Guest Blog: Choose Your Hard

I went back to Weight Watchers a few weeks ago.  At last week's meeting, I heard something I considered to be quite profound.

After a comment from a group member, the group leader said "losing weight is hard."  (This is not the profound part; I already knew that!)   She followed up that observation with this comment: "But so is being overweight."  (This isn't the profound part either; I knew that too!) We all agreed this was so.

Then she said (and this is the profound part): "So choose your hard."

Wow! 

Choose your hard.  Thinking in these terms opens up all sorts of possibilites because you realize that whichever road you take, it will be hard going.  Recognizing this helps you take your focus off the road itself and all the bumps, detours and setbacks along the way, and helps you focus rather on the destination at the end of the various roads before you.  And this helps you choose which one you want to be on.

I think this thought/perspective/motto has almost infinite applications to real life.  Life is hard and lots of things in life are hard.  Insert any action/choice/attitude and then its opposite to check out its universality and truth.

Keeping my room clean is hard.  Leaving my room a mess is hard.
Fixing the leak in the bathroom faucet is hard.  Leaving the faucet leaking is hard.
Going to work every day is hard.  Not going to work every day is hard.
Forgiving someone who is mean to me is hard. Holding a grudge against someone who is mean to me is hard.
Being patient with my kids is hard.  Being impatient with my kids is hard.
Feeding my spirit daily is hard.  Not feeding my spirit daily is hard.

They're all hard, just different brands of hard.  You have to look at the possible outcomes and weigh those to figure out which hard you want (or which you will find the least distasteful).

Living God's way is hard.  But so is living the world's way.  So choose your hard.

Guest Blog: Two Sides of the (Waterlogged) Coin

It has been very wet here lately.  First Irene paid us a violent visit.  Now roughly a month later, we have been experiencing heavy thunderstorms for several days running.  Tonight I made the 18-mile drive home through torrential rain, possibly the worst I've ever driven through.  (Not, however, the worst I've ever ridden through as a passenger!)  As the intensity of the storm increased and my limited visibility decreased, I turned off the radio so that I could pray and center my thoughts on something more restful than Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" (although that song title conveyed a message strangely relevant to my drive home through the downpour!).

I turned to singing my favorite peace-inducing song: "Gaelic Blessing" by John Rutter (also known as "Deep Peace" and profiled by Dallas earlier in his blog).  I often let this song run through my mind when I find it racing after I've retired for the night, spinning with thoughts of what I've done that day and what remains to be done the next day.  It helps slow me down and calm my thoughts and prepare myself for sleep.

Now I didn't want to fall asleep on the road tonight, but neither did I want to be anxious and clutching the steering wheel in the death grip. Well I obviously made it home safe and sound, and am very grateful for that blessing.

Meanwhile, I've been thinking about water over the past few days.  I started thinking about it when we skyped with Megan and Josh on Saturday.  They are living in Amman, Jordan while he's on a semester abroad program required for his major.  They share a surprisingly spacious apartment with another young couple on the program.  We learned this weekend that the plumbing in Jordan is not exactly the same as in America.  In fact, there are large tanks on the roof of every building (including their apartment building) and these tanks are filled with water each week.  When the water is gone, there is no more showering or washing dishes or doing laundry until the next week when the truck comes back to fill up the tanks.  This means that they--and everyone else in their building--have to conserve water, and use it very sparingly for cleaning themselves, as well as their dishes and their clothes.

I was thinking about that again one morning this week while taking my  morning shower, using as much clean, hot water as I was inclined to. Water is such a blessing!  And I appreciated it more, thinking about those who did not have such easy access to it as I.

Of course it's a bit harder to feel a deep appreciation for water when you're driving down the interstate at 35 mph in a torrential downpour, eyes glued to the tail lights of the car in front of you.  But I guess that's the challenge: to be grateful for our blessings even when the timing doesn't suit us, or they are presented to us in the guise of challenges. 

