There is a transformation that takes place when a woman moves from being a “forty-something” year old mother of teenagers to being a grandmother. One of the early signs of this change is the acquisition of little eccentric things around the house. It’s quite unexplainable, but grandmothers purchase things to hang on walls and sit on shelves they wouldn’t have considered bringing home in the past. Quite often these are fragile things that little children find fascinating but are not allowed play with: figurines, music boxes, lava lamps, doorbells that play Christmas carols etc. Clocks are high on the “top-ten-list” of grandmotherly acquisitions. My Grandma on my Dad’s side owned a cuckoo clock. It just wasn’t grandma’s house unless that cuckoo squawked out every new hour, on the hour, all night long, followed by a little German folk song. My Grandma on my Mother’s side had a cat clock on the kitchen wall. As the seconds ticked away the tail of the cat which hung below the clock wagged back and forth, and the big round eyes on the face of the cat clock looked left and then right in concert. Strange but quite captivating.
A novelty clock was my first peculiar purchase when I became a grandma. I’m sure I have made others, but I think one becomes so accustomed to being a grandma that we stop noticing. The transformation is almost imperceptible. And our home decorating is not the only sign. One day we simply decided our own mother was perfectly sensible in wearing an apron when she cooked Sunday dinner, and we get one of the many we have inherited but never worn out of a drawer, and we tie it about our waste. More and more often we hear ourselves saying to young people, “Well, when I was a little girl…” Hot cereal is a treat, and finding a pair of sensible shoes is a thing to celebrate. Who knows how it is accomplished. Only God can make a Grandma.
This week I had an experience that involved my bird clock. I share this experience at some personal risk, the risk of revealing that my mind is also showing my age. The other evening I was eating dinner on the back patio. While I was eating I heard my clock announce the hour of the day. Each hour is sounded off by a different birdcall. Several other times in the last ten years I’ve heard this particular call while I’ve been outside close to my house. My mother has a similar clock and lives just across the street. “Perhaps there are others in our maturing neighborhood who own the same clock,” I always wonder. This particular call is so mechanical I can hardly believe there’s a real bird that makes such a noise. I was in a hurry to finish eating and get to an evening appointment. I glanced down at my watch. It read 6:20. “What, my clock must be broken. That bird call is not sounding on the hour.” Then came the great awakening. “Wait a minute! Could that be a real bird! Could it possibly be that every time I’ve been outside and heard that call it’s been a real bird?” My mother phoned while I was taking this in. “Oh, you mean the Morning Dove,” she laughed as I told her about “my moment.”
The next day as I was riding my bike I heard the call of the morning dove again. This time I didn’t wonder which grandma in the neighborhood had just bought a bird clock. No! I looked around and sure enough, up on the telephone wire was the real thing. I was suddenly mindful or awake to something that had always been a reality.
Step 12 speaks of having “a spiritual awakening as a result of Atonement of Jesus Christ.” As we apply Steps 1 through 11 the cumulative effect is a growing spiritual awareness. The before and after distinction is so great that sometimes we say we have come from a place where we were spiritually asleep or dead. This spiritual awakening is directly connected to Jesus. Over time and with hard work we become awake to the Lord. We become acutely aware that the Savior we have read about, and sung about, and been taught about all our lives is more alive and interested in us as individuals than we ever dared imagine.
As a result of applying these Gospel principles to my everyday life I am waking up. I’m beginning to see and feel and hear His persistent witness, to me personally, that He is alive. Through the Holy Spirit I’m learning to recognize His voice. I’m learning to feel His presence. I have experienced His desire to give me direction and power in any aspect of life where I struggle.
My experience with the Morning Dove reminds me of my experience with the Lord, who the Apostle John called “Morning Star.” With the little dove I became suddenly and keenly aware that the call I was hearing was the voice of a living thing. Now that I’m conscious I hear that little bird call many times each day. My awakening to the Lord has been a gradual process but just a real. As I sit hear writing with my office window open I can hear the call of a nearby dove. I think the Lord must intend the little bird and his call to forever remind me that my living Savior is very much alive and always near!
By Nannette W.
Posted Sunday, May 31, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day, Celebrating The Power to Live On!
This morning I attended a recovery meeting using the technology of the phone bridge. Present at the meeting were more than thirty participants from all spiritual walks of life. The reading for this meeting came from an AA piece of literature called “Came to Believe.” I listened as one participant after another took part in reading a story about a man whose wife had been diagnosed with cancer. Instead of resorting to his former means of coping, God guided him to seek fellowship in AA. His AA friends encouraged him to pray for the power to accept the will of God in regard to the life or death of his wife. The story concludes in great happiness. The man’s wife was blessed with the gift of health and life and they went on to enjoy many happy sober days together.
As I listened my thoughts were driven to my own experience with my father who, in the spring of 1970 was diagnosed with cancer. Today is Memorial Day. It’s the day we all travel to the grave where my mother and my Grandpa and Grandma and a batch of seven little children ages 3 to 16 placed his body in the summer of 1971.
As I listened to the reading I thought, “Nannette, you need to share your experience with the many people listening in at this meeting. Your story did not end like the one being read, but tell all the people listening in at 5:00 am on a Memorial Day morning that your experience with the blessing of God was no less miraculous.”
I gathered my courage. “I’d like to share,” I ventured in. For the next three minutes I told the friends I only know by voice and not by face of my father’s illness. I spoke of the positive mental attitude – the “I know that he will live” - kind of faith I tried to hang on to through the year he was so very sick. I told them how finally, as a family, in prayer, we became willing to completely turn our will and his life over to the care of God and that God took him home.
Then I testified, not of the Lord’s power to heal and restore life, although I know He surely can, but that He can and does and did in the case of our family, bless us in the face of great tragedy. We were given power from above just a surely as if we had been given life itself. The miracle God had in store for us was the heart, might, mind, and strength to go on living. He did not preserve the life of my Father, but He filled us, the living, with that peace “that passeth understanding.” He surrounded us with human sustenance in the form of family and friends whose love and support has been endless, and He illuminated the way before us. The Lord witnessed to us that because of His great redeeming sacrifice our Dad would Live On and that He could and would help us to Go On. The Lord’s power to heal is very real, but the most common miracle, the one that we may each experience in this life is the renewal of our own lives in the face of great loss and the power the live on!
