Introducing Annie - Part 1 of Ann Phillips' Mission Journal

Have you seen this video? I love it!  It introduces the history of some of the first sister missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

When I watched the video for the first time, my mind was flooded with thoughts of my Grandma Phillips who served as a young sister missionary at the turn of the century. Ann Elizabeth Rasband Phillips is my maternal great, great grandmother. I blogged about her several years ago in this post. She died nearly 40 years before I was born, so I never had the chance to meet her. Yet I feel very close to her, almost like I know her.  Why?  I have a copy of her missionary journal!

It is just a little photocopy with a cardboard cover and it details less than two years of her life, but it is a treasure to me!  I read it for the first time many years ago and I've looked at it occasionally. I have shared a few quotes from it during lessons and talks. A couple of months ago, I even helped Marianne find some excerpts to share in her religion class. Now something is different. I keep feeling an insistent prodding that I need to do more. So here's what I have planned:   A short series of posts with excerpts from her journal.  I think you'll find them interesting even if you're not a relative!

To get us started, here is the little life history she wrote at the beginning of her journal.  It's pretty short because she was just 20 years old at the time.

My name is Annie.  I was born in a log house owned by my Grandpa, John M Murdock, in Heber City, Utah Oct 20, 1879. My fathers name is Heber Rasband, my mothers Sarah J Murdock Rasband.  I ha­­­­­­­ve one brother and two sisters.  Ray, Embell and Jennie.  

Annie at 3 years old

When I was eight years of age our family moved to Park City. My father was in the butcher business with his two brothers Jim and Fred.  We lived about a mile from town on a ranch.  Our nearest neighbors were China man, a family on each side.  My father was the butcher and many times I have seen him lie flat down to keep from being gored to death by wild hog he was about to kill.

The butcher shop in Park City Utah

Lily Duke lived with us for a long time.  She and I went to Heber with my uncle Fred Rasband and family to visit her mother, aunt Mary Duke on the 7^th of Sept 1889.  I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later-Day Saints, Sept 8, 1889 by H.L. McMullin and Alax Forti. That evening we started home. On our way we lost our valise containing many clothes of Lily’s and a few of mine.  We never heard from it nor found it.

In 1896 we moved up town.  My father was one of the policemen.  We rented a house for a year in the meantime built one of our own and moved into it in June 1897. In August 1898 I went to Provo to attend school.  Ray, Ma and aunt Net were with me. I met my old chum Minnie Brown from American Fork.  She was going to school too.  We boarded at Mrs. Hoydes. Had a grand time and liked school very much.

Annie at age sixteen

On July 2, 1899 I was called to mourn the loss of my darling father.  He fell down a shaft in a mine and was killed. He was 40 years old. That was the greatest sorrow of my life.

At her father's funeral

Thinking Above the Line

Do you have someone in your life who is driving you crazy?!  Go ahead, you can admit it.  I promise not to tell anyone.

When this crazy-making person is a member of your family, things get even more complicated.  You love this person. You don't want to have negative feelings about him or her. Things need to change, but you're not sure what to do.

The answer is :  Think above the line!

Here is a little visual depiction of how to get started.

Good qualities

Talents, strengths

Things I love about this person

Anything positive I can say about this individual

___________________________

Weaknesses, sins, problems

Bad habits, sadness

Everything negative about this person

Sometimes it is difficult to think of much to write above the line, but it's a good way to get started. Next, read this great article that explains how to use this thinking to make a change in your life and in the life of the person who has been scrambling your brain cells. The article is written specifically for parents dealing with difficult teens, but the principles can work in any difficult relationship.  Go ahead, give it a try!

The Flight From Beauty

It is no secret that I love children's literature.  Long after my children were past picture book age, I kept shelves full of outstanding books.  I even have a few books saved from my own childhood.  Now I get to read them to my granddaughters and Lavender!

I also really enjoy young adult literature and when my children were little, I had a shelf full of books that I hoped they would enjoy reading some day.  Unfortunately, over the past fifteen years I have noticed a disturbing trend in YA literature.  It has become darker and more violent in the name of "reality."  Even books for young children have been impacted.  I have read a couple of articles about this trend, but I finally read a compelling article on this subject that I have to share with you.  Read "The Case For Good Taste in Children's Books" by Meghan Cox Gurdon HERE. She is a wise woman and she's got the experience and credentials to prove it.  More importantly, she is the mother of five children!  She also includes incredible quotes such as this:

For beauty makes a claim on us; it is a call to renounce our narcissism and look with reverence on the world. 

