Easily Fooled

I’m verbose today, no? But I’ve had this thought brewing in my head for a while, and wanted to put it down before it vanished.

In 2 Nephi 32:8, we’re told that “. . . if ye would hearken unto the Spirit which teacheth a man to pray ye would know that ye must pray; for the evil spirit teacheth not a man to pray, but teacheth him that he must not pray.”

So when I allowed myself to get caught up with the crystals, the Holy Ghost was warning me that I was treading in deep waters. But when those thoughts came, that scripture came to mind. And I would think, No one is telling me not to pray and would justify it to myself. And I prayed, perhaps not as much as I had been in the habit of, but I did still pray.

It wasn’t until one day last week, after I’d visited with the bishop, discarded the crystals and books, and changed my focus that I realized the subtle snare that I had walked right into. I was told that this crystal will help you feel calmer, and that crystal will do that, and so on.  So I had a little bag of small crystals that I was carrying around with me, and I had larger crystals on my desk at work.

You probably already see where this is leading, don’t you? I’m ashamed that it took me so long to figure out. I was turning to something other than God for the answers to my unuttered prayers. If I wanted to feel peaceful and calm, I wasn’t praying about it; rather, I was depending on a crystal to help me find that peace. And it was working to a certain extent, not because of any inherent virtue in the crystal, but because I was falling into that trap and the opposition was letting up.

But the Spirit did continue to strive within me, and I saw very clearly that I was at a crossroads. I had to choose which direction to go. And it was a conscious decision. I had sort of drifted aimlessly into the path I was on because of the love and acceptance I was feeling from my friends. But then the enemy wanted me to decide to continue on that path.

I’m so glad that at that time my husband was there for me and spoke to me very clearly, and we read scriptures together, and talked, and by the end of an hour I had resolved to turn back around. And I’m so glad that the bishop was able to see me right away, so I could unburden myself and begin repenting.

That was a difficult, yet important, lesson to learn. Just because someone isn’t standing in front of your face, wagging a finger and saying, “Now don’t you dare pray!” doesn’t mean that you aren’t being told not to pray.

I’ll bet I’ve prayed more in the last 2 weeks than I have in the last year. And I’m so sorry that I got so far astray. I’m just so grateful for an atonement that allows me to repent and come back in my figurative sackcloth and ashes.

My Life Has a Purpose?

There’s a primary song that starts, “My life is a gift; my life has a plan. My life has a purpose, in heaven it began.”

Ever since I found out that I just flat out wasn’t going to have children, whether by giving birth or adopting, in this life, I’ve been wondering what my purpose in life is. That wondering has waxed and waned multiple times over the years, but I never felt that I found firm direction and guidance.

Back in ‘99 and 2000, pre-IVF, I was very involved in family history research. I’ve got some very tricky family lines, and trying to find out anything at all was very difficult. But I had a calling to serve in the family history center, and loved it, and loved the euphoric feeling whenever I did find anything that tied into one of those tricky lines.

Last night I was pondering again about my purpose in life. Why am I here? I mean, specifically. Me. 

And while I was thinking about that, I began to think that I needed to put some things on my desk at work to replace the crystals I got rid of. So I went into the room that is called our home office, but which is in reality a junk room right now, and began looking for my stacks of postcards and prints. I found a photograph I took in the Sacred Grove, another really cool photo of the Salt Lake temple, and a photo my husband took of me standing next to the statue of Joseph & Hyrum Smith in Carthage. I also found a few other inspirational prints and my LDS scripture-a-day calendar, so I gathered them together to put into my handbag and take them to work.

And while I was looking for those items, I started wondering where the stash of family history papers I’d accumulated had gotten off to. I began searching, but the room is literally piled high with bags of clothing that need to be gotten rid of, my husband’s unassembled drum kit, stacks of telephony manuals, etc., that I couldn’t find it. I left the room, and then determined to look once more. And there it was. A shallow, long box was perched atop the small bookcase in front of the window, and it was stuffed to the brim with papers.

