"Again to the sisters I say that you will be as highly respected, you will be considered as being as much in the line of duty, your efforts will be as acceptable to the Lord and to the Church whether you go on a mission or do not go on a mission" ~ President Gordon B. Hinkley, October 1997 Conference Priesthood Session.
Brother Bott played the recording of that talk to the class today. This is the lesson I have been waiting for, so I am glad that I made it to class, however late. I sat on the floor in the back of the stadium classroom in the law building listening with baited breath. Ladies and gentlemen, the prophet of God said this, in full accord with the apostles. It is scripture.
But not for me, I said. It's not true for me. I am still required to go, obligated to go. My heart kept rebelling against the amnesty. Finally my heart cried out, scripture! And I accepted it. Instantly my heart calmed, my mind elevated and the Spirit almost patted my hand as if to say, there thatta girl. It's all I've been trying to tell you.
So I have entered into a new phase of not-knowing in my life. For the last month I have not wanted to go on a mission. I don't know the reasoning. Perhaps because I made it a chore. But that does not mean that I don't want to go. It's just that I've always said I would go, and so I've kept saying it. That, however, is not a good reason to do anything. Feeling it my duty, a recent development, directed my path toward it, but the duty is not mine. The experience would be amazing, but, as Brother Bott said, "You will not do anything while wearing that black name tag that you will not do as a wife and mother; you will reactivate, teach, prepare for baptism, serve, etc. And there are sacred experiences you cannot have as a missionary that you are allowed as a wife."
So now I must make up my mind. I will make it up for me, with the Lord's help, but whatever the decision at whatever time, I have my Heavenly Father's blessing on it. And that's good to know.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Monday, February 6, 2006
pictures forthcoming
My mom’s face hasn’t changed in thirty years. I know this from the photographs. A few months ago my dad gave me a collection of all the things he had that reminded him of Mom. It took him two and a half years after the divorce to part with their wedding announcement. I have it. I have it in one of those gallon-sized zip-lock bags along with many other pictures of her. There are two that I love.
The first shows her when she was about my age. Like I said, she has the same face. My mother’s beauty, then and now, comes from that face--timeless, both old and young. She has no expression either happy or sad dancing on her face. She is merely quiet. Whoever took the picture must have known my mother well; she didn’t even look up from her book when the shot was snapped. Her hair is long and dark and parted straight down the middle. She is leaning back ungainly and slouching on the couch so her hair flows around her shoulders and the thick knit sweater she wears. Her knees do not sit lady-like, but lean against the armrest with her feet on the table-top. She wears wool slacks, and in the seventies, this wasn’t usual. Of course, my mother never was very dainty, despite her inherent femininity. She always wore the pants in the family. The ring on her left hand should tell me something about the time frame, but I don’t know for a fact that it was my father to whom she was engaged at that time. Like I said, she was beautiful. I think it was dad though. I like that he had the kind of intimacy with her that allowed him to take that picture.
But what I like best about the photograph is that it looks exactly like one taken of me. I look more like my dad, really, but there’s a shot of me, lounging in an armchair with my legs over one side and a book in my lap. My hair is dark and I used to part it in the middle. I too wore that same expression of serenity. I have loved this picture ever since I first saw it. I once asked my mom if I may have it, but despite her search she never produced it. When my dad gave me the pictures, I first cried, and then was glad. This picture ties me to my mother.
The second picture of that bunch that I particularly liked was one taken a few years later. My mom is wearing a heinously hideous one-piece pantsuit that resembles the couches made in that same era. She is standing next to an aluminum Christmas tree that is so bedecked in tinsel that it appears as though silver has vomited over it. It’s beautiful in its own cheap way. What’s prettier, however, is my mother. Even in that pantsuit. She is standing with her hands on her hips, a stance that says, “why not”, poking laughter at her own happiness--for she is happy. I have never seen such an unadulterated smile on her face in all the years I can remember. Her eyes are mischievous. It is my parents’ first Christmas together and my mom would have been about six weeks into her first pregnancy. This shot captures that “glow” that people speak of.
The class project which sparked this entry asked us to point out what might be missing from the photographs we looked at. I have discovered what is missing from the serene shot of a girl enjoying her book and the excited air of a newly wed: time. She didn’t bear that look for long. My mom is never at peace, a constant type-A personality. Go, go, go. If I were to compare a picture of her now, to say what is missing would be harder. She isn’t as poor as she was then; she is more educated, and has seen and done more. What would be absent is that look of excited expectation, from the second picture, and that look of unbreakable peace from the first. Time makes us wiser but it takes with it our innocence. Thankfully, we have pictures in order to remember that these things did exist, even if a long time ago.
The first shows her when she was about my age. Like I said, she has the same face. My mother’s beauty, then and now, comes from that face--timeless, both old and young. She has no expression either happy or sad dancing on her face. She is merely quiet. Whoever took the picture must have known my mother well; she didn’t even look up from her book when the shot was snapped. Her hair is long and dark and parted straight down the middle. She is leaning back ungainly and slouching on the couch so her hair flows around her shoulders and the thick knit sweater she wears. Her knees do not sit lady-like, but lean against the armrest with her feet on the table-top. She wears wool slacks, and in the seventies, this wasn’t usual. Of course, my mother never was very dainty, despite her inherent femininity. She always wore the pants in the family. The ring on her left hand should tell me something about the time frame, but I don’t know for a fact that it was my father to whom she was engaged at that time. Like I said, she was beautiful. I think it was dad though. I like that he had the kind of intimacy with her that allowed him to take that picture.
But what I like best about the photograph is that it looks exactly like one taken of me. I look more like my dad, really, but there’s a shot of me, lounging in an armchair with my legs over one side and a book in my lap. My hair is dark and I used to part it in the middle. I too wore that same expression of serenity. I have loved this picture ever since I first saw it. I once asked my mom if I may have it, but despite her search she never produced it. When my dad gave me the pictures, I first cried, and then was glad. This picture ties me to my mother.
The second picture of that bunch that I particularly liked was one taken a few years later. My mom is wearing a heinously hideous one-piece pantsuit that resembles the couches made in that same era. She is standing next to an aluminum Christmas tree that is so bedecked in tinsel that it appears as though silver has vomited over it. It’s beautiful in its own cheap way. What’s prettier, however, is my mother. Even in that pantsuit. She is standing with her hands on her hips, a stance that says, “why not”, poking laughter at her own happiness--for she is happy. I have never seen such an unadulterated smile on her face in all the years I can remember. Her eyes are mischievous. It is my parents’ first Christmas together and my mom would have been about six weeks into her first pregnancy. This shot captures that “glow” that people speak of.
The class project which sparked this entry asked us to point out what might be missing from the photographs we looked at. I have discovered what is missing from the serene shot of a girl enjoying her book and the excited air of a newly wed: time. She didn’t bear that look for long. My mom is never at peace, a constant type-A personality. Go, go, go. If I were to compare a picture of her now, to say what is missing would be harder. She isn’t as poor as she was then; she is more educated, and has seen and done more. What would be absent is that look of excited expectation, from the second picture, and that look of unbreakable peace from the first. Time makes us wiser but it takes with it our innocence. Thankfully, we have pictures in order to remember that these things did exist, even if a long time ago.
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