"Ondine" Likened

Back in July, I shared a dilemma I had between the new way I was mentoring in piano and the old reasons that were the only way I really knew for using my own piano skills.  I felt in need of a destination to journey toward. I shared here how witnessing a cellist's performance had reminded me of a purpose for music that became the seed of what led to this post and others that will follow (as I've decided to do this again with new pieces). 

I wrote:

"An idea keeps nudging me.  A destination I could give myself. . . Choose a piece. Set a date. Post it here. . . Ravel's Ondine. . . I'll record it without demanding perfection, but communication. I'll post it pretending that those who listen, do so not to put me down or prop me up on a pedestal, but to 'meet' and 'communicate' together."

And so, I chose September 25th to post the recording.  It's been quite the journey from July to now.  I will hold my tongue and not go into analyzing, apologizing or giving excuses as I'm tempted to do. That was the point of this experiment after all!

Instead, a quick word about the piece for those unfamiliar with it, or those unfamiliar with translating music into their . . . "native tongue."

Ondine is a piece I've wanted to play for years. I find that I am drawn to pieces that depict water, and pieces that have a relational element.  This has both and I find it very fulfilling to play and easy to find messages of truth in. It is by Maurice Ravel, written in 1908 and based on a poem by Aloysius Bertrand. You can google and find any number of explanations about this piece or the poem it's based on (and I suggest you do, like this one I found on someone's blog).

Here, though, I'm going to stick to the theme of this blog and share a smidgen of how I've likened this music to my own life (you can find the link to the recording at the end of the post). The way I play the piece might not be acceptable to other pianists, they might think I am not true to the way Ravel wanted it played.  That is partly intentional.  There are plenty of recordings that are "true to Ravel."  I believe the notes and rhythms composers organize have potential to say things to individuals that the composer never planned.  This happens when we share things in the written word as well, right?  For instance, did those that recorded the events in the scriptures know how many thousands or millions of different ways future readers would apply them to their specific lives? No. I believe there is a lot of untapped potential for communication in music. Yes, learn the "right way" to play the piece, but then experiment and ponder how the notes speak to you and if that means a different tempo, different dynamics or the stretching of a phrase that "shouldn't be" stretched - why not? The composers are usually long gone. If it doesn't mean anything to you, it won't mean much to others.  Maybe this is a reason behind classical music interest waning and popular music thriving? Well . . . I'm going off topic now. Back to "Ondine."

Somehow, what goes on in my mind (when I'm not hyper aware trying to record the piece and can lose myself more fully in that stream of sounds - the irony, right?) loosely combines the original water sprite idea of the poem with . . . well . . . caterpillars and the Garden of Eden.  Pretty strange, right?  I had three pages written up about triads and cool patterns I'd found and their symbolism, and a bedtime story version of what I'm thinking when I play, but I decided that would be the fire-hose approach. Instead,  I've whittled it down to three little "translation clues" you might find helpful (with a bit of what to listen for and minute cues) and then I'll set you free to try and decipher if those clues fit what you visualize in your mind as you listen and what it all might mean to you.  Remember - this is an exercise in communication through music! Not a "ta-da!" performance. Forget the person playing (and all their mistakes) and enjoy likening it to your life.

"Translation Clues"

#1. The motif that begins when the left hand first plays I think of as the seeking, searching voice.  You'll notice the same descending two notes often throughout the piece. In my mind, each time, it is a new question, a new search for truth. If the voice was speaking with words, what would it say to you?

#2. The constant motion throughout the piece (beginning with the right hand) is that watery, immortal element. Ondine in the poem was an immortal water sprite (fairy) and tried to persuade the mortal man to marry her. I picture the immortal element more as energies and oppositions we might face in life that can lead (if we navigate with God's help and grace) to an ever increasing knowledge of good and evil; a continuing process of being recreated, or reborn - just as the fruit in the Garden of Eden began such a journey for Adam and Eve.

#3. Instar =  The name for a stage of a larva's life. Each time it molts, it beings a new instar. A larva will generally pass through five instars before it makes a chrysalis or cocoon and becomes a moth or butterfly. I hear the main melody voice (in clue #1) going through a journey in this piece that includes:

•  Moments of curiosity, wonder, and discovery (minutes 00:00 - 02:05)

•  Moments of vulnerability and confusion (2:05-2:47)

• Times of deep seeking (notice the conversation between the low and high voices 2:47-3:32)

• Anxiety, fear, anguish (3:33 -4:38)

• Seeking relief, a prayer offered three times (4:39 - 5:00)

• A moment of cleansing, nourishing, and reassurance (5:00-5:43)

• A point where it is possible to look back. The past begins to take on the look of Isaiah 61:3 (5:44-6:09)

• The choice to view the journey through the lens of faith now brings a moment of gratitude and inspiration from a still, small voice (6:09 - 6:38)

• Perhaps the darker energy that has been so constant in the journey now sees all its efforts only played into the hand of goodness and Light. It reveals its true nature in a sudden tantrum (reminds me of Moses 1:21-22), is washed away, and finally dissipates and fades (6:39 - 7:20).

Click here for the youtube link: Ondine

Many thanks to Steve Phillips (www.fullfidelitystudio.com) and Adam (videography, AKA Mr. Golden) for their help in this little project of mine.

A Blanket of Words

Words come off pages, or screens, or through ear buds as I go about my day.  I've been so thirsty this week, but what I have sipped each day has not quenched my thirst.  I begin to think an I.V. is necessary. So I keep connecting to the Source: while in the car, while cleaning, while reading to my kids, while watching with my kids. The watery words of Light float together in my mind.  They turn into threads. I stop and weave them here on the page - it's a blanket of guidance and comfort for the day. 

...And if my heart and flesh are weak

To bear an untried pain,

The bruised reed He will not break,

But strengthen and sustain.

~ "The Eternal Goodness" by John Greenleaf Whittier

 

Today, I choose to believe in the enabling power of God's grace. To believe I am not alone. That God knows me. I choose to do all I know how to invite that strength to sustain me. 

