided the Princess Tree was the perfect opportunity to take a picture of all their daughters.  They lined all the little ladies up in front of the Disney Christmas creation. Then one of the moms suggested that they take a picture of all the little boys in front of one of the sets of three twenty foot, attached to each other, wooden, lighted trees that stood in multiple places in the hall as decorations for the festival. As the moms focused their attention on their princess daughters their royal sons started crawling in between the wooden trees. They got them to stop, line up, and smile for the camera. My daughter’s friend turned around to tell her she had gotten a very cute picture of my grandson, TJ. My daughter looked up just in time to see that the boys had resumed their play near the wooden trees. She was about to step in and break up the nonsense when catastrophe struck! Too late!

One little fellow pushed another one, who fell against the three wooden trees. Suddenly the trees began to fall down right before their eyes. She said she was amazed by the number of thoughts she could have in the 5 seconds it took her to get over to the trees. She said that the whole thing felt like it was in slow motion.  Her first thought was, “Those trees really aren’t going to fall are they?” She pushed her friend aside and they both ran toward the disaster in progress.  In desperation she thought about running behind the scene but rethought and was glad she hadn’t!  The three wooden twenty-foot trees would have fallen on her.   In the end all they could really do was watch them crash to the ground!

She stood there shocked over what had transpired, with complete embarrassment as the crowds turned and looked on, but feeling much gratitude that no one had been hurt and that there had been no domino effect on the other trees in the building.

Finally she addressed her two-year-old son. “TJ, tell me what happened.”

“I pushed Mowoni ( Moroni ), Mowoni pushed the twees (trees), and the twees fall down.”

As my daughter finished sharing this incident with me Step 10 came to mind—“Continue to take personal inventory and when you are wrong promptly admit it.” I don’t know what it is about the Thanksgiving/Christmas season, but I seem to have more than average opportunity to practice this step at this time of year.  Maybe it has something to do with high expectations, too little money, long to-do lists, hurry, hurry, and more social gatherings than my calendar can handle.  My daughter’s experience caused me to think about the obvious nature of most of my own wrong doings.  Like crashing twenty-foot Christmas trees, my daily errors are not usually hidden out of sight or wrapped in “who’s to blame” confusion.  This season I want to stay ahead of the game and be like TJ.  When “the twee falls down” my confession should be immediate, simple, honest, and without excuse.

By Nannette W.

Posted Friday, November 28, 2008

From Nannette’s Christmas Archives Re-posted December 19, 2011

Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All right reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sen

Merry Christmas and “Dime Store” Serenity – Step 12 Service

As far back as I can remember the Christmas season seemed to bring with it both excitement and anxiety.  I grew up as the oldest child in a family of nine.  When December 1^st rolled around one of my biggest concerns was how to get enough money to buy each of my siblings and my parents a Christmas present.  As the seven of us were growing up we were each expected to do a weekly household job, without pay, just because we were part of the family. My father was a schoolteacher and my mother was a stay-at-home mom.  There was not much excess.

I think back with gratitude that my mother had a plan to help us take care of our financial age 4-11 Christmas worries.  Without fail, every Saturday morning for several weeks before the Big Day the old 3’ by 4’ piece of blackboard came out from behind the couch. Mom would use the chalk and fill the blackboard with lists of lots of little jobs (vacuuming the edges of a room, cleaning this drawer or that shelf, wiping window sills, cleaning a mirror or a window, shining up the woodwork etc).  The list represented all the extra little things that needed to be accomplished around the house to really spruce the place up for the holidays. Mom took advantage of our need for a little money. Next to each job she chalked in how much money she would pay for that job “well done.” Each job was worth anywhere from five to twenty five cents. There were things on the board for all ages. I remember being very motivated by this system.  As a job was completed we were paid and the completed task was erased.  It was fun to see the little old black board empty by noon on Saturday.

When it was empty it meant we had each moved one Saturday closer to that magnificent yearly family excursion to the local “dime store,” Newberry’s, where we would each purchase eight Christmas treasures.  We split into two groups, each group being manned by one parent.  Each of us got to push around our own cart. We thought that was pretty cool. We were required to bring a coat.  The purpose of the coat was to provide cover over our secrets.  There must have been much less concern over shoplifting back then.  We sleuthed around the store, hiding things behind our backs, whispering in Mom or Dad’s ear, waiting for validation that the choice we had made for someone was “a great idea, honey!”  I don’t think we ever had more that ten or fifteen dollars to spread eight ways. But, we all came home satisfied that we had worked for and secreted away eight “somethings” that were really going to bring smiles on Christmas morning.

Every year our Dad lovingly hand flocked a little tree for our “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas in Los Angeles” mother. Before our shopping spree each year it was bare under the tree. After the shopping was complete there was no pause between entry into the house and our scurrying into some hiding place with paper, tape, and a stack of old Christmas cards we’d cut up to make just the right tag for each gift.  Most times the tag was bigger than the gift.  In one fell swoop we would move from having nothing under that tree to having a carpet of forty little things wrapped as only children can wrap, awaiting Christmas morning.

I don’t remember even one of the things I received as a result of this humble Christmas tradition.  All I remember are feelings—the feeling that my mother cared enough to help us have a good experience giving to each other, a feeling of excitement at finding just the right thing that could be paid for with what was in my pocket, and the feelings of anticipation, of looking forward to the hour when all those little dime store packages would be opened one at a time with lots of “Thanks, that’s just what I wanted!” with hugs all around.

One of the most wide-spread troubles of our day is the problem of debt.  Spending is an activity that has become a compulsive/addictive behavior for many.  Maybe the message of this old Christmas memory is “Keep It Simple.”  Surprises don’t need to be costly. Expressions of our love for each other don’t have to involve money at all.  As kids we couldn’t have had any more fun if we’d each had a hundred dollars to spend.  Although gifts will be given, maybe this Christmas the most important thing I can do for others doesn’t have to involve a tangible wrapped, ribboned and tagged gift at all. Maybe the greatest contribution I can make to others is to live in recovery, with the serenity and sanity that come from living within my means.  Just as our mother helped us as children, the Lord can help us live this way, with JOY!

By Nannette W.

Frist Posted Sunday, November 30, 2008

Re-posted From Nannette’s Christmas Archives, Friday, December 9, 2011

Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All right reserved.

Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit.  This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.