Woodwork and Willingness

My husband has discovered woodworking. High pitched blades whirl through the air with sawdust after work hours. A pro-carpenter neighbor in Timber Lakes, numerous how to YouTube videos, and experimentation, just gets my husband more excited about his new endeavor. I watch him with admiration as he produces for me birdhouses, a four- tier planter, an old garden bench sanded and refinished.

A willing heart is the first step to learning something new.

Sometimes learning something new can seem daunting or overwhelming. Woodworking is a huge bite to swallow all at once. Preparedness or self reliance, can be seen the same way. As with my husband’s first birdhouse, willingness to get started, then taking one tiny step at a time can make a huge difference.

Many years ago, a job loss cost us dear. Without warning or signs of anything being wrong, a company threw our family into 10,000 dollars worth of debt overnight, due to closing and a group European business trip that ended the day before closing and lay offs. Everything went on our credit card to make reimbursement easy on the company. There was no business expense reimbursement. This was 2001. Out of work, in time with the with the disaster of 9-11, stocks plummeted and we dug into our savings, then our 401K’s to keep afloat. I’d had a wise RS President who had focused us on preparedness. We went as a group to the church’s storehouse and had canned and purchased dry goods for our home storage. We’d learned how to use our storage. I had a full year’s supply of food stored when my husband lost his job. Wheat became bread and bulgar for cereal. I tried using bulgar for a casserole recipe using bulgar instead of meat It was horrid.  Dry apples became a dessert. Dry onions and carrots went into dishes. Beans were soaked and cooked into Louisiana beans and rice. I used dried milk for cooking. Drinking it was too gross. All these preparations cut my grocery bill by more than half. But back then, I saw food stores as an extreme plan B. It was interesting to be placed in a situation where I could use what I had and what I’d learned to stretch the funds we had. That was 2001, years ago in Tigard, Oregon, when I had three small children, and that experience made me NEVER want to use food storage again. 

But guess what? I’ve been called to the preparedness committee in my new ward, where once again there is a big focus on preparedness, and having given away what was left of my food storage when I moved to Utah from Oregon, I am starting over with a new attitude and understanding. Preparedness should be a way of everyday life. Not a grunt miserable alternative because the end is coming. Preparedness can be simple and adapted to just the way we live. I invite you to follow my blog as I revisit preparedness and relearn how to make basic preparedness easy and fun.

To Be Broken Hearted

Two nights ago, I had a strange dream that has since caused me to ponder.

I dreamt I was in bed, awake, and alone.  There was a Sponge Bob shaped balloon (just the shape no face) at the foot of the bed.  I was really missing Dad Ries, I miss his wisdom, I miss his good heart, I miss his love, and I was so sad.  Suddenly I asked the walls, “Dad, are you here?” He wasn’t, but I grabbed the balloon and just held it and wept holding that balloon so tight. It was a complete release. I never knew I could cry so hard. I knew it was a dream and marveled at that kind of release in wonder. I gave myself permission to break down, and in my dream, I wept torrential tears.

When I woke, I knew everything was going to be okay, and I had an odd peace. I felt good, energized, refilled, satisfied. Yesterday, I didn’t worry, or have sad feelings. I didn’t question my relationships, or my insecurities as a human being. I didn’t think about the way the world is turning, or the huge amounts of hate dividing the country. I didn’t feel the frustration of a house that won’t sell or wish for progress or to have neighboring friends nearer to where I am, for something fun. I didn’t worry about my place in this new season called empty nesting, where people I love have left home on one end, and are leaving this world on the other.  I didn’t fear the unknown. I just enjoyed the day as I pondered the phrase, “broken heart.”

