I remember being homeless.
I remember looking back at the front porch of the last house I lived at before I became homeless and seeing my soon to be ex-husband standing there, with his hands in his pockets, watching us drive away.
There's nothing quite as humbling as discovering that someone you love so deeply, doesn't care, and will never come to get you from a homeless shelter.
I have always been grateful for the help I received there. It was the time in my life when I really had to question who I was, what I had done, and how did I ever get there? I had to face my life in a hard, cold, almost dark way and see the truth without any glitter or sprinkles or anything that made it more palatable to accept. Life was hard, and I had reached the bottom of mine.
The way out was my divorce. I still loved him when I filed, but I knew it was over, and that if I didn't hurry, he might disappear and then I'd never have the chance to find him and really end things. I struggled with my choice, but came to terms when I read some stories on my church's website about women abandoned in other countries, who legally could not get divorced, but also were not legally eligible to work because of their marital status. They were poor and trapped. I realized I was trapped as well, but I was lucky enough to be an American, which meant I could find my way out eventually. In essence, I was lucky I could get a divorce and walk away from that man completely.
I loved that shelter. I remember sitting on the porch with the staff at night, just talking, and how the other families in the shelter got along during that stint. We made dinner for each other, and talked about the horrible things we had gone through. We also kept the place clean, and safe for our children, and talked about our futures together. We had each others back in the truest sense I have ever witnessed in my life.
The staff allowed me to build a nest for my son, who is challenged by Autism, on the floor in our room, and watch a movie before he went to sleep on our portable DVD player. It was the only routine my brain could manage at the time.
They let my daughter sleep in her travel pack and play that I had managed to keep with me during our moves. She cried a lot, and I still remember her cries, and our sleepless nights. Being homeless is a lot to recover from, especially for a child.
It took me a long time to remember that once upon a time, the Savior too was homeless. I had no faith during that time in my life. I only had survival skills. Lots and lots of love for others, for some reason, but my faith was very dim.
I can't imagine homelessness during a time like the Savior lived in. I at least had running water, electricity, food on my table, and a roof over my head. I even had a bed to sleep in and a room for just me and my little family. Locked doors, and staff to protect us while we slept as well.
What was homelessness like during the Savior's time? Was there a roof? Did he have food? We know that there was no indoor plumbing or electricity. People lived from day to day, hoping they had enough to make or buy their own food. They were truly surviving. Instead of being treated as a King, the Savior survived, right along with everyone else.
The other day I came across a homeless man and talked to him. It reminded me of all my kids and I went through and how much that experience changed my life. Due to that, I keep myself educated on the resources in my area - since it will probably never seem that long ago that I was homeless - and I offer advice, support, addresses for homeless shelters, money, and convey confidence in their ability to overcome their circumstances. What I give differs each time by their circumstances, but I now know that to truly be homeless on the street, means you have been completely abandoned. This man in particular had been treated quite poorly. I gave him the name of an organization that I hoped could help him and just listened for five or ten minutes to his story that just broke my heart.
Before I became homeless, I had heard about homeless people who just want the money for another hit, or drink, or whatever. I used to judge that, but now I know, how tough life is once you reach that point. The way back might as well be like climbing out of the Grand Canyon with a hundred or two hundred pound pack on your back, and it's raining or hailing. Just anything you can imagine that would be impossible for you, literally impossible, is what it means to overcome homelessness and that deep feeling it places inside of you.
So, what does it mean when someone as great as the Savior ended up homeless? And what does it mean that he still fulfilled his purposed and became our Savior, despite how utterly and completely he was abandoned by countless people? It means that he never forgot his purpose in this life, and what he was meant to accomplish. It is truly so important that regardless of what we go through in life, we change, we heal, we stop judging, and we try to hard to keep our eyes on the target of what we want our lives to become! Of who we want to become in terms of character as well.
I've heard this a lot in my life, and now I know it to be so true. "But they who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." - Isaiah 40:31 Through experiencing homelessness, I now have a better understanding of some of what the Savior suffered through to in the end rise above it all, with eagles wings! We all can find that strength, if we too, find the faith, to "wait upon the Lord".
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
Monday, June 12, 2017
Vineyards and Groves
Years ago, I walked in the door of my parents' home to be ushered into the kitchen by my older sister. "Look!" she exclaimed with excitement, showing me a beautiful box on the kitchen counter. Peering inside, I saw long pointy sticks with what looked like ribbon, squished and glued onto the tips of the sticks.
Turning towards my sister, and back to the box, I began to internally panic. Her face reflected pure joy which sometimes could be mistaken for sarcasm. Not knowing what to say I painfully looked past her to the kitchen door until she exclaimed, "Well, what do you think?"
