INSTANT FRIENDS AND FAMILY....

BRIGHT SABBATH

No matter where I have attended Church throughout the world, it is always like having instant friends and family.  The gospel gives us a kinship with others whether or not we speak the same language or have similar backgrounds or a familiar shared culture.

That was true again today (March 24, 2019) when I attended our new 2 hour block of meetings with the Missoula 4th Ward in Montana.  This was day two of the same parameters for every trip in my March schedule:  killer long first day about 12-14 hours on the same plane flying over eight hours without a break.  Get the passengers on.  Get them off.  Get the next passengers on.  Get them off.  Get the next passengers on.  Get them off.  By that time, the whole crew are ALL ready to fall down dead in our tracks,.  This first day hasn't ended at the hotel until near midnight all month long.  I'm sure the others have felt the same as I have, just get to the hotel so I can collapse.  Day three of this month's schedule is a repeat of day one.

But day two?  Thirty hours in one hotel, meaning two nights in the same bed and a whole day to piddle away or discover something new...if it's possible even to get OUT of bed the next day.

This morning there was good reason to get up.  I had a whole Sunday off.  And though I would have preferred being home going to my own Carlson Farm Ward so I could do my calling as Primary President, I've had some pretty neat experiences sharing my Sunday with complete strangers who, almost without exception, have become my friends by the time we part ways after Church.  So, in spite of being just a wee bit tired and weary, I jumped out of bed looking forward to another adventure.

And I don't even have to look in the phone book anymore before I arrive in a layover city and call the hall phone at a local chapel or find a bishop in the area that has a phone listed and call him to see which chapel is the closest to my hotel.  "And by the way, is there someone who could come and pick me up?" 

Nope.  Now everything is online.  Easy-peasy!  FIND A MEETINGHOUSE presents a search box and drop down menu of choices.  With one click there is your destination.  Hopefully, it is within walking distance.  In Missoula it was. But Louis asked me if I would "sacrifice" my walking miles and broker a ride with LYFT so he could get a little idea of the passenger side of the ride.

My LYFT driver arrived promptly at 8:30 a.m. and delivered me to a chapel whose architecture was definitely from the 60's--blond brick and a stake center which was a big box the size of the city block with classrooms arranged along all the outside walls.

I sat down in my favorite spot in the chapel--the middle of a row about four or five from the front with the podium right ahead of me.  Within a couple of minutes Bishop Yule came to introduce himself.  We chatted.  I told him where I was from.  And that we had Yules in our ward and stake.  He was immediately interested as he is doing family history and hasn't found any members with the same last name.  He asked if he could call me about more info concerning Opal and Warren Yule, and he took my phone number.  Looked to be in his late 30's.

Next was  Brother Bell.  An older man about my age who is a counselor in the bishopric.  We chatted about his weekly trip to conduct business in Seattle.  

Then I leaned forward and introduced myself to the woman sitting on the bench in front of me.  Ann Bell.  Before long her husband whispered something in her ear and she moved to sit by me, bringing another sister--Jane.  

The first speaker was the brother who had opened the chapel door for me as he was accompanying his teenaged boys to help prepare the sacrament. 

The bishop had announced that the speakers were both last minute choices as the two people slotted to speak were ill.  

But Ken Golding didn't give a talk like it had been a last minute effort.  His topic was Lehi's dream, and he started by saying he had served a mission in Brazil over 20 years ago.  One day he and his companion stood outside the iron gate at a house and clapped their hands (apparently the custom in that place).  The man who came out to see what they wanted was "huge", probably 6 foot five inches and a "bare knuckle boxer".  (The speaker was a smaller man, probably about 5 foot nine inches, so the boxer seem big.)  

The man of the house ( I will call him Puto) was attracted to the message and invited them in.  In fact, he was so overcome with the spirit of the restored gospel he and his wife and older son were baptized within a week.  As this was during the "winter" in Brazil, the font was filled with a hose stuck through the chapel  window.  Brother Golding assured us today it wasn't all that cold outside to the missionaries that day, but to the investigators who got baptized it was frigid water.  Interestingly, since the investigator was so big, it took Elder Golding THREE tries before he was able to completely immerse Puto.  And by then, the elder was freezing, too!

