Exponent II's Blog, page 173

Sacred Music Sunday: Praise to the Lord, the Almighty #CopingWithCOVID19

[image error]Plaque outside the gift shop at the south rim of the Grand Canyon – Arizona, USA

When I was thinking about what hymn to feature today, I wanted to find something that was as dark and dreary as I felt. The world is burning before our very eyes, and we feel powerless to stop it. I was flipping through an old hymnal for inspiration, and the book kept opening to the section of praise songs. I tried three times. Praise, praise, praise.

On Palm Sunday, I made a post on my personal Facebook page talking about the sadness of missing out on celebrating the lead-up to Easter. I closed the post with the line “All glory, laud, and honor anyway.” When I wrote that line, it was more in defeat. I was trying to get across a “ho, hum, what can I even do?” feeling. But one of my friends who reposted it said she loved it because the line sounded defiant – praising God even in the midst of hardship.

It’s not what I meant when I wrote it, but I like the reinterpretation, and I’m trying to live up to that now. So today’s hymn is Praise to the Lord, the Almighty. Because even in the midst of hardship, God is praiseworthy. It’s easy to praise God when things are going well; it’s harder when things are going badly. But, defiantly, I’m going to praise God anyway.

A Gift of Darkness #CopingwithCOVID19

The collective grief of my country has surged for the second time in my adult life. The first time, I was a young adult, in college on September 11, 2001 when terrorists commandeered planes and used them as bombs to target America. About 3000 Americans were killed. People rallied together. They cried and prayed and lauded firemen as heroes. Many other countries offered condolence or support. I also began to understand for the first time that my country was not everything I had been taught, and that there were not only people who hated us, but that they had good reasons.

Nearly 20 years later, we are now facing a worldwide crisis of far greater magnitude. A pandemic the likes of which have not been seen for a century. It is causing a complete disruption of life as we knew it. In our longing for things to return to ‘normal’ people are starting to say things will never go back to how they were. There will be life ‘before’ and life ‘after’. We are at a curious time in-between. In some sense this is a pause. Things are already changing. We are grieving the loss of our way of life. We are grieving the deaths of some 200,000 people from a virus that was unknown six months ago, approaching 50,000 American deaths. These numbers are continuing to rise, with no end in sight. We are grieving our own mortality and that of our loved ones. We are grieving the markers and milestones of a normal life that we forego; living in relative isolation from our normal support community.

The Kübler-Ross model of grief includes feelings of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. As I understand it, they are not milestones on a path, but just various emotions associated with the grieving process. I am seeing people acting out these feelings throughout social media. I myself swing from acceptance back to anger or depression several times a week. Or maybe even several times a day.

Are you feeling supported and seen? Do you have people to share your sadness with? What are you missing? Has someone you love died? Have you lost employment? Do you feel guilty for feeling bad because others ‘have it worse’? Are you lonely? Do you feel disconnected? Are your emotions mixed? Are you experiencing complicated stress?

It is okay if your feelings fluctuate. It is okay if you are confused. It is okay if you don’t have the energy to do the things you think you ‘should’. It serves no one to compare our pain to that of anyone else. We can hold space for others who have a very different pain. We are each having a very different experience in this time. Whatever you are feeling is valid. When you deny yourself your feelings, you are serving no one.

Have you found something to fill you at this time? Is there anything that brings you back to yourself? Is there anything that brings you joy and peace? Have you learned anything useful about yourself? Has this pause helped you confront anything about your life that needed to change?

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I love so many of Mary Oliver’s poems, and felt that this one really speaks to our time.

The Uses of Sorrow

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.  

What will we find in our box of darkness? Will we eventually come to understand it as a gift? Right now I am feeling it is full of the unknown. It is full of a different kind of time than I have encountered before. The grief is very non-specific and continues to grow and shift. Though I feel unflappable during the day as a typical overfunctioner, and am able to go about business, I sometimes wake at night with my heart racing. I know there is anxiety underneath. It is sometimes hard to name. I am trying to take time for introspection and take note of things to change.