By Nannette W.
Posted Monday, May 25, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
As I listened my thoughts were driven to my own experience with my father who, in the spring of 1970 was diagnosed with cancer. Today is Memorial Day. It’s the day we all travel to the grave where my mother and my Grandpa and Grandma and a batch of seven little children ages 3 to 16 placed his body in the summer of 1971.
As I listened to the reading I thought, “Nannette, you need to share your experience with the many people listening in at this meeting. Your story did not end like the one being read, but tell all the people listening in at 5:00 am on a Memorial Day morning that your experience with the blessing of God was no less miraculous.”
I gathered my courage. “I’d like to share,” I ventured in. For the next three minutes I told the friends I only know by voice and not by face of my father’s illness. I spoke of the positive mental attitude – the “I know that he will live” - kind of faith I tried to hang on to through the year he was so very sick. I told them how finally, as a family, in prayer, we became willing to completely turn our will and his life over to the care of God and that God took him home.
Then I testified, not of the Lord’s power to heal and restore life, although I know He surely can, but that He can and does and did in the case of our family, bless us in the face of great tragedy. We were given power from above just a surely as if we had been given life itself. The miracle God had in store for us was the heart, might, mind, and strength to go on living. He did not preserve the life of my Father, but He filled us, the living, with that peace “that passeth understanding.” He surrounded us with human sustenance in the form of family and friends whose love and support has been endless, and He illuminated the way before us. The Lord witnessed to us that because of His great redeeming sacrifice our Dad would Live On and that He could and would help us to Go On. The Lord’s power to heal is very real, but the most common miracle, the one that we may each experience in this life is the renewal of our own lives in the face of great loss and the power the live on!
By Nannette W.
Posted Monday, May 25, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Monday, May 18, 2009
The Light at the End of the Tunnel – Steps 10, 11, and 12 The Maintenance Steps
Sunday I attended church with my children and their children. The service closed and before Carson could run off (I mean walk reverently) to Primary I grabbed him and gave him a big hug and asked him how he had enjoyed the Saturday excursion with his family to the zoo.
He reported that it had been fine and fun, “except for the part where I was walking through the prairie dog tunnel and I saw the light and thought I was out of the tunnel and stood up and hit my head on the top of the tunnel!”
Carson ran off to Primary. I thought about how many times in my journey through life I’ve seen the light at the end of the tunnel and thought I’d arrived. And what do I get for my anxious desire to be completely out of the dark? I get a bump on the head and a big reminder that the light I can see up ahead in this tunnel called “mortality” is God’s encouraging invitation for me to press forward in the dark, not a sign that I’ve arrived!
By Nannette W.
Posted Monday, May 18, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
He reported that it had been fine and fun, “except for the part where I was walking through the prairie dog tunnel and I saw the light and thought I was out of the tunnel and stood up and hit my head on the top of the tunnel!”
Carson ran off to Primary. I thought about how many times in my journey through life I’ve seen the light at the end of the tunnel and thought I’d arrived. And what do I get for my anxious desire to be completely out of the dark? I get a bump on the head and a big reminder that the light I can see up ahead in this tunnel called “mortality” is God’s encouraging invitation for me to press forward in the dark, not a sign that I’ve arrived!
By Nannette W.
Posted Monday, May 18, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Yellow Bedroom
In my home there is a room that in hindsight seems to have had a dedicated purpose. This room is affectionately known as the Yellow Bedroom. When I moved into this home in 1975 I had just had my first child, a little girl, and this small room with pale yellow walls became the nursery. Over the next thirteen years four more babies were introduced to our home and given a place in the Yellow Bedroom.
As the children grew older they began to occupy others rooms of the house and the mission of the little yellow room expanded. Over the next many years it became a place of safety and nurture for step children, my Grandma who had broken her hip, my mother as she recovered from quadruple bypass surgery on her heart, friends of my children who were here to attend school, and a place of recovery from addiction for two foster daughters and one Great Dane who came a puppy and evolved into a small live-in pony. No matter who occupied the Yellow Bedroom they become fully a part of our family.
There is something very sacred to me about inviting someone to be a part of my home and family. This experience has come to me through the blessing of childbirth and also as God has simply delivered others to my home for a time, and time after time it has seemed just right to invite them to be a part of us.
One day while I was reading the scriptures I ran across an ancient term for this experience. In the Book of Mormon we are told of a man named Zoram who leaves Jerusalem and travels to the Land of Promise with the family of Lehi. Zoram is given the great opportunity to move out of a city that is going to soon be destroyed and “have place” with Lehi’s family. The stipulations are that he must remain with the family and be true to his oath - keep his promises. (see 1 Nephi 4:34)
As I read about Zoram I was struck with the truth that the Lord’s offer to each of us is very similar. He has extended the opportunity to you and me individually to “have place” with Him. He says, “In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also” (John 14:2-3) To have place with someone is “to occupy the same space or location, to occupy the same position, class, capacity, character, situation, state, station, and to have the same job or work.”
Over the years I have come to terms with the fact that I cannot “give place” in the Yellow Bedroom to everyone my heart goes out to. Today the sweet little room is my place for prayer and study and writing. It comforts me to know that our Lord has “many mansions,” and that there is no shortage of room, no lack of “place.” As with Zoram, the only stipulation is that we remain committed to The Family and continue to grow in our ability to keep our promises.
The result of doing the will of the Lord, of keeping His commandments, of living true to my covenants is to be “have place” with Him. That’s no small reward. It is to occupy the location, be gifted with the capacity, and share in the work of God.
By Nannette W.
Posted Thursday, May 14, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
As the children grew older they began to occupy others rooms of the house and the mission of the little yellow room expanded. Over the next many years it became a place of safety and nurture for step children, my Grandma who had broken her hip, my mother as she recovered from quadruple bypass surgery on her heart, friends of my children who were here to attend school, and a place of recovery from addiction for two foster daughters and one Great Dane who came a puppy and evolved into a small live-in pony. No matter who occupied the Yellow Bedroom they become fully a part of our family.
