Start Moving

The misconception that we must call upon the Lord in every matter is something I feel has held me back in making proactive decisions. While it is good to seek counsel and guidance from the Lord, it is important that we trust in our ability to make educated decisions.  I use the term educated, because as the Lord counsels in Doctrine and Covenants, we must first study it out in our minds and then go to him in prayer for confirmation.  If the Lord, co-creator in our earthly existence, believes in our intellectual ability to make conscious decisions, shouldn't we?  How empowering God is to place self-discipline within our grasp.  If we can master our selves when it comes to decision making we can further gain confidence in our ability to make RIGHT decisions for our life.  

As this article brilliantly alludes, through the use of Elder Von Keetch's analogy of the smoke jumpers, we must not wait for direction in all things. We need to start moving, in whatever direction we have chosen and trust that God will either steer us on a different path if we have ventured wrong or will manifest his approval by strengthening our faith and administering his blessings.  

“Start Moving”

BY ELDER VON G. KEETCH

Area Seventy, Utah Salt Lake City Area

A story is told of a group of smoke jumpers. These brave men and women fight forest fires by parachuting onto the ground above a fire and fighting it from the top down, while others fight it from below.

During one particularly large forest fire, an elite team of smoke jumpers assembled for a briefing before taking off in their airplane. The dispatcher—a wise and experienced firefighter—told the smoke jumpers that things were very volatile and that he could not give them precise instructions. Rather, the dispatcher instructed, the smoke jumpers should contact him by radio once they had parachuted onto the ridge above the fire. Then he would give them instructions as to the course they should take to begin to fight.

Quickly the smoke jumpers took off in their plane, parachuted onto the ridge above the raging fire, and assembled themselves for action. As they viewed the fire from above, they could see half a dozen possible paths they could take to begin their work.

In keeping with their agreement with the dispatcher, the leader of the team took out a handheld radio, found the proper frequency, and called the dispatcher to request instructions as to which path to take. But only static came back from the radio; they could not hear the dispatcher at all.

Presuming that the dispatcher was busy with other tasks, the smoke jumpers decided to wait 10 minutes and try again. But when they tried the dispatcher the second time, they received the same result—dead air and static and no instructions.

The smoke jumpers conferred with each other. They could still see several paths down the mountain that would put them in a good position to fight the fire. But they were concerned that they didn’t have any direction from the dispatcher. They worried that if they started moving down the path that looked best to them, they might actually be moving counter to the course the dispatcher wanted them to take and they would be forced to retrace their steps.

So they decided to wait on top of the ridge. Fifteen minutes later they tried the dispatcher again. Nothing. They took off their backpacks and found a place to sit down. Thirty minutes became an hour; an hour became two hours. They regularly tried to contact the dispatcher. But as before, they received only static in return.

The smoke jumpers decided to eat lunch. After that, when they still couldn’t contact the dispatcher, they reclined on their backpacks and took a nap. They were frustrated. If the dispatcher would just pay some attention to them and tell them which way to go, they would happily follow that course and begin their firefighting efforts. But the dispatcher seemed to be ignoring them, probably preoccupied with others. And they had decided that they weren’t going to move without the dispatcher’s directions. After all, those directions had been promised to them before they parachuted onto the ridge.

Seven hours after the smoke jumpers arrived at the top of the ridge, a weary crew chief from the group fighting the fire farther down the mountain came up the trail and found the smoke jumpers. He was flabbergasted. Approaching their leader, he asked, “What are you doing lounging around on the ridge? We really needed your help. The fire almost got away from us because we didn’t have help to contain it. And all this time you’ve just been relaxing up here on the ridge?”

The lead smoke jumper explained their predicament to the crew chief. They had been promised instructions from the dispatcher. They had been vigilant in trying to obtain those instructions. But the dispatcher had ignored them, never responding to their calls. True, they could see several paths down to the fire. But they were afraid they would take the wrong one. So they decided to wait until they had the promised instructions from the dispatcher.

The crew chief held out his hand and took the small radio the smoke jumpers had been using. He then walked about 50 yards (45 m) down one of the paths that led toward the fire. He stopped and tried the radio. The dispatcher’s voice came through loud and clear. The crew chief then walked back to the top of the ridge and traveled about 50 yards (45 m) farther down another path. He stopped and called the dispatcher. Again the dispatcher’s voice came back immediately.

The crew chief hiked back to the smoke jumpers and tossed the radio to the leader, saying, “You are in a dead spot. All you had to do was start moving down one of the trails, and the dispatcher could have easily given you course corrections and brought you right into the spot where we needed you. Instead you lounged up here, and you were totally worthless to us.”

