This weekend is one of my favorite weekends of the year. It is General Conference weekend and for me, it is like Christmas for the soul. Beginning tomorrow morning, members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints will gather in homes and churches to hear our prophet and leaders speak to us. Just like Christmas, we look forward to this day. My family will gather together in our home and listen to eight hours of music and inspiring instruction on BYU-TV. We get comfy under blankets as we each find a spot and grab a notebook for taking notes. We listen and learn together, though there may be the occasional snore when someone gets a little TOO comfortable. :)
Last October, a sister missionary taught me that we receive more from conference when we really prepare. That day we met a woman as we were knocking on doors after the Saturday sessions. The missionary proceeded to tell her about General Conference and what a gift it was to hear a living prophet speak. She then explained that God was able to speak very specific messages that she needed for her life through these leaders. She pulled out a list of questions that she had carefully considered before conference and next to each question were answers that she had received while listening to conference. I was in awe of the depth of the answers she received and how much those answers meant to her. This missionary taught me that specific questions yield specific answers and that God can answer our most fervent concerns when we prayerfully ask, especially during General Conference.
I followed her example and wrote out ten questions for the next day's sessions. It was amazing to experience how asking questions changed how I listened to the talks. I was humbled to receive answers to all ten of my questions and a sense of clarity for the concerns of my life. It was a spiritual feast and I was overwhelmed by the flood of wisdom and love I felt as I listened to these talks by leaders who had never seen my face or known what burdens weighed on me. It was an experience I hope to never forget and it has forever changed the way I listen to conference talks.
As I sat pondering tonight what questions were most needful for me to have answered this weekend, I am filled with confidence that this weekend will be a similar feast. I know that God is aware of me and wants to help me understand how to be happy in every circumstance I face. I am assured that I will hear the answers I need to sustain me for the next six months as I listen to General Conference this weekend.
So....I suppose that makes tonight Conference Eve. In honor of the occasion, here's a little parody based on the famous Christmas poem.
Twas the night before Conference
And all through the house
I have tried to be ready
To watch with kids and with spouse.
The notebooks are ready
The questions prepared
In hopes that the Spirit
Will whisper to us there.
...
I heard Him exclaim through his prophet this night
Happy Conference to all and to all: feel God's light!
(You can view General Conference on BYU-TV Comcast 232 or at www.lds.org. Sessions are at 9am and 1pm on both Saturday and Sunday and viewable in online archives year-round).
Friday, October 3, 2014
Friday, August 22, 2014
Not without my child
Last night I got a message from a friend who had been fostering her grandson. Some false accusations were made and that precious boy was removed from her home and her heart was broken. My heart aches with hers.
Over the last month, I have heard a horrifying number of stories of people who have been falsely accused while a foster child has been in their care. It is heartbreaking and terrifying especially as we travel this same road to try to foster/adopt. Two weeks ago, our licenser came out and frankly warned us that we were putting ourselves at risk of similar accusations should we continue with our plans to be licensed. He was blunt and explicit and the visit was one of the more heart-breaking days I’ve experienced.
That day rocked me to the core because I have long felt the absence of this child in my life. I saw a boy crying in a dream years ago and despite all my efforts to move on, I simply can not. He is mine and he is not with me. I won’t feel complete until he is home. And yet this visit made that appear like it might never happen and it ripped my heart in half.
Hearing all these stories and warnings has made me really consider our choice to adopt at this point in our lives. My son graduates this year, my daughter will leave home shortly as well and Ken’s health while stable is always a challenge. I have more professional opportunities than ever and a growing backlog of projects that I want to write in my head as well as a deepening awareness of how I can serve others and make a difference. Especially when I consider the risk of having my heart broken and stomped upon by a broken child welfare system and my life potentially ruined, it isn’t logical to go down this road.
But when I consider what it means to leave this child behind, all those concerns seem petty. I could no sooner abandon one of my birth children in the forest alone and unprotected. Even if it means that the system is so broken that I am accused of something too horrifying to consider, it is not possible for my heart to leave him behind.
The day after that heart-breaking visit, I went on a cathartic hike at Mount Rainier. My mom and two friends joined us and it was exactly what I needed. We began the trail to Comet Falls and it was more challenging than I had realized when I picked our route. My dear mother was such a trooper. It was uphill and rocky and felt much longer than the posted distance. When we got to the top and saw the waterfall in the distance, we considered turning around. We were concerned about getting my mom back in time for a performance and her ability to physically make it back. But after a little deliberation, we pressed on and made it all the way to the falls.
The waterfall was so much more beautiful up close and the spray was refreshing. As we came even closer to the edge, we could feel the immense power as the water crashed at the bottom. As we stood there in the mist, I could feel the fear and devastation leave and was filled with an appreciation for God’s power and strength. I knew He was in charge and that no matter what happens next that it would bless my life. I was filled with peace. I also realized that we had almost stopped before we got to the best part and it offered an assurance that the difficulties now were part of the journey required to get to the beauty ahead.
The next morning on my run, Hilary Week’s song “Beautiful Heartbreak” came up on my playlist. It’s lyrics perfectly suited the fears I was feeling. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyX-I-um5Kk
I had it all mapped out in front of me,
Knew just where I wanted to go;
But life decided to change my plans,
And I found a mountain in the middle of my road.
I knew there was no way to move it,
So I searched for a way around;
Brokenhearted I started climbin',
And at the top I found...
