Faith
Different is good.
When I was a missionary in Taiwan twenty plus years ago, I had an a-ha moment of sorts one day. As I was stopped at an intersection while riding my bike, I heard someone shout the Chinese word for “foreigner”.
That’s what Taiwanese people often do when they notice a non-Asian.
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard someone shout out “foreigner” in reference to me. But it was the first time that I glanced around me, wondering who the heck they were talking about.
You see, I’d been living in Taiwan for 15 months at that point. I’d been living exclusively with native Taiwanese people for half of that time. I spoke the language fluently. My dreams were in Chinese. I’d even begun to acquire a taste for tofu.
For all intents and purposes, I thought I was Taiwanese.
It took me a moment to realize that the “foreigner” was, in fact, me. But the lesson I learned from that experience has stayed with me. I learned that we can become one with people who are different when we are immersed in their culture and truly work to understand and love them.
Racial tensions in the U.S. in recent weeks have upset me more than I can express. It saddens (and sickens) me to see how many lives have been adversely affected because of the color of one’s skin.
As people have shared their experiences with racism, I’ve been shocked. Not because I disbelieve their accounts of those experiences. Still, because I have never witnessed such things, I therefore find it unthinkable that they actually happen.
I think racism has sort of always existed in a bubble to me. When you don’t deal with something on a daily basis, it’s easy to develop a naïveté concerning it. I currently live in a racially homogenous place in comparison to many of the places in which I lived in my earlier years. And in ALL of those places, I was fortunate to associate with mostly compassionate people so it would be difficult to imagine them as perpetrators of racism.
The trouble with living in a bubble is that the assumptions you adopt regarding the inherent goodness of people can inhibit a motivation to fight for those who are marginalized.
Aside from living life as a person of color, the best way to develop a desire to advocate for them is through empathy. And empathy is much easier to achieve when one knows someone personally who has been a target of racism. And despite knowing many people of color throughout the course of my life, I am ashamed to say that I haven’t taken the time to really contemplate what life must be like for them.
Maybe it’s because they never felt safe expressing such sentiments to me. Maybe it just never came up. Maybe, because I cared for them and never really viewed the color of their skin as an impediment, I failed to acknowledge that others might.
I don’t beat myself up too much about it. Because my fundamental belief that we are all children of a loving Heavenly Father has guided the way I treat others.
Still, the events in our world have stirred in me a desire to do better. To ask more questions. To not take for granted the opportunities life has afforded me simply due to the color of my skin. To open my eyes to the plight so many individuals face and try harder to mourn with them. And to ease their burden in any way I can.
I’m not quite sure how to do this yet.
But I know who does know what I can do. He (Jesus Christ) is also the one who will right all wrongs in the end. And although I trust in His ability to do so, it is still my charge to emulate Him and to do my best in this life to advocate for those who cannot do so for themselves.
I Will Be Valiant – Let’s March Again!
The song I Will Be Valiant is just one of several we are preparing for our Primary Program in September. How well do you think you know it?
Remember the marching game we played a few weeks ago? Well, we changed it up a little bit for you and are anxious to see how you do! Play the video below to sing and march along:
This one’s different. Let’s see how you keep up:
Mother’s Day Primary Songs How well do YOU know them?
Well, we didn’t get to practice and sing a song in sacrament meeting for our mothers this year. But that doesn’t mean we can’t review a few songs to remind us how much we love our moms, right?
Here are a few songs that you may have sung during your years in Primary. Let’s see how well you remember them by playing the games below. It’s simple: listen to each phrase and guess the missing word (or words). Then click to see if you’re right!
1. Mother Dear
2. Mother, I Love You
3. I Often Go Walking
How did you do? Either way, go hug your mom and tell her you love her. Heaven knows she sure loves you!
Let us all press on.
Incorporating church music into our family culture.
When I was a young girl, my parents decided it was high time we kids began to learn some church hymns. Though I can’t recall the methodology, I do remember that it involved lots of repetition. Consequently, by the time I was five or six, I had learned all three verses to the hymn Let Us All Press On. That stirring song holds a sweet spot in my heart to this day.