"The call to faith is a summons to engage the heart, to attune it to resonate in sympathy with principles and values and ideals that we devoutly hope are true and which we have reasonable but not certain grounds for believing to be true. There must be grounds for doubt as well as belief, in order to render the choice more truly a choice, and therefore the more deliberate, and laden with personal vulnerability and investment. An overwhelming preponderance of evidence on either side would make our choice as meaningless as would a loaded gun pointed at our heads. The option to believe must appear on one's personal horizon like the fruit of paradise, perched precariously between sets of demands held in dynamic tension. . . What we choose to embrace, to be responsive to, is the purest reflection of who we are and what we love. . . The call to faith, in this light, is not some test of a coy god, waiting to see if we "get it right." It is the only summons, issued under the only conditions, which can allow us fully to reveal who we are, what we most love, and what we most devoutly desire. Without constraint, without any form of mental compulsion, the act of belief becomes the freest possible projection of what resides in our hearts." (The God Who Weeps, by Terryl and Fiona Givens, p. 4-5)

What am I choosing to believe?  About myself? About others? About God? What do my choices reveal? 

Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness!

This is the state of man: today he puts forth

The tender leaves of hope, tomorrow blossoms,

And bears his blushing honors thick upon him;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;

And - when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 

His greatness is a-ripening - nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

This many summers in a sea of glory,

But far beyond my depth; my high blown pride

At length broke under me, and now has left me,

Weary . . . to the mercy of a rude stream.

~ Wosley's Farewell to His Greatness, From Henry VIII attributed to John Fletcher

I have ventured beyond my depth.  My high blown pride has broke under me. How does it go? The answers you seek are tied to the person you are?

Question: “In the book you talk about that ultimately the gift of charity possesses us, we don’t posses it.  How do we know if charity is possessing us and how do you, being an apostle, notice as a quorum that you collectively are possessed of charity?”

Elder Bednar’s Answer: “You’ll have to listen carefully to this answer, okay?  It will strike a little abruptly given the nature of your question.  I really believe it’s not like I have it or I don’t.  It’s a matter of increasingly being possessed of charity.  The more we have it, the more we quit wondering if we have it.  We get in a mode of, “I want to get this!” And I would suggest that the very mode of “I want to get this” gets in the way of us getting it. So, that’s a turn to the Savior because we’re trying to get it, but there’s a little bit of looking back, which is the “I want this.”

 . . . A spiritual gift like charity is bestowed upon us when God trusts us to be a tool in his hands through whom a blessing can be delivered to somebody else.  You get charity when God can deliver the associated blessings of that to somebody else.  I don’t think we can ever get those [spiritual gifts] because we want them.  The more we get out of the way, the more it can be brought to us.”   (Transcription from Act in Doctrine DVD by David A. Bednar)

Can I ever be trusted? Can I ever be an instrument well-tuned and in working order, flexible, playable to the will of God? It is a daily struggle. But...

"Were you to receive inspired guidance just for the asking, you would become weak and ever more dependent on Him. He knows that essential personal growth will come as you struggle to learn how to be led by the Spirit. That struggle will develop your immortal character as you perfect your capacity to identify His will in your life through the whisperings of the Holy Ghost. . . Personal communication with God through the Holy Spirit is a reality.  To me it is as literally real as life itself and far more precious than all of the treasures of the earth. . . 

Satan tries to blur reality and confuse you by tempting you to incorporate false principles into your life. Father in Heaven can clarify your life by sharing correct principles through the Holy Ghost. How you exercise your moral agency will determine which of these two influences will be predominant in your life." (Finding Peace, Happiness, and Joy by Richard G. Scott, pg. 38-39)

The threads circle back. "What we choose to embrace, to be responsive to, is the purest reflection of who we are and what we love."  

“Let me see if I can put two or three things together.  The character of Christ turns out instead of in. Putting off the natural man and becoming a saint by the power of the atonement and with the increased capacity that comes through the enabling power of the atonement, we make a turn away from self and to God. . . we use our agency to make that turn and we initiate the turn by using our agency to accept the terms and conditions of covenants that God has established.  We don’t set the terms and conditions of a covenant, God does. Whenever we accept the terms and conditions of a covenant, we not only exercise our agency, but we expend it. That doesn't mean you lose it. It means it changes.  In a very significant way. 

I’ve always been bothered by baptized members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who use agency as the justification to sin. “I have my agency and I’m just not going to pay my tithing.” That to me indicates that they do not understand the relationship between agency and covenants.

Now consider the sequence of the three elements of the baptismal covenant: First, willingness to take upon ourselves the name of Christ. Second, always remember Him. Third, keep the commandments.  Sequence is instructive.

As we exercise our agency to accept the baptismal covenant, it’s no longer about me anymore, it’s about Him. And the statement, “Well, I have my agency, I’m not going to pay my tithing.” Is about me.  That’s not who we are anymore. Before entering into the covenant, agency operated at an individual level.  Kind of like a free agent in sports, you could negotiate with any team you want.

But whenever you accepted the covenant, exercised your agency, were baptized by immersion for the remission of sins, and received the gift of the Holy Ghost by someone who had the authority, you are no longer your own agent.  Now you’re His. And your agency becomes representative of Him, not just, “What I want.” Willingness to take upon ourselves the name of Christ, always remember Him, because He comes first. It’s not about what I want after I’m baptized. And keep the commandments so that I can be worthy to have his Spirit, which not only blesses me, but more importantly it helps me to represent Him.

So to say after having been baptized: “I have my agency and I choose not to do this” which is a commandment or in keeping with the covenants - is not an option.  Now that may be too strongly stated.  People will say, “Well, I still have my agency, I don’t have to do it.” No.  It is now a repudiation of the responsibility to represent Him.  That’s called breaking a covenant. And that’s a big difference than just the individual exercise of agency.

