Loves Music, Loves to Dance

Our ward's Primary Program was this past Sunday. For weeks we've been practicing her line, "I feel Heavenly Father's love when I pray with my family." She had it down flat. She sat in the front row of the choir seats. I have to admit that I was apprehensive about whether she'd actually stand up and say her part into the microphone, because, well she is my daughter.

I remember hiding under the bed as a child so I wouldn't have to go to the Cache Valley Mall and perform a tap routine with the rest of our class. My mom tried to talk me out from under there for a good fifteen minutes before she gave up. Much to my delight she stood right up and said her line and sounded as cute as can be. It soon became apparent that she didn't know all the words to all the songs in the program, but that didn't stop her from moving her mouth and pretending. My husband leaned over to me and whispered, "Maybe you should have tried to teach her primary songs, instead of Mamma Mia songs." True. Quite frankly it's not as fun to dance to primary songs as it is to dance to Abba songs.

Then to my definite surprise Ava decided that she'd liven up the program by dancing to the songs. It was hysterical. She also tried to follow the song leader and copied her arm movements. What I learned is that this little girl of mine is cut from a different cloth than I am. And I like it. She's sure to keep us entertained for a long, long time.

The Faith Club

Reading has always been a way for me to escape. To go places I've never been and to know people I've never known. There's always been a certain fascination for people who are different than myself. My favorite class in college was Anthropology 2400: Peoples of the World. Diversity interests me due partly to my belief in God. The fact that He created so many different varieties of plants, animals and people thrills me.

So when I was at the library a few weeks ago this book and it's title stood out to me. The Faith Club, A Muslim, a Christian, a Jew- Search for Understanding by Ranya Idliby, Suzanne Oliver, and Priscilla Warner was written out of the great fear and confusion directly after the events of 9/11. Ranya, a Muslim of Palestinian descent began to fear passing on her beliefs to her children out of apprehension about how they'd be treated. Ranya had for many years become disenchanted with the extreme voices in her religion who seemed to be drowning out the majority of Muslims who do not believe in Jihad or demonize the West. She didn't believe in covering her hair, or the segregation of men and women.

Ranya had the idea to write a children's book along with a Jewish and Christian mother to show the link between the world's three big religions. From there she started the project with Suzanne, a convert to the Episcopalian faith from her Roman Catholic upbringing, and Priscilla - a Jewish mother who had experience writing children's books. They are basically strangers in the beginning.

They began to meet weekly but soon found that the project was in danger because of the deep held resentments and misunderstandings that have always bubbled beneath the surface of all three faiths. They decided before they could begin to work on the book, they had to work on understanding each others religions.

What is so beautiful about this story is you see clearly the common thread between the three religions, as well as the common womanhood and friendship that keeps these three woman caring about one another in spite of their differences. It's another lesson in knowing and loving those we may believe have nothing in common with us. I don't know if this is the answer to world peace, but I do know it would be a lot more difficult to declare war on a people who had names and a face who you respected and cared about. If you can't demonize a culture, then you can't seek for their annihilation without turning your hearts into hard stones that no longer possess the divine knowledge of common brotherhood.

This book informed me in many, many ways. Being a Mormon and living in a pre-dominantly LDS state means coming into contact less with those that share dissimilar viewpoints. I am also quite shy by nature and have often felt like raising my voice and asking questions of those I know do not believe the same way as I do but have kept quiet for fear of offending the person or making them believe I want a confrontation in some way. I'm just a curious individual. One of the things I learned is that the Jewish religion offers no promise of an after-life. Most believe there is something but have no doctrinal support. I believe it would make practicing your religion and living according to it's principals that much more difficult. It would take a huge amount of faith and love of God to follow His commandments with no promise of reward after this sometimes sorrowful earthly life.

One Jewish prayer in particular that Priscilla shared touched me. The prayer is usually said in Hebrew and is said at funerals. It goes like this: We are like a breath; our days are as a passing shadow; we come and go like grass; which in the morning shoots up, renewed and in the evening fades and dies. If some messenger were to come to us with the offer that death should be overthrown, but with the one inseparable condition that birth should also cease; if the existing generation were given the chance to live forever, but on the clear understanding that never again would there be another child, or a youth, or first love, never again new persons with new hopes, new ideas, new achievements, ourselves for always and never any others - could the answer be in doubt?

To all My Lady Friends!

