Day 214, July 31

Do you ever get your feelings hurt?  Have you ever been offended?  I do and I have.  More often than I'd like.

I found the following story in a book about church history that reminded me of the dangers that can occur when we allow hurt feelings and offense to color our judgment.

Simonds Ryder was converted to the Church in 1831.  Later, he received a letter signed by the Prophet Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon, informing him that it was the Lord's will, made manifest by the Spirit, that he preach the gospel.  Both in the letter he received and in the official commission to preach, his name was spelled Rider instead of Ryder.  Simonds Ryder "thought if the spirit through which he had ben called to preach could err in the matter of spelling his name, it might have erred in calling him to the ministry as well, or, in other words, he was led to doubt if he were called at all by the Spirit of God, because of the spelling of his name.

It seems a small thing, a silly thing even.  But no smaller nor sillier than some of the things which I've allowed to hurt my feelings.

So, for today, I am grateful for those individuals who do not take offense.

Day 213, July 30

"Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about."

This was in a list of quotes a friend sent to me.  To be truthful, I didn't love this quote.  It cut too close to home for me, as am I a great "comparer."  Try as I will, I compare myself to my friends and family members.  No surprise--I always come up short.

I am fortunate enough to have scores of talented, compassionate, lovely, beautiful, and brilliant friends.  Why can't I be like them, I frequently lament.  They do everything right.  Their lives are perfect.  They are perfect.

And then I realize that I do them a disservice by assuming that their lives are perfect, that they are perfect, that their journey is without pain.  In doing so, I discount any problems or heartaches or hurts they might have.  (And don't we all have problems, heartaches, or hurts at some point in our lives?)

Maybe I need to start seeing with spiritual eyes rather than envious ones.  Maybe I need to offer something of myself rather than hoarding away any talent I might have.  Maybe I need to be more like the Savior.  (No maybe about it.)

So, for today, I am grateful for those times when I quit comparing and start loving.

Day 212, July 29

A week ago, I related the story of Thomas B. Marsh, who, with his wife, left the church over a dispute over a pint of cream.  Later, I learned the rest of Brother Marsh's story, which I'd like to share with you here.

Nineteen years after he left the church, years filled with anger and bitterness, Brother Marsh made his way to the Salt Lake Valley and asked President and Prophet Brighm Young to forgive him and permit his rebaptism into the church.

He wrote to Heber C Kimball, First Counselor in the First Presidency:  "I began to awake to a sense of my situation ... I know that I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight."  He then described the lessons he had learned:  "The Lord could get along very well without me and He has lost nothing for my falling out of the ranks.  But O what have I lost?  Riches, greater riches than all the world or many planets like this could afford."

So, for today, I am grateful for those who can put aside their anger and pride.

Day 211, July 28

A friend recently related a story that so touched me that I knew I had to share it here:

A litter of kittens was dropped off at an animal shelter.  The shelter didn't have the means or staff to hand feed the kittens, so a wise individual took the kittens to a mother dog.  The dog immediately embraced the kittens and began to nurse them.

One of the kittens fell into the dog's large water dish.  She would have drown if the dog hadn't picked her up and delivered her to safety.

That nurturing is inherent in most women.  Whether or not they are mothers, they care for, protect, nourish, and provide for children.  Mothers or grandmothers, aunts or teachers, they give love because it is their God-given nature.  Sadly, there are a few women who discard their children as they would a used tissue.  I cannot but feel that they are also discarding that part of them that is divine.

So, for today, I am grateful for the nurturing love in women that is ordained of the Lord.

Day 210, July 27

The other day in saying my prayers, I found myself telling the Father (Can you imagine?  I was TELLING Him something), that if He would take care of a certain problem, I would take care of the rest.

I stopped short.  Who was I to think I could take care "of the rest?"  The fact is, I can't take care of anything, at least not without the Father's help. 

I suppose it represents a bit of progress on my part that I stopped myself from completing the thought, that I realized how arrogant and childish I must have sounded. 

So, for today, I am grateful for those times when I recognize that I am nothing and can do nothing without the Father.

Day 209, July 26

Can you bear one more post about pionners?

As always, my thoughts and sympathies are drawn to the women, those mothers who made the arduous trek to Utah.  For the most part, these were gently bred and raised women of the east, many of whom had enjoyed a comfortable if not lavish lifestyle.  They were educated in the art of being ladies.  Yet they sacrificed everything to follow a prophet and follow the Lord.

They had no experience in survival in a wilderness, of catching game or handling a team of oxen.  They did not know how to pick up cow patties to use as fuel.  (Even writing that, I shudder.)  They did not know how to cook over a campfire.  They certainly did not know how to bury a child under a pile of rocks and then leave him there while they journeyed on.

But they did all that.  And more.

So, for today and everyday, I am grateful for strong women.

Day 208, July 25

My thoughts are still very much on the Mormon pioneers.

Our family has made many trips across Wyoming, from our home in Colorado to Utah where we have extended family.  The trip seems a long one, generally taking around eight hours.  Inevitably I complain about sore muscles, heat, cold, what-have-you.  And then I think of the men, women, and children who crossed the plains, from Illinois to Utah, with none of the comforts I take for granted.

Women gave birth on the trek.  They buried children and husbands and still kept going. They did this with little food, limited water, and were plagued by sickness, the elements, and Indian raids

And I am shamed by my complaints.

So, for today and once again, I am grateful for stalwart pioneers.