The character of Christ is what? Turning out. Natural man, natural woman turns in.  What’s each covenant? Baptism, priesthood, temple - each covenant is a continuation of turning out.  Not my will, but thy will be done.  We can never say that the way the Savior did, because we are not called upon to do what he did, but we are to emulate him and his character which is to turn out instead of in.  Not my will, but thy will. Agency and covenants.  I think we talk about these things as little separate topics. So we give a fifty minute lesson on agency and a few weeks later we give one on covenants.  The power comes when they are tied together and we see how exercising agency to accept God’s terms and conditions of a covenant are linked.  As all things are gathered together in one, that’s where the power comes.  In learning understanding and living the doctrine of Christ.  And most importantly, acting in it.”  (Transcription from Act in Doctrine DVD by David A. Bednar)

I had it wrong in Beyond Walls. This is the present moment. And the present thing to do? Find the Presence within by turning outward. Again. Every present moment.  It's not about me.  I have made covenants. It's not about what I want.  He comes first. And how does he use his agency? 

"God chooses to love us. And if love means responsibility, sacrifice, vulnerability, then God's decision to love us is the most stupendously sublime moment in the history of time. He chooses to love even at, necessarily at, the price of vulnerability. . . His freely made choice to inaugurate and sustain costly loving relationships is the very core of His divine identity." (The God Who Weeps, by Terryl and Fiona Givens, p. 24)

FAIR Review & Missionary Work

Two links I'd like to share this morning:

1. There is a book being widely shared in my community called "Visions of Glory" by John Pontius.  If you have read the book or are considering it,  I HIGHLY encourage you to read this FAIR review found at this link.

2. A friend of mine made this great youtube video I'd love to help spread: Kids Say the Funniest Things About Missionary Work


Lastly, I'll leave you with a quote from a young man I love dearly.  To me, he is my little brother. My family would tend him during the day when I was growing up.  Then I taught him piano for many years and we grew even closer.  Now he is in the Mexico MTC - it's been a long way from the 4 month old I used to hold in my arms.  So.  A quote from my little brother missionary:

"While faith in Christ is important, sometimes we need to find the faith He has in us." Elder Taggert Butler

Words that Move Me - Blemishes

Exercise in humility - adult acne. 

Something Forgotten, Remembered

Today I put on my "piano mentor" hat and soaked in the light of beaming pianists who came to me for a nudge here, a reassurance there, a clarification, a truth about the instrument or their pieces that makes the fingers and tones work in harmony.

They come as often as they want, pay as they go, schedule only one lesson at a time - I'm a piano salon. They choose their goals, make commitments, follow-through, love it or leave it.

It's a way I discovered after following a nudge: close the studio.

We'd just lost half our income in real estate investments that failed. We'd sold our "dream home" and began renting the home I grew up in. Now I was going to take away a 1/3 of what was left? It was a leap of faith, but the assurance was so strong it didn't take much courage. Adam felt just as strongly to support the change.

As I pondered the feeling, a song my kids loved from a Narnia movie echoed in my head "I'll come back when you call me, no need to say goodbye." I began writing a letter to my studio explaining the change and the "piano salon" details I described earlier flowed onto the page. I was closing my life to a traditional style of teaching and opening a new door. It wouldn't be a job, it would be a service I received payment for, but I had to let go of relying on any income from it. Many said goodbye, some stayed and adjusted - isn't Kate always changing things anyway?  Some that said goodbye came back later. New students call every month lately.  "This is exactly what I've been searching for." I hear so often.

Miraculously, Adam was nudged in his own direction with Day Violins so that we always had enough to pay the bills. Pay them on time even. We never declared bankruptcy. Four years later we don't need the money I make mentoring piano students. It's money for gifts and holidays.

Little by little I have expanded with each nudge.  Now I teach one and a half days a week.  I see some students once a week, others every two, some once a month or a few times a year.  Ages 9 - 70. They all follow their own nudges and I facilitate, I love them, we love each other. It's not a job, it's a service. The music is a tool, not a wall-hanging, or a check-list.  I'm not a piano god passing out judgement. I'm a mentor, a guide. They have their agency and I love them into making choices that have purpose and point in the direction they want to travel. No recitals. They put on home concerts for family and a few friends if they want.

I can honestly say that every one of my students has a love for learning the piano and every single one leaves each lesson feeling uplifted and encouraged and able to progress. They love the journey and have hope in their destination - each unique.

So the most surprising thing is that I don't love my own music journey; don't feel I know my destination. For months now, practicing my own skills at the piano brings more depression than joy. I can't find what I'm practicing for. Performing most often leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth and a pulling inside myself for the rest of the day.  Not because I "mess up."  It's applause and compliments that bring the dark cloud. How ungrateful I am. In changing my studio, it has changed me.  I no longer practice for the same reasons.  I no longer play for the same reasons, but audiences usually listen for the "old" reasons.

I love mentoring the beautiful souls that come to me, but as time goes on, I feel more and more like a hypocrite.  It's about the journey, not the destination they say. Yet how to journey without a destination? After all my searching and all the answers I've found, I only have more questions - what is music for, for me? Shall I just keep instructing others to use a language and value a language that I speak less and less - except to teach others to speak it? That's the problem: viewing music as a language.  If my purpose were to entertain or impress I would be happy - that purpose is easy to fulfill in the current culture.

But I want to communicate. And too often the response is comparable to listening to someone speak in a language foreign to you - you appreciate the beauty or the speed or the lilt, the unique blending of tones.  And you might understand a few words here or there, but there is no real comprehension.  No communication enough to move or inspire or teach. Just awe or envy. Adulation or judgment.

My thoughts spiral down dark alleys: We compete with each other or we perform to impress or we entertain by numbing the mind or blurring it with fast fingers. We don't exchange thought. We are not left better for it. We speak a language that fewer and fewer can express original thought in.  We just memorize and say what another long ago has said and try to say it better then someone else.  We have no fluency to speak our own thoughts - including me. Money or pride are the main motivations we learn the language.