There is something very sacred to me about inviting someone to be a part of my home and family. This experience has come to me through the blessing of childbirth and also as God has simply delivered others to my home for a time, and time after time it has seemed just right to invite them to be a part of us.
One day while I was reading the scriptures I ran across an ancient term for this experience. In the Book of Mormon we are told of a man named Zoram who leaves Jerusalem and travels to the Land of Promise with the family of Lehi. Zoram is given the great opportunity to move out of a city that is going to soon be destroyed and “have place” with Lehi’s family. The stipulations are that he must remain with the family and be true to his oath - keep his promises. (see 1 Nephi 4:34)
As I read about Zoram I was struck with the truth that the Lord’s offer to each of us is very similar. He has extended the opportunity to you and me individually to “have place” with Him. He says, “In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also” (John 14:2-3) To have place with someone is “to occupy the same space or location, to occupy the same position, class, capacity, character, situation, state, station, and to have the same job or work.”
Over the years I have come to terms with the fact that I cannot “give place” in the Yellow Bedroom to everyone my heart goes out to. Today the sweet little room is my place for prayer and study and writing. It comforts me to know that our Lord has “many mansions,” and that there is no shortage of room, no lack of “place.” As with Zoram, the only stipulation is that we remain committed to The Family and continue to grow in our ability to keep our promises.
The result of doing the will of the Lord, of keeping His commandments, of living true to my covenants is to be “have place” with Him. That’s no small reward. It is to occupy the location, be gifted with the capacity, and share in the work of God.
By Nannette W.
Posted Thursday, May 14, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
"I Learned How to Love Them, Dear Mother, from You "– Perfectionism and Step 11
As I live my days, I often find myself overwhelmed at the seemingly infinite number of good things to do. I feel confined by time and space and body. I wish with all my heart that I could do it all. With goals and planners, I try to make sure I don’t miss anything. Even so, it seems I can never hug enough, visit enough, help enough, get everything clean enough, study enough, teach enough, be awake long enough, sleep in enough, sing enough, or save enough pictures or scraps of memory.
It is said that we must ‘seize the day,’ but I swear I cannot take in the whole of it. I try and try, but I am always left with the feeling that dozens of good things are falling out of my arms. The Eternal in me cries out to be free to live and love it all. While all of nature seems to be filling the measure of its creation, I seem to be incapable of filling the measure of my own.
Despite all these feelings, however, I often find myself inadvertently humming a little melody. One day, as I was busy with the many activities of my life, I caught myself humming again. This time I took note of just which song it was and filled in the words:
"I often go walking in the meadows of clover
And I gather armfuls of blossoms of blue.
I gather the blossoms the whole meadow over.
Dear Mother, all flowers remind me of you."
This song always has and always will remind me of my own sweet mother, but this day, out of the blue, into my mind came a new view and a new understanding. In my imagination the blossoms were transformed into all the good things there are to choose from on this Earth. The vast meadow became all of creation, and my Mother in Heaven became the Mother I am reminded of by every sweet and beautiful thing. With this realization came a definite knowing that once, long ago as Her child, I learned to gather armfuls of flowers all over creation. There was no lack of time or strength or resources. There was only joy and delight in gathering what I saw Her gather. And so it came to my mind that perhaps my love for harvesting every good thing on earth has its roots in Heaven.
As I allowed this image to dwell in my mind I imagined the words she might speak to me and to each of Her daughters:
Dear Daughter,
All good is of God. May you be blessed to discern the will of the Jesus Christ. His word to you, through the Holy Spirit, will tell you the good He would have you do. Remember, that you are in a meadow of darkness. As you search in the darkness, using only His Light to lead you from flower to flower, from good to good, each flower you bring to me is most precious. Because of your willingness and desire to glean beauty even in darkness, every flower you gather is wonderful to me! The value of each Christ directed task you do more than makes up for all the flowers we have gathered in the brightness of Heaven. Peacefully surrender and bring me only those flowers He directs and empowers you to bring. It is enough!
And then, there was only the last verse of the song left to sing. This is my reply:
“Dear Mother, I bring you my love with each flower.
To send forth sweet fragrance a whole lifetime through.
For if I love flowers and meadows and walking
I learned how to love them dear Mother, from you.”
P.S. This is my Earthly Mother’s favorite Mothers Day song too. She's the one who taught me about His Light and pointed out to me that the finest flowers from Heaven on Earth are the Gospel of Jesus Christ and my family. I thank her with all my heart.
By Nannette W.
Posted Saturday, May 9, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
It is said that we must ‘seize the day,’ but I swear I cannot take in the whole of it. I try and try, but I am always left with the feeling that dozens of good things are falling out of my arms. The Eternal in me cries out to be free to live and love it all. While all of nature seems to be filling the measure of its creation, I seem to be incapable of filling the measure of my own.
Despite all these feelings, however, I often find myself inadvertently humming a little melody. One day, as I was busy with the many activities of my life, I caught myself humming again. This time I took note of just which song it was and filled in the words:
"I often go walking in the meadows of clover
And I gather armfuls of blossoms of blue.
I gather the blossoms the whole meadow over.
Dear Mother, all flowers remind me of you."
This song always has and always will remind me of my own sweet mother, but this day, out of the blue, into my mind came a new view and a new understanding. In my imagination the blossoms were transformed into all the good things there are to choose from on this Earth. The vast meadow became all of creation, and my Mother in Heaven became the Mother I am reminded of by every sweet and beautiful thing. With this realization came a definite knowing that once, long ago as Her child, I learned to gather armfuls of flowers all over creation. There was no lack of time or strength or resources. There was only joy and delight in gathering what I saw Her gather. And so it came to my mind that perhaps my love for harvesting every good thing on earth has its roots in Heaven.
