Women of Righteousness - Our Role in the Work of Salvation

         I’m not good at taking notes at conferences or Spiritual meetings.  I get so caught up in trying to get the exact quote or comment or whatever that I end up missing on so much more.

Last night there was a Relief Society stake activity called “Women of Righteousness” featuring artist Megan Rieker.  I didn’t think the event well advertised  - at least in our ward.  I honestly didn’t know what to expect.

Turned out to be a truly eventful night.  And I learned things – not just about the artist paintings but discoveries within the past as well as my own self.

I’d taken an art appreciation class several years ago in order to appreciate fine art more than I do.  It backfired.  I often rolled my eyes when learning about contrast and balance and was more unappreciative about the entire fine art world long before the class was over. I started looking at paintings and wore less-than-flattering expressions.  I didn’t have an eye for art before I took the class.  I still don’t.  I appreciate hearing about it almost as much as I love algebra – though I do understand the concept of art a lot better than any mathematical terms. 

The paintings themselves weren’t as appealing to me as the stories behind them or choosing the model or the prayer involved.

The first painting she showed us was of Ester.  While explaining it, she shared a quote from one of James E. Faust talks taken from the October 1995 priesthood session of conference. (Interesting that it was from Priesthood)

“The Lord has a great work for each of us to do. You may wonder how this can be. You may feel that there is nothing special or superior about you or your ability.”

As I was following along with her reading, I thought, “You’ve got that right.  Nothing special about my talents that I would be called to be the enrichment leader.  That is crazy.”

“The Lord can do remarkable miracles with a person of ordinary ability who is humble, faithful, and diligent in serving the Lord and seeks to improve himself.”

Well, I’ve got two out of three.   I’m definitely not humble.  Not even close.  Though I feel I may be closer than to where I was 10 – 25 years ago.  Is that why I’ve been called to this position?  So I can humble myself?  There’s an interesting thought.

         I hadn’t actually noticed too many sisters from my ward.  It was during the Ester painting when Joni came in and sat down next to me.  She had gone to the wrong building.  

         Our stake center is actually the smallest stake center I have ever seen – smaller than any of the ward houses.  It doesn’t have a font for baptisms.  That is in another building we refer to as “the south building” Most stake activities are held at the south building rather than the stake building – but that’s beside the point.

         Joni made a few comments throughout Megan’s discourse.  I really didn’t mind.  It’s usually me that is making remarks.  I did not share what thoughts were already in my head.

The next painting was the one that appeared on the card that was handed out to each sister as she walked through the door.  Megan kept referring to it as “The Five Wise” but the flip side of the card says, “The Hour Draws Nigh”

She talked about the work that went into this piece that had taken over two years to create.  She took photographic pictures to illustrate the steps that she took.

Meanwhile Sally DeFord (along with Valarie Olson) was creating a musical piece called “The Painter’s Hand” and was looking for illustrations to go along with it.   Megan then showed us this video

At the conclusion she expressed though the steps may have been important to the video, she didn’t feel like the entire painting itself actually related.  But I think it does. 

Five wise virgins waiting for the master who can make a masterpiece of all of them if they but will it.  The painting expresses that they do.  They are just five of his masterpieces.

          Megan then moved onto a painting which had the name of the pioneer woman, and she read from her journal (the women’s) but I for the life of me cannot find the name of the woman.  It started with a J.  You can read a passage of her journal entry at this site along with other illustrations of Megan’s beautiful work.

         No, I’m not trying to promote her work.  I never even heard of Megan Rieker until last night. There are more to view than what I saw last night, and if the reader would like to know what they look like, I've chosen a link option.
 

         I suppose the painting that touched me the most was the last one that she showed.  It wasn’t framed as she had just barely finished. (reader can find the steps on Megan Rieker's facebook page) It wasn’t even the painting itself as what I had learned or had been reminded of.

         The painting was/is of two girls on a rocky path.  One is holding onto the iron rod and reaching her hand out towards the other. 

         When someone mentions “Strait and Narrow” I always think of “straight”.  I supposed most of us do.  But Megan shared the definition of “being difficult” – which made sense. Why wouldn’t it be difficult?