Fast forward twenty or so years to when Tim and I were raising our young family. During sacrament meeting, Tim would thoughtfully hold up the hymnbook to give me a chance to read the lyrics as we sang each congregational hymn. Except that nine times out of ten, I politely let him know that I didn’t need him to. Having practiced hymns with regularity as a child negated the use of a hymnbook because I’d memorized a majority of them.
Thanks mom and dad.
Music is such a huge part of our worship in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that it’s not difficult to imagine its importance to the Lord.
My earliest memories of feeling the Spirit are directly tied to my experiences singing Primary songs and hymns both in my home and at church. For that very reason, I have worked diligently to ensure that my kids are given those same testimony-building opportunities.
Now that our church worship has temporarily shifted from meeting as a congregation on the Sabbath to gathering as families or individuals in our homes, how do we maintain the benefits of worshipful music? Without our organists, our conductors, the special musical numbers and the energetic Primary choristers, how do we keep the music alive?
It doesn’t take much, honestly. We don’t have to scour Pinterest for amazing ways to teach primary songs (although, as a Primary chorister there are some pretty incredible ones out there and it never hurts to borrow someone else’s awesome idea).
Here are a few simple ways to incorporate music into your home-centered church routine:
- As I mentioned above, repetition is key. When my girls were little, we labeled one of the “tasks” on our family home evening chart “music”. The person who is in charge of the music picks a song to learn that week. Each night after scripture study and before our family prayer, we sing the chosen song…every night until the next family home evening when it’s someone else’s turn to pick the song. After singing the same song 6 times, you can bet we’ve learned it pretty well. (And are darn-ready to start singing a different one, not to mention.)
- You might be familiar with Music and the Spoken Word. It broadcasts every Sunday at 9:30 a.m. Mountain Time. I can’t boast that our family reverently sits down to listen to this broadcast every Sunday, but I can attest that it plays at some point in our house every Sunday. Although the Tabernacle Choir sings a variety of tunes from Broadway classics to Mendelssohn, my favorites are the tender arrangements of primary songs and latter-day hymns set to slideshows of beautiful scenery. The inspirational message is always a winner, too.
- Did you know that just about every single Primary lesson in Come Follow Me for Primary includes a song? If you are using this awesome resource to prepare Sunday lessons for your children at home, feel free to incorporate the suggested song(s). It is easy to do, ties into the lesson, and might even be one of the songs our ward Primary is preparing for the program in September.
- Do any of your children play an instrument or like to sing? Find an arrangement of a hymn or primary song (at their level) and help them work to learn it. Then have them provide the “special musical number” in your family’s sacrament meeting one Sunday. When kids know they will be performing something, even it’s just for your family, they will feel accountable to learn it. As they learn it, it becomes a part of them.
As a side note, as a Primary chorister, I have invited several families in our ward to record themselves singing a chosen Primary song during the past month in which we have not had regular church meetings. Then, I used the videos to make a single mashup video(Here’s an example). I got great feedback from many families who participated, indicating that learning the song was such a positive experience for their children. Added-bonus: at least a few children will know each song we are preparing for our Primary program really well. Hopefully the rest of the kids will pick them up quickly when we resume our regular meeting schedule. Hopefully.
Another great resource for using music to teach the gospel can be found in the Come Follow Me Manual for Primary Choristers. Easy ideas for teaching music effectively to children can be found there.
There you have it. A few simple ideas to incorporate music into your home-centered church (and your family culture, when thinking more broadly).
What are some ways you use music in your religious worship at home?
Beauty is only skin-deep?
As I’ve begun to age more visibly in recent years, it has forced me to contemplate the value of beauty.
I’ve always prided myself on not really caring much about my appearance. It’s not as though I do NOTHING to accentuate the positives in my appearance, but I do very little.
At least in comparison to many of my peers. I don’t color my hair, I only get it cut about once every 4-6 months, in fact. My makeup routine takes about 5 minutes tops. Some days I don’t even bother putting it on. As for clothes, I’m pretty sure I’m still wearing my faves from 5-10 years ago so clearly vanity is not much of an issue for me.
I’ve been unable to justify the cost of beauty, and I can’t seem to explain away spending a decent chunk of time enhancing it. Until recently.
In my musings, I have come to realize that beauty, like anything else, is a gift. Much like brains, or money, or talent. Possessing any number of these gifts only becomes a problem when it is self-serving or when one prioritizes it above the most important things in life.
