NOVEL

A friend asked me to read a manuscript for a novel. A large one. The basic story line is of a teenage girl suddenly becoming a queen (of course complete with fantasy worlds,  peoples and things).  It actually was OK – not bad, really – quite readable.  I encouraged the author to seek a publisher.  Later the author asked if I would read the sequel – Part II of 3.  It is like most sequels. And larger. I am struggling to read it despite the story being mostly an extension and expansion that fleshes out the worlds, peoples and things – it is months and I am still not finished!

In the novel the young queen is – well – young.  That makes for adventure right there does it not? Terrific and terrible all rolled into one.  She has wonderful abilities to heal and help people and also conceal that it is her that is doing it but they all know she is a ‘healer’ and that her touch can heal.  Of course, they don’t know the extent of her power.  She doesn’t either – and parenthetically neither, apparently, does the author as it never quite gets to where this reader thinks the natural, if this then that, extension should lean.

As the various people meet their ‘queen’ they close their eyes and drop to one knee.  I ponder in my mind, “Whom would I kneel to?  And would I be willing to close my eyes while doing so?” Anyone? Symbolically? Do I submit my own selfishness for the good of my husband? my family? Am I obedient to good and appropriate council? The queen meets with a race of giants – they willingly kneel and close their eyes.  They are some of her friendliest, wisest, kindest people. 

This morning as I dozed at the edge of awakening I considered this story and the giants.  They were among the wisest of the wise, and by sheer size some of the most powerful.  To kneel before someone is to acknowledge someone as greater than I, myself, am.  My pondering thoughts wandered and mingled into short and silly dreams. I got up earlier than necessary in disgust. Yet my mind holds to the thought thread – I kneel when I pray.

To kneel before their young and sometimes foolish/impetuous queen, and close their eyes the giants  gave their safety and well being to her.  What or whom do I give myself to? The giants were not too proud to acknowledge her power AND her position.  I consider, “Am I too proud to ________” but the list I begin to debate in my mind must be set aside to answer the phone.

I find those same lists again in a 1989 General Conference talk (reprinted in part for the October 2003 New Era) by Ezra Taft Benson about pride. It is only a few keystrokes away on lds.org and easily perused.  

“Most of us think of pride as self-centeredness, conceit, boastfulness, arrogance, or haughtiness. All of these are elements of the sin, but the heart, or core, is still missing.

The Heart of Pride

The central feature of pride is enmity—enmity toward God and enmity toward our fellowmen. Enmity means “hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition.” It is the power by which Satan wishes to reign over us.” Ezra Taft Benson

These are strong words. This is definitely not milk for babies. He continues at length and finishes with even meatier words, 
“Pride is the universal sin, the great vice. Yes, pride is the universal sin, the great vice.

The antidote for pride is humility—meekness, submissiveness.  It is the broken heart and contrite spirit.”

Am I humble? Meek? Submissive? Will I kneel to God? Close my eyes and beg his mercy? Am I full of enmity? Or any of these other ‘elements’ listed? -  towards you, my family or fellow human beings? things like hard-heartedness, being easily offended, or competitiveness that pits my intellect, opinions, work, wealth, talent, or any other thing against you in attempts to elevate myself or diminish you, or in other ways make you feel like an adversary?

Ezra Taft Benson states that, “[Pride] can readily be seen in others but is rarely admitted in ourselves. Most of us consider pride to be a sin of those on the top, such as the rich and the learned, looking down at the rest of us. There is, however, a far more common ailment among us—and that is pride from the bottom looking up. It is manifest in so many ways, such as faultfinding, gossiping, backbiting, murmuring, living beyond our means, envying, coveting, withholding gratitude and praise that might lift another, and being unforgiving and jealous.

Disobedience is essentially a prideful power struggle against someone in authority over us. It can be a parent, a priesthood leader, a teacher, or ultimately God. A proud person hates the fact that someone is above him. He thinks this lowers his position. …”

GASP!!!! There are those lists again. The ones I personally struggle with.  And he is far from finished.  He continues by listing the
“Forms of Pride.

Selfishness is one of the more common faces of pride. “How everything affects me” is the center of all that matters—self-conceit, self-pity, worldly self-fulfillment, self-gratification, and self-seeking. …

Another face of pride is contention. Arguments, fights, unrighteous dominion, generation gaps, divorces, spouse abuse, riots, and disturbances all fall into this category of pride.

