On Leg Lamps and Fishnet Stockings

I never thought I'd see the day when any of my children would ever be involved in a pageant, and I never hoped to see the day that it might actually be one of my sons! Daniel has thrown his hat into the ring as a contender for Mr. Maple Mountain, and what a crazy thing this is turning into! It's been dragging on for what seems like weeks and weeks with him scrambling around and staying up late preparing talent numbers and turning himself into a leg lamp.  Yes, I said a "leg lamp."  You know, like the major award in the movie "The Christmas Story"?  I guess they are going to have all of the boys on a stage with only their decorated leg showing, and the student body is supposed to try to figure out whose leg they are looking at.  My son put immediate dibs on the leg lamp idea, so no one else could use it. Being that it seemed like the obvious, if not the only, choice, it has me wondering what the others are going to do, but since I don't have to care about them, I don't wonder about it for long. So last night, after playing in a city league basketball game (and doing so in a very masculine manner, might I add?), he and a few of his buddies go running around all over the place looking for a high-heeled shoe that would fit him (size 11 did, if you can believe it), and (worse!) fishnet stockings!  Can a mother be more mortified than to walk into a room to find her son cramming his long, hairy leg into a fishnet stocking? 

I nearly needed the smelling salts, I can tell  you. After recovering from the shock, and stifling back the many sarcastic comments that were just begging to be released, I came to my senses and realized that the lampshade that normally shades the lamp in the room, had been released from its post and was sitting innocently next to him on the couch.  Not being born yesterday, I astutely put two and two together and realized that he must be planning to use my lampshade for his leg lamp.  There was just one problem.  His leg was not going to fit through the quarter inch hole on the spider fitting (it took a lot of research to figure out that term), and the only way he was going to be able to use that shade, was to remove it (the fitting, not his leg--although, in hindsight, that might have been easier than what happened).  Here's a picture of a spider fitting, if you don't know what one is:  

Being the supportive mother that I am, I told him that he was absolutely not going to ruin my lampshade for this silly activity.  He said, "It will be okay, Mom.  I can weld it back."  "You know how to weld??" I asked, incredulously.  "Well, I have lots of friends who do," he answered confidently.  Riiiight, I'm thinking.  Probably due to the lateness of the hour (it was now past midnight), and in an effort to save my possession, I took total leave of my senses and decided to help him figure something out.  I figured we could just use coat hangers and butcher paper and make one ourselves.   We got out the supplies and I sat there a long time looking at that lampshade, trying to figure out how to cut the shape that we would need.  Without actually taking the thing apart, I was having a hard time visualizing what it would look like laid out flat.  (I probably never did very well on those spatial relationship tests at school, either, but they never showed us our results, so we never knew if we were good at those things or not.  Only the teachers knew, and they wouldn't tell us.)  Then it occurred to me that all we should need to do is take the circumference of the small circle (feeling pretty smug that I knew that word) and draw a line that long on the paper, and then take the circumference of the large circle and draw a line that long underneath top circle, and then connect the top lines to the bottom lines and cut out the pattern.  Piece of cake!  Next step: figure out how to find the circumference of a circle.  From a place buried deep in the recesses of my memory, I seemed to recall that they tried to teach us that in math class in high school.  I said, "Hey! Isn't that pi R squared?"  Then I squealed with delight, realizing that this was the first time in my life that I had ever needed to know that.  I did learn something useful in high school!  Woot!  "I am so brilliant that I scare myself sometimes," I had the audacity to say out loud. (Of course, then followed what pride cometh before. . .) When we plugged the numbers (or what we thought were the numbers) into that equation, the result was that our small circumference was about 10 feet long.  Not being born yesterday, as I mentioned before, I again astutely surmised that something had gone wrong. (As you no doubt already know, pi R squared is how you find the area of a circle, and pi times diameter is how you find the circumference.) Another way to find the circumference, which is actually easier than getting out the calculator, is to wrap a string around the top part of the lamp, and then measure the length of the string, then do the same for the bottom part.  Doing that, we managed to get the two lengths needed for the pattern to cut out of the white paper.  Here's what that looked like:

 The problem was that when I tried to form it around the lamp so we could tape it together, it looked more like a Robin Hood hat than a lamp shade.  A quick Google search revealed what the real shape should have looked more like a rainbow:

Pretty sure I never would have thought of that one. Okay, so I was way off again. (It's getting harder to maintain any level of self esteem here.)  I decided that there had to be something around the house that we could use, so I went on a hunt to see what I could find.  I finally found a little basket that had been sitting on a shelf downstairs, not getting any use, and I thought it would make the perfect shade for a leg lamp.  

