Best 2Years?? Nope.

And now a word to my recently returned full-time missionaries: I had a great time knocking doors with the sister missionaries yesterday but I was never too glad to say "I need to go home now" than I was 30 minutes into it. My mission certainly was the "best two years of my life" but only for a few weeks after my release because since then, every year just got better and better as I endured. And if you think knowing the gospel is never better than when you were serving full-time, I can emphatically say that I've never experienced the atonement and gained more knowledge as deeply and tenderly as I have until real life happened--until real life challenges hit me, until I became a wife and especially, until I had children and now--in a another new phase in life: as an empty-nester struggling to find my place in the world. We were not meant to be full-time missionaries for the rest of our earthly life....but rather, as true disciples of Christ living in a mortal world full of challenges, disappointments, fear and uncertainly. We are meant to be witnesses for Christ in thought, in our words and deeds for the rest of our lives. Because those mortal variables are just opportunities for faith, courage, choice, hope and a fulness of joy to be experienced. Booyah, I say. And damn the heat in the desert!

Doing What’s Right Poorly

Sometimes, in my zeal to do what's right, I actually do things POORLY partly due to what I lack in perspective, or due to that same zeal, I become blind to the variables that help me MEASURE how I am doing. Doing what's right poorly is part of our purification and aspiration to do good and be extraordinary. It's part of that spirit that is in us. Doing what's right poorly is what we do when we err not because we are filled with malice but because we are filled with the desire to do what's right. And that's why we have to be kind to one another, to be quick to forgive and to somehow appreciate others' suffering when their deeds do not match their loving intentions. Doing the right thing poorly is universal and human-- a flaw of mortality that enables us to do great things because humanness is a requirement for the availing of the gifts of the Atonement. That is why we need a Saviour who loves us, sees through the errors and limitations of mortality and who can see the desires of our hearts. That is why we need Him to purify and justify our lacks and imperfections. That is why we need Him to soothe our hurts and afflictions. Doing what's right poorly is an aspect of the flesh. And we need a Saviour to see what's in our hearts especially when others can't see how we can even love so poorly. Mere thoughts as I try to concentrate on breathing.....

Just Do The Right Thing

Decades ago, when I was seriously dating a non-Mormon who belonged to a charismatic evangelist church, my father, who was visiting us in Hawaii was furious about it. I will not write about how he humiliated me in front of my roommates with my sister being there because that's not important. In the end, his last words to me during that visit were, "you are dead to me." That was the day before he left. My heart was gutted. And I cried all night. The next day, Tom saw my swollen eyes and found out that my father was on his way to the airport. As a testament to the kind of person he was, he wiped my tears, told me he was driving me to the airport so I can say goodbye to my father who had disowned me. I tried to protest but all he could say repeatedly was "it's the right thing to do." 

It was a long hour drive from the North Shore to Honolulu. When my father saw me, he flashed a big smile, gave me a hug and shook Tom's hand. We took a picture of that event ...me in my blue PCC uniform and Papa with his big smile. I will never forget what Tom taught me that day. "It's the right thing to do." That's what you have to do when things get hard. Just do the right thing. 

The right thing always involves risk. And a whole lot of courage. Because showing love is allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Sometimes it’s hard to honour your father or mother. But it’s the right thing to do as all children are commanded to do so. It’s the right thing to do. And so I choose to do so amidst all the bitterness and pain. I have been an orphan now since last October. And sometimes, I still wish I could talk to my Papa when he was his happy and fun self. I miss him. And my Mama. And yes, I did the right thing though it was difficult. And because I chose to love, respect and honour my parents, the bitterness, pain and hurt became irrelevant. They are just floating elements of my life that sometimes land on my shoulder like insects. Sometimes I let them hover about because they are a part of my past. But when they do land on me, I shoo them away like flies. Mere annoyances. The best reward of doing the right thing is the power it imbues on me. Bitterness, pain or resentment have no power over me. They are mere flies I can choose to swat.

I did not marry Tom from Dubuque, Iowa. It just wasn’t the right time for such a decision. So I just did the right thing. I served a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Spain Barcelona mission. Then I waited for the right time, and the right man. And it takes a whole lotta faith when you can't see the future and it's all just a little twinkle of hope in the darkness of uncertainty. I waited another year after serving a mission to marry the right man. The right thing to do is always the right thing to do. You just have to have faith...and courage. And do it. Just do it.

                                                         Me and Tom: Wahiawa, Oahu 1977

Me and my Papa at the Honolulu International Airport 1977
Photo taken by Tom Sigwarth

I Just Love Lucy and Jack!!

We Chose Love, Respect and Forgiveness

When my father has a bad day, he turns into a scary monster. His eyes become fixed and smoldering; as if he were possessed by some unknown demon.  From an early age...probably around 4 or 5 years old, I'd recognize his anger and it made me literally want to vomit from terror. I was just a little girl and I would not even understand the offenses I've committed to warrant his extreme rage. Sometimes, pee would drizzle down my legs as I lost control of my bladder. My legs would turn weak and tremble and my head would spin. I'd also lose control of my consciousness as I could feel everything turn gray when the blood dropped from my brain. As I'd wobble, my father would scream in the vernacular: Tumayo ka! Punyeta ka! (Translates to: Get up. Damn you!) And suddenly, the fear inside me would pull out the remaining energy I had to stand up and steel myself for what was to come next.

I could hear the snapping of his belt as he'd raise it high up to give it enough force to hit my back. I will never forget that sound nor will I forget the terrible anxiety it caused from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Then the sharp, biting sting of the leather belt as it curled around my small body. I was just a little girl!!! The number of times he hit me with that belt depended on his rage. But it was never just once. Often, he was great at hitting my bottom. But sometimes, he'd miss and he'd hit my back. I'd grit my teeth and take it...praying to God that He would give me strength; that He would embrace me. He would cuss at me and call me names--demeaning names I dare not translate. Then, after asking me questions that I could not answer about some offense I could not remember nor understand, he'd stop and walk away. I was not allowed to go to my room to find comfort in the darkness and safety in aloneness. He'd only let me sit on a chair so I can be belittled over and over as my mother would say "kundangan kasi" which basically translates contextually to "you deserve it because it was YOUR doing." My brain would freeze into darkness and that's when I learned a new skill: detachment. Disassociation. My mind would grow a pair of eyes and wings that could fly. I would fly to the highest, furthest mountain. I would imagine a grove of trees that would protect me. I'd imagine a soft breeze that would caress me. Then I'd imagine myself embracing the little girl who is also me...whispering "it's going to be alright". That coping skill is still my best tool when I am hurt. Detachment. Disassociation. Imagination. Self-soothing. It would seem that time stretched it's seconds and minutes before I can safely go to my room. Funny thing is, I don't remember anything significant after the beating. Only that it was finally over...until the next time.

In a couple of days, or sometimes, several, my father would become that loving and affectionate father again. Sometimes, he'd buy me ice cream. Sometimes  he'd bring home some Chinese food for a nice dinner. Sometimes he'd play board games with us. Sometimes he'd sit and play beautiful music on the piano. And my spirits would soar with gladness because he was the best father during those times. We would laugh. He'd tell funny jokes that only he could come up with. He'd school us about music and about life. And my happiness would seem overflowing. And I'd wish it would always be like that. But it wouldn't be.

My father died the year I gave birth to my fourth and last child. She was about nine months old. We were all there playing on the floor, oblivious to what was about to happen. I could hear him breathing. I could hear the tell-tale death rattle as he took in a breath and as he let the air out. He waited until we turned our backs and we were in the middle of playing as a family. Then he slipped away. My father was gone. He was only 59 years old. Cancer took him past the veil.