          Her painting actually reminded me of the pioneers’ struggles as their path was most often difficult – climbing over rocks and boulders, enduring wintery snows and cold and such.  I had never thought of it that way before, but I suppose they had their own metaphorical iron rod.  And it wasn’t an easy grasp for many of them.

         I sat next to a sister from another ward that shares our building.  The geographical boundaries in this stake are NOT on a grid.  They are broken up and very weird in my opinion.  Some of their ward boundaries overlap into our ward boundaries.  Several of their ward members are sandwiched between our ward members.  Strange.  I personally think the stake boundaries ought to be redone.  But that is just my opinion.  I don’t have (nor will ever have) the authority to change them.

         I realize that changing the boundaries would upset the membership a little bit – but in time it would be worth the change and finding new friends.  Often Mormons are so caught up in going to meetings and such that they overlook social opportunities.  We get caught up in a routine and robotic moves that we often don’t notice “the forest for the trees”

I’d never met this particular sister before, but she actually lives closer to me than the few members I did see from my own ward.  I asked Sister Gustar if she would take me home. She has put herself in a position of playing chauffeur and nobody else seemed to mind. I actually live closer to her house than the other two from her ward that she dropped off at their homes. I have often walked by her house without even having known it.

         Overall, it was a really worthwhile night.  I not only saw "women of inspiration" through the paintings.  I have met many as well. 

Umbrella: To Take or Not To Take

Jenna told Roland that I wanted

an umbrella for Mothers’ Day.

It is a Beautiful Umbrella

and big enough for both me and Jenna.

I could have used it two days before Mothers’ Day

but have not had a need for it since.

The sun has been beating down on the earth. 

But there has been a cool breeze that

 makes it all bearable.

The sun is playing hide-and-go-seek

as the clouds pass over

when I look out my back window

the sky tells me that I will need an umbrella

when I leave the house to go get Jenna.

When I look out the front window,

the sun laughs at me and tells me

it will pound down

and make my palms sweat

as I hold my umbrella

and that it will be a burden to carry.

I end up putting my purple umbrella in my back pack –

just in case. 

I never needed it.  
Not for rain anyway.
I did attempt using it as a shield 
to block out the sun - only a short time though 
as I was afraid the wind would blow the spokes 
inside-out.

I did wear my windbreaker though.

This weather is crazy.

The wind is making me physically ill.

kfralc

                           
                                                                                

Morning Observations

            Most mornings seem to be routine for me.  I make sure that Jenna is dressed and has breakfast before we leave the house to catch the bus.  I take the bus with her because she doesn’t have the confidence in herself to ride it alone – and truthfully I think I would feel neurotic not knowing if she actually got off the bus or made it to school, etc.

            I walk her to the grounds behind the school and turn around to head back to the bus stop on the other side of the main road.  Occasionally I will take the train somewhere – like the post office or the library.  Usually I just return home except for the one day I went out to see Kayla – which I need to do again.

Jenna always wants to play verbal games as we’re riding the bus.  This morning she asked if I would come up with sentences in English that she could translate into Spanish.  We missed our stop as a result.

No worries.  Three stops after that one is another we can use.  And so that is the way we went this morning.  I returned in the direction of the missed bus stop as there is no cross at the one where we got off. 

On my way to the stop, I saw a duck with feathers sticking out from his beak.  “How odd,” I thought. 

 

1.                             I have never seen a duck on that particular street – even when the puddles bubbled over like rivers and lakes – which have long evaporated.

2.                             Why would he have feathers in his beak?  Is he a cannibal?

3.                             He looks like he’s out of a sci-fi movie – the duck version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  The feather incident happened during the moments when he was Mr. Hyde but now he’s Dr. Jekyll and seems confused by his surroundings.

Of course he’s confused.  I’m confused.  Why is this duck in this neighborhood?  Where does he swim?  Why does this duck look so dazed?

It wouldn’t have mattered which bus stop I had walked to.  I didn’t bother crossing the street.  Though I was headed north, I took the train south as it was headed towards the train station.  Today I actually took it all the way downtown.

