Junk in the trunk

We were heading to a friend’s house loaded down with a salad and deviled eggs.  Forty eight on a slippery ceramic platter, all touching the edges of the plate.  A tight fit to be sure and I worried about the strength of my plastic wrap. 

I slowed way down from sixty to like twenty to try to make the left-hand turn off the thoroughfare onto our next fast road.  I’m sure the folks sitting in line next to me were beside themselves with impatience for my slowness.  I wished I had a sign for my windshield: “Deviled Eggs Onboard—I’m going as fast as I can go without making them slide onto the carpet!”  I notice this a lot in the winter months when I’m taking soup to people for dinner.  It’s always the easiest thing I can think of (with bread) and takes just minutes to make, any kind, just usually my go-to.  But I always forget what it’s like to transport because I wind up in the same situation every time.  Soup slopping out of the sides no matter how slow drive.  And inevitably I end up taking the hilly route.  Good grief.

I asked the lady at Lowe’s the other day where the 5 gallon buckets and twist-on lids were kept.  I don’t know why that annoyed her so much, but she seemed to huff when she had to show me, even when I told her I was fine—just tell me which aisle.  When we got there I asked if the lids she was showing me would work with the other buckets Todd had previously bought.  More irritated now, she was snippy and made me feel foolish, like why didn’t we just check when we bought the buckets in the first place and puffed off.  I wanted to run back to her little paint station after we tried on the ones she showed us and tell her she was an idiot.  The lids we wanted still weren’t in stock.  Which is why we didn’t buy them in the first place.  Which is why we didn’t know if they’d work.  Sigh.  You know I didn’t.  But what a temptation!

I thought of my soup days.  And my deviled egg deliveries.  And I couldn’t help but wonder if she had something in her trunk as well.  Because I assume most people are pretty nice unless they’ve got something going on we just can’t see.  I just can’t believe people who are truly happy inside would radiate meanness, doesn’t compute. Most days it’s easy to be amiable, but I know when I’m on edge.  It’s not really anything anyone’s doing, it’s usually something no one knows anything about that I’m dealing with inside.

I remember watching a little clip* on Facebook years ago letting us see thought bubbles into what various patients and family members and hospital personnel were feeling as they seemingly went along. So insightful.

I try to make up my own for the people around me.  Because I’m sure when people are impertinent it’s because they’ve got something going on at home or because they don’t feel well or someone was rude to them or they’ve had some bad news or they’re running on empty.  I guess I just assume there’s more to the story.

I can’t decide if I’d like little thought balloons trailing after me in real life. Sometimes I wish I could explain to people what’s going on inside, that I had a way to tell my story.  Really, I’m just tired and feeling overwhelmed and unbalanced. I’m worried about a friend, I don’t know what to do about it, I feel so helpless.  I’m waiting for a result of a test, I’m scared it will change everything and that I won’t be strong enough.  I feel so bad that I hurt someone’s feelings, I'm absorbed thinking about it and can’t really focus on anything else right now.  I wonder if I’m the mom I need to be, I’m worried that I’ve left out some of the most important parts and now it’s getting to be too late.  I can’t decide if I should be more careful with our money or more generous and I wonder if I’ll ever get it right.  Am I where I should be, I worry that I’m wasting my time and energy, is this right?

Anyway, you can see why I’m not sure if I want these kinds of thoughts floating around out there.  I feel silly for even having them when I’m sure most adults have already figured this kind of stuff out.

But the simple visual of eggs sliding across the back of the van or soup sloshing out the sides of the pot brings me to this point of wondering if everyone carries these kinds of loads around as well.  Over the years, as we get to know people, we’re allowed to view their bubbles and they share what’s really going on inside.

“I’m worried about my daughter.  I don’t want to push her, but I’m scared.”  “I’m not sure where I fit in.  Should I move?  Do I belong here anymore?   Is this what my life is supposed to look like?” “I feel completely overwhelmed and have no idea when it will get better or how to make things better.”  “I don’t know who I can trust.”  “We wish people would stop judging our son.”  “I wish my daughter had a good group of friends.  Or even one solid friend.”  “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

But what about the ones who don’t let us in?  The ones we’re not that close to?  Or don’t know all that well yet?  That’s when it gets tricky.  We think we know their story and what they’ve got  in back, we think we can see in through the windows, but most of the time we’ve got it all wrong.  We can’t see everything she’s carrying because her windows are tinted or it’s on the floor.