Some musical moments pull me out of my hole.  Glimmers of light. Like, a few weeks ago I was hired to accompany a cello studio recital.  These kinds of moments I still find joy in - when I'm playing with others or helping others to play. In that way, it is the same as mentoring my piano friends. They are moments that are too few in my life.  The smiles and the gratitude and compliments from those experiences are beautiful to my ears - I've used the language of music to enrich a life, to create beauty that the one complimenting drank in with me.  We communicated.  Like a part of an interesting Joni Mitchell interview my mom had me watch the other day. Around minute fifty-four I almost cried aloud, "Yes! She's described it!":

"If you listen to that music and you see me, you're not getting anything out of that music.  If you listen to the music and you see yourself, it will probably make you cry and you'll learn something about yourself and now you're getting something out of it. . . those are the people, you know - my communication is complete. . . but its such an intimate art form and I'm doing so much of it that all the attention is going to me. Which is insane from my point of view. It's like, you're not going to get anything out of it if you look at me. . . When somebody pays me the few compliments that I've really enjoyed . . . they humble me. They're heartwarming because a real connection has been made. We have met.  I've put out a signal and this person has picked it up, right?  And we're meeting like this [on the same plane], it's not like they've got me on a pedestal or they're looking down on me because I'm not their favorite or whatever. We meet.  And so, that's a communication." 

That's why the ensemble playing appeals to me.  We meet - we communicate together.  Too often, piano is a lonely instrument. I start learning guitar, violin - maybe that will help? More opportunities to communicate together? Yet, that same night of the cello recital I was reminded there can be real communication in solo work, too.  The teacher took a moment before the final group number to share a selection - a prelude from a Bach cello suite. As I listened, I found myself wiping away a stream of tears.  It has been a long time since I've cried at a concert.

Bach on the cello! What a combination!  I've decided it is such a human instrument - a sound like the voice of a soul. And in that moment at the recital, such a sound was combined with Bach's "words." The result is a feeling of worship. Of purity. And something else...

The tones wrap around the fibers of the player, then spiral outward and intertwine with mine.  We are now listening with our souls, not our minds.  We are wrapped together in a moment of solemn beauty.  There is something familiar about the emotions that are touched and coaxed to the surface. Truth. A premortal knowing. I can't translate the message into words. That would kill it.

This I know. The cello and the music are dead things with no life in them of their own.  They are inanimate objects that must be brought to life. Too often, these objects are paraded like marionette dolls on a stage with blank expressions. But in that moment that night - the tones were brought to life using a cello. The performer melted into the background, eyes closed, a mirror turned outward. We saw our souls reflected - the eternal part of us. We were reminded of that eternal identity - the temporal and the fallen is forgotten for a moment.

I realize, I have had too many experiences as the person "on the stage," or as an audience to "puppet performances." This moment reminds me what it can be like.  A deeper "what is it for?" answer is discovered that begins to point me in a direction I feel I can journey to.

As I say goodbyes at the cello recital, a little boy comes to me with a shy smile and holds out a rose. "Here. This is for you." I don't even know him - one of many in a group piece I accompanied I guess.  From a child, any compliment is beautiful and pure. I'm soft from the Bach experience.  The gesture humbles me.

A rose. Symbol of beauty. Color of the love of God. It reflects that. Can I? Can I untangle the musical knots that lie within me? Can I share with others and not analyze the moment to death for hours afterward?

An idea keeps nudging me.  A destination I could give myself. A way to share and not have to know the audience response. Choose a piece. Set a date. Post it here. Comments are turned off. I can just play "with the window open."  Maybe that is the place to start?

Okay. September 25th.  Ravel's Ondine. It's a piece that tells a story of a water sprite. It will feel more like communicating that way. The sounds paint a picture of things not in the real world. I like that. I learned half of it before I hit bottom walking down my dark alleys of thought.  Back when I practiced for the purpose of inspiring my children to play and it was enough.

I'll record it without demanding perfection, but communication. I'll post it pretending that those who listen, do so not to put me down or prop me up on a pedestal, but to "meet" and "communicate" together.  Maybe it won't work.  But maybe, just maybe it can be the therapy I need - the baby steps - to one day share with greater power like the cellist.  Maybe one day I can lose myself and stop judging.  Maybe I can learn somehow to turn the mirror outward and reflect and remind myself and those who "meet" with me of things eternal. 

I'll commit.  Like my students.  September 25th. Hold me to it.

(Update: "Ondine" listening guide and recording)

Summer Sparks

    This Summer's fiction find has become a drink of light each day. So much sincerity and strength in the writing. So much pure beauty.  It flows from my scripture reading and back without the feel of a key change.

     I mention it to my hairdresser yesterday while he clips and snips at my bangs. We connect with books. I'm so passionate in my one sentence description of the experience reading this book, he wants to borrow mine when I'm done. But then he glances at the cover. Not impressed. "Really?"  Yeah. Don't judge a book by its cover - there's gold inside this one.

    Maybe that's how it's been around for 16 years without spreading like fire? Or that's it's published by a small Catholic company? I don't know. I'm underlining passages often, going back each time I sit down to read those favorites, wanting to soak deeper the gems I've already discovered before mining more. My mom and dad are reading it together - they tell me it never stops amazing you.

    A conversation with my son makes me come back to this simple, yet profound passage in it...

 (Ireland early 20th century)  

"Daddo, it seems to me that we're after thinking sad things much of the time."  His father gave him a look.

    "That may be so, but tell me why you think it."
    "I'm thinking that the world's a lovely place, and maybe we're looking at it through a smoked glass. Like when the chimney on the lamp is smudged with soot."
    "Arra, but you're a bright old lad, like your mother's, father's father. You resemble him too."
    He gave the boy an affectionate thump on the arm.
    "The world is lovely, Stiofain. But it's full of shadows too. Beyond this island there are places where the angels still fiercely make war, and the outcome of the battle is not known."
    ...But the sun on the hills was too sweet and brash for such thoughts.
    "I see only light, Daddo."
    "Then I fear for you, my son. For a man who sees only light will stumble over the things that lie in shadows."
    "Then does a man who looks only at shadows not also stumble, for lack of seeing light?"
    "Arra, but you're a wise child!" he laughed.

