Eddie's 24-Hour Diary

Having four of our grandchildren here for a couple of months is quite a journey! We are enjoying having everyone here, especially when a child looks up at you and wants to be held. At that time, the crying and screaming they do fades away and you remember how much you love them and that they are behaving exactly how they should be behaving at this age. 

I have not posted on this blog since Christmas Eve because I have been so busy being a grandpa, being "Pumpa."  I figured what I was experiencing was an exceptional experience and that those few who read this would find it interesting if not amusing. Before you read it, however, I have to acknowledge the superhuman efforts of my daughter Emily, their mother.  She deserves every bit of admiration and credit for this most difficult task she is doing.  Her patience is just incredible, her caring boundless, and her love for them undeniable. She amazes me.

So here is what I have been experiencing as seen through the eyes of one of my grandbabies. Enjoy the ride!

Waaaaaah, waaaaaah, waaaaaaaaah.  My name is Eddie and I am living right now with my “Pumpa and Geema,” and I thought that it would be fun for some of Pumpa’s friends to know what it’s like to be with my Mama and three-year-old sister, Elizabeth, and my triplet brother, Charley, and sister, Lucy.  Pumpa is writing this down because my siblings and I are just a little older than one year old.

My day begins…waaaaaaaaaaaaah…sometimes at about 3am.  I’m not fully awake but I sometimes will cry.  Waaaaaaaaah.  I just woke up Charley.  We’ll cry for a little while and maybe fall back to sleep until around 6:15.  Waaaaaaaah…that’s Charley…waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…that’s Lucy; I might as well cry…Waaaaaaah.  That’s enough noise to get Mom and Geema and Pumpa up out of bed.  The first thing…Waaaaaah, Waaaaaah, Waaaaaah…that happens is that either Pumpa or Geema or Mama put our three bottles of 8 ounces of milk in the microwave, one at a time, for 55 seconds.  Ahhhhhh…warm milk.  The three adults are cradling us while we hold our bottles.

It’s time to get our first of four or five diaper changes.  Feels good to have Geema change me.  She’ll put the wet diaper with the two others just out the back door where they’re dropped until Pumpa takes a bunch to the black garbage bin that gets pretty full (and stinky) in a week’s time.  Before we came, Pumpa says that sometimes he didn’t even put that bin out every week.

It’s about 7 now, and we’re playing with some toys on the living room floor, next to where our three cribs are.  Pumpa and Geema had some friends who loaned them a couple of pack and plays that work as our cribs.  They go along with the one that they already had that my cousin Daniel sleeps in when he stays the night with my Uncle Doug.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley just fell on me.  Here comes Mama.  We’ve kind of taken over the living room.  It was really fun when the Christmas tree in the corner was up and we would try to take ornaments off.  Waaaaaaah.  That’s Lucy crying because Charley just took a book from her.  Is Mama going to come pick her up?  Here comes my older sister Elizabeth.  She’s three years old and our crying probably woke her up.  But then she got up at least once I think and started crying and woke Mama up. 

Waaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy must be hungry.  It’s about 7:30 and time for breakfast.  Pumpa puts Charley in one of the three high chairs in the kitchen, one loaned by friends.  We all get our bibs put on as Mom prepares our meal: oatmeal mixed with applesauce and honey. Yummmmm!  Either Mama or Pumpa or Geema sit facing us with a TV tray in front of a chair, and they open their mouths to get us to open our mouths.  One mouth, two mouths, three mouths…kind of like Dr. Seuss!  Waaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy can’t wait for another bite.  She gets the next spoonful.  I think Mom is starting to give us little bowls with spoons to try to feed ourselves but we’re not too good at it yet.  In front of the bowl are three “sipee cups” full of milk to help wash down the oatmeal.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley wants banana.  Dad taught Pumpa and Geema a trick with a banana before he went back to Brooklyn last week where we live.  It helps when we are getting bored with oatmeal. The adult has the spoon in their right hand, filled with oatmeal, and cuts the banana with the left hand.  The adult opens their mouth which makes us open our mouths in anticipation of a slice of banana, and shoves in the oatmeal and drops the banana slice on our tray.  Pretty sneaky!  I think I’ll turn and drop my sipee cup on the floor.  The adults do not like it when I do that. 

After we’re washed off at the sink, we start playing with toys again.  Pumpa and Geema sit at the dining room table after we’re done and help Elizabeth eat her cereal for breakfast.  They eventually eat their breakfast.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Somebody fell on me.  Geema is coming to the living room to make sure I’m not hurt.  Waaaaaa.  Charley took a toy from Lucy.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Charley took a toy from me.  Waaaaaaaaah.  I took a toy from Charley.  Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaaaaaaaaah…waaaaaaaah.  We’re all crying.  It’s probably time for our morning nap/crib time because it’s getting close to 9.  Mama usually sings a little lullaby to us before putting us down; we like it when she sings to us.  When we’re all down she closes the door and goes to the dining room to have her breakfast and maybe work on the crossword puzzle from the newspaper.  I think she does it to help her mind from turning to jelly, like the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she’ll fix for us when we wake up for our mid morning snack.

Pumpa has gone to work but Geema is here all day.  She has a two-month break from teaching and that’s why she invited us to come stay with her and Pumpa.  Mom needs help because dealing with us is pretty hard.  When Pumpa is here, he’ll change diapers, help feed us, and read books to us, and hold us when we need to be held.  He likes it when we smile.  He’s got a goofy smile, and he is always squeezing my nose or tickling me under my chin.

