Give Me Jesus

I hung out my Easter Lanterns. A couple of years ago I made these sweet little glass jars with candles and colored ribbons to hang along the front walk. I am always drawn in by their light as I walk by the lusciously scented Jasmine, the pastel ribbons softly swaying near the blossoms. I feel such peace when I walk along the path. Easter lanterns symbolically  leading the way to Christ.

This year the world is in a commotion like I've never seen. And I'm reasonably old enough to say that with some kind of emphasis! What are we to make of all these events? Every day it seems something else dramatically shifts, I think people may be a little bit afraid to even get out of bed in the morning; what will happen next? And so many prophetic scriptures come to mind! Like this one:

"For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places." Matthew 24:7

I woke up a few mornings ago with the old song running in my mind:

"In the morning, when I rise.

In the morning, when I rise

In the morning. When I rise, give me Jesus."

I think my soul needs His Light and His Peace. Isn't that what we all need? The greatest source of hope in trying times is the Savior.

Around me, people are panicked and afraid. I do not need to list all the many ways our lives have changed in the last few days and weeks. Things are SO different!  We're creatures of habit, most of us. It's a bit unsettling to not be able keep our treasured and soul sustaining routines. To not see our friends and give them hugs. We tell ourselves we're sacrificing to keep others healthy, and this is a good thing. But for some, it's just hard to make the best of a difficult situation. We let the fear of what is yet unknown before us take over in our minds, and it creates a very real panic.

Throughout my life, through times of difficulty, I have felt the Savior's love and presence in my life. In times of deep heartbreak He has comforted me. In times of fear, I have felt a blanket of calm. During anxious times that have driven me to me knees over and over, I have experienced His Peace and Grace. In times of loss, I have been buoyed and carried in ways I never could have imagined. Even now, when those around me are filled with anxiety and fear, I can testify that Jesus Christ is the source of all peace and hope.

When we turn to Him, we have no need to fear, this I know is true!

"Give me Jesus,

Give me Jesus!

You can have all this world

But give me Jesus."

And others are turning to Him too. And finding peace and hope. A very few of us gather in homes on Sundays to sing hymns and worship. Some of us gather in a FaceTime group for uplifting scripture discussion. We FaceTime people now more than ever! There are good people out there; I stood near a woman waiting in a line. A woman behind us in that line had some health issues. When the door opened, the woman in front of me and offered for the woman behind us to go ahead. "I am not the person who pushes others out of way". It made my heart smile. There is more of this….we all can tell of such experiences…and it brings us hope.

"No guilt in life, no fear in death,

This is the power of Christ in me

From life's first cry to final breath,

Jesus commands my destiny

No power of hell, no scheme of man,

Can ever pluck me from His hand

Till He returns or calls me home

Here in the power of Christ I'll stand."

Last week, a broadcaster mentioned on social media that he was going to hang his Christmas lights back up as a sign of hope! And boy, did that catch on!  CHRISTmas lights!

It's not surprising at all that someone thought Christmas lights as symbols of hope. Well, of course! Suddenly it has become the Season of Lights once again. And oh, how uplifting those lights are to our souls! They remind us of the Light of the World. The Passover Lamb. They remind us of Jesus. Jesus, the Source of all Truth and Light. They are not just CHRISTmas lights, now they are HOPE lights. Easter Lights. They lead us toward Him!

"These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world."

It's not Easter month yet, but the lights are out. Lights for Jesus.

May we all feel His Hope.

Beans for Citrus

Who could have predicted the events of today? 

(Thursday, March 12, 2020- an announcement that all Sunday Church meetings are suspended due to a global pandemic)

I can’t even predict the events in my garden! I planted citrus, hoping for sweet, fresh fruit in a few months. I thought I had done well, but tonight I discovered the heavy, heavy rain today have left the citrus blossoms like a snowy blanket on the ground.

No blossoms, no fruit. My heart sank.

Then I discovered that a very old packet of seeds are still capable of sprouting.

God gives beauty for ashes. And beans for citrus, apparently.

It’s not my plan, it’s His.

Maybe I’ll learn to love beans more than tangelos. And Church at home. And beauty for ashes. 

Because He is the giver of all good gifts.

A Testimony of the Restoration

Before I even learned to read, I received a book from my Aunt Freda Smith that soon grew to be my favorite. it was a thick volume of Illustrated Stories from the Bible for children. Once I learned to read, I spent hours reading the stories late at night. Now don't tell anyone, because I'm sure my parents thought I was sound asleep! I loved to look at the religious art pictures as I read each story, trying to imagine what it felt like to be there, what else I might have seen if I had been present. I loved to think about the courage of Shadrach, Mesach and Abednego or Daniel, who had the courage to worship God, even when it meant there could be serious consequences for them. My faith grew and I felt God's love when I read that He had saved and protected them. When I went to children's classes at different churches, I already knew well many other stories of faith and courage I had discovered in the pages and had begun to feel God's Spirit speak to me. My soul hungered for more. Months before that I had begun attending various churches.  Sometimes I attended with neighbors or friends, but most often my parents would drop me off and return for me after services were finished.

