The Fog of Fear

The fog of fear is the deadliest toxin we will ever encounter on this short sojourn here in mortality. It silences the voice of one who would speak. Cripples the mind of those seeking insight. Shatters the hope of a suffering soul and smothers the light in the heart of one that is already surrounded by darkness. 

Despair is a poor synonym for fear. It is like trying to describe a car wreck by saying “it was loud.” A car wreck is so much more than a noise, it is an experience that refuses to contain itself within a single notion. So it is with fear. 

In fear lays a bed of quicksand that will swallow one within the shortest of time. The more one struggles, the quicker it happens and escape becomes impossible. The bed of fear is not one that you stubble your way out of. 

This week a familiar struggle washed over me (finances, it always seems to begin there) and I began to wallow in it’s dark wake. After only 3 classes into graduate school I racked up a significant amount of student loan debt and began to literally become sick over it. In graduate school there are no pell grants or subsidized loans. You get loans and they start accumulating interest immediately, though re-payment does not begin until you graduate or stop attending school full time. With simple calculations, I have known that by the time I get out of school and have to start paying the debt back there will be a hefty reoccurring monthly reckoning. Practically a small mortgage payment. 

An intense dichotomy emerged as on the one hand I have my wife with my logical side pushing for more education which will equal greater opportunities. Followed along with the benefits of greater security and increased knowledge. On the other side of the educational coin I detest the bondage of debilitating debt. Student loan debt is accepted as a societal norm when in fact it should be treated as a destructive cancer that indentures the populace for a significant amount of their working careers.

Einstein had his own definition of insanity in explaining that doing the same thing over and over again, while expecting different results, is insane.  Had he lived in this new millennial age I feel he would agree with me on another definition as well: 

You go to school to get a job that you must have to pay off a debt that was required to get you the education to get that job.

The Miracle of 3’s

For several months I have been pleading with Heavenly Father on how to avoid this “insanity” and to provide a way for me to get through school with minimal financial obligation. With going back to school it felt like I was stepping back 10 years. I had started a new career, had another baby after 7 years since our last one and recently took on new responsibilities in my Church. The first miracle came a couple weeks ago when I received a promotion at work and took on new responsibilities/roles. Our financial burden was lightened a bit. The second miracle came from tax returns that are enough to pay off all of the student loan debt I have incurred so far. It seemed to be a moot point however because of the perpetual borrowing that we are in with schooling. This actually caused fear and all the other aspects of anxiety and depressive emotions to move in and take residence within my mind this week. It is not a good place to be and one I figured I would have to endure all through the 3 years of school. The quote from a childhood hero of mine, Ezra Taft Benson, comes to mind as I reflect on the point I was at: “There are times when you simply have to righteously hang on and outlast the devil until his depressive spirit leaves you.” I was settling in for a long fight. 

The 3rd miracle happened on Friday in the form of a way to get through school without interest bearing debt. I still didn’t recognize it as an answer to prayer and the blessing that it is when my wife told me about it. Then yesterday morning, Valentines Day, I woke up wide awake at 6:00 am (I blame my mother for my early morning chromosomes). Instantly I thought of these 3 occurrences in rapid succession as true miracles and was filled with not only a sense of gratitude but a sense of hope and peace. The next several hours were spent in the Temple of the Lord, reflecting on that special moment.

The fog of fear is very real in everyones life. It waits, ever so patiently, until it can ebb in and suffocate us. It can be seen, it can be heard and it can be felt. It is real. But so is love, hope, and gratitude. I believe the true miracle in this small episode was the almost instantaneous transformation that happened within my mind and soul when gratitude was felt. Forgetting is a sin with very natural consequences. Remembering our own blessings will heal us of daily fears. Remembering our Savior daily will heal us for eternity. 

 -The Feeble Soul

© 2015

The life of a Jonahite: When our journeys fail to meet our expectations

Last Sunday during church the speaker was talking about obedience when a thought came to mind about Jonah in the Old Testament. It gave me pause as I wondered about how well I follow the commandments. I don't have a problem with killing people or worshiping idols, not many people of faith do, but the commandments I am speaking of are the unmentioned sort. The ones we know deep within that we need to be following. The words the Lord writes upon our hearts and whispers to our souls. These are not stone inscribed tablets containing one line numbered sermons that descend down from a mount in the arms of a mighty prophet.