Every fear, every doubt,
All the pain I went through;
Was the price that I paid to see this view;
And now that I'm here I would never trade...
The grace that I feel,
And the faith that I find;
Through the bitter-sweet tears,
And the sleepless nights;
I used to pray he'd take it all away,
But instead it became a beautiful heartbreak.
I never dreamed my heart would make it,
I thought about turning around;
But heaven has shown me miracles,
I never would have seen from the ground.
Now I take the rain with the sunshine,
Cause there's one thing that I know;
He picks up the pieces,
Along each broken road.
Every fear, every doubt,
All the pain I went through;
Was the price that I paid to see this view;
And now that I'm here I would never trade...
The grace that I feel,
And the faith that I find;
Through the bitter-sweet tears,
And the sleepless nights.
I used to pray he'd take it all away,
But instead it became a beautiful heartbreak.
I unfortunately am keenly aware that there is likely great heartbreak ahead for us in pursuing this plan to adopt through foster/adopt. It seems unfair and critically wrong that we live in a state with 10,068 children in foster care and 2,167 children waiting for adoptive families (many of which are in the 10-13 year old age bracket we are seeking). There is a ridiculous backlog for approval (it is becoming a nearly year long process for us and they were supposed to be done in 90 days) and a system that routinely accuses people willing to open up their home to these children and offers little support when problems arise. The possibilities of horrific experiences continue to pile up and fill our hearts with doubt and fear. That’s in addition to the challenges of simply parenting a child who has not been with you since birth and has likely experienced trauma that I can’t comprehend.
So why on earth would I want to go down this road? Simply because I feel I have a child out there and I can not leave my child behind. Because I love him though I’ve never met him. Because the best things in life are worth fighting for. Because I believe it will all be worth it in the end.
I have waited so long to bring him home and it looks like there is further waiting ahead. The licenser was pessimistic about our application even being approved and yet every time I pray about it, I am filled with peace and comfort that it will work out according to His plan. So here I wait and pray and hope while trying to become the person that will be able to help this child and love him the way he deserves.
I am concerned about whether my heart will be able to endure the heartbreak that I sense is ahead. But I also know that I can’t bear to leave my child behind so I only pray that I can find the beauty in the challenges and recognize the miracles along the way. I suspect it will be a difficult road but also one of the great adventures of my life.
Over the last month, I have heard a horrifying number of stories of people who have been falsely accused while a foster child has been in their care. It is heartbreaking and terrifying especially as we travel this same road to try to foster/adopt. Two weeks ago, our licenser came out and frankly warned us that we were putting ourselves at risk of similar accusations should we continue with our plans to be licensed. He was blunt and explicit and the visit was one of the more heart-breaking days I’ve experienced.
That day rocked me to the core because I have long felt the absence of this child in my life. I saw a boy crying in a dream years ago and despite all my efforts to move on, I simply can not. He is mine and he is not with me. I won’t feel complete until he is home. And yet this visit made that appear like it might never happen and it ripped my heart in half.
Hearing all these stories and warnings has made me really consider our choice to adopt at this point in our lives. My son graduates this year, my daughter will leave home shortly as well and Ken’s health while stable is always a challenge. I have more professional opportunities than ever and a growing backlog of projects that I want to write in my head as well as a deepening awareness of how I can serve others and make a difference. Especially when I consider the risk of having my heart broken and stomped upon by a broken child welfare system and my life potentially ruined, it isn’t logical to go down this road.
But when I consider what it means to leave this child behind, all those concerns seem petty. I could no sooner abandon one of my birth children in the forest alone and unprotected. Even if it means that the system is so broken that I am accused of something too horrifying to consider, it is not possible for my heart to leave him behind.
The day after that heart-breaking visit, I went on a cathartic hike at Mount Rainier. My mom and two friends joined us and it was exactly what I needed. We began the trail to Comet Falls and it was more challenging than I had realized when I picked our route. My dear mother was such a trooper. It was uphill and rocky and felt much longer than the posted distance. When we got to the top and saw the waterfall in the distance, we considered turning around. We were concerned about getting my mom back in time for a performance and her ability to physically make it back. But after a little deliberation, we pressed on and made it all the way to the falls.
The waterfall was so much more beautiful up close and the spray was refreshing. As we came even closer to the edge, we could feel the immense power as the water crashed at the bottom. As we stood there in the mist, I could feel the fear and devastation leave and was filled with an appreciation for God’s power and strength. I knew He was in charge and that no matter what happens next that it would bless my life. I was filled with peace. I also realized that we had almost stopped before we got to the best part and it offered an assurance that the difficulties now were part of the journey required to get to the beauty ahead.
The next morning on my run, Hilary Week’s song “Beautiful Heartbreak” came up on my playlist. It’s lyrics perfectly suited the fears I was feeling. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyX-I-um5Kk
I had it all mapped out in front of me,
Knew just where I wanted to go;
But life decided to change my plans,
And I found a mountain in the middle of my road.
I knew there was no way to move it,
So I searched for a way around;
Brokenhearted I started climbin',
And at the top I found...
Every fear, every doubt,
All the pain I went through;
Was the price that I paid to see this view;
And now that I'm here I would never trade...
The grace that I feel,
And the faith that I find;
Through the bitter-sweet tears,
And the sleepless nights;
I used to pray he'd take it all away,
But instead it became a beautiful heartbreak.
I never dreamed my heart would make it,
I thought about turning around;
But heaven has shown me miracles,
I never would have seen from the ground.