Contention in our families drives the Spirit of the Lord away. It also drives many of our family members away. Contention ranges from a hostile spoken word to worldwide conflicts. The scriptures tell us that “only by pride cometh contention”

The scriptures testify that the proud are easily offended and hold grudges. They withhold forgiveness to keep another in their debt and to justify their injured feelings.

The proud do not receive counsel or correction easily. Defensiveness is used by them to justify and rationalize their frailties and failures.

The proud depend upon the world to tell them whether they have value or not. Their self-esteem is determined by where they are judged to be on the ladders of worldly success. They feel worthwhile as individuals if the numbers beneath them in achievement, talent, beauty, or intellect are large enough. Pride is ugly. It says, “If you succeed, I am a failure…

Pride is the universal sin, the great vice. Yes, pride is the universal sin, the great vice.”

I hope you can forgive me for all the times I have been or may ever be puffed up in pride, full of selfishness, disobedience, mockery or contention. I am working on it. I will continue to do so. 

Ezra Taft Benson is a prophet of God.  His words stir my heart. I want to do better.  Perhaps I can start by remembering to always kneel before God and close my eyes as I pray for his forgiveness and yours. 

SINGING OVER THE PEW

As we headed out this morning I tore a sheet from a small note book, tucked it into my pocket and grabbed a pencil.  I so need help sitting still and being quiet in church.

These are the notes that pencil made on that paper.

Remember Miss Bright Eyes?

As church began Miss Bright Eyes and her momma arrived. They sat down just in front of us.

Missy did not help me at all - to hold still that is.

Last week we sat on the other side of the chapel.
I did pretty good over there - new view point, people, and etc.

This week were back to our 'usual' place.

She looked at us and positively beamed!
That may have made my day - or week!
It is so nice to see a face light up just for me - and us!

B.E. has perky little pigtails that stick up over the bench
and a quirky little smile
that can charm even crusty old bats like me.

As the organ began the opening hymn B.E. began to sing -
a solo - using the terms loosely that is . . .

Her diligent mommy shushed her until I leaned forward and said,
"She is just singing, you know.  It is always OK to sing!"
B.E. flashed me such a beaming smile that we all knew it was so.

I admit to giving significant encouragement (from behind mom) by setting an example. "La, laaa, la, - la, lalalaah," -  I sang loudly with exaggerated mouthing.  B.E. joined in - and had more fun than some think church should allow her or me.

I told her mom later that I always encouraged my children to 'sing' in church.  It gave them an appropriate time and a way to use their voices AND they did learn to sing (and I hope love) the hymns. I remember my youngest son's cheerful loud singing.  He still loves to sing.

Several grandmas, my age, told Missy that she should be in choir - apparently she was amusing and charming more of the congregation than just me.

Bright Eyes was having a hard time holding still herself today. She spent some time on the floor and under the bench fussing.  Looking at my boots and touching the toes distracted her - funny thing - those boots kept doing tricks - I am sure they had a mind of their own.  I was trying to behave.

Later I loaned her my pencil -
and my paper -

and another piece we found in my pocket.

She liked my shiny pencil almost as much as I do.
I drew her a '2 second stick portrait' and handed over the pencil.
I pantomimed for her to draw me.

She did. That is just what I look like every morning.

I had a novel idea as she learned to use the eraser. Maybe ... oh never mind. I don't think an eraser works on real people.

I tried to listen to the speakers - honestly I did.

One of them was talking about a teacher that had a lot of pie charts on tests to correct. I have no idea how that fits into the topic he was discussing. A good analogy stuck with me though.

He asked the teacher about the work involved to correct so many charts. The teacher explained the simplicity of making a transparency of the correct chart and laying it over the student's work. Deviations, and where corrections are needed, can be easily seen. So it is with the scriptures - they are the 'transparency' we can lay over (or hold up to) our lives.  The scriptures and the words of modern prophets, that we receive in general conference and the Ensign magazine each month, will show us where we are not aligned with God's commandments and where corrections are needed.

See I was too listening - at least a little bit ...
when I wasn't peeking under the pew
or singing over it.

Maybe I should join the choir.

And her mother was able to stay in church too.
She heard the messages also.

Do you think children realize the influence and impact they have?

SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS

Nursery is good preparation for the ‘School of Hard Knocks’ otherwise known as LIFE. Since most children that age (about 2 usually) are not articulate enough to tell me about their nursery experience I have to describe it from my own point of view.

