Anthropologie and The Subject of Prayer

Anthropologie and the Subject of Prayer

Summer is on its last breath and my children are off once again to carve their niches via academic pursuits with its own set of social demands and premiums. Ahhh...college life! Just a very small dot of time on life's uninterrupted timeline. I find it interesting that I still feel like that person in my twenties except decades have passed and I've accumulated many life experiences, wrinkles and lately, some aches and pains. I can see where my children are and I can clearly identify what challenges they need to anticipate, what they need to do to avoid them. Even more jarring is that I can see opportunities that they can't see and life treasures within their grasp that they sometimes can't see simply because youth makes them invisible. Could this be the wisdom of age?

I find myself obsessing over what to do and more importantly, what to give them. I seem to be frequenting shops that cater to their indulgence: baby and children's stores for my grandchildren, high-end stores like Anthropologie or Nordstroms, the Mac store (the computer Mac---not the make-up...although I go there too....) and little boutiques here and there...always looking for things to indulge them with. And I do. I want to.

In participating in the above exercises, I've rediscovered something that I've always known but didn't consider because of my exuberance in wanting to give. First, the more they get used to being showered with gifts and things, the more those things lose their value. It's a natural consequence. It's basic economics. You have more 'stuff' and they keep on coming regardless of what you do and all that 'stuff' becomes pointless and cheap. Hence, I find myself needing to hold back. It's imperative to do so because indulgence's end result is simply gratitude-made-obsolete and expectations slowly brewed into an over-seasoned soup of entitlement. And for me, separation from my children seems to unlock that Pandora's box of exuberant giving and gifting because I simply want them to NOT forget me. I simply want to remind them that I am still here. And because I can't be with them to love them, protect them and care for them, I have this urgent need to give them things so they will remember that I love them. It's just a human reaction. Or a mother's.

I've also discovered, with some measure of sorrow, that I cannot dispense advice , warning or insight to my children willy-nilly. It just pesters them no end. That's when the rolling eyes, awkward silences, annoyed glances or even vexations arise. It can be a relationship breaker. And it turns me, a loving mother, into a villainous, over-bearing, hovering entity. Not human. But an entity. They want to make their own mistakes. They want to discover hardship by themselves. And they don't want to be told that there's a better way or that you see in them more strength, more talent or more sense. They want those things to be invisible because if you can see their strengths, then they know you expect something from them they may be unprepared to see or deliver. So really, a mother's awesome task for the most part is to watch. Just watch. And pray.

On another note, though I've always known all these in principle, it's a different thing to know principles experientially. And it goes both ways. I understand both sides because I also have parents and I have been where they are now. And this understanding causes me also some measure of sorrow and regret because as children, we do not always think of our parents nor of their counsels nor of their generosity. But as loving parents, our children are constantly in our thoughts and hearts. In time our children become parents and the circle completes. Until then, we cannot see the broad strokes of the canvas.

On another level, I have a more profound appreciation and understanding of the power and imperative necessity of prayer---not just prayer but the relationship that ensues when we pray and look to God unceasingly. Wisdom and knowledge come only after we seek them and often as a result of our own experiences...mostly the ones that cause us to stumble or lose orientation. Because our Heavenly Father is a perfect being, He knows how to perfectly balance agency and the grace that bestows us all things we stand in need of regardless of what we do. He blesses us continually despite our lack of gratitude and if we but ponder these blessings more often, it would cause us great awe-- yes, even an awareness of our own 'nothingness'. An overwhelming surge of gratitude that threatens to even drown us ensues. Consider this:

And again I say unto you as I have said before, that as ye have come to the knowledge of the glory of God, or if ye have known of his goodness and have tasted of his love, and have received a remission of your sins, which causeth such exceedingly great joy in your souls, even so I would that ye should remember, and always retain in remembrance, the greatness of God, and your own nothingness, and his goodness and long-suffering towards you, unworthy creatures, and humble yourselves even in the depths of humility, calling on the name of the Lord daily, and standing steadfastly in the faith of that which is to come, which was spoken by the mouth of the angel.

And behold, I say unto you that if ye do this ye shall always rejoice, and be filled with the love of God, and always retain a remission of your sins; and ye shall grow in the knowledge of the glory of him that created you, or in the knowledge of that which is just and true. (Mosiah 4:11-12)

When we pray to our Heavenly Father he rejoices. He loves it when we talk to him, share with him our thoughts even our fears. He loves it when we express gratitude. His kindness defies description when we confess our sins to him. And he longs to bless us with those blessings that he has reserved for us---the ones that he holds back--- until we ask for them. As we pray more often, we find favour in his sight and he quickly blesses us more abundantly such that we cannot possibly be grateful enough. And when we stumble or fall and seek him, he immediately lifts us according to our faith. There is no condemnation when we seek him after a long absence...only rejoicing that we, like the prodigal son, have come back. Such is merely this mortal mother's understanding of a perfect father's love--that of a Heavenly Father who longs to bless us and to keep us in his loving arms.

Now, if we look around us, there are an endless number of gifts--yes, even indulgences that God has bestowed us. That the sun gives us its warmth and life-giving rays is an obvious gift and remembrance that there is a higher being who loves us. Everything on this earth are to the typifying of the Saviour. We are endowed with endless possibilities through priesthood ordinances both inside and outside the temple. Even the commandments and principles we learn are reminders of our Heavenly Father's love for us. If we but open our eyes and hearts, He is everywhere. He gives because he wants us to remember Him.

So, as I separate from my children mostly in a geographical sense, I cannot just pick up the phone every second that I long to hear their voices. I have to wait until they call or until I can find a viable reason to call. And though I feel that I need to warn them, I have to sometimes allow them to fail. Though it will break my heart to pieces when they hurt or stumble, I must hold my heart together in my hands and allow them to discover for themselves the strength that lies within them. I also need to understand that I cannot just gift them my insights or wisdom drawn from my own stumblings unless they ask. Life already is packaged with enough challenges and when we seek to minimize these challenges by desiring and seeking wisdom from our parents, both are edified and joy springs because our spirits are enhanced from the interchange of knowledge. There is safety and security when we heed and look for warnings and cues.

As far as Anthropologie...well, I just ordered some shoes again. And some cute headbands. But I am going to keep them until someone asks to have them. Then I will quickly and happily put them in a nice bag and let them have it.