Now I take the rain with the sunshine,
Cause there's one thing that I know;
He picks up the pieces,
Along each broken road.
Every fear, every doubt,
All the pain I went through;
Was the price that I paid to see this view;
And now that I'm here I would never trade...
The grace that I feel,
And the faith that I find;
Through the bitter-sweet tears,
And the sleepless nights.
I used to pray he'd take it all away,
But instead it became a beautiful heartbreak.
I unfortunately am keenly aware that there is likely great heartbreak ahead for us in pursuing this plan to adopt through foster/adopt. It seems unfair and critically wrong that we live in a state with 10,068 children in foster care and 2,167 children waiting for adoptive families (many of which are in the 10-13 year old age bracket we are seeking). There is a ridiculous backlog for approval (it is becoming a nearly year long process for us and they were supposed to be done in 90 days) and a system that routinely accuses people willing to open up their home to these children and offers little support when problems arise. The possibilities of horrific experiences continue to pile up and fill our hearts with doubt and fear. That’s in addition to the challenges of simply parenting a child who has not been with you since birth and has likely experienced trauma that I can’t comprehend.
So why on earth would I want to go down this road? Simply because I feel I have a child out there and I can not leave my child behind. Because I love him though I’ve never met him. Because the best things in life are worth fighting for. Because I believe it will all be worth it in the end.
I have waited so long to bring him home and it looks like there is further waiting ahead. The licenser was pessimistic about our application even being approved and yet every time I pray about it, I am filled with peace and comfort that it will work out according to His plan. So here I wait and pray and hope while trying to become the person that will be able to help this child and love him the way he deserves.
I am concerned about whether my heart will be able to endure the heartbreak that I sense is ahead. But I also know that I can’t bear to leave my child behind so I only pray that I can find the beauty in the challenges and recognize the miracles along the way. I suspect it will be a difficult road but also one of the great adventures of my life.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
The Butterfly Effect
While in Kansas City last week, I attended an art exhibit at the Kemper Museum entitled "The Butterfly Effect." It was based on chaos theory which posits that a simple action in one place can make a profound impact elsewhere. The phrase "the butterfly effect" comes from the idea that a butterfly flapping its wings in Japan could create ripples that change the weather across the world and cause a hurricane in the Atlantic or a storm in the midwest (More explanation here: http://www.princeton.edu/~achaney/tmve/wiki100k/docs/Butterfly_effect.html). The art exhibit was fairly simplistic but provocative and featured a couple of really unique pieces that forced me to consider ripple effects and how something simple can really make a big impact.
After the museum, we took a tour at the Thomas Hart Benton home. Benton was a prominent Kansas City artist with a very distinctive style. His works generally reflect American history and music and have wonderful lines and dimension. During the tour, the guide talked about how he would often host musicales and dinners in his large home and detailed some of his many friends including Frank Lloyd Wright, Carl Sandburg, Harry Truman and Jackson Pollock (his student). One can only imagine the conversations they had together. I contemplated the effect they might have had on each other and in fact there is a Frank Lloyd Wright house next door which suggests that somehow these relationships influenced each other's work and opportunities.
I've come to learn that often we have little idea of our impact but that it is often far more reaching than we can imagine. About 45 years ago, a young woman talked to my mom about her day at church. A pretty simple act. Much like a butterfly flapping its wings, she was simply being herself and living. But as the Butterfly Effect suggests, that simple choice of being herself has had far reaching effects. My mom joined that church, met my father, had me and my siblings and has lived a life forever changed.
Last night I attended a concert for the BYU Singers and PLU Choir of the West. The idea of how a simple choice can have far-reaching effects was again really obvious to me as I listened to this beautiful concert. You see, I had grown up with the desire to go to BYU and fully intended on going there. However, when it came down to choosing schools it just didn't feel right. Instead I felt strongly drawn to the University of Puget Sound. I had never even been to Washington before I arrived for orientation and still wasn't sure what I even wanted to do with my life but I felt great peace about the choice and miraculously the financial aid came through.
I realize that choosing a college is no small choice but the effects of that choice are quite obviously profound. I attended a school where I could be nurtured without the competitiveness of a larger school and gain confidence in my musical talents. I know that my confidence would not have survived the more competitive musical department at BYU and I would have ended up being an education or math major or studied some other non-musical field. Me without music....I can not even imagine. Plus, I met my husband here, and I've had two siblings and two cousins live with us and meet their spouses here, my parents moved up here to be near me. I've had some remarkable experiences with friends and colleagues and students that I treasure...all of which were set in motion by that choice of where to go to school.
Today I am going to the temple with a woman that I used to visit teach. She had not gone to church in about 20 years and she reactivated after we started visiting and with the help of the missionaries. She recently renewed her temple recommend which allows her to go to the temple. It has been remarkable to see her change and let God work in her life. Even as she faces a scary surgery this week and has suffered some heart-breaking loss recently, she is clearly a happier woman and talks to the church with her family and friends. She is making an impact and metaphorically flapping her own butterfly wings as she does her best in great adversity.
I think back on the woman 45 years ago who certainly has no idea of how much of an impact she made. She changed my mother, she changed me and her impact continues on to everyone's life who has been touched by me and in turn, everyone who their lives touch. That young woman's choice to live her faith and not be ashamed of it has created a virtual storm of lives who are better for it. My hope is that I can be a little more rigorous in flapping my little wings and perhaps add to this storm of goodness.