PU! Somebody’s pooped.  Oh, it’s me.  Waaaaaaaaaaah.  Here comes Geema to change me…thank heavens.  That’s another dirty diaper for outside.  PU!  I think Lucy’s filled her drawers as well.   Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy doesn’t like Mama trying to hold her arms so she can’t put her fingers in the goo.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Charley just fell down on Lucy while she’s getting her poopy diaper changed.  Mama and Geema are taking us out of our pajamas and putting us into our day outfits.

Waaaaaaaaaah.  I want to be held.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley’s crying and screaming because I took his toy from him.  Waaaaaaaah.  Charley was climbing onto a chair and wants to get down.   Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy fell on me and I bumped my head.  We’re all playing with toys for awhile, quietly.  Mom can’t get onto the computer while we’re up like the few minutes she stole to go on Facebook while we were in our cribs.  She tells Geema that it helps her keep somewhat attached to the outside world. Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaah…waaaaaaah.  I think that it’s time for our lunch: PB&J and pieces of fresh pear or grapes cut in half.  Yummmm.  I like getting it all over my face.  So does Lucy and Charley.  Mama and Geema rinse us off and then it’s another lullaby at about 1 for our nap.  I give Geema a big smile and that makes her smile.

Mama says it’s pretty quiet when we’re all asleep.  But you know what.  We don’t go right to sleep, usually not right away.  Pumpa says that we play around for awhile and then eventually fall asleep.  While we’re asleep, Mama or Geema sometimes go to the supermarket to buy more whole milk for us and 1% milk for the adults.  When Pumpa and Geema were alone, they would go through a gallon of milk every 8-9 days.  They’re buying milk every other day now.

Waaaaaaaaaaah.  I’m bored and I want out of my crib.  Waaaaaaaaaaah.  I woke up Charley.  Here comes Mom.  Let’s see, where can I put this toy so nobody else will find it?  Waaaaaaaah.  Charley took my toy.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  I hit Charley on the head with a plastic cup.  Mama is not very pleased with me.  Waaaaaaah…waaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy and Charley want the same toy.  Here comes Mama and Geema.  Waaaaah…waaaaaaah.  We’re hungry because it’s time for our afternoon snack.  Mama has cut up some cheese into little cubes and filled other “sippy cups” with water.  That will help wash down the cheese and cracker pieces that she’s giving us.

I like running around the dining room table with my Elizabeth except when she can’t stop herself and knocks me down.  Sometimes I cry or my brother and sister cry when she takes a toy away from us that she wants for herself.  But she also helps Mama by closing doors or getting something  Mama needs.  I think sometimes Mama gets pretty upset with her, but Mama always makes up by loving her a little more afterwards.  Mama is that way with me too.  I know that this is really hard on her and I think Mama likes being here where she can get help with us.

I like looking out the window.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.    Charley is crying because he climbed onto a chair and can’t get down.  Lucy is playing with toys on the living room floor but she likes looking at books too.  I like to crawl onto Geema’s lap and have her read to me.  We all like it when Mama or Geema or Pumpa read to us.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Charley just took my book away.  Waaaaaaaaaaaah.  Elizabeth wanted to read that book and took it away from Charley.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.  Elizabeth is crying and screaming because Mama took the book away from her.  I think Mom wants to let us run around outside on the grass for a change so Mama and Geema are putting on our shoes.  It’s nice here in California.  Daddy says that it’s been cold in Brooklyn.  I like it when Mama calls up Daddy and talks to him and lets us talk with him.  Mama tries to Skype with him so that we all can see him and don’t forget him.  But is usually is hard to sit in a chair while Skyping with Daddy.  We all want to see him and we fight for position.  Waaaaaaaah…waaaaaaaah…waaaaaaaah.

Mama tries to take advantage of the grass and the enclosed yard every day, a couple of things we don’t have in Brooklyn.  It’s pretty hard living in our second story, 700 square foot, two bedroom apartment with no washer or dryer or dishwasher.  Mama also tries to keep a tradition each day that we have in Brooklyn.  She tells us that we are going to have dance time, and we’ll all gather in Pumpa’s office which is now Elizabeth’s bedroom, and dance to You Tube songs she plays on Pumpa’s computer.  We all really like the Wiggle and Hold Still song.  I’m pretty good at holding still like a statue—for about three seconds.

It’s getting time for dinner.  It’s about 5:45 in the afternoon.  Mama will feed us some food that Geema made, or sometimes food that she makes.  Pumpa usually is home by now and he helps us put on our bibs, and he’ll wash up the high chairs and trays afterwards.  When we’re finished, I’ll play with some toys or look at books or ask Pumpa to hold me.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  Lucy fell down and hit her head.  Here comes Mama to comfort her.  Waaaaaaaaaah.  She likes holding me;s he likes holding all of us. Charley is getting his diaper changed but doesn’t like lying still while Mama changes him.  PU.  Mama is reaching for the wipes that are just about gone.  We go through about a container of 72 in about ten days.  Geema and Mama went to Costco a couple of weeks ago to buy diapers and they bought two big boxes—around 300 diapers.  I don’t think that they’ll last us until we go back to Brooklyn just before Valentine’s Day.  