Often in our need for spiritual guidance and direction, we can be tempted to do exactly what the smoke jumpers did. We find ourselves in unfamiliar territory. We see several paths available to us, and we’re not sure which one to take. We have been promised inspiration and help from our Heavenly Father. But it doesn’t always come immediately. We grow frustrated and decide we are simply going to sit down and wait until the promised guidance comes. We wait and we wait and we wait, wondering why the divine Dispatcher doesn’t help us with our course.

In so doing, we ignore an important principle of revelation. Our Father in Heaven expects us to use our own intelligence, ability, and experience to chart our initial course. As we press forward along the path we have chosen, we are in a much better position to receive the course corrections He may have for us. But if we simply plop down on the ridge and recline on our backpacks until He gives us instruction, we risk finding ourselves in a spiritual dead spot.

President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, has taught us:

“We are expected to use the light and knowledge we already possess to work out our lives. We should not need a revelation to instruct us to be up and about our duty, for we have been told to do that already in the scriptures; nor should we expect revelation to replace the spiritual or temporal intelligence which we have already received—only to extend it. We must go about our life in an ordinary, workaday way, following the routines and rules and regulations that govern life.

“Rules and regulations and commandments are valuable protection. If we need revealed instruction to alter our course, it will be waiting along the way as we arrive at the point of need.”

I testify that the best and clearest direction comes in our lives not when we are just waiting for our Heavenly Father to send help and guidance but when we are anxiously engaged with our back bent to the task. To those of you who are waiting upon the Lord for guidance in your lives—who need help with a major decision or question—I give you this challenge: Prayerfully and carefully use your own intelligence and your own resources to choose a path that seems right to you. Then become anxiously engaged in walking that path (see D&C 58:26–28). When the time for course correction comes, He will be there to help you and to guide you.

The best and clearest direction comes in our lives not when we are just waiting for our Heavenly Father to send help and guidance but when we are anxiously engaged with our back bent to the task.

"By Small Means"

By Laurel Teuscher

I thought I was doing fine. I had served a mission, graduated from college, secured a full-time job, and finally moved into an apartment by myself. I attended church every Sunday and sometimes went to activities. I had plenty of friends, single and married, and I suddenly had more time for reading, my favorite thing to do as a child. Yet even with all of these activities, I still felt lost.

In Alma chapter 37, we read of Alma’s advice to his son Helaman. Inverses 41–42, Alma talks about Lehi’s family and the Liahona. He explains that the Liahona would not work when “they were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence” and that “they did not progress in their journey; therefore, they tarried in the wilderness, or did not travel a direct course.” Reading these verses helped me realize that I was not progressing. I was not exercising my faith or being diligent in anything in my life. I had stopped working toward a goal. I was simply waiting for something to happen.

There wasn’t one specific moment when I made a list and wrote down everything I needed to change. Rather, those changes came little by little. First, I started to get up early and go for a run or do some other form of exercise. Next, I began to look into school programs that might help me progress in my job or allow me to get a different one. I found a program and then spent time preparing to take the necessary tests to apply. Scripture study and prayer became more important to me, and I tried to spend time every day feasting on the words of Christ and seeking to feel the Spirit. I made a special effort to be more involved in my ward—even if it meant sacrificing some personal time.

Since I started making these small changes, I have felt happier. I feel that I’m progressing and Heavenly Father is giving me new challenges. I can face those challenges with hope rather than fear or discouragement. I’ve learned that when we cease to work or exercise our faith and move in a direction, Heavenly Father cannot help us progress and we will not reach our destination. I am so grateful for the small changes in my life that have helped me to see a way ahead.

Things That Matter Most

Get Involved

Mike and I have been trying to come up with various ways we can serve more effectively and efficiently now that we have a newborn.  We still want to be active citizens in this world in helping those in need.  I got on the LDS website and found some great resources while searching through the Welfare System home page.  There are countless ways we can get involved and I thought I would include two of them on my blog:

School Kits Even when children are fortunate enough to attend schools, they often lack the educational supplies needed to create a functional and engaging learning environment. A school kit can transform even a meager setting into an appropriate educational space. Assembly Instructions 4 unsharpened pencils 1 pencil sharpener 1 box pre-sharpened or unsharpened assorted colored pencils (approximately 7" long, about 12 pencils to a box) 1 pair blunt-nosed scissors with metal blades 1 rubber pencil eraser (approximately 1" by 2") 1 straight edge ruler—not to exceed 12", with metric measurements 450 pages of paper in glued or spiral-bound notebooks or letter-size legal pads, all with lined sheets. Sheet sizes 8 ½" by 11", 8" by 10 ½", and 8 ½" by 11 ¾" are acceptable (no more than 6 notebooks or pads per kit). 1 durable cloth bag made of heavy fabric (see cloth bag guidelines below) Cloth Bag (for School Kit) Cut two pieces of fabric into 14" by 18" rectangles. Serge or zigzag all edges of both pieces of bag fabric. Put right sides of bag fabric together. Starting at the top of the side seam (side seam = 18" length), sew around three sides of bag (2 long sides, 1 short side). Make sure to backstitch. Turn top hem down 1". Press top. Handles Cut two 26" by 3 ½" handles from a piece of fabric (½" webbing may also be used). Zigzag or serge one long side of each handle. With right side out, fold over raw edge and overlap serged edge. Stitch lengthwise down center of handle. Pin or secure handle in place. Repeat with the other end of the handle on the same side of the bag. Repeat on other side of the bag. After handles are secure, stitch hem of bag, including handles around entire hem. Reinforce stitching on handles. Place a 3" strip of Velcro on inside of bag between handle straps, and sew in place. Place all items inside the cloth bag. Take or ship the completed school kits to the Latter-day Saint Humanitarian Center, or a bishops' storehouse. Hygiene Kits Hygiene kits provide disaster victims with basic items necessary for health and cleanliness. Assembly Instructions 2 unbreakable combs (no sharp handles) 4 toothbrushes (packaged) 1 tube of toothpaste (6-8 oz., no pumps) 2 bars of soap (approximately 4 to 5 oz.) 2 hand towels (new towels, approximately 15" by 25". Please do not use dish towels or washcloths. To sew towels, serge or zigzag the edges of terry cloth to make a 15" by 25" towel.) Place items in a heavy-duty, one-gallon sealable bag. Remove all air before sealing. Place hygiene kits in a cardboard packing box, and take or ship them to the Latter-day Saint Humanitarian Center, or a bishops' storehouse. ***If you don't have time to serve you can always donate online.  Check out the LDS Charities the church supports.

Motherhood: eternal partnership with God

I thought this was such perfect reminder, especially on the hard days.  Being a mother isn't easy but it is so worth it!

Inexpensive Birthday Party Ideas

I saw this on the Today Show—some really fun/creative ideas for birthday party themes/invites for kids.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Lessons Learned Via Motherhood

Oregon Fail

Watch out for the wagon ruts.

By Merry Gordon

I should know better. The man has four mounted elk heads in his garage. He casts his own bullets. He has been known to disappear for weeks at a time and return looking like Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall—at the end of the movie, where he's indistinguishable from the bear he's wrestling. But when my husband's uncle asks me if I am interested in seeing some Oregon Trail sites while we're in Idaho, I jump at the chance. I haven't been this excited since floppy disks were still floppy.

//Going back to 1848 . . . .//

My husband Ed and I are children of the 80s, and we grew up on the Apple IIe Oregon Trail. I spent whole summers dying of typhoid to the MIDI strains of "Skip to My Lou," gunning down pound after pound of pixelated squirrel and thinking of mildly naughty epitaphs for my tombstone. To be able to share this bit of childhood nostalgia with my own children? Priceless.

"You game for a little adventure?" Uncle Doug asks me as we barrel down the highway.

//Many kinds of people made the trip to Oregon. You may:

1. Be a banker from Boston.

2. Be a carpenter from Ohio.

3. Be a sedan-driving mom from suburbia who's suspicious that her new espadrille wedges aren't going to cut it in the sticks.//

I smile and try to look like someone who hasn't always lived within a few blocks of a Target. "Of course I'm game."

He grins and blows past the exit for Fort Hall.

//You've lost the trail.//

"Didn't you say we're going to Fort Hall?" I ask.

"We are. That's the replica. Tourist trap," he mutters. "We're going to the actual Fort Hall." He jerks the truck onto a dirt road and frowns at my husband in the rearview. "Have you ever known me to take you to places with drinking fountains or admission fees?"

At this point my husband stops making eye contact with me.

//Date: 25 June 2008

Weather: Oppressively muggy

Morale: Waning

Food: Half a box of warm apple juice and a baggie of pretzels

Next landmark: Fort Hall.  "It's just down the road."