The Faux Kids Make Turron* (And A Big Mess...)
*Filipino Deep Fried Bananas and Jackfruit Rolls

Behaviour and Disposition

Lately, I've noticed that I have had no desire nor even the inclination to be with people...large groups of people. For the past few weeks I've been in a funk--feeling really exhausted emotionally and consequently, physically. All I wanted to do was be alone. I get this way many times and its been a constant source of frustration and befuddlement to me.

I am not a shy person and I do not dislike people either. In fact, I've always thought me an articulate communicator and a very good listener. I don't like to talk about people but put me in a room with a bunch of free thinkers and I am in heaven because I love to talk about issues and ideas. I feel that I am interested in people and have always been a keen observer of behaviour. I usually sense what people think and why they tick the way they do. I am not timid about expressing my opinions and love to hear what other people think.

But put me in a situation where I have to do 'small talk' and I immediately feel like hurling. I become a total schizoid painfully and utterly aware that I am an alien in a dizzyingly threatening environment. And I get completely undone. My head hurts and I just want to be alone. I find that I cannot even respond to friendly hellos or 'small talk' because it feels painful. So I avoid eye contact and keep to myself. Thus, I do believe most people perceive me, at the very optimistic, unapproachable or perhaps even stuck-up.

Yet, I love people and want to be helpful. Oftentimes, I am generous to a fault and worry about others. I am loyal to those who I consider close friends. And am very interested in people in general. I even think I get along well with most people.

This incongruity in me makes it difficult to be LDS. While I know that I need to serve others and participate enthusiastically in various church events and activities, I find them very draining and I find that sometimes it takes weeks for me to regroup. This makes for an interesting dilemma. I get riddled by guilt that I am not a more 'warm and fuzzy' person. Yet I want to be that way. But I can't. And thus begins my descent into depression.

Through these years, I've just been flummoxed by my disposition--the irony and incongruity of my behaviour and disposition. Until a revelation---

I am an introvert! There is a name for what I have. And its ok for me to be me!

************

Introverts:

Definition: Contrary to what most people think, an introvert is not simply a person who is shy. In fact, being shy has little to do with being an introvert! Shyness has an element of apprehension, nervousness and anxiety, and while an introvert may also be shy, introversion itself is not shyness. Basically, an introvert is a person who is energized by being alone and whose energy is drained by being around other people.

Introverts are more concerned with the inner world of the mind. They enjoy thinking, exploring their thoughts and feelings. They often avoid social situations because being around people drains their energy. This is true even if they have good social skills. After being with people for any length of time, such as at a party, they need time alone to "recharge."

When introverts want to be alone, it is not, by itself, a sign of depression. It means that they either need to regain their energy from being around people or that they simply want the time to be with their own thoughts. Being with people, even people they like and are comfortable with, can prevent them from their desire to be quietly introspective.

Being introspective, though, does not mean that an introvert never has conversations. However, those conversations are generally about ideas and concepts, not about what they consider the trivial matters of social small talk.

Introverts make up about 60% of the gifted population but only about 25-40% of the general population.

So now, I can just relax. There's more of us! And though I am a minority in so many more ways than just this, I don't have to feel deficient. I am therefore, a hypomanic-depressive introvert. It feels good to have a definition. But still....I just want my alone time when I need it and I don't want to have to feel guilty that 'small talk' distresses me because when I am on my highs, I can be a 'small talk' expert.

So there.

Running Score: Door 1, Jack 0

We had an unfortunate incident that involved Jack's big toe and the front door.

And Papi came to the rescue. He did a great job bandaging said toe. Jack may have to lose a nail. But that's ok. He's built to be tough. He's a Faux.

Jack Jabez Faux: Future GQ Cover

Think sharp and pay attention. This video is the perfect metaphor for what summer was like this year.

LINKS FOR HANNAH

I am holding the pink chain links that Lucy helped create for Nate who is counting the days before Hannah comes home. It has been a long separation for both and I am so happy that they can be together again. Hannah has been gone for FOUR whole months whilst studying in the BYU Jerusalem Center. She is our second daughter to avail of this wonderful opportunity. In 7 days, she will be home. Yeah, I know that there's 2 extra days in the chain but Lucy got a little exuberant.

Jordan found a wonderful summer clerkship working for the International Patent Office in Washington DC. Considering the economy, it was indeed a huge blessing that he landed a job. (It's an even bigger blessing for them that they found someone like Jordan to work for them!) Leland took his family to New Zealand to clerk for an esquire practicing criminal law. That has served him very well. This summer, Tascha accompanied us to Eastern Europe. I love that our children have had the great blessing of traveling to many parts of the world so that they can enhance and elevate their understanding of the human condition. The girls and Jordan have been to Europe, Asia and the Middle East. It's important to me to gift them with these experiences.

This summer is about to come to a conclusion. It has been fraught with challenges and new experiences. Hannah's special young man came back from Scotland very ill and we were afraid we would lose him. God does love him. He is so special---with a little sprinkling of something magical. God's hands cradled him and is still leading him. All that is behind him now and we can finally feel relief and thanksgiving that he has been spared...and healed. He is an amazing human being and we just love him fiercely. Now he can move on and do more amazing things. We are excited for him and his bright future and happy that he will be in BYU this fall.

I've never felt so close to the powers of heaven and the healing powers of the priesthood as I have been this summer. I started a list of the miracles---some so very obvious but every single one a magnificent manifestation that God has control of everything but our will. The list keeps on growing. I've never desired more to know his will and mind as I have this summer. Joy and gratitude fill me to brimming.

Hannah has indeed walked the paths where Jesus walked. She has floated in the Red Sea and touched the waters of the River Jordan. She has been to Bethlehem and picked olive leaves for me in the Garden of Gethsemane. She has been to the Garden Tomb, the battlefields of Megiddo, Galilee, Jordan and even sweated through the heat waves amidst the pyramids. But like I told her, it really isn't important where Jesus walked...what's important is what he taught.

I may not have swam in the Red Sea but this summer, God has parted it for me. I may not have knelt in Gethsemane but God has removed the bitter cup as we passed through it. I may not have seen the Old City streets were the Messiah healed the sick, the blind and the weary but he has done that very thing for the ones we love. I may not have seen Bethlehem but all I have to do is look towards the heavens and I see the brightest star in the darkest of night.

I do not have to see the face of God to know that He is real. But I do look forward to the day when I can see him.