I remember being told by Dad, in my younger years of mothering, that there were times I would have “a broken heart.”  My thought was, me? Never.  I used to think, “weak” was a good synonym for broken heart, but that isn’t so. Many times, I’ve known a broken heart.  To have a broken heart means to be an active mother, sweetheart, or friend. To have a broken heart means to know love, trust, or compassion. To have a broken heart means to challenge yourself beyond what you see.  To have a broken heart means to feel and feel deeply.  There’s no weakness in any of that, only living, loving, and learning those wisdoms that come with all those experiences involved, the greatest being to allow yourself to be broken hearted with the understanding that broken hearts mend, if we choose not to tarry too long.

To be broken hearted, is simply to be. Sometimes, to simply be is okay.

To have a broken heart is to friend the broken heart of another, and that is just what makes the broken hearted...

 whole.

Copyright 2016 Lori Ries All Rights Reserved.

Dealing with Dissension

The 2016 political climate is one of true mire. It's hateful really, and is perhaps in the history of my life, the most hateful race I've ever seen. Usually there's political mud slinging or dirt digging, and we're used to that, but this year, more than I've ever seen, parties are truly trying to crucify their opposing rivals, both sides being extreme and both sides being unduly crooked.

I was telling my husband how the world has seemed to shift so suddenly. Just since leaving Tigard six years ago, marijuana became legalized, the sanctity of marriage changed, respect for life has become void, a third gender has been named, abortion has become promoted, with fetal beings sold to science without conscience. Belief in God became unsound, and visions from media an unsightly mess as trucks mow down people and public gatherings around the world end in blood. Popularity overcame accountability and responsibility is judged based on political correctness. Law and order are challenged with the deaths of police. It's all just so strange. When did the world shift and who turned their heads to miss the beginning of the end of values, of freedom, of fidelity?

As I contemplate the visions that disrupt my sleep at night, I can so clearly see the warning of prophets coming to pass in my own day. It's wondrous and scary, and telling all at once feeling the widening gap between what I've been taught and have learned is right vs society's new rules of life. I wonder just how bad it's going to get, and if I am strong enough to handle the demons as I watch others I love continue to fall prey, swayed by the outside influences forgetting all.

It is my generation, that has long enjoyed a time of peace.  Is peacetime passing and is the world entering a new age of unrest, a new war, a new normal as people force their agenda and beliefs on others? How do we get through the day of dissension, where division is prominent, and future uncertain? More than this generation has ever known, faith, whatever that means for us individually, is going to show it's vast significance. The time is here, when man will need to be spiritually self reliant to face the days that are here and ahead. (See Mark 4: 3-20)

In a study of hypnotism, my psychology teacher told me that I could never be hypnotized. When I asked why, he told me I was too much of a realist. That my mind is too strong to let go of what is real to be submissive to the wills of another. I'm too alert. In today's world, we need be alert, awake, and aware. How important it is that we stand for truth and right. Isaiah warned: "Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!"

Where the world is in commotion, are we in motion? As I ponder today's vastly changing world, I hear Neil Anderson's voice. "Beware of the evil behind the smiling eyes."

Personal commentary, no sharing please.
Copyright 2016 Lori Ries All rights reserved.

In Focus

Ayn Rand said, "Words are a lens to focus one's mind."
I realized something this morning. When one struggles with writing as a noun, one should turn it on it's head and think of writing as a verb, and just write.

When my father in law passed, two and a half months ago, I feel I officially joined the empty nesters club. I felt myself being prepared for the start of losing parents a couple years ago, but in truth, you're never really prepared. Not for hip bone loss. I've lost a number of family members from that next generation. The number of living aunts and uncles, I knew in girlhood, are now far less, and it feels strange.

I'm trying to figure out this new stage of life. While I thought loss would be just another transformation, a change to adjust to, I never knew how loss could make one disjointed, confused, and even lost feeling. No matter how much faith you have or how strong you think you are, loss is hard.  Because it's so hard, my physician gave me added medication to my Midlife Welcome gift pack. I now laugh when I think back remembering telling my husband, "I don't mind the idea of growing old one day. When I do, I'll do so naturally and gracefully." I'd always been a Donna Reed fan. Everything is beautiful, organized, naturally lovely, right? In home and family, I fast learned the Donna Reed image was unreachable fiction. So how about aging? The romantics of two people growing old together has to be real, right?  Secretly, I wondered how and when the transformation occurred, while I admired and looked up to my seasoned lady friends. My grandmother donned white locks. I'm now a grandmother so how and when does hair go white; at 70? 80? Scientifically, I found the question fascinating.