For several years, he would come to me in my dreams and give me messages. As I worked through the pain of losing my father and the bitter memories of his rage and abuse, I always did what I was wont to do whenever my father became that angry and violent man: I've always chosen to love him, to forgive him, to find a way to understand his demons and to respect the man who was my father. I am his child and I carry pieces of him in my person. His blood courses through my veins. I choose to forgive him and for every memory of the times he hurt me, I also remembered the times when he loved me, his sacrifices, his genius, his music, his talents, his charms. I remember the times when he was generous, when we had talks about life and the many wonderful things he taught me. He is my father and I know he loves me. I know that he had many demons, many reasons for his bad choices and comportment. And above all his imperfections, serious criminal offenses against other women including my mother and his mother, there were also mitigating variables that contributed to the limitations of his understanding which led to his many bad choices. Most of all, though it would seem that he had so many failures, I do know that he did his best. That is all he can do because I know that he loves me. I choose to believe that and the peace I feel inside me confirms it is true. He did his very best. And though it may not be enough for those he hurt and violated, it is enough for me because he is my father and I am his child. That is my choice. And I stand by it until the day I die. For I know that God is a just and merciful God. And His love and compassion are unfathomable by a mere earthling like me.

I am pretty sure my father was a genius. Because as much as he made horrible choices, he was a brilliant man. It seemed like he could do anything. He even helped me with my math! 

Papa still visits me occasionally in my dreams. He is always young and handsome...and finally happy. My mother is now with him. I've seen them together in my dreams. And every night I pray that our Heavenly Father will forgive him and I list his wonderful qualities so He will know that I love him. Because he is my father.

I have lived a good life. I am very grateful for everything that I have. And I feel so much at peace about my father. 

The Broken Mug

So while clearing the kitchen, Hannah's mug with her artwork on the front, fell on the hard, stone floor. It broke into small and large pieces. Horrified, I started to bawl as I picked up the pieces because it was my baby daughter's creation. As tears fell on my cheeks, I heard a voice in my head: "Repurpose". So I wiped off my tears of horror, grabbed my E2000 glue and started trying to glue the pieces back together. I did the best I could with what I could salvage. Then I went to work. 

There are many moments in my life that I wish I could delete. There were many times, in my all-too-crazy zeal that I've done and said many things that were not just cruel but seemingly unpardonable.  There are many times when I've said things to my children that I wish I had not. I know what it feels like...to lose control or balance and then the "mug falls" and there are broken pieces...even chips too small to glue back that the mug cannot be made whole. And so it was with this mug. As much as I could fix it, I could not put back the pieces that were pulverized, lost and too small to fix. But thank goodness for these sweet little sprays of leaves, berries and flowers. I can cover the broken part with something beautiful.

Now her mug sits proudly on my kitchen shelf next to the window. Every time I look at it, I remember that we can pick up all we can of our broken lives and put them back together into new and beautiful creations. Nothing can be lost if we repurpose, renew, reinvent and rethink..even create new parts. It's like the atonement. We may look at the words of scripture, read about it, teach or talk about it but to EXPERIENCE it, we need to be willing to accept how broken and imperfect we are. Then let the Hands of the Saviour fix, heal and shape us into better creations as we daily experience renewal by the power of His atonement. We are all privy to that grace. And I am filled with hope.

Pertinent Dates

Unedited Photo above taken in 1956: L-R in the back: Pedro Rofe de Rama and Enrique Sollesta de Rama
Front row L-R: Yolanda de Rama (ward of Pedro & Dolores...I do not know how she is related to us. Family rumour is that she is the daughter of one of Pedro's and Dolores' maids or in other words, a bastard child of Pedro whom they adopted....)Dolores Sollesta de Rama and Priscila Veloira de Rama. I am the child on her lap.

I thought I should write down some important dates just in case:

My birthday: 25 December 1955
Birthplace: St. Ann's Hospital, Manila, Philippines

Baptized into LDS Church: 29 May 1969 (With my parents and sister, Ellen)
Where: Sta. Mesa, MetroManila, Philippines in the swimming pool of Edward and Maxine Grimm's home. I was baptized by Elder Julian Rasmussen of Holladay, Utah and confirmed by Elder Willis Mabey.

Endowed: 30 June 1978
Temple: Laie, Hawaii

Sealed to my parents and sister: 8 July 1978
Temple: Laie, Hawaii

Patriarchal Blessing received: 21 Feb 1978 by Patriarch William Sproat in Laie, Hawaii

Set Apart as Missionary to the Spain Barcelona Mission: 12 Sept 1978 by Stake President Eric Shumway in Laie, Hawaii

Married and Sealed to Kurt C Faux:  19 June 1981
Temple: Manti, Utah

These are important dates.

I Do Not Know The Answer

I am definitely craving carbs today. It's not an accident. I'm quite turned around super saturated with thoughts of remorse, regret and self-loathing that I could eat six loaves of bread from the Bon Bread Store in a single eating binge. And that's EXACTLY what I'm doing as I type this entry. But I am REALLY saturated with the one thought that keeps on seeping into my head like a faucet with wildly gushing water while my head seems to have the plug tightly in place. Get the picture? I'm about ready to burst---not with frustration but with helplessness.

Ready for the thought?

I DO NOT HAVE THE ANSWER TO EVERYTHING. That's right. Most of the time, I DO NOT KNOW WHAT I'M DOING and I DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO. But something has to be done and so I improvise to the best of my ability even if I DO NOT KNOW WHAT I'M DOING.

I don't know if I made myself clear enough there.

Since June 19, 1981, I've been a married woman. A wife. And every day since, I've just been improvising. And it's mostly trial and error. Most of the time, it's error. But if I look at the timeline of my life, I can see which things took a looooong time to figure out. And then once I got it figured out....and here's the kicker: are you listening? Once I get things figured out, I still need time to learn NOT to do what I was doing badly. I still need time to figure out how to REPLACE those actions and habits. And most of the time, my repertoire of handy "tools" and "corrective mechanisms" to replace them with are severely lacking. So I grope. And ask for spiritual guidance. I plead with God to give me some flashes of inspiration and knowledge. Many times I do get an answer. And even then, I still have to have the courage and total commitment....a real strong conviction to actually execute that sudden burst of ideas and sometimes, even visions. It took a long time. It's 31 years and counting. And I find myself still improvising and hoping for the best.

Mostly, I also find myself wanting to punish myself for not knowing what to do.

Worst of all is being a mother. That's a stretch for any woman. At first, having that FIRST child is exciting. That is, until he starts going through the various stages and nodal events of his life.  Day 3: He's not nursing. He is crying all day. My milk doesn't seem to be enough. My breasts are full and they feel like concrete. They hurt so badly and I'm so tired. My bum hurts. What do I do? I improvise. He starts to turn over faster than other babies and I am sure he's a genius. Until I find out the neighbour's baby is pulling himself up at 6 months. Did I give him the bad genes? So I get depressed. What do I do? I don't know. I improvise ....only to find out I'm pregnant again and my baby isn't even crawling yet. Two sons born the same year!! What do I do? I don't know. I guess how hard can it be when I've already experienced having the first one? Wrong. So wrong. Here's a mother's first startling realization that intellectually she knows but doesn't really hit until it happens: every child is different. It's back to square 1. First baby slept for 4 hours. Second baby doesn't sleep at all unless he's being rocked. All night. What do I do? I don't know. I've never been in this situation before. So I improvise. And so on and so on. Until I have four children. All different. All with different needs. All with different personalities. Just when you figure something out, the next one will break the notion that you think you know what to do.