In my panic, I determined her expression was sarcasm and so I honestly replied, "I think you should tell your boyfriend to take that back and get you something better." I grinned, waiting for her to sarcastically laugh with me, when she burst into huge, alligator tears.
Yelling at me, she quickly drew the attention of all the other sisters in the house. I have four, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by all of them in the kitchen. As they yelled at me and comforted our sister, I discovered that she in fact had not been joking, but had received her very first dozen roses from her boyfriend.
Appalled by my reaction, my sisters instantly lectured me on flowers. Being young at heart I had never paid attention to flowers before and was more concerned about books and tests and playing outside. As my sisters lectured me, I begged them to take me to the store to show me the flowers, but they refused. Our mother came through briefly to grab something, and upon asking her what her favorite flowers were, she responded "Wildflowers". "See!" I quickly grabbed on to this idea. "That's why I don't know what roses are! Dad always brings mom wildflowers!"
Exasperated my sisters painfully recounted to me their favorite flowers. J loved red roses, K loved pink roses, E loved daisies, and M loved red carnations. After listening to them yet again, they looked back at me and again asked me what my favorite flower was. "Carnations!" I agreed, and then was told I could not pick from theirs. Digging back in my memory I chose a flower from a nearby park, but was informed it was a weed and could not possibly be my favorite flower.
Pondering in silence I knew the odds were against me. No one would take me to the store. The Internet had not been invented and so there was no way to quickly look up pictures of flowers, and there were no books in the house on the subject either. When suddenly, I remembered a flower from my childhood in Oregon! "Dandelions!" I yelled to my sisters. "I loved to play with them in the back yard of our old home!"
This answer was received by all four sisters throwing their arms up into the air, looking at each other, and walking out of the kitchen. "What!?!" I exclaimed, eager to please them. "It's a weed, Lindsey!" they responded, almost in unison, and left the kitchen.
My sister never did return those roses to her boyfriend. They sat in a vase on the kitchen counter, almost in an effort to torment me. In the meantime I waited for the experience to vanish from my family's memories and conversations. That was short-lived as upon entering the Young Women's room of my church on Sunday, I discovered my sisters had told every peer the story of the flowers that had happened over the week.
"How could you not know what a rose is?" multiple girls asked, almost attacking me. "How could you say that to your sister?" echoed all around me, resonating in my ears. Still uneducated about flowers (not one single person had been willing to take me to the store all week to show me) I shrugged my shoulders and tactfully ignored everyone, knowing full well where this conversation would lead me - no where!
My young women's teacher saved me by quieting the other girls and offering to me to come by her house to look at her roses. I promised I would come, and the girls began to quiet. It took me almost two weeks to remember to go by her home, and once I did, she said I had come to late. "The roses have already wilted" she said to me in a sad voice.
"I don't know what that means" I responded and begged her to still show me the roses. Taking me into her back yard she kindly explained to me how roses should look before showing me the small garden by her pool. "They are normally red, and the petals are held tightly together and are normally soft. It's a delicate flower, and so the thorns are there to protect them from the bugs, but the stems are usually bright green and healthy." Stepping back to show me the bush, she revealed a plant that had dark, curling leaves, and flowers with petals that were curling outwards turning black. In awe of their colors I leaned forward and touched the brittle leaves and petals and felt them crumble under my fingertips.
"These are gorgeous" I exclaimed, and turned to look at her stunned expression. "I'm glad you like these", she responded, but reminded me that the flowers were normally much more beautiful. I thanked her for the lesson and returned home to ponder the beauty I had seen. If those flowers could be so beautiful when they were dying, how beautiful were they when they were fresh, and young and new to the plant? I tried to imagine it, but more than anything, was grateful for my first lesson about flowers.
Years later, after having suffered through a bad marriage and divorce the story of the flowers came back to me again and again. Wondering what lesson the memory might teach me, I reflected upon the scriptures and the parable of the vineyard, and the allegory of the olive tree quite often.
In both of these stories the Savior teaches principles that lead to a healthy family and marriage. He discusses the importance of protecting a vineyard once it is built, and of nourishing the olive trees to get the best produce possible.
When contemplating marriage, people might want to consider the imagery of the vineyard. You may not plant vines to create wine, but you are building a home together in which you bring your favorite things. If you were one of my sisters you might be bringing in red carnations, white and pink daisies, and roses of many colors. Their spouse might be bringing in his favorite flower, or tree, or a plant that produces fruit or vegetables, like a cherry tree. Together they grow in your vineyard, as a garden and as you have children, they too live in the garden with you. Weeds will enter in and have to be removed, but as long as you maintain the wall and protect your family, the garden should remain healthy and strong.