Song For a Fifth Child

We've all heard the little poem:
"So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep."

My sweet daughter Molly even made me a beautiful wooden plaque with this verse! Today, I learned a little more about the poem and it was fun to realize the similarities between our families.  The poem is entitled "Song for a Fifth Child" and it was written by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton. Ruth was the mother of four children, all two years apart.  In 1957, when her youngest child was five years old, she gave birth to her daughter Jane.  Ruth explained,

“The children were all older when Jane was born and they would rush home to see her and hold her. Since there were five years between my next youngest and Jane, I had a bit more quiet time with her.”

I have an similar, but even larger space of fourteen years, between my youngest son and my fifth child. And like Ruth Hamilton, I was blessed with a little girl whom we often call by her middle name, Jane. After raising four children I knew that babies "don't keep," so I took full advantage of  Lavender's babyhood.  I spent many hours holding and rocking her and I let certain things go.  Now I am paying the price by having to catch up on deep cleaning and other projects like cleaning the garage, but it was worth it!  I am grateful for the many hours I was able to spend rocking my sweet baby.  I still love the quiet time we have together each morning when she wakes up and each night before I put her to bed.

Oh, and by the way, there is a whole lot more to the poem!

Song For a Fifth Child
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
(Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.)
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo.)
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.)

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep

Silver Lining to a Rough Day

Today has been a bit of a rough day with Lavender.  She is teething and has been crying and wanting to be held most of the day.  Finally, she wandered off and was playing contentedly.  Then I discovered that she was keeping busy by pouring a bottle of soy sauce on the kitchen floor.` When I called the kids in to see it, she threw herself down for a tantrum.

After the mess was cleaned up (thanks to Evan and Marianne) and our mini-monster was nursing peacefully, I found this poem on my phone.  I wrote it several weeks ago, but never posted it because I wasn't satisfied with it.  Today, it seems perfect.  At least compared to crying, messes and tantrums! 

Moving Out

Exactly one month ago 

She took her first steps.

Now she walks,

Almost running 

Ready to take on the world.

She listens and points at

Airplanes and birds

Dogs and motorcycles

Or the front door creaking

When her family comes home.

She enthusiastically tastes

Homemade green smoothies

Dandelions and rocks

Crayons and birdseed

Testing her tiny new teeth.

She  waves and shouts

"Hi" over and over

To our friends at church

A neighbor walking his dog

And the homeless man at the park.

She climbs with gusto

Up the stairs or footstool

Over daddy in search of his phone

Bouncing onto the trampoline

Into our arms for a snuggle.

She explores and discovers

Each exotic location

Like a world traveler

Observing the locals

And learning their ways.

We follow behind,

Savoring each moment 

In our hearts and with our camera

From a watchful, yet

Ever increasing distance.

Taken the day I wrote this poem.
She figured out how to pull the string on this bunny using her teeth!

At Six Months

14.4 lbs. 25 ins.

I know clichés sound insincere

But the words fit perfectly.

She is my sunshine

The apple of my eye

My pride and joy.

I miss my precious newborn

But I adore my darling girl

Who sits up to play,

Eats carrots and applesauce,

And takes her pacifier out and in again.

Her voice adds music to my day.

She giggles and chuckles

When we sing or play patty cake.

Screams, squeals, coos and complaints

Sounds I want to remember forever.

Her square, little feet and

Strong, chunky legs

Are in constant motion

Thumping and kicking shake her bed

A signal that naptime is over.

Her keen eyes watch

The dog and her brother

Waiting for a chance

To get her hands on

The fur or the cereal.

With a mixture of

Love and hunger

She grabs my face

For fierce, slobbery kisses

That end in sucking on my chin.

Wide-mouthed smiles given freely

To strangers, friends and family.

A shout of recognition

When Daddy, Marianne or Evan

Enter the room.

But her eyes light up

Desperation mingled with delight

When she sees my face.

A special look reserved

Just for me--

Her Mama.