New medications tainted my equilibrium, they also left me nearly sedated, and though it brought me to caring about very little, I cared that I couldn't think and barely functioned. The medication was shelved by my doctor. Loss still tampered with my blood pressure and we worked to balance out new meds, while doing a study to learn if the change in my health is stress related (so many deaths and life change at once, and that being too much) or life-stress related, where these kinds of stresses don't change because it's mid-life happenings and this is now the new normal. Medication balanced, and BP back in the 120's with "complete rest and withdraw from activity" I had my brain back. At one point during my nighttime routine, I glanced up into my reflection and saw white.

Dad Ries once told me, "Aging is not for the faint of heart."
People don't age gracefully. I'm convinced that in having a small taste of how people age, they must dig in their heels and raise their mitts like me. No one welcomes the kind of loss that breaks you. No one welcomes meds that slow your ability and thinking. No one welcomes the frustration of feeling twenty inside, but being told you can't work out and have to slow down to take care of your vital organs. No one had ever said that to me before and I hated it. Add "low salt diet" to those words and in a matter of days you feel you've aged twenty years. Again, I hated it. But there you are: mid-life empty nester like so many before you.
You try to figure out what that means and what this new normal will be like, and how you'll break free of the shackling you feel. You know something is different and don't know what is happening to you, or know how it happened to you, or when that change occurred, but you feel it in your bones and you just want it to go away and have your energy and vigor returned. And as soon as the doctor says go, you move, and you get active because you don't ever want your doctor to tell you that you have to stop moving again. And last, you ask yourself what personal progress means for you now, and ponder what is next, grateful for it all.

Marie Curie once said, "I was taught the way of progress is neither swift nor easy."
Aging is not for the faint of heart because of the fight; a fight for youth, for health, and for fullness of life.

When I was told by my doctor that I couldn't work out, I was told I could punch a punching bag.
Though I'm just returning to my weights, That punching bag continues to feel good.

A woman I sincerely admire is Eleanor Roosevelt. "A woman is like a tea bag----you can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water."
That about sums it up. Life isn't all easy street. Were that so, we'd have no purpose in being here. We're given trials, that we might overcome. Strength is the outcome, much like muscles broken down in a challenging workout to ultimately grow. We have power in prayer, in scripture, and in faith. But sometimes trial means you have to be personally strong, too.
When the physical war is on, women know how to fight.
The white is hidden beneath bold blonde.

To Teach His Own

It is 11:40 pm here in Madison Wisconsin, and I cannot sleep. My mind keeps racing back to earlier today to the creamery we patroned. Not to the little scene of delicious flavors seen in cups and on cones, not in the big smiles as two little Girls carried their Ice cream across the parlor. Not even in the tasting going on back and forth between girls and Mom and this grandma. But something else caught my attention. Something magnificent.

A small table behind us offered an interesting scene. That being a distinguished looking older man, confident and professional. His demeanor made me guess he was a professor at the University of Wisconsin where we sat eating icream at the agriculture program's creamery.  Across from him sat a very young woman. As they spoke, I couldnt help but hear. He talked about her potential and opportunities for her in "leadership."

They shared a few minutes of ice cream and he was obviously mentoring her, and she was receptive. The scene made me smile.

Somehow God places people in our path to help us to become who he knows we can become.

A warmth fills my heart as I remember such people who were instrumental in bringing me to where I am in my life's blessings and achievements.  I wonder where I'd be if Sally Olsen hadn't been my Beehive teacher. If I didn't every week see her white laced tablecloth with a picture of the temple on it. If I didn't see each week her husband come in and so thoughtfully help her to put her lesson displays away, and witness his adoration for her. Sister Olsen told me blessings are Gods promises fulfilled and that I could have the same happiness she had, and I felt her testimony of God's love for me. I believed her.

