A Tribute to Emily and Adam

It all started on September 3, 2010, when my daughter Emily gave birth to a fraternal set of triplets.  This event came after bearing a daughter Elizabeth some two years earlier.  The two boys and a girl came very unexpectedly; Emily had not taken fertility drugs nor was there any history of multiple births on the Davis side of the family,  She and Adam had planned to have a second child and make a decision about future children afterwards.  But they went from one to four children in one day, and this young couple's life was forever changed.

My wife had traveled to Brooklyn, New York, some three weeks before the planned "c-section" to help Emily in the last stages of her pregnancy.  I went to help out a couple of weeks after their births which came off without a glitch, all three near 6 lbs., and all healthy.  We went from the Pacific Coast to the Atlantic Coast because there was only Adam's mother and little sister in the area, some five hours or so north in upstate New York.  Adam and Emily had moved east from Utah after both of them had graduated from Brigham Young University where they had met.  He worked at the time and still works for a large international book publisher based in Manhattan, and as such were living some miles away in a second story, 700 square foot apartment.  

They quickly outgrew this two-bedroom apartment with no air conditioning, dishwasher, washer or dryer,  parking, or elevator to get the newborns from the second floor to the first floor.  If Adam wasn't there because of work, it was a major production for Emily to get four kids down to the first floor, much less to get them to their mini-van they had been forced to buy which was parked where ever they could finagle a parking spot. They fashioned a special stroller/wagon that allowed older sister Elizabeth to stand to the rear while the three babies sat in front of her.  They hired a mother's helper after the church members finally stopped helping, allowing Emily to go to the laundromat, go grocery shopping, or do a chore. 

In those early days, life was a perpetual round of diaper changing (approximately 6 changes X 3 kids per day), bottles (about that many also), sleep deprivation, and just trying to cope with everyday challenges.  That grind continued for well over a year, including two months when they came to California for Christmas and stayed.  (For a taste of this insanity, please read my posting of "Eddie's 24-Hour Diary,")  Through it all, Emily and Adam managed to keep their physical and mental health, coping with incredible challenges that would exhaust less committed parents.

They needed to move, and did so when the triplets were a few months short of the age of two.  It was a nice rented home in Rutherford, New Jersey, which made their lives easier--but not easy.  It had off-street parking, a fenced side yard with grass,  dishwasher, washer and dryer, a nice kitchen, and space to run around in.  It was a little bit farther for Adam to commute to Midtown Manhattan, but it was well worth the additional time.  During these better days, Emily managed to toilet train the triplets all at once, no small feat by any stretch.  She and Adam also got them into the routine of family time together, family prayer and scripture time -- such as it was, weekly church attendance, setting the table for the kids, among others.  

Their local church congregations had proved to be a godsend because of the young couples that also attended with similar-aged children.  Emily particularly made some good friends that made her life somewhat more bearable.  Adam faithfully fielded calls at work when Emily needed him, and after work hit the ground running when he arrived home, changing diapers, bathing kids, occasionally cooking, and always doing the dishwashing chore.  Adam asked for received a sizable raise to better support his family of six, but without a second income, their wants and needs were always modest.  

Regrettably, the woman who had rented out this nice home in a nice New Jersey suburb decided that she wanted to re-occupy the home, and gave them just a short time to vacate and find a new place.  As they have done all along in their capacities as parents, they put their game faces on and found another place to rent.  This place, some 15 or so minutes away from the previous place (but not much longer of a commute into the City for Adam), was not as nice with as many amenities.  It is at this three-story, four-bedroom lodging where I find myself at this Christmas season.

The older sister is five but missed the kindergarten age cutoff by less than a month and as such is home much of the daytime.  The triplets are three years old.  All four children are all incredibly strong willed.  All four children are all talkative and full of energy.  All four children behave as children do at their age, playing, roughhousing, fighting, sometimes refusing to eat, needing their bottoms wiped, wanting their own ways, crying and sometimes screaming, and testing Adam and Emily's parenting skills to the extreme.  Their home is in perpetual entropy, and it is all Emily and Adam can do to keep up with the kids and keep the house somewhat organized (which they do a great job in accomplishing).  Imagine being a stay-at-home mother of these four children five years of age and younger.  Pure daily exhaustion!