Covid-19 is quickly leading to economic collapse in the United States, with more than 20% unemployment. I meant to be applying for a graduate program or a job and now I am stuck schooling my children at home in a country that just lost more than 26.5 million jobs. There is a real threat to many families that they may not have enough to eat or a place to live. What does it say about our economy if a few weeks pause can be so devastating? Fortunately for us, my husband still has his teaching job. School has changed completely, as everything must be done remotely. Teachers have scrambled to find ways to continue the schoolyear remotely. My children are currently healthy, though grumpy due to the complete disruption of their lives. On the other hand, my oldest daughter is living elsewhere, and continues to go out with friends, so now I feel like I can’t see her or let her visit her siblings. I ache to just see her and give her a hug. I want to see her at the table with the family, or cuddled on the couch while we watch a movie or read together. I would love to have her with us, to share her beautiful singing voice and see her play with her younger siblings. Her high school graduation should be in a few weeks, but it won’t be. No prom, no last anything. None of us knew the last day of school would be the last day of school for this year. Now we’ve been schooling at home for 6 weeks.

A plague of loneliness and isolation is accompanying the spread of the virus. People who have been thrust out of their normal routine are experiencing higher levels of depression. Paradoxically, those experiencing loneliness tend to further self-isolate and have a hard time reaching out and receiving the support of others. I myself have a hard time connecting with people the way I’d like when I am in survival mode. I have a hard time lifting others when I’m flailing. 

My area of the country has not been hit particularly hard; I do not personally know anyone in my area who has tested positive for Covid-19. I recognize that is a privileged position and am watching what is happening throughout the world. I am concerned about the political divide in the United States that is just being exacerbated by this crisis. (We have enough problems with an election looming and our inability to produce a viable candidate who has not sexually assaulted anyone). Riots about the right to leave home and be exposed to large crowds are bewildering to me.

When we grieve by ourselves, we can only grieve part way. When we show our grief to others and they witness it, something changes. We both feel more validated and the grief perhaps grows a little easier to carry. Our losses will continue to accumulate for a while. We may have a hard time identifying what it is we have lost and why we feel the way we do. Taking time to name a loss and share it can bring clarity and aid in healing. If you share a grief with someone and they criticize you for it, find someone else to share with in the future, that person is not ready. If you do not have someone you feel you can share with, try journaling.

The interplay between times of darkness and light give depth to our experience and perspective to our lives. Right now, our widespread feeling of destabilization reveals that our sense of control was illusory. Our system was more fragile than we had imagined and the world was never really as predictable as we thought. This is a novel opportunity to turn inward, re-evaluate our lives for a time, and eventually find out how resilient we are.

 

My recommendations: if your circumstances allow, find time to be out in the fresh air, exercise, and enjoy nature and sunshine. Find time to meditate and practice non-attachment. Try listening to music you enjoy and moving your body. Try the healing benefits of creativity through an artistic outlet. Reach out to others you care about and check in with them regularly. Find something to laugh about and share it with someone. Try journal therapy by writing out all the scary thoughts you don’t want to tell other people about. Do an inventory of your sleep habits. Are you getting adequate and quality sleep? Do you wake well rested? Do you have a skill you can share with others somehow? Do you have time now to pick up a new hobby or practice an old one? Do pets or plants feed your soul? No matter your circumstances, go easy on yourself.

Whiplash. #CopingWithCOVID19

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April 2020 – written 2.5 weeks into quarantine

By LMA

On March 9th, I traveled to Russia to visit one of my closest friends. At the very last minute (the day before I left), I wasn’t even sure if I was going to be able to go because of the coronavirus and policies that were being put in place in Moscow to stop its spread. I spent that entire day crying and frantically trying to find answers. I had spent almost 10 months preparing and saving for this trip. I had scrimped and sacrificed, obviously having no idea this would happen.

The Russian consulate said they would not have an official answer until they opened on Monday at 9:00 am. To get to the airport on time, I needed to leave my house at 6:30 am, well before the consulate opened. With the best information I had, I drove 3.5 hours to the airport I was scheduled to fly out of. When I parked my car at the airport, I called the Russian consulate to verify there weren’t travel restrictions for American citizens entering Russia. They said there were no restrictions at that point (there were shortly after I left to return home). I got on my flight and finally allowed myself to be excited about what was happening. I was going. I would be seeing my friend.

In Russia, I felt free and close to a person who I love and loves me. We slept in the same bed, shared food and drinks, and hugged one another. We laughed and laughed and laughed. I made friends with his friends. We also hugged. We all shared stories and experiences and lovely meals. I also experienced that same level of freedom, safety, and movement with my environment. We moved around freely. I rode on metros, taxis, trains, trams, and buses. I was surrounded by people all day long. We visited multiple prominent national landmarks and explored what felt good to us when it felt good to us. That freedom was sacred.