I wonder where I'd be if good teachers hadn't been in my path. Being a teenager can be hard sometimes. In fact, Somedays it stinks. My Theatre coach Ted Clearman who knew something wasn't quite right, could catch my low days and would say things like, if he were to have a daughter, he'd like her to be just like me.  My English teacher, Joe Anderson, who told me I had talent, and if I worked hard enough I could be a great writer, and who opened his home to me allowing me to babysit his children.  My drafting teacher, H. Lee Holmes, also my bishop-- who when my mother fell seriously ill, did welcome into his home for several months as a daughter. Influence unrestrained.

Kent Brown was perhaps my hardest teacher, my publisher and career guide. He saw me doing things I'd never conceived. Writing multiple books for print, leading and teaching writer workshops, speaking to large audiences, promoting myself and my works through media, school appearances, and signings-cracking the shell I was holed up in, he led me into the spotlight. It was hard as I was shy. He even appointed me as a trustee on the board of Highlights Foundation, which I so love, and served for years. I'm not shy anymore.

My husband. My wonderful husband is my greatest and will be my greatest mentor. Knowing me my strengths my weaknesses and loving me Deeply despite my shortcomings. Believing in me and always teaching me new and interesting ways to make me whole and my life so very full of goodness.
The influence of mentoring/ teaching is life changing.

It's interesting to look back at all the people who have or are now mentoring you. You can see traces of them in the seams that make up your life. My dear friend Mel, taught me how to be a good mother in my young mothering years. She taught me about eye level, and voice tone, and how to act vs react. I've no doubt God placed her in my life as well.

To teach his own, he's given us each other; in experience, wisdom, and inspirational epiphanies. I think of that sweet vision I caught earlier today and feel just a sweet fullness of gratitude for all who have sat across the table (metaphorically speaking) from me.

I pray I live up to your teachings, thank you for them, and hope to use them for good--without disappointing. 

The sweet thing about being given to, is that we then get to give to others what has been given. Giving back is the best when the table turns.

Doctors and Doctrine

"Do you drink?"

"No." I knew the next question so I just told her. "I don't drink or smoke."

(She's been my doctor for over 15 years.)

"Is this a religious thing?"

(… And here I thought this clever, fix everything, super-power pro knew all there was to know about me.)

"Yes. I'm a Mormon, we have this doctrine called the Word of Wisdom. It tells us smoking and drinking are not good for the body."

"Well, not smoking or drinking is wise. For a 50 yr old, you look 25!"

Interesting compliment and -Day made.

More interesting was her next question…

"I didn't know you were a Mormon. Isn't that the group that has 4 or 5 wives?"

"Nooooooooooo," and I think I said that with humor.  

For the record, Multiple wives--or polygamy--does not exist in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The shows on television are not at all affiliated with any of the teachings of the LDS Church. I have one husband.

My doctor was very happy for me.

But as we talked, and as I thought about it, I realized there had been so many strange questions, which I thought I might address in case these questions really do go unanswered.

My favorite (since high school) has been the question, "Are Mormons allowed to dance?" (Thanks, Footloose.)  :)

Many know the film was made in Lehi, Utah, but it is all fiction.  You can Find LDS Teens at every stake center dancing away to pop songs with their peers. Mormons of all ages take dance lessons and some become professional dancers. Remember Benji Schwimmer from "So You Think You can Dance?" The church hosts adult dances as well, as with a Valentine's sweetheart dance each February. Mormons definitely dance.

Can Mormons drink Coke Products? This has been a question of many. There is no reason why Mormons cannot have Coke/ Pepsi products. In fact, church leaders came right out to make that clear. Where caffeine is concerned, everything in moderation. Everyone knows caffeine is addictive.

