The Raising of Jairus' Daughter

Our bishop spoke in ward conference Sunday saying his family had visited the Carl Bloch art exhibit at BYU. He soft-spokenly told of this painting, "The Raising of Jairus' Daughter," and its impact on him. In his words

Jairus 

comes, 

receives,

and 

believes.

While the mother grieves over the dying daughter, Jairus goes for the Healer; persists in the press of people around him and finding the Master, falls at his feet. He, a man of high rank and prestige in the synagogue, "besought him greatly, saying, My little daughter lieth at the point of death."

After this plea to the Savior to heal his daughter... I pray thee, come and lay thy hands on her, that she may be healed; and she shall live. And Jesus went with him... a woman in the crowd also begs for healing and the Savior turns to her for some moments. The servant of Jairus comes to say his daughter has died. Jesus hears the report and he saith unto the ruler of the synagogue, "Be not afraid, only believe." Jairus leads the Savior to his home, stricken but hoping, knowing, his daughter can be revived. He believes. Jairus receives the Savior into the home.

When they got to the home of the ruler of the synagogue, Jesus took the little girl by the hand and raised her from the dead . . .

The story is complete within the picture. The "now" of grief or loss may be at the foreground of today for each of us, and always present in the background is the Savior, waiting for us (have I besought him greatly today?) and ready with words of reassurance and even life.

. . . In like manner, he will lift and raise every man to a new and better life 

who will permit the Savior to take him by the hand. 

— Howard W. Hunter, “Reading the Scriptures,”  

Ensign, Nov 1979, 64

Monday

It's sleeting this morning; snow coming we think.

The carpet guys are here putting pad down . . .



. . . hammering on this wooden floor; actually using a staple gun I'm thinking. No, I just saw what the guy is using - it's a staple hammer. Bang.



There's precisely nowhere to sit in the house but in my chair at the computer, Kent in his too at his computer behind me. Unless we were to perch on the bar stools at the one end of the island to watch the doings for hours - but why? That would hurt. We'll be on those for lunch in a few minutes.

Left over Sunday dinner for lunch, on bread.

The guys have asked us to ratchet the heat up in the house to 75,



so Kent just walked away to do that and to move our cars off the driveway. He's bored.

11:01 and I hear a siren over in the distance, a city siren, not the police or an emergency vehicle. Above the pounding of the hammer, sheesh. A routine sound-drill? It's loud. Could be there's an emergency in the city or the refinery at the bottom of my hill or else, well, someone's being summoned to lunch in a big, big way.

It's snowing.

The guy who went after the carpet at the warehouse in his van over an hour ago has come back - it's snowing on our carpet hanging out the back of his truck.

Downstairs the temperature is 75 - we can tell because of our indoor/outdoor temperature gismo, the one part of this two-part thermometer being in the downstairs bathroom on the sink and surrounded by innumerable little things - just stuff - from all the rooms down there, and furniture; the other part up here in our bathroom reading 69. 69? Now how's that? Kent went down a minute ago to check on this as is his wont - let no stone go unturned, no mystery unsolved - and found the door to the bathroom closed tight and the exhaust fan running. No wonder it's hot in there and the heat going straight out the vent . . . so, well, maybe the downstairs isn't ready for carpet laying. If it's not hot in this house, 75 whole degrees when the carpet comes in, the guys don't lay it. Possible bubbles, improper stretch, voided warranty and all that. We've been told. We're running the fireplace upstairs and Kent just said he's going to have to start taking off clothes, after which I made a snide remark that would better be left unspoken here.

Dad and mom will likely make a field trip to our house this afternoon. However this minute the guys just drove away - gone to cut the carpet into pieces in a covered parking garage near here since it's snowing and our driveway (the first plan) will now not do. An hour and they'll be underway here, again with the noise, and there'll be an awful lot of something to see.

And smell. New carpet!

And (yeah, it's taken a while to finish this post) . . . delivery! We're under way.



Mom'll need somewhere to sit when she comes and I'll offer her my computer chair. I'm done here.

Good article in this month's Ensign magazine

Elder Brent H. Nielson in the April Ensign has written about prayer. Prayer (and scripture study) may seem like the answers to every Sunday School question and are the substance of the gospel and personal testimony - even so, it's perfect here to have a magnifying glass brought to the subject of prayer in his article "I Need Thee Every Hour."