After the museum, we took a tour at the Thomas Hart Benton home. Benton was a prominent Kansas City artist with a very distinctive style. His works generally reflect American history and music and have wonderful lines and dimension. During the tour, the guide talked about how he would often host musicales and dinners in his large home and detailed some of his many friends including Frank Lloyd Wright, Carl Sandburg, Harry Truman and Jackson Pollock (his student). One can only imagine the conversations they had together. I contemplated the effect they might have had on each other and in fact there is a Frank Lloyd Wright house next door which suggests that somehow these relationships influenced each other's work and opportunities.
I've come to learn that often we have little idea of our impact but that it is often far more reaching than we can imagine. About 45 years ago, a young woman talked to my mom about her day at church. A pretty simple act. Much like a butterfly flapping its wings, she was simply being herself and living. But as the Butterfly Effect suggests, that simple choice of being herself has had far reaching effects. My mom joined that church, met my father, had me and my siblings and has lived a life forever changed.
Last night I attended a concert for the BYU Singers and PLU Choir of the West. The idea of how a simple choice can have far-reaching effects was again really obvious to me as I listened to this beautiful concert. You see, I had grown up with the desire to go to BYU and fully intended on going there. However, when it came down to choosing schools it just didn't feel right. Instead I felt strongly drawn to the University of Puget Sound. I had never even been to Washington before I arrived for orientation and still wasn't sure what I even wanted to do with my life but I felt great peace about the choice and miraculously the financial aid came through.
I realize that choosing a college is no small choice but the effects of that choice are quite obviously profound. I attended a school where I could be nurtured without the competitiveness of a larger school and gain confidence in my musical talents. I know that my confidence would not have survived the more competitive musical department at BYU and I would have ended up being an education or math major or studied some other non-musical field. Me without music....I can not even imagine. Plus, I met my husband here, and I've had two siblings and two cousins live with us and meet their spouses here, my parents moved up here to be near me. I've had some remarkable experiences with friends and colleagues and students that I treasure...all of which were set in motion by that choice of where to go to school.
I think back on the woman 45 years ago who certainly has no idea of how much of an impact she made. She changed my mother, she changed me and her impact continues on to everyone's life who has been touched by me and in turn, everyone who their lives touch. That young woman's choice to live her faith and not be ashamed of it has created a virtual storm of lives who are better for it. My hope is that I can be a little more rigorous in flapping my little wings and perhaps add to this storm of goodness.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Run to the Temple
I was in Kansas City this past week to help my grandfather with his book and
was trying to meet up with a friend while in town. She was running a 5K at the Kansas City temple and we were
planning to meet afterwards. As we were messaging each other on Thursday, I
decided to just join her for the race. I
have run a couple of 5Ks but I’ve had a long series of injuries the last couple
of years that have consistently derailed my running plans so I wasn’t entirely
sure that I could do it.
It was a beautiful day and the scenery was lovely. I was there early and had plenty of
time to stretch (which I think was a really big help). I unfortunately couldn’t find my friend
so I ran the race alone and took it quite slow since my goal was simply to run
without aggravating my old injuries.
As usual with a race, the jovial energy of the crowd was contagious and
the weather made for a nice jog.
The race began on the backside of the temple and went over
the freeway overpass and along a road lined with a pleasant meadow and
horses. Just at the point in the
run when I started to tire and question the wisdom of running without any training,
the course changed directions and I was now oriented back towards the
temple. The Kansas City temple is
a beautiful building that rises beautifully among undeveloped prairie land on a
small hill. Seeing that
magnificent building before me helped me stay engaged and motivated to press on
just a little harder. As I ran
towards the temple, I was less aware that I was going uphill (I usually have a
mental hurdle with hills of any kind).
But even more than that, I felt that I was making progress and getting
closer to the place I want to be.
That motivation helped me finish faster than I expected.
This race was symbolic for me. The temple represents my eternal goals and the things that
are most important to me in life: family and faith. By looking toward the temple, the hurdle before me (the
little hill) was somehow easier and I could see that I could continue on
despite my fatigue and concerns of injury. I was struck by how much harder it was to run when I was facing
away from the temple. That moment
was a good reminder that maintaining my focus on what is most important makes
everything easier and gets me closer to my ultimate goal.
I remember a General Conference talk from years ago that
talked about how you will never be lost if you can see the temple (https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2009/04/sacred-homes-sacred-temples?lang=eng&query=lost+temple).
Church leaders have regularly
talked about how we should have pictures of the temple in our home and I’m
embarrassed to say that I didn’t heed that counsel until recently. A couple of months ago, I was given a
gift card and purchased four prints of the temple and posted them in our three
bedrooms and my teaching studio.
It surprised me to feel the effect of those simple prints in informing
my choices and helping me feel stronger.
One day last month, I was having a particularly hard day. I glanced at the picture of the temple
and suddenly the challenges no longer seemed insurmountable and I knew I would
have the strength to get through.
I’m grateful for the temple: for what it represents and the
promises made there. This simple
run was a wonderful reminder of what that special place means to me.
Monday, April 21, 2014
A Beautiful Disaster
I have had some pretty intense performances in my life but I think tonight's might have to top the cake. Musically it was a mess but it was also a precious learning experience that I won't soon forget. This whole weekend has been very intense and perhaps that partially explains the events that unfolded.