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Guest Blog: Remember the Window

Fall is my favorite season of the year, and last evening, we finally had our first taste of it.  It was back-to-school night at the middle school, and I returned home shortly before 9:00 in the evening. The temperature had fallen into the mid-60's; Dallas had opened the windows and the cool breeze felt wonderful!  But by the time I went to bed, the coolness had turned to chilliness.  I closed the bathroom window so that during my nighttime visit(s) I wouldn't end up shivering--and waking myself up in the process!

At some point during the night I made one of my predictable nocturnal bathroom visits.  Much to my chagrin, I found that the window had once again been opened.  Shivering, I hurried to close it.  Knowing that his internal thermostat and mine are rarely in sync, in my mind's eye I could see Dallas rolling his eyes as he opened that window a second time.  By the time I crawled back into bed, I found it difficult to fall back asleep, owing to the fact that I had given place for the growing seed of resentment at my husband's perceived insensitivity.

Thankfully, when I got up the next morning most of my resentment had dissipated.  I happened to mention to Dallas that I had found the window open again in the night, after I had closed it to ward off the chill from the cooler nighttime air.  He responded rather sheepishly that when he went into the bathroom later that evening and found the window was closed, he figured he had absentmindedly forgotten to open it in the first place! 

This rather small incident reminded me how easy it is to attribute totally erroneous motives to the actions of others, even those closest to us.  When I found that window open, I ascribed it to Dallas putting his own comfort ahead of my own.  But I couldn't have been further from the truth.  In consequence, I spent precious time and emotion plodding self-righteously down a path that had no foundation in reality.  I perceived myself as an injured party, where no injury--or even awareness!--was to be found.

I hope that the next time I'm tempted to assume the role of the aggrieved party, I'll remember the lesson I learned today from the window.

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Guest Blog: The tip of the iceberg

I remember learning that only about 10% of an iceberg is visible above the water.  Most of an iceberg is hidden beneath the water, and the shape of the underwater portion can be hard to estimate simply by looking at the visible portion.  So there's a lot more to the iceberg than what is readily seen.

I'm a middle school guidance counselor, and one of the hats I wear at work is school testing coordinator.  For the past couple of years, this has meant that I'm responsible for all the preparations, training, scheduling, and administering of our state tests, which are given near the end of the school year.  We test every student in grades six through eight in reading, math and history, and 8th graders are also tested in science and writing.  In my school that means approximately 2500 tests are administered every year, with 2300 of those administered within a three-week period. 

This past school year, we administered our state tests online for the first time.  That meant hours and hours of additional advance preparation for me.  Our school has enough computers to test about 200 students at a time, so I had to come up with a testing schedule which would run all the students through all the tests they needed to take during that three-week testing window.  I had to assign students to testing groups (first on paper, and then in online test sessions), ensure that special ed students' accommodations were provided, train teachers, and run simulations.  I had to provide practice sessions for every teacher and every student, in order to familiarize them with online testing tools and help both groups increase their level of comfort with the online testing format. I came early to work every test day to ensure that computers were both turned on and logged on, and had to start and monitor each online testing group from my desktop computer.

Although the tests are untimed, a typical student spends roughly two hours working on a test.  For that student, and for the teacher who proctors the test, it is all over relatively quickly.  But that two-hour test represents hours and hours of preparation on my part. 

I'm not looking for acknowledgement of my effort.  I could just as easily be focusing on all the work a teacher does to prepare a student to take such a test.  But reflecting on this rather ordinary part of my job has given me pause.  This is what I've been thinking about: What do I take for granted that has taken someone else hours and hours of preparation so that I might enjoy/participate/consume/view/wear/listen/read.....?

I'm hoping that while I'm up here enjoying the tip of any particular iceberg, that I'll be more aware of what others have done "below the water line" to make it happen, and that I'll look harder for ways to express my gratitude and appreciation.  And I invite you to join me.

