TJ Hirst

“Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?”

I baked bread in the evening for my family. It didn’t finish cooling until just before I went to sleep, so I was standing in the kitchen in my robe and slippers at 10:15 packaging bread into bags. Of the four loaves, I would put three in the freezer and keep one out for making school lunches in the morning. My friend M came to mind. I was going to her house the next day and the thought came that I could bring a loaf to her.

But another thought came into my mind, disagreeing with this one. “No, that’s not necessary. Besides, then you would need to make bread, again, sooner,” it said. This mental flip flop consistently occurs as I make choices, even though I usually always end up following the thought that inspired my ideas in the first place.

Finally, I quieted the contradictory thoughts in my head and just set aside a loaf for her, reasoning, “Even if there was no reason to bring one, everyone likes to be remembered. I can make bread again soon.”

I had tightly scheduled the next day, especially in the afternoon, with some returns to make, the visit to M’s, children to pick up and a stop at the grocery store. Normally, at the end of days like these I am worn out and feel depleted. However, that morning, I found time to prepare myself for later. My youngest sister called unexpectedly, but I was able to make dinner ahead during her call, saving myself the work after I got home in the afternoon.

I arrived at M’s house right on time and rang the doorbell. Her children let me in, and I quickly realized that she was sick. She had been sleeping and seemed feverish to the touch when I hugged her. Although she was embarrassed to be “caught”, she settled herself into a big chair and wrapped up in blankets with a slice of the bread, some butter and a cup of herb tea. We had a wonderful heartfelt conversation like true friends.

Had the bread been necessary for all that? No, but it created a setting for both of us to recognize the core of friendship: generosity of self and spirit.

Generosity prompts us to cheer for a friend who gets to take a nap (or has any success, even if we aren’t currently having one). It is seeing beauty in each other even when we are rumpled. Generosity closes our eyes to the crumbs on the counter or dirty dishes and opens them to the joy of being in a friend’s home. It freely allows us to not think less of each other (or not retain feelings of embarrassment for our humanity and imperfection). Generosity opens our mouth to uplift and encourage. Most of all, generosity overcomes our thoughts of self.

Thank you, M; you helped me answer the question this day.

Generous: adj. 1. Liberal in giving or sharing. 2. Characterized by nobility and forbearance in thought or behavior; magnanimous. 3. Marked by abundance; ample.

Guest Post:ph

Many years ago, a very wise man visited a village with some helpers. He was a great friend to the village. This friend and his helpers spent time teaching the families how to prepare a marvelous and nourishing feast.

They brought a recipe book and made it available to each member of the village. They helped them build a store from where to get the ingredients for their meals. They taught the villagers and their families how to prepare the ingredients. They also taught them how to stock the store with some items the villagers could provide themselves.

The visitors brought with them some special and very important items from a store a ways away. Then they taught the villagers the way to the store. They taught the importance of regular visits to the special store where there were ingredients that could not be obtained elsewhere. The families in the village had all they needed to prepare themselves strengthening and nourishing meals and feasts. The wise old friend and his helpers then left and promised to return some time in the future.

Over time, some families started to forget to look at the recipes and would just “wing it.” Some visited the special store but didn’t return—and some families never went. Some families regularly went to the local store, but they returned home with only a few of the needed ingredients. A few of them went to the store, getting what they could but never helping to resupply it. Some families stopped going to the store altogether and gathered what they thought they needed from other places. A few families remembered to regularly use the recipe book, regularly visit the stores and helped to restock as they were able. There began to be changes in the land surrounding the village. Some of the villagers had been able to obtain some good ingredients, but those were becoming scarce. Plenty of things were available, but none had the life-giving nutrients needed for a healthy existence. They would be filled after eating outside the village, but they were losing their health and slowly becoming sickly. Some of those villagers, who visited the local store but didn’t bring home much, would prepare a thin soup—thinking it would be enough to sustain them. They satisfied themselves that it was better than that obtained outside the village—or could at least supplement the things they received from outside. But it wasn’t enough to sustain them very well, either.