We pray to receive personal revelation he says, one of the reasons he gives to the question why should we pray. This is insightful. Speaking of Alma the Younger and the sons of Mosiah who grew up together (in the Americas, about a hundred years before Christ) and then went their separate ways to preach the gospel to the Lamanites, Elder Nielson here focuses on their reunion after fourteen years. Alma was happy to see the sons of Mosiah, but "what added more to his joy, they were still his brethren in the Lord; yea, and they had waxed strong in the knowledge of the truth;  . . . and they had searched the scriptures diligently . . . But this is not all; they had given themselves to much prayer, and fasting; therefore thy had the spirit of prophecy, and the spirit of revelation."

Revelation, he continues, comes as we follow this important pattern. Our prayers, when combined with fasting and pondering the scriptures, constitute the revelatory process. Ponder the following verse:

If thou shalt ask, thou shalt receive revelation upon revelation, knowledge upon knowledge, that thou mayest know the mysteries and peaceable things - that which bringeth joy, that which bringeth life eternal.

I'm thankful today to have read this by Elder Nielson; to have it added to the several talks I've heard in church and other meetings I attended. It's good to worship on Sunday! Humbling to be taught by the Spirit what is essential for our daily living, and then resolve to go out this week and live up to it. I will do better in my personal prayers  - because we've been commanded to pray; to ask forgiveness and help with avoiding temptation; to give thanks and ask for blessings; and to receive personal revelation. Because I love the Savior.

From the pulpit today I heard a statement that says what I often feel as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints: There may be a limit to what I can offer, but I can always offer Jesus Christ. It's in my power to do that only aided by direct responses I receive to my prayers.

Small world

In the last ten years I've encountered two women who (thinking about it) make me think there are no accidental encounters in life. I don't know their names. Well I lie: I don't know one of their names; the other I do remember. I'm writing about her first because here she is right in my face! Sitting on my chair in front of the computer - how's she going to appear out of nowhere, cyberspace actually, into my little five minutes at my desk?

I met her ten years ago. "Met" isn't just right; she simply was where I was in this particular store I liked to go to often. Come to find out, she owned the place. She wasn't always in - it was with her employees I did my ooohing and aaahing as I was there.

I found something so exquisite in her store one day I had to have it, had to - and it was not only exquisite, it was pricey. She was at the counter and I went to her, bargained with her, this owner (and now I'm meeting her officially), to buy it in installments. She was gracious. I paid for it over time; it captured me and features in my home even now. The day I paid her in full she confided she had made it herself. What I have then is something of hers.

Seven years later I was sitting early on a Sunday morning in Sacrament meeting in Nauvoo, Illinois. In which 400 missionary couples and visitors like Kent and I made up the congregation. There she was on the stand with the choir - good heavens! Her, a missionary! Seven years, and I recognized her exactly.She didn't see me, wouldn't have known me from anyone. I watched her easy way.

In the last few minutes I've been browsing a blog I've liked for a couple of years. For the writer's candid talk and very creative style. She introduces her mother in one post with a photograph... and... is it her? Isn't it? It is! Graying hair now, but the smile. So her daughter is this blogger I've admired a while? She is?

Gracious.

It makes me think of another time out of the blue like this. Ten years ago I placed an ad in the paper to sell our sofa and love seat. A woman answered it, arriving with her truck at my door on an afternoon. Did she tell me her name when she called on the phone? I don't remember.

I opened the door in astonishment to her, a woman I'd often observed at Deseret Industries in the several years before this; a woman who simply was where I was in that particular store. She smiled eagerly, not knowing me.

Amazing! She, whom I'd observed off and on over time in quiet judgment; who'd randomly ringed me into standing conversations in DI with the social "eptness," aptitude, of a ten-year old and equal high zeal; who, when last she did it (well before responding to this ad), told me she was engaged (the joy!) and flashed her ring up for me to oooh and aaah over. She was on my porch for my couch. Didn't know me from anyone.

I lifted one end of the sofa and we hefted it, and then the other in the same way over the threshhold, out the door and down to her truck, and she paid me in full and drove away, thanking and waving. Now she has something of mine.

Kent and I moved out of state. The second week after I got back I walked into the grocery store and... walking serenely past, smiling and pushing a cart which contained her groceries and a little boy, was this woman. She smiled as we made eye contact and moved forward.