Every day is a new day. Every day has a list of "firsts". First solid food. First words. First steps. Then it's first day of school. Junior High. High School. Prom. Homecoming. Broken hearts. Missions. Dating. Oh...and dating. Marriages. Daughters-in-law. Yeah--and is there a manual for that? How come you don't instantly love them? That's a new experience. I've never had a daughter-in-law before. So I improvise. It's trial and error again. Wait. And just when you think you know what to do next time, a new one comes along and nothing you learned is useful at all because you suddenly realize that every in-law is different. Just when you think you've got that one figured out, you discover that the next one will require something totally different for your love to even start. But I don't know what to do! Trial and error. More errors. Then....grandchildren. Yeah. Right before I even know HOW to be a grandmother. Oh wait. I still have daughters in school. And what do I do about this? What do I do about that? Then they each start making decisions because they're now adults. Have I ever had adult children before I had adult children? NO. So do I know how to deal with adult children; deal with their decisions, their need to move away from you, their desires to live their lives the way they want to-- their busy lives? Now I have to redefine my role and where I fit in in their lives. Do I know HOW to do that? No! So I improvise. It's trial and error. It's always trial and error. And life simply cannot be defined as 'life' unless we make mistakes because no one ever learns from a perpetual succession of unmitigated successes. Life is about making mistakes so we can learn. But children don't realize that about their parents. Least of all about their mothers. Because we are supposed to know what we're doing.

The onus of motherhood is regret. Because there is no perfect mother or father. And although we know that intellectually, it doesn't feel right. Parents are supposed to know. Parents are supposed to figure things out because we are their children--flesh of their flesh. Parents should be able to read our minds, feel our joys and pain and most especially they are supposed to see and acknowledge all our efforts. Parents should not expect gratitude because it's their job to raise us. And believe me, as a mother, the greatest joy for me is to be able to solve their problems and remove whatever hurt, pain or hurdle that may risk even touching their lives. That's the worst thing about me. But what do I do about that? I don't know. I've never been in a situation like that in a previous life. So I improvise. And it's trial and error again.

Sometimes my children will say something that hurt me profoundly. And then I realize that they wouldn't have said those things if I were a better mother. So what do I do about that? I don't know. So I improvise. I try to think back....like a computer accessing random memories from my own life trying to superimpose a similar experience to what they are experiencing. So I can understand their situation. I was once that age. I used to feel that way about my mother too. The clash between KNOWING how they feel because you've been there and then realizing that those feelings you once had towards your mother now is focused on a different face: YOURS, is simply staggering. Then inside yourself you have to reconcile those two clashing perspectives and you try to regain balance....perspective...and then you feel their pain and realize that because the face is now yours, you begin to feel some self-loathing. While I may know intellectually the hows and whys of these, my delicate and tangled reactions, emotionally, it's hard to catch up. And it takes a battle of wits, insights and common sense to come up with some sane, intelligent response. But what do I do once I get it figured out? I still don't know. So I improvise.

I try to regale them with stories of my own experiences that may give them some perspective or encouragement. But then, am I being self-centered  and indulgent by assuming that they want to hear my story? Will they just cover their ears and think "ahh...there goes my mom again talking about her old boyfriends" or "there goes my mom again talking about her life full of strife in the Philippines...." It's like the old "when I was a young girl I used to walk 5 miles to school with cardboard slippers..." So how do I do it so that I can be helpful? I don't know. I don't know. In fact, I KNOW they think I'm just telling them my stories because I've had it worse than their own experiences. They think it's one-up-manship...they think you're minimizing their struggles. And now that I know that and it KILLS me that I am perceived that way---so self-absorbed and insensitive, how do I back pedal? I don't know. I've never been in this situation before. So I have to improvise so I can survive the hurt and STILL try to be supportive even when I hurt. Most of the time I think that I really need to gather more resources to fill my action list...my armaments... my tools. And every day it's something new. Every day it's time to improvise and figure out a way to know what to do, feel or say. But "I don't know" is NOT a valid response. There has to be a response because even not responding or reacting IS a response. That's why "I don't know" is simply not even valid. Every response I give has validity as a parent. Every response has a consequence. Even no response has a consequence.

Parenthood requires bravery because everything I do or don't do carries a huge risk not just on me but upon the very souls of my children who are flesh of my flesh. They are my blood. They grew inside me. They were extracted from my body---independent creatures removed from my body... Amazingly, my life literally depended on their being extracted from me successfully. How can anyone ever understand what a mother feels towards her own flesh...her own body? If you amputate an arm, you would still feel phantom pain wouldn't you? So if I am a bit emotional about my own children, surely there is a God in heaven who can understand me. Or even better, if there is a God in heaven, being a mother surely and indubitably gave me an insight into Godhood that no man can ever have the distinct privilege of having. Motherhood is conquering death. Every time we have children, we laugh at the face of Death.

I don't know anything. And tomorrow, I will be presented with new variables and if I'm lucky, I will serendipitously stumble upon a solution that will be solid enough to help my family. I know my knack for alliteration is annoying but it just happens. And I don't know why.  I am just improvising.

But what I've learned is that my parents also knew nothing. I also know they improvised. Their tools and action lists might have been more limited than mine considering the events of their prime: World War II, culture, trauma....and many other mitigating factors. But they did their very best. Were they successful? Were they successful parents?

In my contemplation and assessment, I realize one important thought. Are you listening? And I remember what my father told me in a dream: Everything you do while on earth affects me here. That is what he said to me after being dead for over ten years. Here's what I know...

The question isn't "was I successful as a parent?". The glaring truth is, I have parents. We all do. Am I successful as their child? That's the real question. Because the success of my parents solely depend on what I make of myself. No good parent wants their child to fail. All parents MUST expect excellence. All parents have to believe in their children. How they do it---whether they become nags, or tiger moms, or decide to give their children more 'freedom' and less structure...these are all their "trials and errors"--their improvisations based on their own limitations. and convictions. But as children, we are blessed with the ability to choose to see our parents the way God intended them to be seen. There is a reason why in this earthly life we look FORWARD to every generation and look BACK towards our ancestors when the season demands it.  Our parents become successful parents only if we decide to be good people.

God revels in His children. He loves us unceasingly. He provided us a way to attain glory and eternal life through the atonement of His Son. He doesn't ask us much. And we can never thank Him enough. Never. But all He asks of us is to love one another and to love Him. He is a parent. And His success and glory depend on our choices....our obedience and our desire to be like Him. We will never be able to that and still He provides a way for us to be able to do so by grace. He never fails and He will never fail us. To give God glory is to give Him our love. I understand these principles and concepts much better being a mother and a daughter. I owe my parents so much and their success is measured by my own accomplishments. And more importantly, my parents' solace and deep sense of peace and calm come from my forgiveness and acknowledgment that they, like me, did not know what to do but were improvising and learning through trial and error....the best way they knew how. As their daughter, I must give them that peace.....that all that I do...all that I choose to do will have my very, very best efforts. All the good I can do with my life will define them. But I can also choose to deliberately rebel so I can "punish" them. But the truth is, in doing that, I only punish myself. These concepts are metaphorically similar to how Lucifer decided to rebel: to deny God His glory by choosing to become every thing that God isn't. But the truth is, in the end, he will still be the devil. As mortals, we can choose to do the same to our parents as horrible and terrible they may be. Because that choice is OURS and ours alone. We can chose to be righteous and noble if we want to. That is why we are here. To have the ability to choose righteousness. And that is what gives God His glory and power.