 ~ Strangers and Sojourners, by Michael D. O'Brien, pgs. 91-92

    Wise words from a young boy. It's not fiction - the fact that young boys can blow you away with their conversations. I think of recent conversations with my Naynay (Nathan).   It's becoming a habit that I relish: he experiences truth and runs to me - spilling the light into my ears and eyes as I listen to him comprehend, understand, apply. A few weeks ago it was,
    "Mom!  I don't know what it is, but I feel SOOOOO happy right now!  I don't feel so tired and I just want to help people and yeah. It's just so amazing!  I feel so good!" No. My son is eight and very sheltered.  This was not an artificial high :).

    Today, he's just ended a conversation with my mother on the phone. He calls my parents all the time for these chats that sometimes go on for twenty minutes or more.  (Is there anything sweeter then seeing your children connect with and be nourished by your parents? Witnessing them fill in the holes that you cannot?  Those octagons and hexagons you see in your children when all you seem to have are triangles and squares?)

   My mom has pulled from him a conversation we had two nights ago at bedtime while reading scriptures that went something like . . .

  . . . a question I can't even remember.  I answered it and it led to another question, "Is that why you write then?"
    "Yes", I answer. "I feel like it opens your ears to the spirit - to those nudges that we're usually too distracted to discern; like amplifying the power of Light to influence you. It helps me process things. It's how I take these words in scripture and inlay them on my soul." I've said such things before, but I can see he's really listening this time. He's more ready to believe there's a reason I want him to practice writing.
    "Huh." He's silent, thinking. I realize in this moment that my words aren't alone. There is light interlaced, filling in the cracks I've left, warming the atmosphere in the room. A puzzle piece falls into place. He has that look - purpose is sparking in his little mind. Can it be? This eight-year-old boy might start choosing to write? After all these years of effort with little result?

    I've never known a harder (or smarter) person to teach anything to than Nathan. I've been clinging to my trust in the tool set I use - patience, agency, love, inspiration, example, environment of learning, and a safe space to explore . . . and more patience.  And it's not that he doesn't have talents and creativity and the ability to focus and learn.  

    Give him LEGOS and he comes up with this:

Crocodile and Snake Summer 2013 - Nathan's own designs.

Some people look at still lifes to paint them.  My son LEGOs them.

A snake that can even raise it's head and balance on its own! 

    But reading? Writing? Math with paper? Why can't I just do it in my head? Cello - you mean you have to repeat things? Why can't I do it right the first time? And if that doesn't work, try it again the same way . . . and if that doesn't work . . . push your buttons until you walk away because you refuse to "practice grumpy"?

    Nathan has been my guide to trusting my Inner Guide and throwing out the hand book and trusting tools that feel right. I give it time. I back off, then surge when I see sparks, then pull back when I douse the fire. I disappoint teachers and try not to care. Ignore or shelter him from comparisons at church or when friends come to play. My paradigm is shifting and I believe more than ever: God knows the best way and time for him to acquire these skills I know are essential for him to progress in life. And it's working - that spiritual assurance is yielding evidence. The ways that are higher than my ways or the world's methods, have sparks flying - the learning kind.

    A few months ago he caught the spark for reading. Now he sails through verses of scripture each night and soaks up large animal encyclopedias on his own - by his choice!
    Then last week he comes to me saying, "Mom, can I do cello first today? I really like it now." I lift my gaping jaw; we practice happy; we finish and I run off to yoga and he asks before I go, "Can I play whatever I want now for fun?"
    "Umm...yeah!  That's what it's suppose to be about!"  I hear him and Ellie experimenting with guitar/cello duets as I walk out the door.
 
    Is writing the next spark, the next fire to burn in his love for learning?

     He comes to me as I'm sitting in the backyard with the two little girls, playing.  He's just got off the phone with my mom - they've been planning the next "Wonderful Onesie" sleepover as it's his turn next. He begins to prattle off at the speed of light, he's so excited. He's telling me about their conversation about his writing struggle. I joke, "So you want to go get that new workbook I bought and practice a little?"
     "Well, I've been doing that before I came out here, but anyway..." (what?!) He continues. I'm so shocked by what I'm hearing and the excitement in his delivery, I sneak out my iPhone and press record...

    "She says that even though you don't know you're doing it, your brain knows what's going on so when you go to do something it's like, 'I know how to do this!' but huh." He pauses and looks thoughtful, remembering something.
    "What else did she say?" I prompt.
    "Hmm, that's all I can actually repeat because, you know, she's Grammy and you can't really say what she says." Here he laughs. I laugh, too. Then I think, Rats! I just started recording! Go on!

     I prompt again,"Not as well as she says it at least, huh? So she gave you ideas about how to learn to write?"
    "Yeah, just like - even though you don't know what you're doing, you could just do it and then your brain could help you start like . . . yeah. That is so weird. It looks like - you know that bug I just picked up? I looked at the tree [behind it] and it looked like there was like a giant version in the tree. It was so weird. But anyway, she was just like, just do it even though you don't know what you're doing. Your brain could start memorizing it. Don't try to. Just do it.  Don't like, umm, if you don't want to do it don't do it. Cause there's no point." Wow . . . I guess it needs to come from someone other than mom sometimes; shapes my mom and I both give him added with moments of Light equal the Hexagon he's needed to fill this hole? Spiritual mathematics.
    "'Cause you won't learn it?"
    "Yeah."
    "So, you could just maybe pray for the desire to do it if you think it's important but you don't feel like it?" I'm hinting pretty hard here, I know. :)
    "Uh huh. . . So can we play ball now?"
    "Yeah." But I want to hear more - see this joy light your face a minute longer, please? I'll just move out of my chair really slowly, keep talking my sweet sensitive boy.
    "I'm excited for the sleepover. Want to know what I like? I like when you go early because the day seems to go forever if you have to wait until six, but tomorrow the second I wake up, Poppy is going to [come up from dad's shop] and say, WE GOTTA GO! Well he's not going to do it that loud, but..."
    "That will be fun!"
    "Yeah, but mom, I need you to wake me up early. Well. Not too early."