There was a moment during my trip where I was alone in Red Square. I had made a special trip and had to do multiple things on my own to get there. Without knowing any Russian, I had ordered and then taken a taxi to buy new tennis shoes for my badly blistered feet, found the closest metro stop from there, navigated the complex Moscow metro system and changed lines, and then found my way to the square on foot. All by myself.

When I got to the square, I had a really sacred moment of clarity. I cried when I took the time to realize that I had gotten myself to that very moment – acutely, to the square that day. But also to be in Russia at all. I had worked so hard and saved precious, hard-earned money to be there. I had done the hard work of getting a visa, preparing myself, traveling there alone to a place I had never been before. I made all of it happen. It felt so powerful and affirming.

Just a few days before that, we had been in The Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, the former capital of Russia. The Hermitage complex is incredible and full of the most intricate art I’ve ever seen and will likely ever see in my lifetime. I saw dresses of Catherine the Great. I saw her amazing hand-built, gold peacock clock from Britain (check it out here! It’s beautiful). I saw furniture, art, and artifacts of the Romonov family and other important Russian figures and historical events.

While I was there, I realized quickly The Hermitage was filled with white, scalloped curtains like the ones found at the veil in Mormon temples. Out in the open for everyone to see, no recommended needed. It was like Heavenly Mother was winking at me. I smiled and felt connected to my old self, while exploring the world as my present self. It was lovely.

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Before I came back, friends told me to prepare myself for what was happening and it became clear things were much different in Russia at that point than they were where I live. People were hoarding toilet paper and food. I had to ask a friend to explain what social distancing was because I didn’t know what it meant. My job teaching university students would now be fully-online and I would have to make changes very quickly to accommodate that. There was no stay-at-home order yet (there was less than a week later after returning), but I would go straight into quarantine because I had been traveling internationally.

Now that I’m back in the United States, it is a daily process managing things. On one hand, it feels comforting to be in my normal space. I’m comforted by my bed, my blankets, my clothing, my food, familiar smells. At the same time, it does not feel comforting to be in my normal space because nearly everything has changed about my life. I feel alone and confined in this space, often managing severe anxiety and suicidal thoughts and feelings. I have not been hugged since March 18th.

As a trauma survivor, there are a few things that are not only required for basic safety and comfort in the day-to-day, but for long-term recovery. The first of these is in-person, human interactions with close, safe attachment relationships. The second is making basic choices about interacting with and exerting control over my environment. Right now, those vital ingredients to safety, comfort, and recovery are blocked on a daily basis in different ways and to different degrees. This is profoundly difficult to manage.

I have been home for two and a half weeks, and I’m now just starting to realize the whiplash of what has happened to me in the last month. To be so free and safe and comfortable and mobile, to now being alone and confined and distanced from the people and things that are comforting and safe is so difficult I sometimes don’t have words for it.

Tonight, I sat on my tiny porch bundled up in my coat. It was the same coat I wore in Russia to keep myself protected from the wind and the cold. I felt comforted wearing the same article of clothing that had also been there. For a few minutes, it felt a little more okay and I felt a little more free being in the open air and seeing the dark, open sky. The same sky that covers Moscow, Russia, and all of us.

I wrote this list of mantras at the end of March to help all of us manage what we’re feeling. All of us are experiencing different types of pain. I hope this helps you feel a little comfort and peace.

Guest Post: To All the Souls #CopingWithCOVID19

[image error]by DesertProse

I joined a multi-faith webinar service for Easter. All were encouraged to bring their own emblems of communion to conclude the meeting.

After many shared reflections on the Savior and the hope of the resurrection, participants were invited to ponder the sacrament and sacrifice. I turned to the familiar verses in Moroni 4 & 5 and spoke aloud the words to bless my own sweet bread and guava juice.

I read the verse as I felt it—

Oh God, the Eternal Mother and Father, I ask thee to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it; that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son, and witness unto thee, O God, that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him, and keep his commandments which he hath given them, that they may always have his Spirit to be with them. Amen.

When I invoked the authority of the Mother, I felt to skip two small, but significant words— “of it.” This blessing was for all who partake (period). I felt a wave of love affirm that God accepts and blesses all who eat. All who hunger. The bread had been sanctified to my soul, irrespective of my womanly lips forming the words.

