What Came Next...?

Questions, questions, questions, that is always what comes next. For the following two months I was plagued by them. They went along these lines, familiar to most of us...

Is this IT?

Would I ever really be happy living in America if I had to?

Do I even want to get married?

DO you love me? Do I love YOU?

Why did you do that? Why did I say THAT?

IS this it?

Do I try and extend my stay by hopping over the Canadian border and back or just go home to England?

That one was answered by the Canadian border US immigration officials... go home!

So I went home.

But the question remained and being an ocean apart did not bring any new clarity. Did my heart grow fonder in absence? At the time I thought it did.

I was persuaded to return a month later for another two months. In an effort to find the money I sold (sacrificed) my chocolate tempering machine to ebay. Tried to sell my books at a car boot sale but ended up being given more to take home. Waited tables one evening for a rather decadent County Council function, all in an effort to raise money for charity... I mean for my trip back to the States and finding my answer.

Somehow the money was found and I was sent back, braving US immigration officials who were definitely not as friendly on my return trip.

Within a week of my return I had my answer... NO!

A week of disbelief followed asking .... Really!? Followed by an even more emphatic, NO!

So much effort to obtain such a short, emphatic and unexpected answer. But it was the right answer, I couldn't deny that.

Thankfully, although my plans came to naught, Heavenly Father always had his ready, up his sleeve, waiting for me. I found myself a Spanish teacher who also became a friend, went to a life drawing class at BYU every Friday morning for three hours and worked in a chocolate factory four days a week. I attended a ward that made me feel so incredibly welcome. Made and discovered friends who had always been there, waiting for me to turn my attention to them.

There were the Z's who rescued me that first week after being dumped, took me to their extended family and allowed me to feel as though I belonged somewhere, not a that legal alien I felt myself to be. There was the day in Salt Lake I spent with Debbi, our long detailed conversations and stories, Indian food and an Autumn concert.

There were the pumpkins that invaded everyone's doorsteps and webs that strung from trees a whole month before Halloween. The beautiful colours of autumn on the mountains. Walking to church, watching my neighbours heading in the same direction. The BYU bells singing 'Come, Come Ye Saints' and echoing against the mountains. The first snow fall, getting a free seat in a sold out concert.

The sweet deliciousness of all these experiences and others is now off set with the salty regret of leaving it all behind. Especially leaving friendships too new and untested to trust in their depth. I wish I could stay to try them, but really, I can't.

It feels poignant that I am leaving on Thanksgiving week. No time should be spent on wondering why things didn't end up the way I thought they should have. I only want to remember all the good that has happened, say thank you and then move on trusting that whatever comes next, it will be even better!

Christ in America

There was one part in the Manti Pageant I felt drawn to be a part of. During the scenes of Christ in America, a few were assigned to come forward and touch the Saviours hands. I wanted to be one of them.

As I considered how I would feel when that time will eventually come, it brought to remembrance a discussion that took place many years ago, in youth Sunday School. The discussion was around the question of; how would we each greet Jesus if he were to appear at church today?

The one response that made me think the most was, that they would hug him like a brother, freely and familiar, because Christ wouldn’t want us to feel uncomfortable. Whilst I agreed that Christ wanted us to feel welcome in his presence, I found the complete lack of awe in such a response, a hug, decidedly disappointing. Would this really be our natural response to being in the presence of the One Being who above all others embodies supreme Holiness?

Christ holds many titles and roles in our lives. Recongising only one, or a few can mean missing significant other blessings that bring us closer to him. For example, remembering Christ as my brother makes Him approachable. Thinking of Him as our Judge, distances us from Him. Both are valuable and needed, to deny either one is to not fully embrace all the love He offers.

The scriptures clearly state that when He comes a second time there will be those who will rejoice and that there will be those who will want the mountains and rocks to fall on them that they might hide from what they perceive to be His wrath. (Rev 6:15-17) One group of people will feel joy and triumph. Others will feel His anger.

Consider how we might sometimes feel in the presence of someone who is incredibly more beautiful than us. Often, there are those who suddenly feel themselves less attractive, even ugly, when before they had not thought so. Some might be inspired to do better at presenting themselves more beautifully, whilst others feel threatened and shrink away. They chose to associate themselves with people who look like themselves, who are unthreatening. A similar response might be had when confronted with highly intelligent people. We are suddenly faced with our ignorance. Many times we just completely lack the ability to rise to a higher level and we remain excluded.