For months I have been anticipating a very full weekend as I had a high profile concert scheduled the day before what I felt might be my last performance of Lamb of God with the bonus of having the composer present. To add to the "excitement," a few weeks ago my husband started having some very worrisome symptoms and we both became quite concerned.
A procedure to diagnose what we were convinced was very bad news was scheduled for Friday of this weekend. We have been through 14 years of disability and scary medical uncertainty and I've learned to not borrow trouble most of the time but I became overwhelmed by the "what ifs" last week. By the time Friday came, I was exhausted and a bit of a basket case. After being given an unexpected negative diagnosis, I had a mix of relief and confusion as I tried to comprehend how they found nothing with the tremendous amount of blood he had lost. I was of course delighted but the weight of it took awhile to ease.
On Saturday morning we had a touch-up Lamb of God rehearsal and it was really special. It was a mix of testimony meeting and singing and the tears flowed freely. There was such unity and love in the room as we sang it truly for ourselves. Insight after insight came, followed by hugs from nearly everyone in the choir and I left with my heart exceedingly light. An afternoon of happy errands filled my day before proceeding to the Pantages for one of my biggest gigs to date. My heart was full for the privilege to perform with such a wonderful ensemble and I had an absolute blast on stage. The four Copland songs were so well-received and the Oklahoma medley and Summertime felt amazing. I was on a tremendous high afterwards and so grateful for such an amazing weekend.
I awoke Easter morning with a hop in my step and excitement for the day ahead. I had a good day of church, finished some cards and a thank you gift and eagerly headed over to the church to prepare for our performance. We began as usual but it wasn't long before I started feeling that things were off somehow. We were behind schedule and we weren't able to do all the soundchecks we wanted to do and I was starting to get anxious. I went to a sideroom and prayed to be at peace before meeting together for our testimony meeting. That peace came as we talked together and bore testimony. The composer Rob Gardner told of some of his experiences as he first created this work. He shared how he was composing up to the last minute before he went to record with the London Symphony. It was about three hours into the twelve hour session before he realized that he was conducting the London Symphony and it was only then that he really engaged in the work. There was a sense of unity and excitement as we prayed together.
The opening number began well and I was delighted to see so many faces in the choir looking up at me and expressing the Hope that this piece so clearly conveys. Then as we began the second song where an oboe solo carries the melody, the oboe inexplicably broke. It became completely unplayable. It wasn't just a bad reed but a completely unusable key that made it impossible to play anything. Panic arose as I realized how prominent the oboe is throughout this piece. The other woodwinds were trying to help her fix her instrument and I was trying to figure out what we should do when that anxiety started to affect others. There were some missed entrances, wrong words and sound issues and all of a sudden it felt really unstable and I realized I was steering a train that was in great danger of coming off the tracks. We've had a few scary moments before but nothing like this.
I was wondering why this was happening tonight. I so dearly wanted this to be a great performance as it was my last one and the composer was present and it was Easter and wanted my offering to reflect the depth of my devotion to my Savior. Last week's performance was almost perfect and so beautiful and powerful and I had fully expected this to exceed that high bar. I wanted to cry- not from joy but disappointment. As I silently prayed that somehow we would get through this, the thought came to my mind that THIS is the Lord's work and no power could derail HIS work. The power of this principle was consuming and ran deeply throughout my body as we sang "I am the Resurrection." It was a dramatic shift much like the moment Rob had described in his testimony. I felt empowered like I had never felt before to not let the fears conquer us. When mics started clicking and going out in the next piece, I again felt that idea loud and clear and threw my entire self into the work as we sang "Hosanna."
I had to fight the whole performance and everyone fought with me. The woodwinds distributed the oboe parts and were transposing and covering the parts as well as their own so that the oboe melody wouldn't be missing. My sound people were working intently to try to correct the problems, narrators made adjustments when one mic was clearly down and I felt the prayers of the choir and orchestra as we fought with everything in us to stay together despite the continuing issues. As we approached the last couple of songs, it was hard to hold it emotionally together. The Spirit was strong in spite of everything and I wept freely. I suspect most people in attendance were completely unaware of how dire it felt and how precariously the production clung together because God gave them what they needed too. I could hear the tears behind me and felt hearts softening.
This performance was completely opposite what I had envisioned and yet beautiful in its own way. As my husband and I discussed it, he described it like the moment when Joseph Smith goes to the grove to say his first earnest prayer and how a thick darkness threatened to destroy him (Joseph Smith-History 1:14-17 https://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/js-h/1?lang=eng). Joseph wrote, "But, exerting all my powers to call upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction..." he was delivered. It took the show almost falling completely apart tonight for me to really see Christ as my deliverer.
At the same time, the truth that He is in charge is something that I will never forget. When I let my personal fears overtake me this last week or during this performance, God's power was clearly evident to me. It was clear and unmistakable to me. I am confident that He has a plan, even when everything seems to be going wrong. I know that He is keenly aware of me personally and loves me deeper than I can comprehend. Though this was not the beautiful performance I dreamed of, it was the performance I needed and for that I am grateful.
For months I have been anticipating a very full weekend as I had a high profile concert scheduled the day before what I felt might be my last performance of Lamb of God with the bonus of having the composer present. To add to the "excitement," a few weeks ago my husband started having some very worrisome symptoms and we both became quite concerned.