The driver seemed somewhat ornery – well compared to the first time I’d ridden with him.  He decided to single me out and make me his friend.  He stopped the bus and announced he was taking a bathroom break but he’d be back.  

He asked me if I was 25.  I don’t know if he was just trying to butter me up, or if he needs glasses or if he just didn’t know.  I mean I do look younger than 52 – but I don’t think 25 plus years younger.  Granted, I did have my hair in pigtails in order to keep the mass amount off my neck, and I did have sunglasses on.  

 

           The driver said he has a son who is 27.  Oh, I would think that would be a let down to his son or even my own boys to think that I might be younger than them.  But I suppose I was flattered that he said I looked that young.

My cousin Michelle is teaching an art class.  I have considered enrolling Jenna, but I wasn’t certain how to get there on the bus and/or train.  I typed the information in the UTA site this morning – normally if there isn’t a stop anywhere of the vicinity of typed address, UTA will give me directions to walk 5-8 blocks to the stop or from stop to destination.  It refused to recognize the address I had typed in.  What the flip? 

UTA isn’t always accurate about commuting advice.  Usually once I have figured out the name of the route I need or have used said transportation, I can figure it out on my own.  My way is most often better than whatever UTA suggests.  There is a street and a building between the TRAX station and the building that I am looking for!  They seriously couldn’t figure that out?!?  Why, because it’s too convenient? I was a bit miffed at the stupidity on their part.

 

On the return, as I waited for a transfer bus, I saw a bunch of kids, maybe junior high age.  The girls were all taller than the boys.  They were on a field trip of some sort.  They all wore tie-dyed tees.  I wonder if they were passed out and worn over whatever shirts they already had on as the colors in the t-shirts really didn’t go with many of the shorts I saw – red/blue tie-dye and brown/green plaid shorts.  Not flattering.

            When I got back off the train and walked to the bus stop, it was the same driver who’d taken me to the station in the first place.  He seemed much happier and friendly after he had relieved himself.

            So that is my day thus far.  Probably not worth making a post over.  Oh, well.

too short of a break

I was planning on hanging laundry today – two loads at least.  I looked outside to discover I have only two lines – and certainly more than two lines worth of clothes. 

If it was mid –summer, two lines might be enough.  As I have mentioned in at least one other post, by the time I finish hanging the laundry in the blazing heat, they are ready to take back down.

But today there is a cool breeze which is nice against the blazing heat.  Blazing?  Summer hasn’t officially started.  Do I dare say the sun is blazing when I know the heat from the sun right now is nothing compared to what it will become.

Our washing machine needs to be cleaned.  I can smell it.  If I can smell it, it must be pretty bad.  I couldn’t smell the dog when everybody else was commenting on his stink.  I didn’t know. 

I took him into the front yard and hosed him down and used a dog shampoo.  I remember when I could smell, there was   one product that I didn’t care for.  I honestly thought it smelled worse than the dog stink.  But right now I can’t smell either way.  I’ve been told that the dog does smell better.  I just have to take everyone’s word for it.

Busy Day ahead of me.  Guess this break is over.  Woe is me.

Riding Utah Transit Authority

From my childhood, I remember seeing and hearing trains.  I remember being excited whenever a train would pass on the road and we would have to stop and wait for it.  My brother, Patrick, and I would often count how many cars were on each train.  My parents didn’t seem to be as excited whenever the arms of the railroad came down. A child’s perspective is so much different than that of an adult.

 Mostly what we saw were cargo trains.  There were few encounters with passenger trains.   My grandma who lived in San Francisco would sometimes take the train.  We would go to pick her up downtown at the train station.  
 

 Patrick and I had also ridden on a train from Utah to Colorado.   We’d gone with my mom and my other grandma. I thought that it was exciting!  Especially going through tunnels.  And there were some LOOONNNGGG tunnels. 

As I got older, I don’t recall having seen or heard trains much anymore – and I don’t think it’s because I tuned them out.  I think, after a while, the trains didn’t run through our county like they used to. Salt Lake saw a lot of dead railroads. At least that’s my opinion.