Faith in a Box - Revised

(If you read this post before this was inserted, you read version one. Rough draft. Part two is coming. See further explanation at the bottom.)


Sun is shining, not too hot, ear buds have me "jammin'" to speeches while I thin out the peaches and prune dead limbs. Today is a free day to work and sweat; catching up on a yard too long neglected in the pursuit of "spiritual gardens" and the delicate work of growing Daysies.

Translation: I'm harvesting weeds again this year.

The Right Voice

When I first decided to go this different route, I couldn't imagine how to share the personal, spiritual thoughts I had written in app papers before (when it was only one or two people I knew well reading it). I just felt I had to find a way and made the posts less visible while doing so.

In writing this first blog app paper, I've figured out a "voice" that feels like it keeps sacred things sacred and yet bears witness of what I believe and the evidences of God in my life. So I don't feel so. . . shy about it now.

We Are One of Many, Part 1

    Application Paper #1: One of Many, Part 1   

(Click for Preamble)                                     (Click for Part 2)

(Click here for an explanation of application papers. )

 

   "First, we need to know that our hearts are honest and broken. How do we know that? We begin by engaging in sincere self-reflection. The heart is the center of our feelings. As we look into our hearts, we screen ourselves. What no one around us knows, we surely know. We know our motives and desires. When we engage in sincere, honest reflection, we do not rationalize or deceive ourselves." ("Being Accepted of the Lord")

June 8, 2013

We're in Bryce Canyon as a family this weekend. While touring the canyon, a question came to mind. It's becoming a familiar anxiety whenever I am in a new place in crowds of people unfamiliar to me. It is in those moments that I remember what a drop of water I am in an ocean of people. My heart pounds a bit and I retreat inside my mind: "How can God possibly know me personally? How will He ever have time for me? How can I have a relationship with Him when there are so so many people that will be "waiting in line" in the next life? 

I know. Time won't be the same in the next life you might remind me. Somehow that doesn't help. I have this sinking vulnerability washing over me - like Ellie's newly discovered fear of heights while staring over the railings into the vast and beautiful canyons - I feel on edge; night time and all is silent; no crickets can counsel. 

June 10

 

Some things help, some don't. Parts of a poem I read this week with my children and revisit today help:

"...The wrong that pains my soul below

I dare not throne above,

I know not of His hate, -I know 

His goodness and His love.

...And if my heart and flesh are weak

To bear an untried pain,

The bruised reed He will not break,

But strengthen and sustain. 

...And so beside the Silent Sea

I wait the muffled oar;

No harm from Him can come to me

On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His islands lift 

Their fronded palms in air;

I only know I cannot drift

Beyond His love and care.

...And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen 

Thy creatures as they be,

Forgive me if too close I lean

My human heart to Thee!"

~ "The Eternal Goodness" by John Greenleaf Whittier

It's not that I don't know of his goodness. Maybe that's what I should focus on: the things I know. I know my Redeemer lives. I know how deeply I need that grace and power to redeem - each day, sometimes each minute.  I know how often I have felt that power heal me, comfort me, change me, mold me, forgive me. 

I know I have a Father in Heaven.  I know I have a Mother in Heaven. I know even more intimately that I have a dear and tireless companion who is called by a general name - The Holy Ghost. I sense His presence and love.  That love comes with and through the love of others, but is separate and distinct. I feel how He amplifies that love, purifies it.  

I know and believe in the character traits of my Savior as I have studied them in scripture, in the words of the prophets, and as evidenced by my life experiences. 

I know there is more than this natural sphere or dimension reveals to our natural eyes. I have on numerous occasions felt things and had things happen to me that can only be explained as coming from that spiritual sphere. I believe that faith is how we reach beyond those walls.  I thought I knew what I'd been taught - that he knows me personally.  So why does that anxiety still surface every time I'm in an unfamiliar crowd? On some level, I must not believe it. 

June 11

I find myself while driving the other day, listening over and over to a speech that contains this quote:

“Nothing is going to startle us more when we pass through the veil to the other side than to realize how well we know our Father [in Heaven] and how familiar his face is to us.”

This isn't new to me. My mind knows it.  But my heart? And even if He is familiar, there is still that other aspect of things. I find myself believing that it's like a chain of command, that the blessings and tender mercies and miracles I've experienced are really indirectly through God. That they are more directly through those assigned to help me; assigned by someone who was assigned by someone who was assigned by someone etc. It just makes sense. God likes to involve many in the process; in service. Binds us to each other. Why don't I like that? Why does my brain suspect he's removed from the process by that . . . process?

I read these words as they are projected on the screen in New Testament class and understand my anxiety even more:

"The submission of one's will is really the only uniquely personal thing we have to place on God's altar...The many other things we give to God, however nice that may be of us, are actually things He has already given us, and He has loaned them to us. But when we begin to submit ourselves by letting our wills be swallowed up in God's will, then we are really giving something to Him...It is the only possession we have that we can give, and there is no lessening of our agency as a result.  Instead, what we see is a flowering of our talents and more and more surges of joy. Submission to Him is the only form of submission that is completely safe." - Neal A. Maxwell, Ensign, Aug, 2000

Is it safe? That anxiety that comes often would say I don't believe it is.  I'm holding back, protecting myself from that full submission. It's just . . . the more I seek Them, the scarier it gets. Scary because part of me wonders if I'll find I have a relationship on my end - and a loving, but too busy Father in Heaven, Savior,  Mother in Heaven on the other end. Gods who have only little seconds here and there to spend with me (for good reason). And maybe those seconds will be so pure and strong and full of an eternal kind of love that it will fill me so much I won't "thirst" again until the next "watering," but no seconds, because of all those marvelous things they do, to pause for the small and ordinary things we can do with earthly parents: walks, hugs, relaxed conversations, reading together. 