These are gentle impressions that float by. So softly, like the cotton drifting along in early summer as the towering trees shed their spring coats. The thoughts that are so easy to miss because we often stare at the engraved stone tablets like a checklist and assume we are doing well enough. 

All of us, at times, are not true to who we know we are and must become. In that sense, we are not following the “commandments.” These are the boundaries we each feel we should stay within or the peaks we feel we should climb. Achieving new heights that help us reach beyond our current station in mortality.

The Voice

Everyone is different and thus everyone hears a different voice coming from the same source. We each are taught in a language we each are able to hear. This is not a “tongue” but an understanding of ideas that we are ready to accept. A successful marriage seems to be one where a husband and wife are hearing the same voice and working towards the same goals at the same pace. Even more successful is the marriage where one hears the voice first and compels the other to listen and to rise to the same level or ideally beyond. Thus, in turn, encouraging each other into a leap frog effect that ends in an eternal embrace with our Father in Heaven.

Hopefully each of us recognizes our own abilities and eventually comes to terms with where we fall short. Like Jonah we sometimes decide to go our own route for a while. We run from Nineveh and where we feel we need to go. If we do not go and do what we feel we are commanded to do we will eventually find ourselves sitting alone, in a filthy darkness, floating in the sea of this bleak world. Having come to terms with our loss of light, our inability to control our course and overall helplessness, we turn to the One that is our source of light. Our source of direction and the source of all life.

Finding ourselves spit out on the beach of a new beginning we drag ourselves onto the winding path towards the goal we are now much further away from. So we listen to the voice and do what has been asked of us. A burden and responsibility only we can achieve. Then, having achieved this task, it is almost as if we are waiting for heavenly trumpets or a chorus of a thousand angels to triumphantly announce our success. It does not come and the end result is often different then what we expect.

A “Jonahite” attitude may exist as we sit under our gourd, having accomplished what was asked of us, and demand our own ending. The ending we feel is just or the stamp of justification for doing what we did. It does not come and we wither away, sliding back into the belly of the whale of our own ignorance.

The Path

Reflecting on all of this I can’t help but think about what has happened in my life over the past six months.

At the first of this year I returned to a path I left shortly after college, that of teaching high school students religion (Seminary) for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I did not fully complete the hiring process in 2005 and instead went into real estate related careers. Finding myself unemployed last summer I returned to student teaching this winter and everything aligned into perfect order so it became possible for me to provide for my family while teaching only one class.

Miracle after miracle occurred due to family and friends and it all led back into the classroom. On my way home from my first day teaching anxiety bled out of my heart and flooded my body with cold sweats that eventually went away but even with medication the “bleeding heart” effect was always in the background. Describing clinical anxiety to someone that has not felt it is difficult. It is not only an emotional reaction but a physical one that often one does not realize they are experiencing until the bed sheets are soaked through and the dreaded hopelessness sets in. You quickly become a shell of who you were and face your feeble mortality, one racing heart beat after another. Weight loss comes with the lack of appetite, as does the desire to hide from anything approaching the anxiety producing cause. 

It was rough taking over another class for someone else in the middle of a trimester and almost impossible with anxiety. Student teaching is like having a job interview, every day for several months. It is not easy. Especially when in the Seminary program you usually only get one shot in the hiring process.

On the drive home from teaching that first day this winter I realized why I left the student teaching program in 2005. I ran away from that monster many call anxiety. Freed from its claws for so long and not recognizing what it was in 2005 I fully saw it for what it was this time around and was determined to not run from it again. I committed to teach for two months until the trimester was over and I was not backing out again. I pushed through with the support of my loving wife and completed the semester on a high note. I loved teaching that class and learned so much. I learned to love the students and to love the profession of teaching religion. I opened up my heart to it and embraced it fully. I left myself wide open to whatever was to come, fully believing it would be an offer of employment to be a Seminary Teacher.

The Wrong Path?

I was not hired to teach, like a mountain of stone the news rolled on top of me. It hurt with a pain that after three months I am still feeling. I broke my wrist in 8^th grade and it required surgery. Sometimes at the computer I still feel slight pangs from that injury 20 years ago. Will this rejection be the same?