It appears to me that UTA decided to make good use of the existing rails and add to them and build another form of transportation in addition to the bus.  The Blue Line train was up and running in 1999.  The public was given the opportunity to ride the new form of transportation for free.  Lines were long – but it was somewhat thrilling to be able to ride the train just to see where it went.  But we were allowed to go in only one direction.  Once we reached the end of the line, we either had to get back in line for the return or find another way.

 

I remember how crowded it was during the Christmas season.  All of the seats were full.  People were standing in the isles and hanging on.  The state street buses became deserted.  I remember my sister, Kayla and I had taken the train downtown, but decided we would bus it back as the train was so crowded.  I counted a total of five passengers the entire way from downtown to our street.  I don’t think it took any longer than the train did as I think the bus had only stopped twice between where Kayla and I had got on to the time we had gotten off.  I almost preferred the bus.

 

When we walked through the doors of the blue line train (though I don’t remember it being called blue line at the time) we had to walk up some stairs to get to the seats.  Ramps were located at each stop for the passengers in wheelchairs.  They would have to go to the top of the ramp to be let into the bus and avoid the stairs. 

TRAX didn't exist before Corey left for his mission.  I don't know how long it had been up and running before he returned.  I remember we were headed toward Patrick and Sunny's house.  Corey was driving when the arms came down.

"Oh, great!" he commented.
"It's not that bad." I replied. "The train is only two or three cars long.  It's not a big deal." Not like the cargo trains my dad had waited for.

It wasn’t until ten years later that the green line and red line were up and running.

Red Line goes from Daybreak – a point in South Jordan – to the University of Utah (which part was built in 2001 – but just from downtown at that time) and the Green Line (the one I use most) goes from West Valley to the Airport (Salt Lake International) and the Blue line is now extended out to Draper.

I take the train on occasion.  Mostly I’ve gone on the red line or green line, but on occasion have switched to the blue line (that is the one I needed when mom was still living in Midvale; I’ve also used the blue line to get to Sunny’s house and the post office) but have gotten quite spoiled with the other two lines as they don’t require ramps or stairs.  You walk in and sit down.  There is a ramp that folds out for those that need it.  I prefer not having to walk up the stairs to get to my seat.

I was told that on Saturdays the trains with the stairs are not used – that even the blue line passengers have the opportunity of using the trains that don’t require ramps and are all one level. 

I now prefer the train to the bus, but the train still does not go everywhere that the bus does.  But transportation in Utah has definitely improved over what it used to be.  And I am becoming more familiar with making connections and finding my way around.  I’m grateful to the improvements that have been made and continue.

UTA is offering a summer pass for the youth between 5 and 17.  Wish they had one for adults. Jenna has the option of using the front runner from what I understand.  I personally have never used it.  And I don’t know when we’ll get around to it.  I plan to spend the majority of our summer commuting to my sister’s house.  Kayla is expecting her third child in August.  It’s been a hard pregnancy for her and trying to keep her other two (almost four and two) in addition to pregnancy sickness IN SUMMER is a challenge and I would like to help ease some of that if I’m able.

Tonight UTA is sponsoring a bike bonanza which Jenna would like to attend.  As of now, I don't know if we'll be going or not.

Transformation

Biff has always kept his body in great shape inside and out.  I wish I could say the same for his room.  I don’t have a picture of how it looked before I started cleaning.   

These pictures truly represent half-way done.  

Anyone who has been in Biff’s room can tell you that this is the cleanest it has looked from the day we moved in.

Actually it was clean one other time.  I took a picture for evidence.  But somehow I have misplaced that evidence.  Doesn’t matter.  I told Jenna that when David moved out, she could move into his room.  Not that her room looks any better

I had eight garbage bags FULL of Biff’s stuff (clothes mostly) I think three or four full of garbage.   

And four loads of towels.  FOUR LOADS.  This is a fraction of what I washed   

  

Jenna’s room was fine when we moved in four and a half years ago.  She was smaller then. Still in kindergarten.  We painted her room pink.  You’d think she would have learned to clean so it wouldn’t have crowded her out  

We’ll probably repaint it as it is going to be our computer/book room.  What will we do with all the extra space?

