The Big 5

In Africa they call them "The Big Five" - elephant, rhino, Cape buffalo, lion, and leopard.  These animals are the biggies.  

Well, in family life there are "The Big Five" also.  They are so well known we  get almost bored reciting them -  prayer, scripture reading, attending church weekly, doing things together (service, work, play, eat), and family home evening. 


But, the question is, "What if we are doing all those things and we still have problems?"  I would like to share with you a 1994 entry from my journal.


"He said he hated her, and his eyes showed he meant it.  Her sulking in her bedroom gave no room for negotiation or resolution.  I hurt and felt nauseated.  Right then heaven was a long way from our home.  I was tormented.  Families, our family, was not supposed to be like this.  I loved and ached for both of them.  There was nothing else to do but more of the same; family prayers, scripture time, family home evenings, vacations, going to church.  Slowly the battlefield had fewer casualties.  Time and the gospel and growing were working.  Missions, college, temple marriages, and more growing.


"Now, I watch these two with their spouses playing Scrabble, going to Disneyland, snowballing.....being friends. 

No healing of the deaf, blind, and leperous was more of a miracle than watching him cuddle her baby and whisper, 'Remember, I'm your favorite uncle.' "

The Big Five.  They're awesome. 
And they're worth it.

Can eggs fly?

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird:

it would be a jolly sight harder

for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg.

We are like eggs at present.

And you cannot go on indefinitely

being just an ordinary, decent egg.

We must be hatched or go bad.

C.S. Lewis

I think that hatching begins with saying yes.  Yes to the uncomfortable things. 

I remember as a young mother, with a houseful of very young children, being asked to give some compassionate service.  A sister in our ward had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.  Her husband had asked if women could please come stay with his wife while he was at work. 

In the quiet of her house,  I waited, wondering what I could do or say to comfort her.  I knew her children, had been in YM/YWs with her oldest son.  Her youngest was in college, unmarried.  So much this mother was going to miss.

I heard her wake up and went to her.  She smiled, thanked me for coming,

and wanted to know about my family.  Then she asked, "Would you please bring me my make-up case.  I want to look nice for my husband." 

I only spent four hours with her, but she taught me how to die.  It was a hatching moment. 

What if I had said no.

When the wrong color is right

Needing a utensil holder I went to Goodwill with my thrift-shop-queen daughter and looked through the shelves of housewares.  I knew exactly what I wanted, but everything I saw was ugly.  Carrie came along behind me and picked up a metal, wrought iron container.  "Mom, what about this one?"  I looked at it and announced the obvious, "It's red." She said, "All it needs is spray paint."  

 

Has life ever handed you red when you wanted a different color? 

I was in college and desperately needed a job.  The one thing I could do well was to type.  But, to qualify for a secretarial job at BYU I had to be able to type 60 words a minute with no mistakes.  I knew to pass the typing test I would have to practice using an electric typewriter.  I would not be using my comfortable manual typewriter. 

I know, I'm ancient.

I went to the typing lab, and sat down, not knowing what I should practice.  Next to the typewriter someone had left a typing manual.  I randomly opened the book  and started typing.  I decided to type just this one practice page until I could hit the target speed.  I went straight from the library to the typing test.  The instructor told us to open the book to page such and such.  I turned to the page and there staring back at me was my page from the library!   I knew the Lord's hand was in this.  I knew that I would get the job I needed.  At the job interview I was told that there was one job and it would only last for four weeks.  Did I want it?  (I needed a job for the whole year.  This was all wrong.  All I could see was ugly red.)  I said yes, but was bummed. 

The afternoon of my last day, the secretary next door came to deliver some mail that had been misdelivered.  She moaned that her assistant secretary had just quit.  Our office secretary said,  "Jeanie is a typist and this is her last day."  Norma, who would be my boss for the next two years (and gave me a full time job when I needed it), said, "You're hired.  Come next door on Monday."  

I see now that all along 

the Lord is spray painting my life

the colors it needs to be, 

and even more beautifully

than what I hope for.

