Month: June 2016

I awoke to a vision–not a vision of grandeur or of life changing consequence–a vision of a blue typewriter.

“You will find a blue typewriter today.” I was told, as a clear image of it filled my mind.

My plan to fulfill this prophecy by searching thrift stores was quickly interrupted by another thought. “No, you need to go to the Antique Mart in Chandler. You will find it there.”

This seemingly unusual phenomenon is actually quite normal for me. I’ve been lead to many such treasures before.  Leaving me to wonder, just who among my ancestors likes to come for a visit–sharing in one of my favorite pastimes–with insider tips on where to find the good stuff.

I have always known that my ancestors are aware of me. I have felt their presence, I have received their counsel, I have been enveloped in their love and I have been buoyed by their strength.

I honor their time on this earth. They lived extraordinary, beautiful lives and they laid the groundwork for me to do the same. They were here–fingerprints scattered throughout my house remind me of this everyday–and now they want to help me be here.

(Grandma Johnson)

(Grandma Shumway’s china)

(Grandma Rogers’ aprons)

(Grandma and Grandpa Cooper’s cow creamer)

(Grandma and Grandpa Johnson always had lemon drops in their candy dish and now so do I.)

I know that my ancestors feel as the Savior felt when He said,

And now I am no more in the world, but these are in the world,

I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that thou shouldest keep them from evil.

This is my time to be in the world and I feel my ancestors cheering me on, pulling for me and doing everything in their power to help me in this my little place in history.

They are invested in my happiness and it’s not hard for me to believe that perhaps one of them–with a little twinkle in the eye–knows how much joy I would find in owning a vintage blue typewriter.

 

To the elderly gentleman I met in the grocery store a little over a year ago–

You didn’t know, when you stopped to talk to me in the produce section, that watermelon is my favorite food group and that–were it but in season year round–it would be the main staple for my existence.

You didn’t know that–in years past–cutting open a carefully chosen watermelon would fill me with trepidation akin to that of opening an envelope of freshly developed, pre-digital prints.

You only knew that you had wisdom to share and the courage to share it.

Since that day I have followed your every instruction, paying special attention to the melon’s weight. “A very heavy melon has a lot of juice.” You told me.  So I search for the heaviest I can lift, hoisting it into my cart with gleeful anticipation.

And since that day every (and I do mean every) watermelon I bring home is glorious!

You didn’t know–when you stopped to talk to me in the produce section–the joy your gift would bring to my life.

You only knew that you had wisdom to share,

And I thank you for sharing it with me.

When my dad brought home the singing machine–complete with microphone stand–I fell in love. In love with singing, in love with Yaz (the group my sisters and I sang to most with on our new fangled machine) and in love with the idea of someday singing on a big stage.

Until–as a freshman–I didn’t make it into the top choir at my school. And tough I did make it into the second highest choir, with several opportunities to sing solos, I believed myself not good enough, thus ending my singing career–and singing all together.

Sadly, I had not yet learned the ways of successful people. Successful people like Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun of the band Twenty One Pilots.

The Twenty One Pilots video for their song “Ode to Sleep” inspired me as I watched them persevere with patience, playing for a group of 12 people then 300, then on to a crowd of 12,000.

Watching this video I thought, that’s the key. The key to success. And why I never achieved it in areas like piano lessons, choir and writing (and by success–I’m not looking for grandeur–I’m talking about just doing something, anything at all).

I never learned the lessons of pursuing talents with patience, of doing things simply for the love of it and of pleasing myself first–free from worry about the opinions of others.

I never learned to say the words spoken by Tyler Joseph when, in answer to the critics who told him, “You can’t be all things to everyone.”

He said, “I’m not trying to be! I’m being what I want to be for myself.”

But, although I may not have learned these things before, I’m learning them now.  And I can honestly say that I’m loving the process of allowing myself to be a beginner. A beginner in pursuit of being what I want to be for myself.

 

 

I think I offended my inspiration today. So we took a break from each other while I got rid of about fifty percent of the contents in my closet (yep, even shoes).

Maybe tomorrow–if I’m a little bit nicer–my inspiration will come back to play.

I promised I’d return to you, perhaps tomorrow or the next. But the lessons wrapped inside of your beauty, your interactions and whispered inspirations came as timed images sent to me through Snapchat.

And this scribbled line in my notebook–meant to remind me of you, to save your place in my heart–cannot restore your splendor.