Another aspect of marriage can be compared well to the allegory of the olive tree. In this story, found in the Book of Mormon, the owner of the olive trees discovers them to be sick. In an effort to heal the trees, he takes branches from healthier trees and then grafts them into the sick trees in an effort to heal them. The full account includes at least four attempts to save the trees, and the outcome of each portion of the olive grove has a different outcome in each attempt.
When we grow our families, as individual people, we might discover that something has come into their lives that in spiritual terminology has corrupted them, and has corrupted their growth. It's important to graft into their lives healthy, spiritual things that can help them grow stronger until whatever is ailing them has left their being. Truly, when we are filled up with positive, spiritual things, there is no room for negativity or spiritual corruption.
To put this into literal terms you might find a family member is addicted to pornography, or has become physically abusive towards others, or is struggling with suicide ideation. There are great treatments in putting that person into counseling, and they should be, but an additional treatment for them is to also look at them as a being that is like unto those trees. They have becoming "corrupted" for lack of a better word, and need parents, as the caretakers of the vineyard and of the olive grove, to actively and diligently heal them.
This can happen through teaching independence, developing a new talent, asking for forgiveness if a parent has hurt their child, and validating them by allowing them to accept themselves.
If you look closely at the story of the olive trees, the caretaker does not respond to the problem by cutting the tree down, and so we should not cut a person down when they are struggling with something we may not want in our grove. Rather, we should invite them to be healed and do the best we can to heal them. As we do so we become better able to validate others in their journey and show them the Christlike love we are meant to show others. After all, we are all meant to shine, as children do.
When I contemplate the story of the flowers, in my life, I have come to realize that there are also times when to some, beauty only exists in things like the beautiful box of roses my sister received. While to others, they see the beauty in the decaying flower, preparing to move on to a new chapter of life.
The reality of life is that we all decay, and regrow, and heal and overcome serious challenges in our lives, all at the same time while having faith in God. It is that faith that sustains us and gives us the personal revelation we so dearly need to succeed. May we all have the strength to protect our vineyards, and to nourish our children that they may succeed in life, as they are meant to succeed.
Turning towards my sister, and back to the box, I began to internally panic. Her face reflected pure joy which sometimes could be mistaken for sarcasm. Not knowing what to say I painfully looked past her to the kitchen door until she exclaimed, "Well, what do you think?"
In my panic, I determined her expression was sarcasm and so I honestly replied, "I think you should tell your boyfriend to take that back and get you something better." I grinned, waiting for her to sarcastically laugh with me, when she burst into huge, alligator tears.
Yelling at me, she quickly drew the attention of all the other sisters in the house. I have four, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by all of them in the kitchen. As they yelled at me and comforted our sister, I discovered that she in fact had not been joking, but had received her very first dozen roses from her boyfriend.
Appalled by my reaction, my sisters instantly lectured me on flowers. Being young at heart I had never paid attention to flowers before and was more concerned about books and tests and playing outside. As my sisters lectured me, I begged them to take me to the store to show me the flowers, but they refused. Our mother came through briefly to grab something, and upon asking her what her favorite flowers were, she responded "Wildflowers". "See!" I quickly grabbed on to this idea. "That's why I don't know what roses are! Dad always brings mom wildflowers!"
Exasperated my sisters painfully recounted to me their favorite flowers. J loved red roses, K loved pink roses, E loved daisies, and M loved red carnations. After listening to them yet again, they looked back at me and again asked me what my favorite flower was. "Carnations!" I agreed, and then was told I could not pick from theirs. Digging back in my memory I chose a flower from a nearby park, but was informed it was a weed and could not possibly be my favorite flower.
Pondering in silence I knew the odds were against me. No one would take me to the store. The Internet had not been invented and so there was no way to quickly look up pictures of flowers, and there were no books in the house on the subject either. When suddenly, I remembered a flower from my childhood in Oregon! "Dandelions!" I yelled to my sisters. "I loved to play with them in the back yard of our old home!"
This answer was received by all four sisters throwing their arms up into the air, looking at each other, and walking out of the kitchen. "What!?!" I exclaimed, eager to please them. "It's a weed, Lindsey!" they responded, almost in unison, and left the kitchen.
My sister never did return those roses to her boyfriend. They sat in a vase on the kitchen counter, almost in an effort to torment me. In the meantime I waited for the experience to vanish from my family's memories and conversations. That was short-lived as upon entering the Young Women's room of my church on Sunday, I discovered my sisters had told every peer the story of the flowers that had happened over the week.
"How could you not know what a rose is?" multiple girls asked, almost attacking me. "How could you say that to your sister?" echoed all around me, resonating in my ears. Still uneducated about flowers (not one single person had been willing to take me to the store all week to show me) I shrugged my shoulders and tactfully ignored everyone, knowing full well where this conversation would lead me - no where!