I brought it upstairs and we cut out the bottom of it, then duct taped around the edge so the thing wouldn't unravel.  I think we could have just stopped there, but then the same person who had come up with all the other brilliant ideas decided to have a look online to see what the actual lamp looked like that we were trying to copy.  Unfortunately for all involved, the basket just didn't do it, and I finally gave in and said he could use the shade.  (I think the real reason was that I realized that this might be a way for me to get a fun new lampshade, now that I realized that one could buy shades not attached to lamps.)  We tried cutting the connecting wires on the spider fitting (now that I know the term, I must use it as much as possible), but my little needle nosed pliers hardly made a dent in the strong wire they had used. Upon looking further, we realized that the whole spider fitting was just held onto the shade with cloth tape, so we lifted that up and out came the spider fitting.  We made a circle out of a coat hanger (no math this time) and taped it back in place with some white duct tape, obtained by my sneaking into the bedroom where hubby was sleeping, and using the light of the leg lamp's cell phone to help me locate it. The hubs never even knew I was there. I may have to give up the lamp shade business and go into burglary.  I was awesome!  Finally, around 1:30, we had our finished project:

  I told him if he ever hears of a Mother of the Year Contest, he'd better be writing the essay to enter me into it.  I just wrote this up so he'd have something to refer to.  :)  

The Three Degrees of [Visiting] Teaching

I just came across the following excerpt on one of my favorite blogs. After a very long time of not putting anything here, I thought I'd share this.

I also want to report that Sacrament Meeting yesterday was on the subject of Home Teaching. Usually, this subject makes my eyelids droop because the final message is usually to instill guilt to motivate. I just don’t ingest guilt real well.

Our Bishop stood and spoke with so much power and so much of the Spirit, that I was riveted. He talked about Christ-centered ministry to others, and how our whole lives are centered on this one thing, that we serve one another. He outlined the difference between Telestial, Terrestrial and Celestial Home Teaching

Telestial = Reporting you did it, when you really didn’t – lying about it.

Terrestrial = “Did you enjoy the Superbowl? How about the Jazz? Is there anything we can do for you? Can we leave you with a prayer? See you next month.”

Celestial = Ministering to that family’s needs as Christ would, taking the Spirit into their home, blessing them individually, bringing them to Christ, and loving them as Christ would.

No guilt trip at all, just the sweetest truth humbly and powerfully stated.

Then, our Stake President stood, who coincidentally is our Bishop’s younger brother, and he spoke with equal eloquence and power about Home Teaching by the Spirit.

He told this story from his own experience.

He was called to be a bishop in his 20’s. He didn’t have children yet. His ward had a terrible HT tradition. He asked that seven of the families who refused to be visited be assigned to him. He said, the first time he called on them, that all seven refused to let him in. About that time his first daughter was born, and was seven months old. He prayed and prayed about how to get into the door and bless these people. Finally, the idea occurred to him to take his new-born daughter.

He said he showed up on their door on a cold winter night with this little precious bundle, and their hearts were softened. They let him in. He spent just a few minutes ministering to them, and loving them, and then left “because I have my little daughter with me tonight.”

He reported that today, sixteen years later, all of the families are active, and the 5 couples who had not been sealed in the temple, eventually were.

I am going to proclaim this Sacrament Meeting, the most uplifting and Spirit-filled Sacrament Meeting of my entire life. Following that, our Sunday School teacher kept that same Spiritual power flowing with a Christ-centered teaching on James 1. After that I had the privilege of teaching the High Priests on the subject of the Second Coming.

What a blessed day!

Brother John

© November 2011, John M. Pontius, all rights reserved. Non-commercial reproduction permitted.

Aren't People Wonderful?

Hero Pilot Pulls Out the Stops to Help Grandpa Reach Funeral: 2011's Most Heartwarming Travel Story?
By WILLIAM LEE ADAMS William Lee Adams Sun Jan 16, 1:55 am ET

The most important trips aren't about getting somewhere. They're about getting to someone. (via Elliott.org)

But in an age of mounting airline fees, reduced in-flight services, uncomfortable security pat-downs and multi-day delays caused by erupting volcanoes, it's easy to forget that.

Amid the cries of "I've already paid for my hotel!" and "You need to get me to Atlanta!" anger and inconvenience frequently blind us to the fact that travel is ultimately about people. We also forget that airline employees - bound by big company rules and regulations - get frustrated, too.

Enter Nancy, whose travel triumph, tempered by a great deal of sadness, has turned an unnamed Southwest Airlines pilot into an online hero. (More at NewsFeed: Meet the 13-Year-Old HERO of the Australian Floods)

Nancy reads a blog by Christopher Elliott, a consumer advocate and journalist, and wrote to him about her husband's recent ordeal traveling on flights from Los Angeles to Tucson to Denver. Their situation makes complaints about leg room look downright petty.

"Last night, my husband and I got the tragic news that our three-year-old grandson in Denver had been murdered by our daughter's live-in boyfriend," she wrote. "He is being taken off life support tonight at 9 o'clock and his parents have opted for organ donation, which will take place immediately. Over 25 people will receive his gift tonight and many lives will be saved."

So early in the morning, after what must have been a torturous night's sleep, Nancy and her husband arranged for him to fly from Los Angeles, where he was traveling for work, to Tuscon, where he would step off one plane and immediately onto another one headed to Denver. "The ticketing agent was holding back tears throughout the call," Nancy wrote. "I'm actually her step-mother and it's much more important for my husband to be there than for me to be there."

Mourning the loss of his child's child, and no doubt worrying about his grieving daughter, he was likely in no state to travel. Airport stress only compounded his despair. He arrived at LAX two hours before his scheduled flight time, but quickly realized that delays at baggage check and security would keep him from making the flight. (Travel photos: Amazing snapshots of travelers stranded by holiday blizzards)

According to Nancy, he struggled to hold back tears as he pleaded with TSA and Southwest Airlines staff to fast-track him through the lines that were moving like molasses. Even though missing his flight could mean missing a final chance to see his grandson, no one seemed to care.