I knew, beyond all doubt, that I was to teach those two months. That much I was sure of. The challenge (one of many) that I have discovered in my short 34 years is that when we start a journey we think we know the destination or the experiences we will have. We expect certain results and anticipate the ups and downs on the way. The challenge is that most of our expectations are unmet and what we thought was the end goal is usually the start onto another journey. So it was with teaching. I expected to have a few challenges but to be successful and in the end receive an offer of employment. Those few challenges turned into some of the most painful of my life. The ending led to rejection.

So am I a Jonahite?

Did I follow a path I tried to run from, finally returning and expecting a different result then what the Lord had in mind? How often do I do this? Maybe I am the only one that feels this way but very frequently I have unmet expectations. Especially if it is something I have planned out with an anticipated result.

After being turned down from teaching, I must admit that I sat under my gourd for a few days. The most difficult part of the experience was that there were so many unbelievably amazing people that were praying for us and offering support. Telling them it was a no when they were so confident and hopeful broke my heart on many occasions. It was painful on many levels and like facing the rejection all over again with every person I told.

Most did not know this at the time but the Monday before I received the bad news, my wife and I found out we were pregnant. Our youngest is 6 and we just assumed we could no longer get pregnant. The fact that we found out the week of when the news about teaching was to arrive seemed to be yet another miracle and another sign pointing in the affirmative direction that I would get hired to teach. So when the bad news came the gourd and I became fast friends.

Moving on

My wife and I picked ourselves up and moved on. I painted for about a month and then went back to working commercial construction doing laborer work. Two weeks ago we decided to look into MBA programs in accounting, due to the suggestion of a friend and previous Bishop. We thought it would be perfect if we could find a job, even part time, where I could work in an accounting related position while going to school. The next morning, a Friday, another good friend and neighbor called saying his company was interviewing for an accounting position that day and wondered if I could break away to come up and interview. I was offered the job as I was heading home from the interview. I started work the following Monday.

This life is strange. We follow the path’s we are given or the ones we choose and rarely see expected results. The most challenging paths are the ones we feel we are directed to travel and then come to a dead end. The most soul retching is when we expect to find an oasis as our end goal and in fact the expected oasis is yet another stone mountain to climb. Stepping out of the brush of our travels we clear the final canopy and look outward expecting relief when all we can do is look up and see the journey continue.

So we climb and we listen to the voice within, trying to follow and to be led. Trying to keep moving on, even when the gourds of this life call for us to sit in our dejection and wither away. It is our choice, to continue forward or to sit and waste away. To do what we feel is right, or to sit in the stench filled darkness of our failures. Our task is that we simply go, to go and do.

 -The Feeble Soul

© 2014

The River of Life: Dear Dad...

I wrote this for my dad over a decade ago seeing in him things I hoped to come in future days. After this past weekend and being in the Temple with him for the first time in 16 years I felt I should share this.  

Water rushing by, almost like a dream. Cannot wipe away the cobwebs of a short nights sleep. Heavenly golden rays find their way through the wooden giants, trunks as old as those who gaze upon them. Strong and firm the giants stand, gazing upon the river like protectors, friends.

The sun splashes upon the rippling pool of life, dancing and singing its silent song. A bird or two and a breeze, always a fresh mountain grown breeze. It cools and brings with it a crispness and familiarity that can only be felt at this place and at this time.

I came with excitement; I came with hopes to catch the biggest and the best. Now frustration and strife disturb my serenity. “Give up, you are beaten... you are no good!” These words pierce my mind with sharpness and relentless pain.

After what seems years it finally comes, it is the hand, as big as life, it rests upon my shoulder. The hand, scarred and worn from years of labor, fills my soul with warmth, warmth of endless love. Oh the voice of one who knows, he sees, he understands. Softly he speaks, “my son, you have a tangled mess here. I will help. Give me your line, you have done enough. Now go rest for a time and allow me to heal and mend wrongs you cannot rectify.” With the tender love of a father he makes everything better again. I continue on with renewed intensity, but now with an increased understanding.

The day is far from over. There are many joys to experience, many fish to catch, but I now know; HE will always be there, my Father by my side. I need not fear.

Now I see I see with eyes of experience. Many have let go and many have wandered. Many have never experienced the healing hand of the Father, for these I morn. Yet as the hours flow by I have seen a mighty few, as strong as the river rocks are these. In the river of life we view many. Some sit on the banks and dip their toes while others merely cast a solitary reflection. Some jump head first into the rushing waters and drown, or simply float away.