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Guest Blog: An old mom helps a young mom

I have a friend who is the young mother of two active toddlers.  She posted this on her facebook page a few weeks ago:

Today is one of those days where I need to sit down and remind myself why I love being a Mommy.  Joey [her three-year old] was awful at the grocery store, and to top off the morning he poured liquid laundry detergent down the back of an elderly lady.  I've never wanted to crawl into a hole so badly.

"But at least the lady was sweet about it. She just said, "wow, I think I have enough to do a whole load."

Wow!  What an amazing gift that sweet lady gave my friend!  Instead of becoming angry or indignant, she took it all in stride.  She didn't rail at my friend and tell her what a horrible mother she was, or how she ought to watch her son more carefully, or anything like that.  Her response softened the blow and gave my friend the gift of encouragement to change her perspective on what was certainly already an embarrassing and difficult situation.  


I imagine the world would be quite a different place if we would all give gifts like that at every opportunity.


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Guest Blog: I need socks

This past weekend, young men and women from our church ages 14-18 from ten congregations traveled to Raleigh, NC for what we call Youth Conference.  The focus of this youth conference was service in the LDS temple in Raleigh.  We believe that the Savior's pronouncement in John 3:5 is true for all people ever born or who ever will be born on the earth.  That is, all must be baptized in order to enter into the kingdom of God.  But we also believe that baptism can be performed by proxy for those who have died without the opportunity to receive this saving ordinance.  In preparation for youth conference, the young people in our stake (the larger administrative unit of several congregations together) were encouraged to research their own family history and come to the temple prepared to be baptized for one of their ancestors. 

I was asked to serve in the temple that day with our youth.  I was delighted with this assignment, and pictured a day of hushed reverence and quiet service.  When we arrived at the temple that morning, I was assigned to work in the laundry room, washing the white clothing and towels that were worn and used by each of the 79 young people and the men who performed the ordinances of baptism and confirmation.  It was not exactly the quiet day I had pictured in the Lord's house, but I must say that never have I had such joy in doing laundry.  

Baptisms are performed by immersion in the baptismal font.  I had dressed in white but left my feet bare, knowing that there would inevitably be a bit of water around, and finding I could not relish the thought of working all day in wet socks.  As I reported to the little laundry room off the baptistry, the temple matron noticed my bare feet.  She handed me a pair of socks accompanied by this pronouncement: "You need socks."  I must confess that I somewhat reluctantly put them on my feet, dreading the discomfort I was sure would follow once they got wet.

Sure enough, as the morning progressed and I repeatedly retrieved wet laundry from the dressing rooms, my socks got soaked, leaving my feet feeling rather uncomfortable.  It was with great relief that I peeled those wet socks from my feet as we prepared to leave the temple for lunch.


Upon our return to the temple, I was determined to do what I could to avoid having to wear socks again that afternoon.  I imagined that the temple matron had given me socks to wear because of some notion of what was considered appropriate and complete attire for service in the temple.  But after all (I thought to myself) there's nothing wrong with bare feet in the temple; those who are being baptized and performing baptisms are also barefoot.    So whenever I was near the temple matron, I walked more slowly in order that my bare feet would not be visible, and once or twice I even stooped a little so that the hem of my dress would brush the ground and hide my naked toes!

Because of the water, there were rubber mats leading from the baptismal font to both the men's and women's dressing rooms.  As I walked back and forth gathering laundry and observing the ordinances being performed in the font, I realized that the rubber grips on the mats were somewhat uncomfortable on my bare feet.  It was hardly noticeable at first, only a mild nuisance.  But as the afternoon wore on, the soles of my feet and the soft undersides of my toes were rubbed raw.  The discomfort became more and more pronounced until it finally turned into pain.  


At that point, I sheepishly retrieved the socks I had worn earlier that morning--now freshly laundered--and replaced them on my feet.  


It was a small thing really.  And yet the greater significance of it, and the conspicuous parallels to be drawn between it and other life experiences was for me, profound.