I don't know much. I don't know what to do. I don't even know how to feel sometimes. But I have the hope and faith that my efforts will be rewarded. The choice belongs to my children just as that choice belongs to me as the daughter of my parents. I can choose to punish their efforts by making myself miserable. Or I can choose to be a better person every day even if I don't know what to do. I improvise. I try. I make mistakes. Then I get back up and do it over. Over and over. Sometimes I get it right. Sometimes I don't. And so on and so forth. This is why I love the Saviour and what He has done for me. I see Him in all things. Yes, even this time, these experiences when I don't know what to do...when I don't know what to say or feel and I have to plead for guidance...or improvise..err and beg for forgiveness. I need His atoning powers because many times, I just don't know what to do and I just try my very best. And most of the time, it's really trial and error.

I don't know how much more time I have to keep on improving and learning. Every day is an experiment. Every day is a new day to figure things out. Even when I step into that great void of death, I still will be improvising. After all, I've never been dead before.

Mi Familia

THIRTY-EIGHT years ago come January 2013, I left the warm comfort of my home for a country  that I only knew through television, magazines and books. I'd never flown in an airplane before. I'd never been anywhere outside the island of Luzon. I had just turned 19 merely 8 days before. I was happy where I was: I had friends, a very attentive boyfriend and finishing up my 4th semester of college in the prestigious University of the Philippines with a government scholarship.  I had just been invited to join a sorority. I had just changed my major to Psychology and wanted to be a behavioural psychologist. Perhaps even go to med school to be a psychiatrist. Or get a PhD in behaviour therapy. I knew what I wanted in life. And yet, my main reason for going to BYU-Hawaii was not even close to mitigating what I thought I was going to lose: to learn to become a Mormon. My mother wanted me to grow that way--spiritually. She felt that I had hit a brick wall that way and needed some direction, some perspective and more real examples of how the gospel is supposed to be lived.

For decades since I left, that is what I've dedicated my life to do. My parents provided me with this gift. And though my home life was full of strife, confusion and abuse, I thought that I can forge a new life in a new country, in a new language and start from scratch.

For over 30 years of marriage, I've tried to watch other LDS families, learn from their examples, watch their behaviour towards each other and viewed with very clear, investigative, curious and vigilant eyes how they lived their lives. In the beginning, I thought I had married into the most generous, loving and gospel-oriented family. I counted my blessings and wanted to become like them. In essence really, I rejected my own family choosing instead to become more like my husband's family. I learned how to quilt, bake bread, sew, budget and live below our austere means.

As I learned as much as I could about raising children, I was very keen on maintaining and cultivating conversations with my children even when they were too young to even have a voice. I wanted them to have every opportunity that I thought was denied me. I even raised them in my husband's language and culture. Not a single child of mine can speak Tagalog nor even marginally understand my own tongue. Not a single child of mine can understand my culture or appreciate the paradigm change I had to make to assimilate into their father's culture and mind-set.

In retrospect, I really did reject my own family because that day when I left in 1975, my mother wanted me to learn from others who were not like us....from others who did not have as much strife and drama as our family.

As I contemplate what I've learn about families and how to live the gospel, my thoughts return to my own family...my growing years. I remember the miracle of my father's conversion to the church. I remember my mother's enthusiasm for learning and reading the scriptures. I remember days and nights when we would get together as a family with friends and neighbours just to make music and then talk about life, politics and gospel principles. I remember my father's powerful talks and testimony whenever he got up as Branch President....how his presence demanded attention and how powerful his voice was. I remember one Sunday when he sang the solo baritone part to the song "Will A Man Rob God?" taught by an ex-pat named Sis. Stevenson. He was nervous and practiced at home while we laughed in the background. Turning back the clock in my head, he must have been nervous and yet, there he was magnificently singing. My father. Yes, the one who also levied such verbal and physical abuse on me. He was my father. And yet, though he may have been cruel during those times when he wasn't himself, I knew that he loved me. There was no doubt about that. I knew that when he is around, nothing can harm me and that he will protect me with everything that he has.

My mother is now suffering from mild dementia. It is a cruel master. But my mother was brilliant. She was a spiritual giant. She would tell me about her dreams and they had meaning and amazingly, every dream she had had a lot of truth and precognition. She was so wise. She worked so hard so I could have every opportunity that few ever had in their lifetime--at least from whence I came from. She was the sole breadwinner of our family as my father couldn't hold a job until his cronies were elected into high office. Then he had jobs with no real descriptions that came with a paycheck. But my mother was more than competent. Because of her brilliance, she worked for the most important minister in the country as well as the PDIC which is equal to America's FDIC. So she received two big paychecks---only because of her brilliance. She was a Fulbright scholar slated to pursue a masters degree in Public Administration at the University of Rhode Island but because she was pregnant with my sister, she had to turn her back on that much lauded privilege and opportunity. And she never looked back.

Our family had many emotional turmoils, dramas, twists and turns, duplicitous lives and some unspeakable events. That is true. And perhaps or rather, truly, some events are so far removed from how an LDS family should be...or how individuals should live their lives. But this is MY family.

As I prepare to attend Thanksgiving with my husband's family for the first time in probably over 20 years, my thoughts do keep on returning to my own family. My father has long been gone for over 20 years now. My sister and I have a very tenuous relationship. My mother is left to live with my sister eager to join my father yet holds on with every fiber of her will to hold on to her memories, her books, her pictures, her old letters, her genealogical records. And my heart yearns for those days when we were all together. I am willing to go back again and take the very bad parts with the very good parts because the very good parts were indeed extraordinary. And it took me a long time to realize that. Because in my quest to find out how LDS families are supposed to be or how one is supposed to live the gospel, I really need only turn to my own family. Because in my family, though there be darkness, you can always be sure that the next day will be brighter and my father or mother will show me more love to make up for the darkness. In my family, though there be strife, yelling and hurtful words, we can be certain that the next day, it will be like nothing happened and we will again laugh, love and hold each other dearly. In my family, even when I make bad choices and my parents or sister condemn me or disown me, the next day, I know that they were just angry and their actions will betray their painful words when they fiercely defend my decision and love me just the same.

I did not learn much from my husband's family about love, acceptance or finding the best in people they love. I only learned judgment, manipulation, one-upping, backstabbing, family gossip and alienation. I learned that what makes a good Mormon isn't about baking the best bread, sewing your children's underwear from remnants, tole painting better than the other or winning quilting shows. It isn't even about 'finally' becoming a Relief Society president or a bishop. It's not even about serving a mission or looking good on Sundays. But from their example and choices, I've definitely learned that I did not have to go to Utah or BYU to learn how to be "Mormon" because what I've learned from my own family is how to be a Christian...how to love....how to sacrifice....how to be faithful and loyal....how to forgive....how to live the very gospel that the Saviour himself teaches us through scripture, living prophets and personal revelation through the gift of the Holy Ghost.

I did not have to go very far to learn all those wonderful things. I always had it. My family always had it. And no other LDS family from Utah or anywhere can be more loving, faithful and true to each other as my family has been for me. The circle is complete and I am grateful. Truly grateful for the parents to whom I was born, where I was born and the circumstances, country and culture of my heritage. My family is THE family where I learned to live the gospel. And in a coming time when the Saviour returns, I shall look forward to meeting my father again and telling him that he was right....everything that I do while I am here on earth will affect him and my family. This is what he told me in a dream. And he is so right.