It felt beautiful to partake on behalf of all who eat. For those who don’t believe they are deserving— I blessed and ate. For those who don’t believe they have authority to do the same— I blessed and drank.

The Savior’s grace and atonement extend to all, so why limit the blessings of the sacrament to those who eat under authorized blessing? Do we truly believe that five loaves sanctified by God can feed thousands? Due to our current isolation, there are more of God’s children than ever who are going hungry for the sanctification of the bread and water.

Who is there of you, whom if her daughter ask for bread, will give her a stone?

How much more shall your Mother which is in heaven give good things to them that ask Her? -Matthew 7:9,11

 

DesertProse lives in the Mojave Desert where she raises three boys, writes for a living and occasionally for fun.

 

Sacrament at Home: Allowances That Could Be Made for Women #CopingwithCOVID19

[image error]Photo credit: OrdainWomen.org

The church released directions last week for how to administer the sacrament at home. They specify that a worthy priesthood holder must break the bread, say the prayers, and pass the emblems in person.

I am, by turns, incensed and grieved when I think how easy it would be for the church to make room for women, particularly in times of disaster, particularly in our own homes. Let’s examine some of the low-hanging fruit the Brethren could have implemented for home sacrament during COVID-19 and other “exceptional circumstances” but intentionally chose not to.

When a large area is affected by “exceptional circumstances,” permission to administer sacrament in homes shouldn’t be left to individual bishops.

We’ve seen time and time and time and time again how bishops are inconsistent when implementing policy. Some bishops are even abusive to the vulnerable (often women) in their congregations. In times of catastrophe, oversight should be given to ensure rogue leaders aren’t wilfully denying members the sacrament.

Especially during times when contagions are a concern (or when distance is insurmountable), the sacrament could be administered over video or audio call. 

If it’s really that important to have a priesthood holder read the sacrament prayer, doing it over Skype to prevent the spread of sickness is a logical and convenient alternative that would protect the vulnerable and increase access. 

There is no scriptural mandate that the sacrament must be passed by a priesthood holder.

The Church is fine with women passing the tray down the pew or young women carrying the sacrament tray into the mothers’ lounge. In light of this, especially while in the home, anyone should be able to pass the emblems. The formality of insisting a priesthood holder pass to a small family group is unnecessary and not doctrinal. 

Allow those without a priesthood holder in their home to prepare their own sacrament.

The Church’s newsroom release stated, “In unusual circumstances when the sacrament is not available, members can be comforted by studying the sacrament prayers and recommitting to live the covenants members have made and praying for the day they will receive it in person, properly administered by the priesthood.”

It could just as easily have said: “In unusual circumstances when the sacrament is not available, members can be comforted by reading the sacrament prayers and partaking of bread and water in remembrance of the savior and their covenants.”  They could even include a disclaimer about how this isn’t an official authorized “real” sacrament ordinance, though it wouldn’t be necessary: I have never once in my life thought or assumed that I held the priesthood, and yet my leaders and the Church itself feel the need to constantly remind me that I don’t have it. Since women exercise delegated priesthood keys to perform an ordinance in the temple, bishops could also be authorized to delegate priesthood keys so women could perform this ordinance in their homes.

I’ve heard a lot of apologetic explanations over the years for why men hold priesthood and women don’t, and one of the big ones is the assertion that men can’t use the priesthood to bless themselves; they can only use it to serve others. While it’s true that a man can’t baptize himself or lay his hands on his own head in blessing, in this instance, he can absolutely prepare and bless the sacrament for himself. LDS men have easy and instant access to the sacrament during these weeks of #stayathome; women without a priesthood holder in the house do not.

I have a priesthood-holding husband, and yet a couple weeks ago, our whole family participated in this ordinance in our home: my young children carefully broke the bread with their small hands as I talked about Jesus’s body, his life and his death and what it means for us. Then I knelt and blessed it with my woman’s voice, the sound of the prayer in my treble tones both foreign and right. My daughter, the one who asked me three years ago if girls could pass the sacrament, carried the bread plate to each of us, somber and reverent. My husband knelt and blessed the water, and my daughter and small son passed out the cups. 

There was no lightning bolt from heaven. There was no withdrawal of spirit. The emblems were just as meaningful as they’d ever been, and more. My children were fully present and attentive in a way they’ve never been during the sacrament at church. 