Gifts from my children (besides the grey hair and stretch marks)

I'm not a big fan of Mother's Day, but I do love poetry and funny stuff.  This video combines the best of all three.  Take a look. It is only three minutes long.

Having three sons, I can really relate to it.  I have received more than my fair share of lanyards.  I even have a basket full of pebbles and stones in my bathroom.  Most of them were collected by my children and the basket was made by Ryan when he earned the basketry merit badge at scout camp.  Hundreds of homemade coupons have come my way.  Some were cheerfully redeemed, while other times the giver seemed surprised or even resentful that I actually wanted the car washed or the bathroom cleaned.  One year I received some from a tricky son with an expiration date that had already passed. Marianne, on the other hand, made a lovely collection of coupons that hung on a ribbon.  They were so cute that I left them hanging on my mirror for several years.  Last week Evan detailed my incredibly filthy van.  He worked for hours scrubbing, removing spots and making everything shine.  It was a professional quality job, and it wasn't even Mother's Day!  One of my favorite Mother's Day gifts was a homemade card from my 12 year old Aaron that included the word "didactic," which I had to look up in the dictionary.  My children have given me many gifts, including an expanded vocabulary.

Missing in Action

I am sad to see that I only posted 3 times in December.  I had a good December and a wonderful Christmas, but something had to give and it was blogging.  Growing a baby seems to take up most of my energy these days.  So here is a poem in honor of the sweet girl who is my excuse for not blogging much in the past month.

This poem was published in the Ensign in 1999 when Evan was a year old.  I  immediately loved this beautiful poem about motherhood.  It resonated with me and I kept it in my nightstand for all these years.  A few months ago, I pulled it out and realized that although this will only be my 5th child, it is my 7th pregnancy.  I have miscarried two babies, one at 13+ weeks and one at 8 weeks.

So here this lovely poem for my 7th baby.  She will be here in two months.

Seventh Child

By Sharon Price Anderson

Sarah would laugh

to think that I feel old,

yet understand better than I

the longing which gives you life

and overcomes the logic

that it has been too long

and six is sufficient

for seed as dust and stars.

Is it your desire

to come to earth

that makes me willing

to give you birth

and further fulfill God’s promise?

What blessing will you bring?

What mission will be yours

in this Saturday of time,

you who are Sarah’s increase

as well as mine?

Could I have kept completely

my mortal purpose and

consecration’s covenant

without you?

Sarah knew much of

altars aging,

offspring waiting,

missions and promises.

Now as we grow and wait,

she would teach us also faith.

This quote explains why . . .

I love blogging and reading blogs.
I am not particularly interested in Facebook.
I made time yesterday for an hour long phone conversation with a friend who has moved away.
my kids loved visiting with their grandma.
listening with your whole heart is so important.
you can be very productive even if you are old, sick or bedridden.
we are admonished to keep a journal.
it is exciting to read accounts from our family history.
some talks are more interesting than others.


"To listen to a person's stories is to learn their feelings and experiences and values and habits of mind, and to learn them all at once and all together. . . [O]ur stories are what make us human, and listening to some else's stories--entering into their feelings, validating their experiences--is the highest way of acknowledging their humanity, the sweetest form of usefulness."  William Deresiewicz

Thank goodness it's a paperback

What would you say if I suggested you read a 638 page book . . . about Benedictine nuns? I have to admit it doesn't sound too appealing.


But I just finished In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden and WOW! I want to re-read it already. This beautifully written book satisfied my desire for a good story, brought me peace and taught me some important lessons about leadership.

In case you need some page turning excitement, the book also has mystery, tragedy, theft, poetry, love and even promiscuity (okay that last one only applies to the cat).

In the characters of Dame Philippa and Dame Catherine, Godden shows us two very different women who are both great leaders.

Philippa Talbot is a powerful businesswoman who gives up a successful career and comfortable life to enter a monastery and become a nun at age 42. Philippa knows how to be in charge and get things done, but as she turns her life over to God, she develops her ability to submit to authority and be a supportive and respectful "follower." When she takes the vow of obedience, she understands that it means "submitting your will, even when it goes against [your] grain; giving up your judgment and accepting your superiors--even a a weak superior." Dame Philippa has many opportunities to use her connections and leadership skills, but she humbly offers help through quiet suggestions to the Abbess. She learns that her strongest connection is to God and seeks to access His power through fervent prayer.