As I walk into my husband's family home, I am empowered by this clear realization. I am a princess of noble birth--born of goodly parents whose believing blood led us to the restored church of Jesus Christ. I was born into a country whose culture and noble history of resilience, patience and contemplative powers course through my veins. I was born into a family full of strife and challenges but whose wisdom, light and intelligence made me rise...rise high above all I could ever expect. This is my heritage. This is my blood. This is MY FAMILY.

I do raise my ebenezer!

Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Hither by Thy help I'm come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,

Wandering from the fold of God;

He, to rescue me from danger,

Interposed His precious blood.

(Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing)

I've been listening to my favorite church music for the past couple of days in an effort to lift my spirits and focus my thoughts on the atonement. Then I heard the familiar strains of "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" and the part where the men sing the above verse. Immediately, my thoughts jumped to Ebenezer Scrooge and suddenly my focus went 'poof'.

So I clicked 'replay' and listened again. This time, instead of Scrooge, I remembered my Bible Study lessons in grade school. Ebenezer. The stone of ebenezer.

Then Samuel took a stone, and set it between Mizpeh and Shen, and called the name of it Eben-ezer, saying, Hitherto hath the Lord helped us. 

(1Samuel 7:12)

Ebenezer means "help stone" or 'stone of help'. In 1 Samuel 7, it talks about how the Israelites prayed to help them overcome the Philistines who were at war with them. The Lord gave them aid by making the Philistines become confused and later were slaughtered by the Israelites. Samuel, in joyful thanksgiving, took a rock or stone and placed it on the ground as a remembrance to what the Messiah had done for them when they were in peril. Thus, an ebenezer is a token, a monument, actually anything that can stand as a remembrance of our gratitude for the Lord's continual help.

I have been asking the Lord for further help and enlightenment regarding some confusing events in my life lately. He has blessed us tremendously. But lately, it seems that He has withdrawn some of His blessings. Our firm is going through quite a challenging time. And my both my daughters have gone through some trying disappointments and difficult learning experiences that actually can enrich their lives. But passing through all these challenges all at the same time seems so literal: when it rains, it does pour. 

And yet, as I ponder these, I realize that in order for Him to bless us during these times of change and challenging obstacles. we need to reassess, reorganize and prepare ourselves for blessings that will come from new sources. We need to do our part. We may need to reposition ourselves. We may need to make changes that will challenge our comfort level.

As I was studying the Sunday School lesson last weekend, I came across some interesting insights. In 3 Nephi 24, the resurrected Christ yet speaks to the Nephite survivors of recent cataclysmic events that not just killed countless souls but also changed the topography of their land. This time, he tells them about the prophet Malachi, a prophet they've never heard of since Lehi left Jerusalem in 600 BC and Malachi lived there around 250 BC. He commands them to record the words of Malachi or rather, "...the words which the Father had given unto Malachi...". He expounds on Malachi's words which essentially teaches us about tithes and offerings and more importantly, the coming of Elijah that will happen shortly before Christ returns to earth in all His glory. All these records are 'ebenezers' in fact: memorials to the Messiah's undying kindness and love for us. And these words of scripture, which are essentially revelation, are significant in that it will take nearly 2,000 years more before Elijah appears. (April, 3, 1836) That was a very long time and I am sure the Nephites, when told about this prophecy had no idea when it will happen or even a hint of what the world might even look when Elijah appears. And yet, it was of such great importance for them to know that through the words of Malachi, the prophecies regarding Elijah which carry with them the sealing and endowment powers will indeed be restored. But not even close to the end of their days. Not even within three generations---but eons later. 

Furthermore, upon reading D&C as a corollary study to the above events, we learn that the restored sealing powers were indeed restored by Elijah on April 3, 1836 AND partial endowment instructions were also given. Interestingly, the full endowment blessings were not revealed to Joseph until he was in Nauvoo in 1842--. nearly 6 years after Elijah appeared. Again, I would surmise, from Joseph's time, 6 years was a long time to wait for the full promise of sealing and endowment powers to be completed. Six years. That's a very long time when you want something NOW.

TIME. It takes time!!

As these thoughts circled about me whist partaking of the sacrament yesterday, I took pen to paper and immediately, feverish wrote the following: Revelation most times are not given in its entirely. It may take time for the full-completion to take place. Each one of us, as individuals, are part of the execution---then as organized groups, i.e., couples, families, wards, etc. Individuals may live or die not seeing the full completion. We have no idea sometimes when that is....or even if the promised revelation is completed within our time. 

I know these words don't make much sense but my mind was whirling and I needed to jot down some notes so I'd remember. And though I always intellectually knew the concept of 'line upon line...." it wasn't until then when it clicked in a way that gave me meaning and relevance. 

We do receive personal revelation. And what we receive may just be a step towards the completion of an event that we can't see yet because we see things as Paul describes it, "through a glass darkly" until that day when it hits us that "this is what the Lord wanted after all". Because our ability to see 'far-off' is so limited. In the end, the big event that we are preparing for is the coming of the Saviour. All things given to us are for the benefit of our preparations for that great day.

It took me nearly 25.5 years to find my companion. It took me nearly 34 years to complete having children. It took my father 59 years to complete his earthly life. Some events of my life required very long, interminable waiting -- especially when I was anxious for the event to happen. And others took me by surprise....anticipating that I had more time. 

But I do believe that as we hold on to the things that are true, the Lord prepares us for the many nodal parts of the completion of His works and the completion of OUR work on earth.  And as we live our lives, we do receive revelation line upon line that will lead to very important events that are essential to our progress. If we do our part, there is no need to fear. I am almost sure that I am just one life connected to the completion of revelations given thousands of years before I was born. I am simply living a minute point on God's timeline...that is, if I look at it from a linear standpoint- well, that's the only way mere mortals can see time anyway. 

Even if I just look at my own timeline, I can see that many things took much time to complete. And I can look back and trace where I realized that I had already began to turn on the machinery for an event to happen that I had no idea would happen but had already been given the initial inspiration and understanding of its importance--a complete step that when accomplished will yield further instruction.

So that is part of faith, I believe. Revelation is continual. Revelation is that quality that points us to further understanding of our relationship with the Saviour. Because everything is about Him. And everything is to the testifying of Him. Our lives testify of Him. Our development and growth testify of His enabling powers. Such is the stuff of revelation. And revelation is never complete until that bright day when the Messiah appears. 

I raise my ebenezer to the God who never fails to lift me up. I raise my ebenezer to remind me that He is always near and that all that happens, all that I execute through the guiding hand of the Spirit coupled with my own agency will be for my own growth. All these are possible because of His atoning gift. My help-stone, my ebenezer is my life. That's only one life. But it is all that I have to give. 

When we betray the gospel we are supposed to live

I know first hand of a family whose judgments are so harsh and unilateral. When their daughter made choices that were totally against their expectations, members of the family reacted with much contention. Some wrote her letters declaring her 'evil' and stupid. Others reacted with such reproach: accusing her of being a bad mother, a bad daughter, a bad person. Others took much delight in talking about her behind her back--receiving great pleasure and feeling more righteous and superior as they discussed the 'perplexity' of her choices and actions. They loved to discuss how 'damaged' her son would be without the benefit of the gospel that they purport to live daily. They abandoned her. They distanced themselves from her. Because she is not 'living the gospel' anymore. Some even told their children not to have anything to do with her family lest they be influenced by the way they live their lives.