There is something so unfathomably sad about that scenario to me. I think of scriptures that contradict that thought like, "Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you. Seek me diligently and ye shall find." But somehow it doesn't help. I begin to fear that since I can't comprehend such a dimension (and time) as God's, I guess I'll never be able to comprehend the love of God, or my relationship to him.

A different thought makes me curious: is that what is behind so many of our earthly pursuits? So many of us wanting to "get ahead" and be something special?  Could it be that a core motivation for all our hurried activity (that we aren't even aware of) is we worry we won't be special enough to stand often in God's presence?  To be a part of his "regular routine?" Hmm . . . I wonder.

These thoughts feels ugly, self-centered and nonsensical. But they are mine.  And its time to take them through this process; the one that has resolved so many things my mind would know, but my heart had yet to learn.

(Click for Preamble)                                                  (Click for Part 2)

We Are One of Many, Part 2

Application Paper #1: One of Many, Part 2   

 (Click for Part 1)                                           (Click for Part 3)

"...There is also a way to judge if our hearts are broken. A broken heart is a soft, an open, and a receptive heart. When I hear the Savior say, 'Behold, I stand at the door, and knock,'³ I hear Him knocking at the door of my heart. If I open this door to Him, I am more responsive to the invitations of the Spirit, and I am more accepting of God’s will.  ("Being Accepted of the Lord")

June 11,

Writing, praying, pondering, reading. I'm knocking. Pounding. It comes to the point I know how to ask and who to ask and receive the go ahead.  The reply begins to teach my heart what my mind believes:

Kate,

I would ask you if you feel like He gives you sufficient “attention” now? Do you feel like He knows you and cares for you now? Do you feel close to Him now? I, like you, am not sure how He will do it, but I do know that "He is able” (D&C 60:7 and see the Topical Guide for Able too).

How did he minister to all 2500 (3 Ne. 15:25) people in the Americas, allowing each one, one by one, to feel the prints of nails in His hands and His feet and thrust their hand into His side (3 Nephi 11:15)? Just ponder that for a moment and do some math. I am sure they all felt He loved them as He allowed them to take their time, He surely did not rush anyone of them.

My heart softens and opens as I read these words. Why does that happen? Why do words I know and could say to another choose to open my heart now? Curious. Words have to come with Light to be comprehended by the heart. I feel the warmth of the Light now.

A speech is passed on for me to read.  The following words move me:

(...) These words of Anselm constitute good counsel: ‘Believe in order to understand,’ rather than ‘understand in order to believe’ (Saint Anselm: Basic Writings, trans. Sidney Norton Deane [1962], 7).

(...)The miracle of this planet has so many ongoing, marvelous subtleties.  Wendell Berry ‘Whoever really has considered the lilies of the field or the birds of the air and pondered the improbability of their existence in this warm world within the cold and empty stellar distances will hardly balk at the turning of water into wine which was, after all, a very small miracle. We forget the greater and still continuing miracle by which water (with soil and sunlight) is turned into grapes.’ (Christianity and the Survival of Creation,'' in Sex, Economy, Freedom, & Community [l 993], 103)

(...)Therefore, as we probe, ponder, and learn, we certainly should be filled with awe, and we should also be intellectually meek. King Benjamin counseled us with these simple but profound words:

‘Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power. Both in heaven and in earth. Believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.'' (Mosiah 4:9, emphasis added).

Alas, in our age, brothers and sisters, we have some who believe that if they cannot comprehend something, then God cannot comprehend it either. Ironically, some do actually prefer a “little god.'' Better for all of us scientists and nonscientific alike instead of trying to downsize divinity, to upside our personal humility!

(...) But the more we know, the more vital the why questions and the answers thereto become. Yet the answers to the why questions are obtainable only by revelations given by God the Creator, and more is yet to come.

(...)We know the Creator of the universe is also the Author of the plan of happiness. We can trust Him. He knows perfectly what brings happiness to His children (see Mosiah 2:41; Alma 41:10).

Meanwhile, as some experience daily life situations in which they are or feel unloved and unappreciated, they can nevertheless know that God loves them! His creations so witness.Therefore, we can confess His hand in our individual lives just as we can confess His hand in the astonishing universe (see D&C 59:2l). If we will so confess His hand now, one day we who are “cradled'' amidst His creations can even know what it is like to be “clasped in the arms of Jesus'' (Mormon 5:11).”  ~ (Our Creator's Cosmos Elder Neal A. Maxwell, CES Conference, 13 August, 2002)

I have been assuming that because I cannot comprehend how each member of the Godhead can possibly have a personal relationship with me, that God cannot comprehend how to either.  I've been trying to understand before believing.  Now I'm working to believe and I feel a distant understanding approach. Do I believe "We can trust Him"? Do I really believe that "He knows perfectly what brings happiness to His children"? Yes. I believe. As my mind says that, I feel my heart echo: help thou mine unbelief.

(Click for Part 1)                                 (Click for Part 3)

We Are One of Many, Part 3

Application Paper #1: One of Many, Part 3  

(Click for Part 2)            (Click for Part 4)

June 13,

I read with my children from our "Little Red Poem Book" as usual and old words speak to me in new ways:

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;

(...) Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely Nurse doth all she can
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And the imperial palace whence he came.

(...) O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction...
...for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence:truths that wake,
To perish never...
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither.

(...)We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

(...)Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.


~"Ode on Intimations of Immortality,"
    by William Wordsworth


Truly, I feel those "high instincts before which [my] mortal Nature [does] tremble like a guilty Thing surprised" as I begin receiving answers to these "obstinate questionings."  