Even God never said money is not the root of evil but that the love of money is the root of all evil. Can’t the same be said for any talent or gift? Beauty in and of itself does not corrupt, but the love of it certainly can.
Take the story of Esther in the Old Testament, for example. The king favored her. Why? Well, among other things she was beautiful. Did she use that beauty to influence? Yes she did. Was it self-serving? No, it wasn’t. She gained favor in the kings sight and later combined it with courage to save her people.
God also says in 1 Samuel 16:7 that “man looketh on the outward appearance but the Lord looketh on the heart”. So wouldn’t beauty be a distraction from what really matters? It can be. I mean, if someone blessed with a gorgeous exterior uses it to manipulate others or sell unsavory web content it is most certainly the antithesis of what God would want. And that it how it is with all blessings we receive from Him.
Take riches, for instance. The Book of Mormon prophet Jacob tells us “but before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God.” He goes on. “And after ye have obtained a hope in Christ ye shall obtain riches, if ye seek them; and ye will seek them for the intent to do good- to clothe the naked and to feed the hungry, and to liberate the captive, and administer relief to the sick and the afflicted.”
Does God care about riches? Nope. Does he want us to care about riches? Nope. But if we acquire them in this life, is he pleased when we use them to do good? Darn-tootin’ absolutely.
Think of Bill and Melinda Gates. Certainly he is more pleased with their intent to bless the lives of others through their foundation than with those whose riches bear the stain of human trafficking or illegal drug sales.
Back to beauty though. God cares little about our appearance. He wants us to know that we are all precious in his sight, despite our various circumstances in mortal life. However, to enhance one’s physical appearance is not particularly worthy of disdain. Our intentions determine how we will be judged.
So I’ll quit rolling my eyes at my friends who sell beauty on online platforms. Because they also bear frequent testimony of God and his goodness. They are examples of faith and family. They use their beauty to influence others to be good and do good. And why shouldn’t they?
Hope for spring.
Jack and I picked a crisp day to plop ourselves down on the ground in the front yard and plant some hyacinths for early spring. I could sense his confusion when he discovered that “planting flowers” really meant digging holes, inserting a bulb bearing no resemblance to a flower, and then covering it once again with dirt.
“Where are the flowers, mom?” He’d ask. “We have to wait until the snow melts,” I replied, realizing that he failed to process such a seemingly interminable delay of gratification.
Planting bulbs is something I’ve done for years. Daffodils and hyacinths remain my favorites. Daffodils, for their bright cheery color and hyacinths for their delectable fragrance. Both for their early burst through the soil, sometimes even before the snow has melted.
After a dark winter, I need every sign of life I can get.
In my seasonal affective disorder I muddle through the winter, seizing upon every 40 plus degree moment of sun.
I shovel the driveway after each snowfall, grateful for the chance to get my heart rate moving and to enjoy the silence and awe of freshly fallen snow.
I bake rolls and cookies, infusing our home with warmth and an open invitation for friends to join us.
I drag myself out of bed each morning long before the sun rises to shuttle kids to and from school and activities. I retire long after the sun has gone to bed, feeling spent from a long day of fulfilling obligations and drudgery.
Then I wait.
There are days I sit back and wonder, much like Jack after planting bulbs, at the point of it all. Will the hyacinths ever make an appearance?
Indeed, winter is not my favorite, though there are bright spots to be found.
I saw a quote on Facebook recently that inspired me to reframe my relationship with winter. It read, “If you choose not to find joy in the snow, you will have less joy in your life but still the same amount of snow.”
In my life, this quote might read, “If you choose not to find joy in the teenagers, you will have less joy in your life but still the same amount of teenagers.”
You see, teenagers resemble for me that hyacinth bulb in winter. I cultivated a spot for each one, inserted them with their pointy ends toward the sun, then covered and watered them to ensure the best possible outcome.
Likewise, I find myself shaking my head constantly as I endure the winter of raising teenagers.
I hold my tongue, hoping that the lessons of years gone by managed to sink in. That the ground I have worked so diligently to cultivate provides an adequate environment for the beautiful bulb to thrive.
Then I wait.
I muddle through the years where each interaction is on their terms, where contributions in the home are regarded as optional, where adversarial relationships abound when standards are upheld.