At first I distanced myself from this family not wanting to be involved because of the bitterness, contention and foolish manipulations and one-uppers. I myself had been the target of these murmurings, backstabbing and self-centered manipulations. 

But one day, my thoughts began to focus on her. I loved her. Always did. Long ago, when she began to distance herself from me because of the manipulations of her family, my heart just broke into a million pieces. She was like my little sister---the one I always wanted to spoil. And suddenly, she didn't like me anymore. After many years, this time, I thought about her....for many days.

I decided to make an exception and try and open up to the possibility that perhaps she may still love me since most of her family had distanced themselves and she to them.  I hope that she and her family will feel of our love because what we feel for her and her son is deep and sweet. 

When we treat each other harshly because they are different from what we expect them to be, we betray the very essence of the gospel we purport to live. Christ, in Gethsemane, went below all things. He understands the Ethiopian girl born 4,000 years ago who was sold to a husband before she was 12. He understands the Polynesian boy who was raised to be a girl during the times of Kamehameha. The Saviour can see the point of view of those who feel disenfranchised, those who feel expelled from their families or villages, those who were born in places I do not even know existed from eons of time ago, those who live on the other side of the world and those who will yet be born into a world of the future that I cannot even imagine. He knows all of us. And still he loves us. In Gethsemane, he carried on his mortal body and regal stature being the Son of God ALL of our sins, all of our sorrows, all of our weaknesses, all of pain. And then he drank the bitter cup. And died for our sins---later to rent the palls of death for our sakes. He did all that because of love. That is His gospel. That he died. And lived. 

We betray the very gospel that he himself taught us. Note these words that the Saviour declares:

Behold I have given unto you my gospel, and this is the gospel which I have given unto you—that I came into the world to do the will of my Father, because my Father sent me. (3Nephi 17:13....)

And then the Saviour goes on to say, from the 27th verse:

And know ye that ye shall be judges of this people, according to the judgment which I shall give unto you, which shall be just. Therefore, what manner of men ought ye to be? Verily I say unto you, even as I am.

The bold and underlined words declare how we are to 'judge' one another: even as the Lord judges us, so shall we judge one another. That is, we must treat each other with love just as the Saviour feels for us. Because with whatever judgment we mete out towards others, the same will be meted out to us. That is a sobering thought. 

We seem to be so harsh towards those who are among us-- those who are our family, those who are within our wards, those who are like us, members of the true church. It would seem as though we are mandated to be kind to others outside of our faith because we need to bring them into our fold. BUT, within our own families and fellow saints we exact so much more judgement and recrimination. When someone decides to think too deeply or ask questions or choose to do things differently, we are so quick to render judgment AND harsh reactions. We tend to be more angry, more distant, more aggressively mean. Is this how we are to bring the 1 sheep who strayed back to the proverbial fold? If we throw rocks at the missing sheep, it will surely never come back to the fold. And moreover, the consequences of our harshness and meanness slingshot back to us. We miss out on beautiful, sweet experiences of expressions of unconditional love. We miss out on the opportunity to love freely without borders, conditions, requirements or demands. As it is, all have missed out on building loving relationships with a member of their family whom they love and who loves them. To say that they have retreated because it 'pains' them to see their loved one live so differently from their expectations is ludicrous at best. Because if they see with loving eyes, they will discover that their loved one is still the same person. Oh how Satan deceives us! Sanctimoniously dire reactions  only give birth to further distance and further darkness. We betray the gospel we think we know. We are mere hypocrites: blinded by the severity of our recrimination and bitterness.

In taking this stance, we betray the gospel. We betray the powers of the atonement. And we crucify Christ anew. And all I can say is that this reaction is merely proof of how little we truly know about the Atonement and what happened in the garden of Gethsemane. As long as our hearts are full of pride and harshness, we cannot see the face of the Master. I record these words to remind myself how easy it is to betray the gospel we must live...to warn myself from time to time. Because it scares me to think how easy we can all be led to such bitter waters when we are thirsty and our reserves are gone. Hence it is from the Master himself that we can draw everlasting sweet waters from whence we shall never thirst-- given to us as we take advantage of the fruits of the Atonement through humility and repentance. 

But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life. (John 4:14)

Evil. Did it begin with Eve?

 "Thinking is man’s only basic virtue, from which all the others proceed. And his basic vice, the source of all his evils, is that nameless act which all of you practice, but struggle never to admit: the act of blanking out, the willful suspension of one’s consciousness, the refusal to think—not blindness, but the refusal to see; not ignorance, but the refusal to know. It is the act of unfocusing your mind and inducing an inner fog to escape the responsibility of judgment—on the unstated premise that a thing will not exist if only you refuse to identify it, that A will not be A so long as you do not pronounce the verdict 'It is evil'". (Ayn Rand...from Atlas Shrugged)

I always assumed that the word "evil" came from Eve--the one who partook of the forbidden fruit and thus set the mechanism of death into motion. But I may be wrong. The etymological root of this word is obscure at best....German, Scandinavian or Hittite. Nevertheless, countless intellectuals, scriptorians, philosophers and others have written treatises about this subject. 

It used to be clear to me that the consequences of Eve's initiative comprised specifically of the beginnings of evil--the separation of man from God both spiritually and physically. Within this platform, evil to me is simply that---anything that takes man's focus from our earthly imperative; that same imperative that we all joyfully anticipated: to return to God...to be like Him and to be his heirs. Anything that compromises or undermines my focus is therefore evil.

Moral relativism I think, is the overall belief of most Christians and unwittingly, as members of the the LDS church we seem to have developed our own 'code' of behaviour: a set of standards whereby we can measure ourselves against OTHER people so we can feel better about ourselves. We have a code of behaviour that is a product of our burgeoning culture, customs, prejudices and even our own language and rhetoric. Yes, even that annoying cadence that comes out of us when we pray or speak at church. Some of these standards are well into being absolute. 

We like to think in terms of 'drawing the line' and 'gray areas'. We like to have specifics....a list of don'ts. A way to judge and a very clear definition of 'sin' that will make us be comfortable as we pit our goodness against our neighbours'. It's our favorite pastime. I guess I am severely turned off by the latest Relief Society lesson on 'drawing the line' and the ladies in the room defined the absolute as "doing everything by the book and script" ie, if the prophet says so, then it must be done with exactness--that you are either in or out and you either obey or not obey. These arguments later gave birth to such things as "what you are NOT supposed to do on the Sabbath" and "our bleak temple attendance" and such things that you are not supposed to do...a list of prohibitions and specifics that begs for simplicity and ease in judging what is 'right' and 'wrong'. There are no 'gray areas' they say. I begin to sweat. Clouds swirls around my head in a dizzying fashion and suddenly, my thinking patterns turn to confusion and chaos. Why is there no clarity or order? And why does it suddenly feel murky in that room? 

It occurred to me that it was because no one really understands what the lesson is about. Drawing the line---choosing to be on the Lord's side. The problem is, even after we've made that choice or 'drawn that line', there are STILL choices left on the Lord's side that we have to make that  consistently remind us that even in our zeal to obey, we cannot obey with accuracy and sharpness and we cannot always see the lines clearly. Most of all, we cannot 'draw the lines' perfectly. That's because we are mere mortals---subject to errors, mistakes, blindness, limitations and yes, imperfections. So is the god we worship who is loving and kind going to just, after choosing His side, allow us to make mistakes, transgress and suffer the consequences of our stupid choices or languish in the consequences brought forth by the dumb choices of other people we love and whose lives intersect with ours? Is that fair? And once we've chosen to follow Christ, does it stand to reason that we can suddenly see all things clearly such that what is correct and congruent to Christ's and the Father's will will be so clear that we can no longer make a mistake---that there will be no gray areas? If members of the church are arrogant enough to believe this, then Christ's atonement will have been totally unnecessary. Suddenly, I feel as though I was surrounded by Pharisees and Sadducees. 