But Puto declared he had never felt warmer in his life!  His baptism had brought the fire of the Spirit to him, and he knew the gospel was true.

Unfortunately, Puto's boss had been business partners with a member of the church who had shady business practices.  The partner had been not only excommunicated, but he had also been a bishop.  So, the boss told Punto that he could NOT be a member of the Church and work for him.

It was a hard decision.  Jobs were scarce.  Brazil was in an economic downturn.  A lot of the people in the country didn't even HAVE a  job.  The employment wasn't a lot, but it was something to take care of his family.  Puto made the decision not to go to Church.  Though the missionaries continued to visit with them, Puto and his family never did embrace the gospel again.

Then Brother Golding took out his phone long enough to read 1 Nephi 11:25 about the rod of iron being the love of God.  (Other than that brief moment, he did not look at any notes or anything to give his message. ) He said he felt like Nephi's explanation of Lehi's vision about the iron rod representing the love of God also included family, friends, and others with whom we have special experiences.  All those represent the love of God, too.  

He closed with an invitation  to think about a stair railing, how it is always there as we go up and down the stairs.  We don't really think about it....until we lose our footing, or stumble, or have something we are carrying and need to steady ourselves.  Until we need it.  Then we reach for it.

Our life is like that.  That "rod" has to be there to help us so we don't lose our footing.  Our friends, our family, others.  They all keep us safe with the love of God on our journey through the mists of darkness with the people in the great and spacious building calling out to us to leave what we know is true and join them..  

Puto listened to those mocking people.  He didn't have the strength to resist when the going got tough.  He didn't hold to the rod.  And he lost his way.  

Good talk!

And then I went to Primary where I sat in on the CTR 5 class and had fun watching a cartoon video with them about The Sower and then discussing the parable about the Wheat and the Tares.  The teacher was moving these bright little people into gospel conversations and conclusions it was obvious they had discussed with their families.  

Good job!

In Sharing Time which was after class time, the counselor who conducted asked me to raise my hand and told them I was visiting from Colorado.  Then she included me in the group of visitors when the kids sang the hello song to them.  One of the little CTR 5 people said, "She was in our class!"  

The Primary song leader was right on par with our own Carlson Farm Primary music leader.  Fun activity while teaching the gospel through music and games.

The two hours whizzed by!  In a flash it was already time to say "goodbye" to my new friends.  Soon I was with a different LYFT driver heading back to my hotel.

On the way, I was thinking about  our family ventures while we were away in Virginia, Sweden, Upstate New York and Berlin.  They would have been so lonely and more frustrating without the friends we made at Church   In Sweden particularly, so many of the workers who went did not like their experiences there at all.  Some even went home to Colorado early.  I always felt sorry they missed out on so much.  Strangers in a strange land we weren't.

WE HAD INSTANT FRIENDS AND FAMILY....

SCHOOL LUNCH # 52 STORIES OF ME....(week 40)

QUESTION:  What are my memories of school lunch

ANSWER:  Good ones for a variety of reasons.

Our Carbon County School District in Rawlins, Wyoming, didn't have "school lunch".  There were no cafeterias in any  of the schools.  And no lunch rooms if you wanted to bring a sack lunch.  Besides it wasn't set up for the teachers to be there to supervise that kind of thing.  So, everyone had to go home to eat lunch.  The lunch bell rang at 11:45 am and the afternoon bell rang at 1 pm. 

I was lucky because the school was on 11th Street and I lived on 8th Street.  Wasn't TOO far for a jaunt home and back with a little time for lunch.  But on the bad weather days--and it was ALWAYS windy!--it might as well have been a mile or more as that's what it seemed like to walk that few blocks.

Once home I think I pretty much dawdled before getting down to the business of actually eating.  Probably read a book or the newspaper.  I'm pretty sure my mother fixed my lunch every day.  Not sandwiches.  I didn't like peanut butter even when I was a kid.  Yet I would insist she would buy a jar of Peter Pan Peanut Butter every once in a while because that was the sponser for the weekly television show "Disneyland" which I would watch after I walked down the street to Marie's mother-in-law's house because we didn't have a TV until I was in the 6th grade.  But I was always disappointed in the taste when it actually came to eating peanut butter.  Frankly, I don't remember what my mom fixed for those lunches. That was in the days I ate to live.  I was a scrawny little kid.  About the third smallest in my class. 