If you enter the classroom and claim the nearest or nicest toy as ‘mine’ a variety of options may occur: someone may ‘share’ with you, someone may grab it back and yell/cry ‘mine’ themselves or an adult may mediate turn taking or time out of some kind. 

The first time a 2 year old announces ‘mine’ even the other young children are likely to share and give the newcomer a bit of space to adjust. After that it becomes only a matter of time until anyone that ‘greedy grabs’ constantly will find themselves in a fight – sometimes a vicious fight with scratching, kicking, punching, biting or all of the above and more.

Cynthia, my 2 year old granddaughter, attended nursery yesterday.  Suffice it to say it was not a very happy day.  She discovered that most adults uniformly expect her to share and that failure to do so has consequences.

WOW! Same thing as happens at home! Novel eh?

I am learning a lot from this 2 year old – again.  I think I learned some of these things repetitively in the past, with all of my own 6 children and several of my other grandkids.  I ponder anew my responsibility to share my place and position on the planet.

In scripture Jesus taught that the first commandment is to Love God and the second is to Love Our Neighbor As Ourselves. I have to ask myself, do I? really, do I? even the ones that rob me or punch or bite me?

After teaching the 1^st and 2^nd commandments Christ then instructed that ‘there is none other commandment greater than these’.

NONE? None at all?

Not much wiggle room there me thinks.  Maybe I will have to repent – again.  And you - no more greedy grabbing K? or punching or biting, K?!

Let's play nice. ;)

EAT CAKE

I usually don't eat much cake.

I often don't eat any cake. 

I love to see 'cute' cakes and sing happy birthday.

Can you buy a cute and tiny cake - just enough for one or two?

Not usually.

I have learned to make my own - especially when I don't really want cake but do want the perks of having one. On a granddaughter's birthday we role played a birthday with her on Skype - and grandpa got to eat that cake. I only had to eat one bite-sized triangle (while on camera). She had a spectacular birthday cake at her far away house.

Most cake is too sweet for me and I don't really like the texture in my mouth. There are some notable exceptions.  I have eaten some wonderful cakes and cupcakes. 

Yesterday I baked a small cake and a couple dozen tiny cupcakes from a 'Betty Crocker Super Moist' cake mix.  I was pleasantly surprised. I enjoyed some of those cupcakes when I added some whipped topping and blueberries - not a common occurrence here but I did like that one.  I have filed the memory into the 'try again - sometime' category I keep in my brain.

I began to construct a small birthday cake.  I discovered my container of frosting didn't have enough in it to complete even a small cake. What to do ... ?? I still has some whipped topping. Maybe I could use it ... 

"Nnnooo ..." I decided,

 "that is never stable enough except to immediately be consumed."

What to do, what to doooo ....

I am NOT going to the store just for that!

My personal philosophy is, 'never let the things you can't do interfere with the things you can. I started to list cans and can'ts (as well as the 'don't want to' options) in my mind. I didn't really want to make even a partial batch of frosting that would never get used here. Hmmm ... I rejected a novel idea and then wondered 'why not?' 

Using a fork I mixed about 1 Tbsp of frosting with the same amount of whipped topping.  Seemed OK.  I kept adding the frosting and whip alternately and mixing them carefully together.  I liked it.  Maybe it is better than OK ... and I can frost the cake now.

3 1/2 inch diameter with frosting

I did.  Looks OK.  Seems to be holding ... seems to be stable ...

I refrigerated the left over frosting mix and the cake until I am ready to try to decorate.

I worked with cold frosting on a cold cake.
I stirred the frosting and filled a bag.
The simple shapes held - even some 'strings' did not break.

white cake with chocolate filling

I will likely never be a professional decorator but it is fun to wish loved ones Happy Birthday.  We sang happy birthday to a friend tonight.  Her birthday is tomorrow.  Her aged father was there.  She told us it is his birthday today.  We sang Happy Birthday to him too!  And the cake was exactly right - just enough for just two.

Her mother is in the hospital. My friend has shouldered the role of care giver to her father (in her mother's place). I see her as a true hero - honoring her father and her mother.

THE WORK OF WALLACE WILL AMES

Papa has written about the work his father did and graciously agreed to be a guest blogger in honor of his father's birthday - Saturday, 24 November 1921. Special thanks for sharing, David. 

1965 Wallace Will Ames

"My father told us stories; stories of his childhood; stories of War, of blessings, of work and of whatever came to mind in the situation which inspired the memory.  We loved to listen.  He stories were real life true adventures which he had experienced. 