On one particular Sunday, my Dad brought me to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time, and left me there alone to attend, just as he had done at other churches.It was here that the seed of my testimony of the Restoration was planted. Dad gave my name and age to a good brother who met us at the door, and asked what time he should return for me. Although this good brother invited him to stay as well, Dad clenched his cigar tightly in his teeth declined but promised to return, then left me there. (I still giggle when I think of that- Dad really tried to resist!) It was quickly determined that Sister Karen Orgill was to be my teacher, so I was brought to the pew where she and her children were seated in the Chapel during the opening exercises, so that I could know where to go when the time for classes arrived. I was immediately introduced to and befriended by her son, David, who would also attend the class since he was my age. David proudly informed me his Dad was named Bishop and was sitting at the front of the chapel. He sat next to me and carefully explained as each thing happened during the meeting. Oh, there were many new things to experience! David would say, "We're going to do this next," and in response to my puzzled looks (what, exactly IS the Sacrament?), his mother would say, " David, Shh!". Soon he just said, "just watch and see, you can ask questions later." I think this was pretty much a miracle, that another 7 year old could know enough to share what he knew with me. That had never happened at other Churches I attended!

Soon the opening meeting ended and it was time to go to different classes.  I was again welcomed there as we joined a group of children my age in a classroom. Sister Orgill had prepared a special lesson and when she began to speak, I recognized the feelings that I had felt when I read bible stories. Feelings of peace and comfort. Feelings of happiness. Even when I didn't completely understand, I knew I felt happy and warm in a way I had not felt before and it felt good and right. Sister Orgill explained that our lesson that day was about something called The First Vision. The room was fairly silent as she began to tell the story, using some religious pictures I'd never seen before. My imagination was sparked, I listened carefully. This young boy, Joseph Smith, had read the bible too! He had attended different churches just like I had! He had determined that he needed to know for himself about God, and so he prayed. This was something new to me. Despite my having attended other churches for quite some time, an individual prayer that wasn't a recited prayer or read from a prayer book was a new idea for me. I'd never considered that. But as Sister Orgill continued, I felt more clearly and distinctly that the Holy Ghost was bearing witness of things that were true. The idea that God and Jesus Christ could appear to man wasn't new or strange, since I had already read biblical accounts of this happening to Moses, Abraham and others. In fact, hearing Joseph's experience answered a question that had caused me to question the Pastor in another church when he said God had not a body and no man could see Him. How could Moses see God if God didn't have a body? Well, Joseph Smith knew and now I had just learned it too! SO many questions were answered in just that one lesson!

Looking back, I think Sister Orgill was inspired as she taught for I don't remember the thing that happened next ever happening again in a children's class I attended. But it became a sacred experience for me that day. Sister Orgill  asked the others in the class if they would like to bear their testimonies of the Gospel and of the First Vision. First, she bore her testimony, which spoke deeply to my soul. Next, several other children did as well, including my new friend David. (I think now, looking back, that he was a natural missionary).  Eventually, everyone but me had spoken. Sister Orgill looked at me and asked if I had anything I wanted to say. She sensed that my heart was nearly bursting with sweet and tender feelings. although I had just barely learned what a testimony was, I felt I had something to say, so I did. I said that even though all of these things were new and amazing to hear, I had felt the familiar feelings of the Holy Ghost and believed that the First Vision had happened. As I spoke, I felt that feeling again and knew that I wanted to return to this church again and again, to learn as Joseph had, more of the things that were true.

Well, you know that was just the beginning. A testimony of anything requiring faith has to be cared for and nurtured. Learning has to continue for a testimony to flourish. Just as Joseph Smith wasn't content to sit with the miraculous knowledge he'd received, I couldn't just sit with my new found understanding. Joseph continued to learn, continued to pray and seek information from God. And over the years, in addition to regularly attending church, I have done much the same. As a young pre-teen, I read books about the history of the Church and about Joseph Smith. I visited Church historic sites as a teenager, trying to absorb the feelings more deeply. At every turn, my understanding and testimony grew. Eventually, I made a serious study of the marvelous work called the Book of Mormon, and received a sacred witness of it's truthfulness as well.