That lunch break was also the opportunity to change out of a dress and wear jeans back to school on Thursday afternoon for our PE class.  Thursday afternoon was the time the travelling PE teacher came to Mountain View Elementary School.  Lunch break was also  convenient if I was getting sick or had the croup, I could go home and not languish for the rest of the afternoon until school was over at 3:30 pm in the Primary grades and 3:45 pm when we moved into 4th grade in the North Wing of the school.  And, I think there might have been a few times in six years that I remember FAKING that I was too sick to go back for afternoon classes.  Few is the operative word because I liked school and hated missing out on what was happening.  I didn't like to go back after too long and feel like I was in the outfield of everything for a while. 

Some of the kids lived down by my piano teacher.  I remember their mothers would come and get them in the car.  Others were not as close as I was, but they had probably about a 15 minute walk home and then 15 minutes back.  There were no buses UNTIL a new housing development waaaay west of the hospital and north of HiWay 30 was built.  El Rancho.  Those kids were bussed  to and from school--morning, noon, and night.  Not even THEY got to stay in the building for lunch time.

When I began Junior High School we walked down 7th Street by the penitentiary to Central Elementary School which housed both the elementary grades for the kids in the center section of town and the entire Rawlins Junior High.  Still no busses.  Some of the kids actually ate downtown.  That didn't happen for me.  And now, I wonder how the kids on the far east side of town from Sunnyside Elementary and the kids south of the railroad tracks at Pershing Elementary got back and forth during lunch hour to junior high and the high school which was near Central?

In September 1959 when I began the 8th grade, the brand new high school MILES north of the cemetery was opened.  There was a cafeteria in that school!  And every noon the 7th and 8th grades which had moved into the old high school got on a bus and motored out to eat lunch in that wonderful cafeteria.  I thought it was heaven.  It was something I had always wanted in my school experience.   To eat lunch at school.

Mrs. Morton.  Broccoli.  No mustard.  Meatless Fridays.  And, fresh homemade bread that was so very good it practically melted in your mouth.  If I remember correctly, we could ask for seconds on the bread.  And REAL butter like everyone ate in those days.    

School lunch was where I learned I liked broccoli.  I avoided it at first.  I don't ever remember having it at home, and I knew I didn't like asparagus, so something else green like that would definitely not be tasty.  Just couldn't be.  But one day   I was really hungry and I decided to eat the broccoli to fill me up.  It was delicious!  After that, I used to ask for everyone's broccoli as most of the kids didn't think it would taste good, either.  I even asked my mom WHY we never had it at home.  She said the family got tired of it.  Meaning:  the older girls must have because I had NEVER seen that on the dining room table at home.  And here I was, years younger that they were and yet lumped into the same "like/dislike" mold.  A good thing...my mom started buying broccoli and we had it for supper every once in a while.

Even though I wasn't really too keen on hot dogs, because I got sick on the Merry-Go-Round at a carnival once after eating a wiener on a bun, I loved meatless Friday because we often had Pigs in a Blanket.  The wiener was cooked right into that delicious bread dough.  The only bad thing?  They never had mustard to put on the Pigs in a Blanket.  Only ketchup.  Wrong.  Wrong!  Wrong!!   But the bread dough was more than enough to make up for the lack of mustard.  I just ate the Pigs in a Blanket plain.  

School lunch is also the place where I had fish sticks for the first time.  I also liked those.  Pizza was more like BeauJo's pizza--so much bread there was hardly any pizza ingredients. Just some seasoned tomato sauce and cheese.  Still I thought it was pretty good.  These were meatless Fridays because EVERYONE lived according to the Catholic rule.  No meat on Friday--kind of like fasting.  But I don't know that anyone ever gave a donation to the poor for having given up their portion of meat for one day in the week.