I know that all of the adults are looking forward to us going to bed so I might as well not fight having Mama take off my clothes and putting on my pajamas.  Lucy and Charley are getting into their pajamas now, and pretty soon Mama will make sure we have our pacifiers in our mouths and will gently rock us before placing us with our blankets so that we can go to sleep.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaah.  Charley does not want to go to bed.  Mama taps him and tells him she loves him and that she’ll see him in the morning.  I sure like it when Mama sings the Go To Sleep lullaby to me before putting me down.  I know that she loves me and loves our family.  I know that Pumpa and Geema love us too.

Once we’re down, it’s time for Elizabeth and the adults to eat dinner.  Sometimes they eat when we’re still up but that isn’t so good for their digestion.  After finishing dinner, Mama begins the process of putting Elizabeth in her pajamas and getting her ready for bed.  Elizabeth always wants to stay up with the adults and will keep doing things to stall finally having the night light on and her tucked in bed with her Pooh and Foofa dolls and her blankets.  Mama sometimes gets a little impatient with her, but I know Mama loves her. 

If they’re lucky, the adults won’t hear us wake up too much in the night.  Pumpa and Geema have started wearing ear plugs.  We all sometimes will stir and wake up and cry just a short time but then fall back to sleep.  I need to get a good night’s sleep so that I can do this all over again tomorrow here at Pumpa and Geema’s house in California!

Ho Ho Ho....Wahhhhhhhh!

Well, it’s the 24^th of December and I have a house full of babies—one 3 year old and three one-year olds.  I get to experience Christmas morning once again through young children’s eyes.  All the presents are bought and wrapped and tucked under the tree—protected by a white board wedged between a love seat and a sofa, as to protect the gifts from being opened.

When the triplets are awake, it’s only a matter of minutes before one is crying or screaming, a constant din of noise and activity.  When they are napping or sleeping, “all is calm, all is bright.”  My daughter Emily and son-in-law Adam do an AMAZING job managing them, keeping their wits and letting most things just slide.  But it is apparent that they need help, and Ann and I are trying to do what we can; after all, that is why we they are here.

Having so much activity and stress in the home, it does bring out the best and worst in an adult trying to manage the chaos.  The challenge is to be patient and loving—and to realize that nearly all of the drama is just that…and nothing to get worked up about.  These kids are wonderful, each with their own personalities and temperaments, a testimony to the reality of a pre-earth existence and the concept of nature, in the nature vs. nurture debate.  Emily and Adam treat the kids very equally, so what I am seeing is nature.

So it’s just about time to strap the four kids into the their car seats in our two cars and head south to San Pedro.  The rehab where BJ lives is putting on a program and we want to provide him the chance to see family when the opportunity arises.  It will be a memorable Christmas Eve.  I am grateful to have family.  

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!!!”  

Of Winds and Roots

Tipped Over Tree in Recent Santa Ana Winds

When I first found out 36 years ago about the tall girl in Apartment 7, I came to know that she and her sister were from a place in Southern California called Santa Ana.  That wasn’t where they really were from; they were from a town next to Santa Ana called Tustin.  But I became acquainted with the name of the town.

When that tall girl and I moved to California in 1994 as husband and wife, she introduced me to the phenomena known as the “Santa Anas.”  To those who have never lived here or do not know about western US weather patterns, whenever a high pressure system forms over Utah, or very close to Utah, winds rotate in a clockwise pattern and blow from the Beehive State westward toward California, particularly Southern California.  In the late spring to the summer to the early fall, those winds can become gusty and are quite warm or hot as they blow over the heat of the deserts of Nevada and Arizona.  They can also blow in the winter, albeit without warmth.

Just recently, an unusually strong, cold Santa Ana blew in the Los Angeles area where I live, particularly from Pasadena eastward.  The results were many:  Ann’s community college where she teaches closed as did all of the K-12 schools in the area, people were encouraged to stay off the streets because of tree damage, electric lines fell causing wide spread outages, semi-trailers were blown over, and many, many trees lost limbs, or palm fronds, or were entirely blown over.

The governmental clean up agencies went to work quickly to make sure main roads including freeways were not obstructed.  Many days later, side streets were still littered with mounds of foliage remnants, and some folks still did not have electricity.  And some trees, many of them quite tall and veterans of other Santa Ana winds, lay horizontally, their proud limbs contorted or broken and roots now exposed for all to see.

How is it that a proud pine or a stately sycamore or a princely palm can be blown over?  What allows a tree to “weather” storms and winds and stay upright?  The trees that were blown over last week for the most part had shallow root systems caused by frequent watering.  Oft applied water meant they did not have to send their roots deep into the ground.  Their shallow root systems sufficiently anchored them, especially here in Southern California where weather is quite mild most of the time.  But when this particularly strong Santa Ana blew, the roots failed some them, and they fell crashing to the earth.

I see a metaphor in what happened for me in my life.  Am I a strong tree that people around me can rely upon and that can offer shade, beauty, and consistency to them?  Or do I become complacent because of the relative ease of my life?  Knowing that I have control over my “root system,” am I making an effort to send my roots deep into the soil of my wife and family, my religion, my friends and other important relationships—that dirt which is deep and which can anchor one’s life?  Am I investing enough energy into my roots each day so that when emotionally and spiritually challenging “storms” appear, I remain emotionally strong?  And when a hurricane-like Santa Ana wind of adversity and trial appear, are my relationship roots deep enough to keep me upright?

I’m glad that I saw this example of nature.  I am, after all, responsible for my” tree” and for its” roots.”    

