A Journey of Forgiveness

Today is about a topic I am coming to understand more than I ever have needed to understand before.

Forgiveness.

There is a man, a man who I cannot separate from the cause of my best friend's death. He ignored the signs for almost two years even when I drew them to his attention. He wasn't aware of simple information that was his job to know. He gave me false hope. He didn't show that he cared. He didn't wait for me to spend some time with Gar before he put the needles in that killed her. He took credit for good he didn't do. And, he didn't even ever apologize. How? I wondered, how can I forgive him for making it near impossible for Garcelle to survive her cancer? How? "Someday," I thought, "I will forgive him. But not now."

Sinner! Voices told me. You sinner! You have to forgive everyone no matter what they did, every time.

I know. But I couldn't. I didn't even know where to start. I couldn't even think about it yet.


1. So I hurt and I let myself hurt in little chunks here and there. Just enough to feel it. Not enough to let it overwhelm me... most of the time. I am learning that this was step one. Hurt. Recognize the hurt. This is part of forgiveness.

One of my favorite people spoke in my branch this Sunday and he spoke on forgiveness. He said that most people have trouble with forgiveness because they think that forgiveness means you are saying the deed done or pain caused is not a big deal. That everything is fine. But it's not. Then he said. "But forgiveness means the opposite. Forgiveness is BECAUSE it IS a big deal. It is a GREAT big deal. And forgiveness IS because the Atonement is bigger."

Sometimes the only way I can feel God close to me is by letting myself feel what I feel. While I try to hide, I cannot find Him. Duh. But when I LET myself hurt (giving it license to be real and okay, and only as much as I can handle) I find that He's been there hurting with me and He never left even when I left. So step one. To appreciate the atonement and the power of forgiveness in the first place, I have to validate just how big of a deal it really is.

2. I still hurt but I am okay to go to the next step. How can I forgive that man? He IS the one who is at fault. If it weren't for him... How can I just let him off the hook? If I'm going to attempt this feat of forgiveness myself, I need to study it:

Samuel 25. David helped Nabal with his sheep and his shepherds. Now he was in need of food and he sends messengers to Nabal asking for help. Nabal says "Who is David? Why should I care if he dies?" and he sends the messengers away. The messengers return and tell David. David is hurt and feels anger towards Nabal. He assembles his soldiers, the boys he was trying to save, and they set out to kill Nabal. One of the messengers tells Abigail, Nabal's wife, the plans to kill her husband. She, without telling Nabal at all, rides out on a donkey to meet David and the army of emotion and soldiers.  She arrives and throws herself down at David's feet and cries, "What Nabal did was wrong and cruel! But pretend it was me who did it instead! Put all your anger for him on me! Now... please forgive me..."

How could David not forgive an innocent soul?

Christ lays Himself at my feet. "What happened was not fair. What the doctor did was wrong and cruel. Pretend it was me who did it instead. I suffered for that sin. I suffered for his neglect, for your pain, for your loss and hurt. I IS ME who took that, it is no longer the doctor's. Put all your anger, your pain and blame on me! Now... please forgive me..."

How can I not forgive an innocent soul, my Savior?

I wonder if the doctor has ANY idea of just what His Savior is doing for him right now, falling at my feet, taking the blame for him. Does he have any clue? Will Christ ever even tell him? Then I think about me. Do I have ANY idea just how many times my Savior has fallen at the feet of someone I hurt and asked them to forgive Him in My behalf. And I go through life not ever knowing just how many times he falls at the feet of others, sorry for what I may do... hurting where I SHOULD hurt. Think of the gift forgiveness is now.

So While this doctor may not deserve to be forgiven. Neither do I. But forgiveness isn't about us anyway. Forgiveness is charity. Charity is Love of Christ. I forgive him because I Love Christ. Maybe then He'll teach me to see Himself in this doctor and I can begin to love the individual he is even if I never trust him again with my loved ones. Even if I never see him again.

I can only forgive THROUGH Christ.

3. But what about Gar, he can't bring her back.

A story from that talk on Sunday (thank you Pres. Welsh): There was a man who rented a house. In the contract, the Landlord agrees to take care of him. The man agrees to the rules of the house. Sometimes the man would mess up. He burned the cookies in the oven filling the house with smoke a time or two. A few times he got angry and punched a hole through the wall. He occasionally forgot to clean and the house got filthy, metal corroded, grime destroyed walls, corners. Spiders and ants invaded the home when he forgot to sweep up the crumbs.

Sometimes the Landlord would teach him how to fix the problems. Sometimes He would let the man figure out how to fix them. But he never charged him for the issues, although He did ask him to resolve the issues. Sometimes though, the man would wake up and find the problems fixed in miraculous ways.