Too much was at stake to simply roll over and cry. When he finally cleared security - several minutes after his flight's planned departure - he grabbed his computer bag, shoes and belt, and ran to his terminal wearing only his socks. The pilot and the gate agent were waiting for him.

"Are you Mark? We held the plane for you and we're so sorry about the loss of your grandson," the pilot reportedly said. "They can't go anywhere without me and I wasn't going anywhere without you. Now relax. We'll get you there. And again, I'm so sorry."

It's hard to underestimate the courage of the pilot's decision. The flight, which ultimately departed 12 minutes late, likely had hundreds of passengers rolling their eyes in contempt. And given that any delay has knock-on effects for passengers at the destination airport, his decision placed Southwest at risk of facing the wrath of travelers, and more than a few demands for compensation.

Elliott, who brought the story to the blogosphere's attention, approached Southwest about the story, half expecting the airline to be outraged by a pilot's refusal to push the on-time departure.

Instead, they told him they were "proud" of their pilot, a man who clearly understands that taking a child off life support has consequences that run deeper than a flight taking off late. As Nancy wrote: "My husband was able to take his first deep breath of the day." Hopefully, over time, his daughter can do the same. (Southwest Airlines Photos: The History of Co-Founder Herb Kelleher)

Source: http://news.yahoo.com/s/time/20110116/us_time/httpnewsfeedtimecom20110113pilotwhocaresthemostheartwarmingairlinestoryof2011xidrssfullnationyahoo

NOW AVAILABLE! One Thousand Gifts!

It's finally available! The most amazing book I have ever read. Life changing from the first chapter, and it just gets better with each page. Watch the video to hear part of it being read. I've read the Kindle version, and I'm now awaiting the hard copies which were shipped today! (Oh! It's a holiday. The mail won't be moving today. I think the waiting could kill me.) Can't wait for the audio version.

God vs. Science

 This is Good!   

'Let me explain the problem science has with religion.' The atheist professor of philosophy pauses before his class and then asks one of his new students to stand.

 

'You're a Christian, aren't you, son?'

'Yes sir, 'the student says.

 

'So you believe in God?'

'Absolutely.'

 Is God good?'

 'Sure! God's good.'

 'Is God all-powerful? Can God do anything?'

 'Yes'

 'Are you good or evil?'

 'The Bible says I'm evil.'

 

The professor grins knowingly. 'Aha! The Bible!' He considers for a moment. 'Here's one for you. Let's say there's a sick person over here and you can cure him. You can do it. Would you help him? Would you try?'

 

'Yes sir, I would.'

 

'So you're good...!'

 

'I wouldn't say that.'

 

'But why not say that? You'd help a sick and maimed person if you could. Most of us would if we could. But God doesn't.'

 

The student does not answer, so the professor continues. 'He doesn't, does he? My brother was a Christian who died of cancer, even though he prayed to Jesus to heal him. How is this Jesus good? Can you answer that one?'

 

The student remains silent. 'No, you can't, can you?' the professor says. He takes a sip of water from a glass on his desk to give the student time to relax. 'Let's start again, young fella. Is God good?'

 

'Er..yes,' the student says.

 

'Is Satan good?'

 

The student doesn't hesitate on this one. 'No.'

 

'Then where does Satan come from?'

The student falters. 'From God'

 

'That's right. God made Satan, didn't he? Tell me, son. Is there evil in this world?'

 

'Yes, sir..'

 

'Evil's everywhere, isn't it? And God did make everything, correct?'

 

'Yes'

 

'So who created evil?' The professor continued, 'If God created everything, then God created evil, since evil exists, and according to the principle that our works define who we are, then God is evil.'

 

Again, the student has no answer. 'Is there sickness? Immorality? Hatred? Ugliness? All these terrible things, do they exist in this world?'

 

The student squirms on his feet. 'Yes.'

 

'So who created them?'

 

The student does not answer again, so the professor repeats his question. 'Who created them?' There is still no answer. Suddenly the lecturer breaks away to pace in front of the classroom. The class is mesmerized. 'Tell me,' he continues onto another student. 'Do you believe in Jesus Christ, son?'

 

 

The student's voice betrays him and cracks. 'Yes, professor, I do.'

 

The old man stops pacing. 'Science says you have five senses you use to identify and observe the world around you. Have you ever seen Jesus?'

 

'No sir. I've never seen Him.'

 

'Then tell us if you've ever heard your Jesus?'

 

'No, sir, I have not..'

 

'Have you ever felt your Jesus, tasted your Jesus or smelt your Jesus? Have you ever had any sensory perception of Jesus Christ, or God for that matter?'

 

'No, sir, I'm afraid I haven't.'

 

'Yet you still believe in him?'

 

'Yes'

'According to the rules of empirical, testable, demonstrable protocol, science says your God doesn't exist... What do you say to that, son?'

 

'Nothing,' the student replies.. 'I only have my faith.'

 

'Yes, faith,' the professor repeats. 'And that is the problem science has with God. There is no evidence, only faith.'

 

The student stands quietly for a moment, before asking a question of His own. 'Professor, is there such thing as heat?'

 

'Yes. '

 

'And is there such a thing as cold?'