Mindfulness and Gratitude

I was asked to speak to my congregation a couple of weeks ago.  I decided to post it on this blog.  It may be a little long, but hopefully worth the time.

I was reading about an experience a young mother had with her three-year-old as she was praying with him.  She related the following:

“I knelt beside my three-year-old and listened to his scrambled bedtime prayer: ‘I’m thankful for Mommy and Daddy, snow and clouds.  I’m thankful for Santa Claus.  I’m thankful for pizza and my big brother.  Thank you for food.  Thank you for everything.’”

“I waited as he hesitated.  With such a long inventory of blessings, I assumed he was deciding between continuing his list and jumping into his warm, inviting bed.  After a long pause, he hastily added, ‘Oh, and please bless our dumb old cat.’  He then finished his prayer with an emphatic ‘AMEN.’” 1

This experience caused this young mother to look at her life and to contrast her adult life with her children’s lives.  She continued:

“I tried to remember the last time I had thanked the Lord for such things.  Certainly my life was filled with small blessings.  Like my son, I thought pizza was delightful, but never included it in my prayers.  I enjoyed snow and clouds too, but I never mentioned them either.”  She then wrote:

“I liked to think I omitted such items because they were too insignificant to include among important adult acknowledgements and appeals.  But I knew that in reality I no longer noticed them.  I had become so busy with “to do” lists and responsibilities that I no longer paid attention to the tiny purple flowers dotting the backyard, the intricacies of leaves, or the earth-washed smell of fresh rain.”

“Unlike me, my children noticed all the details of their young lives.  Nothing escaped their observant eyes and appreciative hearts.  My five-year-old ran for the sheer joy of feeling his healthy body move—not to burn calories or reach his target heart rate.  My three-year-old danced exuberantly whenever music was played and squished mud between his toes just to feel the warm, gloppy ooze.  My baby was a study in joy.  He tasted soap bubbles, smeared his hair with applesauce, and chased shiny, black beetles—unfettered by grown-up notions of cleanliness or repugnance toward six-legged creatures.” 2

My intent was not to write about being grateful and what we should be grateful for.  Rather, I would like to share insights that have helped me to know better HOW to be grateful.  My focus is to remind us about the secrets that young children seem to know instinctively and that teenagers and adults seem to forget about, secrets that the young mother realized in the story I related.

D o you recall what she said about not paying attention to the tiny purple flowers in her backyard, the intricacies of leaves, and the earth-washed smell of fresh rain?  How she had forgotten what it feels like to dance when music was played, to squish mud between her toes, to taste soap bubbles, to know the joy of smearing hair with applesauce, and chasing shiny black beetles?

I love Primary songs, and one of my favorites comes to mind:

Whenever I hear the song of a bird or look at the blue, blue sky, whenever I feel the rain on my face or the wind as it rushes by,

Whenever I touch a velvet rose or walk by a lilac tree, I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.

He gave me my eyes that I might see the color of butterfly wings.  He gave me my ears that I might hear the magical sound of things.

He gave me my life, my mind, my heart, I thank Him reverently for all His creations of which I’m a part.  Yes I know Heavenly Father loves me. 3

Did we get part of the secret from the story of the young mother and the Primary song above?  It involves enjoying our senses, being aware of them.  It involves s-l-o-w-i-n-g d-o-w-n our lives and living in the present—the here and now.  When was the last time we took time to listen for the song of a bird or look at the blue sky?  When did we last touch or smell a velvet rose?  When did we last decide to slow down and listen to the magical sound of things or dance when a particular song came on—for no other reason than to experience life?  I’m not proposing that we smear our hair with applesauce, but what I am recommending is that you and I SLOW DOWN and literally and figuratively smell the roses.  It’s about allowing slowing down and allowing our senses to help us feel gratitude.

By doing so, we will begin to do what the children’s song indicated in the last line: we [will] thank Him reverently for all His creations [for which we] are part.  We will more fully come to know, as the song says, [that] Heavenly Father loves [us]. 4   Slowing down and experiencing the moment in which we are, can be called being MINDFUL.  Mindfulness, I believe, is the big, overarching secret, the very key to gratitude and the way to know and feel God’s love.

Let me share a couple of experiences I had recently that will help define what I mean by being mindful through living in the here and now and enjoying our feelings and senses.

I have had all kinds of aches and pains for many years, particularly in my lower back.  I’ve been to the chiropractor many times, I’ve purchased a special bed, I’ve taken literally bottles of ibuprofen through the years, I’ve tried to keep a good posture, but I still have back issues, especially in the middle of the night and when I wake up in the morning.  My wife has experienced her own issues relative to our advancing years, and recently she got this wild hare about taking yoga classes.  

I initially was less than enthusiastic about it but I finally decided that I would try it with her and see what happened.

The first time we went, we both became nauseous.  It was SO hard!  But we continued to go, my wife more often than me.  It still is hard.  I am not into yoga meditation and chanting that sometimes is done at the classes, but I am getting a little bit better at contorting my body into the movements and poses.  And let me be clear: anybody who does yoga knows that the contorting of the body forces one to focus on just the breathing and the sensations of the body, and NOTHING ELSE!  I sense the strains, the heat of the muscles, the breathing.