Dame Catherine is stunned and terrified when she is elected Abbess of the House of Brede. She knows "she must lead and inspire every hour of the twenty-four hours of each day until she dies." She has no desire to "bear that awesome responsibility" and "consent to be the representative of Christ." She cries in the chapel and whispers, "I can't" until her panic is quieted and she accepts her responsibility to God saying, "I can't . . . so You must."

With God's help, Abbess Catherine becomes a marvelous leader:

She does what is right even when she knows some will disagree
She allows others to save face whenever possible
She keeps confidences and respects privacy
She is patient in looking for solutions to problems
She is creative and not afraid of change
She is honest, but doesn't speak ill of others
She allows people to choose their own way
She doesn't seek to blame
She trusts in God that things will work out

I think most of us can relate to the way Catherine felt. We don't really want to have to do such hard things! Yet, each of us will be called upon to lead in some way during our life. We might as well learn some of these lessons by watching others instead of having to learn them the hard way "on the job." I am grateful for the examples of leadership Godden provides in this beautiful novel.

My (Belated) Blogoversary

I've been blogging for 3 years now and I was recently thinking about some of my favorite blogging moments . . .

Last month, I wrote a post about Condoleeza Rice speaking at BYU and I included a photo I found online. I thought I was being funny when I asked if anyone could spot Aaron in the picture. Imagine my surprise when he left a comment telling me exactly where to find him!

In 2008, one of our Christmas cards was attacked by a postal machine and the remains were returned with a very "caring" note. The vast majority of people I sent Christmas cards to that year did not read my blog, so I never expected to solve the mystery of the mangled card. I loved it when my sister-in-law left a comment explaining that she had received the other half of the envelope.

Last summer I wrote about the time my husband ordered a surprise for my birthday and made me think I had lost my mind! Be sure to listen to the song and then read the comments. Can you guess who wrote the anonymous ones? My mom even left a comment teasing me. It was the last one she left on my blog, just weeks before she was admitted to the hospital.

My most commented-on posts (well as far as I can remember without reading through every old post!) were guessing about Ryan's mission call and announcing Brianne's birth. For some reason, lots of people were excited about the opportunity to call me "Grandma". And yes, I still maintain I'm too young to be a grandma, but I do love it!

Did you notice a theme here? One of the best things about blogging is the comments! So feel free to leave one. What post do you like best from my archives? What is your favorite post on your blog? I love how my friend Tawnya often replies to the comments on her blog. Hmmm, I wonder if I should follow her example?

Sweet Sunday - A day to write!

Joseph Smith wrote:

"The art of writing is one of the greatest blessings we enjoy. To cultivate it is our duty, and to use it is our privilege. By these means the thoughts of the heart can act without the body . . ."

There is so much to think about in those short sentences! Do I think of writing as a blessing? Do I see it as privilege? Am I using my ability to write to share the thoughts of my heart?

I am grateful for the written word in my life:

scriptures
great books
essays from wise men and women
magazine articles
letters from loved ones
notes from children
emails from friends
family history
journals of ancestors
poetry
delicious recipes

Lately I have been struggling to feel close to my mother. I know that she loves me, but I have been unable to feel her love. The prophet Joseph Smith promises that writing allows the "thoughts of the heart [to] act without the body." I know that my mom cares about me, but as a spirit she can't use her body to give me a hug or tell me she loves me. I am grateful I have letters from her that will give me a glimpse into the thoughts of her heart. I think I need to spend some time re-reading her letters.

Valentine's Day seems like the perfect time to record the thoughts of our heart in writing. The written word will last longer than our mortal bodies.

" . . . the things which were written were plain and pure, and most precious and easy to the understanding of all men." 1 Nephi 14:23

Generation Gap

Yesterday I received a lovely card from a family friend. She had heard about my mom's death through the Christmas letter I sent to her daughter. In her card she shared some thoughts and memories about my mom. I was really touched by such a sweet and thoughtful card. I showed it to my kids, thinking they might want to read it.

The card didn't interest them at all, mainly because it was written in cursive. Sadly, despite my best efforts, my children have fully embraced their generation's disdain for handwriting.