President Russel M. Nelson has invited us to ponder how our lives would be different without the knowledge of the Restoration. Thankfully, I can clearly remember the time before and the time after I gained that tiny spark of testimony. Peace and Joy entered my life to a degree I had not known before. I gained a deeper understanding of God's love for me. A few weeks after that day, my mother began to attend church with me.  After a few months, she and  I were baptized, and a few years later, my father as well.  Our family was sealed in the Holy Temple as a forever family, to eternally enjoy the blessings of the Gospel. It's true there have been times of trial. But as the scriptures promise, there has also been joy to equal the trial. For me, one of the greatest blessings of the Restoration is Peace beyond all understanding, and a deep knowledge that God loves me individually and provides blessings and experiences designed to help me learn and grow and return to Him. 

Without the blessings of the Restoration, all of this would be lost to me and to my family. So many other blessings come to mind, most are too precious to write. I can say that my testimony of the Restoration of the Gospel has grown since that day in Sister Orgill's class. My testimony of the Book of Mormon began that day as well. I love the perfect words of that book and the peace and power I receive when I drink from it's fountain. I am SO blessed and so grateful! 

Baseball Games Lost and Good Hearts

"You won!! Great game!!" I said to my son as he smiled and then hung his head. Now I was curious why he wasn't more excited for this first win of the his first Little League season after six losses straight. Most kids would be SO thrilled. Not this kid. Pleased, yes. Happy, yes. Overjoyed; no.

And then I watched as his best friend crossed the field. His best friend who played on the opposing team. His hand held up for a high five, he said to my son, "Good game!" to which my son responded, "Yeah, thanks. Sorry you had to lose, though. Losing's not so fun." They grinned together, friends who understood.

And suddenly I understood. My little-league player understood how it felt to lose, having lost so many games so far. He understood, better than most probably, how his friend felt being on the losing team this time around. "It was sort of weird. I was happy for me, but sad for him."

30 years later, I am watching grandsons play the game. All of them posses athletic gifts like their fathers. All of them hit home runs and strike out. They make great plays and sometimes not so good plays. They have wins. They have losses. The losses hurt. And their dads wisely remind them that it's good to win games but losing is good too, sometimes. It teaches us compassion. And to work hard towards improvement. And to have a good heart.

It's good to win games. But it's better to have a good heart.

The Saviors of the Garden

"We 💓 Aphids!"  proclaimed the bright green bucket with the picture of a smiling ladybug on the side. I sure hoped so! The white rose bush was overrun with hungry green aphids sucking the life from the stems. This little bucket of ladybugs was the last resort- mostly because the nursery was fresh out of pre-fed ladybugs when I visited several days before.

Oh, I'd tried other remedies; a soapy water spray knocked a few bugs off the stems, but it seemed like they crawled right back when my back was turned. I tried knocking the bugs off by hand (Eww!), but the thorny stems made that painful as well. After just a few days, the aphids not only persisted but had increased in number. There was only one thing left to try- I hoped the swarm of ladybugs in the cute little bucket would save the roses.

Evening came, the garden air had cooled. I knew the time was finally right to open the bucket. I misted the rose stems with water, then carefully lifted the lid. Sweet red droplets of Ladybugs flew everywhere. I sprinkled as many as I could near the bottom of the plant as well as the neighboring rose bush which was strangely aphid free. Darkness fell. I went inside and prayed the roses would be saved.

My sister said it wouldn't work; my niece's ladybugs all flew away. I hoped she was wrong. Nothing else had worked! I needed help! My own efforts hadn't changed a thing. These roses hold special meaning for me, I didn't want to lose them to some bugs that were so small one can barely see them. Invisible sinners, those bugs.

As the sun rose the next morning, I hurried to the garden. At first it looked like my sister might be right- the tallest stems still had a fair number of aphids clinging to them. But then I looked at the lower stems. Dozens of ladybugs were hard at work, eating the aphids as they ! All night long they had worked their way up the branches, covering every inch of the bush as they did. Two lower stems were now completely clean. I could see black specks- the remnants of aphid bodies discharged on the leaves, but the stems were clean and free. I was so happy I almost cried! The roses were going to be saved!

By late afternoon, nearly all the aphids were gone. A few ladybugs remained, as if they had stayed behind to protect the flowers. I said a prayer of thanks for a Perfect Creator who knew how to ensure the most beautiful flowers could bloom freely, despite my own feeble efforts.

Three days later, I looked out on the garden and saw the rose buds beginning to open. An hour later their ruffled petals had burst into glorious white blossoms.

I am like this. I am the besieged rose bush, tormented with bugs. I try to rid myself of these things with remedies of my own creation, but only my Savior can really help. I cry to Him. He, who shed red drops in the Garden comes to save me. And as He does, I am cleansed. Then I, too, can burst into bloom.

Grandma and the Giblets: A Thanksgiving Story

I love being ‘that’ grandma! You know...the one who brings favorite treats to family events. And makes awesome rolls. And has lots of hugs and encouragement to share. Yeah, THAT Grandma.