As I allowed this image to dwell in my mind I imagined the words she might speak to me and to each of Her daughters:
Dear Daughter,
All good is of God. May you be blessed to discern the will of the Jesus Christ. His word to you, through the Holy Spirit, will tell you the good He would have you do. Remember, that you are in a meadow of darkness. As you search in the darkness, using only His Light to lead you from flower to flower, from good to good, each flower you bring to me is most precious. Because of your willingness and desire to glean beauty even in darkness, every flower you gather is wonderful to me! The value of each Christ directed task you do more than makes up for all the flowers we have gathered in the brightness of Heaven. Peacefully surrender and bring me only those flowers He directs and empowers you to bring. It is enough!
And then, there was only the last verse of the song left to sing. This is my reply:
“Dear Mother, I bring you my love with each flower.
To send forth sweet fragrance a whole lifetime through.
For if I love flowers and meadows and walking
I learned how to love them dear Mother, from you.”
P.S. This is my Earthly Mother’s favorite Mothers Day song too. She's the one who taught me about His Light and pointed out to me that the finest flowers from Heaven on Earth are the Gospel of Jesus Christ and my family. I thank her with all my heart.
By Nannette W.
Posted Saturday, May 9, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
“To Be Opened and Used Immediately!”
My mother-in-law was very generous with other people but frugal to a fault with herself. She was a serious minded young adult during the Great Depression. Thus she brought into her future, the modern age of materialism and waste, and into family view, a curious attitude toward gifts. Finding the right gift for her at Christmas, Mothers Day, and on her Birthday, was forever troublesome to me. I would worry worry worry over the perfect gift, find great delight in finally purchasing it, and then watch as she opened it, for any sign of joy and excitement.
Her reaction to my gifts was as predictable as the sunset. No matter what I’d purchased for her it was either the wrong kind of something, or something she didn’t feel she really needed, or, and this was the hardest of all, it was something too nice to use now. Most gifts were either returned or put on a shelf or under plastic, to be saved for a special occasion. One year for Christmas I searched and searched until I found a robe I thought she would enjoy. On a hanger, under plastic, and into the back of the closet it went. She said she would save it for a future hospital stay. And bless her heart, when she died it was still in the back of the closet.
In recent years I’ve become aware that I am not so different from my mother in law when it comes to accepting and using certain gifts. As crazy as it might seem, the gifts I seem to be most resistant to and suspicious of are the gifts sent from God. Instead of continually receiving them and putting them to good use today, I’m tempted with the thought that they’re just not quite right, not what I wanted or need at this time, or that they are so special perhaps I should store them away for another day.
I found a scripture that in the Doctrine and Covenants that helped me to see that one of the things Jesus was perfect at was receiving gifts (grace) from His Father. Being a perfect gift (grace) receiver was a very important part of fulfilling His mission.
Jesus did not return or reject even one of the gifts (grace) sent from Above. In Doctrine and Covenants 93:12-14 it says that Jesus accepted every gift sent by His Heavenly Father. “And I, John saw that He received not of the fullness at first, but received grace for grace.”
Next John tells us that the way he progressed toward all His Father would have Him receive (a fullness) was to act upon or use the gifts of God to fulfill His mission. “And He received not of the fullness at first but continued from grace to grace, until he received a fullness.” To “continue” is to “endure, to last, to persist.” Jesus was able to endured as He received and put to use gift after gift from His Father.
Jesus himself was the greatest example of receiving grace from His Father. We become more and more like Jesus Christ as we more consistently receive (accept) grace for grace and then continue from grace to grace (endure by acting upon the gifts received).
Recovery, healing, and progress are made possible in proportion to my willingness to receive and use the gifts the Lord chooses to send me today. The Lord doesn’t send “white elephants” and the Lord doesn’t send gifts that are so fragile or seasonal or special that they must sit in storage. He sends me the perfect gift. He sends me what is expedient, what I really need, when I need it. And written on all His packages, all His gracious gifts, are the words, “To Be Opened and Used Immediately!”
By Nannette W.
Posted Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Her reaction to my gifts was as predictable as the sunset. No matter what I’d purchased for her it was either the wrong kind of something, or something she didn’t feel she really needed, or, and this was the hardest of all, it was something too nice to use now. Most gifts were either returned or put on a shelf or under plastic, to be saved for a special occasion. One year for Christmas I searched and searched until I found a robe I thought she would enjoy. On a hanger, under plastic, and into the back of the closet it went. She said she would save it for a future hospital stay. And bless her heart, when she died it was still in the back of the closet.
In recent years I’ve become aware that I am not so different from my mother in law when it comes to accepting and using certain gifts. As crazy as it might seem, the gifts I seem to be most resistant to and suspicious of are the gifts sent from God. Instead of continually receiving them and putting them to good use today, I’m tempted with the thought that they’re just not quite right, not what I wanted or need at this time, or that they are so special perhaps I should store them away for another day.
I found a scripture that in the Doctrine and Covenants that helped me to see that one of the things Jesus was perfect at was receiving gifts (grace) from His Father. Being a perfect gift (grace) receiver was a very important part of fulfilling His mission.
Jesus did not return or reject even one of the gifts (grace) sent from Above. In Doctrine and Covenants 93:12-14 it says that Jesus accepted every gift sent by His Heavenly Father. “And I, John saw that He received not of the fullness at first, but received grace for grace.”
Next John tells us that the way he progressed toward all His Father would have Him receive (a fullness) was to act upon or use the gifts of God to fulfill His mission. “And He received not of the fullness at first but continued from grace to grace, until he received a fullness.” To “continue” is to “endure, to last, to persist.” Jesus was able to endured as He received and put to use gift after gift from His Father.
Jesus himself was the greatest example of receiving grace from His Father. We become more and more like Jesus Christ as we more consistently receive (accept) grace for grace and then continue from grace to grace (endure by acting upon the gifts received).
Recovery, healing, and progress are made possible in proportion to my willingness to receive and use the gifts the Lord chooses to send me today. The Lord doesn’t send “white elephants” and the Lord doesn’t send gifts that are so fragile or seasonal or special that they must sit in storage. He sends me the perfect gift. He sends me what is expedient, what I really need, when I need it. And written on all His packages, all His gracious gifts, are the words, “To Be Opened and Used Immediately!”
By Nannette W.