Since starting to do yoga, not only has my back and balance improved, but it has forced me to be mindful for 60 or 90 minutes, and that is a good thing for me.  As I slow down and am mindful about the experience, I notice that my back is getting better, that I have a wife who challenges me and helps me to do things I probably wouldn’t do otherwise, that I have two arms and two legs with which to do yoga, that I am actually able to some of the actions, and that I have been blessed financially to be able to take the classes.  I feel grateful that I have a car in which to drive to the classes, and the money to put gas in the car, and that afterwards I have a home to return to.

The other experience I want to share has to do with my experience in the last area of my mission to Argentina.  It was the first (and probably the last) time missionaries had lived in this particular place, and there was no running hot water or heat in the shower area of the bathroom.  Occasionally it got very cold.  What I would do during those cold spells was to go without showering for a couple of days but then I would shiver my way through a 3-4 minute ordeal, only turning on the water to get wet and to rinse.

Some days I forget, but I often try to go to a mindful place and remember how it was by I luxuriating under a stream of warm water.  Afterwards, in a mindful place, I will really enjoy and feel gratitude for stepping out of the shower and not seeing my breath. 

And that brings up another aspect of being mindful: slowing down and being in the here and now enough to realize what blessings I have right now that others don’t have.  It’s being able to feel gratitude without being compelled by our circumstances to feel gratitude.  It doesn’t come from a place of pride but rather, a gratefulness that comes from mindfulness.

Let me share an example of what I mean from my extended family.  I have a nephew who was born without the ability to rotate his arms, to turn his palms upward.  They always face downward, or perpendicular to the ground.  For me, it is a simple, mindless action to rotate my palms but for him it is an impossibility.  To his credit, he has not allowed the disability to stop him from using his arms and hands as best he can.  He has learned to play the piano (palms down), he has learned to play the trombone (palms perpendicular), and has even learned to play lacrosse (palms perpendicular).

When I succeed at being mindful, especially when I pray my morning prayer, I will rotate my palms up and down a couple of times.  That is my way to express to Heavenly Father that I am trying to be grateful for those physical blessings that I might take for granted. 

When I succeed at being mindful, I express gratitude for being free of pain in that moment because so many of His children have so much physical pain.  When I am mindful, I have thanked Him for being able to swallow because I was hospitalized a few years ago with epiglottitis, which was a swollen epiglottis that made it terribly painful to swallow and for which I had to be hospitalized in intensive care.

When I succeed at being mindful, I am grateful to be able to see because I have worn glasses since age 5 and have feared getting a sharp blow to my head and having my retinas detach.  I try to utter a little prayer of thanksgiving when I look at the mountains which surround where I live here in Southern California, when I see the white or gray of clouds, the green of grass in my yard, the red of my car, the blue of the ocean, the orange of pumpkins, the black of licorice. 

I really believe that my senses help me to be grateful, but I must slow down and be in the here and now to have these realizations.  In the Bible story of the ten lepers, I wonder if after being healed of leprosy, the nine neglected to give thanks to Him because they did not stay in the moment.  Perhaps their lives quickly became crowded with details and trivialities.  Maybe they were impatient and wanted to quickly join their families and community, wanting to forget about their former lives altogether.  Perhaps they felt entitled.  Regardless, once the miracle took place, they did not feel the need to offer thanks; they lost their mindfulness.

As you and I plead with the Lord to receive blessings in our prayers, are we mindful enough to thank Him for giving us blessings?  Do we ever purposefully offer a prayer of gratitude for all of our blessings and not made a single request?  When I have done that, I have noticed that it puts me in a mindful place, and I notice that I will thank Him for blessings that I normally wouldn’t and that I might take for granted.  I am reminded of the words of King Benjamin recorded in Mosiah 2:21:

“I say unto you that if ye should serve him who has created you from the beginning, and is preserving you from day to day, by lending you breath, that ye may live and move and do according to your own will, and even supporting you from one moment to another—I say, If ye should serve him with all your whole souls yet ye would be unprofitable servants.”

The truth is that indeed the Lord lends us our very breath which allows us to live.  He blesses us with so much that we often don’t notice or that we take for granted.  I don’t want to be like the ungrateful nine lepers.  I would rather be mindful and return daily to the Worker of miracles in my life and fall at His feet and worship Him by offering my gratitude.

I am grateful for having the Gospel in my life.  I am grateful for a loving wife who supports me and helps do difficult things like taking yoga classes, and who works alongside of me in the Addiction Recovery Program of LDS Family Services.  I am grateful for that Program and for the Twelve Steps of Recovery.  I am grateful for the hard earned sobriety of my heroin-addicted son what has 19 months clean and sober.  I am grateful for my Priesthood.  I am grateful to have a temple so close and a car to get me there and to the Chapel because they haven’t always been so close and we haven’t always had a car.  I am grateful for Church leaders like our bishop and stake presidency and general Church leaders.  I am grateful for music and the joy that it brings me, and that I am able to hear.

Perhaps most importantly, when I am mindful and realize my fallen state, that I am a sinner laden with sins and multiple weaknesses and imperfections, I am humbly grateful for the pain which He suffered and the drops of blood that He spilled for me in the Garden of Gethsemane. I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine to rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine.5  I am grateful that He should care for me enough to die for me.6  I am grateful to His Father who love me so much that He sent His only Begotten Son.  It helps me to be grateful when I am mindful of His love.   