(Click for Part 2)                  (Click for Part 4)

We Are One of Many, Part 4

Application Paper #1: One of Many, Part 4  

(Click for Part 1)                                                                  (Click for Postscript)        

"Seeking and receiving the acceptance of the Lord will lead to the knowledge that we are chosen and blessed by Him. We will gain increased confidence that He will lead us and direct us for good. His tender mercies will become evident in our hearts, in our lives, and in our families." (Being Accepted of the Lord)

June 19,

I feel my reaching hands being grasped in love.  It's all the small and simple things that expand those glimpses, "expand the sliver in the wall."  Great things are being brought to pass through those simple means. Like:

- A movie. A story of one man's gift on Adam's birthday leaves us ponderous. Our conversation in the car to the restaurant is heartfelt and a bit raw, full of my yearnings and questions and Adam's faith and hope. He comes to an idea that I felt nudging me but had dismissed. We come home and he follows through.

- A promise laid upon my head. A conversation is recalled - I'm not even sure if my need was a category discussed, but I feel to call. A name and number is given. A phone call is made. An appointment. An unusual test. Drops I ingest are turning into ripples all across the pond. No, not a pond - it might change the landscape of my whole world. The subsequent healing that begins already, only days later, comes in unexpected ways that are higher and broader than any I or Adam imagined.  Evidence that God's ways truly are higher than ours.  I feel the truth of what was spoken, "all that He is about to do is to help you see more clearly His love for you, his awareness of you."

- A new version of an old movie. Always cheesy and false-feeling in old versions, this time: expansion in my mind of what existence could have been like before; realization of what we are like now. What we may become is more fully envisioned and made real - Lara's strength lingers for days in my mind. The symbolism inspires. I don't have to imagine so hard what we will be like outside our fallen "boxes." I'm reminded of a passage I read in a book that spoke of how strengthening the "eye of faith" involves an element of imagination - visualization.  I remember my thoughts of how the world is so deft at destroying the imagination of children - replacing it, reducing it, pacifying it, distracting from the practice of it.  I see the motive more clearly now.  Well, Wormwood, you're out of luck.  This movie proves to me there are still plenty of people with inspired imaginations. They are inspiring mine; inspiring my faith to reach beyond these walls. 

- A book. No words to describe it. Many people trying to, picking at it; warning against it.  Others give it to Adam for Father's Day - it's made an impact on them.  I steal it while Adam is at work.  It's a sifting book I'm told.  Don't read the skeptical "reviews."  Read it. Whether its true or not, it's one of those books you have to read so you can decide for yourself.

Every page must have a tear drop on it by now. It started with page 8, then 16 and on and on. It's like an embrace. Words that tug on memories of my own. Descriptions that confirm truths I've been tutored in. Words that come with a feeling of Light. That Light goes straight to the heart.  I read these words today:

"To really know that He lives, that He is a perfect, benevolent friend who loves me enough to leave the heavens, come to earth and take the time to embrace me, to have a relationship with me, and with all of us who seek Him - this is the sweetest knowledge I have ever known. To know that He knows you far better than you know yourself, and yet He loves you better still and is willing to show you who you are in His sight and what you are capable of...I believed at that time in my life that the Fall was mostly about Adam and Eve and this earth. But I keep being shown that it is even more about mankind and how powerfully the Fall darkened all of our senses. We lost our memory, not only of God, but even more sadly, of ourselves. We don't understand our own worth...we fell from being intelligent enough to understand vast truths." (Page.61-62)

Yes. Those were the words I've needed to hear and here they are, having fallen in my lap at this perfect time. The timing of the Lord. It's beautiful; breathtaking.

There are more words I don't feel right pasting. Words that echo the testimony of an uncle describing the same face, same hair, same beard, same eyes that embraced him while his body lay in a coma. A second witness. Will I change my mind about this book as I continue to read? It seems impossible, but it's happened before.

I know one thing for sure. I have knocked on the door. I have asked. I have begged. And I look back and see the past two weeks as a showering of gifts. Gifts of love from a Man; a God with a face. Who knows mine. My heart knows that now. Some day, I hope to remember His. 

-------------

I think everything is finished.  My heart feels at peace about the matter.  But there is more.  The physical healing I have been led to makes me start dreaming of riding horses, hiking down mountains with ease, holding a cat, playing three hours on the piano without pain, helping my sister, my son, my husband. What started as curing acne has grown in all directions. Am I getting too excited? Am I too trusting? Too optimistic?  

Call. Ask. 

Ask what? That most treasured desire that no one knows - only someone who knows me better than I do could know. It's the cure, the healing that I would choose above all others. I feel silly. But if I could choose one? Horses. How many times have I gone back and read "The Blue Sword"? It's not just because the story symbolically potrays the workings of the Spirit in such a powerful way to my mind. Not just because it was part of the timing of the Lord years ago with other truths my heart had to learn. It's also because - the horses. Every time I read it, I yearn and ache that there is the gulf between me and those majestic animals. It's been years, but I still remember Thanksgiving Point Barn with the kids. I stood closer than I've ever dared, the air is clean enough. I look into the eyes of this majestic animal and something speaks to me. We connect. Like reading souls. I tell Adam, "Honey, before I die, we have to give me some really strong antihistamine shot and have my inhaler handy and spend a day riding and bonding with a really special horse. Even if it kills me. Some day I have to." 

Call. Ask.

I finally get up the gumption to call the "doctor" yesterday while driving home from Ellie and I's guitar class. I have an excuse - a question about how I'm taking the drops. Before hanging up I ask, "Have you ever helped people get rid of allergies to horses?"
"All the time. Sure."  

He explains the method. 3-6 months for the body to learn usually. He's done it many times. I hang up. Ellie asks what's wrong. No tissues in this car?!? She holds my hand while I drive.  It's all so silly to anyone else, I imagine.  But it is the sweetest gift I have ever even had the hope of receiving. Only a personal God could orchestrate all this. I feel known. I've felt known before, but this time, it has the Savior's stamp on it. He's aware. I can't explain how I know. They are thoughts that lie "too deep for tears."

(Click here for Postscript)