Posted Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The Family Photo Shoot – “Smile…PLEASE!” Step 6
There should be studies made by university Family Science graduate students at family photo sessions. Perhaps more family frustration is generated during the attempt to capture the “happy family” group for posterity than at any other family function. When friends tell me that they are going to have a family picture taken I almost feel like I should take a meal in. What to wear? Where to go? Indoor or out? How much money to spend? Who will be missing in the photo, and is that acceptable? Those are some of the frustrations and issues that have to be addressed far in advance. We collect opinions, change locations, and change the time and the tee shirt color scheme so many times that on the actual day of the event relatives may struggle to remember which plan was eventually settled upon.
One year, two of my daughters had what I refer to as a “clothes war” just minutes before our scheduled appointment. We all remember the tears that flowed just before we all stood together and said, “Cheese!” The picture hung on the wall for several years to both girls’ embarrassment, until we were all together again. It now resides in photo albums throughout the family. Every once in awhile we run across it while we’re together and the same little knowing smile comes to our lips.
Now that I’m the grandma the family photo shoot is bigger and more complicated than ever, with 11 adults and 10 children. Some things never change though. Last month I attended our first family reunion completely planned by my children. On a beautiful, crispy, spring morning the 21 of us met at a very picturesque location. We had successfully made it past all the discussion about time and location and clothing color. Everyone looked fabulous. Now all that was required was to follow the directions of the photographer and smile.
Things went relatively well with the big family shot. Children stood close to parents in family groups. Moms and dads held the babies; Grandma and Grandpa were in the middle.
The next shot we wanted was a picture of just the grandkids. Things deteriorated fast. A perfect spot was chosen; three picture perfect stone steps, just the right size for the ten of them. The oldest ones had the task of holding the babies. Knowing I won’t do it justice I will attempt to describe the situation:
For at least ten minutes all the adults (parents and grandparents) stood behind the photographer trying to do what ever they could possibly do, from in front of the scene, to somehow get the kids to cooperate and smile all at the same time. I’m sure you can imagine it. Fill in the picture with the faces of your own family. The kids were bombarded with helpful suggestions like, “say cheese or ice-cream.” Then the adults tried the comedian route - making funny faces, placing rabbit ears over one another’s heads, and making noises reserved only for making children laugh. Finally came the promises – rewards and threats, not to mention the way we kept flashing them huge smiles - trying to model for them what we were going after.
But alas, the babies and the toddlers and the two year olds continued to scream, and all the rest of the children (those between age five to ten) kept looking with disgust at all the criers, instead of looking at the camera. That’s just the way it was. It never improved. That’s the picture that got taken. I wish we had a picture of the adults trying with absolutely every thing they had to convince the children to be happy against their wills. That picture remains in my mind but is no less humorous than the picture of the kids wailing and whining.
As I took in this scene, into my mind came a picture of all of us, God’s family, having a photo shoot at The Extended Family Reunion. I imagined our Father our Brother Jesus and all the Holy Angles out in front of us, the “heavenly” siblings, trying to get us all to smile and be happy. I think the final product would be very much like the one that will hang on my wall soon. It would reflect a great truth:
No matter how intent and desirous God and others are to convincing us that things are just not that bad, it is not possible for them to change us against our wills. Sometimes when things go well I hear people say, “Heaven Smiles!” According to the resent study conducted at my family reunion, it doesn’t matter how big “Heaven Smiles.”
All the angles in heaven and on earth cannot convince me to be happy against my will. The “Heavenly” Photographer and all His helpers can plan for my happiness and remind me of all the things I have to smile about, but when He says, “1, 2, 3 Smile!” It’s all up to me.
By Nannette W.
Posted Sunday, May 3, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
One year, two of my daughters had what I refer to as a “clothes war” just minutes before our scheduled appointment. We all remember the tears that flowed just before we all stood together and said, “Cheese!” The picture hung on the wall for several years to both girls’ embarrassment, until we were all together again. It now resides in photo albums throughout the family. Every once in awhile we run across it while we’re together and the same little knowing smile comes to our lips.
Now that I’m the grandma the family photo shoot is bigger and more complicated than ever, with 11 adults and 10 children. Some things never change though. Last month I attended our first family reunion completely planned by my children. On a beautiful, crispy, spring morning the 21 of us met at a very picturesque location. We had successfully made it past all the discussion about time and location and clothing color. Everyone looked fabulous. Now all that was required was to follow the directions of the photographer and smile.
Things went relatively well with the big family shot. Children stood close to parents in family groups. Moms and dads held the babies; Grandma and Grandpa were in the middle.
The next shot we wanted was a picture of just the grandkids. Things deteriorated fast. A perfect spot was chosen; three picture perfect stone steps, just the right size for the ten of them. The oldest ones had the task of holding the babies. Knowing I won’t do it justice I will attempt to describe the situation:
For at least ten minutes all the adults (parents and grandparents) stood behind the photographer trying to do what ever they could possibly do, from in front of the scene, to somehow get the kids to cooperate and smile all at the same time. I’m sure you can imagine it. Fill in the picture with the faces of your own family. The kids were bombarded with helpful suggestions like, “say cheese or ice-cream.” Then the adults tried the comedian route - making funny faces, placing rabbit ears over one another’s heads, and making noises reserved only for making children laugh. Finally came the promises – rewards and threats, not to mention the way we kept flashing them huge smiles - trying to model for them what we were going after.
But alas, the babies and the toddlers and the two year olds continued to scream, and all the rest of the children (those between age five to ten) kept looking with disgust at all the criers, instead of looking at the camera. That’s just the way it was. It never improved. That’s the picture that got taken. I wish we had a picture of the adults trying with absolutely every thing they had to convince the children to be happy against their wills. That picture remains in my mind but is no less humorous than the picture of the kids wailing and whining.
As I took in this scene, into my mind came a picture of all of us, God’s family, having a photo shoot at The Extended Family Reunion. I imagined our Father our Brother Jesus and all the Holy Angles out in front of us, the “heavenly” siblings, trying to get us all to smile and be happy. I think the final product would be very much like the one that will hang on my wall soon. It would reflect a great truth:
No matter how intent and desirous God and others are to convincing us that things are just not that bad, it is not possible for them to change us against our wills. Sometimes when things go well I hear people say, “Heaven Smiles!” According to the resent study conducted at my family reunion, it doesn’t matter how big “Heaven Smiles.”