Almost all of us walk and drive around as if we don’t have a care in the world, as if all we have in our trunk is some styrofoam peanuts instead of delicacies we need to guard fastidiously.  We rarely let on that we’re afraid everything will slosh out and make a mess, and that once that happens we’ll never get the smell out or the mask we were wearing back on straight.  If the eggs slip, if our tongues slip, where will we be then?

And so I drive up and down the hills of my town and of my life without many people knowing what’s really inside.  They’re likely impatient.  They might be telling the people beside them what they think of the way I’m doing it all.  I’m sure they have no idea what’s going on, that I’m just worried about my soup and my eggs.

You know I love this sentiment from Elder Ashton, I’ve shared it all before.

Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped. Charity is refusing to take advantage of another’s weakness and being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other.

None of us need one more person bashing or pointing out where we have failed or fallen short. Most of us are already well aware of the areas in which we are weak. What each of us does need is family, friends, employers, and brothers and sisters who support us, who have the patience to teach us, who believe in us, and who believe we’re trying to do the best we can, in spite of our weaknesses. What ever happened to giving each other the benefit of the doubt? What ever happened to hoping that another person would succeed or achieve? What ever happened to rooting for each other?**

This attitude can be so helpful as we pass drivers we’re not sure about and people whose stories we’re not privy to.  As I wonder to myself what their little bubbles would say, it helps me slow down and not be so hasty with a judgment.  I guess I just assume most people have as much junk in their trunks as I do, which makes it that much easier to wish them well as we pass and wave to each other on the road home.

*  An Empathy Video That Asks You to Stand in Someone Else's Shoes

**The Tongue Can Be a Sharp Sword by Elder Ashton

More lessons from trek

I’m evidently not the only one who was touched by the vignette of Jens Nielson and his family as we hiked up Rocky Ridge and rested.  It was a warm but pleasant day; we’d started by waking up at 4:30 that morning on the Wyoming plains and dressed in our pioneer outfits, broke camp and loaded buses with our sack breakfasts and lunches.  Everyone seemed to be in good spirits later that morning as nearly 400 of us made our way 15 miles up a rocky trail pushing our handcarts in the August sun.  But still, the break felt good as we listened to our trail leader tell the story of a man who had walked this path years ago in 1856 with his handcart company.

*October 23 was a day of heartbreak for Jens and Elsie. A blizzard and the long trek over Rocky Ridge challenged them every step of the way. Tragically, both young Niels Nielson and Bodil Mortensen died that day. Jens wrote of the excruciating circumstances at their camp in Rock Creek Hollow, where Niels and Bodil were buried: We had to dig a hole and bury [13] bodies of our number, and my only son was among them, and a girl who I had along for Brother Mortensen.  I told you there were five men to the tent, but now the four were dead and I was the only man left, so I had to ask some of the largest and strongest women to help me to raise the tent, and it looked like we should all die.

Jens was also becoming weaker, and it seems that he was prepared to die. Elsie was reportedly less than five feet tall, but she had a spiritual stature and courage that matched Jens’s frame of over six feet. One of their descendants, Jay P. Nielson, told of Elsie’s courageous strength when Jens could no longer walk: “The end appeared to be near and certain for Jens. His feet became so frozen he could not walk another step, which caused his right foot to be at right angles the rest of his life. At this point Jens said to Elsie, “Leave me by the trail in the snow to die, and you go ahead and try to keep up with the company and save your life.” If you believe men have a monopoly on strength and courage, then pay heed to Elsie’s immortal words when she said, “Ride. I can’t leave you. I can pull the cart.”

It is not known how long Elsie pulled Jens in the handcart. One family history suggests that it was at least a day. Jens did not record the incident in his history. Instead, he recalled a covenant he made with God at that time. It was a covenant that Jens and Elsie were united in keeping for the rest of their lives:  “I remember my prayers as distinctly today as I did then. If [the Lord] would let me live to come to Salt Lake City, ... all my days should be spent in usefulness.… How far I have come short of this promise I do not know.…  Speaking of the hardships of the handcart company—no person can describe [it], nor could it be comprehended nor understood by any human living in this life, but only [by] those who were called to pass through it.

My reaction to this story and vignette surprised me.  I hadn’t really felt that much different on the trek up to this point.  Maybe because their stories are so familiar to me, they’ve been my heroes for as long as I can remember.  So although it was great to actually walk and camp where they’d been, it didn’t necessarily change me, sad to say.  But my tearful reaction to this re-enactment startled me.  I think they came because my heart was touched seeing a woman in the same figurative situation as so many friends.