My kids were, however, very interested in the old photos that were included with the card. The pictures were from my bridal shower that our friends had hosted. Evan studied them carefully and asked, "Was this really the style back then?" I assured him it was and he stated, "So, I see you wore your hair up in those days."

I was a bit confused. I looked at the picture and explained, "No, my hair isn't 'up'. It is just cut short."

Now it was his turn to be confused. "What do you mean? Look how much hair is on top of your head. It's bigger than your face! How did you get it like that?"

I tried to explain that I had a perm, but he was too busy laughing to listen to me. Not only is he missing out on cursive, but he'll never understand the big hair of the 80s. Hopefully he won't ask me to explain it either. I can read cursive, but I can't justify that hair. At least it was a little more subdued in our wedding photos!

Sweet Sunday

Today was a good day.

• Uplifting testimonies during Sacrament meeting
• Easy, fun day in nursery (small group, very little crying, lots of smiles)
• Simple crockpot dinner
• Time together with family
• Yummy dessert with even more family
• Priesthood blessing received
• Read this quote from one of my favorite blogs:

"I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world."
- Mother Teresa

This is a little pencil in the hand of my youngest son. You may notice that he doesn't hold a pencil in the usual way. This is actually an accepted alternate grip taught by many educators, but he has had a number of adults tell him that he is "holding it wrong" and that he needs to correct his grip. It may look awkward to you or me, but it works. It gets the job done.

I want to be a little pencil in God's hand. I really do. I want to do His work. I know that sometimes his grip may feel awkward. I need to do things His way, not mine. Sometimes that is uncomfortable. But I need to trust the hand that is holding me and work hard. That is the best way to get His jobs done!

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."
Isaiah 55:8-9

Prophecy Fulfilled

Yesterday Marianne had an orthodontist appointment. Usually I just drop her off at the office, but this time I decided to go inside. As I sat down and opened my Kindle, I felt uneasy. I couldn't quite figure out what was wrong. Why was I feeling so distracted?

Suddenly I knew.

To my right was a computer touchscreen for patient check in. To my left were three wall mounted TV screens, each on a different channel. In front of me was a large Nintendo 64 screen. Across the room sat two women, both busy with their iPhones and earbuds. I looked down at my own Kindle screen and back up again. I counted eight screens in the waiting room alone. I knew that the rest off the office was filled with computer monitors and a TV for each patient.

Sure enough, it was Fahrenheit 451!

Have you read Ray Bradbury's prophetic novel? Published in 1953, it tells of a futuristic society where homes have TV walls where they can watch and interact constantly. One character can't wait to have the fourth TV wall installed so she can be completely surrounded by her TV "family". Literature is outlawed and books are burned daily. Fortunately, it's okay because no one really wants to read anyway.

I thought about Fahrenheit 451 as I set aside my ebook and began watching the happy couple on "Minute to Win It." They knew the tune to Jingle Bells and could play it on water glasses. They even knew how to stack three golf balls in a tower!

It kind of reminds me of Beatty, the fire chief in charge of burning books. He says,

Give the people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year. Cram them full of non-combustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely 'brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change. Don't give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy.

He ends his explanation with the comment, "But I don't care. I just like solid entertainment."

Too bad he's never been to the orthodontist!

The Perfect Gift

I have received some lovely responses to our family Christmas letter. For some of our friends, this was the first they had heard of my mom's passing. Several were thoughtful enough to send sympathy cards, and one friend even sent us a beautiful poinsettia. Today I got something in the mail that made me cry. It wasn't anything fancy. It was a letter. A handwritten 3 page letter.

That may not seems like much, but when was the last time someone wrote you a real letter? Letter writing has become a lost art.

The letter was from a high school friend. She offered her sympathy on the loss of my mom, congratulated me on becoming a grandma and told me I looked much too young to be one! I haven't seen or talked to this friend in quite awhile, so the rest of the letter told me about her life. She shared what was happening with her family and mentioned a few challenges was facing. I loved reading everything she shared, but it was more that the words. I was deeply touched that this very busy mom took the time to sit down and write me a real letter. It made me feel loved and I knew she truly cared about me.

A handwritten letter just might be the perfect gift.

I don't like my handwriting; I prefer using the computer where I can edit and perfect what I have to say. But a handwritten letter has sincerity and emotion that don't come thorough on the printed page no matter which font you choose!