I don't know where I started with this. Oh yeah, that there are no accidental encounters in life... people come into our lives for a reason. I believe. Incidental; accidental; never mind. Isn't it weird! Isn't it totally a →

The Crocus's Soliloquy

Down in my solitude under the snow, Where nothing cheering can reach me; Here, without light to see how to grow, I'll trust to nature to teach me. I will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown, Lock'd in so gloomy a dwelling; My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down, While the bud in my bosom is swelling. Soon as the frost will get out of my bed, From this cold dungeon to free me, I will peer up with my little bright head; All will be joyful to see me. Then from my heart will young petals diverge, As rays of the sun from their focus; I from the darkness of earth will emerge, A happy and beautiful crocus. Gaily array'd in my yellow and green, When to their view I have risen, Will they not wonder that one so serene Came from so dismal a prison? Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower This little lesson may borrow — Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour, We come out the brighter to-morrow.  Hannah Flagg Gould

Spring chicken

I'm

 

here. Good grief.

I'm more a  

-----------

I look up some days

expecting there to be more for me to be like, 

hmm,

  in charge of 'cause I'm 

the Mama!

For a long time though I've had

exactly Zero,

no

chicks around me to brood over

or take under my wing.

I AM no spring chicken, am I.

And not so much a mother hen . . .

'cept I still boss and squawk.

I'm an empty nester and what a surprise it is

sometimes.

-----------

  I miss my chicks.

Blog Fodder

Kent calls it this - pictures I take of the whereabouts of us and all our stuff. He's used to me waving the camera around but can get a little cheeky about it.

Here are pics from the last several days.

The dressing room is turned into our guest room. Didn't Kent and our friend together do a good job on the shelf take-out? Done and done.



And we're now back to (really truly, TRULY back to), yeah,

SQUARE ONE

With the walls done in this room, Kent tore out the carpet to see what damage there's been to the sub-floor, if any. What'll show up for us to treat with enzymes and Kilz? Something? Nothing? What a job all by himself except I did help him carry the carpet out after the dust settled, and I hope he's going to let the carpet crew do the big take out when the day comes.



Back to square one with weather too, springtime being just a wild guess here this time of year, hello. Snow yet and still.





And next day . . . carpet out . . . whoo hoo! . . .



. . . and carpet out. Step lightly.



Straight to town with the Shop Vac.



Doors . . . ahem . . .



. . . off every room and the closets and more stored in the pantry. You don't want to know. Kent hasn't waited for the carpet install crew to do it for us in a few days - he's bored I guess or a glutton for punishment, or wait . . . knows something I don't know? (Yes, that. Today, painting the floors with Kilz, we're grateful not to have to go around doors on their hinges.) Off and outta' here and marked which-is-which with postie notes. And our stuff's whereabouts?



And now right this minute (except for a little break to blog) (and don't believe what you're seeing, Kent didn't do ALL the painting - I painted the other half of this floor and 9/10th's of the downstairs while he cut in paint with a brush at the edges, and I wasn't going to do that with a camera around my neck or turn it on myself and say cheese) . . .



. . . this last bit of blog fodder.

Over the hill

Life's goal is not to arrive at the grave in a well-preserved body.  But rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting, "Holy cow! What a ride!"

A word or two

A minute! A minute! For a word or two. My intentions are good. Don't you think blogging takes uninterrupted moments? Oh I don't have so many of those these days.

We unloaded our whole downstairs this afternoon into the garage. It all JUST fits. See the doors to the right? Kent took all doors off their hinges -



an unbelievable bit of work - and has stacked them. This is his favorite kind of ducks-in-a-row thing. Neatness in the midst of cHAoS.



Dan came over a while ago and helped Kent get the big-box TV and king bedroom dresser each out of their spot and into the garage. Sheesh! I couldn't budge either on my end as I tried helping Kent earlier, just the two of us. Hooray for the muscles I posted about in a post last week - brute strength!

Because the carpet's on order and coming. (Ah, like us, days across the country right out of Georgia.)  Friday it should be here and Monday the install is happening. So why hustle the furniture off the carpet today, a week early? And the upstairs tomorrow?

Tear-out is Wednesday. That gives us the afternoon of Wednesday and all day Thursday, Friday, and/or Saturday to treat the sub-floors and concrete in this house: spray enzyme liquid then roll Kilz (like paint) over the square footage. A day of rest and then the workers come to lay the carpet; yet we cannot be back in (we're at mom and dad's sleeping several days) until probably Tuesday or Wednesday because the house has to ventilate 72 hours after install.

But thank goodness . . .

a)... the carpet is chosen (whew, done now - a lot of talk but no fighting, a little of each of us standing our ground though) and ordered.

b)... the garage is big enough to hold our downstairs stuff. Tomorrow everything off the carpet upstairs onto the wood floor and tiled areas.

We have too much stuff Mama, says Kent.