Miles traveled: 78 miles//

And it isn't a long trip. Not really. Or it wouldn't have been, had we used GPS, a map or something other than Uncle Doug's intuition to get us there. Perhaps it just seems long to us because it seems so long to the kids, mile after mile of empty greenish-brown nothingness.

 //You may:

1. Travel the trail.

2. Learn about the trail.

3. See the Oregon Top Ten.//

"Mommy, are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

//4. Turn the sound off.//

And just when I don't think I can take it anymore, the jostling of the road, the sweat, the bellyaching monotony of it all, Uncle Doug squints out at the horizon and hits the brakes.

"That's it."

A cloud of dust obscures my vision. "What's it?" I fumble with my seat belt, fantasizing about covered wagons and calico aprons and green buffalo that go belly-up when you shoot them with the space bar. My heart lurches with excitement. I am a pioneer.

"That."

The dirt settles. As we spill out of the car I realize "that" is a chimney-like stone column, fenced in and buried in chest-high grass. Flies buzz lazily around bullet-riddled beer cans on an overgrown path.

//You have reached Fort Hall.//

My stomach drops in disappointment. I am an idiot.

"This is where it all happened!" Uncle Doug says. "There used to be a plaque—bugs musta carried it off." And sure enough, the abundance of insect life here is biblically plague-like in its proportions.

In sidestepping the beer cans and whisking away a cloud of gnats I trip in a furrow and break the strap of my new shoes.

"Watch out for the wagon ruts," Uncle Doug adds over his shoulder as my husband scoops me up.

I put on a brave face. "Isn't this great, kids?" My four-year-old eyes me suspiciously and mumbles something under her breath of which I catch only one word: boring. My 15-month-old just screams and bats at a mosquito the size of a small horse.

Uncle Doug has little tolerance for complaining. He clucks impatiently and picks up something from the ground. It's a rusty nail. "Souvenir," he says as he passes it to my daughters, who stop whining just long enough for me to calculate the date of everyone's last tetanus shot before I whisk it out of their hands. More grumbling.

//The children have exhaustion.//

Finally, my oldest plays her trump card: "I hafta pee." (For four-year-olds, the need to urinate increases in direct proximity to the number of miles they are from anything resembling a bathroom.)

"Are you kidding?" To the left of us is grass. To the right of us is grass. In front of us is grass. Behind us is riparian marsh, which is grass with some water.

//From the Fort Hall Monument it is 25 miles of dirt road to any clean bathroom.//

"I hafta pee." She looks up at me plaintively.

//Do you want to ford the river, or caulk the wagon and float across?//

My husband shrugs. "Pee on the ground."

Her lower lip begins to tremble.

"Sweetie, that's what the pioneer children had to do."

Huge tears well up in the corner of her eyes, but gradually we convince her that this is really the only way. My husband and Uncle Doug walk down the trail a piece and discuss the logistics of various stances for relieving oneself outdoors depending on the terrain, all of which have vaguely athletic-sounding names like the squat, the tripod and the hang. I weep inwardly and long for indoor plumbing. Finally, my daughter crouches down and I hear a sigh of relief emanate from the tall grass.

"I need toilet paper."

I fish a baby wipe container out of my purse—empty.  A Kleenex wrapper—also empty. Panic sets in and I dump the contents of my handbag on the trail in desperation, coming up with a Costco receipt. My daughter, still half naked and squatting, looks at me in horror at the prospect of wiping her bottom with register tape ("Thank you! Please come again!") and begins sobbing anew. At this point, my toddler attempts to console her big sister by patting her on the back. This topples them both over and I now have two hysterical children—one without pants—rolling around on the freshly peed-on ground.

I'm ready to join in their tantrum until I realize that being in rural Idaho is a bit like being in space: no one can hear you scream. The high desert just swallows my petty drama in its vastness—it's seen my kind before, and it's not impressed.

//You die of stupid. Epic fail. Game over.//

So it's here, standing in the wagon ruts with grass whipping at my ankles, that I bury any faintly cherished hopes that I could have hacked it in the wild. I picture myself as an emigrant mother, rising at 4 o'clock in the morning to ladle out brackish water to my family, nursing my baby while sitting astride 600 pounds of bacon and molasses in a rickety wagon, peering past my sunbonnet at 2000 miles of trail and knowing I might not last the journey—and all without the consolation of a nice bubble bath and my iPod? I think not.