Having said that, these are the absolute truths that I hold on to and cannot compromise on their veracity because no matter what others say, these will still be true. No culture, time, change in social mores or attitudes can change these truths.

Absolute Truth #1: 

The existence of the Godhead: Elohim, the father, Jehovah, Christ the Saviour and Redeemer of Mankind and the Holy Ghost, a personage of spirit. The truth about the nature of the Godhead is important because we can have a clear understanding of our relationship with them, who we are, what we are entitled to and how we can communicate with them. 

I am now going to list some of the important absolute truths that we can learn just from knowing the nature of the Godhead:

1. That the world was not 'created' but organized from 'something'. I know that we are referred to as 'intelligences' or individuals/persons of a spiritual form that had no beginning. Hence in that case, we are as infinite as God is and can become like Him. That is our imperative.   (Abraham 93: 29 to end of chapter) 

2. That when God created the heavens and the earth, he organized all 'chaos'--in other words, He is responsible for all things that are in the heavens...and on earth. This means that there are entities that are eternal as he is, i.e., intelligences. Every living thing, every organism, world, planet, system....everything is organized according to His great wisdom and mercy and thus all things testify of Christ and His existence and purpose. (Moses 6:63 and 2 Nephi 11:4)

3.  It is necessary that there be opposites in all things or God would cease to be God. (2 Nephi 1) Men are that they might have joy. And joy comes from righteousness. And righteousness can only come about if there is a CHOICE, in other words, there has to be polarity or choice cannot exist. And because of this great principle and gift, we can experience joy from choosing against evil and wrongdoing.

Absolute Truth #2:

There was an apostasy and therefore a need for a restoration. 

Because of this absolute truth, there are also indubitable events that happened that cannot be disputed and are therefore corollary truths:

1. In 1820, God the Father and Jehovah Jesus Christ appeared to a young Joseph Smith in a grove of trees in New York state. From this sweet simple vision, the Lord was able to restore His church as it was organized during the time he walked the earth as a mortal being. Ten years later in April of 1830, the church was officially organized and given the name "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints" to distinguish between the church of ancient times before the apostasy and the now fully restored, organized church of Jesus Christ that functions through priesthood power and revelation.

2. We have a living prophet who leads in the administration and earthly affairs of the church through revelation. We have a quorum of 12 apostles just like the ancient church was organized. All other offices and auxiliaries aid in the administration, edifying and development of its members. The prophet is not infallible. He is human and subject to the same weaknesses and mortal challenges as all of us. But the Lord will not allow His church to fall again until He comes again. 

3. There are ordinances and covenants required for entry into the Kingdom. These ordinances are offered to all those who would accept the gospel and be baptized by those in authority and keys to perform such ordinances. All ordinances are eternal in nature and can only be unsealed through unrighteousness.

Absolute Truth #3

The Plan of Salvation: Need more be said?

Absolute Truth #4

The ATONEMENT

All things begin and end with this. I saved it for last because to me, it is the crux of all things. It is the stuff all things are made of and will be made eternal. The Atonement denotes what kind of personal relationship I have with my Saviour.

All things are to the typifying of Him. All things point to Him and his glorious work. All things do testify of what he has done and will continue to do for us. Studying the atonement gives me the greatest satisfaction in my life. It provides me with context. All things have no meaning until one can see through the fine filter that comes from an appreciation and focus on the Saviour and what He has done for us. The more we gain understanding and appreciation of the Atonement, the better our perspective will be--we will be able to follow the guidance of the Spirit better. 

Is there a place for moral relativism? This is a rhetorical question and perhaps can only be answered if we define what morality is. Good or evil? Right and wrong? Or perhaps the HOW of obedience...the determination between which law will take precedence over another. Or the execution of a principle within the context and limitations of our own understanding. The relativism may refer to where we are on the time line of our existence, the varied human conditions we find ourselves in, our spiritual highs and lows, times of plenty and times of need, youth and maturity, usefulness and redundancy.  Does it pertain to our relative strength and weakness, ignorance or dependence, arrogance and cowardice? Because if such is how relativism can be defined or seen, then there must not be judgment involved. Because it is in these circumstances where we need our Saviour to fill in our gaps: to make perfect our imperfect ways. For without Him, we are nothing and can do nothing. 

That is how I bridge truth and relativism. Because tolerance for all things relative is a two edged sword. We must see each other as unfinished works of art to be finished and framed by the Master himself. And as we await his steady hand, we must see each other as unfinished, unpolished and imperfect....until such a time when the Master, through the mechanism of the atonement can render us perfect and complete. It is only his hand that has this power. Until then, I hold on to my absolute truths and aim to view with tolerance and kindness the multifaceted ways in which man tries to transcend his own mortality and morality. Truth is everywhere. Even in the dark places of confusion and transgression. Because God never really leaves us. And God never ceases to exist.

I Am An Overbearing Mother

In times like these you need a Saviour

In times like these you need an anchor

Be very sure, be very sure

Your anchor holds and grips the solid rock

This rock is Jesus, yes He's the one

This rock is Jesus the only one

Be very sure, be very sure

Your anchor holds and grips the solid rock.

These are the words I used to sing in my head whenever I felt alone--especially after a beating or after a steady stream of hurtful words lobbied at me--words that fail my own understanding, words that hurt me more than the beating. I sing this song and several others that I learned while attending a private Protestant elementary school.

I don't really mean to be a domineering mother. It's just that I've fought so much to be where I am now. I never even dreamed of becoming a mother. I had no idea how to raise children. I still don't know how to talk to them. I am still at a loss when I am with children because I don't know how to be a child. But I am a mother and have raised four children.

I made some decisions as I carried my first child. I will never beat them. I will never call them names. I will protect them from abusers. They will never be out of my sight. I will never trust anyone to be alone with them. No one will ever hurt them. I will protect them with my life. I will never use my own language to raise them for fear that I may automatically talk to them the way my parents did---for fear that my repertoire of phrases and words born from my childhood might suddenly spew out of my mouth in a moment of weakness. I was not going to let that happen.  I gave up that privilege and right conscientiously. I will bring them up in a new culture lest my own culture betray me. These are the things I promised myself and I remember the clarity of mind with which I made these declarations.

The clarity. Yes, the clarity. Some mothers expect having children joyously. So did I. But I also did so with trepidation. Something that I had that others may not have because of my own childhood is the zeal and determination NOT to be what I feared I could be. So I had children with an imbedded code of "NEVERS". I will never spank. I will never call them names. I will never...this and that. I do not profess to have been perfectly successful in executing these codes but I can say that I gave it my all. I gave it my ALL.

And yet, I can see how my failings, excesses and perhaps, overzealousness have hurt my children. I do have expectations. I do live vicariously through them. I do have opinions about many things. And I do have a strong personality. I HAD to. Without that strong determination, I would have failed miserably at mothering them. But its a double-edged sword. I am domineering. I am opinionated. And I am fearless. And sometimes I don't know how to attain a balance between control and patience, zeal and flexibility, fear and trust, guilt and confidence, a measured pace or excessive generosity. I am the epitome of imperious.