Jenna now likes the color blue.  We let her pick out her own paint color.

Once it was finished, we had purchased new curtains (well, new for her) and the decals she had received from Randy and Carrie for Christmas

Moved in most of her furniture  but also Biff’s old bed and dresser

She continues to add her personal touches

Though not all of her belongings have left the pink room, she has spent the last two nights in the blue room - her room which will NEVER EVER look like the first three photos on this post.

Perhaps It’s Just Easier to Honor than to Be Honored

          As a child, my perspective of Mothers’ Day was certainly different than it is now.  Mothers’ Day meant going to the store with dad to pick out a gift to give to mom.  Mothers’ Day meant singing to my mom on Sunday.  Mothers’ Day meant going to Grandma’s – often seeing my cousins.  Mothers’ Day meant more than just hot dogs for dinner – though from a child’s point of view that may have been the more satisfactory dinner.

I don’t know how my mom felt about Mothers’ Day.  I think that she enjoyed being honored.  Did she feel honored?  My mom, overall, was a positive person.  I don’t remember when she wasn’t smiling or showed gratitude on Mothers’ Day.  I know she enjoyed being a mother.  And she enjoyed visits from the grandchildren on Mothers’ Day.

Peggy, who lived across the street, loathed Mothers’ Day – or so that seemed to be what was projected.  She was the first person I knew who had a hang-up with what Mothers’ Day was . . . or had become.  I didn’t get it as a child, but as I got older, I also joined in the cynicism. 

Not every Mothers’ Day was a reminder that, “hey, you are single.  You have never dated a guy.  You may very well be motherless throughout all eternity”  but sometimes I thought it was very cool that I was given a chocolate bar or other gift without having to go through labor or wiping noses and such.

I remember Peggy once gave a talk one Mothers’ Day.  She briefly shared her feelings about the holiday and turned her talk into honoring not just mothers but women and “motherly actions” from those who were not mothers in a biological sense.  She used her own daughter as an example.  Though still in grammar school, she had the ability to show a nurturing side.  She took care of an injured bird – despite her brothers’ constant teasing.

There are many who have or are mothers in an estranged relationship.  Just yesterday morning I had read on face book that one of my friends refused to attend Church on Mothers’ Day because of a glorified limelight that often seems to take place over the pulpit but not in her personal life – not even close.  Mothers’ Day can be depressing for many.

I wasn’t in the greatest of moods yesterday.  My back was hurting enough to force me out of bed.  My allergies have come in contact with something that’s bothering.  I don’t know what though.  The past four or five days have been cold and wet and often windy.  I don’t know if that is what is contributing.

I miss my own mom.  I see pictures that my sibs have posted of themselves at mom’s last mothers day or from her funeral.  I am not in any of them.  I was watching Bill’s two when he was taking pictures at the assisted living the week before Mothers’ Day.  Roland and I had left her the cemetery before Bill started taking pictures.  That would mean he’s not in any of the photographs either.

And as I have written in this post, I don’t especially feel worthy of being honored as the expectations I had for myself haven’t quite worked out to my satisfaction.  I wanted to be more like my mom and not the uptight person I have become.  I wanted to have the love and respect that I had shown my own mother.  I’m not saying my own children don’t respect me – but often I don’t feel as though I am.  Then again I suppose it’s possible that my own mother felt the same way. 

I’m thinking that Peggy might have felt the same way that I do.  And yet she has created such a wonderful legacy.  She wasn’t just a mother to her boys – but me and my brother as well.  Or so that’s how I saw it.  I had one biological mother but countless others who had mothered me.  She just happened to be one of them.

I really appreciated the speakers’ words yesterday.  They truly brought in the Spirit as they spoke about women and roles and motherhood that reach beyond those that bear the title “mother”

The first speaker started out her talk recounting the beginning of the Young Women’s theme.  I think that was what she read.  Or reference in a handbook that I just can’t seem to find. The statement was relating the women’s position as a daughter of Heavenly Father.