    

1.Lisa Ray Turner, The Song of Gratitude, June 1993 Liahona

2.Ibid

3. My Heavenly Father Loves Me, Children’s Songbook, p.228

4.Ibid

5.I Stand All Amazed, Hymns, p.193

6.Ibid

Drawing Upon Life Experiences

Maybe it is due to the schooling I received and the types of therapy that I embraced there.  Maybe it is due to the types of clientele that I see.  Maybe it is due to the style of supervision that I receive as a therapist intern.  Maybe it is due to where I am in my middle age as I see people each week.  Maybe it is due to the decisions that I have made through the years and the enormous amount of experiential knowledge I have gained recently. – Whether it is one, some, or all of these, what I know is that I often draw upon my marriage, my parenting, my spirituality, and indeed, my life experiences, as I do psychotherapy.

I have wondered if a fellow therapist with much more experience might be alarmed or even aghast that I would share who I am with those who come to see me.  I have likewise wondered if a veteran fellow therapist might condescendingly take me aside and state, “that’s how it is done.”  I can only say that I feel comfortable sharing who I am as I endeavor to help those who come seeking help.  And perhaps because I have not had clients with overwhelming psychopathologies (code speak for being “really messed up”) or perhaps because I am not disposed to pathologize them (code speak for telling them they are “really messed up”) or perhaps because I have pathogical issues (code speak that I am “really messed up”), I seem to relate and connect with most of them.

Somehow the experiences of my life seem to have a measure of relevance.  Being a 57 year old intern allows me the luxury of having experience from which to draw, and while not always directly applicable, they seem to be close enough.  For example, I have not had what I would consider a full blown addiction, but I do have experience feeling triggered and obsessing over not-so-nice thoughts, and I have seen addiction first hand.  I have not been through a divorce, but Ann and I got somewhat close some years ago.   I did not have parents who physically or sexually abused me, but I did have a mother who occasionally would emotionally abuse me, a father who was emotionally distant, and their marriage that lacked emotional and physical intimacy.  I did not have siblings at home, but I know what it is like to be an only child, and I did witness four siblings interact as children in my home.

I have been in psychotherapy for quite a while and know what it is like to be “on the couch.”  I have had a son who has been addicted to drugs and I know that heartache.  I have had experiences with the Twelve Steps and the whole recovery milieu.  I have had a wife who knows and understands how behavioral boundaries function in a marriage, and who knows how to be a loving and supportive.  I have had children who have made decisions that were not wise, and I likewise have made decisions that were not wise.  I have overcome my fears to go back to school to get a degree in my 50s.    I have learned many life truths, such as “recovery/change happens when the pain of addiction/not changing becomes greater than the pain of recovery/change, and will not happen when the pain of recovery/changing is greater than the pain of addiction/not changing,” and “let go and let God.”

I am in the transition of learning to be an effective psychotherapist.  Occasionally, I will get down upon myself (another life experience with which I am extremely aware), but I know that I am making progress and constantly learning.

A New Commandment I Give Unto You, That Ye Love One Another As I Have Loved You

I am a lifelong member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a Christian denomination (even though some of my evangelical brothers and sisters don’t believe that) that is also known as the Mormon Church.  It is a worldwide religion of over 14 million believers (including Mitt Romney and Jon Huntsman among others) whose primary leadership is based in Salt Lake City, Utah.  Rather than being a casual member, I attend meetings weekly, perform private worship during the week, and serve in callings or perform responsibilities each week as part of my desire to perform Christian service.   I earnestly believe in the doctrines of the Church and sincerely feel that I not only worship but want to obediently follow the beings I call my Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.   In this blog entry I will not discuss a wide array of doctrinal beliefs or theology of my Church but rather I will focus on what I see as a disconnect that occurs between what our religions teach us to do with what those religious beliefs should help us become.

In the Christian faith community, the pulpits are ablaze with sermons about God’s grace and His love for his children.  Those that preach proclaim that Christ’s teachings are about taking upon ourselves His attributes, such as being imbued with kindness, love, caring, gratitude, and thoughtfulness, and casting aside un-Christian characteristics like judging, coveting, and sexual impurity.  Indeed, in the congregations of my Church, we are told in word and song that “by this shall all men know ye are my disciples if ye have love one to another.”

However, in my Church and in all churches, synagogues and mosques, there is always the challenge of “living” our religious beliefs between those days when we are sitting in the pews or kneeling on the floor, and the rest of the days of the week.  True believers realize that they want to live righteous lives and their challenge is to make their lives congruent with the teachings they receive on their day of worship.  I would like to think that most do a pretty good job of it.  But it seems to me that sometimes a few of we believers lose sight of that congruency and get caught up in our own piety and what we would suppose to be the purity of where we worship, or in the notion of strictness of our doctrines.  We sometimes lose sight of the fact that our doctrinal beliefs were given to help us to not only do better but to also be better.

For example, how do we respond when someone ventures into our religious buildings that does not fit the stereotypical appearance of who we piously think should be there?  Or when, having attended for a period of time, a person is discovered to have something done something “wrong?”   Or more critically, when someone we know as an acquaintance, friend, or even a family member, is discovered to be engaged in some activity that may be contrary to doctrines espoused by us and our religions?

Because of our fears of being contaminated personally, or our homes or religious building being desecrated, or our desiring to keep our homes or families or congregations or religions pure, do we lose sight of what the religious teachings are trying to help us become, and shun the individual?  Out of that fear, do we do what our natural, non-religious selves demand that we do, and that is to judge him or her (or them)?  Do we understand so little of our underlying doctrines?  Are we so insecure in our religious beliefs?  Are our religions merely about purity?