The mighty few are those who have fallen in unknowingly and find that all light is gone. Yet these few emerge from the bottom of the cold depths to struggle with life itself. As a result of this struggle two things happen. The first is that the rough stone edges of heartache begin to wear away. Second, the river then parts as it passes by or smoothly flows over these rocks so few. Where many drown these precious few live. They live what is almost a new life, one were all who pass pause to honor the life lived and savor the life now created.

My dad is among these mighty ones. These mighty few have fought for so long that they cannot see their own reflection of what they have miraculously become. I see, I see the light that now burns, I see one who I love more now then ever.

The Father, he has those he cherishes the most. These are his precious river rocks, the stones that seem to fight an unending battle against the currents of life. As his Son once delicately put it, “for who that has ninety and nine and has lost one does not leave the ninety and nine to find the one. And when returning with the one rejoices more over the one then over all of the ninety and nine. Thus is the kingdom of heaven.” So it is with the mighty few, rejoice, rejoice indeed.

We are not alone in this river we call life. Many are there to guide and to love. We may catch the big one and we may not, but all that matters is that we have come, and we do not finish till we are done. When the sun is set and night is drawn, when finally we are brought home.

Now I vow, I vow to return and not alone. Those I love and those I hold dear, they will be by my side or leading the way. I will not return till all I love are with me, and then will the work be done. Hand in hand, the Father we will greet and share all together the wonders and the heartaches and greatest of all the joys and splendors of the river, the river we call life.

 -The Feeble Soul

© 2013

A Reflection on Faith & Trials

Right before Christmas my family and I were driving around Idaho Falls looking at the Christmas lights when I took us through Snake River Landing. This property is one of many that I managed before being laid off this summer. The scars still somewhat fresh from that experience, we drove slowly and looked at the 100 + trees all lit up.  The trees were gorgeous in the winter night. The day before we had an interesting weather phenomenon with thick fog and a resulting winter wonder land. At first I thought it was Air Hoarfrost but after doing a little research I found that it is actually called Rime Ice that had formed on the trees. I wanted to continue driving through but my wife suggested I pull over and take a picture. So I pulled out my 21st Century camera (iPhone 5) and snapped a couple shots. Sometimes I get lucky, this was one of those times. No editing was done, nature had already taken care of that.

This picture has taught me 2 things. The first is that I should listen to my wife more and the second is that out of the frigidly blinding foggy night can come breathtaking results. Without the thick low hanging clouds to prevent one from seeing, the phenomenon of Rime Ice cannot form. This was the first time in my life I have seen this winter wonder occur in such a way. 

Over the course of the next 2 weeks, I would come to see countless winter wonders. These were created by those we know as we were covered in a blanket of blessings from so many.
(Here is that Story)
http://thefeeblesoul.blogspot.com/2013/12/a-20-christmas-miracle.html

Due to the blessings that descended, I was in the position to explore teaching religion (Seminary) to LDS high school students part time. As a student teacher I would then be up for full time hiring this April. More miracles occurred and I spoke face to face with the Student Teacher Trainer on the last Friday of Christmas break. I began teaching one class up at the Madison high school seminary in Rexburg the following Monday. I have come to know for a surety that this is what I am supposed to be doing at this point. 

Will I get hired to teach full time? I don't know but as I prepared to speak in sacrament meeting today at church I had some time this week to reflect on a few things concerning Faith & Trials. The suggestion was made to post my talk but I don't write out talks word for word. I bullet point ideas & scriptures or make a grouping of quotes, etc. With an extemporaneous delivery, it is impossible for me to write down what was spoken and share it in the same way it was delivered. Short of recording it and transcribing it I can only share the ideas, and not the talk. The message was for that particular audience at that moment, to try to re-create that would not do it justice but I feel I need to pass along some of the things I explored. What I want to share is simply the "solution step" portion of my talk that I was only able to briefly cover today.

Of Faith and Trials:

Three points to ponder in the midst of struggling to keep your faith in the midst of trials.

#1 Obedience

Obedience to God and his commandments will strengthen your faith as you know that you are doing all that you can do. You can kneel before him in confidence that you are doing your part and the blessings he has for you will eventually come. 

#2 Forgiveness

To hold strong to faith in the turbulent sea of sorrow and heartache one needs to seek forgiveness from Heavenly Father and to extend forgiveness to others. This act cleanses the soul and purges out sin, malice and hate in our lives. Satan is the father of contention and holding on to his destructive child, even a small portion, will erode our faith.

