I AM ONLY ONE

This post is dedicated to Tracey Hymas Shaw and Chris Sloan, both of Tooele, Utah

I am only one,

But still I am one.

I cannot do everything,

But still I can do something;

And because I cannot do everything

I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

-                                                                                                                                                     -Edward Everett Hale

A couple of years ago, I was elected Precinct Chair for Rush Valley.  Elected?  Appointed is more like it.  I did not aspire to it and I did not do much more than I was required to do. 

A few nights ago, I hosted our local caucus meeting.  (I’m told that caucus meeting is a redundancy because the two words mean the same thing.  That shows what I knew.)  Anyhow, I was re-elected as precinct chair.  It seems that my minimal effort was enough to get me to do it again.   

I don’t say this to shame anyone who was there for choosing such a loser. That night, people from our community chose others who were willing to shoulder more responsibilities than I.  We elected two county and one state representative. 

Being elected as a county or state representative means a lot of meetings they will have to drive a lot of miles to attend.  It means a lot of phone calls that will keep them on the line a lot of hours  where they will listen to a lot of promises or, themselves, ask a lot of questions. And, (worst of all) it means a lot of mail they will have to seriously read that I usually throw in the can.

Most of us will say that we cannot imagine that, in the end, it is worth all of the time and trouble to be so involved. There is a story told about a ship that was in distress during a severe storm off the coast of Holland.

     “A rowboat went out to rescue the crew of the fishing boat.  The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to give all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors in the grim darkness of the night and the heavy rainstorm. 

     The trip to the wrecked ship was successful, but the rowboat was too small to take the whole crew in one rescue operation.  One man had to stay behind on board because there simply was no room for him; the risk that the rescue boat would capsize was too great.  When the rescuers made it back to the beach, hundreds of people were waiting from them with torches to guide them in the dreary night.  But the same crew could not make the second trip because they were exhausted from their fight with the storm winds, the waves, and the sweeping rains. 

     So the captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make a second trip.  Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was 19-year-old youth by the name of Hans.  With his mother he had come tot the beach in his oilskin clothes to watch the rescue operation.

     When Hans stepped forward his mother panicked and said, “Hans, please don’t go.  Your father died at sea when you were four years old and your older brother Pete has been reported missing at sea for ore than three months now.  You are the only son left to me!”

     But Hans said, “Mom, I feel I have to do it.  It is my duty.” And the mother wept and restlessly started pacing the beach when Hans boarded the rowing boat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.

     After a struggle with the high-going seas that lasted for more than an hour (and to Hans’ mother it seemed an eternity), the rowboat came into sight again.  When the rescuers had approached the beach close enough so that the captain of the coast guard could reach them by shouting, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called vigorously against the storm, “Did you save him?” And then the people lighting the sea with their torches saw Hans rise from his rowing bench, and he shouted with all his might, “Yes! And tell Mother… it is my brother Pete!”   (Jacob de Jager)

Our country is in the middle of a severe storm.  There is much to be lost if we abandon those who are trying hard to save our precious constitution.

Fear or laziness sometimes keeps us from being all we can be.  I have attended a few meetings when it was convenient to do so.    But, like Hans, there are others who are doing the heavy lifting.  Perhaps I cannot be one of those just now. 

Or maybe my talents run in other directions.  Maybe I am like one of the people who stood on the shore lighting the way for Hans to return with his prize. 

But I am one.

And I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

live laugh love lorri: Here She Is!!

live laugh love lorri: Here She Is!!

The Bishop’s Wife

A quote from someone else’s blog… Stallion Cornell to be exact.  (http://stallioncornell.com/) …

“Go to a Mormon meeting on any given Sunday, and you’ll see three dudes sitting up by the pulpit. The guy in the middle is the bishop, and he’s already spent most of the day in meetings where he reviewed the ward’s staffing needs and organizing relief efforts for families who may be struggling with health, financial, or spiritual issues. He’s also been meeting one-on-one with members of the church who look to him for counsel and support for personal problems that would turn your hair white. Usually, he’s been doing all this since before the sun came up, so don’t be surprised if he nods off while the meeting progresses.

Please keep in mind, too, that there are no elections for bishops and stake presidents, nor are there reelections. Each leader is “called” to serve, and they accept the responsibility dutifully, no questions asked. They then serve for a period of time, usually between five and ten years, after which they are “released,” meaning they rejoin their congregations as lay members and have no more responsibility than anyone else”

I’d like to add that these good men serve (as do most members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) without pay.

Last week, I helped my husband organize a small meeting dedicated to the women who are the wives of these men.  Not only do these men sacrifice much of their personal lives in order to serve the Lord, their wives, by necessity, have had their lives compromised as well.  They surrender a large part of their husband’s time to others while their own families learn to manage without having him at home.

Phone calls in the middle of the night are not uncommon.  On Sundays, Dad does not usually get to sit with the family.  A crisis in the ward can interrupt family vacations.  A child may see Dad have to leave in the middle of their piano recital or a soccer game.  