A lay member of my faith was asked to speak at one of my religion’s important meetings, and although it was a few years ago, the words he uttered still haunt me.  He said, and I am paraphrasing, “for me, the sweetest smell I can smell in these meetings is the smell of cigarette smoke on someone’s clothing.”  For anybody who does not know, to be a completely faithful member of my Church, allowed to participate in all its worshipping rituals, you cannot smoke (or drink coffee, tea, or alcohol.)  Obviously, someone who smells of cigarette or cigar smoke would likely be judged as not being completely faithful.  What do I do with this apparent paradox?  Do I distance myself by not interacting with him or her at all?  Do I take this person aside and tell them that they smell and that they need to do something about their problem?  Do I tell them that they just need to try harder not to smoke, or maybe pray more diligently?  Do I talk to other congregants about how bad this person smells?  Do I go to Church leaders and tell them this person reeks of smoke? 

In my belief system, I must ask myself “what would Jesus do with or say to this individual?”  Does He love them any less because they smoke?

The speaker then said something else in the same sermon that likewise haunts me.  Again, paraphrasing, he said, “if all of our sins had a smell, what would you and I smell like?”

I understand that refraining from such substances is unique to just a few religions, so I would like to bring up a more universal “prickly” issue that many faith communities are wrestling with: same sex attraction.  My intent is not to bring up the issue of the correctness or incorrectness of SSA or so-called gay marriage, although I have opinions about them.  What I wish to address is how we as straight people in faith communities respond to these fellow travelers in mortality, these souls who I have been taught are my spiritual brothers and sisters, as all people are.  What do I do when they exercise great courage and risk by daring to darken the doors of our religious buildings, knowing that they might be judged and/or shunned.  Or even more difficult, what do I do when one of these sensitive individuals is my friend, my uncle or aunt or cousin, or my parent, or my child?

Do we go to our pious place and declare that they are flawed (which by making that judgment we infer that we are not, and as such are better than they are)?  Do we judge them as evil or wicked and that they are surely going to go to hell or wherever or whatever our purgatory is (which distances us from them)?  Do we tell fellow congregants that they are gay or lesbian or even transgender (as if we are morally superior to them)?  Do we consider them so sinful that they are not worthy of our love, and in my case, my Christian love (because sexual sin is regarded as being so heinous)?  Do we preach to them and tell them that if they were really spiritual the attraction would simply go away (as if that may not have crossed their minds at one time)?  Do we bring out our particular scriptures and lecture them on the scriptural evils of being attracted to someone of the same gender (because we feel that it is our responsibility to set them straight)?  Do we just avoid them and have nothing to do with them because they make us feel uncomfortable (because dealing with people different from us makes us uncomfortable)?  Do we tell them to leave our homes and that we never want to speak to them again (because they are a disgrace and embarrassment—they make us look bad---and are not deserving of our love)?

Are we so insecure about who we are and what we believe that we have to put someone down or distance ourselves from them because they are different?  Are we so oblivious to what really matters—like being kind and gentle as little children?  (Have you ever noticed how easily young children play with other young children no matter their gender, size, race, color, religion, or smell?  Those are adult constructs.)  Are we so threatened by others’ lifestyles that we cannot look past them to find out who they really are?  Are we who are Christian so caught up in the Mosaic Law-type, letter-of-the-law piety and hypocrisy as the Pharisees were that we do not see His higher law of a broken heart and a contrite spirit, and of loving our neighbors as ourselves?   

My hope is that when people who are “different” from us live with us, work with us, and come to our places of worship with us, we can begin the transition to forget about appearances, we can begin the transition to get past our pre-conceived stereotypes, we can begin the transition to get to know who they are in their souls, and we can begin the transition to come to care for them like we would like to be cared for.

This blog post is dedicated to two men, one whom I know very well and love as a brother who has a gay son whom he loves and adores and is a true example of Christ-like love to him, and the other a person whom I have never met but hope to meet at some future day.  His name is Mitch Mayne, and he is currently serving as the Executive Secretary of the San Francisco Bay Ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and who happens to be openly gay.  He is a fellow blogger at mitchmayne.blogspot.com.

Nice Places to Visit, But I Don't Want to Live There Now

Shoveling snow was an activity that I used to enjoy as a youth but which became more difficult as I got older. The older I got, the muscles used for shoveling that were rarely used otherwise would ache for hours after. With the transition to older years, I got better at the challenge to determine when the snowfall was subsiding and the sidewalks and driveways would remain fairly clear of snow so that I didn’t have to shovel again. And while I enjoyed the feeling afterward, especially if it did stop snowing, of clean, clear paths, it was a lot of work. The spiffy snow blower I got later on was better for my back, but it was still a lot of work.

I remember the enjoyment of feeling the dry flakes on my face as they would quietly and gently tumble to the ground or land on my glasses and blur my vision. But if there was any wind at all as I pushed and lifted, it would chill my nose and make it run, and make me squint. For the uninitiated, the temperature during a snow fall is rather mild; it is when the skies clear that the coldness settles in. Still, my fingers would inevitably get cold and it was nice to sidle up to a fire in the fireplace or stand on a heat register after I had peeled off the coat and taken off the snowy boots. Those snowy boots would always heat up once inside and leave little pools of water around them.