#3 Gratitude

Applying the atonement in our lives brings pure faith as we trust in the Savior. Gratitude will literally change our minds and our behavior, increasing our faith. We should start our prayers with thanking the Father for our blessings and for his Son. We should start our day by reflecting on what we are grateful for and end the day doing the same. Science is realizing this phenomenon and its power to heal attitudes and literal change our brain. 

I viewed a 'Ted talk' by Psychologist Daniel Amen this past week. (You can find him on Youtube). He has conducted  over 83,000 brain scans. The scans were done on brains of those diseased with mental illness or were physically damaged. The scans showed pockets or holes in brain activity and functionality. This leads to problems in behavior. It is interesting that the healing process and therapy that has verifiable results starts with one simple action. The literal healing of the brain occurs, these holes or pockets of activity begin to heal with one simple act. The start of this is done in the simple process of having the patients come up with 3 things every day they are thankful for. This action was done with patients dealing with everything from depression & anxiety to Alzheimer's and even those suffering from blunt force head trauma. The therapy, centered around gratitude, helped to fill in the inactive parts of the brain. Attitudes and behaviors changed for the better.

Gratitude will not only heal you but will strengthen and build your faith because it is an action centered in and through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. He is the ultimate Healer.

Finally, when we feel we have done all we can we need to exercise our faith in the mist of our trials we must take a "But if not..." attitude. 

In the LDS General Conference of April 2004, Elder Dennis Simmons shared this "But if Not..." principle. The following is from his talk:

"We must have the same faith as Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego.

They were told to worship idols or be thrown in the fiery furnace. They had faith that they would be delivered but they also made the statement "but if not, we will still not believe in your idols." 

Our God will deliver us from ridicule and persecution, but if not. … Our God will deliver us from sickness and disease, but if not … . He will deliver us from loneliness, depression, or fear, but if not. … Our God will deliver us from threats, accusations, and insecurity, but if not. … He will deliver us from death or impairment of loved ones, but if not, … we will trust in the Lord.

Our God will see that we receive justice and fairness, but if not. … He will make sure that we are loved and recognized, but if not. … We will receive a perfect companion and righteous and obedient children, but if not, … we will have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, knowing that if we do all we can do, we will, in His time and in His way, be delivered and receive all that He has." 

I love this principle shared by Elder Simmons. 

Through the winter fog of heartache and sorrow, we will find miracles. We will find sights that astound us and if we are faithful will lead us back into the arms of our loving Father in Heaven. It is our faith that we are to find. God knows our hearts, our strength and our faith. The trials we face are not for his benefit but for ours so that we too can come to know of our own strength. To know what we are capable of. One day I hope to look into His loving eyes and in them see myself as he sees me. This is my hope and my faith.

-The Feeble Soul

A $20 Christmas Miracle

We woke up that Wednesday morning two weeks ago to a power outage, a frigid December morning where only the water would work. Like my employment situation, there seemed to only be cold silence. A silence that almost has its own sound, the sound of failure and rejection, the sound of something broken.

The news report on my phone said it was a major area wide power failure. A combination of issues that culminated into darkness, into a situation where no matter how much effort was put forth the lights went out. No amount of work could instantly resolve the issue. These words rang familiar. Almost 5 months have passed and the sharp sting, the words that cause grown men to crumble to their knees, echoed in my shame filled mind. You did your best but we have to turn out the lights on you anyway. Your efforts are not enough… failure.

The temporary laborer work I have been doing was canceled for the day so that powerless morning I thrust myself into the biting cold and shoveled walks most of the morning. As if to numb my rigid mind I pushed and scraped. Peeling away the hardened snow and ice as I tried to peel away the continued rejection.

What most people do not realize and understand is that when a person is laid off or fired from a job the rejection has only begun. It is as if when the pink slip is handed out the trigger on the gun at the starting line has fired its shot. It is a race from one job application to another. It is a race from one interview to another. A colossal effort of applications, phone interviews, in-person interviews, follow-up emails, and second, third and sometimes even fourth interviews. The longer processes take months, the shorter ones weeks. Dozens of applications, a handful of interviews, an infinite amount of hope and all with the same explanation. The one that HR departments across the world must have conspiratorially adopted.

“You are well qualified and would be a good fit but we found someone with more experience.”