 

'Yes, son, there's cold too.'

 

'No sir, there isn't.'

 

The professor turns to face the student, obviously interested. The room suddenly becomes very quiet. The student begins to explain. 'You can have lots of heat, even more heat, super-heat, mega-heat, unlimited heat, white heat, a little heat or no heat, but we don't have anything called 'cold'. We can hit down to 458 degrees below zero, which is no heat, but we can't go any further after that. There is no such thing as cold; otherwise we would be able to go colder than the lowest -458 degrees. Everybody or object is susceptible to study when it has or transmits energy, and heat is what makes a body or matter have or transmit energy. Absolute zero (-458 F) is the total absence of heat. You see, sir, cold is only a word we use to describe the absence of heat. We cannot measure cold. Heat we can measure in thermal units because heat is energy. Cold is not the opposite of heat, sir, just the absence of it.'

 

Silence across the room. A pen drops somewhere in the classroom, sounding like a hammer.

 

'What about darkness, professor. Is there such a thing as darkness?'

 

'Yes,' the professor replies without hesitation.. 'What is night if it isn't darkness?'

 

'You're wrong again, sir. Darkness is not something; it is the absence of something. You can have low light, normal light, bright light, flashing light, but if you have no light constantly you have nothing and it's called darkness, isn't it? That's the meaning we use to define the word. In reality, darkness isn't. If it were, you would be able to make darkness darker, wouldn't you?'

 

The professor begins to smile at the student in front of him. This will be a good semester. 'So what point are you making, young man?'

 

'Yes, professor. My point is, your philosophical premise is flawed to start with, and so your conclusion must also be flawed.'

 

The professor's face cannot hide his surprise this time. 'Flawed? Can you explain how?'

 

'You are working on the premise of duality,' the student explains... 'You argue that there is life and then there's death; a good God and a bad God. You are viewing the concept of God as something finite, something we can measure. Sir, science can't even explain a thought.' 'It uses electricity and magnetism, but has never seen, much less fully understood either one. To view death as the opposite of life is to be ignorant of the fact that death cannot exist as a substantive thing. Death is not the opposite of life, just the absence of it.' 'Now tell me, professor.. Do you teach your students that they evolved from a monkey?'

 

'If you are referring to the natural evolutionary process, young man, yes, of course I do.'

 

'Have you ever observed evolution with your own eyes, sir?'

 

The professor begins to shake his head, still smiling, as he realizes where the argument is going. A very good semester, indeed.

 

'Since no one has ever observed the process of evolution at work and cannot even prove that this process is an on-going endeavor, are you not teaching your opinion, sir? Are you now not a scientist, but a preacher?'

 

The class is in uproar. The student remains silent until the commotion has subsided. 'To continue the point you were making earlier to the other student, let me give you an example of what I mean..' The student looks around the room. 'Is there anyone in the class who has ever seen the professor's brain?' The class breaks out into laughter. 'Is there anyone here who has ever heard the professor's brain, felt the professor's brain, touched or smelt the professor's brain? No one appears to have done so. So, according to the established rules of empirical, stable, demonstrable protocol, science says that you have no brain, with all due respect, sir.' 'So if science says you have no brain, how can we trust your lectures, sir?'

 

Now the room is silent. The professor just stares at the student, his face unreadable. Finally, after what seems an eternity, the old man answers. 'I Guess you'll have to take them on faith.'

 

'Now, you accept that there is faith, and, in fact, faith exists with life,' the student continues. 'Now, sir, is there such a thing as evil?' Now uncertain, the professor responds, 'Of course, there is. We see it Every day. It is in the daily example of man's inhumanity to man. It is in the multitude of crime and violence everywhere in the world. These manifestations are nothing else but evil.'

 

To this the student replied, 'Evil does not exist sir, or at least it does not exist unto itself. Evil is simply the absence of God. It is just like darkness and cold, a word that man has created to describe the absence of God. God did not create evil. Evil is the result of what happens when man does not have God's love present in his heart. It's like the cold that comes when there is no heat or the darkness that comes when there is no light.'

The professor sat down.

If you read it all the way through and had a smile on your face when you finished, mail to your friends and family with the title 'God vs. Science'

PS: the student was Albert Einstein.

Albert Einstein wrote a book titled God vs. Science in 1921...

I did not have a smile.  I was in tears as the message of this sank  into my heart.

Senior Texting Code

(The ones in pink are my favorites.) :) 

Since more and more seniors are texting and tweeting, there appears to be a need for a STC (Senior Texting Code).

ATD: At The Doctor's
BTW: Bring The Wheelchair
BYOT: Bring Your Own Teeth
CBM: Covered By Medicare
CUATSC: See You At The Senior Center
DWI: Driving While Incontinent
FWB: Friend With Beta Blockers
FWIW: Forgot Where I Was
FYI: Found Your Insulin
GGPBL: Gotta Go, Pacemaker Battery Low!
GHA: Got Heartburn Again
HGBM: Had Good Bowel Movement
IMHO: Is My Hearing-Aid On?
LMDO: Laughing My Dentures Out
LOL: Living On Lipitor
LWO: Lawrence Welk's On
OMMR: On My Massage Recliner
ROFL... CGU: Rolling On The Floor Laughing... And Can't Get Up
TTYL: Talk To You Louder
WAITT: Who Am I Talking To?
WTP: Where's The Prunes?
WWNO: Walker Wheels Need Oil

New Words To Add To Your Vocabulary

New definitions

The Washington Post's ‘Mensa Invitational’ once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are the 2009 winners (minus the ones that weren't suitable for children--according to the blog I borrowed this from):

• Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.
• Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an ***.
• Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
• Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
• Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
• Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
• Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
• Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
• Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
• Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
• Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
• Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
• Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
• Caterpallor ( n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

To Catch a Thief

Just came across the following story in my gratitude studies.  It isn't about gratitude, but about love, but all things are intertwined.