A procedure to diagnose what we were convinced was very bad news was scheduled for Friday of this weekend. We have been through 14 years of disability and scary medical uncertainty and I've learned to not borrow trouble most of the time but I became overwhelmed by the "what ifs" last week. By the time Friday came, I was exhausted and a bit of a basket case. After being given an unexpected negative diagnosis, I had a mix of relief and confusion as I tried to comprehend how they found nothing with the tremendous amount of blood he had lost. I was of course delighted but the weight of it took awhile to ease.
On Saturday morning we had a touch-up Lamb of God rehearsal and it was really special. It was a mix of testimony meeting and singing and the tears flowed freely. There was such unity and love in the room as we sang it truly for ourselves. Insight after insight came, followed by hugs from nearly everyone in the choir and I left with my heart exceedingly light. An afternoon of happy errands filled my day before proceeding to the Pantages for one of my biggest gigs to date. My heart was full for the privilege to perform with such a wonderful ensemble and I had an absolute blast on stage. The four Copland songs were so well-received and the Oklahoma medley and Summertime felt amazing. I was on a tremendous high afterwards and so grateful for such an amazing weekend.
I awoke Easter morning with a hop in my step and excitement for the day ahead. I had a good day of church, finished some cards and a thank you gift and eagerly headed over to the church to prepare for our performance. We began as usual but it wasn't long before I started feeling that things were off somehow. We were behind schedule and we weren't able to do all the soundchecks we wanted to do and I was starting to get anxious. I went to a sideroom and prayed to be at peace before meeting together for our testimony meeting. That peace came as we talked together and bore testimony. The composer Rob Gardner told of some of his experiences as he first created this work. He shared how he was composing up to the last minute before he went to record with the London Symphony. It was about three hours into the twelve hour session before he realized that he was conducting the London Symphony and it was only then that he really engaged in the work. There was a sense of unity and excitement as we prayed together.
The opening number began well and I was delighted to see so many faces in the choir looking up at me and expressing the Hope that this piece so clearly conveys. Then as we began the second song where an oboe solo carries the melody, the oboe inexplicably broke. It became completely unplayable. It wasn't just a bad reed but a completely unusable key that made it impossible to play anything. Panic arose as I realized how prominent the oboe is throughout this piece. The other woodwinds were trying to help her fix her instrument and I was trying to figure out what we should do when that anxiety started to affect others. There were some missed entrances, wrong words and sound issues and all of a sudden it felt really unstable and I realized I was steering a train that was in great danger of coming off the tracks. We've had a few scary moments before but nothing like this.
I was wondering why this was happening tonight. I so dearly wanted this to be a great performance as it was my last one and the composer was present and it was Easter and wanted my offering to reflect the depth of my devotion to my Savior. Last week's performance was almost perfect and so beautiful and powerful and I had fully expected this to exceed that high bar. I wanted to cry- not from joy but disappointment. As I silently prayed that somehow we would get through this, the thought came to my mind that THIS is the Lord's work and no power could derail HIS work. The power of this principle was consuming and ran deeply throughout my body as we sang "I am the Resurrection." It was a dramatic shift much like the moment Rob had described in his testimony. I felt empowered like I had never felt before to not let the fears conquer us. When mics started clicking and going out in the next piece, I again felt that idea loud and clear and threw my entire self into the work as we sang "Hosanna."
I had to fight the whole performance and everyone fought with me. The woodwinds distributed the oboe parts and were transposing and covering the parts as well as their own so that the oboe melody wouldn't be missing. My sound people were working intently to try to correct the problems, narrators made adjustments when one mic was clearly down and I felt the prayers of the choir and orchestra as we fought with everything in us to stay together despite the continuing issues. As we approached the last couple of songs, it was hard to hold it emotionally together. The Spirit was strong in spite of everything and I wept freely. I suspect most people in attendance were completely unaware of how dire it felt and how precariously the production clung together because God gave them what they needed too. I could hear the tears behind me and felt hearts softening.
This performance was completely opposite what I had envisioned and yet beautiful in its own way. As my husband and I discussed it, he described it like the moment when Joseph Smith goes to the grove to say his first earnest prayer and how a thick darkness threatened to destroy him (Joseph Smith-History 1:14-17 https://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/js-h/1?lang=eng). Joseph wrote, "But, exerting all my powers to call upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction..." he was delivered. It took the show almost falling completely apart tonight for me to really see Christ as my deliverer.
At the same time, the truth that He is in charge is something that I will never forget. When I let my personal fears overtake me this last week or during this performance, God's power was clearly evident to me. It was clear and unmistakable to me. I am confident that He has a plan, even when everything seems to be going wrong. I know that He is keenly aware of me personally and loves me deeper than I can comprehend. Though this was not the beautiful performance I dreamed of, it was the performance I needed and for that I am grateful.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
My Lamb of God story
In October of 2011 I was at a crossroads. I felt strongly compelled to not
audition for theatre companies and it was a difficult pill to swallow. My children were getting older and it
seemed my time had arrived to do something I had long wanted to do, only to
feel that it was not what God
wanted for me. I cried bitter
tears after I had to turn down a role I really wanted and skip auditions for
shows that I was certain I would be a strong contender for. This may be hard for most people to
understand but I deeply mourned a loss in what I deemed was part of my
identity. It was far more
difficult than I can perhaps express.
So while I mourned, experience has taught me that God always
blesses us when we turn our will over to him so I tried earnestly to discern
what God wanted for me instead. I
had already explored the door of having more children and that door was
painfully shut. I thought
perhaps it was for me to do more writing and composing so I worked on some
scripts and tried to write songs, most of which were not as good as I thought
they should be and left me feeling inadequate.