She asked us to consider six movies: The Wizard of Oz, Star Wars, Despicable Me, Superman, Jungle Book and Spiderman and I can think of a few others she didn’t mention, like Tarzan for instance.  What do all of these shows have in common?  The main characters were raised by “other mothers” who could still care for and nurture without haven given birth.  Though she honored her own mother and mother-in-law, her talk seemed to focus mostly around these “other mothers” which really impressed me.  I think my facebook friend would have found comfort in her talk.

The second speaker continued with the “other mother” theme and praised women and their sense of being and the diversity between men and women and though they may never truly understand one another, there is a greatness in being a woman or knowing women for he has learned a lot from all the women in his life and is grateful for what he has learned and continues to learn from each of them – not just his mother or wife.

I miss my mom so much.  But it was a nice send off really.  I look at my daughter-in-law, Rochelle, who lost her mom only two months after she and Tony were married.  They were living in Texas when her mother passed away in Utah.  She had such a great mom.  All of my daughters do.

And then there’s this story that may put a scar on so many who knew this women, particularly her children who lost their mother so close to Mothers’ Day.  What a painful memory.  Makes my last post about segregating Mothers’ Day seem so ignorant.

I don’t remember the weather so cold on Mothers’ Day as it was for us yesterday.  The sun is shining now, but the air is cold still. 

Two of my boys stopped by and we played games.  That was the highlight of Mothers’ Day.  Playing games with my family.

No FRY in Friday - Yesterday was WET and Cold

          I don’t know why I didn’t notice that Jenna didn’t have a hat on when we left the house.  It was drizzling.  I did have an umbrella.  But we hadn’t used it before we got on the bus.  We did when we got off. 

Wet rain fell upon the umbrella that somewhat shielded us both.  I was willing to walk her to the front doors of the school, as I knew she would be allowed in the building yesterday.  But she didn’t want to go inside.  I asked her if she would like my hat.  She said no at first but then changed her mind.  So did I.  I kept the hat and let her keep the umbrella.

It was a gamble on my part.  Last year her umbrella got stepped on and broke.  She lost my green one that I let her use.  We both got umbrellas at the beginning of this school year.  The wind tore the fabric from one of my spokes.  She misplaced hers.  We used my purple one today – despite the uncovered spoke.

I came home soaked.  Well, my hat and sweatshirt were.  When it came time to return for Jenna, both hat and sweatshirt were still wet with moisture.  I kept the hat but traded sweatshirt and pulled my long coat from its hook.

I had to let Highness out – just long enough to go to the bathroom and then I’d let him back in.  Unfortunately a back gate had been left open.  It took less than a minute for him to discover and disappear.  I couldn’t afford to look for him.  I needed to walk to the bus stop.

That was rather traumatic.  For the thunder clapped too close to the lightening flashes.  And then sky  hailed.  Frozen rain pelted at my face each time I tried to search for the bus.  I could use that umbrella now.  Highness would be getting pelted, too.  Perhaps he’d return home before we did.

    My coat was drenched as well as the bottom of my pants which are light blue, but appeared to be periwinkle below the knee where the rain and hail were biting me.  I don’t know why I kept my hands in my pocket – well, because I didn’t have gloves.  But I think the wet pockets made my hands seem even more ice cold.  The cold moisture also pierced into my shoes and made my feet wet.  But I didn’t have time to return and change my shoes.  If I missed the bus I would have to wait for the next one and school would let out before I arrived.

  

After I got off the bus, I walked up the street and passed several puddles lakes and rivers that hadn’t been there that morning.  As I made my way nearer the school, the rain eased up a bit.  I walked all the way to where her class is located and stood outside under the shelter of the brick eaves.

 She did have a hat on her head as she exited the building, but had her jacket around her waist.  Really?  We walked a few steps before she hurried to catch up with Noreen.  Her umbrella was a lot larger than mine.  They walked down the field and parted ways and then Jenna ran ahead to be with some other friends.

As we were headed up the driveway, Highness followed from behind.  At first I did not recognize that it was him.  He had a stick board in his mouth. He was even willing to play fetch.  He has NEVER been playful from the moment we got him.  I think the weather must have made him delirious or something.