The women’s pull had the same impact on me. This was a time when the women and girls were separated from the men and the boys and were each given a little inspirational talk.  Then the men and boys lined the hillside on either side of the trail with their hats off while each ma and daughters pushed their handcarts up the steep, curved, sandy embankment.  They were silent and reverent.  And some were even tearful.**

As we waited our turn at the bottom of the hill in the line of handcarts, I had the chance to talk with our four daughters.  We had to decide where we each stand since some were little and others stronger, I let them choose.  We also had to decide whether we wanted to do it on our own or if we would signal we’d like help.  They all wanted to do it alone as a family without extra help.  But they all wanted to help the other carts.  I told them that’s not the way it works in life.  If they want to help others, we need to allow others to help us.  In this instance, we felt strong enough to do it on our own, as can be the case with today’s trials; sometimes we’re ok, we just need to be ok with asking for help when we’re not.  I loved these few tender moments alone with my daughters.  Our 11 year old daughter told me how much she was going to miss trek because she had never felt the spirit as strong or had such spiritual experiences.  Totally warmed my heart.

We had another thought-provoking experience with coming to one anothers’ aid while we crossed the Sweetwater River.

The passage of the Sweetwater at this point was a severe operation to many of the company. . . . It was the last ford that the emigrants waded over. The water was not less than two feet deep, perhaps a little more in the deepest parts, but it was intensely cold. The ice was three or four inches thick, and the bottom of the river muddy or sandy. I forget exactly how wide the stream was there, but I think thirty or forty yards. It seemed a good deal wider than that to those who pulled their handcarts through it. (John Jaques)

After they [Martin Company] had given up in despair, after all hopes had vanished, after every apparent avenue of escape seemed closed, three eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue, and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of the ill-fated handcart company across the snowbound stream. The strain was so terrible, and the exposure so great, that in later years all the boys died from the effects of it. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child…. (Solomon F. Kimball) ***

Most of us preferred to plow ahead on our own pushing our handcarts.  But some women and girls allowed the young men of our company to carry them across the river, a humbling time for the participants as well as the onlookers.

But I think each of these situations was a good reminder for us.  Most of the time we do prefer to just work through hard times as a family and keep things sort of private.  But I realized one of the hardest parts of these particular experiences was the fact that so many others were watching.  It made me think of how often that’s the case.  It’s one thing to deal with a divorce or a loss or a health issue quietly with close family members, but it changes when the news is out and everyone seems to be watching for your reaction and how you’re coping, what you’re doing about it.  I hated that I was huffing and puffing during the women’s pull, that I was struggling so much.  I know the women who were carried across the river weren’t that thrilled about being seen as weak.  No one likes to be viewed as helpless or incompetent.  Even though it was a short-lived experience in all three cases, during the women’s pull I keenly felt like I was on display, that I was making a very poor showing; I was so self-conscious.   And I felt empathy for those who struggle daily with all of us watching.

During the women’s pull, some of the groups were quite small, few in number or with very young girls.  I felt fortunate to have a 15 year old, two 12 year olds and a sweet 11 year old beside me—a strong group of healthy, able-bodied girls.  But some had to make it with far less support.  I was humbled and touched as I watched women and girls who had just made the trek themselves run back down to offer support and to lighten the loads of those following them.  It makes me think of cancer survivors or others who have lived through tough times and how they run to the rescue of others dealing with the same issue through fundraising, support groups, or just talking one on one with women they’ve never met.  What powerful examples of goodness and compassion in both cases, in our pioneer re-enactment as well as regular life.

I felt the same during the women’s pull and at the Sweetwater Crossing as I did watching the Niels Jenson family.  At one point our friend, who was depicting Niels’ wife Elsie, was pulling the handcart all alone up Rocky Ridge until our leader told the kids in her family they could run and help.  They were just as tired and worn out as the rest of us, but they eagerly raced to their mother’s aid, just as the women and girls did during the women’s pull.

I couldn’t help but think of all the single mothers I know as I reflected on these experiences.  Taking away the men represented the death of so many of the husbands and fathers on the trail, but also earlier in the migration many were gone serving in the army, leaving families to take care of themselves in addition to watching over others such as the orphans and widows.  I thought about this in terms of our modern lives.  Some men are decidedly absent for similar reasons today, but more often than fighting in wars, the absent men are emotionally detached or have lost their faith or have demanding jobs or church callings that take them away from their families.  For myriad reasons, many households then and today are left in the care of the women who must necessarily carry these heavy loads on their own.  Even with men in the home, so many of my friends are working moms who have jobs and schoolwork besides needing to take care of the home and children.  These loads, in my mind, are every bit as heavy as those pulled by women years ago.