Mrs. Morton, who was the food supervisor, was a REAL nutritionist with a degree-- and the mother of a boy in the grade behind me.  I was pretty impressed.  She wasn't just some woman who was a good cook,  she was a person who knew about nutrition, menus that included the right ingredients for healthy kids, and using the staples afforded by the government to make those meals.  There was no soda pop.  Just milk.  And an extra carton of that was two cents.

If I remember correctly, the novelty of eating at the cafeteria wore off for most of the popular kids by the time we were seniors in high school.  Thirty-five minutes didn't allow a lot of time to go anywhere too far away and grab a bite to eat.  It was too far to drive home even.  By then most of us were driving and had cars so there was an exodus at lunch period down to the little corner market in Sunnyside where the purchases were potato chips, candy bars, and pop.  No nutrition in that diet!  Plus, most of the girls were always "on a diet" anyway.  And they were always hungry because they had skipped breakfast, too.

I was also so grateful to my mom for teaching me while growing up that breakfast was pretty important.  She always said If you ate breakfast, your brain worked for school concentration and there wasn't always a gnawing in your stomach because you were hungry.  I would get up on school days at 5:30 am, get ready for school, and practice the piano while my mom fixed my breakfast.  Some days it might be pork steak and potatoes and gravy or something along those lines.  Other days it might be tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches.  Some days we actually had breakfast foods like waffles or pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast, and my favorite--Cream of Wheat.

So, when it was lunch time, I was ready to eat a nutritious meal.  For the most part it was appetizing, too, and therefore not something that is related to negative feelings.

No memories related to bullying, snubbing, or bad behavior in the lunch room either.  The teachers told us it was a privilege to eat there, and to a kid who had gone home every day of our school experience, instead of having to hoof it home or elsewhere for body fuel, the cafeteria was worth about FIVE Stars for me.

So, yeah.  My memories of school lunch are good ones full of sights, sounds, and delicious food I can still see in my mind's eye. What a banquet!

BON APPETITE!

MINISTERED TO...

love note

The other day we had a lovely woman with a charming accent on our flight from Richmond to Chicago--and surprisingly she was also on the ensuing flight from Chicago to Palm Springs.  At the end of the second flight, she came to the back of the plane and handed me a folded paper and said it was for me.
I waited until everyone deplaned, and then I read the note.  This is what it said.
"Excuse the piece of paper 😊.  Sometimes when I see people Father God shows me how He feels about them.  I had such an overwhelming sense of how valuable  you are to Him, how much He loves you, and how much He wanted  you to know He sees you &  has not forgotten  you.  Through all the hardships and valleys you have found yourself in, that He will never leave you.  You show kindness and care to those around you and He loves watching you and wants you to know how proud He is of you.  💕

Thank you for serving us the way you did.  I pray you experience the kindness Jesus wants you to, and know that He can heal your heart.

Much love,
A sister in Christ
   ɀ 
                XXX"
I was awed!  Dumbstruck that someone would take the time to write ME a note.  Then I figured she had probably written a note to the other flight attendant working in the back with me, as well.  It couldn't be just me she singled out.  As we were preparing for the next flight,  I discretely asked Tracy if the woman had come back and visited with her.  Tracy said no.  

It was an amazing thing that someone would minister to me in such a way.  But mostly, I was humbled.  It brought me to tears.  Who was I that someone would single me out for something I didn't even know that I did?

And when I got home at the end of that day, before I did anything else, I fell to my knees in gratitude because I DO know the Lord is mindful of me and that this woman took the time to minister to a stranger to remind me that Heavenly Father does watch over me...always.
Later I checked out the passenger manifest and found that this woman's name is Nicole Kuhl.  I have no other information about her. Don't know where she is from or what she does in life.  Probably never will.  But I left it to the Lord to let her know of my great  thanksgiving for her service to me that day.  It wasn't even a bad day or a day that my heart was heavy for whatever reason.  It was just an ordinary day transformed by someone's watch- care into something extraordinary.  What a lesson for me in HOW to minister!
I have had some remarkable encounters of a spiritual nature on a few other occasions during my 19 years as a flight attendant, so I added this one to those cherished events in my United experience and remind myself that I would not have had any of them IF I had stayed at a desk in corporate America. 

Who knew what awaited me in the Friendly Skies.....