The Landlord had a son though, and he was trouble and the man did not like him too much. The son would often pull pranks and call him names, cause all kinds of trouble. One day, the son, either from carelessness or as a prank, set fire to the shed. The shed got out of hand and the flames were too big to handle. The fire swallowed the house and everything in it.

 

 

The man, enraged went to the Landlord complaining of His son. The Landlord calmly wrapped the man in an embrace and let him weep and heard his cries of anger. He lost everything. Then the Landlord made the man a promise, a deal. "I am the Landlord. I promised that I would take care of you. I will help you clean and organize the remains of your house. I will help you rebuild and I will pay for it all on my son's behalf, for my son does not have sufficient funds to fix what he has done to you. I will give you MY house and all that I have. However, I ask a few things of you. This will all take some time, and I need you to be patient with me and with yourself and your circumstances now. They will not last forever, but it might take a long time. And, I need you to forgive my son."

The man was overwhelmed by the offer to receive the home and all that the Landlord had. He was also saddened at the thought of forgiving the son. He was unsure how to do it. "But, Lord, how can I forgive him. You may be able to give me a new home and new possessions, but what about the heirlooms, photographs, and other significant things? He can't bring those back, neither can you. They are gone forever."

The Landlord, understanding the loss the man must be feeling. "Son, I know it's hard to believe. I know you my not understand, but I can fix that too."

I live in a house owned by that same Landlord. My house was hit by a tornado winter semester. Lightning struck the house and I lost light and power, my foundation flooded and the house seemed to lean on the foundation of others, the glass on my windows are cracked and it is hard to see outside sometimes, and the Landlord's son killed my companion while I trusted him to take care of her and now it is lonely in the house.

Sometimes things happen to our house and there is nothing anyone could do. Sometimes we are the ones who break and destroy things in our house. Sometimes others hurt and destroy.

"Here's the cool thing... The Atonement covers all of it."

A dear friend of mine and I were discussing this topic of forgiveness last fall, before the tornado. He pointed out that forgiveness is a process, not an event. Some days are harder than others. Some days you will forgive the same man that tomorrow you will find harder to forgive for the same injury. It's a process we go through every time we are reminded of the pain. But, the process is a journey worth going on, every time that happens. I keep my end. Be patient, continue to follow the rules, and be patient... and keep forgiving... and keep being patient. Did I mention the patience thing? That's the toughy for me. Anyway, I keep my end...

And He'll keep His:

Like Dr. Adams said... This reunion will happen again... and it will be even better than this video... times, like, a bajillion...

 

A Mother's Heart

Just had to brag first before I dig in.

I'm writing this while I lay in a hammock with blankets in the dark under a tree... This is, for once, truly a day of rest.

Now I've gotta clean up all the confetti from the party before the Perkins get home tomorrow... ;) JK!


Also, It's mothers day.

I love my mom.

It's hard to be away from my mom. I miss her so much I didn't even want to go visit her mom today. That's awful, but it hurts too much and I didn't want to cry today. So I didn't. I wished grandma happy mother's day with Dad yesterday... I don't really want to dig into this one tonight, I'm too in-the-thick-of-it to write about it just yet.

Another thing on my mind concerning mothers:
While several of us were waiting in the surgery waiting room while Grandpa was having his quintuple bypass, there was a family next to ours. The family seemed to not get along. They sat in opposite corners and only came together to hear what the doctor had to say. It was a C-section procedure. While I was there, the doctor came in. It wasn't going very well. The baby was fine, but the mother wouldn't stop bleeding. She's 36. This is her sixth child. One lady began to sob and another girl, a sister about my age, was doing her best to keep from hyperventilating.

I went to her and just stood by her, not sure what she needed. Not sure if I could give her whatever it was that she needed. She looked at me and I asked if she wanted a hug. She did. I hugged her and told her we were praying for her sister.

Later we saw them in the ICU waiting room - the room I was in before I went in to tell my grandma goodbye when they turned the machines off. The room where I curled up in the corner and wouldn't let anyone but Anita and Merry touch me. That place. That is where I watched as that girl my age learned that her sister didn't make it.

Six kids. One newborn. No mommy.

I offered a hug. I ran to the bathroom where I locked myself in a stall and sobbed. That family is on my mind this mother's day.


Another thing on my mind:
My Dad left yesterday. He was worried about his dad, the one who is recovering from heart surgery. He was worried because He's already weak and sick of hospitals and needles and doctors and pain. And his wife, mother of five, died from complications of her heart surgery in the same hospital a little over two years ago. He had the doctor who was trained by my grandma's doctor. Some of the nurses were the same nurses grandma had. She's been on his mind. I'm sure a good chunk of him wishes he hadn't made it through the surgery. It hurts to think of that, but I think it's true. He was the most dedicated and patient husband I've ever seen.