On one October night, I struggled in vain to write and thus
decided to listen to a broadcast on creativity on the Mormon Channel. It featured composer Rob Gardner and he
discussed his creative process for composing. I liked his approach and found several ideas to help me in
my efforts. But….then they played
a recording of “Gloria.” It was
perhaps the most beautiful song I had ever heard and I began to weep. It struck me to the core. I kept rewinding and playing that song
over and over and continued to weep.
I was struck not only by the beauty but by the immense joy and hope we
find in our Savior.
I sent Karen Hemming from the Mutli-stake Cultural Arts
Committee from our church an email suggesting that they consider programming
this oratorio on their next season.
I was sure to say that if they did this oratorio that I wanted dibs on
that solo. A few weeks later I
received a Facebook message from Karen, right as I was going to bed, saying
that they had gotten permission to do “Lamb of God” that spring. I was thrilled….until I read the next
line. They wanted me to conduct it. I was so completely overwhelmed and it
took me an additional five hours to settle down enough to let sheer exhaustion
compel me to sleep. I had never
conducted an orchestra and I was completely overwhelmed by the prospect of doing
justice to this epic piece.
As if being overwhelmed weren’t enough, I was in a car
accident just ten days before our first rehearsal. I sustained a concussion and began a prolonged period
of migraine headaches and constant nausea and dizziness. As the severity of my injury became
more apparent, I was strongly tempted to pass the reins to someone more
qualified and not impaired. I had
a hard time seeing how I could possibly conduct but week after week miracles
were seen. I would have a plan in
place for someone to take over but within minutes of beginning rehearsal, my
vision would stabilize, the nausea would abate and my mind was clear. We had powerful experiences together as
the music literally healed me. The
symptoms would return immediately upon the rehearsal ending but I was amazed by
the tender mercy of temporary healing that allowed me to momentarily feel
whole.
I was not the only one to experience this remarkable healing
process. It seemed everyone in the
choir that year was suffering a great heartache, a daunting trial, a spouse at
death’s door, complete ruin or some other personal valley. As we learned this music, it healed us
and helped us to know that God was keenly aware of our difficulties and
completely in control. We learned
of his deep and abiding love for us. God didn’t heal my concussion for an additional nine
months but he did teach me to trust in him and that he would meet every single
need. That first year was completely transformative for me as the Spirit
repeatedly bore witness of the Savior and taught us to trust Him.
We had similar experiences in our second year and I wondered
how we could possibly improve.
That clarity was given and we have continued to have life-altering
spiritual experiences as we have prepared this music and let its testimony be
united with our own.
As I began this season, I had the distinct impression that I
would not be returning to conduct for a fourth year. Much like October of 2011, I feel torn by what I perceive is
God’s will for me. I have cried
many tears this week about it. It
seems that surely there could not be anything more rewarding than this work
that I am engaged in. I know that
I have had a profound impact as we worked to bring out the beauty and truth in
this work and I shudder to think that I might not have been available to
conduct this if I had disregarded those impressions and pursued other
performing experiences instead. It
has been one of the most rewarding musical experiences of my life thus far.
But at the same time, I have felt the changes in the wind
and know there are other things ahead.
Some of those changes are wonderful and terrifying at the same time and
I suspect there are things that need my attention that I simply cannot
anticipate. But if conducting
“Lamb of God” has taught me one thing, it is that He is in charge and that all
will be well if we just trust in Him.
The person I am today is a much better person than I was
three years ago. The music by Rob
Gardner has been a big part of that transformation. But it has only been the tool used by my Savior to mold me
into the person He needs me to be.
As we sing tonight, my hope and prayer is that we are likewise a tool to
help others feel what God needs them to be.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Death, loss and fear
On Wednesday night, I had the privilege of being the soloist for the Faure Requiem with Pierce College Choirs and Northwest Sinfonietta. The Faure was a great success and it was a lot of fun to sing but the program also was a personally moving experience. The theme of the program was death and loss, which sounded like an odd choice for a spring concert, but it was some of the best programming choices I've heard in awhile. It was clearly a personal experience for the conductor and as a result my mind evaluated the losses I've sustained in my life and what those losses mean for me.
My first acquaintance with death was at age 15 with the sudden death of my grandfather in a plane crash. Papa was a perfect man in my mind. He had promised to teach me to fly when I turned 16 and some of my fondest memories are fishing with him. There were no funeral services so the next day I continued with plans to go to Girl Scout camp where I was working as an aide to a disabled camper. I had a few hours of free time the next day and vividly remember my experience praying in the forest alone. I don't think I had ever cried so hard and yet had such a peaceful feeling. Suddenly, everything that I had been taught all my life about our Heavenly Father's plan for happiness made sense to me. I knew that I wanted to live my life in a way that would allow me to see my Papa again. Since that time, I've also experienced the deaths of my other grandfather, a dear friend, and my father. Each has brought deep feelings of sadness as well as a confirmation of that lesson learned at 15 to live my life fully and valiantly so that we could be reunited again.
But even as I had this confidence that we could be together forever, I also have had great fears of being alone. When I was a young mother at age 25, my husband had his first serious brush with death. Within the space of that year, he had at least 10 close calls. It rocked me to my core and I was terrified. I was young and still figuring out who I was and had two little children who needed me to stay strong. I met several widows during this time and seeing them actually scared me more. I didn't think I was strong enough to survive.