One would think this would be helpful but it is just the opposite. When rejection and hope are given in the same sentence, it is rejection that will erode away the most hardened bedrock of hope.

Even granite cliffs become sand against the waves of time.

No help is given as HR departments, to stay free from lawsuit, cannot actually tell you why you were not hired. The system is now designed to keep those failing to find work, stuck in the pit.

Imagine telling a student who failed a test that they were close but just didn’t do well enough. When the child starts trying to figure out specifics or get some feedback on what they missed you only say that someone else did better than them and that they just couldn’t quite do as well. Failure, the child will continue in failure until by sheer luck they figure out what they did wrong or they finally get things right. What a cold hard world it would be if our educational system taught our young like this.

A Trip to the Store

Seeking the warmth of an open store with electricity, we went across town to get a few small things for the children for Christmas. A few items to put in their stockings. We thought we could afford about $20. Walking into a store, at a location we rarely go to, I saw a few former co-workers checking out and I guided my wife in the opposite direction. Not today, a day when I felt I was all but beaten did I want to face the humiliating question that would produce a despondent answer.

“Have you found work?”

“No…”

 Especially not in front of my spouse could I face this. Quickly we walked on, deeper into the store.

$20 Bill

I saw a $20 bill in the aisle of the grocery section. No one was around. I stared at it for a bit before my wife came around the corner. Picking up the bill I thought how this would pay for what we were going to purchase with much needed funds that could be used elsewhere. I thought for a moment that maybe this was Heavenly Father trying to help us. Then I lowered my head in shame as I realized it was not our money. I thought,
“What if this is some poor single mother’s money to buy formula for her hungry infant?”
I hung my head even further as I thought how we needed it too. That our clay cliff of reserves was almost gone and how long before it would be that we would be in the same situation as the very imaginary person I was thinking about?

Then I slumped even further and decided, with a sliver of hope, that I would turn the money into customer service and if they deemed we could keep it then that would settle the matter.  There was no conflict in my wife’s eyes, unlike mine, as she concurred that we needed to turn it in.
"It’s not ours."
I tried to cover the dichotomy of my greed and self-loathing.

  

I stood in the customer service line for a few minutes to hand in the money. When it was my turn I quietly slid the folded bill across the counter and said I had found it. The clerk asked where and that she would put it in their “book”. I don’t even recall a thank you or a smile for doing the seemingly right thing.

I walked away from the counter, my head hanging even lower.

“We needed that money Heavenly Father!”

I thought as I slowly walked back to find my wife checking out.

That $20 seemed so much at that moment, a moment that was riding on the fumes of weeks and months of rejection. Finally a break as it seemed, even one this small, still seemed out of my grasp. This time it was my choice and it hurt. Back into the cold of that subzero winter day we walked to the car and in the back of my mind I thought that hopefully things would balance out and the $20 would somehow return to us.

The Loaves and Fishes

Something miraculous happened this past week, something just as great and no less significant as the Lord feeding the 5,000 with what came from the 5 loaves of bread and 2 fishes. We learn from John in the New Testament that the Savior multiplied the bread and fish to feed the 5,000 who had followed him. That is the miracle, which is the focus of the story. What is often passed over is the “lad”. The boy who brought the food to the Master. Imagine his thoughts, imagine his countenance. “All my food, and yet I will give it up. I will go hungry.” I wonder if he too hung his head and questioned his actions before speaking up and offering his sacrifice.

I felt a bit like that young lad when I turned in the $20 bill. I would like to think that he too probably thought, “Well, there won’t be enough to go around but I will offer it and then hopefully they will just give it back.” I wonder what he thought when the bread and fish were actually taken from him. I have witnessed nothing less than what he witnessed, a miracle.

Unlike the lad however, I have been shown this miraculous miracle multiple times. The Lord multiplied the $20 more than 10 fold and he did it multiple times this past week so even I could not miss the lesson…

Why I don’t want to hear ‘The Christmas Shoes’ song

This last Tuesday I was driving to a Boy Scout meeting when over the radio I heard ‘The Christmas Shoes’ song that to me has become redundant. (You know the one about the boy who asks the guy to buy his dying mother some shoes?) I quickly turned it off thinking it was annoying after the 100^th time and also that things like that really don’t happen. I went to the meeting and had replaced my Scout leader hat with one the “Grinch” would be proud of.

As I was on my way home I got a call from my wife letting me know my mom and step-dad were on their way over. They were to perform the 1^st miracle.