This summer is the slowest of all summers. I often wished that it would be over and that Hannah would be back and her young man fully healed. Now that that scenario is about to become real, my heart beats faster and relief tastes like the food of the gods. It feels like the destroying angel passed through our door.

Though I passed through some time when I questioned the events unexpected that happened this summer, in my heart I know that challenges are not meant to punish man but to refine him. To purify. And my heart is full of gladness.

Tonight, I feel many things. And greatest of all is gratitude.

It Is Never Really Enough

You may give them that last oreo cookie that you saved to make you a shake just because they want it but in the end, they will eat only the filling and throw away the cookie.

You may put off reading that important book that you think you need to read to fill your mushy brain with some semblance of intelligence so you can read Green Eggs and Ham for the 56th time but ultimately, they will forget that you ever read them books.

You may decide to give up your career so you can have the privilege of raising your children on your own with dreams of bequeathing to them all your thoughts, your passion, your talents but ultimately, they will think you hover over them too much.

You may defend them from all things fearsome and use your body as a shield from the arrows of disappointment or judgments but ultimately, they will think the arrows came from you.

You may love whom they love, care for them, be generous with them but ultimately, they will find something else you lack.

You may give them everything they want and generously endow them with tangible and intangible gifts but ultimately, those things won't really matter.

You may have come from royalty, or artists, scientists, mathematicians or saints but ultimately, they won't care about your past.

You may be intelligent, experienced, wise or talented but ultimately, they will strip you of all those qualities by refusing to see them...or take advantage of them.

It is never really quite enough.

Waiting For Fire

I think mental illness was pervasive in my genealogy. I really don't know what 'normal' is. How does one realize what is normal? All I know after half a century of life is that I definitely came from brilliant people mired in fits of eccentricity, melancholia or perverse models of dangerous thought and behaviour.

My world has always been my mind because all too many times, the world around me was too dangerous and frightening. And yet, as I sit here in the dark, I cannot conclude if it was my mind that made my reality frightening or if the variables outside myself contributed to the darkness in my mind. What I conclude is more accurate is that there really is something just outside the periphery of my mind that voraciously putrefies any sense of well-being faster than my intellect can produce.

The feeling of desperation and self-loathing is like a thief that steals the light from inside me. I know when its there and no matter how clearly my mind tells me how beautiful and bright the world is outside or how perfectly charming my life is, it somehow can obliterate all that reason.

And yet, there is someone else who lives inside me. She can be charming and vivacious. And she seems to know what to do. I call upon her to accompany me through the events of my life. But she comes only when she wants to. The brilliance with which she comports herself with people she chooses to love consists of extreme generosity, affection and selflessness. She is someone inside me who seems to be real that despair imprisons all too many times. She loves but fiercely. She feels everything deeply. She passionately wants to experiment with life and yearns to blur the banal boundaries that slays her need to express herself--to create, to discover, to devise. She is easily hurt and when that happens, she can be frighteningly imperial. That is the someone that I slay in order to be 'normal'. She visits me less and less now. And then the darkness sets in.

Those were wonderful days when she would arise. Always she comes with fire and sharpness. We soar together. That's when I feel like I can touch the infinite and my mind races because the window of opportunity is open only for a limited time. I have to move quickly. I feel exuberant and timeless. And then... as fast as she comes, she can also wreak havoc. And I have to pay dearly for her companionship...sometimes the price is much too costly.

She visits me less and less now. Did I already say that? In her stead, anguish. And the loathing begins. And I wait for fire. I wait for her to save me. Time is running out. The wait is paralyzing. Let her come soon.

*******

"I Think Continually of Those Who Were Truly Great"
by Stephen Spender

I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns,
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the Spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the Spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

What is precious is never to forget
The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light
Nor its grave evening demand for love.
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit.

Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are feted by the waving grass
And by the streamers of white cloud
And whispers of wind in the listening sky.
The names of those who in their lives fought for life
Who wore at their hearts the fire's center.
Born of the sun they traveled a short while towards the sun,
And left the vivid air signed with their honour.

I love languages! And I especially love beautifully spoken or written languages. I love collecting beautifully written sentences or phrases. I kept notebooks full of them. And I memorized some of those sentences just in case I find myself in a perfect moment where I can be eloquent courtesy of someone else. Later, I would collect my own thoughts crafted with words and phrases painstakingly chosen from my growing reservoir. There is nothing more grand than thoughts cleverly packaged and constructed using only the best permutation of words that perfectly encapsulates even the most simple thought. Carefully choosing the right words to convey a thought or concept is like choosing the perfect pattern of china or silver to serve life's most delectable sustenance. And oh yes--- when necessary, even the most hurtful insult can be expertly crafted. They can be perfectly timed to explode much later when you are no longer present. Or, for the cruel in nature, they can be like extended release capsules.

I'd like to think that my children have a superior vocabulary and that when they express themselves, they talk like intelligent people. And even more so, I do believe that they have intelligent thoughts and opinions. Though I loved to sometimes 'baby talk' when they were little, we often engaged in exchanges of ideas using a level of conversation that I would deem as articulate. I just assumed that if I use a variety of vocabulary words, they would be intelligent enough to either ask for the meaning of the word or infer its meaning from the context. And because English is my second 'oral' language, I did not fall into any category of American dialects. I simply tried to speak proper English.

I still hold on to my old grammar rules from grade school. And I still have to pause many times to retrieve the 'exact' word that describes what I want to communicate.

THE LOST ART OF CONVERSATION
and the diminishing need for live inter-personal communication skills

503219. These numbers were the first series of numbers that I memorized with great relish next to 3.1416. Obviously, the second set of numbers comprise the mathematical constant pi. But the first series is much more personal...and even sexier: our first telephone number. Yes, that is a photo of teenager me holding that funky machine next to my ear.

This heavy handle broadcasted hours and hours of great conversations I've had with many friends and loved ones. In it, I divulged secrets, deep emotions of love, longing, excitement, disgust, teasings, flirtations, great information, personal opinions on matters of great value, fights, dreams and even sometimes, sexy conversation. Yes, many times, I would curl my arms around this telephone and whisper sweet nothings to my boyfriend or challenge him to tell me something that would make my heart quiver. There were times when I let the person on the other line hear my soft sobs so he could quiet my fears and insecurities. Other times, I would have exuberant arguments which would usually end with affirmations of loyalty and love for each other. At times I would sing to my boyfriend as I balanced the handlebar between ear and shoulder and then pluck my guitar simultaneously to the beat of the song. I loved that telephone. I remember momentous life events heralded through the telephone with loved ones on the other line. And even sometimes, miracles commenced or concluded on this wondrous invention.