So at this moment, the din of the day has subsided.  My wife and Emily are wrapping the last of the Christmas presents, the live Christmas tree is sparkling in the reflection of the window that has lights around it, and our energies are spent having kept the home fires burning (and having taken the four energy packets to see Santa Claus at the library), I wanted share with my blog readers the difficult life these two have, and to pay tribute to my wonderful daughter and her wonderful husband.  I simply could not do what they do day in and day out, much less when I was their age.  I am amazed that these two thirty-somethings have the patience to deal with such energetic children.  And while neither of them would say that they are doing a great job as parents, or as spouses (the pressure that the kids put on their marriage is indescribable), they are managing well enough.  I would challenge any couple to deal with the non-stop challenges that this little family of six experiences every day.  

I am SO PROUD of these two kids.  I love this little New Jersey family.    

Confessions of a Mormon Bishop

Some people who read my blog are members of the LDS Church.  Some are not. For those who don't know, I served as a lay minister, a Bishop, of a flock of some 200 young single adults in the LDS Church from March 2006 to May 2009.  It was a transformational experience for me.  Indeed, it pointed me into the profession I now have as a psychotherapist.

Bishop Bob Davis

I was given to read the blog post below because I have served as a Bishop.  It touched me profoundly because I can easily relate to this Bishop's experiences.  In fact, I have many of these thoughts now as I sit in front of people as a therapist.  

By sharing this article, it will give you a glimpse into this singular experience as well what I often think of as I sit in front of people in 2013.  It's the real deal. 

Confessions of a Mormon Bishop

by RUSS HILL on MARCH 19, 2013

I pulled into my driveway at 12:30 this morning.

I sat in the car in front of our dark house for a few minutes.  Everyone inside was asleep.  The whole neighborhood was still.  And yet my mind was racing.  So many questions.  So many emotions.  Sadness.  Hope.  Inadequacy.

Welcome to the life of a Mormon bishop.

Like pastors, priests, and clergy in other religions, those of us asked to serve as a bishop in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints spend hours behind closed doors meeting with people who allow us into the darkest corners of their lives.

They come to us for various reasons.  Because of guilt.  Because they have lost hope.  Because they have been betrayed.  Because they don’t know where else to go.  Because they feel worthless.  Because the person they are isn’t the person they want to be.  Because they have questions.  Because they have doubts.  Because they believe in a forgiving God yet feel disconnected from Him.

They come and sit in front of me.  Some hesitate.  Take a deep breath.  And grasp for courage to say out loud what they have been hiding inside for days, weeks, or years.

Others almost run in.  They spill before I sit.  They’re anxious to clear their conscience or announce their doubts.

Each one is different.

For hours every week I sit.  And listen.

I did not ask for this opportunity.  I never considered I might someday have an office in a church.  I have no professional training for this position.  I am not a scriptural scholar.  I have not walked through vineyards with robe-wearing monks.  And, if you’re wondering about vows of celibacy let me introduce you to my four kids.

All I did was answer a phone call.  Show up for a meeting.  And nod when asked if I would serve.

I don’t sometimes wonder why me.  I always wonder why me.

And yet they come.  Share their stories.  And look to me for wisdom.

I’m not sure any of them have learned from me.  But, I have learned so much in the hours I’ve sat in that office listening to them.

I have learned that we believe it is a strength to conceal weakness.

I have learned that it is easy to want others to overlook our flaws as we expect perfection in them.

I have learned that it is hardest to show compassion and grant forgiveness to those closest to us.

I have learned that while curiosity is a strength it can also be a curse.

I have learned that we are creatures of habit.

I have learned that faith is a muscle.

I have learned that it is far easier to deny deity than to deny desire.

I have learned the mystery surrounding death forces a consideration of spiritual matters.