I worry about grandpa, but I worry about my Dad on this Mother's Day more.
He wasn't there when she left this life. I was there. I held her left hand when the nurse pulled the plug on all the machines and the Doctor told us she was gone. She looked fake. She looked like her skin was barely more than a sac of fleshy liquids. The antiseptic they covered her in gave her a yellow and orange skin tone. Tubes came out of her mouth and they were coated in blood. Her tongue was sticking out. And yet, I believe it was the most peaceful I've ever seen her. But it was a peace of defeat and hopelessness that I saw. It was peace because the fight was over, not because it was won. I remember that look. The lines on her face that usually creased in anxiety and worry were gone. She didn't even look like herself at all. I barely recognized her.

I held her hand. I was the last of who was there to say goodbye except for grandpa. I remember looking at this women who was more often the butt of my jokes than the focus of my love. I remember hating myself for that. I thought about how I didn't really know her. I felt guilt that I didn't really want to know her. I was afraid of her anxiety and fear she felt on a regular basis. That, and that she told me that German Shepherds were killers and that I would be putting the world in danger to own one... ;) I remember thinking about how Uncle Deen was on his way, but my Dad was not yet. Everyone else was there. My dad was not. I then saw her not as I saw her, but as my Dad saw her. This was his mommy, problems, fears, plans, love, courage, and all. This was his mom who loved him more than I can say.

I told her that I always appreciated the way that she was loyal to her ideals and never budged for nothing. She had that deep southern stubbornness that was both a blessing and a curse to the rest of us. But then, I told her goodbye for my Daddy. That was harder than all the tubes, blood, tears, pain, fear, and loss. Seeing her through Daddy's eyes was the hardest thing I'd ever done because it made me hurt and feel the pain in ways I didn't have to and could have avoided. But I stood in his shoes for that minute so grandma could feel him there with her. After all, my Daddy lives in me.

Then when she was gone. It was then that I saw my Daddy through his mother's eyes. Overwhelming love for my Dad. A love I knew I had but had struggled to hold onto and claim very often before coming to college. We loved each other, of course. But we didn't really get along a lot of the time and I was afraid to get too close to him, to talk too honestly with him emotionally, or to reach out to him for help. But that experience, that was a Mother's love that healed all those feelings for me at that time. It was his mother's love that showed me and walked me through how to love my Dad in a deeper way than I ever had, and to commit to it.

Though I was not close to her, it was her love, the kind only a mother has, that taught me to reach out, to say the truth about how I feel, even if I wish I could fake it another way, to get close, even if it means I could lose more, and to see love and goodness and create it, not just demand it and complain about it's absence.


Another thing:
My pigeon died when her first egg got stuck and broke half in and half out. I lost her and the baby. The very same night Gar died. Happy Mother's Day, Meaber.


which leads me to  the last thing:
I was thinking about my girl. I was thinking about how she made me feel like a mommy at 13 years old. I fed her, watched her every second, dug gum and grass and leaves from her puppy mouth, fixed the chairs she chewed to pieces, took her out to potty over a million times and cleaned it up, memorized her special language so we never needed to speak to communicate (speaking with her was more of a gift than a necessity), cuddled with her, held and stayed up with her when she puked and didn't feel good at night, and learned how to clean it all up in the middle of the night so I wouldn't wake everyone else up, stood up to bullies at school for her, taught her how to swim and held her in the water because she would snort so much I worried how long she could tread water, tucked her in every morning before leaving for seminary, filled her bones with peanut butter to keep her busy for a while, watched her light up an old lady's face in a hospice, watched her give a little girl confidence and excitement in reading, watched a young man heal faster in the hospital because she trusted her silky head in his hands in a visit, and I loved her with a Mother's heart.

Mostly that was when she was a puppy and needed a mommy's constant attention and advisement. But Mom, when their grown, they don't stop needing you. I hope Gar never stopped needing me. She waited for me to get there and to hold her when she slipped away. She could have gone earlier, but she needed her mommy before she could go. I wasn't there for her first steps, but she wouldn't take her last without me holding her paws. We all still need a Mother's Love.

I still have dreams about her every other night. I still have a half moment of panic when I notice she's not beside me and I prepare to find out just what she's gotten into and what tasty treats she found. I still put chocolate chip cookies far away from the edge of the counter.  I still have to choke up the words "how's my girl?" when I talk to my mom on the phone. I still just stand there and stare at the mountains at Golden time, knowing she'd just stand there and watch it too, if she were here. I still talk to the moon with her. I still cry when I think about these things. I still Love her with a Mother's heart. I still miss her with a Mother's heart.