There were also moments when laugher that bellowed from the deepest parts of one's belly passed through the telephone. Or when someone shared wondrous information that you never even entertained.

When our first telephone was installed in our home, I felt powerful. I felt like the world can be and is in my fingertips. In those days, we had 'party-lines'--people you may or may not know who shared the line. This annoyance was something everybody learned to live with. At times the phone would ring and when you pick up, it wouldn't be 'your' call but your party-line's. So you quietly hang-up when you hear the other line pick up. Or not. You could quietly lift up the phone and engage in eavesdropping. Or they can. In any case, having a party-line can also be an exercise in genteelness that when properly observed can instill sophisticated decorum into one's character. Lord knows we need more opportunities like this.

Because there were no cell phones, it was often a challenge to try and contact people. So many times, people resorted to creative means to communicate. Many times these inventive and clever ways were often most memorable and meaningful. And at times, most romantic. But I never really wished there could be something better...unless I was in a whole lot of inconvenience.

Today, thanks to the marvelous convenience of cell phones, unseen people who could be in another continent or time zone takes precedence over one's company of flesh and blood. I see it happening all over. In restaurants, I see couples sitting across each other, each with their cellphones either talking or texting some unseen person. Conversations or worse, magical moments when two people inlove stare at each other and are engaged in wordless communications of devotion and adoration are often interrupted by clever ringtones. WE NEED MORE OF THOSE HUMAN INTERACTIONS!

The art of conversation is a wondrous way of communication that allows one many opportunities to really get to know another human being. It is, indeed, an art and a skill. And requires effort more strenuous than what a finger can tap. Conversation, and I mean two or more 'live' people who can engage in meaningful exchanges of ideas that can merge into some kind of satisfying conclusion that edifies and enriches everyone is becoming rare. Too often, important moments of value are engaged via texting or electronic mail. Texting is notorious for short, flip 'conversations'. One can opt to not respond, or wait until they can think of a 'safe' non-committal response that can be done in 5 words or less. And rather than exert more effort into listening, which is also becoming a lost art and impossible when engaging in text or ichat 'communication', the texter can become a habitual escapist-- a coward who cannot face moments of real clarification or even opportunities to risk being understood or 'seen'. Often, the result is disastrous.

Texting, email or ichatting removes the most important factors in human interaction--verbal and physical cues. And there is an art to inserting these cues -- and I'm not talking about inserting those stupid emoticons--- the most inane, idiotic invention of the electronic age. I could write a whole essay on that subject and I will. The art of subtle flirtation can be lost when neither man nor woman have as many exchanges and exercises in human contact. The openness of eye contact is lost so that young people no longer know how to be intimate in ways that are subtle and deliciously sensual. Touching another person in muted artful ways is another lost art and I don't mean sexual ways. Facial cues that could relay other messages that lie deeper than just words cannot be enjoyed, discovered or read through ichat, text or email. Even the lilt in one's voice could denote contained excitement, the tilt of one's head that may signal that one may be flummoxed, the trembling of lips that may impart a subtle longing or hurt, the lifting of the brow that may signal suspicion or quandary... these wonderful cues are life's luxuries that are necessary for enriching and enhancing the human condition. And texting, email and ichat all blunt our cravings and pining for these wonderful subleties of human communication. But there is also another treasure that seems to have become more of a rarity and here it is: love letters.

I understand that progress is inevitable and do appreciate this day and age we live in. I love technology and keep myself relatively up-to-date on what's out there. But then again, this sort of progress does evoke in me a hankering for nostalgia and a longing for those days that live only in the past. I suppose we must all pay a price. But I do hope that this progress does not dull our senses nor kill our cravings for human interaction and conversation. Speedy texting and ichat have inevitably created new vocabulary and language that are inevitably starved of descriptive and beautiful words rendering this new language metallic, dull and short. Beautiful sentences that convey a sophistication and genteel upbringing are no longer appreciated because texting and ichat by their nature require only a few hundred vocabulary words. This limitation of words I suspect, will also limit our affections and thoughts...and dulls our sensitivities.

So... b3 ctn TTFN <3 u

Or whatever the hell that means.

QUICK ADVENTURES IN CAPE COD

The quaint village of Cesky Krumlov, in the Czech Republic behind us.

Our 28th Anniversaire

There's a lot going on this weekend. Friday was our 28th anniversary and today is also Father's Day. I have a lot of thoughts racing in my head. Today, as usual, Kurt went to early morning Bishopric meetings and I drove myself to church. I arrived a little late and walked in as Kurt barely started conducting the meeting. As we sang the sacrament hymn, I was unexpectedly overcome with emotion as the words of the hymn began to take a life of their own as each word and meaning caught me like a soft embrace. I tried very hard not to let the tears flow.

My father suffered from severe mood swings that ranged from mania that involved all sorts of dangerous behaviour--from endless spending and gambling with staggering financial losses to violent outbursts and other unspeakable acts. At times he fancied himself as having the answer to all the ills of the world and became this charismatic leader, musical genius and organizational leader. At times he was just fancy-free and super fun. And then, infrequently, he would just be normal, loving and nurturing. This bipolar life resulted in memories half bitter and sad and the other, strangely secure and happy. There was a long time in my life when the bitter half engulfed and scorched my life in flames. Those were my lost, dark and dreary years filled with dangerous behaviour, flirtations with death both physical and spiritual-- a sort of draconian drama. As I learned to manage my own inherited bouts of manic-depression, age and experience became my best friends and I learned to choose the better half that happy memories can still purchase from my bitterness.

My constant Northern Star has been my best friend---my husband. I chose wisely. When my lows seemed insurmountable and my desperation rendered me paralyzed with self-doubt and a serious case of self-loathing, he was immovable. When I thought myself unworthy of being loved, he gave me reason to believe that there HAS to be something, though infinitessimal, in me that is worth loving. He gave me a bright and shiny world on a silver platter when I thought life betrayed me. And when my highs appeared, he let me soar and gave me assurance that when things inevitably fell and I am hit with the 'funks', he would be there to catch me and gave me permission to shut myself out from the world so I can regroup. He saved my life. And does so every day. Without getting exhausted. How he does it, I will never know. But I'd like to think that I have something that completes him as he completes me.