I’ve been pondering what the sacrament is and what it is not. Do we believe that the Lord’s supper literally cleanses us of our sins each week, the Mormon spin on transsubstantiation? Is taking the sacrament a necessary part of repentance? Or is the sacrament mostly meant to remind us of our covenants to follow Jesus? The first two possibilities imbue the sacrament with mystical properties, while the third is reminiscent of the first sacrament during the Last Supper. Take. Eat. Remember. 

The more I pull on the thread called Authority, the more I realize that without it, the garment is still whole. Rituals like ordinances are powerful because they are meaningful, but the Church seems to believe that ordinances are meaningful because they are inherently powerful. Because of this mindset, they erect barriers and hierarchies to keep the power and access to it tightly controlled. But God’s power and unconditional (yes, unconditional) love is freely available to everyone.

Being a Stay at Home Mom During a Pandemic

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I’ve been a stay at home mom for 13 1/2 years. I wouldn’t exactly say it was a choice, because it honestly never occurred to me there was anything else I could pick to do with my life. Unlike some women, I didn’t look forward to babies or motherhood. Once married, I saw it as a fast approaching deadline that I had no option but to accept when the time came (kind of like death). I was married at age 21, reluctantly went off of birth control two years later at 23, got pregnant at 24, and had my first baby at 25. I quit my job at that point and have stayed at home ever since (and to be fair, it’s turned out that my kids are more fun than not). While I am lucky to make a financial contribution to my family through part time property management of rental properties, I don’t have any colleagues, promotions, or an office to go to with my work. Because of this I have a hard time thinking of my job there as a type of a career, regardless of any income it produces.

 My husband on the other hand, has two careers. He joined the army at age 17 and has consistently worked his way up through the ranks of the military for over two decades. As a reservist, he also holds a regular job as a senior manager at a large international company. He started working for them shortly after his mission and has likewise moved up from an entry level position through an impressive career that has him now overseeing teams in multiple states and countries. I am proud of him and his accomplishments. He is talented and works very hard and every promotion he’s received has been hard earned.  

With the coronavirus outbreak, he’s begun working from home for both his regular job and his military drills. We don’t have any sort of home office set up at our house however, so he’s been working from the corner of our master bedroom, where he’s brought home monitors and a keyboard and created a makeshift work space.

I have likewise found myself home-bound with our three kids during the same time. Homeschooling is hard, but not impossible. My kids and I keep tiptoeing through the bedroom where he is working to get to the bathroom. I’ve tried to stay quiet and not interrupt his work, but I overhear the conversations happening in my bedroom each day. Usually they start with people laughing and joking, catching up, seeing each other’s kids, and eating lunch at the same time to maintain community. An in-person lunch meeting with another boss was canceled last week, and so my husband was sent a $25 gift card for Grubhuh to order himself lunch that day anyway. (He shared with us.) 

Multiple times at the end of these home-bound days, my husband will announce that he must leave the house or he’ll go stir crazy. I usually shrug and ask where he wants to go, but it’s generally something as unexciting as driving to the gas station to fill up his car and going through a drive through for a snack, and I typically say “nah”, and just stay home with the kids.

I was listening to a podcast with a male host who reflected on his past desire to work from home. Staying in his pajamas all day and avoiding traffic hour had always sounded awesome to him, but after just the first week at home he’d already changed his mind. He missed face to face interaction, and staying within the walls of his house was monotonous and depressing. He needed a reason to get dressed each day, and he’d found himself mindlessly snacking out of boredom and loneliness. He expressed concern that this would drag on for weeks and he’d only get out of the house to go to the grocery store between now and then. He’d never before realized how important leaving his home and going to the office actually was for his mental health. 

 For me on the other hand, the quarantine hasn’t changed my life dramatically. I still wake up at home, spend the day here cleaning up, doing laundry and cooking, help with homework, break up sibling fights, and my main outings are still to the stores for errands. I’ve been doing this kind of stuff for many years and it’s the same old story, just with less time to myself because nobody leaves during the day. I’m even more relaxed in some ways, because my usual extracurricular and volunteer stuff has all been put on hold and my Netflix watching time has gone through the roof. 

