GIFTS

The most precious gift my father ever gave to me 

is the ability to read well and the desire to read 

… most specifically the scriptures. 

One of my earliest and fondest memories is of my father reading bible stories to us children - all piled on his lap and grouped around him snuggled up, all together.  He made the stories alive and wonderful as he read and I can remember him helping me learn to read those same stories (with much help and encouragement from my mother too, of course) when I began 1^st grade at age 5.  I read all 10 books that year. [The Bible Story by Arthur Maxwell with pretty blue covers and lovely pictures to look at]

I could always ask my Father's guidance and direction, opinion or help not only about reading, but always about anything at all.  I knew it. I still can - and do.

That is a significant gift that stands out on its own merits - having a loving father I could trust and rely on to be gentle and patient - he modeled the very things he wanted me to know about our Father in Heaven.

He could be trusted to tell it real and straight and kindly. When dad talked I knew he spoke truth. He has always had an uncanny ability to convince people of whatever he is trying to tell them.  

He often expressed disgust at salesmen that could say things just to sell something.

When he talked, you knew he was sincere. If he decided to sell you something or convince you of a principle usually you listened and seldom did you finish without agreeing … even when people really were contrary he could work with them.  From him I learned love and acceptance for all good - people, animals, things, places, events, plants, abilities - everything, all good - and to seek it. 

A scripture comes to mind -

“… by their fruits ye shall know them.”  Matthew 7:20 ; 3 Nephi 14:20

AGELESS

There is a two year old that lives at my house – no silly, not me – a real genuine 2 year old – my granddaughter, Cynthia.

Soon after her arrival her mother warned us she might establish some overt ownership.  When I got up from the couch to walk I found myself tugging vainly on my cane as she announced, “Mine,” and clasped it firmly in her death grip.

I felt like a 2 year old. I let go. I made do with my walker.

When I returned she was seated on the couch with my blanket and cane.  “Mine,” she said. 

I sat on a soft chair until she moved long enough and far enough that I could hobble to the couch and lay down again.  She glared at me and went directly to the walker.  “Cyndi’s” she claimed and entertained herself until nap time discovering its wheels and brakes, folding and unfolding it, and sitting on the seat that she accidentally popped into place. 

There is a funny saying about ‘what’s mine is mine, what’s yours is mine, if I see it its mine etc.’If anyone has it please send it to me - I want to post it on my frig.

 I am NOT willing to play tug-a-war with a child repetitively.  I pondered, “how can I get what is mine?” – hey, wait a minute, something about that word, mine, has a familiar  ring to it. Am I acting like a 2 year old too?  Is my attitude all about ownership, about ME?

I thought about my sweet little Cyndi and how much she must miss all that was known in her small world before she moved to this new place.  Even her daddy is far away and she only sees and hears him on the phone.  I realized she doesn’t even know what might be hers.  Do I know what is ‘mine’?

I felt a calm realization that nothing is mine and all I have and am I have been blessed with by my loving Father in Heaven.  He promises me that he will share everything he has with me and even tells me how to get it.  He tells me all the ways to achieve everything he has and is.  He calls those suggestions and directions commandments. He even sent his son, Jesus Christ, to show me how to obey and to set an example for me. I wonder if I can set an example for Cyndi.

The next time I need to walk and reach for my cane my granddaughter again grips it and emphatically claims, “mine”.  I smile at her and say, “OK Cynthia, it is yours. Will you share it with me? Please help me walk.”  She loves to help.  She handed over the cane and carefully supervised its use. 

Cynthia now owns most of my house and yard.  That’s OK because we share.  The more she ‘owns’ the more secure she seems to feel and the more willing she is to share and ‘help’. I consider all the things I think I own. I wonder if I am willing to share with others and 'help' them.  

Tonight I winced when I stood up from supper.  I am still having some residual pain occasionally. Sometimes the pain takes me by surprise and I don’t hide it well. Cynthia noticed my funny face.  “You K?” she asked; that surprised me too. When I initially was unable to respond, she asked again, “you K?” Then, in her baby angel voice she inquired, “walker?” and repeated, “walker?’ until I reassured her I was fine.

I hope I can follow her example of care and concern for those around me.  Perhaps I can become more able to follow the Master’s plan and example as I try to do so.  I hope I can always be willing to share too, willing to give – as well as to take; willing to follow a child’s innocent example.

Perhaps I can still learn it’s not all about me.