These two fathers shape my life in ways that refine and perfect me. And I cannot imagine life without them.

Gratitude cannot even describe how I feel today thinking about these things. Deeper still is the knowledge that I have that there is a God who loves me. Though many times I feel that my challenges seem insurmountable, intellectually I know that He has never given me anything but countless blessings and favours. My life is filled with emotional highs and lows that often paralyze me and when I do walk through these 'calvarys' I hold on to what I know are true. I see these events as opportunities to practice faith--holding on to something true, slippery and foggy as it may be. And practice makes perfect. Challenges and life's experiences are merely tremendous gifts and opportunities for refinement and perfection. Ergo, there is nothing that life can bring that does not require gratitude as remittance. All things that I receive from Him are good. If I can just remember to be grateful every day, I can find peace and therefore have the ability to keep on learning and growing---achieving more light and knowledge.

I thought I would record these thoughts today, on Father's Day. It's no coincidence that my wedding anniversary always falls close to this day. I hope that my children will learn to also forgive and choose to remember the better parts.

I have a huge pile of photos and videos that I need to edit and put together into some interesting and attention-holding medium. I might do a picture book with Shutterly. But then again, a video is always more entertaining... So above is a taste of what I am working on. This video shows our first day and a half in Budapest. Considering we were in Imperial Europe (Hungary, Austria, Czech Republic and Germany) for 10 days, I probably will have 4 videos created.

Budapest is a picturesque city. I totally loved it. But there is a certain feeling of darkness or gloom in its psyche.

Anyway, enjoy!

Introducing...Jack Jabez Faux!

When I look at my grandson Jack, I see no trace of his Filipino roots. I didn't think that what I wrote about years ago would actually happen--that I would have a grandchild with blue eyes, blonde hair and very, very light skin. Someday, he will tell his friends that his grandmother is Asian and people will tilt their heads askance at the notion. I will be a drop in the bucket. A forethought. An anomaly. Perhaps even a nice ice-breaker.

But I am me!

Now more than ever, I need to write my memories, my story, my past and recreate a world that my children and children's children must have. I know that they will not care about an old ancestor nor care to read about her whilst they grow up and experience life while in their youth. But one day, when they are ready and their roots begin to tug at them, they will want to know. And there better be something for them to read.

I was lying down next to Jack as his eyes began to flutter and Sleep's influence began to steal his guard. Finally, his eyes closed, his breathing became angel's whispers and he lay there peaceful and beautiful. My eyes began to tear up overwhelmed with love for him.

There will be more grandchildren and I will love them until it aches. And though what's part of me will no longer be obvious in their appearance, I know that in their blood will still course an exuberance that comes from my spirit forged in the pride of being uniquely...Asian.

Some Very Memorable Moments

More Co-winky-dinks

In case you were lost and don't quite know what co-winky-dink means, you must refer to a previous posting that refers to 'coincidences' here:

I was chatting with Rose about coincidences with names because Nate's mom is a "Kristi" and I'm a "Christie". Coincidence? Hmmm.... it would make for very interesting introductions for sure. But I am going to list a few more:

1. I've already mentioned that my husband, Kurt has an initial for a middle name that stands for absolutely nothing. So it would be natural that fate would have it that his wife (me) would have a name that starts with the letter "C" which is his middle initial. Now it can stand for something. Whoa.

2. I told Rose, whose first name is Elizabeth that there is, in fact, a name coincidence between her name and Jordan's. Here it is: Elizabeth is the name of the mother of John the Baptist. And where does he like to baptize? You got it: the river Jordan.

3. Well...Leland's name means "meadowlands". Conjures up visions of pure, virginal lands of green grass, lush vegetation and probably even a babbling brook of pure waters. Hmmm...yes, there may yet be a name coincidence here because "Catherine" which is Greek in origin, means 'pure' and 'virginal". Coincidence?

4. And here's something that I never even thought of: Natascha is apparently originally Italian. And it refers to 'Christ's birthday". We can, of course, have a name coincidence if we refer to the name "David". Who is an ancestor of Christ. : )

5. And lastly, Hannah and Nathan are both Hebrew and Biblical names. Are they even related? But of course! Coincidence does not end here! Hannah is the mother of Samuel who becomes a high priest. And Nathan later, takes his place. The name "Nathan" also means "a gift from God" and of course, "Hannah" is a 'favour from God" or 'grace'. Related? Coincidence?

I attended a luncheon last April 6 which became a...sort of preparation for what would lie ahead. Elder Bednar was our featured guest. And although I did promise that I wouldn't blog about his comments, this blog isn't about him. Anyway, he said that there is no such thing as a 'coincidence' as the hand of God is in all things. He also said that everything we have in our church is for the 'individual' and more importantly, 'families'. This is the basic unit of the heavens. Nothing is more important. No programs, no auxilliaries...all that we have is for the edifying of the individual and families. Little would I know that these concepts would shape many of the subsequent events. And knowing that there are no coincidences opened my eyes even wider to the miracles that surrounded us...none of which were coincidences but rather, manifestations that God is in control and managing every detail and putting things in their proper order according to our faith and obedience.

These are certainly fun coincidences that I listed. But....hmmm.....

I am having a grand moment here whilst passing time.

BIRDZ

Much has happened since April 6, 2009---hence the silence. I learned a lot these past few days about miracles, fasting, prayer and the love of a Heavenly Father. The life of a loved one was pulled out of the valley of the shadow of death and brought back into more light. I am so grateful that his is a life of obedience and righteousness such that through him, great ministrations of angels and manifestations of God's love were wrought ..and the miracle that altered the course of his life was made possible to suit God's plans for him...for his edifying and perfecting--and obviously as a means to bless so many people's lives!

As the sun just left the horizon yesterday morning, I slowly backed out of my driveway and pulled the little lever by my right hand to pull the top down and off of my car. It was still dark but the horizon was almost pink and orange. It was a beautiful morning and something inside me told me to turn off my music. As I slowly drove past the automatic gates, I heard some birds chirping. Without thinking, I turned my head towards that sweet sound...but I did not see any birds. But I knew they were there.