Whistle While You Work

Is it just me or is work getting more fun?

Or am I just learning to make work more fun?

Or am I really close to losing my job because I'm having more fun than any of my superiors ever intended?

Or are my supervisors really just so jealous...

In reviewing the week of work, these are my jobs I have performed so far and got paid for:

• Took a ride in a laundry cart full of mattress pads when no one was watching.
• Ate more maraschino cherries than I'd like to admit.
• Took a cherry to the mirror in the bathroom just to see if it worked as a lip stick.
• Drank a lot of water from the drinking fountain trying to wipe off the red cherry dye from my mouth. It didn't work.
• Ate Ice Cream that Meg's mom bought for us.
• Filled up water balloons with paint and water.
• Watched Kevin nail Emily in the head with one of those balloons.
• Watched as Tess tried to paint an ant blue because she wanted to see a blue ant.
• Gave the ant a shower when Tess accidentally drowned him in paint. 
• Witnessed Ben wearing a small pink RA safety vest.
• Found a brand new book in an empty apartment.
• Carried so many Women's Conference Keys that my pants fell down. (Luckily I was in the room alone. Building 3.)
• Dove into a giant pile of pillows and crossed that off my bucket list.
• Stayed hidden in the pile of pillows and jumped out to scare a co-worker.
• Sang at the top of my lungs all over Wyview and the Wilk hallways.
• Danced with my boss at the Wilk to Good Morning before getting my keys.
• Watched Stacy gag when I showed her how to plunge a toilet with a floater... (tee hee- yep, can even make that fun.)
• Rode a scooter down the ramps in the hallways of the Wilk.
• Used foamy metal-shine aerosol spray on the elevators like spray paint and tagged the elevators with cartoon dogs with speech bubbles welcoming patrons to the area before actually wiping them down and making them shiny.
• Made new friends: Stacy, Kaitlyn, Steven, Ruben, Louda, and Jay.
• Watched a wrecking ball and a giant tractor wire cutter take down the Law building/Wilk bridge.
• Searched the world over for benedryl for the EMTs for a new friend named James who accidentally ate peanuts and was allergic.
• Saved a green spider from the wrath of H2Orange.
• Rode the scooter for two hours in the garden court.
• Set up the tables and chairs for Elders Holland, Ballard, Oaks, and Nelson.
• Learned how to work the floor machine and did donuts in the ballroom so we could understand "what not to do" in training before we actually could be trusted to clean the floor. (supervisor approved.) :)
• Took an unexpected shower in the trash room when draining the floor machine. (I didn't realize how strong 30 gallons of soapy water is. I didn't realize it could unscrew the cap the rest of the way. I didn't realize how difficult it is to stop with one hand.)
• Helped a mommy duck and four ducklings cross the street by the Wilk.
• Saved the littlest one from a big ole hungry crow (who knew crows eat baby ducks?)
• Saved the ducklings from a storm grate and lifted them to safety.
• Got attacked by mommy duck when saving her little ones. (some day she will understand, but what a brave self-sacrificing mommy!)

So many good stories. I love my jobs. My jobs are fun. And maybe I'm just fun sometimes. I gotta make it fun! I swear, I'll never grow up. I promise.

Women's Conference: A "See" of Diamonds

So. Much. Estrogen.

I have plenty, thank you. :) It's Women's Conference time, and I have struggled yet again.

Mostly, this week I've been complaining. Complaining about Mormon Mom stereotypical culture. About Stereotypical relief society presidents. Peeved at the two-faceness. Outraged by the spiritual opportunities that are reduced to "girls night away from the kids."

Then, thanks to a conversation with Lura, it occurred to me. I am being two-faced. I am reducing their spiritual opportunities to "girls night out" and ignoring my own - reducing them to "a job." Wow, Jill. Really? So let's try this again, shall we?


Dear Women's Conference Ladies, as you enter the room to check in, I smile at you and welcome you. That is real. I say I'm glad to see you. That is true. I ask you where you are from and seem interested in your life and the people you brought with you. I AM interested, turns out that's true. May I also say that I may have appeared two-faced as I talked horribly about generalized  "women's conference ladies" today.

As you come in one by one, I see something special in you, something unique and I want to be the one to hand you the keys and offer you lime-aid and show you where to go, because I want to see you smile and I want you to like me. Because you could be someone I share a special moment with. I don't want to miss out on that. I already like you, I just have to convince you.. Sounds nice doesn't it? So where's all the bad mouthing coming from?