All the angles in heaven and on earth cannot convince me to be happy against my will. The “Heavenly” Photographer and all His helpers can plan for my happiness and remind me of all the things I have to smile about, but when He says, “1, 2, 3 Smile!” It’s all up to me.
By Nannette W.
Posted Sunday, May 3, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Triathlon - Part 3 (Final Thoughts)
My sharing about the lessons I learned during the triathlon come in three parts. First, I was taught that the number one, most essential element in accomplishing something hard is to TRY! I must resist the temptation to be afraid of how I look to others or to be embarrassed by how my skills stack up to my competitors’ abilities. Second, I am never alone. The Lord is my constant companion in carrying out any and all tasks, and often he rallies ordinary people to cheer me on.
Finally, I want to share several little things I observed in others and in myself that might make the next challenge I face (race or not) a good experience.
Enjoy the view:
The country surrounding me was absolutely beautiful - desert red plateaus in the foreground and snowcapped mountains in the distance. I made a conscious effort to bike and run with my head up. It reminded me of the advice I’ve received in facing other challenges, to not focus on the problem. As I looked out and tried to drink it all in it seemed to help me forget the hill I was climbing (the problem) and my tired legs (my own weakness).
Don’t be embarrassed by baby steps or using first gear:
I know President Kimball counseled us “to lengthen our stride.” I want to, I really do, but sometimes baby steps are all I’ve got in me. When I’m exhausted and tempted to sit down in the middle of the trail and be done before “it’s” over I remember that baby steps and first gear are a blessings. They keep me moving forward. Even if my progress is almost imperceptible, it’s real. Just pick one foot up and put it in front of the other.
Be prepared for surprises:
I should have seen it coming. It seems that no matter how familiar you think you are with the route, until you have actually, physically traveled the course, there will be some element of surprise. The first time I ran a half marathon I did a lot of training, at least more than I was use to. Down the mountain trail I would run Saturday after Saturday. This was a downhill event, and I love going downhill!!! My daughter and I ran the marathon together. I remember thinking, “Down Down Down! This is the only way to run a race!” Ahead of us, as far as I could see, was a stream of runners. Remembering my first race (10K 1992) and the solitary experience it had been, it was fun to keep my eyes on the other runners. This was progress. But suddenly I observed them doing something that immediately brought a sinking feeling to my heart and my legs. The whole group made a hairpin turn down below me and started jogging up hill. “No way!!!” I exasperated to my daughter and anyone else in earshot. “You said this was a down hill race!” The answer, of course, was “It mostly is Mom. SURPRISE!”
During the Triathlon 2009 I had a surprise as well. Just as I was finishing what I thought was the entire bike ride and thinking the 10 miles had gone unbelievably fast and thinking, “Yea for me!!!” – The biking official said something that clued in me to reality. I was only half way done. I would need to bike the entire hilly loop again. SURPRISE!
Biking finished; I was on to the run. As I looped back to where I had started the run there was little doubt in my mind. “We run this loop twice too, right?” “That’s Right.” Surprises are part of the adventure. They keep things interesting. Surprises cause me to rise to the occasion. Surprises make me do things that are hard that I wouldn’t have signed up for. Surprises make me strong.
It’s not about being finished:
When I was half way through the biking portion with the run still to go, to my total dismay, I saw that there were actually people walking their bikes back to their cars. Why? Because they were FINISHED! I mentioned my astonishment to the Lord and the thought that came back to me was, “Nannette, they’re not finished. They’re fast. They’re fast because they will be up every morning next week putting themselves through the paces again. They are going home, but they aren’t done. Being “finished” is a fantasy.”
Finally, it’s never going to be “all down hill from here”:
Sometime during the triathlon someone yelled out to me, “Hey, it’s all down hill from here.” They had no idea where I was in the race. I had many hills ahead of me. One of the most helpful things I have learned is that every important journey has lots of ups and downs. It doesn’t serve me well to imagine that I am going to magically arrive at a place where there is no more challenge. In fact there is a kind of serenity that comes when I accept the reality that I am not going to simply coast across the finish line, not in a race and not in life.
By Nannette W.
Posted Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Finally, I want to share several little things I observed in others and in myself that might make the next challenge I face (race or not) a good experience.
Enjoy the view:
The country surrounding me was absolutely beautiful - desert red plateaus in the foreground and snowcapped mountains in the distance. I made a conscious effort to bike and run with my head up. It reminded me of the advice I’ve received in facing other challenges, to not focus on the problem. As I looked out and tried to drink it all in it seemed to help me forget the hill I was climbing (the problem) and my tired legs (my own weakness).
Don’t be embarrassed by baby steps or using first gear:
I know President Kimball counseled us “to lengthen our stride.” I want to, I really do, but sometimes baby steps are all I’ve got in me. When I’m exhausted and tempted to sit down in the middle of the trail and be done before “it’s” over I remember that baby steps and first gear are a blessings. They keep me moving forward. Even if my progress is almost imperceptible, it’s real. Just pick one foot up and put it in front of the other.
Be prepared for surprises:
I should have seen it coming. It seems that no matter how familiar you think you are with the route, until you have actually, physically traveled the course, there will be some element of surprise. The first time I ran a half marathon I did a lot of training, at least more than I was use to. Down the mountain trail I would run Saturday after Saturday. This was a downhill event, and I love going downhill!!! My daughter and I ran the marathon together. I remember thinking, “Down Down Down! This is the only way to run a race!” Ahead of us, as far as I could see, was a stream of runners. Remembering my first race (10K 1992) and the solitary experience it had been, it was fun to keep my eyes on the other runners. This was progress. But suddenly I observed them doing something that immediately brought a sinking feeling to my heart and my legs. The whole group made a hairpin turn down below me and started jogging up hill. “No way!!!” I exasperated to my daughter and anyone else in earshot. “You said this was a down hill race!” The answer, of course, was “It mostly is Mom. SURPRISE!”