I have learned that observance of the Sabbath recalibrates perspective and improves judgment.

I have learned that most of us bear scars from the failure, disappointment, and fear in our lives.  And, we prefer to wear long sleeves.

I have learned that to deal with life’s pain most of us choose one of the following: alcohol, drugs, pornography, or spirituality.

I have learned alcohol and drugs are the easiest path.  As long as you’re willing to never stop drinking, smoking, or swallowing.

I have learned pornography is highly addictive and has nothing to do with sexual appetites and everything to do with escape.  And that the habit is never overcome in isolation.

I have learned that we feel like a failure when we make mistakes even when we profess a belief that the purpose of this existence is to make and learn from them.

I have learned that forgiveness is the greatest gift we can offer someone.  And ourselves.

I have learned that many know about Jesus Christ but more of us could make an effort to know Him.

I have learned that the strongest among us are those with the cleanest mirrors.

I have learned that the sins of parents profoundly affect children.  And are often repeated by them.

I have learned that affection from parents profoundly affects children.

I have learned that most communication between parents and children is what psychologists call “superficial.” Strong relationships are built on the “validating” variety.

I have learned that children desperately desire parents who listen.

I have learned that churches are not museums or catwalks for perfected saints but rather labs for sinners.

I have learned that “tolerate” and “love” are two very different verbs despite what popular culture professes.

I have learned that there’s more sadness in this world than I had realized.

I have learned there is more goodness in this world than I had realized.

I have learned that to be happy is a choice.

I have learned those preoccupied with serving others have less time to count their problems.

I have learned that a habit of one brief moment of spirituality a day can alter one’s entire direction.

I have learned that we want God to grant us space to make decisions but step in to stop others, nature, mortality, or illness from hurting us or those we love.

I have learned those who have made more mistakes have a great gift.  Empathy.  Now to the matter of searching out someone who hungers for it.

Indeed, I have learned I have much to learn.

The names of those I meet with will never be known.  Confidentiality demands I never disclose their stories.

But, late last night as I sat in my car on the driveway I decided I should compile a list of what the people I meet with are teaching me.

And, I wanted to share it.

Over Hill, Over Dale, He Has Hit the Dusty Trail

Today was definitely a transitional day for me.  My youngest son, Douglas, a 27 year old father of a three-year old boy, and with a bachelor’s degree in Psychology, entered the U.S. Army.  This ends a journey for him that started last summer.  This blog post is to help me process what happened today and its implications for me.

He will likely leave on Thursday for Fort Sill, Oklahoma for his basic training, and then goes to Fort Sam Houston in Texas for training as a medic.  I was informed that with roughly three weeks to go in his medic training, he will be assigned to a post somewhere on the planet.

Douglas has already lived on his own, while attending Cal State University, Long Beach, and then upon graduation, in Santa Clarita.  It was when his employment reduced his hours, and we knew that he was going to enter the Army in January, that we broke our rule after he asked and allowed him to live with us.  He won’t have to worry about housing and meals for quite awhile now, a fact not lost on him or me.  And while living with us had its good times, he didn’t really want to live with us, and frankly, it was often bothersome and even unpleasant to have him in our home.

Living with us did afford me a weekly opportunity to see little Daniel because he spent with his daddy a couple of days each week.  He is a delightful little guy even though he would not allow me to touch him, much less hold him.  He did like to play catch the ball with me—I think he will be a good athlete—because that didn’t involve touching him.  But he squawked when I attempted to touch him.  Early on, he would look away from my gaze, I guess to make me disappear!

Douglas hopes that this new chapter in his life will give his life direction, especially with employment.  He chose to be a medic because 1) he could, having scored very high on an aptitude test, but more importantly, 2) it likely will equip him for his life after the military, assuming he opts out after his four year commitment.  I commend him for his foresight, although he will be going into a field that will exact every ounce of intellect, courage, and determination that he can muster.

So my boy officially launched today.  Sad?  A little.  Hopeful?  Very much so.  I look forward to seeing my young man turn into a full-on man!  Today I officially let go of him, and now trust him to God.