My young women's teacher saved me by quieting the other girls and offering to me to come by her house to look at her roses. I promised I would come, and the girls began to quiet. It took me almost two weeks to remember to go by her home, and once I did, she said I had come to late. "The roses have already wilted" she said to me in a sad voice.
"I don't know what that means" I responded and begged her to still show me the roses. Taking me into her back yard she kindly explained to me how roses should look before showing me the small garden by her pool. "They are normally red, and the petals are held tightly together and are normally soft. It's a delicate flower, and so the thorns are there to protect them from the bugs, but the stems are usually bright green and healthy." Stepping back to show me the bush, she revealed a plant that had dark, curling leaves, and flowers with petals that were curling outwards turning black. In awe of their colors I leaned forward and touched the brittle leaves and petals and felt them crumble under my fingertips.
"These are gorgeous" I exclaimed, and turned to look at her stunned expression. "I'm glad you like these", she responded, but reminded me that the flowers were normally much more beautiful. I thanked her for the lesson and returned home to ponder the beauty I had seen. If those flowers could be so beautiful when they were dying, how beautiful were they when they were fresh, and young and new to the plant? I tried to imagine it, but more than anything, was grateful for my first lesson about flowers.
Years later, after having suffered through a bad marriage and divorce the story of the flowers came back to me again and again. Wondering what lesson the memory might teach me, I reflected upon the scriptures and the parable of the vineyard, and the allegory of the olive tree quite often.
In both of these stories the Savior teaches principles that lead to a healthy family and marriage. He discusses the importance of protecting a vineyard once it is built, and of nourishing the olive trees to get the best produce possible.
When contemplating marriage, people might want to consider the imagery of the vineyard. You may not plant vines to create wine, but you are building a home together in which you bring your favorite things. If you were one of my sisters you might be bringing in red carnations, white and pink daisies, and roses of many colors. Their spouse might be bringing in his favorite flower, or tree, or a plant that produces fruit or vegetables, like a cherry tree. Together they grow in your vineyard, as a garden and as you have children, they too live in the garden with you. Weeds will enter in and have to be removed, but as long as you maintain the wall and protect your family, the garden should remain healthy and strong.
Another aspect of marriage can be compared well to the allegory of the olive tree. In this story, found in the Book of Mormon, the owner of the olive trees discovers them to be sick. In an effort to heal the trees, he takes branches from healthier trees and then grafts them into the sick trees in an effort to heal them. The full account includes at least four attempts to save the trees, and the outcome of each portion of the olive grove has a different outcome in each attempt.
When we grow our families, as individual people, we might discover that something has come into their lives that in spiritual terminology has corrupted them, and has corrupted their growth. It's important to graft into their lives healthy, spiritual things that can help them grow stronger until whatever is ailing them has left their being. Truly, when we are filled up with positive, spiritual things, there is no room for negativity or spiritual corruption.
To put this into literal terms you might find a family member is addicted to pornography, or has become physically abusive towards others, or is struggling with suicide ideation. There are great treatments in putting that person into counseling, and they should be, but an additional treatment for them is to also look at them as a being that is like unto those trees. They have becoming "corrupted" for lack of a better word, and need parents, as the caretakers of the vineyard and of the olive grove, to actively and diligently heal them.
This can happen through teaching independence, developing a new talent, asking for forgiveness if a parent has hurt their child, and validating them by allowing them to accept themselves.
If you look closely at the story of the olive trees, the caretaker does not respond to the problem by cutting the tree down, and so we should not cut a person down when they are struggling with something we may not want in our grove. Rather, we should invite them to be healed and do the best we can to heal them. As we do so we become better able to validate others in their journey and show them the Christlike love we are meant to show others. After all, we are all meant to shine, as children do.
When I contemplate the story of the flowers, in my life, I have come to realize that there are also times when to some, beauty only exists in things like the beautiful box of roses my sister received. While to others, they see the beauty in the decaying flower, preparing to move on to a new chapter of life.
The reality of life is that we all decay, and regrow, and heal and overcome serious challenges in our lives, all at the same time while having faith in God. It is that faith that sustains us and gives us the personal revelation we so dearly need to succeed. May we all have the strength to protect our vineyards, and to nourish our children that they may succeed in life, as they are meant to succeed.
Friday, June 2, 2017
The Savior Is Near
The Savior waits,
hovering
somewhere between our atmosphere and Kolob,
for us to prepare
for His arrival here on Earth,
yet again
some 2000 years since
He last walked here, on this Earth.
hovering
somewhere between our atmosphere and Kolob,
for us to prepare
for His arrival here on Earth,
yet again
some 2000 years since
He last walked here, on this Earth.
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