How many times do we look at things the Lord has asked--commanded--us to do with an attitude like mine?  ("Look, there are other people who aren't doing that, and they're doing fine. Why should I have to do that?")  How many times do we think we know the reason behind the Lord's standards and commandments, only to find that our decidedly human capacity to understand leaves us either with only the tip of the iceberg, or simply dead wrong?  I thought the matron wanted me to wear socks in order to be dressed "appropriately".  But in reality, wearing socks was designed to give my feet protection, and to allow me to avoid the discomfort and pain of walking barefoot on the rough surfaces of the drain mats.  


The Lord's standards and commandments are designed to do the same: to protect us and make it possible for us to avoid the discomfort and pain that inevitably follow when we do not choose to walk where the Lord leads us.  If we choose our own path, we may not notice anything amiss at first.  We may in fact travel a long way down that path before we experience discomfort or pain brought on by our unwillingness to accept and live by the guidance and direction given to us by a loving Parent.  


I don't wish to be misunderstood.  I know that trials and challenges--along with discomfort, grief and pain--are meant to be a part of our experience here in mortality.  But I am convinced that enough of those experiences will come our way without us walking toward them as we walk away from our Heavenly Father. 

So even when I'm tempted to think I might know better, I'm determined to keep my socks on.  I need them.
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Guest Blog: Turning 21

Our third daughter turned 21 a couple of weeks ago.  Rather than choosing to go out to dinner, she asked me to make one of her favorites here at home (chicken pot pie).  She asked her dad to make her an ice cream cake (she has never liked actual cake, even as a kid).  And then, after dinner and opening her presents, we all went down to the family room and watched "Tangled" together.

This in vivid contrast to the way the world would suggest she mark this "passage into adulthood".

It's actually quite ironic; celebrating your coming of age, your maturity, your adulthood, by taking mood- and mind-altering substances into your body--so much so that the next morning, you are hard-pressed to remember just what you did and who you did it with.   

How much more mature, more adult--in the true sense of the word--to respect your spirit and your body, and to remain master of both.  To spend time with people you care about, to enjoy their company, and to have those memories the next morning. 

That's the recipe for a happy birthday--and a pretty good foundation on which to build a happy life.

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Guest Blog: When all else fails, read the directions

It's not just for men.

Last week I rented a Red Box DVD for the first time ever.  Hilary went online and found a Red Box location nearby, and reserved the movie for us.  So after dinner we took our homemade ice cream cake to the family room and watched "Tangled" as a family for her birthday. 

My job the next morning was to return the DVD to the Red Box.  I'm the right person for this job because I am the one who would have the biggest problem paying an extra dollar for an additional day's rental.  Since the Red  Box was only about a block out of my way, I just left a couple of minutes early for work, intending to drop it off and be on my way.

I had gone with Hilary to pick up the DVD; I watched her retrieve it and noticed it should be returned to the same slot.  So when I got to the Red Box that morning, I tried to insert the DVD into the slot.  But it wouldn't be inserted.  I checked the DVD case to make sure I had oriented it correctly (which I had).  I tried to change the angle I used to insert the DVD (which I couldn't).  I tried again to insert the DVD into the slot, only this time I pushed a little harder (it still wouldn't go in).  I tried to insert that DVD into that slot a couple more times; the physical equivalent of repeating my guesses for charades a little louder, and then a little louder than that, because I must be right after all, and my teammate must not have heard me! 

By this time I'm feeling pretty silly, wondering if people driving by in their cars are chuckling a little at the clueless woman trying to return her DVD.  Just then, the light bulb over my head must have illuminated, for the thought came to me that perhaps I had to DO something on the screen before the slot would accept my offering.  Sure enough, one little tap in the proper place on the screen, and--voila!  The Red Box ate that little DVD just like an obedient toddler gulping down his strained peas.