Election Day 2012

           Today is the long awaited day—at least by people who have paid attention to Elections 2012.  I count myself as one of those people.  I have blogged a little about it, specifically about the notion of having a Mormon President of the United States.  I have read and listened much. This morning I voted, and must admit that, feeling a little philosophical as to the implications of what I was doing, I felt tears welling up.  I was a little surprised to feel that emotion, but then, I am all about feeling my emotions these days.

            Living in California, I am keenly aware of being LDS, and how I am regarded differently.  I know I am different.  I am keenly aware that my religious forefathers were persecuted, imprisoned, and even murdered for their beliefs, being ignored by the government that should have protected them.  The sweet irony is that there is a distinct possibility that a Mormon—one of my people-- might be elected to lead that government and to become the most powerful person in my country and indeed in the world.

            Whether or not the reader votes or doesn’t vote for Mitt Romney, I would propose that this man is the embodiment of a “good” man.  I would propose that this good man has been married to the same woman for over 40 years, and while longevity in marriage is not necessarily an indicator of marital bliss, having listened to him talk about her and her talk about him, there can be little doubt that their relationship remains sweet.  When I watch them talk to one another, I see the sparkle in their eyes that belies their profound feelings for each other.

            This good man has raised five sons to be responsible, civic, and religious citizens, no small accomplishment in the 21^st Century.  He has spent hundreds, if not thousands of hours serving those around him as an ecclesiastical leader.  As a former leader myself, I am very aware of the caring and love involved as you counsel with folks who struggle physically, emotionally, and spiritually, for no pay.  Because he has been blessed with wealth which came to him as a result of using God-given talents, he has donated truly significant amounts of money to the Church and toward its humanitarian purposes.

            He loves and very much respects his parents.  He appreciates their challenges and the challenges of grandparents and beyond.  Even though Mitt was born into wealth, he, like so many, was raised by parents who knew the value of money and hard work.  He has attempted to instill these important values in his children, knowing of the importance of such values.

There is no doubt in my mind that he loves this country and cares deeply about its future.  Like me, he believes that the United States is an exceptional country, founded by men who were inspired and raised up for that very purpose.  It perhaps would have been easy for him to sit back and enjoy his wealth and let others steer the ship, but he cares so deeply about my country that he has put himself in the fray—to battle for the freedom, liberty and other values that made this country great.

So today I voted for this good man.  I realize I have a deep connection with him.  He is everything good my religious belief system embodies.  On an even more intimate level, he is me, and on some level, I am him.  …So my tears are welling up again….  

My Favorite Time of Year!

In my home growing up, there always were a set of four pictures on some wall.  The four were often in some hallway, and they were of the four seasons from one perspective.  In other words, some artist had painted folksy scenes of one panorama of rural life, with a stone bridge that spanned a stream, a prominent fruit-bearing tree, a church in the background, and trees and hills in the foreground and background.  The same view was what might have taken place from this same early 20^th century vantage point in the spring, summer, fall, and winter seasons.

I always liked it, and when Mom and Dad passed away, I made sure that I got these four pictures.  Today, they are prominently placed in my home, and they hark back to simpler, gentler times in my life and in the world in general.  Of all of the views, however, my favorite is of the fall.  Maybe it is because autumn is my favorite time of year. 

In fall, the heat of the summer is ebbing yet the temperatures for the most part can still be moderate and not too cold.  A frost often appears, and with it, the deciduous trees begin their yearly ritual of shedding their leaves.  Before they fall, however, nature puts on some of its prettiest colors.  Depending on the type of tree, some leaves merely lose their greenness and turn a pale, dirty brown while the leaves of others offer many different and splendid shades of red, yellow and gold.  

For me, I remember different fall seasons in my life.  I remember raking leaves into a pile only to jump into them and rake them up again.  I remember cheering myself hoarse at football games.  I remember trick or treating at Halloween.   I remember making Thanksgiving boxes for my kids to write what they and I were grateful for.  I remember not the not-quite-cooked turkey of our first Thanksgiving.  I remember picking berries off of pyracantha bushes and throwing them into holes or garbage cans or under cars (or at my wife’s back on our walks!).  I remember the smells of Halloween and Thanksgiving.