What I loved about these experiences was the reassurance I felt that we are never alone.  I loved the visual of the kids running to the rescue, noting what an impact good, helpful children can make in a family.  It wasn’t just the big sister or brother of the group either; all ages and sizes pulled together to encourage and strengthen their families—just as we see so many young people doing today.  We have friends who will come to our aid if we let them.  We have families and even angels to assist us.  And of course God and Christ will never desert us.

I know it’s been several weeks since we visited the sites of the pioneers, but the lessons I gleaned are still with me.  The loads we toted across the plains were heavy, our carts were laden down with the necessities for the day, just as so many of our loved ones’ and friends’ carts are today. But because I went, I’m more aware of those who are pushing alone.  Especially the seemingly strong ones. Because they rarely ask for help or look like they even need help; they’re always the ones serving others.  But I love how even my strong friends allowed others to carry them across the river and to help push their carts up the steep embankment. 

President Spencer W. Kimball taught this concept when he said: “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other.” Brothers and sisters, we each have a covenant responsibility to be sensitive to the needs of others and serve as the Savior did—to reach out, bless, and uplift those around us. (President Uchdorf)

So as we washed our pioneer clothes and stored them in totes on the top shelf in the garage, I refused to pack away these valuable insights and lessons I learned.  I hope we are all better people for having walked where these heroes walked.  I hope their trials weren’t in vain, that their lives and untimely deaths will etch themselves in our hearts, that we will continue to live our faith and help each other along the trail just as they did so courageously and generously.  And I hope we’ll never forget what it means to be a pioneer.

*    Story of Jens and Elsie Nielson

**  A depiction of the women's pull

***President Hinckley talks about these three young men

A healthy reminder

Maybe you’re good.  But every now and then I find myself in one of those funks.  And I don’t know if it’s in everyone’s circles, but it’s all over the place here.  Maybe it’s the age of the people I hang out with. Maybe it’s trendy. Maybe I read too much.  It just feels like everyone is being so careful, so engaged, so healthy.  They’re dieting and exercising, running marathons and those special (ninja?) courses, going to the gym at all hours of the day, no sugar, no bread.  All fit and looking good.

I majored in health.  I get being healthy, I’m totally on board.  We’re like most of you, it’s nothing new, it’s just habit, it’s the life we’ve lived for as long as I can remember.  I think I started paying attention to being healthy back in like 1988.  So I don’t get what the current health craze is all about.  I’m glad we’re addressing some of these issues and taking better care of our bodies, but it’s a little tough on me.  Am I jealous?

I think so.  I’m nearly 45.  I’ve had five kids.  I spend an hour or less working out every day.  I eat cookies.  Sometimes after lunch and dinner.  I don’t have a six pack.  But who would know?  And who would care?  I like to wear clothes that amply cover my belly and not stick to it.  I like jeans that suck in a little extra.  I don’t have big muscles.  And I haven’t run a race since high school.  So no, I’m not all that svelte.  And I don’t usually care.

But the past summer (maybe let’s be honest and say year), I’ve had a hard time.  Maybe it’s because my friends here and all over the internet have done awesome with their weight loss success stories. I haven’t lost 100 pounds, I’ve weighed the same since forever, and deep down I think I’d love a major transformation like them.  Maybe it’s because my wrinkles are becoming more prominent while others around me never seem to age a day.  Maybe because I’d been growing out my hair and everyone else is too but they look great in long hair.  Maybe because I’ve had to color it so much more often.  Maybe I’m in a rut.  Maybe this is what it feels like to be middle-aged.  I have no idea why I’d been feeling so blah.  I blame satan.

I know he knows me.  I’m not going to mess around with most serious things.  I’m not taking chances with the big stuff.  But he knows he can get to us by making us feel insecure about how we look, I think that tactic works with most everyone.  That he can get me to question myself and the decisions I’ve made, making me wonder if I’m missing the boat.  That he can make me sad about growing older and becoming more and more invisible.

So as I headed off to Education Week* with my mom and some friends last month, I had this question in the back of my mind and in my prayers.  Help me feel what’s real.  Help me re-focus on what You think beauty is and where I should put my efforts.  Like I’ve told you all before, I don’t think we necessarily have to be beautiful, we just need to feel it.  There’s a difference.  Models are definitively beautiful, but so are little twirling girls who think they are.   We can’t all subscribe to the arbitrary and changing standards of the world, but we can all feel beautiful.  It’s in our minds.  And in our eyes.  And in our hearts.