I only heard their chirping for a brief moment as I rounded the corner into the street. As I drove past every pine tree that gracefully lined the street outside the gate, I would hear different sounds. Some were sweet chirpings. Some were baby tweetings. Some were sharp whistles and yet some were loud caws. "Wake up!", they all seemed to say. And then some sounds were melodic, serenading and welcoming a beautiful day about to burst.

When I drove by the intersections and apartment complexes, I would hear nothing but the soft engine of my car and others around me. There! I see another tree! And as I pass it, I hear more birds. Then silence until I pass another tree. Some to my left and some to my right. But every tree I pass had beautiful birds singing. I'd tilt my head to the right as I glided past a tree fat with leaves...and then I'd hear the beautiful tones of chirping. Or I'd lean to the left towards another nearing tree and then I'd hear soft tweets and whistles. What a wonderful, beautiful day!

I had passed these trees thousands of times and yet never had I had the opportunity to hear the musicians concealed in their leafy branches as I did this morning. Driving with my top down helped. I am grateful I can drive a beautiful car that can do this. And turning off my usual jazz music helped...though I love jazz, this day was...for the birds. And even now, as I sit and write this, I hear birds chirping outside.

There is beauty everywhere even in what seems banal. And though obviously one can find metaphorical ideas and messages in this posting, I really don't have much of an agenda in writing about those birds.

All I know is that I had a singular experience yesterday morning. And it made all the difference.

INSPIRATION

This series of videos are SO well-done and so inspiring. I thought I should post them for you to see: Enjoy!

Mothering Insights On Prayer & Communication

I love being with my children. When they left for college, I fancied myself sitting by the phone waiting for them to call. I imagined that they would call morning, noon and night...and even in between. Of course, this was me living in my unrealistic, perfect-for-me world and intellectually, I knew this was an expectation that should not even exist.

Sometimes, when they do call, we talk about all kinds of things --things that usually deal with relationships and life's ironies. Invariably, I would dispense some unsolicited advise and while my children would graciously listen, in the end, I knew my suggestions were not really needed-- sometimes, and probably deservedly so, even unappreciated. But then weeks or months later, they would find themselves in situations where those counsels would have come in handy and I'd get a phone call asking for assistance or advise regarding the very thing we had discussed previously.

One day, I found myself in the grocery store looking at boxes of cereal. I didn't need to get any because my children were all gone. I looked at little lunchbox sized boxes of raisins, granola bars, fruit snacks...items that I used to buy to slip into their lunch bags. I longed for those days. I ached to give them something. I wanted to give them something. I wanted to give them everything. But they don't need Hello Kitty fruit snacks anymore.

At times, I wonder if they still need a mom. And sometimes I long for them to tell me that I am a good mom. And most of all, my heart always softens when they tell me they are grateful for the things I do for them.

As I ponder these experiences, I realized that our Heavenly Father must feel that same way about his children as I do about mine. He must long for us, wait for us to call upon Him and long to bless us and give us abundant lives. But there are blessings that he can't bestow unless we ask first -- that are contingent upon our asking. He has to wait for them to ask. And I imagine Him waiting and wishing that we would ask. Or wishing that we would thank Him for all the things He does for us. And I also see Him wanting so much to open the windows of Heaven and bless us such that there will not be room to receive these blessings.

I love it when my children have a good conversation with me. With stars in their eyes, they invite me into their world of unlimited ambitions and endless possibilities. Or, they can also summon me into their valleys of newly found disappointments or innocent discoveries of Life's cruel ironies. Occasionally, they can surprise me with their clumsy rendition of gratitude and appreciation. The crowning glory of this rare repartee is when their face suddenly assumes an incandescent glow-- proof positive that you have communicated heart to heart, spirit to spirit. When this happens, I grin in my heart as wide as the ocean looking forward to that next rare treat when they once again invite me into their world. If you could only pick all the gifts that life can offer from a tree, you'd have darted from your couch and plucked all, laid them on a silver platter to hand to your child.

As I kneel by my bedside to start my day, I clumsily begin my prayer
I pause for a second to collect my thoughts that I happily want to share
And all my longings, my doubts, my hopes and fears I secretly hide
I softly declare to a loving Father who hears me by my side
I thank Him for His many favours and blessings poured on me
I try to list them all but soon in awe I came to be
So I told Him that my heart was full as it beats so gratefully
Then I thanked Him again for everything with all sincerity
My conversation lasted long and we talked of many themes
My family, my friends, my work and all my secret dreams
And then at last, I paused in silence then closed in Jesus' name
Before I opened my teary eyes these words so clearly came:

This happy morning my busy child took time from life's busy track
In thoughtful conversation shared and spared not a moment's lack
A grateful heart; to share your life and often in fervent prayer
So your Father's heart fills with tenderness and joy beyond compare
If I could pluck life's sweetest gifts from a blossoming yonder tree
I'd pluck them all and set them down on a silvery tray for thee
For the windows of heaven fling open wide and blessings pour out sweet
When a grateful heart in a loving soul bind to make a prayer complete.

MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE ALREADY

Once again, just a couple of weeks ago, another speaker during sacrament meeting emphatically quoted what he said were Jesus' words: I never said it would be easy...I only said it would be worth it.

Far too many times, I would hear this heartfelt statement given with such conviction that invariably there would be tears and an accompanying heartfelt testimony. Consequently, I never had the zeal to challenge them to find me the book, chapter and verse in the Bible where Jesus' supposedly uttered these words because I didn't have the heart to see the blank look on their faces, the stuttering of their words or their embarrassment or mortification when it finally dawns on them that those words simply do not exist in any scripture that we accept as the standard works of the church. But the frequency with which I find myself in this deliciously high octane moment is so ridiculous that I am now convinced that studying the scriptures and essential gospel principles are not as popular as I expected it to be else this fraudulent claim would have been laid to rest in the cemetery of dangerous models of thoughts.

I want to list some of the common Mormon rhetoric that seems to make sense on first blush and yet, if we wake up from the catatonia of complacency, becomes a conundrum of triteness and befuddlement. But I only have time for this one. Would that I could convince more of my brothers and sisters that there is no Biblical reference that gives credence to this falsehood. Jesus never said those words.