Can Mormons play with cards, Face cards? I'm not sure where that came from. But it is a question I have been asked. Perhaps some liken face cards to gambling. Regular card games are simple family games, just as board games. I've played Slap Jack, Crazy Eights, War, 21, Hand and Foot, Gin Rummy, 52 Pick up, and others.  I believe the issue is with where something can become an addictive behavior and place one at risk or one's funds at risk. (* 52 Pick up is only addicting to 7 yr olds, and only if they get to toss the cards.)

What's with Sunday? Sunday is different. My children never had trouble sharing that with their friends. For us we go to church and spend the day as a family. Practicing Mormons keep the commandment "Keep the Sabbath Day Holy."  I once asked a bishop what that meant, as a young newlywed and adopted his definition. As far as activities go, each family keeps the Sabbath differently, but for him it was not doing anything he couldn't do in his church clothes. Sunday is a day of rest, reserved for the family, as the Lord rested on the seventh day.

Do Mormon's celebrate Christmas? Mormons are Christian. Jesus is our Savior and we do celebrate his birthday and all the beauty that comes with that glorious season. Christmas trees, gift exchanges and brotherly service are all part of the Christmas spirit. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir has many beautiful Christmas recordings.

Why do Mormon's store food? One of the teachings of the church is called Provident Living, or self reliance. We're taught to live within our own means, avoid unnecessary debt, and to have a storage of food should we need it, as with situations where income is compromised. Many of us have had to use that resource as today's job market has become less stable. Sickness, layoffs, and the unpredictable can have adverse effect on the unprepared.

Why can't just anyone go into the temple? The temple is the most sacred place on earth to a Latter-day Saint (or Mormon.) Only a Mormon who is living set standards may receive a temple recommend. However, many temple's now have Visitor Centers where anyone can go inside to learn more about the temple and what Mormon's believe. The beautiful grounds are open for all to enjoy. Our local Portland Temple just opened a Visitor's Center last year on the grounds.

Is the Book of Mormon the Mormon Bible? The Book of Mormon is not a Mormon Bible, but a second testament of Jesus Christ. Mormons have a set of Scripture. The Old Testament, The New Testament, The Book of Mormon (a record of a group of people that left Jerusalem and came to the Americas) The Doctrine and Covenants (Revelations given to the Prophet Joseph Smith when he was prophet--you can read about the organization of the church here in detail) The Pearl of Great Price (another scripture which lets us have an eternal perspective and learn life is not just this minute fraction of time spent on earth--but how we existed before this world, and how we'll exist after.

Mormons believe in the church as it existed in Christ's day with a church President (Prophet) and 12 apostles and that revelation continues. We don't believe God would leave this generation alone without His voice. In the scriptures God talked to the people of the Old and New Testament, and we believe he does so in our dispensation.

Is it true the Mormon Church does not have a paid clergy? Yes, it's true that the members of the church volunteer their time and talents. They lead, teach, organize, and give. We receive what is called, Callings, which is an area in which to serve, which can be leadership positions as with a bishopric, or financial clerk, and teaching adults, youth, or children (including morning seminary or scouting, primary, or nursery children.) There are many, many callings and many organizations. All callings are important working together to create a magnificently working ward organization.

Why do Mormons research ancestry? The Mormon church probably has one of the largest genealogical centers in the world. Families are forever and genealogy links family past, present and posterity. It's a beautiful thing to know where we came from and what our ancestors stories are. Many Stake centers have Family History Centers, which are open to the public. Family is central to God's plan for man, and is important to many faiths, including the LDS faith.

At what age is baptism? For the Mormon Faith, a child may choose to be baptized at eight years old. Eight is determined to be the age of accountability, when a child knows right from wrong. Baptism is performed by immersion, as Christ was baptized. It represents the burial and resurrection of Christ. With baptism Mormon's believe all sins are washed clean and it's a new beginning. After baptism, one may become clean again with repentance.