Too bad it's not only at the Red Box that we figuratively beat our heads against the wall, sure that if we just try that one more time, we'll finally meet with success.  This despite ample evidence of failure through multiple previous attempts.  Albert Einstein once defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.  By that definition, we've all suffered from insanity at one time or another.

So if you're in the insanity loop, try reading the directions.  Talk to someone you respect who's experienced what you're going through.  Talk to God.  Listen to what He tells you through His servants, old and new.  And then test their counsel by putting it into practice.

Another thing that's not just for men. 
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Guest Blog: The Piano Man

A friend of mine had her piano tuned recently.  Once he arrived, the piano tuner settled in to his work, and my friend went on with hers.  Since she has four children--including two preschoolers--there is always plenty on her "to do" list, and this day was no exception.

After they'd both been working for awhile, my friend found her way back into the living room and dropped into a chair near the piano.  As she did so, she made a comment in the general direction of the piano tuner about how much she hates doing laundry.

Upon hearing her complaint, the piano tuner paused, looked up, and said, "Well, you might want to do something about that, because the more you hate something, the worse it gets." 

In the days since my friend shared her exchange with the piano man, I've been thinking about his statement, testing it against my own life experience.  So far, the piano man is batting a thousand.  For example, I hate confrontation, and when a situation arises where I feel I must be confrontive, I worry and obsess and can hardly think of anything else.  I live and re-live the dreaded confrontation scenario over and over in my mind before I ever live it in reality, thus building and feeding the anxiety and apprehension and whatever other negative feelings are conjured up.  And I believe those pre-reality confrontations make the actual confrontations worse; likely heavily influencing how they unfold. 

The piano man's observation seems to hold equally true for other things that are not on my "favorites" list : trimming the weeds, making financial phone calls, cleaning the oven, and balancing the checkbook.  The more I think about how onerous they are, the more onerous those tasks seem to become, and the more I dread them.  Whereas if I just grit my teeth--or better yet, try and find something positive in those tasks I dislike--I find they are not so distasteful (or, as a minimum, the distaste is not unnecessarily prolonged!).

My daughter Haleigh ordered some books from amazon.com over a week ago.  She's been haunting the mailbox every afternoon since then, but so far, no luck.  Tonight at dinner she announced, "I hate waiting for books to come in the mail!"  However, because those books had not yet arrived, she finally decided to read a series we recommended to her long ago (and has already devoured four out of the five books in the series!).  This caused me to reflect on how at times, the things we hate and/or avoid might actually end up leading us to opportunities or situations that bless or benefit us.  The dreaded confrontation may yield a deeper understanding of the other person; the onerous phone call may yield an unexpected fiscal bonus. 

I think the key to the piano man's pronouncement is this: that we can actually do something to change the way we feel about things.  I understand this quite well in the abstract; it's in the actual nitty-gritty of day-to-day living that my cerebral comprehension frequently fails to transform itself into action!  But I'll keep trying.  And who knows?  Maybe one day I'll actually look forward to wielding the weed-whacker.

Guest Blog: Stay in Your Lane

I drove to Richmond for a routine doctor’s appointment this past Monday.  The clock told me it was not rush hour, but the traffic on the six-lane freeway told me otherwise.  I was in the middle lane, going slightly over the posted speed limit (which in Virginia is the de facto speed limit).  I was not obstructing traffic by going too slowly, nor was I driving like one of those speed demons who constantly dart and weave from one lane to the other, trying to win a race in which they are the only contestant.  But cars in both the left- and right-hand lanes continued to pass me by, their drivers rushing on to their own appointments, lunch dates, and jobs.

Ten years ago, I would have been bothered somewhat by this.  I would have felt the urge to speed up a little, to match the rhythm of the traffic around me.  Or I would have felt I needed to move to the far right-hand lane, to make way for the drivers I was inconveniencing by following the law in the middle lane. 

But today, I keep my steady pace, in my chosen lane, comfortable with my choice; able to allow that others can also choose—while recognizing that I need not be swayed by their choices. 

Like so many little things in life, this reminded me of a bigger thing.  So if you’re headed in the right direction, and you’re going the right speed, don’t let what others do influence you.  Don’t be lured into entering their races, or changing lanes to accommodate their wishes.  Stay in your lane, and you’ll end up where you want to be.

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Guest Blog: DMV Deep Thoughts

I took our youngest daughter to the DMV this past Monday so she could take the test to get her learner’s permit.  She had taken the test a few months earlier but had walked out of the DMV afterwards not with a learner’s permit, but with disappointment, having missed both one road sign and the opportunity to move on to the next portion of the test. 

On this day Haleigh was fired up, ready to face the test head-on and come out on top.  She called out the meaning of road signs all along our route from her high school to the DMV.  “Divided highway ahead!”  “Speed limit 35 miles per hour!”  “Do not enter!”  She had brought the DMV manual with her, and when we reached our destination, she (somewhat grudgingly) brought it in with her.  (I anticipated a bit of a wait and figured a little extra review couldn’t hurt!) 

We picked up the learner’s permit application along with the ticket which marked our place in the virtual queue.  I say virtual because we didn’t know our position in that queue.  (I think DMV personnel prefer it that way.)   It must have been pretty far back though, because ten minutes stretched into twenty, and twenty into thirty.  Those minutes seemed to go by rather slowly.

Haleigh let me quiz her on the signs, and she knew them cold.  When we finished the traffic signs section, I started quizzing her on the next section in the manual, which included information about right-of-way, changing lanes, and the like.

“I don’t know that stuff,” she said.

“You don’t?” I replied.  “It will be on the test too.”

“It will?” she queried, panic rising in her voice.

“Yes it will,” I responded.  “But luckily you have some time while we’re waiting, so you can study the rest of the manual for information that will be on the test.”

Haleigh got busy studying right away.  All of a sudden, the worry was not how long we’d have to wait, but how soon they would call her number and expect her to take the test!  We waited another thirty minutes, but those minutes went by much more quickly than the first thirty!  The story has a happy ending: she passed the test and got her learner’s permit.  But the afternoon’s events got me thinking about other lessons there to be learned. 

First, the relativity of time.   We had spent thirty minutes waiting for her turn before she realized she was not fully prepared for the test.   Those minutes dragged by and random thoughts that popped into her head were welcome distractions which relieved the boredom and made the time pass by more quickly.  But then she realized she wasn’t ready to face the hurdle she’d have to clear to get what she wanted, and the remaining thirty minutes she had to prepare seemed inadequate, and went by very quickly.  It reminded me that the same amount of time—or even the same event or activity—can seem laborious or monotonous on any given day, while on another day or in another circumstance, it passes  much too quickly, is over too soon, and we wish it back.  

As she prepared to take the test again, I think Haleigh may have been so focused on the portion of the test that tripped her up last time that she forgot there would be other information she would be accountable for.   I think in life we sometimes do the same.  We figuratively beat ourselves up about past mistakes and shortcomings, focusing on our weaknesses to the point where we forget or discount the things we do well, our strengths and abilities.  And I think that kind of thinking is opposite of how God wants us to think.  Of course He wants us to work on improving and turning weaknesses into strengths.  But He also wants us to acknowledge that we have strengths, talents and abilities, and to use them to bless our families and those around us. 

Who’d have thought a trip to the DMV could be so thought-provoking?  All this time I thought DMV stood for Department of Motor Vehicles; maybe it really stands for “Deep Mind Visions”. 

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Guest Blog: Thank Your Favorite Magician

 

I’ve been a magician now for over 30 years.  My mom continued as a magician herself for several years after I branched out on my own; then my dad took over the job.  Three of my daughters are also magicians, in varying stages of training and experience.  The magic we practice?  The laundry!