As a young man, Brother Vern Crowley said he learned something of the crucial lesson the Prophet Joseph had taught the early Saints in Nauvoo when he told them to "love others, even our enemies as well as friends." This is a good lesson for each of us.
    After his father became ill, Vern Crowley took responsibility for running the family wrecking yard although he was only fifteen years of age. Some customers occasionally took unfair advantage of the young man, and parts were disappearing from the lot overnight. Vern was angry and vowed to catch someone and make an example of him. Vengeance would be his.
    Just after his father had started to recover from his illness, Vern was making his rounds of the yard one night at closing time. It was nearly dark. In a distant corner of the property, he caught sight of someone carrying a large piece of machinery toward the back fence. He ran like a champion athlete and caught the young thief. His first thought was to take out his frustrations with his fists and then drag the boy to the front office and call the police. His heart was full of anger and vengeance. He had caught his thief, and he intended to get his just dues.
    Out of nowhere, Vern’s father came along, put his weak and infirm hand on his son’s shoulder, and said, "I see you’re a bit upset, Vern. Can I handle this?" He then walked over to the young would-be thief and put his arm around his shoulder, looked him in the eye for a moment, and said, "Son, tell me, why are you doing this? Why were you trying to steal that transmission?" Then Mr. Crowley started walking toward the office with his arm around the boy, asking questions about the young man’s car problems as they walked. By the time they had arrived at the office, the father said, "Well, I think your clutch is gone and that’s causing your problem."
    In the meantime, Vern was fuming. "Who cares about his clutch?" he thought. "Let’s call the police and get this over with." But his father just kept talking. "Vern, get him a clutch. Get him a throwout bearing, too. And get him a pressure plate. That should take care of it." The father handed all of the parts to the young man who had attempted robbery and said, "Take these. And here’s the transmission, too. You don’t have to steal, young man. Just ask for it. There’s a way out of every problem. People are willing to help."
    Brother Vern Crowley said he learned an everlasting lesson in love that day. The young man came back to the lot often. Voluntarily, month by month, he paid for all of the parts Vic Crowley had given him, including the transmission. During those visits he asked Vern why his dad was the way he was and why he did what he did. Vern told him something of their Latter-day Saint beliefs and how much his father loved the Lord and loved people. Eventually the would-be thief was baptized. Vern later said, "It’s hard now to describe the feelings I had and what I went through in that experience. I, too, was young. I had caught my crook. I was going to extract the utmost penalty. But my father taught me a different way."
    A different way? A better way? A higher way? A more excellent way? Oh, how the world could benefit from such a magnificent lesson. As Moroni declares:
    "Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world,"
    "In the gift of his Son hath God prepared a more excellent way." (Ether 12:4, 11.)
    President David O. McKay once said:
    "The peace of Christ does not come by seeking the superficial things of life, neither does it come except as it springs from the individual’s heart. Jesus said to his disciples: ‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.’ "(Gospel Ideals, Salt Lake City: Improvement Era, 1953, pp. 39-40.)

From a talk by Howard W. Hunter, entitled "A More Excellent Way"

Grateful #51-120

51. Cardboard Boxes and garbage bags for my decluttering project
52. Closets
53. Staplers
54. Rubber Bands
55. Hole punchers
56. Two whole days to organize
57. Moments of quiet
58. Occasional whole days of quiet
59. Books, books, books!
60. The ability to read those books. (Thanks, God, for eyes to see and a mind that can learn to read. Thanks, Mom, for taking the time to teach me to read.)
61. Toasters
62. Blenders--especially ones that can handle the hard stuff
63. Sister-in-law who tends my children for two whole days to give me some time to think and to organize
64. Brother who married #63.
65. Oven light that alerts me that I accidentally turned on the oven while cleaning.
66. Central heating.
67. Air conditioning (in my case a swamp cooler).
68. Water heater
69. Warm blankets
70. Pink camo jammies.
71. Fleece
72. A forgiving heat-leaf philodendron
73. A parakeet named tiger, who we now think should have been named Tiger Lily, or Tigress, but who shall forever be called Tiger, who likes to sit on my shoulder and ride around on my head.
74. Cameras
75. Videos of little children
76. New beginnings
77. The internet
78. You Tube
79. Email
80. MP3 players
81. Art Garfunkel singing "Grateful"
82. Dictionaries
83. Lessons learned in 2010
84. Lessons yet to learn in 2011
85. Good-night hugs and kisses
86. The Constitution
87. The Declaration of Independence
88. Persimmons
89. Silence
90. Warm dish water, especially on cold, winter nights
91. Two eyes that can see
92. Two hands
93. Two legs, both with feet, both will all 10 toes
94. "A heart that can hold love."  (From the song "Grateful")
95. Ears that can hear
96. A husband and children who are grateful fr the meals I cook, and who tell me thank you.
97. Refrigerators.
98. My guitar
99. The ability to sew (even though I don't do it much, and I don't like to, it's nice to know I can--thanks, again, Mom!)
100. "A roof over my head."  (from Grateful)
101. A husband who is a hard worker and a good provider, and who loves me even though it must be very hard sometimes.
102. Rain
103. Dancing
104. Clean sheets
105. Sunlight on snow
106. Real letters from people I love
107. Emails every week from the missionaries
108. Backrubs
109. Foot rubs
110. Warm slippers
111. Knowing how to cook (thanks, Mom!)
112. A mom who taught me all these great things!
113. Earrings
114. Headbands that keep my hair out of my eyes
115. Hair
116. PINK!
117. Hats
118. The smell of freshly peeled cucumbers
119. Talking to my 16-year old son for over an hour and a half just about stuff
120. A hug from my son after #119.