Of course, the preparing of these meals took some time and effort. Each person in each family had to do their own part. Of course, Mom or Dad could do it all, but it just didn’t come out quite as good, and sometimes it didn’t work at all if everyone didn’t pitch in together. These families learned they couldn’t prepare very much ahead, but they needed to start fresh each day. It took effort. But it was well worth it. Even the everyday meals were often feasts. There was much to do in the village—and outside the village, too. If they didn’t carefully measure their time, there wouldn’t be enough of it to properly prepare their meals.

Some of the families in the village would try and share their meals with the other villagers. They could share what they had that day, but they knew they couldn’t provide meals for them every day. Some of the villagers had become so used to the food from outside the village that they didn’t want what was offered to them, even though it was much more nutritious.

Many years passed and the old wise friend returned. Of course most of the families in the village wanted to invite him over…they had missed their old friend. He graciously accepted as many of the invitations as were offered. And he began visiting the families in the village. Only a few families had prepared the feast as he had taught them. They had the necessary ingredients for the feast. They had even made the trip to the special store for those things which could only be obtained there. They knew the recipes, having made regular such meals. In these homes, the old friend feasted and rejoiced. He felt as if he were at home again.

Some of the villagers offered him some of their thin soup. They had prepared it with a few of the necessary ingredients, but it really wasn’t very nourishing—and certainly not a feast. Some of the families couldn’t offer him anything. They knew he wouldn’t partake of that which came from outside the village. He was saddened that he could not stay with them. Some of the families had spent much time and labor outside the village. They visited the local store as often as possible but didn’t have the ability to obtain much; they’d spent most of what they had without the walls. In preparation for the visit from their friend, they tried to hurry to the store—some even thought they might have time to make a trip to the specialty store. They were saddened to learn that some of the items weren’t available on short notice. Gathering what they could, they returned home to prepare their feast. They had little time left before their friend would need to continue his journey. They discovered they didn’t have much available nor enough time to properly prepare it. They weren’t familiar with their recipe books, not having used them very much. They resorted to offer their important visitor leftovers. Some of the leftovers had been stored from their friend’s first visit. Unfortunately, such things don’t keep and many of them weren’t edible anymore. Their friend left their homes without having been fed more than a little, and at leftovers at that.

My daughter just finished reading 12 chapter books in two weeks. That’s almost a book a day. Her third-grade class is participating in a 6-week reading challenge called Maud Hart Lovelace (MHL). She motivated me to take my own a reading challenge. I plan to read one book per week for the next month. Want to take the challenge with me?

The school’s goal is to encourage recreational reading, student responsibility, and time management. The students will read up to 17 selected books from the Maud Hart Lovelace Book Award list and participate in book discussions and other projects. As a parent volunteer, I get to lead 5 small-group discussions on Summer of Riley by Eve Bunting. It’s a lot like having a book group for little people.

In my first discussion I learned they know a lot more than we think—like when they told me the difference between dynamic and static characters. They identified William, the eleven-year-old boy whose Grandfather just died, as the protagonist. The other characters are his mom and dad who are divorced, his friend Grace, the neighbor Mrs. Peachwood, his new dog Riley, and the bully Ellis Porter. We all liked Grace’s big vocabulary.

While the time of year was obvious to them, further questions helped us discover the meaning for the title. We recalled this line, “Summer was almost over, too. In my mind I called it the summer of Riley because he had filled it up.”

Each wanted to describe where it’s set: a small town in Oregon and the house where William lives with his mom and Riley, next to Peachie and her horse. They each visualized the layout of the yard differently, but all mentioned the big empty hole that William and his grandfather had dug for a pond but never finished.

I asked, “What do you think that hole could represent? And what ends up happening with that hole at the end of the book?” What followed was a mesh of thoughts and expressions that sounded more excited and searching than many of the adult book groups I have attended. We were discussing real feelings and the emptiness of William’s heart.

Well, the story is really about the dog, Riley. He chases the neighbor’s horse, is taken away to the pound to be put to sleep, and William’s fight to save Riley. At first, the four students said it was just an OK book (not enough adventure or action). However, in the process of searching and finding answers I think they found its importance to them.