The Saviour's enabling powers from His atoning sacrifice is what I rely on now. As I age and as my children create their own lives separate from mine, what I fear the most is that they will never understand nor appreciate what I've done, what I've given up, what I've happily changed to be congruent with that vision I had in my head of what a mother should be...or should not be. Perhaps it is very possible that I was too obsessed about what I should NOT be that I didn't pay attention to what I should be. I don't know. And now that I'm alone, there is much time to second guess and castigate.

It's hard to let go but I'm doing it. And I find myself on my knees for the better part of the day...or conversing with God about my fears and weaknesses. I never thought I would ever be 57 but here I am and I don't know if I'm ready for the inevitable stages and transitions in life that await me.

I cannot wait until all my children-- especially my daughters, have their own children. When that happens, I think they can understand me better. Until then, I just have to endure.

Laura and Her Heart

Nearly 20 years ago, I met a young girl named Laura. She was beautiful, with golden blonde hair, blue eyes and a happy, cheerful disposition. I had organized a youth choir composed mostly of high school kids and some of their friends. We even held our own fireside concert which was quite a spiritual event. I don't know why but we struck up quite a friendship--she was 17 and I was already into my late 30s, old enough to be her mom. But still, she talked to me as though I were her friend and confidant and began to share with me her thoughts about life and her dreams for the future. Many times she would come by for advise but mostly I just listened to her and helped her organize her thoughts by asking her questions.

Many times, I would scold her about her driving. Her father sometimes let her drive his little sports car and she would brag to me about the many times she had driven way past the speed limit and never got caught. One evening, she stopped by the house and invited me for a drive in that little car to get herself a slurpee. She would criss cross through cars weaving in and out speedily as I screamed at her to slow down. She'd just laugh at me. I was so mad. But in the end, she managed to bring me back safely. I remember her shoulder length golden hair blowing in the wind and her big, wide smile...so carefree and so young. I was shocked that she had never been issued a speeding ticket. But she said that every time she got stopped, she would just smile at the officer and she would just get a warning. I don't know if I believe her but if she were so lucky, I knew that her luck would someday run dry.

Laura was a gifted artist. Her sketches were amazing. She was also very musical. She seemed to have everything--beauty, intelligence, talent and personality. I thought that if she could treat me as her peer and a friend that someday, when my daughters grow up, I can have the same relationship with them as I have with her. I was open to that possibility because of her.

I moved wards so I didn't see her for a while until she called me one afternoon to tell me that she had met a nice young man and was going to marry him. They came by so I could meet him. He seemed like a wonderful man and I asked her if she was happy. The answer would be obvious. She was glowing.

Several years later, while Laura, her husband and small children were attending sacrament meeting, she suddenly collapsed. She had something wrong with her heart that was undiagnosed. She had a heart attack. They managed to revive her but the lack of oxygen had done its damage. Laura would never be the same again. She has lived in a rehabilitation care facility now for many years. Her memory is like swiss cheese. She walks with a cane or a walker. She is unrecognizable. My poor Laura. And I would not see her again.

People come and go into our lives and our thoughts seldom bring them back to us. Today, for some reason, my memories of Laura suddenly came vividly and acutely. I think of her--that suddenly she can no longer make beautiful pictures, or remember the songs I taught her or the conversations we've had. And I picture her having a difficult time walking and that thought is simply incongruent with the picture I have of her on the driver's seat with her head thrown back in laughter as she dares to weave in and out of the cars in front of us. That in an unexpected moment, her heart would betray all the wonderful things that she was and the extraordinary things she could do.

I miss Laura. I know she is progressing but it's glacier-like and with despair I do realize that she will never in this life default to what she once was. It is still difficult for me to fathom the all too common story of a young person who has everything and then loses it all in a blink of an eye--without warning and seemingly without any viable reason other than the incomprehensible ones of a god who we believe loves us. And so we hang on to those reasons built from faith--that the tragedy is really not one because somehow it will bless our lives perhaps with patience, understanding, endurance, humility. We need those explanations and justifications to appease the unanswerable questions that torture us. And then we find explanations, goodness, and magnify the plausible outcomes and seemingly meaningful and positive clues for its occurrence--the benevolence in the tragedy. It is a requirement to be able to do so just as much as we try to suck in air as we drown. Such is the human heart when faced with events that have no obvious explanation.

Earthly life is indeed short but significant in its scope. We will be judged by our deeds while we live in this estate. So it becomes a magnificent obsession for me to find understanding and meaning in the events that I see and experience. I am obsessed with finding order in chaos and substance in the enigma and paradox of life's events. And I've seen too much already.

My aunt's husband, who is a retired physician, has a brilliant brother who, while attending law school suddenly fell ill. A nervous breakdown they said. A few years ago, he finally passed away in an institution where he had spent the balance of all his productive years isolated from the world which obviously needed his genius. Or my old high school classmate whose intelligence was so lauded, one of the rare individuals from my country to be accepted to Annapolis--suddenly lost at sea during a raging monsoon storm. A handsome young man from my high school--a national science scholar--who one night, while in a drug-induced rage, raped and beat a young woman to death. He had a promising future. A beautiful girlfriend. But his mental demons ran unrecognized. He was in the perfect age when mental illness suddenly takes a grip. He was not even 20. Or a friend whom I had known since grade school who grew up to be a prolific songwriter--a beautiful young woman with little children who would grow up to follow in her footsteps: one day she collapsed from a brain aneurysm. Suddenly, she cannot compose anymore. And in an instant, the world has unknowingly lost a thousand beautiful songs. And even lately, an amazing young man overflowing with talent, intelligence, discipline and good looks will now live the rest of his life trying to sort through thoughts, perceptions and choices through the imperceptible filters of a serious mood disorder-- when cognitive thought processes can be so inexplicably unreliable and building relationships will always be unstable and fluctuating. Life indeed gives us our share of curve balls and blindsides us just when we think the world is our oyster.

I know there will be a time--a thousand years--when the world will be allowed the privilege of the presence of brilliance, talent and youth gone before their time. But until then, my heart yearns for Laura and others like her whose brightness and singular personalities enriched my life even for a brief moment. What I hope is that I do not squander whatever light I may have and that I can have a brave heart that can withstand the battles that rage inside me--the thoughts that somehow enslave me and the burdens that seem to weigh me down. These battles in my head keep me from living a healthy and safe life....as though there isn't enough brain power for me to do so.

I never in my wild imaginings thought that one day my brilliant mother would be saddled by dementia. But she now ambles along and unexpectedly, she can only remember the days from her early years when the world was full of splendor and hope. Yet she cannot remember what she ate for breakfast or who the president of the United States is. I see in her my possible future.

So while I can write and remember....while I can still keep my wits about me, I try to journal my thoughts. I have been blessed to live the better parts of my life with nothing to hold me back but my own share of baggage. But physically, I am still relatively healthy and my mind can still process my thoughts in an organized way. I was blessed to be able to make stupid mistakes, errors of judgment and carefree, self-centered miscalculations. In my youth and into my 40s, I held all these against me  and was enslaved--chained to them--enable to soar. And unlike Laura, I can still hope for more time to free myself from the millstone around my neck...my self-imposed punishments because I do still use the time I have to castigate myself for my errors, my arrogance, my overbearing nature, my opinionated pride.  I have not learned to let go. Perhaps that is why I am still around.

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"I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for the day." (George Washington)