House Cleaning

Today I have to say that I am grateful for:
 
A mother who taught me to clean, even though I don't do it as often as I should.  This week's project is the bathrooms.  I know, most people just do that in an hour or two.  For me, it has to be done in shifts, a little each day until I'm done.  Part of today's work included the tub.  I discovered that thing is actually white!  A few more things I'm grateful for:  Scrubbing Bubbles.  Then for the next layer: Mr. Clean Magic Sponges and the green scouring pads.  Then when all else failed, razor blades -- for the really hard water stains.  A new goal for this year is to do it more often, so I don't have to use options 2 and 3 any more. I'm also just grateful to have a tub and a shower.  Have I said that before?  I probably have, but I think it counts again, if I'm truly grateful for it again. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Sydney, Australia ringing in the New Year!  Awesome!

GRATEFUL!

This song is a good one for my first post of 2011.  Gratitude is going to be my theme for this new year, while I document in word and scene all the things I can find to be grateful for.  As the song says, I, too, am "truly blessed, and duly grateful."   It's a wonderful life!

Happy New Year!

Angels Singing Tenor

I love the stories about miracles that surface this time of year.  I just came across the following post on one of my favorite blogs.  I share my own similar miracle at the end.

Angels Singing Tenor

Just for the record, I’m still on vacation until January 2^nd. But, I have had a couple memories surface over the last few Christmas days that I wanted to share with you before the season ends.
I have never participated in a performance of Handel’s Messiah when miracles did not happen.
I mentioned in a previous post that I have sung in or conducted Handel’s Messiah for nineteen years. During that time I have come to believe that Jesus Christ actually loves that music, especially when the singers are worshiping him and praising the Father. I have seen so many miracles that the idea that they will occur is actually stronger than faith – bordering knowledge fueled by long experience.
About five years ago we did not have a strong soprano soloist. There were quite a few talented voices willing to do these parts, but I always like to have one or two superb soloists. We always pray and ask for guidance in every part of the long preparations for each year’s performance. We published the audition schedule and had a thought to take one of the posters into Anchorage to hang in a specific music store. We had never done that before, because we have always had more fine soloists try out than could possibly perform.
On the night of the auditions a young woman walked into the room.  She introduced herself as Catherine, and said she had been a lead soloist with the New York Metropolitan Opera. Her voice was absolutely flawless. I walked up close to her so that only she and I could hear my comments. I suggested that she sing the message of Christ rather than using the music to showcase her voice. She nodded, and what came out of her mouth still gives me chills as I write this. She obviously loved her Savior, and it came through gloriously. She turned off the broad vibrato and operatic style, and just sang for her love of Christ, and it was beyond compare.
This was a small miracle, and might seem more random than miraculous without understanding two things, first is that we were in Wasilla Alaska, which is real close to the end of civilization, and the last place one might expect to find glorious musical talent and superb performances of Handel’s Messiah. Even having lived there for over 30 years, I wouldn’t have expected it, but it happened year after year.
One year prior to this we had a nice Tenor section showing up to practices, but a few days before the performance, all of them called and said they might not be able to perform due to some complication. We met to warm up on the night of the performance – and there were NO tenors. I tried to feel panicked, but the Spirit kept calming me. Others in the chorus asked me what we were going to do about no tenors, because Handel’s Messiah really can’t be performed without tenors. There would be long blank spaces where nobody was singing. It would sound silly.
We took our places on the stage and as the orchestra was warming up, a man walked up to me. He said he had just returned from a mission, and he was familiar with the Messiah, could he sing with us. I asked if he was a tenor. He nodded. I found out later that he is a fantastic tenor, honestly nearly as good as Josh Grobin. As he was walking to the stage, he turned back and asked me if his brother could sing tenor also. His brother was also a very strong tenor. Seconds later, a man with a beard approached. He introduced himself. I knew the name well because I had asked him to sing with us several times, but had never met him. I knew he was fantastic. I welcomed him to the stage with a sense of gratitude and relief. Several minutes from the start of the program a complete stranger walked up to me. He introduced himself as a tenor from Anchorage. He said he had come and listened to our performance several years, and had decided to sing with us because we understood the meaning of the music, and sang with love and Spirit. He was a minister or elder in his congregation in Anchorage and a fine tenor.
In a matter of ten minutes I had six tenors, which is enough, especially when they are that strong.
I have never participated in a performance of Handel’s Messiah when miracles did not happen.
A few years ago we had the opportunity to sing selections from The Messiah at a community nativity display. I asked the group weeks in advance, and most of the chorus and orchestra volunteered to do the additional performance. We reminded them often of the commitment.
On the night of the nativity performance, we met to warm up, and had almost all of the orchestra and chorus, but again – no tenors. I don’t know why tenors are so problematic for me, but I’m always chasing tenors begging like a hungry child.
We warmed up without tenors, and everyone asked what we would do. I said, “I’m not sure. I guess the angels will have to sing tenor.” Everyone laughed kind of nervously, but they had actually experienced angels singing with us. We had a prayer and walked into the hall. As we were walking one of the trumpet players said he could sing tenor. Which did I need most, trumpet or a tenor. I told him to leave his horn in the warm up room. A sister walked beside me and said she loved the tenor part. I told her to give it a try. Still, that only made two sort-of tenors.
Something happened that night I have never done before. This was a performance for members of the community. I felt the Spirit, and after the overture I turned around and faced the audience. I introduced the next selection and told them its significance in Christ’s life. I saw people’s faces light up as they understood the message of Handel’s Messiah for the first time. Because I was acting under inspiration, the audience felt it too, as did the choir and orchestra. When I turned around to face the performers I could almost see the heavens opening behind them as angels joined us.
We began the performance with “For Unto Us a Child is Born”. And when the tenor part came due, I heard a strong, beautiful tenor section. I looked up, and there were only two people singing tenor. Yet, there was this huge tenor sound. I saw other people looking around for the source of so much music. There were only two people singing tenor every time, a trumpeter and an alto. Through every song that evening we heard the angels singing tenor. It was splendid.
This and dozens of other happenings are why I say, I have never participated in a performance of Handle’s Messiah when there were not miracles.
Brother John
Source: unblogmysoul.wordpress.com