And I had that plan for Thanksgiving. Yes I did. I even bought the amazing rolls (haha, you thought I baked, didn’t you?)! And all the stuff to make these very fun and popular mini s’mores bites. They are so yummy! So the pie-hating kiddos could still have something cool to eat. 

But then.....well...for the first time in nearly 60 years, I set something on fire in my kitchen!

Those yummy little marshmallow tops caught on fire under the broiler (never multi-task with marshmallows at stake).  I smelled them before I saw them. I opened the oven a crack and the flames leapt higher. Oh no! I closed the oven and let the fire burn itself out. After about 15 minutes I thought it was safe enough to open without re-kindling the flame. And there it was....a huge pile of smoking, carbonized sugar on top of the pan with delicious melted, er, ultra-melted chocolate and graham cracker crust buried underneath. Yeah, buried is a good word. 

Sadly, I realized that my ‘THAT Grandma’ dreams had just crashed and burned in a most spectacular way.  No gooey treats! I was suddenly glad I hadn’t planned on baking rolls!! 

I pushed my disappointment aside and moved on to the sweet potatoes. But..uh oh. The oven won’t start. Error codes on the screen indicate ‘excessive heat inside and possible damage to controls. Please call a technician’. Hmmm...guess a fire is a little too much for an oven.

More disappointment, but this is Thanksgiving and while food is the point, it's not really the point. Time to reboot.

While searching online for stovetop (read: non-oven) sweet potato recipes, a memory returned. I was about 6 years old and we were having Thanksgiving at my Grandma Fisher’s.  It was possibly the first Thanksgiving after Grandpa Fisher passed away, and the Fisher clan plus a few others had gathered for the feast. I remember the conversation between my Uncle Ed and Grandma. “Did you pull the giblets out before you stuffed that thing?” 

“Yes, of course I did!”  Grandma huffed as she slid the pan into the oven. 

And all during the time that the turkey was roasting, Ed would ask her again and Grandma would respond that she removed the bag of giblets. I remember this because I think giblets taste like dirt and I shuddered every time I heard them talk about it. Yuk!

At last it was time to carve the bird and Uncle Ed had the honors. Once again he asked. Once again she affirmed the giblets were not inside the bird. But then..... As he carved away and removed the stuffing, a strange thing emerged from the cavity of that turkey. Yep! Those giblets were inside the turkey all along! 

“Look at that!” Grandma exclaimed, her face turning read and her eyes filling with tears. “Those giblets were in there after all! I swear I took those out of there!” And then she laughed. And the room erupted in laughter. In fact, throughout the meal, either Ed or Grandma would chuckle and say, “Those giblets!” while the rest of us giggled.  It was comic relief in our sadness over a missing family member.

For years afterward, the same conversation occurred between my beloved Uncle Ed and Grandma. With a twinkle in his eye he would ask, “Are you sure you got the giblets out of that thing?” And Grandma would point to the ugly, smelly things (at least, I think they smell) cooking in a pan.  Ultimately, I learned that things can not go as planned and often it’s just something to look back on and laugh about.

Now both Grandma and Uncle Ed have passed through the veil. They are watching their families gather for Thanksgiving dinners. Sometimes (like this year), we tell the story of Grandma and the Giblets. Sometimes (like this year), the best laid plans burst into flames.

But always (also like this year), we give thanks for each other. We give thanks for turkeys and that we can afford to have such bounty. We give thanks for grandchildren and being able to give hugs and encouragement. And that we can buy rolls rather than slaving over ovens. Most especially we give thanks for examples from generations past that prove that plans go awry but because we have each other and love each other, we can still give thanks. 

And isn’t life like a fire in the oven and turkeys baked with giblets inside? Tragedy will strike all of us from time to time.  We can’t predict it. The 'THAT Grandma' plans might not be how I think they should be. But we can remember that other also suffer and with a twinkle in our eye we can continue through the meal and give thanks for what we do have. 

Happy Thanksgiving!! 

May you enjoy your turkey with no giblets, because those things taste like dirt!! 

Painting a wall is a lot life life:

Go up the ladder, paint a part, two steps back down the ladder, get some more paint, back up, paint again, back down for more paint and back up again. Sometimes it's tedious up and down.

Drip a bit. Clean it up before it dries and makes a bad habit. Working hard to make it an even coat. I think I'm done, but some Good Light on myself shows all my imperfections. Fix it. Back up and down the ladder I go, making a mess of myself with paint everywhere.

Maybe it's almost perfect now? I look and realize the wall and I are both mortal; we will not be perfect now, but I'm satisfied with what I've done. 

Things look fresh and new and much better than they did. I and the wall are perfect backdrops for a Beautiful Savior.