I have been reflecting on both my husband’s and that podcaster’s reaction to being home all day. They both dislike it. They’re missing the interaction they get of being with other people and leaving their house every day. Am I somehow less social or more of a homebody than those guys? I don’t think so, at least not in the case of my husband. If either of us thrives more in being around other people, I think we’d both agree it’s me. Yet throughout the course of a typical quarantine day, he interacts with multiple co-workers through online meetings while I talk to only our kids and the pets while doing dishes and painting baseboards. If anybody would want out of the house and be craving social interaction, it seems like it would be me. But I’m the only one who is willing to sit at home day after day. I think I’m just accustomed to the monotony after so many years of it.

I was taught throughout my formative years that being a stay at home mom would bring me more personal happiness than anything else I could ever choose. And to be fair, I’m not miserable. I’m fine. It’s okay. I am clearly vital to the function of my household and my husband’s success in his two careers. But would I have loved a career where I left my house five days a week and got promotions, bonuses, awards and recognition? Yes. I think I would have loved all of that very much, and I think that during this quarantine I’d be going just as stir crazy as my husband is right now. I think my soul has possibly gone a little numb after all these years at home with my kids.

Looking back now, I realize that most of these messages about the joy of being a stay at home parent originated with male general authorities (albeit sometimes passed on to me through the female leaders below them). The idea that staying home day in and day out could be fulfilling and soul nourishing came from men who have probably never had to stay at home. 

As a mom with unending childcare and household responsibilities, zero compensation, and no recognition awards or promotions, hearing some men complain about their home-bound work situation after such a short period of time (when it’s been my situation for the majority of my adulthood) is weird. They still have their careers and co-workers and lunches, just over Zoom instead of in person. From here on out, I don’t want to hear another sacrament meeting talk from a non-stay at home parent telling young women in the congregation that the happiest they can ever be in their life is to get married, have babies, and stay home with them – especially if during this quarantine they’ve been using “stir crazy” to describe their mood. Being at home all day is hard, and I’m glad the rest of the world is gaining understanding of what it’s like for stay at home parents, and everything we sacrifice to make the lives of our families run so smoothly. We are indispensable to our families, the economy, and the world – and we have been (and always will be) essential workers. So everybody stuck at home this past month (whatever your gender), go thank a stay at home parent when this all ends. We’re the unpaid support staff behind the scenes that make the entire world function and economies run – and you know, it can be a little isolating sometimes…kind of like a quarantine. 

Guest Post: The Power of One #CopingWithCovid19

[image error]By Cherie Pedersen

For someone who never liked math, I find it ironic that my life focuses so heavily on numbers. Everyone’s does. The number on the scale. The number of candles on the cake. The number of steps taken or miles walked or run or biked or driven. The numbers on a report card. Birth numbers recorded in pounds and ounces and inches. Popularity numbers evidenced by followers on social media platforms. Medical numbers recorded with thermometers and blood pressure cuffs and devices that send out alarms if the numbers aren’t right.

Now there are new numbers to track: the number of COVID-19 cases reported daily and the grim numbers of deaths, the number of missed paychecks and the numbers in dwindling bank accounts, not to mention the numbers in a stock market that rise and plummet like kites on a windy day, causing investors like me to wonder about futures that once seemed secure.

What is it about numbers that make us cling to them, even in the fact of anxiety? Is it that they give us a measure of control over our lives— or at least the perception of it? Yet suddenly we have been catapulted into a time when everything feels out of control. Would now be a good time to step back from the scary numbers and focus instead on another number, a number that might actually bring a measure of peace? I’m talking about the number One. One is manageable. One isn’t overwhelming. One holds out the possibility of not only surviving but thriving when all else is fraught with uncertainty.

What if we offered up one act of kindness each day? What if we extended grace to one person instead of judgment— even if the person is just ourselves? What if we found one thing that made us and others laugh? What if we made one phone call to someone we haven’t talked to in awhile? What is we learned one new thing or honed one new skill that brings us joy? What if we found one new thing to appreciate about those who share our space? What if we spent one minute giving thanks for flowers that still bloom and birds that still sing and a sun that still rises and sets on the gift of another day? What if we spent one hour doing something that enlarges our soul? What if we spent one day unplugged from the devices that feed anxiety and listen to what Heavenly Parents might be telling us instead?

We are all characters in a story that has only begun to be written. The rising action is happening quickly, though we cannot know whether this will be a long story or a short one. The crises that unfold will be both global and personal before we come to some final resolution. And though we cannot shape the overall narrative, we can shape the sub plots— the small stories of our own lives that will reflect how we used this time and these circumstances—whether we acted courageously or not, whether we acted compassionately or not, whether we acted unselfishly or not, whether we acted wisely or not, whether we loved more generously or not— in short, whether we helped to write a story, measured in units of One, that brought catharsis to us all.