I guess I agree. After hefting a bunch of it and huffing and puffing at it, well, sure. I was sorely put out at having to dismantle my storage under the stairs. Christmas and other holiday decorations; sewing and crafts and scrapbooking supplies, kids' chairs and table, large easel, toy box. It was particularly satisfying after a few weeks here to get that put in place under there, so as we dragged it all out my bottom lip dragged too.

Thank goodness . . .

c)... i don't have a sciatic nerve flare up in my leg today like sometimes I do and like I've had the better part of last week. How could I have worked?

d)... we have a place to live right down the road with Mom and Dad while the tear-out and cleaning and install happens. Mom and I bought a couple of jigsaw puzzles this morning (on sale) and they'll come in handy while I while this week away at her house. Just a week ahead of my sister coming from Hawaii to stay with our parents five full weeks!

e)... our circumstances are what they are, thank goodness! We're safe and well and hopeful and surrounded by family and resources, including the four walls of this wonderful-in-every-way-just-about-ready-to-be-lived-in house.

---------

Mom bought a couple of plastic microwave food covers when we were out shopping this morning - erm, buying puzzles.

We got home to her house and I helped her unload bags. What's that? Dad asked, seeing Mom holding one cover. She placed it on her head, wearing it as she walked toward him. It's to keep the rain off you dear, she said (I think with a straight face, I couldn't see) balancing it as Dad drew the blankest look I've ever seen on him. Mom laughed hard then and Dad smiled and she said, no, it's a food cover for the microwave and waved at his perplexed look while she put it away. I stood just dumbfounded and laughing. A total trip!

Peace is Every Step

This happens every time. I go to put inspirational quotes on the blog sidebar, looking online often for things I've read in the past, and come away happy! Even elated, and breathing deeply. And resolved.

A long time ago I read this book Peace is Every Step 

and only have remembered about ONE thought from it, a bit about influencing the whole world by smiling over a cup of steaming tea. Anyway, it's the inspiration for today's post:

Smiling is very important.

If we are not able to smile, then the world will not have peace.

It is not by going out for a demonstration against nuclear missiles that we can bring about peace. It is with our capacity of smiling, breathing,
and being peace that we can make peace.

----

If we are not peaceful, if we are not feeling well in our skin,
we cannot demonstrate real peace, 

and we cannot raise our children well either.
----

Be Yourself.

Life is precious as it is.

All the elements for your happiness are already here.;

There is no need to run, strive, search, or struggle.;

Just Be.
----

Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the world earth revolves - slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future. 

Live the actual moment. Only this moment is life.

----

If we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can smile and blossom like a flower,
and everyone in our family, our entire society,
will benefit from our peace.
----

Every morning, when we wake up, we have twenty-four brand-new hours to live.

What a precious gift!

We have the capacity to live in a way that these twenty-four hours

will bring peace, joy, and happiness
to ourselves and others.
----

The miracle is not to walk on water.
The miracle is to walk on the green earth,
dwelling deeply in the present moment and feeling truly alive.

----

Peace is every step.

~(lessons from Thich Nhat Hanh) 

We had us a birthday! Or two . . . (continued)

If you read the post below you remember I was waiting for pictures of our grandson Brady's birthday on Saturday. This little guy is a hoot! 364 days younger than Joseph and like I said, anxious like crazy to start Kindergarten (in August-fall) our five-year old doesn't miss a beat. I'm glad his mom and dad get to run around after him - I have scarcely the energy!

His eat-out favorite for lunch was Golden Corral!
Popcorn shrimp, croutons and macaroni and cheese.
(Is that an eye roll please?)

Happy, happy, HAPPY!

. . . Birthday!

We had us a birthday! Or two.

Sunday was Joseph's birthday. He's SIX!

We celebrated on Saturday with
presents and an Iron Man cake and
ice cream.

Here's Joseph's cute mother who made the cake 

and who, well, 

takes the cake on this day every year 'cause

she makes stuff happen.

And before that, lunch at McDonald's -
the only place that will do for active
boys is (uh huh) the
Play Place.

Happy Meals and happy boys. 

Andrew here as we rode home for our dessert,

never ever far from his big brother . . . 

 . . . then Joseph.

----------

On the same day in a far away state
another of my grandsons celebrates
his birthday with the other half of our family
gathered.

So Joseph's is the 13th . . .

 . . . and Brady's is the 12th!

Brady is
FIVE now and gets to go to
Kindergarten
"in August fall"
he said to me when I called him
to sing Happy Birthday.

(Pictures to come in another post. His mom has to send them.
Another adorable, amazing mom who makes
stuff happen.)

I love these guys.