Then again, I wonder how she'd handle the trails I've blazed. Could she take waking before dawn to squeeze in a quick workout, checking juice labels for high fructose corn syrup before a single sippy cup gets filled, catching up on international news headlines en route to the PTA potluck, and rocking the baby in one hand while typing an invoice and throwing together dinner with the other . . . all as she balances the budget and makes a last-minute mortgage payment on her cell phone?  And don't even get me started about the dangers of modern child-rearing. Given the choice between Indians and dysentery or media violence and childhood sexualization, I'd take my chances with intestinal parasites and natives. At least that's a fair fight.

"Mommy?"

They've stopped crying now and are sitting up. Two tear-stained faces blink up at me and then down at grass-stained knees and grimy hands.

"We're dirty."

This I can handle. I whip out a bottle of hand sanitizer and a Tide pen. Eat that, pioneer woman.

The 10 Most Irritating, Least Helpful Parenting Tips Ever

Mike saw this on face book and sent it to me.  I thought it was so hilarious yet true; something good to remember for new moms to be.

I have nothing against friends and family offering advice when you come to them with a dilemma. It's the people who pipe up, unbidden, because they see you with a child and assume you have no idea what you're doing. Too often these people are elderly great-aunts. Fortunately those ladies are afraid of the Internet, so I can rail against them and they'll be none the wiser! Thanks, ladies.

1. "Sleep now, because once that baby comes you'll never sleep again." Technically this is a pregnancy tip, of course, but I'm shoving it in here anyway. Yes, Great-Aunt Hildy, I will sleep throughout my entire third trimester. Because I am part bear.

2. "Sleep when the baby sleeps." Everyone gives you this one — annoying relatives, pediatricians, the cashier at the drugstore where you were buying newborn diapers. Are these people all robots, capable of instantly dropping off to sleep whenever their child is unconscious? Do they not have other things to do, like bathe, or simply relish the rare moments of silence you get when you have an infant?

Read more from Alice Bradley on << The Motherboard Blog >>

3. "I think your baby's hungry." Whether you're nursing or bottle-feeding, everyone assumes you don't know how to feed your child. And every time your child cries, whines, grimaces, or squirms, they are going to assume you are starving your poor baby and you need reminders to feed it. Lest you forget! This advice is especially maddening when they turn out to be correct.

4. "Relish every moment of your baby's first years, because they'll be grown before you know it." You mean, time only moves forward? I had no idea! I thought we'd be like this forever and ever! This sort of advice, obvious and innocuous as it seems, always put me on the defensive, as if I had just been carrying my baby under my arm like a football, muttering, "Grow up already, why don't you. Just GROW UP."
Related: Celebrities on Motherhood

5. "I hope you're sleep training that child. Do you WANT him to be spoiled?" Oh, distant relative/person whose aisle I shared at the supermarket, I'm so glad you know exactly my child needs. And that you know, from your years of scientific research, that any child not allowed to cry it out will be a horrible waste of flesh!
(See #6 for this parenting tip's counterpart.)

6. "I hope you're not doing that 'crying it out' thing. It's so barbaric. Enjoy your baby all through the night!" Again, kudos to you, whoever you are, for knowing what's best for our unique family situation! I will be calling you at 4 a.m., so you can enjoy our baby as well.
Related: The Best Mom Moments of All Time


7. "Why are you bringing your child outside when it's so cold out?" It never ceased to amaze me that, no matter what my child's age, total strangers will express alarm and revulsion that I dared expose him to the elements. "And WHY ISN'T BE WEARING MITTENS? He's going to get consumption!"

8. "Your child isn't really sad/angry/injured. He's just manipulating you." There's no doubt that children can push our buttons as if they've had professional training in it, but the notion that my kid's authentic feelings are in fact manufactured to elicit a reaction really chaps my hide. If that were always true, he'd be a pint-sized sociopath.  I'm pretty sure that's not the case.
Related: Read 7 Hilarious Tantrum Tales Here

9. "Schools are just glorified prisons. If you loved your child, you'd homeschool." Oh, if only I loved my child enough to abandon my livelihood, tear him away from the community he so enjoys, separate him from the professionals who have dedicated their careers to childhood education, and forced him to stay home all day with me, where we'd be at each other's throats for hours! If only! Please note: I am not opposed to homeschooling, at all — in fact I wish it would work for us, but it would not.

10. "If I were you, I'd just—" OH NO YOU DON'T. I know where this is going. Listen, unnamed distant acquaintance who last parented in the 19th century (it's true — I often get my unwanted advice from ghosts) you don't know diddly about my kid, and our relationship, and what works for us.