You beckoned me to capture you. To take a “screenshot” with the words that you sent dancing through my senses. But I promised to return to you, perhaps tomorrow or the next.  Foolishly forgetting that tomorrow–with a story of its own–is a very jealous dance partner.

I played piano for the first time in a very long time. And I fully enjoyed it for the first time in forever.

I enjoyed every plink, sputter and clunk that naturally occurs when one hasn’t played piano in a very long time. I was patient with my pace. I rejoiced in the sounds of the intermittent melody that my fingers fought hard to create. And I felt absolute, undeniable, loving acceptance from my Savior that my offering–in all of its imperfection–was enough.

And then–amidst my joy–something strange happened.  I cried. I teared up thinking of all of the plinks, sputters and clunks I’ve missed out on in my life. I don’t want to miss anymore.

So when–after questioning the prompting to start writing my novel again, with the argument that, “I don’t think I have the ability to write a really great novel.”–I was told, “Then write a really bad novel.”  I thought, now that I can do.

And I plan to enjoy every plink, sputter and clunk of it.

 

The purple ring seemed to give me superpowers. But I know it only worked because I made a choice. A choice brought about by the ripple effect created through the choices of another.

The ripple effect of these choices–choices of love, service and selflessness–made by this, my new found mentor, took seed in my heart immediately following her funeral service.

The ripple effect of her choice to always help the poor and downtrodden caused me to give money–free from doubt or reservation–to a woman outside of a restaurant.

The ripple effect of her choice to do what she loved even if it meant “dancing with the bookshelf” caused me to sing karaoke with my kids–because I secretly love karaoke–when normally I would have allowed fear to keep me as a silent spectator.

And the ripple effect of her choice to be a “do-er” with a zest for celebration caused me to take a late-night, impromptu trip to Walmart with my girls to fetch a new karaoke machine when the old one wasn’t cutting it.

But perhaps the ripple effect that I’m most grateful for came from her choice to love.

She would look at me–whenever I had the privilege to speak to her–with genuine eyes full of wonder and curiosity. It was an expression reserved not only for me but for all she met. I believe it is because she had eyes that truly looked outward, focusing on, and being interested in the light and life of others.

And as someone who often looks inward–focusing on my own fears, insecurities and need for comfort–this was the ripple effect that I needed the most.

So this morning I put on my purple ring–because purple was her favorite color–and I prayed that the Lord would bless me with eyes that looked outward. A prayer that was answered in ways that I never dreamed possible.

The purple ring may not have given me superpowers, but my choices–choices brought about by the ripple effect created through the choices of another–have forever changed my life.

“It was clear to me that a self-absorbed natural woman ‘is an enemy to God’ and to the people in her sphere of influence.”                                           ~Neill F. Marriott

I recognized the woman as I walked past her toward the door and I knew that I should know her name, but I didn’t.

When she stopped me to express how much she loved my dress I wanted to ask her name, to explain to her that I recognized her but had failed to remember why, and to ask her about herself.  Where she was from. What had brought her to this small town. And how she liked it here.

But all I managed to say–though I felt impressed that she needed me to say more–was “thank you” and walked out the door.

I have found myself in this position–in these moments of unrealized connections–many times before.

I remember–several years ago–dismissing the promptings to speak to a woman I saw standing alone in a hallway, with the excuse that I simply felt “too shy” that day.

It was then that a tender voice spoke to my heart, telling me that, “To be shy is to be self-absorbed.”

I did not take offense to this criticism because with it came understanding.  An understanding that my “shyness”–born from feelings of self-doubt and insecurities–was an act of selfishness. When I put my needs first–fiercely protecting myself from vulnerability–I robbed others of moments of connection and acceptance.

Tomas Jech perfectly captured my feelings about this when he shared the story of an unrealized connection with a co-worker.

“My insecurity was having an effect on other people and who knows what else it had been affecting. I had stifled another person in his moment of vulnerability when he was reaching out to me. Once I realized this, I got a determination to never be like that again. I want to be someone that people can be vulnerable around.”

I too am ready to shed the protective cocoon of self-doubt and insecurity and walk in vulnerability so that you–when we meet–will feel safe to do the same.

So please–if our paths should cross–stop and share your stories with me and I’ll promise to do the same with you. And who knows, together we may just discover that we are worth so much more than we ever imagined ourselves to be.

“If you don’t go up to somebody today and act and perform like they’re your friend and ask them about their lives and their big ideas, you will miss something that is going to change your life. So I’m begging you to act anything else but indifferent to the people around you today.”           ~Mark Bowden