Cherie is a retired teacher, fundraiser, editor, reporter and occasional freelance writer who lives in rural south central Pennsylvania and relies on daily eBike rides to maintain her sanity.

Finding Family with DNA Testing

There was a new face at my step-grandmother’s funeral—another Nordic face, like my step-grandma and her children and grandchildren. He had never met my step-grandmother, but in the few days after her death and before her funeral, he had taken a DNA test through one of those testing websites and discovered the identity of his biological father. His father was one of my step-Grandma’s sons, who had dated the young man’s mother about two decades before. He was just in time to learn all about his biological grandmother by attending her funeral, although, unfortunately, just too late to actually meet her. The family flocked around this charming young man and the big, playful dog he brought with him to the family picnic after the funeral, thrilled to bring this unexpected new cousin into the fold.

Last summer, I met another stranger at a family reunion of another branch of my big family tree. This older man had also found us through DNA testing. The story uncovered by the DNA was a bit messier this go-around; his father was the family patriarch, my husband’s grandpa, who had been married to my husband’s grandma at the time this man was conceived. Did she know that he had cheated on her? Did he know that his infidelity resulted in a son? We can never know what they knew; they are long since deceased. “Ask your parents all your questions while they are alive,” one of my husband’s aunts told me with a shrug. The backstory may have been awkward, but family is a gift, and most of my husband’s aunts and uncles embraced their newly discovered biological half-brother.

I attended another family reunion last summer, for another branch of in-laws. There were no newly uncovered relatives present at this one. Several of them had taken DNA tests, and unsurprisingly, the app had grouped them together as biological relatives. But there was one extra person included in the mix, a profile for someone they hadn’t met who identified himself as an adoptee. They mulled over theories about how this one stranger was connected to their family and debated whether they should reach out to him. They weren’t sure if they should give him information that could lead to uncovering the identity of the man’s mother, who had apparently chosen to remain anonymous through a closed adoption.

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Yawn.

Shortly after that reunion, I had my own DNA tested. The results were boring to the extreme. I learned that my ancestors were homogeneous white people who spoke English (one Viking invader excepted). In equally boring but reassuring news, the biological relatives identified for me by the app were the family I had always known. No surprises.

Yet.

Grief and Gratitude, #CopingwithCOVID19

By Emily Larson

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Photo by Samartha J V on Unsplash

As part of my calling, I was asked to read through the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet and pick a standard that I’d like to present on to send to the youth in my ward.  When I read the request, I audibly groaned.  I have detested that little pamphlet ever since my own youth, when a fellow Mormon in our school would hand them out to other students and my friends would approach me and ask if I really believed and lived by everything in that book (reader, I did not).

So I read through the pamphlet and rolled my eyes at both the vague language as well as the absurdity of some of the standards.  Like, in Music and Dancing, “do not use positions or moves that are suggestive of sexual or violent behavior.”  Are people doing suggestive violence in their dancing?  Are there new dance moves mimicking a guillotine?  Are we doing punch-dancing now?  And, most importantly, does this mean I can’t use finger guns anymore?!

After going through the whole pamphlet, I eventually settled on the standard of Gratitude.  I can always get behind Gratitude.  I have kept gratitude journals, I have had months where I purposefully have only said prayers of gratitude. Ultimately, I think keeping a spirit of gratitude in my heart and liberally expressing gratitude to others makes me happier.

But right now, I admit that I’m having a hard time feeling grateful.  I live outside the US (my home country), and we are under very strict lockdown conditions because of COVID-19.  I feel like, little by little, my freedoms have been taken away, and now I’m stuck in my home, unable to go outside or even take a walk.  Our borders are closed – we can’t fly back to the US even if we want to.  Intellectually, I know that I have so much to feel grateful for.  I am here together with my husband and children, and we are healthy.  We have all the temporal things we need to stay hunkered down, safe, and well-fed.  Nobody in my house is a front-line worker, so our likelihood of being exposed to this disease is low.  We have access to medical care if we need it.  I know I should feel grateful for those things, but instead of gratitude, all I feel is grief. I wish I could go outside.  I wish I could wave to my neighbors from the sidewalk.  I wish I could run to the grocery store to grab that one thing I forgot.  I wish I could check in on my family members.  I’m worried that I will miss weddings and funerals, and that I won’t be able to see family in the US this summer as we had planned.  Everything feels so uncertain, and I am grieving.