I had my own Messiah miracle a number of years ago.  Each Christmas our stake would put together a choir and perform the Messiah.  For some reason I got the idea in my head that I wanted to sing the solo aria "He Was Despised."  While I enjoy singing, I don't have the greatest voice, and I'm definitely an alto.  That piece doesn't go terribly high, though, and since it was a professional performance, I thought maybe I could do it.  It wasn't so much that I wanted to sing a solo, because I very much enjoy singing  harmony, but something in my really wanted to sing THAT solo.  After several years, the opportunity presented itself and I set about to practice it.  For some reason, my voice went very hoarse from the time I was given the part right up until the night of the performance.  Not one single time was I able to practice it and have enough of a voice come out to even be able to get through it.  The choir director, who was in our ward, and a friend of mine, just kept encouraging me along, telling me to pray and ask for help, which, of course, I was already doing.  The night arrived, and my voice had not improved.  I went into the performance praying and fasting.  Just before it came time for my number, my heart started pounding so hard that I could hardly hear anything else.  I was sure others must be able to hear it, or at least see the movement though my clothing.  I got up to sing and the pounding continued.  Then I started to sing, and my voice worked!  My heart pounded through the entire song, so I couldn't even hear myself all that well; I just knew that something was coming out as I sang.  Judging from the comments of people afterward, the number had sounded really good.  The only explanation, of course, is that the Lord sent me the help I needed exactly when I needed it.  I had all but forgotten about that until I read the above post.  How I grateful I am for this, as well as so many other, tender mercies that continually grace my life. 

More Gifts. . .

I continue to read my Kindle version (PC Version, don't yet have the real thing) of One Thousand Gifts, and it continues to inspire to look for gratitude moments.  It is truly one of the most amazing books I have ever read.

24. A 16-year-old son's head on my shoulder as we look at YouTube videos together.
25. A kitchen drawer with the front replaced several years after it fell off.
26.  The husband who, when I said if he'd like to do something for me, he could fix that drawer, had it fixed and back in place in 24 hours (and it only took so long because we were waiting for the glue to dry)
27. Being blessed to be able to play the organ for church without making too many mistakes.
28. A spirit-filled sacrament meeting in which three of my friends spoke and bore humble testimony of Christ.
29. Children's laughter.
30. A working dishwasher.
31. Being able to play the piano well enough to sing songs I like.
32. Being able to play the guitar enough to enjoy it.
33. A mother who taught me to can peaches.  I didn't want to learn, really, but one day, when I was about 16, she walked out the door and told me there was a basket of peaches in the kitchen and that she wanted me to have them canned up when she got home.  I just looked at her like she was crazy, since I'd never done it by myself before.  I told her I didn't know how, figuring that ought to get me off the hook, but she pointed me toward the cookbooks and left.  So I looked it up, and between that, and remembering some from having helped her in times past, I set to work.  By the time she got back I had 7 bottles of peaches canned, and all of them sealed.  From then on, I've always known that if I could find the instructions, I could probably find out pretty much anything I would need to know, and that knowledge has served me well these many years.
34. Carpeted floors.
35. Uncarpeted kitchen and bathroooms.
36. Refrigerators.
37. Freezers.
38. Central heating.
39. Air conditioning.
40. MP3 players.
41. Animals, especially dolphins.
42. I'm grateful to have been able to visit Hawaii.  Not being much of a world traveler, I never really expected to be able to go there, but since being married I've had the chance a couple of times, and I'm happy to have been able to have that peaceful experience.  It's a nice place to get away to for a little while.
43. I am thankful to have been blessed with 8 healthy children, and also for two more who are waiting for us on the other side.
44. Clean drinking water.
45. Running water right in my kitchen.
46. Linoleum.  Oh, wait I already said that one.  With my memory, it's going to be hard not to repeat things here.  Instead of linoleum again (although I really am thankful for it), for #46, I'll say electric light bulbs. That, seriously, has got to be one of the best inventions ever, except when it makes it possible for me to stay up all hours of the night when I should be asleep.  Like now.
47. A stove in my kitchen, so I don't have to build a fire every time I want to heat some food.
48. Trees.
49. Tulips.
50. The scriptures.