During the Triathlon 2009 I had a surprise as well. Just as I was finishing what I thought was the entire bike ride and thinking the 10 miles had gone unbelievably fast and thinking, “Yea for me!!!” – The biking official said something that clued in me to reality. I was only half way done. I would need to bike the entire hilly loop again. SURPRISE!
Biking finished; I was on to the run. As I looped back to where I had started the run there was little doubt in my mind. “We run this loop twice too, right?” “That’s Right.” Surprises are part of the adventure. They keep things interesting. Surprises cause me to rise to the occasion. Surprises make me do things that are hard that I wouldn’t have signed up for. Surprises make me strong.
It’s not about being finished:
When I was half way through the biking portion with the run still to go, to my total dismay, I saw that there were actually people walking their bikes back to their cars. Why? Because they were FINISHED! I mentioned my astonishment to the Lord and the thought that came back to me was, “Nannette, they’re not finished. They’re fast. They’re fast because they will be up every morning next week putting themselves through the paces again. They are going home, but they aren’t done. Being “finished” is a fantasy.”
Finally, it’s never going to be “all down hill from here”:
Sometime during the triathlon someone yelled out to me, “Hey, it’s all down hill from here.” They had no idea where I was in the race. I had many hills ahead of me. One of the most helpful things I have learned is that every important journey has lots of ups and downs. It doesn’t serve me well to imagine that I am going to magically arrive at a place where there is no more challenge. In fact there is a kind of serenity that comes when I accept the reality that I am not going to simply coast across the finish line, not in a race and not in life.
By Nannette W.
Posted Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Triathlon Part 2 - Never Alone!
As I began the biking part of the triathlon my mind went back to the first time I participated in an organized challenge of this type. It was a 10 K run on the Fourth of July. I remember feeling nervous and excited as I joined all the other athletes that summer morning in 1992. There was great energy, anticipation, and camaraderie in the air. The starting gun sounded. I moved forward with the crowd, giving it all I had. One after the other, each person in the group sped past me until I was looking at every runner from behind. Up ahead there was a bend in the road. I jogged on and watched as the crowd ahead of me disappeared around the corner. That was the last I saw of my “comrades.” I felt entirely alone. During the rest of the race I never saw another runner. My one and only running partner that day was the Lord.
Much of the time I wondered if I was really on the route. Then I would come upon the water station hosted by “the Culligan Man.” The volunteer would assure me that I was on the right track, wish me well, and then close up shop. I never quit running and I never quit praying. The last couple of miles I actually ran along the parade route, along side a parade that was in full swing. The words come to mind, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” I wasn’t beating anyone so I might as well join the parade.
I had never actually run six miles in my life. Three miles was my top run in preparation. By mile five I was really beyond myself. I continued to ask for the strength to finish. I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I’m sure to the onlookers it seemed like I was nearly jogging in place. Somewhere between a float passing by and the striking up the next band I realized that I had no idea where the race ended. I kept jogging. Then suddenly out of the crowd appeared two of my teenage children. “Yea Mom! You can do it!” My greeting to them was far from characteristic. I managed to pant out “Where’s the end of the ‘darn’ race’?” (Language has been revised to protect this Grandma) “Mom!!!” They laughed. I think they were as shocked as I was.
I crossed the finish line about forty minutes after everyone else. The fruit was gone. The tee shirts were gone. Most of the people had gone off to watch the parade with their families. The thing that was not gone and that lives on with me to this day is what it felt like to do something hard with next to no human support. I came away that day with a greater witness that with God nothing is impossible.
I’ve come a long way in the last 17 years and I’m very grateful. During Triathlon 2009 I wasn’t alone or without encouragement from other participants for even a minute. At the end of each lap, during the swim, a young girl assigned to my lane announced how many laps had done and cheered me on. As I swam to the other end, there were my kids, waiting their turn to swim and chiming out, “You’re doing it Mom!”
The fellowship didn’t end with the official volunteers and my family. The participants themselves were more than willing to encourage this perfect stranger. The bike section was accomplished in two five-mile loops and the run in two mile and a half loops. If you were slow, and I was, you met the same faster racers several times as they literally ran circles around you. My personal favorite was the young fellow who passed me several times and reminded me not only that I wasn’t alone, but that I was doing something kind of cool “for my age.” Four times he passed me and shouted out, “Ata Girl!” It wasn’t just the perfect strangers who biked and ran circles around me. My own kids passed me coming and going. As each one saw me in the distance, coming toward them, a hand would reach out and meet mine with a slap that said “don’t give up” mom! It’s a great thing to watch your kids accomplish something challenging, on purpose, together! True fellowship is not competitive; it’s compassionate.
As I finished the Triathlon I had to run past all the racers that had completed the experience well before me, including my children. I ran through the finish line and received cheers from a large crowd (one of the benefits of coming in at the tail end) and hugs from my children (one of the benefits of being the mom). I didn’t have any sense that I was being congratulated by people who had beaten me in a race but by people who had taught me how to race.
As I look back today on my first and now my last athletic experience I see that each of these events taught me something important. In my first race, 17 years ago, I discovered that with God alone, I can do hard things. In this last race I was reminded that the Lord often surrounds us with fellow travelers. Whether He gifts us with His very personal company or with an army of mortal encouragers we are never ever required to go it alone!
By Nannette W.
Posted Saturday, April 25, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Much of the time I wondered if I was really on the route. Then I would come upon the water station hosted by “the Culligan Man.” The volunteer would assure me that I was on the right track, wish me well, and then close up shop. I never quit running and I never quit praying. The last couple of miles I actually ran along the parade route, along side a parade that was in full swing. The words come to mind, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” I wasn’t beating anyone so I might as well join the parade.
I had never actually run six miles in my life. Three miles was my top run in preparation. By mile five I was really beyond myself. I continued to ask for the strength to finish. I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I’m sure to the onlookers it seemed like I was nearly jogging in place. Somewhere between a float passing by and the striking up the next band I realized that I had no idea where the race ended. I kept jogging. Then suddenly out of the crowd appeared two of my teenage children. “Yea Mom! You can do it!” My greeting to them was far from characteristic. I managed to pant out “Where’s the end of the ‘darn’ race’?” (Language has been revised to protect this Grandma) “Mom!!!” They laughed. I think they were as shocked as I was.