I’ve come to believe that grief is not in opposition to gratitude; in fact, grief is a bedfellow of gratitude.  Expressing grief can actually be a form of expressing gratitude.  When we grieve something, it’s because we are grateful we had it in the first place.  I am sad that I lost time to be with friends, and I am grateful that I have had the time I’ve spent with them.  I’m sad that I can’t go outside, and I am grateful for nature and the peace I feel in it.  I’m sad that I can’t travel to see my family, and I’m grateful that I have the means to travel to see my family when restrictions are lifted.

I also think that recognizing the gratitude in our grief can move us toward hope.  Feeling grateful doesn’t negate the grief, but it can help us process why the things we grieve are important to us, and help us hope for a day when they are restored.  I found this a lot when my dad died a few years ago – I didn’t know whether I really believed in an afterlife, or whether I would see my dad again.  It was really hard to grapple with the idea that I wouldn’t see him again, and I deeply grieved his passing.  But now, years later, I hope for it.  I still don’t know if I believe that I’ll see him, but I hope that I will.  And that hope, born of both grief and gratitude for the time I had with him before he died, lifts me and sustains me.

So when I present to the youth about gratitude in this time of uncertainty, I plan to tell them about grief.  I want them to know that they can hold two seemingly conflicting feelings together – that grief is an expression of gratitude, and that exploring that gratitude can move us to a place of hope.  This doesn’t mean that we should minimize our losses and tell people they should be grateful instead of grieving.  Quite the opposite – we should help each other realize that when we feel grief, it’s because we had something worth grieving, and recognizing the impact and significance of our loss and grieving it is an expression of gratitude.  No loss is too small to mourn, we are all experiencing some form of loss, and just because somebody has a bigger loss or a harder circumstance doesn’t mean that our losses aren’t worth grieving, too.  And that grieving might take a long time, and there’s nothing wrong with that, and it doesn’t make us unfaithful or ungrateful to grieve our losses.  And I will tell them that eventually, out of grief and gratitude, hope can spring up and carry us through.

 

Hymns in the Key of Corona

Perhaps, like me, your ward is meeting via Zoom or on a similar platform. Our ward doesn’t sing hymns together anymore and I miss it. However, none of the songs really capture the flavor of our present predicament, which is why I’m submitting a few entries that you can employ in your home-centered church-supported spiral into madness.

To the tune of “Count Your Blessings”

Are you ever stuck inside with tots to spare?
Do they kick and fight and just refuse to share?
Count the days of quarantine, they won’t seem to fly
And you will be slumping as the days ooze by.

Count the quarantine (one, two three)
Count the quarantine folks not with me
Count the quarantine, it will not be fun
Count the many days you’ve been stuck with no one.

When you are all trying to work in one room
When your only contact comes to you through zoom
Count the days of Covid
Why not call a friend
You can count together days that will not end.

Count your isolation, you must shun
In your isolation all your friends and fun
Count on Covid!
Name days one by one…
You can only go outside to walk or run.

So amid the virus spread that is not small
Do not be discouraged nor visit the mall
Watch your hair grow shaggy
But don’t watch the news
You’ll be broken hearted to see doctor crews.

To the tune of “Did You Think To Pray”

Do not leave your room this morning
Folks, just stay at home.
Infection from disease is ragin’
So stop spreading the contagion
And play on your phone.

Chorus:
The CDC has rigid guidelines
By which all people should abide
To stop death and human suffering
Please just stay inside.

When sore trials came upon you
Did you stay at home?
When your soul was full of sorrow
A pass to Netflix did you borrow?
To feel less alone.

Chorus

If you leave your room this morning
You should don your mask
Fashion mavens will admire us
If we can cut off the virus
It’s not that big an ask

Chorus

A bonus worldly song for you contrary souls who sing secular music on the Sabbath (Imitate Elvis if possible):

To the tune of: Can’t Help Falling In Love With You

Wise men say
Only fools rush in
Just wait in line
To get inside the store

Six feet back
That is two cart lengths
And do not pass
We will get through this chore

Like a virus flows
Surely when we sneeze
Stranger I just ask
Please stay six feet from me

Don’t touch my hand
This is not the flu
I do not want
To get Covid from you.

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