With difficulty I was able to reach over the bass drum and get hold of the box. I took it into the living room and did a very fast and dirty search through the box. There are tons of duplicate pages, as I never took the time to get everything organized and put together. I found the programs from my paternal grandparents’ funerals, and the memorial card from my father-in-law’s funeral. I found photographs I’d taken of some graves in Amarillo, along with a map of that particular cemetery. I found copies of photographs of relatives and ancestors, pedigree charts, family group sheets, places where I’d scribbled notes to myself, letters from now-deceased relatives–a veritable treasure trove.

I took about half the papers out of the box, and put them into a tote bag, along with a thick binder, so I can begin to get everything organized. And I downloaded PAF from the FamilySearch website. And I’m going to get back to work on my family history and genealogical research.

It’s good to have some direction.

Oh, and my desk now has some very inspiring photographs and prints and beautiful things for me to look at during the day.

Feelin’ the Love!

Remember when I said that my childhood self totally planned to marry Speed Racer when I grew up?

 

Well, Friday night the incomparable Izzybella and L-2 went to a movie together. And they got me a poster for the new Speed Racer movie!  Woot! It’s hanging on a wall in my office where I can see it all the time.

Anyone wanna join me Friday night? ‘Cause on account of you know where I’ll be.

Okay, changing subject but still on topic, my dogs love me. I’m not sure, though, how much of this is love and how much is competition between each other. See, pre-Scout, Molly never slept with me. Oh, sure, she’d hop up on the bed with me for a while, get some loves, enjoy some Mommy-and-me time, and then she’d either scoot under the bed or go sleep on the couch. But Scout is firmly convinced that his nighttime place is wherever I happen to be.

And I haven’t bought a new futon mattress yet. I can’t get it until this weekend. This means that I’ve been sleeping on the couch. It’s a comfy couch, but it’s not deep and wide. Basically there’s room for me to lie on the couch, and that’s about it. But Molly claims her spot on the end of the couch, and Scout claims his spot behind the backs of my knees. Honestly, that doesn’t leave me a whole lotta room! I’m just sayin’.

And I’ve tried routing Molly off, so that Scout wouldn’t want up, but that doesn’t work. He genuinely feels he must sleep with me. And she’ll occasionally get down, albeit whilst giving me dirty looks the whole time, but once he’s settled in, she hops back up.

Aargh!

We have a hideous mattress in the master bedroom, and it’s not overly comfortable. Not to me, anyway–Mom likes it when she’s in town. And we no longer have a frame for that bed. We’ve put off getting one until we replaced the whole shebang, and since Joe’s gone so much of the time, the futon and/or sofa have been working just fine. Right now the mattress set is perched atop 4 buckets of wheat (well, food storage has to go somewhere!), only it keeps sliding off one of them. So Izzy’s going to come over this evening and help me maneuver the mattress set off the wheat buckets and just lay it on the floor. It’s a queen size mattress, which is even larger than the futon, so I figure there should be enough room for me, Molly, and Scout. And Joe, when he gets home on Thursday.

So on the one hand, I feel very, very loved by my dogs, even though part of it–at least on Molly’s part–is sheer competitiveness. On the other hand, I feel so cramped at night!

And speaking of the competitiveness between the dogs, Molly’s started a bad habit. Pre-Scout, I’d give her a treat, and she’d take it gently between her teeth. No fear on my part. But he will take stuff right out of her mouth, so she’s started eagerly snapping at the treats, which leaves me in fear for the safety of my limbs. I’ve got to remember to lay them on my palms so they can take them from me without having to snap. And Molly’s started getting even with Scout. Any time he carelessly leaves a treat laying around, she’ll go pick it up and take it off. He gets even with her getting even with him by taking her toys. It’s so funny–we’ll have several toys on the floor, and they both bicker over the same toy. If Scout doesn’t have the giant multi-coloured caterpillar, Molly doesn’t want it. But let him pick it up, and she’ll sit there and glare at him until he goes off for a drink of water or to give me a kiss, and then it’s in her mouth faster than you can blink. 

They’re just like toddlers! I swear! I haven’t worked in the church nursery in many years, but I distinctly remember a 3-year-old boy hitting a 2-year-old girl over the head with a plastic firetruck because she had a toy he wanted.