I enjoy the moments of laughter when happy moods happen to collide in a universe of hormones. I eat up the chance to connect when they take me up on my offer to read to them as we did in younger years. I wake up bright and early to make breakfast and dabble in conversation as each daughter walks out the door, one by one. I buy and make mountains of food to keep them happy when they invite friends over. But mostly I stay out of the way.
Indeed the efforts are staggering and the payout seems minimal.
But much like the hyacinth, the growth beneath the surface cannot be underestimated. And spring is on its way.
Truly, the instant gratification of planting annuals barely scratches the surface of the joy one feels when that first hyacinth breaks through after a long, cold winter.
And then another. And another. Within weeks my garden is bursting with color and sweetness fills the air. A gentle reminder that efforts made long ago and endurance in between were well worth it.
Winter can feel like an eternity. But spring always comes. And hope will see us through.
Toddlers and Teenagers.
I stepped out of church this morning with my three-year-old. We were knee-deep in a power struggle and the volume had escalated enough to warrant a cool-down session in the foyer.
I sat down in a chair and calmly explained to Jack that if he could sit on my lap quietly for two minutes, we could return to the chapel to sit with our family.
He wasn’t having it. We ended up outside the building to minimize witnesses to the tantrum that was unfolding. Quickly.
On my way out, a friend remarked, “Be strong, mama. I was there once.” I laughed out loud, thinking to myself. Yeah, me too.
In fact, I’ve been there for 16 years (almost without interruption), my dear. She was trying to be supportive, and I appreciated the gesture. But I couldn’t help but find the humor in a mom who is two years younger than me reminding me to “be strong”.
You see, this toddler thing. I’ve got it down. Sure, I was inconvenienced that I was missing my 14-year-old’s talk because the 3-year-old thought it would be a good time for a meltdown.
But I was calm. Collected. Just biding my time until the kid decided being inside the chapel was better than being outside. Which he did within minutes. And I was barely ruffled.
Yep, I’ve done toddlers five times over and while I don’t claim to be an expert, I’m wise enough to not lose my head over an ordinary tantrum. There’ll be another one tomorrow, after all.
It’s the teenager thing that’s got my head spinning.
Boy, oh boy.
If you ever wanted to feel like a fish out of water, try raising a teenager. Or two or three.
Raising teenagers means that sometimes you feel like a human punching bag.
Other days you’re left scratching your head at the idiocy of these creatures who sure look like adults (and think they’re adults) but are anything but.
Some of them are master manipulators, appealing to the side of you that wants to be the nice guy by saying, “everyone else’s parents let them do this. Or that.”. It’s the oldest teenage trick in the book but it still hurts.
They keep you up late at night, then claim to be too tired to go to school the next morning. They eat you out of house and home, expect you to run them to and from multiple activities almost every day of the week.
Teenagers possess an uncanny tunnel vision that persuades them that everyone else in the world is tuned into their every failure or moment of awkwardness. While failing to consider that others feel the exact same way.
Teens bite the hand that feeds them and place a higher value on the opinions of pretty much everyone they don’t call mom or dad.
It can be brutal.
I have friends who LOVE raising teenagers. (At least that’s what they say on their social media accounts, so I suspect it’s partly for show). Or they’re just remarkably gifted in ways that it would seem I am not.
And while I adore my teenagers I can’t say I have wrapped my head around how to shape them into the amazing humans they can become. I can barely come up for air right now.
The other day Lily (one of my teenagers, who was a very “spirited” toddler and preschooler) remarked that she felt sorry for me for how difficult they (meaning she and her sisters) were as little kids. She doesn’t know how I did it.
Neither can I. But here’s the thing. Difficult children become difficult teenagers. And they’re much bigger. And less open to suggestion (and threats, for that matter).
And yet, just like the tiny babies I cradled lovingly as infants, they are full of greatness. In fact, they’re closer to it than ever before.
I sometimes feel like the little blue engine in The Little Engine that Could when she says:
“I’m not really big. I’ve never even been over the mountain. But, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”
Actually, I’m not always convinced I can. And though I would go back to having unruly preschoolers in a heartbeat, I don’t exactly have a choice. So I guess I’ll just plow through in my inadequacy until I get over this mountain.
See you on the other side.