I hope this answers a lot of questions and opens doors for others. I enjoy learning about other religions and hope you enjoyed learning about mine. I love my faith.

Mormons today are called Latter-day Saints.

To Learn more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints check out www.mormon.org

From Apples to Understanding

I'm not going to log my personal progress in a book anymore. I've done that for I don't know how long, enjoying the process of completing the program repeatedly.  It's been fun, but having done that, I'm moving along. I'm almost certain no one reads these anyway. I write because writing lets me think and see truth clearly.

Daily living is daily learning. Every day is personal progress, as we choose.

I woke up this morning to finding myself back in Tigard going on a daily autumn walk I  once took with my young Jennifer. My mother was visiting. The walk was bright with the sun's rays warming our cheeks as our feet scuffed, sometimes crunching fallen leaves. I can still hear the sound. shh, shh, shh.

I can still see the lines on the gray haired woman's face. As she smiled they accented her eyes and lips in upward strokes. The happy lines only made her look happier, and made me smile, too.
"Hello," my mother said.
Before I knew it we were picking apples with the couple. We filled their basket, small talking as we went. Ruth talked far more than Wally and Jennifer became a magnet of attention.

I was shy, and my mother had opened a door. I continued to talk with Ruth after my mother returned home to Florida. I sometimes took them baked goods or jam. Ruth shared her sweet/ tart juicy apples. Wally talked sometimes, and I loved when they would laugh.

Ruth and Wally lived right next to where I attended church. One day we were having a large activity that I thought they might enjoy. That day was a day of learning for me.

Wally was outside working on his old truck when I approached him. I told him about what we called "Trunk or Treat," an autumn fest where we had an autumn dinner, played games, and decorated our cars for kids to trick or treating car to car afterward. Everyone dressed up and the costumes could be just as fun as the event itself.

Wally thanked me. He said they've lived beside that church many years. He'd been impressed by how people carried themselves and dressed in their Sunday best, suits with ties and dresses. They seemed friendly enough, he said, but he would never go to church because he'd stopped believing in God years before.

The change in Wally was instant. He suddenly became somber. I wanted to know.

"What happened that made you stop believing?"

Wally took me back to roaring planes and the blasts of bombs. WWII. He was one that stormed the concentration camps, freeing Jews. He spoke of seeing walking bones through skin, piled up dead, stench of rotting flesh and painted for me, the grimmest of scenes I still remember, and I wasn't even there. Tears were blinding as he brought me to his world.
"A God would never let that happen he said, what kind of God would allow a whole race to be erased? "That's why I can't believe. What kind of a God would allow such horrific suffering?"

My reply to him came slow. "I don't know."
I told Wally I was sorry he had to see such turmoil, but that I was glad he was there to save these people. I thanked Wally for his selfless service and told him he was a good man. "No I'm not," he said, "but I wish my wife thought I was."

I remember well how I pondered that conversation, how perplexed I became thinking about this lost hero. This man who braved the scene of death and suffering. This man who killed the enemy to free the dying, freeing a whole people allowing freedom and posterity.  And this man who never overcame his own bitter enemy to find peace and understanding, healing and wholeness.

One day as I meditated on Wally and that day he rescued so many, and the barbarian display he witnessed, the answer came to me. I remembered agency. God does not take away man's agency, but when I remembered that truth to pass on to Wally, it was too late. Wally had already passed.

Today where Ruth and Wally's little home sat, grand homes now cover the grass. A tall wooden development fence now stands where their apple trees once stood. Every now and again, I drive by that place, the place where great people dwelled. With Wally and Ruth gone, the world still turns and days bring change.

Despite what the world looks like, and the changes that come, be they good or bad. I am reminded of one that does not change. He helps me combat my own sufferings in trial, and my own enemies in my personal weaknesses.

God, our Father is the same for ever and ever and I am grateful to know that this is true.  This morning I am smiling, reminded that Wally knows that now, too.

Copyright 2013 Lori Ries All Rights Reserved.