"My father worked and taught us by precept and example how to do the same.  He tells about plowing with his uncle’s unmatched horses.  When the horses got to the end of the row, they could not work together to turn the plow to go back the other way.  While uncle went to get a whip to help the horses, dad - just a young boy - unhitched one, turned the plow with the other, then hitched them back together.  Uncle was not grateful and warned him severely about spoiling his horses. 

"The first job my father ever told me about was working for a Greek restaurant.  We loved hearing him quote his boss, “Don’t say nothing for the Greeks.”  His boss was a man who was ready to defend his people at all times.  Working for the Greeks Dad became one of his people.

"When Dad first started, all of the other workers spoke in Greek when they didn’t want him to understand what they were talking about.  He decided to do something about that.  While he went about his work from day to day he would listen carefully to what they said.  One day the boss said something and Dad answered in Greek.  After the initial surprise, disbelief, “Who taught you to talk like that?” and denials that such a thing was possible Dad became a Greek.  The boss finished teaching him how to speak that language. 

"His ability to acquire a language would serve him well in the military.  When he was about 17 he joined the National Guard 1. His older brother, Charlie, was in the CCC’s (Civilian Conservation Corps).  Before Dad turned 18 World War II had begun and he wanted to join the army.  The Guard did not want to let him go until he was enlisted.  The army couldn't take him until he was released.  Dad was persistent.  To resolve the issue the army recruiter came to the guard.  His description of the transfer eludes me but the fact that papers were signed and exchange in such a manner that he was never out of the military was important.  Papers were signed and exchanged and he went suddenly from the National Guard to being an enlisted man."

"Dad had not told his step mother Irene that he was going into the army and Irene knew that he was not old enough to do so.  On the day he joined he went to the door with his bags packed.  His step mother asked him where he thought he was going.  He told her to the army.  She was emphatic that he was not going to the army.  Setting down his bags and leaving the door open Dad went back in the house and sat down and tried to appear submissive, (probably for the first time since Irene had become his step mother.) 

"He watched out the door until he could see the bus coming down the road.  He jumped up and ran, grabbing his bags as he went.  Dad did not stop running until he was on the bus.  The stories of the military are too numerous to be considered as part of a work history.  War is much more than work but a way of life.  Some of the stories do, however fit here.  

"Dad had to move sacks of grain.  They were heavy and he decided that he might as well use them to build up some muscle while he was working.  Rather than move one sack at a time he moved two.  As a result his neck became so large that the military could not issue him a shirt which would button on the top button. 

 

"Dad had learned how to type.  At some point in his military career he was given the job of typing.  There was a disagreement between the men and the commanding officer and Dad began to type one letter at a time.  He claims to have been able to copy a Zane Gray novel at 80 words a minute, but in the military typing one letter at a time or typing 80 words a minute was obeying orders.  Until the commanding officer got problems straightened out, Dad obeyed orders.

Sgt. Wallace Will Ames

"His [military] tour took him through Australia, Korea, and the Philippines.  He was careful to learn the language of the people he lived with wherever he went.  One time in a lunch line he noticed an unhappy server. Each man would ask for just a little bit of potatoes by saying ‘skoshi’ [sukoshi *– Japanese for ‘a little bit’]. The server would dip his spoon deep into the pot and slap as big a spoonful of potatoes on the soldier’s plate as he could get. When my dad’s turn came he said 'cho kum' [Korean*  for ‘a little bit’]. The server smiled, dipped his spoon into the potatoes and put a nice serving on Dad’s plate, “You number one Korea speak,” he said.

"One of his stories of language is the other way around.  A young boy had been helping in the camp and Dad decided to let him go.  “O.K,” he told him, “get a handful of gone.”  The boy looked at him as if puzzled and answered, “Handful gone, handful gone, what kind of talk that?”

"My dad had an experience in the military which would determine the choice of his life’s career.  He injured his shoulder and went to the military hospital for treatment.  The doctor sprayed it with something which deadened the pain.  Dad had heard of Chiropractic and asked the doctor about it.  The doctor declared that Chiropractors were nothing but quacks and if he went to one he would be harmed.

"My older sister DD tells us, 'According to Chapter 24, page 2 of his last journal, it was a swelling on his back between the shoulder blade and the spine that he was sent to the infirmary for by the sergeant.'