I have been doing laborer work and it has been a blessing because I was not forced to go on unemployment, but it has been a curse in a sense. Having to work outside in one of the coldest Idaho Decembers I can ever remember has been a struggle. Especially without insulated boots. No amount of wool socks will keep your feet warm in uninsulated steel toe boots. Trust me, I have tried. I resorted to my cumbersome 16 year old worn out snow packs that added a great deal of bulk but only performed marginally better.

With feet that were still cold from the day’s work outside, I walked into the house after the Scout meeting to sit down for a quick visit with my mom and step-dad. It was late so they didn't stay long. They handed me an early birthday card with enough money to buy some well insulated work boots. Sitting there, reading the kind words and seeing the money, I couldn't help but notice that I had been moving my toes to try to get them warmed up. I now have my very own “Christmas Shoes.”

I caught myself and thanked my angel mother. I still won’t be listening to “The Christmas Shoes” song when I am driving. Now, however, it is because I will not be able to see the road because the tears that will surely come.

Miracles

Another miracle, later in the week, and this time it was anonymous. The $20 bill I gave to the clerk had multiplied as a friend brought an envelope from one anonymous person who had been given it by another anonymous person who wanted us to have it. This was not the end.

Today was a birthday I will never forget. Running around this busy Saturday we noticed something sticking in the front screen door as we left the house. We decided to get it later. We finally did and to our amazement, it was an envelope with literally a multiple amount of $20 bills. Stunned, somewhat embarrassed and extremely grateful I just shook my head at my wife. Once again it was anonymous.

A visit from another loving neighbor tonight with a birthday chocolate bar and an anonymous envelope they had been asked to give to us. It contained more money.

Still in wonder, a few minutes after our neighbor left, the doorbell rang and the porch was empty, save for another envelope.

Dec. 22nd
A week after publishing this post and I am in even greater awe. I assumed that this blog would serve as a mass thank you card and that the giving would stop. The opposite happened. Just as the snow descended this week, so did the anonymous angels. I firmly believe that Heavenly Father does not send us random angels to help us in times of need. He sends to us those we know and love. On both this side of the veil and the other, he sends his righteous servants who care about us. Often we are unaware of who he has sent.

These miraculous envelopes all showed the miracle of the multiplying of the $20 bill. So this Sabbath morning I placed some of the envelopes sent to us on the tree so my children could see the gifts we were given this sacred season. I did not place the money there. The true gifts sent to us over the past several weeks were really the priceless gifts of encouragement, hope and love.

I see loaves of bread, I see fishes. I see the Savior’s hand, multiplying and blessing my family, my home.

I am but a weak lad, having held up what little there was and seeing the Savior take it and multiply it many times over. Once again, I hang my head, lower than ever before. This time however, it is in gratitude for those who have blessed my family this Christmas season and most of all for my Savior, for his touch, for the miracles he still performs.

 -The Feeble Soul

© 2013

Finding Lost Miracles

Four months into the struggle to find a job to support my family and this happened...

Today I prayed for a miracle.  The miracle never came. I pleaded at the start of this new day, a day that pushed out an old one of broken dreams, that the failures of yesterday would be overcome by the success of today. 

The miracle never came and when the sun set, so did my faith. 

Laying on the stone bed of sorrow and resting my head on my pillow of frozen tears, I gaze up into the winters night. Like so many nights before I ponder my choices. All of them seemingly guided and well designed. Yet they seemed to fail. Failures falling all around like a blanket of frost, covering the ground of my soul in ice born sadness. Brittle and hardened, I lay still. In the darkness of night, even sleep fails me. 

Stiff and calloused, another day dawns. In it, in this new day, a scene plays forth. A man of many years, worn by time and unaware of life around him, stumbles in the foggy mist of mind bending age. His wife and his daughter take him by the hands. Sacred hands, hands that once played with tender children and grandchildren. Hands that taught and hands that often were clasped in mighty prayer to God. Hands, now weak and unaware, are now held to guide and steady him. A shell of who he once was, stumbling as the women in his life struggle to help him to rest in his bed. With tears in their eyes they plead with him to convey an understanding that will not come. 

Witnessing this solemn moment, a moment when realization descends on those you love that mortality is at its end, is a scene that breaks through the veil of a new understanding. A miracle was found this day and it was in these women. 