It is a time of kids returning to school, of football games on Friday night or Saturdays, of preparing to put away summer items like boats and picnic tables, of getting out the warm weather clothing and putting away the short sleeves and shorts (except if you live in Southern California), of making plans for the coming holiday season, and in the end, of taking stock of what needs to be done to make the transition from the busyness of summer to the slowing down of fall and the eventual housebound season of winter.

As each year begins winding down to its close, I usually reflect on what has happened during the previous months.  I consider the changes that have transpired, such as in the housing of family members.  I reflect on the year’s accomplishments and disappointments, and wonderful times of vacation and nature excursions.  I mull over how I have changed and how others around me have changed as well.  I think about changes that have occurred and are in the process of occurring in the social, economic, and political worlds at home and abroad.  I begin to wonder about the inevitability of winter and cold and Christmas shopping.

Of course, people who read my blog regularly will know that I tend to look at deeper meanings in things, even to metaphors—those occurrences in life that have nothing to do with a set of circumstances or a given situation, but to which comparisons of some sort can be made.

In keeping with my tendency, I see the seasons as a metaphor for “seasons” of one’s life.  When life is new, in our childhood and young adult years, temperatures (and hormones) are warming up.  Life is new, colorful, exciting, and can be idyllic.  It is a time of little responsibility, of lots of fun, of curiosity and discovery, and usually, of falling in love and finding a partner.  Life’s possibilities seem endless and it is time for idealism.  We, like the trees and flowers, are blooming and showing the world who we are.  It is our Spring.

When that “season” ends, the temperatures turn decidedly warmer, even becoming hot.  Summer is here.  We are in relationships now, children may have come our way, and the heat of responsibility beats down upon us.  We have bloomed and are in full flower in our families, our careers, our abilities to make money, our physical bodies.  We likely have a mortgage, maybe a student loan, a car payment, and all of the other adult bills that we incur as we take on responsibility.  Illnesses and childbirths and accidents all bring a certain “heat” to our lives.  Arguably, it is the optimal time to accomplish things because we have vitality and energy and enthusiasm for life.  And we need those attributes because most of us have children who are now engaged in their own spring times.

Soon, however, while the temperatures are still warm, there are occasional mornings of coolness.  As I am wont to say, there can seem to be a “nip” in the air at this autumnal time of year.  Our physical bodies have endured the heat of our summers and are starting to show signs of a transitional time.  We are not quite so energetic, brought painfully to mind whenever we are around grandchildren who are in their springtimes as our children transition into their summers.  The hair on our heads like the leaves on the trees might be starting to turn colors—white or gray, that is.  There are aches here, doctor appointments there. 

We have managed to launch our children (hopefully) and we see what characteristics good and bad we have advertently or inadvertently bequeathed upon them.  We are usually in a fairly comfortable place financially and may be engaging in harvesting our retirement fruits of the work planted in spring and nourished by the heat of summer.  We usually have figured life out and are fairly comfortable with what we have chosen or what we have been dealt, or both.  We simply have quite a few years under our belts (literally and figuratively) and we just know more than we did during those fallow and fun days of youth and those blistering hot days of responsibility and requirement.  Hopefully, we are wiser than we have been, if only because of what has happened to us.

Winter lies ahead.  It is when the cold of sickness, illness, loss of companionship, loss of mental acuity, and loss of endless opportunities rears its inevitable head.  It can be a time to be quite housebound.  It is a time of forgetfulness, of memories of events long ago but not what happened the previous day.  It is a time when the chill wind blows, emptying the trees of their leaves and killing many of the flowers of earlier times.  It leads to an inevitable time of death.