I crossed the finish line about forty minutes after everyone else. The fruit was gone. The tee shirts were gone. Most of the people had gone off to watch the parade with their families. The thing that was not gone and that lives on with me to this day is what it felt like to do something hard with next to no human support. I came away that day with a greater witness that with God nothing is impossible.
I’ve come a long way in the last 17 years and I’m very grateful. During Triathlon 2009 I wasn’t alone or without encouragement from other participants for even a minute. At the end of each lap, during the swim, a young girl assigned to my lane announced how many laps had done and cheered me on. As I swam to the other end, there were my kids, waiting their turn to swim and chiming out, “You’re doing it Mom!”
The fellowship didn’t end with the official volunteers and my family. The participants themselves were more than willing to encourage this perfect stranger. The bike section was accomplished in two five-mile loops and the run in two mile and a half loops. If you were slow, and I was, you met the same faster racers several times as they literally ran circles around you. My personal favorite was the young fellow who passed me several times and reminded me not only that I wasn’t alone, but that I was doing something kind of cool “for my age.” Four times he passed me and shouted out, “Ata Girl!” It wasn’t just the perfect strangers who biked and ran circles around me. My own kids passed me coming and going. As each one saw me in the distance, coming toward them, a hand would reach out and meet mine with a slap that said “don’t give up” mom! It’s a great thing to watch your kids accomplish something challenging, on purpose, together! True fellowship is not competitive; it’s compassionate.
As I finished the Triathlon I had to run past all the racers that had completed the experience well before me, including my children. I ran through the finish line and received cheers from a large crowd (one of the benefits of coming in at the tail end) and hugs from my children (one of the benefits of being the mom). I didn’t have any sense that I was being congratulated by people who had beaten me in a race but by people who had taught me how to race.
As I look back today on my first and now my last athletic experience I see that each of these events taught me something important. In my first race, 17 years ago, I discovered that with God alone, I can do hard things. In this last race I was reminded that the Lord often surrounds us with fellow travelers. Whether He gifts us with His very personal company or with an army of mortal encouragers we are never ever required to go it alone!
By Nannette W.
Posted Saturday, April 25, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Triathlon – Part 1
Several weeks ago I actually dialed a phone number and used my credit card to sign up for a triathlon - On Purpose! - Just for the experience. Swim, then bike, then run! As I rolled up my sleeve and revealed my lily-white arm, the event official used a permanent marker to identify me in bold as number 236. This was my first attempt at a triathlon.
The first event was the swim. I arrived with three of my grown children who unanimously sent me to the head of the long line of swimmers to beg my way to an early entrance into the pool. “I’m not going to be very fast,” I explained to the youthful group in black Speedos, goggles, and swim caps. “Can I stand here so I can get into the pool and out again before this whole thing is over?” I think my flowered suit gave my request a lot of credibility. “Sure!” they said.
I watched as swimmer after swimmer entered and exited the pool. I can swim, but I’m not what you would call “a swimmer.” I’m not fond of putting my head into the water, and my general mode of operation is the breaststroke. Sixteen lengths of the breaststroke was exactly how I planned to accomplish the first part of the challenge. I knew my friends in line and my children further back in line were going to speed through the water like torpedoes. I questioned the group, “You can swim however you want, right?” “Absolutely!” they reassured me.
Just then a swimmer caught my attention. In the closest lane to me was gentleman who gave me courage to just be myself and try with everything I had. This older fellow was not doing a sleek forward crawl or the breaststroke. He was doing the elementary backstroke, back and forth, lap after lap.
The first lesson I learned during my triathlon experience was that the number one qualifier is the willingness to try. To “try” is “to make an effort to do something hard to endure.” The most important thing I had to do to get from one end of this experience to the other was to make an effort.
As I jumped into my lane, head up, nose out of the water, a thought came to me that made me smile. Think of this as a Try-athlon Nannette!
That’s when I suspected that God was going to teach me some important things that spring day in April, not just about swimming, biking, and running, but about making it from one end to the other in the Try-athlon we call Life. I decided to pay attention.
By Nannette W.
Posted Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
The first event was the swim. I arrived with three of my grown children who unanimously sent me to the head of the long line of swimmers to beg my way to an early entrance into the pool. “I’m not going to be very fast,” I explained to the youthful group in black Speedos, goggles, and swim caps. “Can I stand here so I can get into the pool and out again before this whole thing is over?” I think my flowered suit gave my request a lot of credibility. “Sure!” they said.
I watched as swimmer after swimmer entered and exited the pool. I can swim, but I’m not what you would call “a swimmer.” I’m not fond of putting my head into the water, and my general mode of operation is the breaststroke. Sixteen lengths of the breaststroke was exactly how I planned to accomplish the first part of the challenge. I knew my friends in line and my children further back in line were going to speed through the water like torpedoes. I questioned the group, “You can swim however you want, right?” “Absolutely!” they reassured me.
Just then a swimmer caught my attention. In the closest lane to me was gentleman who gave me courage to just be myself and try with everything I had. This older fellow was not doing a sleek forward crawl or the breaststroke. He was doing the elementary backstroke, back and forth, lap after lap.
The first lesson I learned during my triathlon experience was that the number one qualifier is the willingness to try. To “try” is “to make an effort to do something hard to endure.” The most important thing I had to do to get from one end of this experience to the other was to make an effort.
As I jumped into my lane, head up, nose out of the water, a thought came to me that made me smile. Think of this as a Try-athlon Nannette!
That’s when I suspected that God was going to teach me some important things that spring day in April, not just about swimming, biking, and running, but about making it from one end to the other in the Try-athlon we call Life. I decided to pay attention.
By Nannette W.
Posted Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Copyright 2008 by Nannette W. All rights reserved. Making or sending copies is permitted if the page is not changed in any way and the material is not used for profit. This notice must be included on each copy made or sent.
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