No, being part of a family where Dad is a member of a bishopric is not without some sacrifice for every member.  Some people criticize these men saying they have their priorities wrong, but I think they are an example of commitment that their children will, with a little help, learn to respect as an anomaly in our society… a vanishing breed of men (and women) who know that sacrifice and service must be taught by example. 

In preparing for this special meeting, we wrote a poem that we dedicated to the wives of these bishops.  We recognized that their contributions were just as important to the work in Christ’s church as were their husband’s. 

The Bishop’s Wife

I cannot see how this is right, I thought as I pulled my jacket tight.

We barely have an evening free, when he can be alone with me.

How can I give away that hour?  It’s I who needs his priesthood power.

But smile I did and made a plan how I’d attempt to help my man.

I knew that I should give a part of all I felt within my heart.

At first, it did not seem too bad. My children prayed, “please bless our Dad.”

I read a lot and hemmed a dress. I learned to play my son at chess.

But loneliness became routine. I made all decisions by myself, it seemed.

And when I needed time alone, my sister was the one I phoned.

One night my sister came to stay, watching the children for my ‘get-away.’

And though I could have fair escaped, I parked outside the church front gate.

A ghost to see what’s in this place, I walked dark halls just to see his face.

But then, instead…a man and wife. They stand outside.  They’re filled with strife.

He holds the door as she walks in. The tears are running down her chin.

She says “…I don’t love you anymore. That’s what we have divorces for.”

I know I should go, but instead I wait. They go inside with my own sweet mate.

Please let him say some words just right. Help them rid their hearts of spite.

But while I think how hurt they are, the headlights of still another car.

It’s James who has his parents too. Last Sunday he talked about what he knew was true.

And now he’ll be leaving for Japan. He’s finally making good his plan

To serve the world and share the truth; the things he’s learned while yet a youth.

And one by one, my ward family dear, come to him for words of cheer,

Or blessings that only he should give, as worthily he tries to live.

I go back home.  My heart can see that he belongs not just to me.

But I was blessed to have his love, by Father who is up above.

Please let him lead me to Heaven’s door, by learning how to give up more.

And look upon this wedding ring, that I will yet reign as his queen.

-By Bill and Diane Nelson

Dedicated to Claire Nelson 1921 - 2012

Bill’s mother will probably pass away this week.  The following is Bill's preface from our book “Wrestling Pigs in a Clean White Shirt.”  I thought it was appropriate.

-Diane

Like most men, I don’t think too much about how I was raised, what I missed out on, or who was in charge when I missed it. I just live. And sometimes, I take things for granted that I should probably appreciate more.

Like my mother. She may not live to see our book published. If she does, she won’t be able to read it because her eyesight is gone. Sometimes I wonder if she even remembers that she has a son named Bill. My brother, Dale, has been her guardian for several years now while she lives out each boring day in an assisted living facility in Colorado.

It’s not his fault that she’s bored. He does his best to make her life comfortable, but what can a 90-year-old woman have to look forward to except visits from her family?

I never asked her opinion when she had it together enough to have one. I usually rejected her good advice and even the religion she brought me up in. Still, I honestly respected her goodness, and maybe that was the problem between her and I. She was just too good.

She never wasted time on style or image. A very practical woman in every way, she did not understand my need to have a little cool. Although I thankfully missed the “jeans

with acceptable brand names” era that my kids grew up in, there was still a certain amount of “smartness” that I lacked. There were six boys in our family. I knew that my parents could not afford a lot of luxuries because my father had been given a short life expectancy due to having a lung removed at a young age from tuberculosis. They wisely prepared for the fact that he might not live to see all of the boys leave home before he passed away. Wise, but not something that we cared too much about at the time. In fifth grade, my mother bought two pair of sturdy pants for me. Unfortunately, they were the same color, which understandably made my pals wonder if I only had one pair. Add to that the fact that I grew straight up about 3 inches that year without gaining anything in the waist. Mother did not think this was a qualifier for getting new pants. Like many from her generation, her motto was “use it up and wear it out.” And so, while she would have happily emerged herself in farm work and her love of horses, I do not think she had a clue about how to survive John F. Long Elementary in 1963.

She and Dad never argued either, at least not in front of us boys. At first glance that sounds pretty great, but it was actually a little bit of a handicap when it came to learning how to work out relationship problems. Ask Diane. Her parents gave her lots of workshops on how to engage the enemy in combat. But my parents? They couldn’t seem to find a single thing that they did not agree on.

I discounted her ideas about God as well. My mother is the most trusting of believers and I have always considered her naivete as being a little silly. It is only now, when I am reaching an age that I am faced with settling up myself, that I can appreciate how much He must love her innocence. How our God must love those who do not question His motives, His rules, and His unconditional love simply because we cannot see all the answers right now.

My mother had a simple ability to accept, to love, and to be contented with what she had. By her example, I learned for myself that clothes do not make the man, that happy relationships are achievable, and that God is really there.

I hope she gets to see this, but I plan to tell her in person. One more thing she’s teaching me ...