I have lived in Southern California for the past 17 winters and have shoveled snow once (about two inches).  When the rest of the US is shivering and other folks are shoveling snow, I look out of my window and see palm trees, flowers, a few green leaves, but no snow on the ground.  When Ann and I do retire, we might end up where it snows; who knows?  All that I know is that I do not miss shoveling snow. I have made that transition!  For me, snowy climes are a nice place to visit, but I don’t want to live there now.

The Greatest Generation and The Tattooed Barbie

My wife Ann recently adroitly remarked to another couple that our generation, the baby boomers, are the connection of a world of the horse and buggy with the crazy-paced jet world of 2011, the world of the IBM supercomputer, Watson, that completely outpointed Jeopardy’s greatest mortal champions.   My generation grew up with parents who may have flown in a biplane, put their food in an icebox cooled with real ice, listened to scary stories on the radio because there was no television, did what they had to do in an outhouse, were warmed by coal rather than natural gas or electricity, and built infrastructure like walls and roads in post-depression America.  My generation had fathers who fought in WWII and had mothers who went without for the good of the wartime society. 

My mom and dad knew what it was like to see the terrible human toll of the depression.  They knew what it was like to buy a five cent loaf of bread and to feel lucky to have that nickel to spend.  They knew what it was like to leave the house to entertain themselves and interact with other people by taking the train to the Saltair Ballroom on the shore of the Great Salt Lake to dance the night away.  They knew what it was like to live in large families and to receive one gift for Christmas, if they were lucky.  They knew what it was like to lose a close relative to illness because it happened so often.

Theirs was a world where everybody knew everybody else in the neighborhood.  Theirs was a world in which there were clearly defined good guys and bad guys.  Theirs was a world in which kids were to be seen not heard and parents were in charge.  Theirs was a world in which couples stayed married, even if that marriage might be loveless, for the sake of the children.  Theirs was a world in which movies were mostly in black and white, and the sex scenes in those movies were only imagined, never portrayed.  Theirs was a world of “wear it until you wear it out,” and clothing was generally modest—in style and in price.

A few of the children of baby boomers have been lucky enough to be able to listen to the stories of “the good old days” from Grandpa and Grandma.  Many have not had that blessing.  Too bad.

My kids’ generation only knows jet travel in Boeing 747s and Airbus 320s.  My kids’ generation only knows climate controlled refrigerator-freezers with instant cold water and instant ice.  My kids’ generation only knows 100s of channels from which to choose on cable/satellite TV including numerous kids’shows.  My kids’ generation only knows indoor plumbing unless they go camping, and only know that when they flush, water washes everything away, and they can wash their hands afterwards with warm water.  My kids’ generation only knows thermostats on walls that can make them feel warmer or cooler in no time at all.  And although my kids’ generation has been exposed to the ugliness of war—especially the relentless but sanitized images of Iraq and Afghanistan, these modern wars of cost relatively few (but worthwhile) lives compared to WWII, and its effects have not been felt much on a daily basis.  There has been no sacrificing for the modern war effort per se.

The children of today sadly see people waiting for food from the Salvation Army or another charitable organization, but nearly all the children have plenty to eat and plenty to spend.  Because of the Internet and the myriad of social networks like Facebook and Twitter that are available at home or on their mobile telephones, the children of today don’t need to interact face to face; they are entertained electronically.   The children of today usually grow up in small families, and most only know entitlement.  The children of today have been blessed to be beneficiaries of scientific and medical breakthroughs, some of them living past difficult childbirths because of those advances.  The infant mortality rate in their Western world is extremely low, and if they were blessed to be able to know and speak with grandparents, it was likely because their progenitors’ lives had been extended by the miracles of modern medicine.

Unless they live in a rural, small town setting, it is difficult to get to know people living around them.  They live in a world of little or no feeling of community. They live in fear because their modern world is a dangerous place.  They live in an increasingly valueless society where right and wrong are relative and are likely taught by school teachers to think that they should not value their ideas above any other’s ideas.   They live with parents who want to be their friends rather than their parents and who have a hard time saying no.  And they rarely live with two parents anyway, especially if they are blacks.  Because nearly all of their friends’ parents or relatives have been divorced or they have been raised in by a single parent, they see marriage as a difficult institution that can be tossed aside when their interests conflict with their partner’s and the going gets tough.   They live with computers or cell phones where they can watch any kind of sex scene imaginable between any combinations of people.  They live in a world of immodest clothing, and an endless drumbeat of all types of media (including movies) relentlessly enticing them to keep buying the latest immodest fashions.

So here I am at the nexus, the transition, of “the greatest generation” and the generation of “the tattooed Barbie.”  I have a pretty good idea of my parents’ world, and that way feels SO different from the world of today.  I still feel awestruck by faxes and computers and credit card scanners and Skype, technological changes that have occurred in my lifetime.  I must admit to enjoying aspects of the easy life of 2011, and maybe I just feel a bit guilty that I am experiencing what my parents never could.  I may be feeling uneasiness that the things I enjoy today do not make up for the valueless environment in which they are enjoyed.  And it feels like that environment is rapidly getting uglier and weirder and sadder.  I feel powerless to do anything about in on a societal level, like I’m on a train going to the bad side of town and I can’t get off of because it is going so fast.

I guess all that I can do is to maintain the good values of my parents’ generation in my own interactions and those with whom I come in contact, and be appreciative for many of the blessings of the modern life.  I live the transition.