The Hot Water Bottle Miracle

I love this story!


THE HOT WATER BOTTLE - A True Story By Helen Roseveare, Missionary to Africa

One night, in Central Africa, I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all that we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny, premature baby and a crying, two-year-old daughter.

We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive. We had no incubator. We had no electricity to run an incubator, and no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts.

A student-midwife went for the box we had for such babies and for the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly, in distress, to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. "...and it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk; so, in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over a burst water bottle. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways. All right," I said, "Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can; sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm."

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with many of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chilled. I also told them about the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt consciousness of our African children. "Please, God," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, the baby'll be dead; so, please send it this afternoon." While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of corollary, " ...And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?" As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen?" I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything: The Bible says so, but there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!

Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time that I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large twenty-two pound parcel! I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone; so, I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then, there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children began to look a little bored. Next, came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas - - that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. As I put my hand in again, I felt the...could it really be? I grasped it, and pulled it out. Yes, "A brand-new rubber, hot water bottle!" I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!" Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone: She had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked, "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"

That parcel had been on the way for five whole months, packed up by my former Sunday School class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. One of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child -- five months earlier in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "That afternoon!" "And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear." Isaiah 65:24

Helen Roseveare a doctor missionary from England to Zaire, Africa, told this as it had happened to her in Africa. 

The True Story of Rudolph

 **True Story of Rudolph**

A man named Bob May, depressed and brokenhearted, stared out his drafty apartment window into
the chilling December night.


His 4-year-old daughter, Barbara, sat on his lap quietly sobbing.

Bob's wife, Evelyn, was very
sick and he knew she would die.


Little Barbara couldn't understand why her mommy could never come home.

Barbara looked up into her dad's eyes and asked,

"Why isn't Mommy just like everybody else's Mommy?"

Bob's jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears.  

Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger.


It had been the story of Bob's life.

Life always had to be different for Bob.  

Small in stature when he was a kid, Bob was often bullied by other boys.  

He was too little at the time to compete in sports.

He was often  called names he'd rather not remember.  

From childhood, Bob was different and never seemed to fit in.


Bob did complete college, married his loving wife and was grateful to get his job as a
copywriter at MONTGOMERY WARD during the  terrible Great Depression.

Then he was blessed with his little  girl.

But it was all short-lived.

Evelyn's bout with cancer stripped  them of all their savings

and now Bob and his daughter were forced to live in a two-room apartment in the
Chicago slums. Evelyn died  just days before Christmas in 1938.


Bob struggled to give hope to his child,

for whom he couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas gift.

But if he couldn't buy a gift, he was determined a make one

- and so he made a storybook!  

Bob had created an animal character in his own mind and told the animal's story to
little Barbara to give her comfort and hope.


Again and again Bob told the story, embellishing it more with each telling.

Who was the character? What was the story all about?


The story Bob May created was his own autobiography in fable form.

The character he created was a misfit outcast like he was.

The name of the character?

A little reindeer named Rudolph, who had a big shiny nose.  

Bob finished the book just in time to give it to his little girl on
Christmas Day. But the story doesn't end there........


The general manager of Montgomery Ward heard about the little storybook and he offered Bob May a nominal fee to purchase the rights to print the book.

Wards went on to print, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer"

and distribute it to the children visiting Santa Claus in their stores.

By 1946 Wards had printed and distributed more than six million copies of Rudolph. That same year, a major publisher asked to purchase the rights from Wards,  

to print an updated version of the book.


In an unprecedented gesture of  kindness, the CEO of Wards returned all rights of ownership back to Bob May. The book became a best seller.

Many toy and marketing deals followed and Bob May, now remarried with a growing family, became wealthy from the story he created to comfort
his grieving daughter. But the story doesn't end there either.


Bob's brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, made a song adaptation to Rudolph.

Though the song was turned down by such popular vocalists as

Bing Crosby and Dinah Shore, it was recorded by the
singing cowboy, Gene Autry.

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was released in 1949 and became a
phenomenal success, selling more records than any other Christmas song, with the exception of "White Christmas."


The gift of love that Bob May created for his daughter so long ago kept on returning back to bless him again and again.


Bob May learned the lesson, just like his dear friend Rudolph,

that being different isn't so bad..........

In fact, being different can really be a blessing.




The HERO of this story is BOB MAY.
The PATRIOT of this story is MONTGOMERY WARDS !!

The MORAL of this story is THE GIFT OF LOVE .........