Is there someone who needs a handwritten letter from you this Christmas? It is a real treasure and won't cost you anything other than a little time.

As You Like It

For the past 6 weeks we have been eating, sleeping and breathing Shakespeare's As You Like It. Our performance is next weekend. Since I have Shakespeare's words running through my mind, I thought I'd share some of my favorite quotes from As You Like It.

Best insult:
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can: you are not for all markets

Sweet, but pathetic:
So holy and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty of grace,
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

BFF quote:
And do not seek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out;
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

Funniest:
Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said
he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see
him again? (And here's the kicker . . .)
Answer me in one word.

Most poetic:
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life exempt from public haunt
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones and good in every thing.

Honesty is the best policy:
I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
For I am falser than vows made in wine:
Besides, I like you not.

Most famous:
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

What is your favorite quotation from Shakespeare?

Out With The Old

It's time to change out the quotes on my sidebar. I hope you'll enjoy the new ones I've added! But since the old ones are truly some of my "all time" favorites, I want to post them one last time and share my thoughts about them.

First are a couple of quotations about service. The one by Martin Luther King Jr. is one I have memorized and is probably my #1 favorite quote!

"One of the most beautiful compensations in life is that no person can help another without helping themselves" ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Everyone has the power for greatness, not fame but for greatness, because greatness is determined by service. " ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

I must have a lot to learn about leadership because I keep getting leadership opportunities along the path of my life. These three quotes by LDS leaders inspire me to be a better and stronger.

". . . these are the days in which a true leader wants to live. These are days when opportunities to change lives and even destinies are nearly endless. You were born to lead, and, in the words of Isaiah, you were born for glory (see Isaiah 62:2–3)." ~ Sheri Dew

"The leaders who have the most influence are usually those who set hearts afire with devotion to the truth, who make obedience to duty seem the essence of manhood, who transform some ordinary routine occurrence so that it becomes a vista where we see the person we aspire to be." ~ Thomas S. Monson

The tilt of your soul now can further shape all the days that follow! If you become too insulated, too encrusted, too self-contained, too self-concerned, those patterns will end up constraining you like invisible barriers and borders in the days and years ahead. Stretch. Reach for that kind of developmental discipleship that will take you beyond where you thought you could go. ~ Neal A. Maxwell

Next is my favorite quotes to share with youth. I wish that every young man and woman realized that NOW is the time to prepare for the mission God has planned for him or her!

"To every man there comes a time…, that special moment when he is figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered the chance to do a special thing, unique to him and fitted to his talent. What a tragedy if that moment finds him unprepared or unqualified for the work which would be his finest hour." ~Winston Churchill

Finally, here are a couple of short quotes that make me smile!

"The world is but canvas to our imaginations." ~Thoreau

"If you don't get everything you want, think of the things you don't get that you don't want." ~ Oscar Wilde

What is your favorite quote? I'd love to add to my collection.

Time to Write

Evan is finishing up his Faith in God award. He's got the Articles of Faith memorized; he's finished all of his goals. He's only got one things left to do: write his testimony!

And it's got me thinking . . . . and asking myself a question.

When was the last time you wrote down your testimony?

Until recently, my answer would have been, "Ummm, well. . . . maybe I wrote something when I did my Personal Progress in YW?"

And yet I love reading the personal testimonies of my family members. The few I have are real treasures. Maybe it's time to re-read a few of those testimonies, or even better--write one!

Emily Understands

Yes, I know I haven't posted in WAAAAY too long.

What's my excuse? Well I won't go into details, but let's just say my friend Emily understands just how I've been feeling. In fact she understands so well that she wrote about it. I think she says it better than I can!

Here's what she has to say about peace, or more specifically the search for peace:

I many times thought Peace had come

When Peace was far away—

As Wrecked Men— deem they sight the Land—

At Centre of the Sea—

And struggle slacker— but to prove

As hopelessly as I—

How many the fictitious Shores—

Before the Harbor lie—

Emily really understands suffering and knowing that you should feel better because of the Savior, but still you're not quiet there--not quite over it.

After great pain a formal feeling comes--
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore?
And yesterday--or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

And just so you know I haven't gone off the deep end with depression, Emily also understands the hope I am feeling and how gently it came into my heart to rest.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune--without the words
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickinson