How I Strengthened My Testimony by SHOPPING!

I know some of you are thinking, "Yaaaayyyyyy!!!"

And isn't it nice that we don't have to ONLY learn from our trials? It just goes to prove that you can learn valuable lessons anytime you're willing.

This story, is a shopping story.

You should understand that I generally find clothes shopping to be, if not a trial, a bit of a challenge. First of all, the fashion world produces shockingly few options for an endowed Latter-Day Saint woman and I'm sure you can relate. Second, I'm 5'11," so clothes that would be perfectly modest on someone else become belly shirts, Daisy D's and miniskirts on me. So, you can imagine my delight the day my favorite department store had a sale on beautiful cap-sleeve dresses that--Get this!--actually came down to my knees! It's true. What a moment.

Fantastic! Now all I had to do was bring the necklines up (fun visit to the fabric store) and I could wear them. I hurried to get one of them ready. My ten-year high school reunion was days away and one of the events was a dressy dinner. Nice timing, right?

Since my sewing machine was 50.5 miles away with my sister, I drove over to borrow it back. We sewed at her house all afternoon and finally I tried it on.(The dress, not the machine.) It worked! (I don't need dressmaking rodents--Cinderella's got nothing on me.)

There was just one problem: I didn't have shoes. Well, not pretty ones, anyway. I only had sensible flats in brown and black, which, if they didn't look particularly bad with the outfit, certainly did nothing to enhance it. You know how you put a bouquet of flowers in in a Snoopy mug and it doesn't look as nice as a vase? Shoes are like that. They didn't make my dress less pretty but the overall effect was wanting. (Details! They make you or they break you. Even Cinderella's Godmother knew this. That's why she changed the drab, flat work shoes into delicate glass slippers. Okay, maybe Cinderella does have something on me. A Fairy Godmother would rock. I hate combing my hair.)

By now you're probably all thinking, "So, buy some shoes, Woman!" Well, it wasn't that simple. Nice shoes range in price from $30, if you're lucky, to $65 on sale, without going into designer brands. I'd already spent a good chunk of money on the dresses, the dinner tickets and various other things moms buy, and didn't have a lot left. It works that way when you're hubby is under employed and you have two kids.

My husband actually told me I should wear my black flats. I started thinking about my school days, dreaded being made fun of, and all the old insecurities came back. I reminded myself that nobody had ever been mean to me in high school. I had, in fact, rather liked it. Even if I didn't have any friends and nobody paid any particular mind to me, at least nobody had been cruel. My fears were all in my head. I told myself that nobody would be dumb enough to say anything about my shoes, and if they did, I could tell them to grow up.

But I still wanted nice shoes. I wanted them for me. I wanted my ensemble finished. Complete. That night, I reverted into a little girl, and prayed for shoes. Shoes I didn't really need. Sparkly ones, with a heel--but not too tall a heel--and in my size (the most common women's shoe size in America and always the first size to run out) and on sale. It was a tall order. Shoes in my size always run out extra fast if they are sparkly, or on sale, or both. I went to bed determined to try my best. There was one day left before the reunion.

The next morning was my day off. I took my children to school, then I went shopping. It was so early that most retail outlets were closed. I tried the neighborhood stores with no luck. They only had more flats. The department stores had nothing in my price range. The discount stores had nothing in my size. Everything was too tall. I was tired, hangry, discouraged and disgruntled when I made up my mind to wear my black work flats. I would be just as merry in plain shoes as in fancy ones.

As I was leaving the mall, I noticed a little store I hadn't planned to visit, and was pretty sure they wouldn't have what I wanted. A miracle, that is. Still, I had a feeling. I felt impressed that I should go and look.

They had plenty of pretty shoes; tall, expensive, tiny, but there was one, (1,) ONE pair on clearance. They were sparkly. They fit me! They had only tiny, one-inch heels. They were $10. I bought them on the spot.

As I came away, I opened my heart to a realization entirely new to me: Heavenly Father cares whether or not I feel pretty. He helped my little girl heart find her dream shoes.

It was such a little thing. It won't change the world, build the kingdom or even save my soul. It was a pair of not-very-comfortable shoes and you might say it didn't really matter.

It mattered to me.

Heavenly Father had answered my prayer, just for me. With all the big prayers that don't seem to get answered, with the marriages that are not saved, the fathers and mothers who never come home, and the millions of people who live in danger and poverty, and all the children who have no shoes at all, a flimsy pair of heels seems petty and trivial. It IS petty and trivial. But it was never about the shoes or shopping. It was about me, knowing that my Father cares about me.

In all of MY unanswered prayers, Why can't he get a job? Why did my babies die? Why are some people so mean? it was as if my Heavenly Father had wrapped his arms around me, saying, "I'm still here. It will be alright. Be patient a little longer." That little thing helped me get through the big things. Maybe it did save my soul.

Book of Mormon prophet Alma explained this principle to his son Helaman. Alma 37:6 reads "Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise."

In the last year, I've started a gratitude box for the "little things," the tender mercies that help us in our trials, that remind us, "I'm still here. It will be alright. Be patient a little longer." Every time I write down a story of unexpected blessings, generous deeds or perfect timing, I feel joy. I feel peace and I know that I'm not alone. The trials seem, for the moment at least, little things.

I'll always be grateful that I obeyed the prompting that led me to my Father's love. Through small and simple things, he taught me that I am valuable to him. We are all valuable to him and he's teaching us all the time. Heavenly Father is there for us. He has always been there for us and he will continue to be. You may learn it while washing socks or driving to work or eating a delicious dinner. I learned it while shopping. May we all learn and know how loved we are. This is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

I COULD HAVE Been A Pioneer, For Awhile, Until I Died

Who hasn't asked themselves the question, "Could I have survived crossing the plains? Could I have made it?" Most people say "No way!" but it's more of a sissy response than anything else, because pioneers had to work so crazy hard, from sunup to sundown in all weathers. I think we must be feeling lazy. Maybe we prefer not to exercise all day, every day, just to get our next meal.

It's not that we CAN'T do what the pioneers did; it's that we don't want to. We prefer to keep our cars, running water, flushing toilets and air conditioning. Who's with me? (Aahhh, washing machines...) Streets not covered in horse poop. Music, whenever we want it, as long as we want it, free. Inexpensive, ready-made clothing. Books. Audio books! Telephones! And... Medicine. We'll come back to that.

Are You Crazy? Hello! Wolves! (You Had to Be Smart)

Okay, so you have to be smart and skillful with a gun. You could learn that. Even the pioneers weren't born with frontier skills. They practiced.

I will now explain how it's totally possible to adapt to a pioneer lifestyle and not very difficult, (although distasteful,) to learn old-fashioned skills and habits. For example, my life.

All My Crazy, Loveable Relatives (You HAD to Be Determined)

Honestly, my whole childhood was pretty pioneer. Sure, we had central heating, but Mom always kept the thermostat below sixty degrees Fahrenheit, so I spent a fair amount of time trying to keep warm. We had an air conditioner but it was always broken. Always. Nobody bothered to have it repaired. We didn't always have money for food, so we sometimes went hungry. (Mostly because we refused to do food-storage cooking.) We washed all of our dishes by hand, heated our own water when the water heater was empty and were in our element when the power went out. We dried our clothes on a clothesline in the backyard and my mom even made me haul water by bucket.

We all had to work in the family business and children took on adult responsibilities very early. My brothers were expert at tools and repairs, and all of us learned to handle dangerous chemicals.

My brothers, and I hardly need add, all my sisters, were outdoorsy and learned to handle  knives, axes and firearms. We could all build a fire using matches, cook our own food outdoors, set up tents, find our way in the mountains and even small children could take care of their own cuts and bruises.
Our creative pyro tendencies had plenty of outlet, as we camped often and had a wood-burning stove in the garage.

For play we built forts in the backyard, climbed trees, played with sticks and rocks and sewed our own doll clothes by hand. We spent very little time with study books and mostly ran wild during our free time. (It was awesome!) We explored, built things, rolled down grassy hills, and, if we were lucky, we got to ride a horse. (I liked these things so much that I encourage them in my children.)

And most importantly, we walked, and walked, and walked and WALKED! Pretty pioneer, right?

I still think I would have died on the plains.

Yeah, I've since learned to knit, milk cows and goats, plow a field, make candles (in theory) clean a fish, and I'm sure that I could learn to hitch up and drive a team. There are blacksmith classes, ranches, apprenticeships, pioneer trek reenactments and endless opportunities to "go back in time." It's not about the skills, which I'm convinced we could all learn and even take pride in. But there are at least TWO main differences that keep these modern attempts from ever coming close to the real thing. These are, medical intervention, and a general knowledge of how disease is spread.

Really Poor Health Practices (You Had to Be Careful)

You probably know that immunocompromised people, such as the elderly and babies, should not be near sick people. You probably cook your meat thoroughly, wash you hands after touching animals and avoid contact with mosquitoes, for health reasons. Pioneers didn't know about those things.
Although Louis Pasteur's Germ Theory was in existence before the Mormon pioneers, it was not widely known.

Humans aren't so daft as to not be able to realize that eating rotten meat would make them sick, and they had even learned that it was a good idea to wash before meals (their work made their hands visibly dirty.) However, there were still so many prevailing myths as to what caused contagious diseases (the night air, for instance,) and had very few resources to treat them. Since doctors were hard to come by, every household and neighborhood had to have someone with a medical knowledge. The pity was, doctors didn't have much better medicine than anybody else. They were still bleeding people!

The Doctor Can't Help You (You Had to Be Strong)

Diabetes was a death sentence, as was tuberculosis. Measles, malaria, scarlet fever, influenza and yellow fever were not much better. Clotting disorders and allergies, if detected, could not be treated. Surgery was likely to kill you, as the shock, untempered by intravenous fluids and oxygen and anit-anxiety drugs, might stop your heart. Organ transplants are a recent breakthrough. Blood transfusions were impossible. CPR unknown. Plus, the germs.

Pioneer treks were a real-life example of Darwin's theory. Only the strong survived. This ensured that future generations would continue to be strong, as disease and the elements acted as a natural, if a cruel, weeding agent. If we were called on to live as pioneers again, now, today, I believe that would happen again. And I don't believe I would make the cut, even with our current knowledge of pathogens and better plumbing practices.

The Really Serious Part. Seriously (You Had to Be Lucky)

You'd have to have no complications or genetic disorders (and with the natural selection process having full sway, you probably wouldn't.) Most of us today do, though. My husband and his male family might have died of hernias before their children were grown, possibly before fathering any. My husband would be blind. My son would have no teeth and my own teeth would be so crooked as to have spoilt my looks. (And, if you think that's vain, pledge today to never dye your hair again.)

I'm pretty strong, determined, careful, hopefully smart and generally healthy, but I would have died in childbirth. Without forceps, suction, Pitocin, episiotomy and oxygen, I would have died giving birth to my firstborn, with or without the epidural. My baby was stuck, cord around his neck, and after a 26-hour labor, I was too exhausted to push him out, even if my contractions had not ceased. His heartbeat had stopped, not that pioneers could have know that. And now, instead of dying, I have my sweet boy, going on nine years old, and a little sidekick to boot.

(Historically, women who couldn't survive multiple pregnancies would have to stay abstinent for the rest of their lives. How would you like that? The other option was dying.)

So, you had to be strong, determined, smart, careful AND lucky. I am lucky. Lucky to have modern medicine.

Most pioneer survival characteristics are within our control. So, you probably could be a pioneer, and live. (Even if you did start telling fairytales and singing ballads about toilets and washing machines and antibiotics.) But you probably wouldn't want to.

Dearest Family, Whose Side Are You NOT On?

If you're reading this, you probably don't hate me. Yet.

Now, take a minute, breathe deeply and decide how far you want to go with this. You can quit now and nobody will care. (Nobody will know.)

Still reading? Alright. Here it is.

I'm tired of people fighting. I'm more tired of my family fighting, and I will not fight. Not trying to start anything. On the contrary. I'm so, so, so tired of hearing about it. All of it. All of them. After all these years, can't it be DONE?

I'm probably not referring to whatever conflict you might be thinking of. I mean, what are the odds, with hundreds of disputes over the years, (and probably at least 20 going on right now) and most of them never coming to my ears? Not to mention, I've been studiously avoiding contention for years.

However, sometimes I happen to get wind of it, and it saddens me. The old stress of trying to make sense of your loved ones being enemies to each other, is exhausting.

 I spent my entire childhood in a fight. There was no question of neutrality or of not involving the children. You had to pick a side. And you always knew which side you had to choose. (Whoever you were with at the time, duh.) There was an ever-changing list of people to not think well of. Then, somebody in the family would pass away, unspecified persons would presumably feel the shortness of life, and make up at the funeral, becoming bosom buddies. And then find someone else to hate. The reasons were not of eternal value.

I'm not in favor of taking sides. There's only one side that really matters: The Lord's side.


 I'm not referring to anyone in particular because, to my limited perception, everybody did it at some point. I don't know whose "fault" it was and I don't care. At all. I'm not here to pass judgement. Anybody with half a heart, who knows even a portion of what my family has been through, would make allowances for a desperate need to feel safe, valued and be able to control something.

Any reasoning person would discern that the lack of these necessities would give rise to heightened vulnerability, increased desire to hide it, and  a lot of misunderstandings trying to protect it. Perhaps even some really rude and desperate behavior. I'll say it. We had a really freaking crappy childhood and it would cause anybody problems.

Take My Hand by Greg Olsen
 https://www.gregolsen.com/gallery/take-my-hand#optioncontent

The thing is, we're not children anymore. We don't have to continue in that way. We have pretty darn good lives, when all's said and done. It's not survival of the fittest anymore. We don't need a "side" to know our self worth. We don't need a bunch of loyal followers to let us feel RIGHT. Heck, we don't even have to BE right. We're on this earth to learn, not to be perfect. We can repent. We can feel safe. We can forgive.

I've forgiven all the people who hurt me, and I hope they forgive me. Life is short, and we are here to love. There is freedom in giving up control.

Whoever you are and wherever you are, if you have a fight, would you leave me out? When families fight, nobody wins. And we're all family, aren't we?

Why Are We So Afraid to Talk About This?

It happened when I was very young, four or five years old. I don't remember much about it. But it taught me to fear. It taught me so many lies. Like these.

You are bad.

There is something wrong with you.

You need to hide.

You can't trust people.

You are of no value.

It does not matter what you want.

There is nothing wrong. You are imagining things.

You are weak. You are helpless.


I believed these lies so much that I didn't like myself. I didn't see how others could like me. And so I pretended that it never happened. I hid it, even from myself.

If you capture a princess, lock her in a dungeon and dress her in rags, does that change her identity? Only in her mind. Even when freed from the prison, she may hold onto the lie. She may cling to the rags because without them she feels exposed, not knowing that under it all, she wears a royal robe. But as long as she does this, she will never be free. She will carry the prison in her head.

The greatest lies of abuse are these: This is normal. This is your fault. This will end on its own. This never happened at all.

It's strange how they can all exist simultaneously in one brain. Abuse causes confusion.

I have come to understand that they are all lies. It is not normal. It was not my fault and it did happen. It must be stopped. Yet, there is one more lie that continues to trap me and impede my progress: You can't tell anyone. They will hate you.

Image Credit: everydayptsd.com

Hate me or not, I will not hold onto this lie anymore. I'm tired of being afraid. I will talk about it. I. Will. Not. Hide.

Today I take off these rags.

I was sexually abused as a child. It happened more than once. It was done by a man. Someone I knew well. Someone I loved.

I hated it. I blocked it out of memory. I never told anyone.

For years I felt guilty for my sexual knowledge and curiosity, never knowing where they had come from. I thought I must be bad.

I never knew why I would feel uncomfortable and ashamed when I tried to look pretty.

I couldn't tell you why I was afraid of men.

And I still can't explain the terror that comes to me when I talk about being abused. Even now.

But it can't be denied. I remember more all the time. And the more I remember, the more I want to block it out. Again. It is horrible. It is dark, grotesque and utterly sick.

The purpose of this blog is not to make you ill. It is not to burden you. It is not so I can play the victim.

An abuser told me long ago that I could never tell anyone. Every time I hide, I am continuing that abuse. No more.

I will fight. And I will fight it in the most effective way, by getting help. And that brings me to the point.

If any of you have been or are being abused, I plead with you to get help. Get away from it. Never go back. If you know that someone is being abused, I plead with you to report it. They need professional counselling. The abuser needs it too.

You may be afraid, and with good reason. There are safe places you can go--shelters-- where you will be protected and anonymous. You can ask a police officer, a social worker or a spiritual leader for help. You can call this number 1-800-500-1119  TTY (386) 872-4976 for the Domestic Abuse Council.

If you still feel trapped, consider this. I learned something about abusers, something that made me less afraid to fight. The reason they threaten you if you tell, is because telling on them will cause problems. You DO want to cause them problems. You have a wonderful opportunity to cause them so many problems that they will never be able to abuse anyone again. They threaten you because they are afraid. The reality is, they will have a very difficult time doing anything to you while they are in prison.

Even if you're not afraid for your life, it's scary to tell-- I know it is!

Do it anyway. You don't have to write in in a blog like me. But tell someone---Your parents, a doctor, a bishop, a police officer or teacher---someone who has never abused you, someone you trust. They can help you stop it. You can also call the hotlines listed below, or click the links. (Note: If you suspect that your Internet use is being monitored or tracked by the abuser, you can go to the library or a friend's house to check out the links.)

It is not your job to stay and be hurt. You are not a bad person if you stop abuse from happening to you. You are not bad for saying no. You are a child of God. You deserve better than a dungeon and rags. You deserve to be treated well. And so do your children. So does your family. So does everyone you know.

National Child Abuse Hotline

1-800-4-A-Child

1-800-422-4453

1-800-799-7233 1-800-787-3224 

(TTY)

1-800-656-HOPE 

Emotional Abuse.  TEXT “GO” TO 741-741

National Domestic Violence Hotline

Is This Abuse?


Child Sexual Abuse

National Sexual 
Assault Hotline

Cries of The Fatherless

Dear Dad,

I wish I'd met you sooner. I wish I'd known you before I learned to hate men. I wish I'd gotten to know you when I was trusting and ready to love anybody. I wish I'd had the chance to learn from you before I broke my heart searching and searching in vain for someone to be my father. I wish I wasn't afraid of all parental love, waiting to be disappointed.

I don't know how to love you but I do anyway. I couldn't help it, you know.

I don't know what to expect of you. I don't know what you expect of me. Parents are supposed to teach their children what's expected of them. I am my own parent, raising myself. Where does that leave me?

I don't really know what a good parent is. That is why I struggle so hard with being one. And I feel like I'm failing, so miserably.

Have you ever felt my pain? Have you, perhaps, in the agony of your soul, cried out for a mother or father? Have you, in your darkest abyss, felt the weight of the entire world on your shoulders and wished to God that someone would come and take it away? That someone would tell you what you were supposed to do? That someone would hold you in his arms and make everything okay? This is my life.

Yes, Heavenly Father does comfort me and I'm grateful. But I'm also a little jealous. Of your children. Of mine. Of everyone with parents who take on the world, so the kids can be kids. And I wish they would love me too.

I don't really expect anyone to adopt me. (I mean, is it fair to find someone who is all done with raising kids and ask them to take on a new daughter, who is, in all reality, about five years old?) I don't expect it, but I wish they would.

I don't really know if you love me. Because if I let myself believe that you love me, I might find out that you don't and then I would lose my father. Again. I've already lost my parents once. And I couldn't bear it. And so I push you away. But please don't go.

I want so much to be your daughter. Can you teach me how?

Find Your Power Within

 I love hot air balloons! They inspire me. They are beautiful. They rise above obstacles. They can carry others. They lift.

I've liked them since I was a small girl, but now I feel a reverence when I see them. These beautiful airborne vehicles have become a symbol of faith for me.

It was during a time of great difficulty and sorrow. My heart was breaking, mourning the death of my children. I was angry, anxious, depressed, hopeless. One day I saw a small air balloon wind chime in a store. I was impressed that it seemed to be going up, up, up. I thought, I want to be like that. All that day, I pondered about balloons. I even did research. It helped me to raise my thoughts to Christ. I could rise above my grief. With His help, I could see further. Here is the story.

I had been reading my Book of Mormon daily. One day, I came across a passage that I had read many times before. That day, I found what I needed. Nephi's family was travelling in the wilderness. He had a good attitude and his brothers did not. (See 1 Nephi 17:1-6.) We all know this story. In our heads, that is. That day, the Holy Ghost carried it to my heart with convincing power. I learned---in my heart---that I could be happy. I could rejoice in my wilderness, and I didn't have to wait for the Promised Land. I could be joyful outside of any circumstance. Poverty. Frustration. Death of loved ones. Feelings of betrayal. Seemingly never-ending, crazy-hard work. Not getting what I wanted. Not receiving the blessings I had looked for.

 I was learning that my happiness didn't depend on anything happening or not happening in my life.  Jesus Christ loved me-----had atoned for me.
ME!
 And nothing could take that away. I could be happy for Him. Because of Him. Nothing needed to change. And when I learned that I COULD be happy, something changed inside of me. I WAS.  

 And then a crazy thing happened. I stopped fighting the trials. I accepted them, was reconciled to them. I was even grateful for them. I felt stronger because of them. Many times I found Jesus Christ carrying my burdens, and sometimes carrying me. It wasn't quick or easy, but I learned that Patience can ONLY be learned though longsuffering. Patience is learned the hard way, or not at all. 

I didn't ask for the trials I've received and I'm not asking for any now. But they will come, I know. When they do, I want to rise.

I've been thinking a great deal about the balloon. It can be a type for each of us.

Consider for a moment. What makes the balloon rise?

It's the fire---the light----the power that they carry within themselves. 

Their light will shine whether they are up or down. But they were meant to go up.

Our light is our testimony of Christ. It may be small but even the largest flame began with a tiny spark. They can and will become great as we feed and nurture them.

The light requires attention and care or it will go out. Balloonists avoid going too long without stopping to replenish their fuel. We also must take care and replenish our light, through prayer, study and regular church attendance.

Like the hot air balloon, we can't rise when we're tethered to the ground. We have to let go of the things that hold us back. We have to not fight our power source. 

We carry burdens, some helpful and some not. Balloons only carry necessary burdens. The basket is heavy but it provides balance. Without it, the balloon would fly out of control. However, if the basket is filled beyond its capacity, it will never rise.

Some burdens, such as sand bags, are carried only for a time. Their adjustable weight helps offset the variable heat within the envelope (the big balloony part.) They are released when the balloon begins to sink or when they become unnecessary. We also can take on or release projects, depending on our strength. The condition of our light tells us when to let go. We choose what to let go of. (Hint: It shouldn't be the light.)

 Where can we find light?

  Jesus said,
"Hold up your light that it may shine unto the world. Behold I am the light which ye shall hold up---that which ye have seen me do. Behold ye see that I have prayed unto the Father, an ye all have witnessed." (See 3 Nephi 18:24.)

The answer to every question, is to do what Jesus Christ would do. He is our power. We can find Him in the scriptures, in prayer, in listening to the still, small voice. When we truly find Him, we will want to let Him in. He fills us when we are empty. He can raise us up, and we can raise others. He is our power within.