...Not to wait to tell someone how much they mean to me.

Doing What Must Be Done

Irene was standing down the road in front of our house waving at me.  She had been gone all summer and I was so glad to see her!  I tried to get out of my chair to go greet her, but for some reason I could not move.  I couldn’t even raise my hand to signal her to come to me. 

Looking down, I discovered the little notebook that I write my reminders in laying in my lap unopened.  Momentarily distracted from Irene, I thought that I had better take a look at what I needed to do today. Again, I could not move!

It was then that I noticed that some prankster had lashed my arms and legs to the chair I was sitting in.  I found myself smiling at the joke, but when I looked up to see Irene walking the other way, I became desperate.  Couldn’t she see that I needed some help here?  What kind of a friend was she to casually greet me and then leave me here stranded?

My heart began to race as I struggled to move!  But I was bound to the chair so tightly that no effort I made seemed to make a difference. 

And then, I woke up.

Yesterday, Bill and I read Chad Hymas’ new book on our drive into Salt Lake. It is well written and thought provoking, but I didn’t realize how much it had touched me until last night when I found the reprieve of escaping from a horrific nightmare; a nightmare from which some people can never wake up. 

Chad is a quadriplegic.  His book, Doing What Must Be Done, is an honest account of living the daily challenges that most of us will never have to face.  At every turn of the page, Chad reveals obstacles that he, and others like him, face everyday.

The fact that his condition was brought about by a single thoughtless moment triggering an avoidable accident, left us both wondering how many times we have tempted fate in a similar way; an introspection that Chad would condemn. 

This, for me, was what made the book a quality read.  I have read many books that generated empathy for people who live with Chad’s trials.  That cannot be discounted.  But how does it change my circumstances?  What can I take from the reading beyond a warning that “…but for the grace of God, go I?”

To illustrate how Chad makes his personal experience something that is enriching and meaningful for everyone, let me quote from his book. 

“The hydraulics failed and a one-ton bale of hay landed on me and broke my neck.  I need to ask the larger question.  Did this happen for a purpose – or can I create a purpose for what has happened?

‘That was then; this is now’ isn’t just some trite statement tossed flippantly about to avoid dealing with something.  It is an important phrase.  What has happened has happened.  Why it happened is good for our learning and development, but not worth two cents if we just use it to beat ourselves up.  Instead of ‘why,’ ask ‘how’ or ‘what.’  … How do I deal with it?  How will I turn the circumstances of the accident …to an advantage?  What will I do to be more productive and successful?”

I added the bolding in the preceding quote.  It is the sentence that underscores the accepting of our own reality, whatever it is.  Dwelling on mistakes, poor judgment or ugly events from our past is what paralyzes the average person, making them incapable of solving the problems that are unique to every person’s life. 

Chad’s simple statement, “what has happened has happened,” made me stop reading.  Bill and I talked about it for some time before going on.   I told him that I suddenly recognized why I could not progress in a certain situation.  I was spending too much of my energy and emotion in regret, holding on to what I had wanted to happen instead of trying to work my way out of the problem before me.  In fact, I think, as simple as it sounds, it is the answer to my future happiness, in more than one part of my life.

Another personal thing that the reading of Doing What Must Be Done did for me was in helping me to recognize my failure to act with empathy toward those with handicaps.  This flaw in my character was enacted for me in the dream, when Irene, while friendly, walked away, leaving me to figure things out for myself.   Irene would never do that, but I think I have.  Chad clearly speaks to the frustration and even anger he feels when people who could help make his life a little easier by some kind of small interaction turn away, either out of embarrassment or indifference. 

I have to say that just knowing Chad has helped me overcome some of my shyness.  Now that he has opened his heart and told us how it feels, how dare we look the other way?  Until now, I did not want to treat a disabled person any differently than I would anyone else, but I think, in reading, I realized that I am not even that aware of my ‘able’ friend’s needs. Perhaps I am lacking in compassion all the way around. And I think I am not alone.  

Which leads me to one of the sweetest parts of the book, Chad’s recognition of who the amazing person is that he is married to, his wife, Shondell.   Beyond all of the things I learned about living with the challenges of a disability, I was most impressed with Chad’s recognition of the need to sincerely appreciate the love and sacrifices of others.  He dedicates a whole chapter to telling us how wonderful Shondell is.   He tells us about other members of his family and friends as well.   

I told Chad the other day that I was proud to know him.  I am proud to know Shondell as well.  They are wonderful people who have much to teach us all. 

For Chad my nightmare is his reality.   But as Chad’s mentor, Art Berg, a C6-quadriplegic who has since passed away, said:

“Dreams are never destroyed by circumstance.  They live or die in your heart.  My dreams come true not in spite of my circumstance but because of it…For those of us in this life who are afraid to change, life will change for us. ...Dream new dreams or dream old dreams in new ways…”

Chad’s book Doing What Must Be Done, is being released Monday, March 5^th.  

For more information about Chad Hymas go to     http://www.chadhymas.com