Love and Les Miserables

As I look back over the life that Brig and I have shared these past 7 years, one thing I know for sure is that love endures.  I bemoaned the fact a few posts ago that the passionate love we feel for one another in the beginning of a relationship soon is dampened by every day responsibilities.  I've never purported to have a perfect marriage, because I am not a perfect person and neither is my husband.  There are moments though, when I catch an expression on my husband's face that takes me back to when we were dating and my breath catches as I remember the bright light he became in such a sad, lonely time in my life.  We began dating in the Spring, and I can't smell awakening earth or feel the warm sunshine on my face every Spring without tying those sensations to Love. 

I look at this picture and think about how we were such strangers to one another.  We had love and hope in our hearts and that was enough at the time.  Brigham is a quiet person.  I've come to appreciate the quality he has to take in circumstances and process them before making a decision.  He is calm when I am manic.  He has been the cool water that has tempered my hot temper and passionate personality.  He teaches me every day about patience, especially when it comes to our daughter.  I don't often write about him here, and that is because he is such a private person.  This blog is, in fact an affront to his sensibilities.  The rule has always been that I can't talk about him.  But I'm breaking that rule today because I do love him.  And I'm amazed every day that he continues to love me even after seeing me at my lowest and most raw.  I think what still keeps us going into our eighth year, remains what we started out with; hope and love. 

And because life's hardships and the cynicism that comes with it has still failed to harden my hopelessly romantic heart I will share some of my favorite verses from Victor Hugo's masterpiece Les Miserables.  My copy is worn and marked up like a bible.  Yes, it's that good. 

"Listen to me; I am going to give you a piece of advice; Adore one another.  The philosophers say: Moderate your joys.  I say: Give them the rein.  Are we happy because we are good, or good because we are happy?  Live boldly for one another, love one another, make us die with rage that we cannot do as much.  Idolize each other.  Be a religion to each other.  Every one has his own way of worshiping God.  The best way to worship God is to love your wife.  No joy beyond these joys.  Love is the only ecstasy, everything else weeps.  

To love or to have loved, that is enough.  Ask nothing further.  There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.  To love is a consummation."  

 

Happy Birthday, Mom!

You were my earliest memory of love, kindess, and quiet strength.

 I was one of five children, but never felt pushed aside.  I never had any inkling of how hard you worked to make our home a happy one.  To make sure our life was comfortable.  To never leave any doubt that we were loved.

I think now of all the time, all the days that were not your own.  I remember the greatest lesson you ever taught me was about how to treat others.  Kindness is your essential essence, one I believe you came into the world with.  I haven't always lived up to the standard, but I try.

It must have not been easy, especially when you had two of your five children who's mission it was to make each other miserable.  (Darren and I).  I remember one day when you had to run into a store and left Darren and I in the van and before you closed the door you peeked back in and said, "Please don't kill each other."

 You gave me great advice in those insecure years.  Be true to yourself.  Treat others how you'd want to be treated.  Don't wear a tight white T-shirt on a cold day.  Oh yes, I remember the day you were scandalized as you truly looked at me as I ran out of the post office and got back into the car to have you tell me we needed to drive home and change my shirt before we could go to Logan.  I always have been a bit naive.  But thanks for saving me from leering eyes!

 

From you I got my big smile, my love of reading, my empathy for others, my endurance in the face of sadness.  Do you know how much I loved waking up on summer break mornings, wrap myself in a robe and know that I could find you out in the flower beds?  I'd sit on the steps in the coolness of the morning and we'd talk about everything and nothing.  You'd be covered from head to toe and a wide brimmed hat on your head and you'd look up and say, "Always wear sunscreen.  The sun ages you."  I think I also got my vampire-like dislike for the sun from you as well!

 

But Mom, I really had no idea, no idea at all what kind of a mother you were until you held my own daughter in your arms.  It hit me, that the small taste of love I had felt for my daughter, was the same kind of love, but magnified ten-fold that you had always loved me with and will love me with forever.  In the years since I've given birth I think of you each and every day.  I wonder if I'm doing it right.  If my daughter will know the kind of love that I was raised on.  I once heard a quote by Oscar Wilde that went like this, "All Women become like their Mothers, that is their tragedy.  No Man does.  That's his."  Well if that is true then I will take that tragedy willingly.  I love you, Mom.  Happy Birthday!