Now fourteen years later, my husband miraculously is still with us. He continues to take his journey precariously close to the brink of death on occasion but most of the time now remains predictably stable. I like predictable and stable. I've learned that I can do hard things, especially when they are predictable and stable. I now know much better who I am and am not as terrified about how I would survive if and when he is called home.
But at the same time, I've realized I've lived all of these fourteen years in fear. Many years were excruciatingly hard and I was fully convinced that the next cold or virus would take him. Whole years of his life were spent nearly comatose. I would lie next to him at night afraid to go to sleep because I didn't know if he would be breathing the next morning. Living under that specter of impending doom and trying to plan a future are rather anachronous. And while he has gotten so much better and stronger in recent years, somehow that fear has been slow to fade because I know that death will still one day come for him.
I've spent all these years mourning a fear that has fortunately not materialized. And while there has certainly been grief associated with the lost opportunities and memories that his health issues have stolen and the heartache of watching his constant pain, that same time has been filled with bountiful tender mercies, critical life lessons and precious time that I never thought I'd have. I let that fear stay with me despite assurances that all would be well because I somehow thought it would protect me; that it somehow made me stronger and would help me survive when his time came.
But I've also come to realize that faith and fear are not compatible. Fear robs me of putting my whole faith in God. Fear robs me of loving my husband with 100% of my heart. Fear weakens me and ultimately leaves me more vulnerable to the very thing I fear.
A quote from my seminary lesson this morning read, "[Make] a choice of peace and protection and a choice that is appropriate for all. That choice is faith. . . Choose faith over doubt, choose faith over fear, choose faith over the unknown and the unseen, and choose faith over pessimism." (Richard Edgely, Nov. 2010).
I realize that the way I feel is a choice and that I can choose to replace fear with faith. That isn't always easy but I can see that there's so much more to lose if I let fear govern me. Because death and loss aren't always the same thing. Losing someone because I was not courageous enough to work through the hard parts would be far worse in my opinion. Loving with my whole heart leaves me more vulnerable but the sweetness of surrendering my whole heart will hopefully be enough to sustain me.
My first acquaintance with death was at age 15 with the sudden death of my grandfather in a plane crash. Papa was a perfect man in my mind. He had promised to teach me to fly when I turned 16 and some of my fondest memories are fishing with him. There were no funeral services so the next day I continued with plans to go to Girl Scout camp where I was working as an aide to a disabled camper. I had a few hours of free time the next day and vividly remember my experience praying in the forest alone. I don't think I had ever cried so hard and yet had such a peaceful feeling. Suddenly, everything that I had been taught all my life about our Heavenly Father's plan for happiness made sense to me. I knew that I wanted to live my life in a way that would allow me to see my Papa again. Since that time, I've also experienced the deaths of my other grandfather, a dear friend, and my father. Each has brought deep feelings of sadness as well as a confirmation of that lesson learned at 15 to live my life fully and valiantly so that we could be reunited again.
But even as I had this confidence that we could be together forever, I also have had great fears of being alone. When I was a young mother at age 25, my husband had his first serious brush with death. Within the space of that year, he had at least 10 close calls. It rocked me to my core and I was terrified. I was young and still figuring out who I was and had two little children who needed me to stay strong. I met several widows during this time and seeing them actually scared me more. I didn't think I was strong enough to survive.
Now fourteen years later, my husband miraculously is still with us. He continues to take his journey precariously close to the brink of death on occasion but most of the time now remains predictably stable. I like predictable and stable. I've learned that I can do hard things, especially when they are predictable and stable. I now know much better who I am and am not as terrified about how I would survive if and when he is called home.
But at the same time, I've realized I've lived all of these fourteen years in fear. Many years were excruciatingly hard and I was fully convinced that the next cold or virus would take him. Whole years of his life were spent nearly comatose. I would lie next to him at night afraid to go to sleep because I didn't know if he would be breathing the next morning. Living under that specter of impending doom and trying to plan a future are rather anachronous. And while he has gotten so much better and stronger in recent years, somehow that fear has been slow to fade because I know that death will still one day come for him.
I've spent all these years mourning a fear that has fortunately not materialized. And while there has certainly been grief associated with the lost opportunities and memories that his health issues have stolen and the heartache of watching his constant pain, that same time has been filled with bountiful tender mercies, critical life lessons and precious time that I never thought I'd have. I let that fear stay with me despite assurances that all would be well because I somehow thought it would protect me; that it somehow made me stronger and would help me survive when his time came.
But I've also come to realize that faith and fear are not compatible. Fear robs me of putting my whole faith in God. Fear robs me of loving my husband with 100% of my heart. Fear weakens me and ultimately leaves me more vulnerable to the very thing I fear.
A quote from my seminary lesson this morning read, "[Make] a choice of peace and protection and a choice that is appropriate for all. That choice is faith. . . Choose faith over doubt, choose faith over fear, choose faith over the unknown and the unseen, and choose faith over pessimism." (Richard Edgely, Nov. 2010).
I realize that the way I feel is a choice and that I can choose to replace fear with faith. That isn't always easy but I can see that there's so much more to lose if I let fear govern me. Because death and loss aren't always the same thing. Losing someone because I was not courageous enough to work through the hard parts would be far worse in my opinion. Loving with my whole heart leaves me more vulnerable but the sweetness of surrendering my whole heart will hopefully be enough to sustain me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)