"I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it" negates the very words of Christ as quoted in the New Testament:

Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, for I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:28-30)

Clearly, the abundant life that follows the teachings of the Saviour is one that is free from the shackles and devastation of sin. Life indeed does come packaged with strife, challenges and hardship---that is a given. But the blessings and untold treasures that come from availing of the gifts of the Atonement through faith, repentance, baptism and the right to the companionship of the Holy Ghost brings us the balm of Gilead. Indeed, Christ never told us it would be 'difficult' but rather, the opposite. He provides us the easy way where our burdens can be made light.

I fear that my head will explode if I hear this common false and to a degree, dangerous rhetoric that is haplessly being propagated. I wish to curtail it's proliferation and replace it with truth.

left to right: me, papa and my sister during happier times.
(Angat Dam, 1968)

My Papa came to visit me early this morning as I lay between wakefulness and sleep. He was knocking on the front door and I could see him through the glass. He looked through the glass pane shading his eyes with his hand but could not see anyone because I was in the kitchen. So I walked to the door and opened it. I did not realize it was him until he came in and sat on the couch. He was wearing a dark colored suit which was probably two sizes too big for him. He had on a white unbuttoned shirt and no tie. He looked like he had lost a lot weight. He seemed to be in a hurry although I could sense that he wanted to stay.

I asked him where he was staying. He was very cagey and uncomfortable answering my questions. I sat on the couch next to him. He held me hand which he never did before. I could tell he was in such great sorrow. He had been eluding the whole family but decided to come and visit. I asked him to stay with us and pointed to all the rooms in the house that are now empty. I even told him that he can have his own bathroom and that he will be comfortable here. He declined my offer. I asked him if he had eaten. He did not say but it seemed that he could not stay anyway. I really could feel what he was feeling. Perhaps I was just projecting what I was feeling. I don't know. But soon he said he needed to leave.

As he stood up to walk to the door, I pulled his hand to entreat him to stay and see his grandchildren. But then I remembered that they had all gone and I couldn't tell him how long it would be before everyone would be back in one roof. It was all so sad. I have no recollection of what happened after that but I did not remember that this happened until about an hour ago.

I was sitting in my study working on another scripture mastery video when suddenly, an overwhelming feeling swept over me and I remembered everything so vividly as if everything was replayed for me in my mind. I sit here now as I record it fearing I will forget.

The sorrow I feel is still lingering and I draw in some air in an attempt to stop the overwhelming need to weep for my father. I miss him. I miss him so much. I pray that wherever he is, he is happy. And I pray that someday, there will be a time when I will see him in my dreams when he will be happy.

Co-winky-dink?

Einstein has allegedly been quoted to say that coincidence is what God does to remain anonymous...or something like that. Since I just heard a television character say this, I cannot vouch for its veracity. Either he was drunk or joking but I cannot imagine him saying this with any measurable preponderance because it would first preclude that God wants to be anonymous....which in my estimation would negate His desire to even be. I don't mean to be so philosophical in such a pedestrian sort of way. So let's get on with my usual banalities.

I am one of those people who, upon experiencing a cosmic synchronicity, can dig meaning into it and then add it to my growing list of signs and markers that led to events in my life---some great and some small. Yeah. I don't believe in coincidences. I believe they are REAL signs and markers. I agree. It's fatalistic. But they are MY coincidences and the meanings are only significant to me and only me. No one else owns them.

Take for example, my husband's middle name which has been the source of vapid teasing because instead of a name, he has a letter. An initial. No one really knows what it means. His siblings all have proper middle names but only he has a letter. It's the letter C. I can sort of...feel for him but I say that it's a sign. Oh yeah. My name does not begin with the letter "K" as most Kristi's do. But yeah, my name starts with a "C". Now his name is complete because he has me. Is that a coincidence? Could be. But not to me. Now that coincidence has meaning and it's a cosmic synchronicity.

Even our birthdays have meaning as I see it. My husband was born in March, the same month and year as my sister---my ONLY sibling. Is it a coincidence that the only sibling who will journey through life with me as my only link to the same parents would be born the same time as the one who will complete me...who will be my eternal companion? The meaning is huge to me. It's cosmic synchronicity.

My husband and I met while students at BYU-Hawaii. He didn't even know about BYU-Hawaii until after his mission and he happened upon some brochures about it. It intrigued him. It felt good to him. And with nary a tangible reason other than a hunch, he took off from Pleasant Grove, Utah to attend BYU-Hawaii in Laie. He arrived there in the winter of 1979. I had barely left the previous fall of 1978 to serve a full-time mission for the LDS church missing him by a mere 4 months. While he was getting acclimatized to the culture of the islands, I was back in Europe where he had just served. By the time I returned, he was ready for me. Coincidence? Nah. Cosmic synchronicity. No Filipino national had ever been called to serve a mission in Europe. I was the first. Ever.

How about this---when my husband's parents decided to go on a mission, years after we were married, where do you think God would send them? Of course! To the Philippines! I am the only in-law who is NOT American. A foreigner. Culturally SO different. Ethnically different. Racially....I am of the 'well-done' variety who married someone of the "Not-Quite-Cooked" variety. (Laugh track please...) But it isn't a coincidence that the Lord would send them to my homeland. It was an opportunity for them to get to know my culture, my heritage, my language, my music....everything that should bring us closer together and perhaps give meaning and more joy to their posterity through my lineage. It would have been a great opportunity for ALL his family members to do so....to dig in and find the divine in our union--in the union of two countries. I don't know if that happened..in fact, I'm SURE it didn't. There were definitely many missed opportunities there. But it could have. And that's another blog and I digress. But it's NO coincidence. It was the hand of God. A cosmic synchronicity whose magnificent, profound and far-reaching meaning is visible only to me. Sadly.

There's plenty more to list but let me just end with a whopper of all coincidences: The day we got married, the Fauxes borrowed some chairs from the chapel to use for the reception which was going to be held in their backyard. My parents had flown straight from Manila, Philippines for this occasion. As we walked along the beautiful flowery paths, my father stopped short and exclaimed, "Manilla Ward?" Behind the folding chairs were stenciled these words. Oh yeah. My husband practically grew up in a small community in Pleasant Grove, Utah specifically called Manilla...yeah, named after Manila, Philippines. (Spelled incorrectly of course...but what do you expect from PG?) We were both from Manila but from different sides of the world. True story.

Coincidence? Nah. Cosmic. Synchronicity.

There are NO coincidences. All things are in order. All good things are brought together in perfect harmony.