Here's what I have a problem with (emphasis on "I have a problem" - this is my perception, not necessarily the correct one), when you come in packs, it scares me and plays on my insecurities. As a pack, as an organization with a name and a purpose, invincible, and larger than yourselves, You (speaking to a non-existent generalized group-the one I've made up and am afraid of), You walk in on a mission, you are not interested in me as a person. You function for the organization and not for the people that make it up. You are here for the classes about love and relationships, but not for the love and relationships that are right in front of you right now giving you the key or map. I am the instrument to getting you on your way with what you paid for. My smile is no longer a gift, it's what you are entitled to. If I don't have one on my face after five hours of feeling silently rejected by your rushing, it is not seen as an opportunity for you to share yours; it is seen as a failure on my part. My inquiries about who you are are met with impatience and vagueness, your guard is up and you are in too much of a hurry to even think about letting it down an inch even if I show you that it's safe. You have your group of girls, and you don't have any openings in your circle, not for me. I, I don't have one of those circles. Part of me is jealous. Part of me is hurt. Part of me is repulsed and starts making defenses.

I suppose it is my heart, pleading for love anywhere I can get it, that is afraid of the things that CAN be seen with Women's Conference- the rush, the wanting of perfection, the "us" and "them" ness, the entitlement and instrumentalizing of relationships. So, here's the kicker: My heart is so scared and so guarded from these things that I beat them to it and do all those things I hate quite well.

I started rushing by the end, trying to get my co-workers be more efficient and get people in and out as fast as possible, assuming that they only wanted to be with me long enough to get what they wanted from me. I beat them to the punch, so I wouldn't get punched. Maybe I was right, and they wanted out fast. But maybe I was rushing so much that I missed someone important who needed me to slow down for them - that one person would have been worth a punch from someone else.

I started wanting perfection for them, which meant, inescapably, by definition, I had to pretend to be someone I wasn't. I had to pretend to be perfect. I suck at being perfect so I punched myself at my imperfection before anyone else could.

I immediately labeled them and stereotyped "them" and tried to find a "us" (staff) to belong to. I separated Us into them and us, so the ladies wouldn't have to. I excluded myself from them, so I wouldn't have to feel the sting that letting them do it would have done. Then even within the "us" of staff, I felt threatened and unsafe, so I separated staff into an "us" and "them" so they wouldn't do it in front of my face. There are some people I work with whom I feel will let me be one of "them", and others whom I am sure I could never be, so I pretend that I wouldn't want to be one of "them" anyway. I stereotype "them."

Later this afternoon, I decided to try something different. Because my beating "them" all to the punch(the conference ladies, and my co-workers) was becoming exhausting, lonely, and my heart-knuckles started bleeding. I took my guitar to campus in my favorite spot and sang my heart out to each person that walked by. I eliminated and us and them. I just saw our relationships when I looked into the eyes walking by. Some avoided eye contact - I'm used to it. That happens when you break the socially constructed code. Some stared right back at me and smiled as they walked past and I felt like I was good enough for us to be an "us" in a brief moment. No one else shared that moment, it was just "us" in that moment of eye contact and my heart soared.

Helen, a lady old enough to be my grandmother made her group stop. She walked over to me. she sat down on my bench. She told her group to go on, because they complained of needing to get somewhere. They left. She stayed. She prompted me to keep playing and singing. I did. I watched her closely. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth to my picking and singing. She smiled and took a deep breath in through her nose and out her wrinkled mouth. I finished the song and she asked me to keep picking a certain part that she really loved the sound of on my James (my guitar). While I picked, she told me some bits of wisdom that I needed to hear a women's conference lady say, so I knew that women's conference ladies are just like "us", not like "them", whoever "they" are...

"It takes some practice to slow down and become close to beauty, doesn't it? We are always so busy, rushing around, and we miss the reasons we are here. Just not long ago, I got up early with my grandson and we went for a walk and we saw the dew on the grass and the way the sun was coming up, it looked like a field of diamonds! I asked my grandson, 'doesn't that field look like a sea of diamonds?' He said to me, 'grandma, it IS a sea of diamonds!' It was so beautiful, and to him, in his own imagination, it WAS REALLY a sea of diamonds! Isn't that wonderful?"

Yes, Helen, it IS wonderful. Women's Conference is like walking by a field I only walk by once a year. It is covered in dew and if I could learn to slow down more often, like I did today, Women's conference could look like a sea of diamonds. And if I can believe it enough with a humble and creative mind, the women won't just look Like diamonds, I will see that they really ARE a "SEE" of diamonds. Diamonds like Helen. But it really is all up to me what I choose to SEE.