When you’re not the one who actually does the laundry, it is magic.  Think about it!  You take your stinky socks, your sweaty t-shirt, the jeans you wiped your greasy fingers on—and you drop them in the “magic box”.  Your grass-stained shorts, your ketchup-splattered shirt, your ink-stained blouse—all are restored to their former glory by depositing them in the magic box.  Your magic box might be called a hamper or a laundry chute.  (Some magicians even collect the raw materials for their magic from bedroom floors, but for years I have resisted giving in to this collection method.)  And then, in only a matter of days—sometimes mere hours--your grimy, sweaty, stinky clothes resurface, transformed!  They appear neatly folded in your drawers.  They are found hanging clean in your closet.   Without so much as a wave of your hand, your favorite shirt, your well-loved jeans are clean and bright again, and ready to be worn at your earliest whim. 

So if you’re wishing for a little magic in your life, remember it’s all around you.  In fact, it’s in the very clothes you wear.  And if you are fortunate enough to live with a magician, let her (or him) know how much you appreciate their special brand of magic.   It will make their day!

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Guest Blog: Rainman

Although I’ve been the subject of a blog before, I’ve never been a guest blogger—until today!  I’ve been considering what to write about ever since Dallas suggested I might try my hand at it, and have found myself pondering both the ridiculous and the sublime.  Then I remembered an experience I had this past summer, and decided it would be the topic of my first post.

I had entered the grocery store 45 minutes earlier, with the sun beating down from clear blue skies.  But as I completed my purchases and headed for the exit, a torrential downpour had commenced.  A few of my fellow shoppers and I paused in the store’s entryway between the two sets of glass doors. 

The old man was seated, waiting calmly and patiently on a metal bench placed there.  “It will stop in a few minutes,” he said to a woman fidgeting nervously on an adjacent bench, clutching the bags that held her purchases.  “It always does.  You’ll see; in just a few minutes, the sun will be shining again.”  His smile was reminiscent of the sunshine he spoke of: warm and inviting.

I hadn’t expected rain, so had brought no umbrella.  I found a spot to sit and wait, and watched as the deluge continued.  After a few minutes, the storm’s intensity decreased somewhat, and I decided to seize the chance to escape to my van, thinking that with a sky this gray and overcast, the storm would surely not abate until much later.  I steeled myself and pushed my shopping cart out the door and into the parking lot, hurrying through the growing puddles and trying unsuccessfully to dodge the raindrops.

Only a few yards from the store, the rain increased in intensity, and the bags of groceries in my cart were soon soaked.  I made it to my van and lifted the tailgate, which offered partial shelter from the rain for me and my cargo.  I hoped that the rainwater dripping from the plastic bags wouldn’t leave my van smelling too damp and musty.  I returned the cart to the corral and hurried back to my vehicle, wet and rather uncomfortable.  I wiped the raindrops from my eyeglasses and then pulled my van out of the parking space.

Before my van had even cleared the parking lot, the sun came out and the rain clouds, which had so recently been unloading water by the bucketfuls, dispersed.  Once again the sun was shining and the sky was blue.  The wet pavement and the steam rising from it were the only evidence of the thunderstorm which had just passed.

I thought again of the man in the store, and the advice he had given.  I suspect he had lived in the area for many years, and that he had more than a passing acquaintance with our summer thunderstorms.  He knew that, despite their intensity, the storms would quickly pass, and that with a little patience and common sense, one could “wait it out”. 

As I reviewed my experience that day, I realized that Heavenly Father often places those with more experience in our paths to help us weather the storms in our lives--parents, teachers, and church leaders who have walked paths much like our own, and who have learned something about what we might expect along the way.  When we seek and follow their advice and counsel, we are less likely to experience the negative consequences—ranging from the merely irritating to the truly dangerous—that often come with those storms.  While it’s true that there are lessons we are here in mortality to learn, it’s also true that we don’t have to touch the stove ourselves to know it’s hot!  We can avoid a lot of heartache and disappointment if we take advantage of the wisdom and inspiration of those who have successfully weathered a few of life’s storms, and who are anxious to ease the way for their fellow travelers on the path.

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