Miracles do not exist in the temporal needs of our earthen struggles.  For what is a miracle? Employment or money? Those things that buy more things that potentially lead us into lives that lead us away from what matters? Today I have enough, enough for my family and me, that is all I need. Work will come and go but miracles are found in the lives around me, not in my temporal desires. True miracles exist in the lives of those who serve. Those who love with pure desire become the miracle. In that miracle of giving, that sacrifice of all, breathes forth new life. A life that will never die but will live in serenity through eternity. 

As one life comes to a close, mine is renewed with faith in the service I see. The miracles of all who serve and give their all to those they love. In my life, I see this in these women I love. A wife, willing to give up her golden years to nurse an ailing husband. A daughter, willing to move on, away from a life she knew to help her fading father.

Today I prayed for a miracle that never came. It never came so that I could see. So that I could see the true miracle, the miracle that is the love in the hearts of those who serve.  

 -The Feeble Soul

© 2013

5 Minute Fit on the Floor

A 4 year old, lost in time, sitting on the floor. Afraid and unaware of what was going on. A shackling forced upon the tenderly young body. Tears of misunderstanding rolled down his lightly freckled face as he stared into the carpet, forever changed.

It all began with a limp and an inquisitive farmer of a father. A quick measurement of the uneven legs confirmed a problem, a battle of body within. Legg-Perthes disease, a hip disorder, a disease cured with leg braces.

Returning home from the doctor’s office in this body binding and seemingly limiting device produced a fit that only a 4 year old is skilled enough to enact. The tantrum was not long in its duration but after five minutes of crying on the floor the flood of fury and dejection ended. Getting up off the floor, life began. This was not so much a display of courage on the boy’s part but more of a reflection of the determination and deep love on the part of the two parents. Hearts aching with sorrow and doubt, they looked on. They encouraged the boy with gentleness but treated him like the others. Bicycles were ridden, soccer was played, ice skates used and a seemingly hobbled boy pretended not to notice the braces. Braces with a 14 inch bar between the knees to keep the legs at an angle to allow the hip to repair. There was never any physical pain, just a squeak when the metal needed greased that served as a relentless reminder.

When there was any walking, standing or anything else involving mobility, the braces had to be worn. Treated as a lifeline, the lesson from the doctor was that healing would only come if the braces were always used. Save for one time, a quick jog across a private bedroom when he was alone, did the young boy always wear the braces when upright and moving.

A soccer game played and a father looked on. The ball passed right between the boy’s spread out legs. He ran on, without any concern but for winning the game. All the while his father wept with anguish. His mother also looked on from time to time, questioning her actions and the unknown possibility of being the cause of the disease herself. 

Two years of restriction and success was around the corner until a doctor returned with discouragement and troubling x-rays. The disease had spread to the other hip. Another 3 years passed, 5 total before liberation finally occurred. The healing completed at the age of 9, after most of the boy’s childhood had faded away.

               

In the Idaho countryside one does not sit around, especially with brothers, sisters, horses, dogs, cats, and thousands of acres for a back yard. Living life was not up for debate or discussion, it simply happened. No choice was made, except on that one day, the first day, after the five minute fit on the floor.

Life hits us so hard sometimes that we feel as if we have been shackled and slammed to the floor. It hurts, we are confused, and often we cry. Our hearts are frozen, cracking, aching, on the verge of shattering. Shattering into a billion pieces, only to melt into a dark puddle of pain.

Rising up out of the ashes of our aching soul, crying out with anguish, we must choose the life that has been given freely. We must choose to embrace our eternal exaltation. We must live our life, hand in hand with our Savior. Looking into our past, into the trials we have faced, we must look further. We must look back far enough to glimpse the Master. Once we can see past our pain and suffering and into His life of long ago, we then are freed. Liberated and released from whatever it is we face.

In the present we often cry out for understanding and for help with our new limitations or ones that have lingered for what seems eons. Once thought conquered we often find they have only shifted to another part of us. Pushing us on to endure when we feel we can no longer. After the tears are shed and the sounds of sorrow exhausted we have one of two choices. Once we have finished our ‘five minute fit on the floor’ we have a decision to make. Do we continue in debilitating despondency? Do we throw our hands up in confusion and lay down to dissolve into despair, never to rise again? The only other choice we have then is to live. To get up, to choose to live with Him.

 -The Feeble Soul

© 2013