So here I am, transitioning into the autumn of my life.  Are the red “leaves” on my head turning gray?  Surprisingly, very little.  Do my bones ache in the morning?  Yes, they often do.  Do I have the energy that I used to have?  No, but as I attempt to stay active I find that I have enough (although I really like good naps that I rarely can take!).  Do I go to see doctors a little more routinely?  Yes, but that’s okay.  I am still as crazy and offbeat as I used to be?  Ask my children grandchildren.  Am I doing okay financially?  And retirement looms in the future and we look to have sufficient for our needs, the good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise. 

Am I comfortable with who I am?  That’s a loaded question, but overall, I am glad to answer affirmatively.  I am at peace with who I am.  As I tell many with whom I counsel and do therapy, I have given God my past because I can’t do anything about it.  Although I make plans for the colder days of fall and winter, I choose not to live in an anxiety-filled future either.  I am choosing to live in the here and now, and while I am not always successful in that endeavor, I feel a great serenity.  (Please read an earlier blog posting on the Serenity Prayer which I attempt to live by.) 

In this time of my life—this autumn of my life, I am really enjoying who I am!  I pray each day that God grants to me as many todays as possible because I am enjoying the one right now!

My Posterity Together

Rebecca is my firstborn.  Energetic, opinionated, fun, articulate, caring, musical and driven are some adjectives to describe her.  She was born before our one year anniversary so she has always been present.  She was with us when we moved to Japan and her red hair and outgoing personality opened doors there and back in the States. Her penchant for looking for attention and reciprocal caring from boys has always been a part of who she is and what she wants.  When Rebecca wants to do something, she does it, displaying tremendous courage and tenacity, especially in regard to her schooling.  Those traits also serve her well as she endeavors to be a great single mom. Through thick and thin, she and I have had a close father-daughter relationship, and I care about her deeply and know she cares for me.

Emily is my second born.  Caring, intelligent, empathetic, dutiful, driven, clever and demanding are some adjectives to describe her. Giving birth in the States was a big reason for leaving Japan.  Her siblings have always been important to her and she has always tried to maintain the peace.  Emily has been constant in her life choices. She fell deeply in love with her husband Adam and in their time together they have managed to survive against great odds.  She along with Adam have exercised great faith, especially as they have dealt with the challenges of raising their daughter Elizabeth and the triplets Charley, Eddie and Lucy.  I am very proud of her and how she has managed to maintain that faith in incredibly difficult circumstances.  I am appreciative of her constancy.  I feel her love.

Robert is my third born.  Intuitive, caring, smart, dutiful, energetic, musical and playful are some adjectives to describe him.  I called him BJ (Bob Jr.) when he was born and while he prefers to be called Robert, most of his siblings and his mother and I call him BJ.  He is an incredibly intelligent kid who has struggled to find his path.  He is making great progress now in figuring out his life and I am hopeful for his future.  BJ really cares deeply about people and I am confident that that trait will serve him well as he eventually begins a family and in a people-related career that he no doubt will embrace.  And while he has had issues with his siblings at various times, he does care for them deeply and understands the importance of family.  I am proud that he bears my name, and know he cares for me.

Doug is my last born.  Intelligent, clever, dutiful, determined, “punny,” opinionated and careful are some adjectives that describe him.  He was quite a clown as a young boy. He followed my musical footsteps in high school.  He would tell us as he was growing up that he was going to be the wealthiest of the kids and was going to take care of us, his parents.  I don’t know if that will happen because he has followed me into the psychological profession, but I am proud of him graduating from college and how seriously he is taking his parental responsibilities.  It is interesting how like many children he went through a phase of being aghast at my puns, and now takes pride at coming up with them himself, and looks to me to validate his clever wordplay.  I believe he is proud of me, and I am of him.

I am very blessed to have such great kids.  I will further be blessed with an increasingly rare opportunity to have all of them, plus Emily’s Adam, plus Rebecca’s son Isaac, Douglas’ son Daniel, and Emily and Adam’s wonderful Elizabeth and the triplets, all under my blessed roof this Saturday during this Christmas season.  All I can say is “Wooooo hoooooo!!!”