As for me, I am not a dog lover and avoid animal stories; yet, I liked it. I could relate to the conflict. First, the conflict is just between William and Peachie. But then, it grows so that most people in the town are taking sides and dividing the community. Aren’t we somewhat the same? Too often we polarize ourselves in the midst of discussing issues. Maybe we rush to judgment too quickly and then we are unwilling to cross the street and listen. But, that’s a topic for another post. . . .

The importance of memorials and finding meaning in them and all aspects of life came to my mind as I read the Old Testament stories of Joshua. I wonder how much influence one of these stories has in our heritage on the reasons why we erect memorials.

Before the the battle of Jericho, a less dramatic but significant story of faith occurs. Following the Lord’s word, Joshua leads the people to the banks of the Jordan River and tells them that “as soon as the soles of the feet of the priests that bear the ark of the LORD, the Lord of all the earth, shall rest in the waters of Jordan, that the waters of Jordan shall be cut off from the waters that come down from above.” Joshua 3:13 Indeed, when the priests walked forward and dipped their feet into the Jordan River, the water stopped flowing and they stood firm on dry ground.

What really strikes me about this story is not just the miracle of the Lord’s help or even the incredible faith of the priests to walk into the river without a sure knowledge that it would stop, but that afterwards, the Lord asks Joshua to have his people create a memorial with twelve stones from the river as a sign.

And he spake unto the children of Israel, saying, When your children shall ask their fathers in time to come, saying, What mean these stones? Then ye shall let your children know saying, Israel came over this Jordan on dry land. For the LORD your God dried up the waters of Jordan from before you, until ye were passed over, as the LORD your God did to the Red sea, which he dried up from before us, until we were gone over: That all the people of the earth might know the hand of the LORD, that it is mighty: that ye might fear the LORD your God for ever. Joshua 4:21-24

As I did a quick mental and Internet search, I recognized lots of references to the crossing of the Jordan and the 12-stone memorial in our popular culture and our recent history. Some references have trivialized or diminished the meaning of this Biblical story. Others help us gain appreciation for new memorials in the same thoughtful way as the original memorial of the crossing of the Jordan. I especially like the example of the Trail of Twelve Stones at the homesite of Abraham Lincoln’s youth.

As a society in general do we look on each of these memorials and figuratively ask ourselves this question, “What mean these stones?” My children and husband probably think I am obsessed in trying to find the meaning to everything, even that which seems ordinary. Why do I do this? I have a deep longing for the richness that symbols bring. I often feel that as a society, we have been overloaded with information on the surface, but in the process, we have lost the depth.

Simply asking ourselves, “What mean these stones?” (or monument or garden or picture or words) and prompting our children to ask that of us can return true meaning to our minds and hearts.

Personally, I find spiritual meaning daily by asking myself this question, “Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?” suggested by a leader in my church, President Henry B. Eyring. By pondering this question and then making a record of it, I am laying down a spiritual memorial for my children and our family. My memorial is like those twelve stones as I recognize the spiritual manifestations of God’s miracles and our faith in Him that occur daily. And I “know the hand of the Lord, that it is mighty.”

“Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?”

My family just participated in the monthly day of fasting in our church. To fast is go without food and drink voluntarily for a certain period of time, usually 24 hours. Fasting combined with sincere prayer can help us receive God’s blessings. A study presented to the American Heart Association in December suggests that regular fasting may have cardiovascular benefits. While I have experienced some health benefits to fasting, more often I fast for spiritual answers to my prayers, increased faith in Jesus Christ and to help others.

This time, as I prepared to fast, I considered the main struggles I am facing. Each seemed to have a connection to my overall emotional health and needs. Then, I opened my scriptures to Matthew 5:6 to prepare a church lesson for young children about choosing what is right. I received a renewed understanding that daily choices do matter. More importantly, I knew for myself that how I eat affects my emotional and mental state. I also learned that making some specific food choices would allow me to have an alert and clear mind to work through the other challenges I am facing.

And now, the most important part of receiving that inspiration will come today (and tomorrow and next week and next month) in actively using it.