The Greatest Mother's Day Gift

What was I to do?  On Friday my kindergarten teacher had taught us about Mother's Day.  This was 1953, before children made gifts in school, so, I was in charge,  I was six years old, and I had 35 cents.  There were the three of us, Momma, me, and 4 year old Robbie.  What could Robbie and I give her?  Taking his hand we walked to the little shopping center next to our housing development.  Shocked?  It was 1953.  Kids could do that.  I had decided on the perfect gift.  Sweet peas.  I was going to buy her a big bouquet of flowers.  Her favorite kind.  I could see the surprise and excitment on her face as she held them and smelled them - I could see it all. 

We pushed open the big door of the florist shop.  I was so shy but filled with confidence at that moment, "Do you have any sweet peas?"  I blurted out.  "No," was all the woman said. 

We wandered around the stores, Robbie's hand hot in my one hand, the thirty-five cents hot in the other.  In Woolworth's 5&10 I settled on a seed packet.  The picture of sweet peas was beautiful.  Just what I had imagined.

At home I wrapped it.  The more I wrapped, the worse it looked, it was more wrap than gift.  Looking at it I felt as small and disappointing as it was. 

Mother's Day morning in San Diego, California was bright and sunny.  I brought out the gift.  Momma sat down and lifted me onto her lap.  I felt her warm arms around me as she opened her only gift.  She told me how beautiful it looked, commented on my great taping job, and carefully opened it.  "Oh, Jeanie, you remembered that I love sweet peas!  Let's plant them now!"

They knelt in the dirt, planting side by side, two itty- bitty kids and a mother giving them her greatest gift.

I'm Slipping

My black slip makes me smile. 

Sometimes I laugh out loud.  Sometimes turn bright red.  But, usually just mutter, "I can't believe I did that.  At least I'll never see those people again."  The story behind the slip took place over 6 thousand miles from where I sit and it happened a brief five years ago.



My husband and I arrived in Durazno, Uruguay late Saturday night, went to our hotel and fell asleep after our long drive.  The next morning we walked to church a few blocks away, walked back to the hotel, ate lunch, and took a nap (important detail).  We then walked back to the church glad that our way led us right through the lovely town plaza filled with families.  We arrived at the church and met the stake president in his office.  As welfare missionaries we were there to train his stake in principles of self-reliance.  Sitting there next to my husband as he is chatting in Spanish with Pres__.  my mind wandered and a little question drifted into my consciousness, "Did I put on my skirt?"  I knew before I looked down at my lap, that it wasn't going to be there.  I forced myself to look.  I only had on my black slip!  I gasped.  Jerry paused mid-sentence and looked at me, "What?"  I whispered in English, "I forgot to put on my skirt."  He looked, then said to the stake president, "A mi esposa se olvido ponerse la falda."  They both looked at me.  I was grateful for the big church desk.  Jerry said, "I'll run back to the hotel and get your skirt.  You sit here with Pres__ and explain to him about our meeting."  He bolted.  So, in my best Spanish (I was about as fluent as a 3 year-old) I explained our program, all the while thinking, "I'm sitting in this office, in my slip, talking to this man, and I'm supposed to be acting normal!"  I'm sure he was thinking the same.  Jerry rushed back and the two men stepped out of the office while I rescued my decency.  After the 2 hour meeting Pres__ said to us as we walked to the door, "Very good meeting, but, I will have to speak to the Area Presidency about the Senior Missionary dress code!"


Why would I retell this story?  To make this one little, often neglected point, Things do not have to be perfect to be good and right.  It won't kill you and you'll laugh about it later.  But, keep my secret, okay?  It's kind of embarrassing.

MISSIONARIES

Written by Mikey Tolman, age 11, September 2007

Do you like missionaries?  So do I.

So, I have a story about two guys.

They went to Argentina

and had funny events.

Like when my grandma went to church

in her underpants.

C'mon Mike I had on my slip!