And I know that.  But I hadn’t been feeling it for a very long time.  I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been inundated with cultural cues for so long or because so many people around me are becoming more fit and more careful about their choices and finding results and looking better.  I just felt I had nothing more to give, I was doing the best I could with what I had to work with and with the philosophy I believe in and it was all I had.  I know what really matters, we all do. I could give a pep talk in my sleep to any teenaged girl about true beauty. I was just in a slump and needed a pep talk of my own.  From God.

So as I chose classes, I prayed. Because I wanted to feel something.  I wanted Heavenly Father to help me remember what I mean to Him and where I should spend my time and energy this fall.  

I couldn’t believe it when my questions were answered specifically and personally throughout the week.

I won’t go into all the details of all the classes I took, but speakers from a variety of topics touched my heart and confirmed to me that beauty is how we live our lives and that our most important successes are all about our relationships.  I couldn’t believe how such diverse classes would come back to teach me basically the same principle.  It was incredibly touching and I was overcome with gratitude.

One woman taught specifically about beauty and touched on the power of sensuality, which is what our culture teaches women to capitalize on.  It’s true, she said—and I completely agree, that there is power in looking and dressing sensual.  A woman will draw attention and be noticed and will gain the approval of others.  And that’s exciting to think of being that powerful.  But I don’t know that deep down that’s really what we’re looking for as women.  I think we also want respect.  And to make a difference in meaningful ways.

I loved the blog she referred to written by Pat Archbold called The Death of Pretty, 

I define pretty as a mutually enriching balanced combination of beauty and projected innocence.

Once upon a time, women wanted to project an innocence.  I am not idealizing another age and I have no illusions about the virtues of our grandparents, concupiscence being what it is.  But some things were different in the back then.  First and foremost, many beautiful women, whatever the state of their souls, still wished to project a public innocence and virtue.  And that combination of beauty and innocence is what I define as pretty.

By nature, generally when men see this combination in women it brings out their better qualities, their best in fact.  That special combination of beauty and innocence, the pretty inspires men to protect and defend it.

Young women today do not seem to aspire to pretty, they prefer to be regarded as hot. Hotness is something altogether different.  When women want to be hot instead of pretty, they must view themselves in a certain way and consequently men view them differently as well.

As I said, pretty inspires men’s nobler instincts to protect and defend.  Pretty is cherished. Hotness, on the other hand, is a commodity.  Its value is temporary and must be used.  It is a consumable.

But most of us know that’s not true beauty or power, even as we’re constantly pummeled with contrary ideas that make us question.  And so we talked about what is.  We all know women and have friends who radiate true beauty.  They are worthy of respect, they are confident because they aren’t seeking approval from others, but from God and themselves.  They are praiseworthy and virtuous and modest and they radiate light.  What I love about this power is that others can feel Christ’s love through us when we are this kind of person.

I knew, again, as I listened during the week, that this is the kind of person I wanted to be.  I felt this desire coursing through me the entire week, gaining momentum and strengthening my resolve to focus on what really matters.  Of course we all want to be attractive and to look our best.  And truly, I think we should put in the effort to do so.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with using makeup, with being fit and eating well; I’m actually completely impressed with my friends who are making such amazing strides.  (Like I admitted before, I honestly think I’m just jealous.)  But I believe our efforts should be not so we can use our bodies as power tools but as instruments to serve.

By the end of the week I felt empowered rather than uncertain.  All the lines satan had been feeding me vanished. I want shiny, sparkly eyes, not because I’ve mastered great make up techniques, but because I’m happy and confident and because they reflect love.  I was thrilled to hear this message over and over during the week when I was less distracted and more able to ascertain what was real.

So I’ve come back, interestingly, wanting to be just a little healthier like all my friends.  (Although you know I’m not nearly as hard-core; there’s no way I’m giving up See’s or malts or bread!)  At the same time, I feel strong remembering that beauty is deeper than my little fat rolls around my belly or my freckles that have morphed into age spots.  It’s more than a number on the scale or on the tags of my clothes.  I was reminded that I need to really believe in what true beauty is so I can live it for my daughters.  I feel kind of floaty, like the heaviness of thinking about all this has been lifted.  I feel renewed and purposeful, thrilled with my pep talk from God.

*What is Education Week?

The Moral Force of Women by Elder Christofferson