"Dad was released and declared to be better.  As soon as the deadening wore off the pain was back.  He went back to the military hospital but was not admitted. The doctor there determined that he was just trying to get out of work.  A friend knew a chiropractor and told Dad to go to him.  The chiropractor fixed dad’s shoulder and directed him in the start of a new career.

Sgt. Ames with Chinese POW

"In Korea Dad was a front line Medic.  I remember standing with him in the airport talking to a young soldier about a patch the man had on his uniform.   The youth explained that it was a medical corps patch and was very difficult to get.  My father told him that he had been in the first unit of that corps.  The soldier’s admiration and respect for my father were genuine as they talked of now and then.

"I was with my father again as he was preparing for bypass surgery.  His surgeon came into the room and Dad addressed him in one of the languages of the Philippines. After conversing for a while in this language my dad told him that he had served there as an army medic.  He asked the Philippine surgeon what his chances were.  The answer was emphatic, “We can’t lose you.”  This was not the statistical answer normally expected from a professional surgeon to an anxious patient.  This was a man who held the life of what he considered to be a great hero in his hands.  I’m not sure how it would appear on a resume but dad was a front line hero.

"One of the jobs my father had was stacking chairs for the Seventh Day Adventists.   He said the job paid about the same as the cost of the bus pass to get there and go home again.

"While completing his education Dad taught X-ray in college.  At the end of Dad’s education he had acquired an addition to his name.   He was now Wallace Will Ames D.C., N.D., D.PT.  (Doctor of Chiropractic, Naturopathic Doctor, Doctor of Physiotherapy.)  Mom just called him ‘Doc’.

"After graduation he got a job for Spears Chiropractic Hospital.  Dr Spears often took him to task about not following the college’s practice of painless manipulation.  One day Dad asked why it was that all the patients asked for him and another Dr who were not practicing the Spears method. 

"Dr Spears told him how wonderful it was to have the security of working in the hospital.  He told him, 'It’s a hard world out there.'

"Dad asked, 'How much notice would you need if I were to leave here.'

“ 'Two weeks', he replied.

"Dad gave his two week’s notice and went out into the hard world. In Delta he struggled to pay rent with patients paying in kind.  He ordered a correspondence course in writing and thought to support his family as an author if his practice should fail.

1965 Lt. Gov Kiwanis Club in Delta Colorado **

"In 1969 we moved to Canada after much fasting and prayer.  Dad applied for a license in beautiful British Columbia, also in the province of Alberta.  

"One day he received letters from both provinces in the mail.  BC said, ‘be here tomorrow with the fee and we will give you the test’ and then listed all the obstacles which would need to be overcome to become a chiropractor in BC.  The letter from Alberta said, ‘we have looked at your grades and work history.  We will license you without further testing if you come in the next six months’.  Part of that work history [credential's Alberta licensing looked at] was Dad’s determination to keep up on education.  He learned and studied all the advances in physiology as they happened.

"In Grande Prairie, Alberta my father’s chiropractic practice flourished. 

 

"While practicing in Grande Prairie, Dad introduced us to a new branch of psychology called Neuro-Linguistic Programming or NLP.  Among other things NLP exposed the physiology of learning.  After he had become somewhat satisfied with this new science he checked into something which was touted as ‘photo learning’.  He took the course in photo learning, then became certified in teaching it.  As a service to the community Dad began teaching a photo reading course locally.  I believe the only charge was for the materials his students needed to complete the course. 

1983 Wallace Will Ames Grande Prairie, Alberta, Canada

"When he retired his patients continued to come to his house for treatment because there was no one else who could do what my father could do.  I often heard him say, “I used to get paid for what I do.  Now I am good for nothing.”

1. National Guard: The Militia Act of 1903 organized the various state militias into the present National Guard system. With the passage of the 1916 National Defense Act approximately one half of the United States Army's available combat forces and approximately one third of its support organizations were National Guard units. The Air National Guard as part of the United States Air Force was established in 1947.

Title 10 of the US Code states:
(a) The militia of the United States consists of all able-bodied males at least 17 years of age and, except as provided in section 313 of title 32, under 45 years of age who are, or who have made a declaration of intention to become, citizens of the United States and of female citizens of the United States who are members of the National Guard.

* sukoshi – Japanese for ‘a little bit’;

* cho kum - Korean ; possibly also Tagalog, a language from the Philipines
  

** presenting Driver of Month Award to a High School student