A RELATIVELY GOOD DAY

I did have a good day today. I had a great class with so much participation, I had to call on every hand raised and 'line them up' so they can all get a chance to ask or to comment. I just LOVED it. I love it when my students ask intelligent questions and make great comments. ANY comment. Every one was engaged in the topic. (Acts 10-11) After class four students who had NEVER tried to pass off their scripture mastery did so and passed. Two of them passed off 6 or 7 of them. What a gratifying time! I just love my students.

The topic we discussed was specifically, how after thousands of years of the priesthood being exclusive only to the Levites and then, after the diaspora, to the house of Judah, Peter receives a vision and revelation to preach to the "uncircumcised" or the gentiles. Whoa. Can anyone imagine how the disciples must have felt? I mean, after THOUSANDS of years of exclusivity, they must now pass on the priesthood to the gentiles??? And how for thousands of years, the Jews didn't have any dealings with gentiles...let alone allow them to hold callings in the church? Mind boggling. Anyway, I loved that for every salient point, there was a scripture reference to back up the doctrine or principle. And every time my students 'discovered' them, they were also astonished and awed. And interested. Engaged. I live for days like this in seminary.

In other news, I went to the gym again today. Had another session with my trainer, Vanessa, who truly works me to DEATH. I mean, a good death. I made my friend Stacy come with me. She did fantastic and I love it that she encourages me to do better. I wish she would just join the club and work out with me coz it's so much more fun to work out with a buddy.

Got a nice text from Kristy Camp who just dropped off Nate at the MTC this morning. I feel for her. I remember so well every moment when we dropped off Leland at the MTC. I did not cry because I told myself I wouldn't. But as soon as I got back to the car for the drive home, I was sobbing all the way back. The worse part of the MTC experience was when we were led out one door and then all the missionaries went out another. And that was that. I am so glad that's over and done.

I am feeling the pain of not seeing Lucy and Jack. It's been a month since I've seen them and I am just about fit to be tied. I can't wait until the 21st when I get to see them.

I was navigating around the lds.org site and spotted a link for senior missionaries. Found a pdf file that stipulates what the missionary dress requirements are. The photo above tells it all. YIKES. DOUBLE YIKES. I'll be darned if I look like that. And then it occurred to me that there are actually senior missionaries YOUNGER than me who look that way. $(*%_&*@*)(*!!! Does this mean I no longer want to go on a mission??? (One other rule: no patterned stockings---what? I wear fishnets for Pete's sake!! And to seminary even!) What about my cute boots? My RED suede booties that I wear with black fishnets? My 3 inch Calvin Kleins?? I'll have to think about these things tomorrow because I can't bear to think about them right now. What a heathen!

Oh. And what about my red streaks on my hair? My purple eye shadow? False lashes that I wear EVERY day? Missionaryish?

Anyhoo, I better git.

GLOOMY SAD DAY

I was only too happy to substitute for the most beloved of seminary teachers one day last week. She was sick and I insisted that she stay home and that I will teach her class the next day.

The day came and I went into her classroom with much enthusiasm. After all, she had bragged that her class was a good one this year. It was 7am and the seats began to fill. There was the usual discomfort that comes when a class is presented with a strange teacher. I tried hard to bridge that by being upbeat. I asked a lot of questions to spark some thinking and involvement. In the end, I thought the class was a good one. I thought we all had a fabulous time.

The next day, Wednesday, was uneventful and that class got their teacher back. She had needed that free day to rest and everything went as usual. Or so I thought.

Thursday came and after my 6am class, I was confronted by this teacher who had a very concerned and troubled look on her face. She told me that her class told her that I had 'trashed' her and made some unflattering remarks about her to her class. She said that several of her students made the same observation. They told her that I had said things like: "Now I'll show give you a real lesson unlike what you get from your teacher" or something to that effect. I was mortified. Since she said that several students made that allegation, I was dumbfounded and began to search frantically in my brain to figure out what I could have said that could even remotely be spun to this dastardly level of arrogance on my part. I felt sick to my stomach. I began to doubt even what I thought happened. Perhaps I said those things. Perhaps I had some kind of black-out and said those things. I was insanely confused.

I reasoned with her that I could NOT have even remotely said those things because those thoughts never even occurred to me. I respected her far too much. She was the one I went to when I came upon challenges with teaching seminary. She was my adviser and friend. I was so confused.

She said she'd get to the bottom of it.

The next day, she called me to tell me that it was just ONE student who made those assertions in class when she came back. And the rest of the class played along with his lies. She became confused and stewed in those words of intrigue and hate to the point that she doubted me. That boy who started it had problems and his intention was to hurt her by using me. And some of the students, who still inhabit the world where everything revolved around them, colluded with him just because it was funny. After all, adults don't have feelings. They had managed to play a nice game where they hurt not just their teacher but also the substitute---me.

For some reason, this whole event really affected me. Still does. I don't really need this drama in my life right now and I hope that something is done and consequences are allowed to follow this dastardly, cowardly act. I know this boy comes from a very troubled and disfunctional family but he needs to apologize. Tomorrow, I am going to insist that he does.

This is not the reason that I want to quit seminary but it could well be the straw that will break the camel's back.

***********

Follow up to this story:

A couple of students talked to her and said none of those things happened and I never said those things. But then a couple of other students said that I implied those things. The boy in question insists that I had said outright things that 'trashed' the teacher and said he will not apologize. I am so confused.

But my focus is to teach and prepare my students to become missionaries, scripture savvy mothers and well-prepared teachers of the gospel. My goals for being a seminary teacher are:

1. To help students become familiar and comfortable with the 'language of the scriptures'. This means that I do make them get their scriptures, open them, read them and ask questions.

2. To help them acquire the skills needed to pick out doctrines and principles from the scriptures and make these relevant to their times.

3. To aid in helping them discover these truths for themselves by providing activities that will enable them to dig.

4. To bear testimony of Christ.

I just figured that if I do my job well and serve my students this way, I will just naturally develop love and caring for them. This I assume, takes time. And it doesn't happen until the middle of the school year or so before I really feel this way. But I KNOW it does happen. How can it not when you are serving? So I just trust that it will happen. And it does.

I've been contemplating quitting seminary for a while. LIke I said, all I need is an event like this to be the straw that will break the proverbial camel's back.

More update:

I don't really care anymore. I'll just do my job. There will always be students like this...but rarely. There are plenty more young people who are wonderful. I'll just focus on that.