Imagine then, being in the presence of One whose defining quality is complete goodness. Someone who has never put a foot wrong and is filled with the most incredible intense love. A being who has experienced extreme torture and pain on your behalf and feels no bitterness towards you for it. Someone whose name you, and others around you, had used as a cuss word. Had ignored. Now, suddenly there this man is before you.

No matter how cavalier society has become in the use of His name and the study and understanding of His identity, when we come face to face with such goodness, such forgiveness and loving kindness in the face of so much hate, we shall all want to shrink. Before Him none are good. We shall experience discomfort, guilt and shame.

All the bad, miserable little traits of which we were only half aware or stubbornly justified, will suddenly be thrown into stark contrast with the depth of His character, His love and His wholeness. How pitiful we will feel.

But then He will say, as He did then,

“Come, feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet.”

An offer of such intimate friendship. He says, in effect,

“Feel the scars that were made because of your sins, your badness. These are the tokens of the price that was paid, for you to be free from this guilt, free from these feelings of inadequacy, of the need to justify yourself and free from fear of not being loved.”

To touch the Saviours hands, to touch those scars, the symbol of the price He paid for me, I would not hug him. I would do as those Nephites of old did, kiss his feet and shout Hosanna!

It is amazing to me that the One being in whose presence we shall feel most insignificant, will raise us up to understand our truest, grandest, most eternal worth.

I am sorry, but a hug would not suffice.

Whilst these were the kind of thoughts that my own mind thought through each night we portrayed Christ’s visit to America it was clear that not all participants had the same feelings. It is a hard thing to keep something fresh and real when it is repeated so many times.

Noticing those who lost focus, got distracted or just put in a half hearted effort into their part made me wonder. What is the problem here? Why aren’t they feeling it?

The spirit whispered to me the answer.

They do not believe that their role, in a huge crowd of others, is important or significant. They do not believe that what they do matters. They under value themselves.

At the closing testimony meeting on the Sunday after the last performance this is what I spoke of. . I testified that every person mattered, that their spirit always contributes to a great whole, either bringing it higher or keeping it low. It’s a principle to remember for life, not just for pageants.

Manti Pageant in Picture

New England

James 1 v 5

First Vision, Angel Moroni

Translation

The Book of Mormon

Samuel the Lamanite

Christ in America

Mormon and Moroni

Pioneer Scenes

Robert dies, Mary comes to bring him home. Angels pronounce the truth, death is not the end!

... because a boy of fourteen went into the woods to pray.

Pageant!

I entered the Chapel alone. Immediately in front of me was the empty end of the back pew. At the other end a small group of young women were chattering, I asked them if the seat were taken. They shook their heads and then went back to their giggling, happy conversation. The room was crammed, the noise of friendships and comfortable associations reminding me of home, of being one amongst such a crowd. But in this moment I was a single, lone entity, completely unknown and unattached, sitting on the end of a pew, unnoticed.

The friendliest face in this large crowd was the one who stood up to begin the meeting. President Doug Barton, pageant President and the one who had brought me down from Salt Lake City. He has the kind of smile that glows like all year Christmas. He had brought me to his home where he and his wife, Mary Ann, had introduced me to all his family, eight children, four of whom were married and three of whom had children. It was quite a crowd, all of whom were interested to know why I had come, how long I was staying and what I thought of America so far. Now that happy welcome was set aside, I arrived on my own, sidling into a noisy crowd, unseen.

Abruptly, that status changed. A part of the way through the meeting President Barton mentioned some of the things special to this pageant, starting with the oldest participant, who is eighty something. He then mentioned the furthest travelled participant, me. He asked me to stand so that everyone knew me, and in that very short moment the whole throng of people knew me, turned to stare at me, standing at the end of my pew. Ice had been very firmly broken. From then on people would come up to remark on my accent, and a conversation could begin, and in some cases, a friendship soon after.

The first week of Pageant involved evening rehearsals at the local Stake Centre where we walked through our entrances and exits, our positions and postures. During the first week I became acquainted with the local town, its library, few shops and the Barton Family. I found myself cheering for the Mavericks with Brad some evenings and climbing the lighting towers to install lights for the pageant. I learnt to drive on the right hand side of the road on a golf cart, which was a lot easier than I had thought it would be.

I slowly put together the significance of roles such as Angels and Warriors, Harvesters and New Englanders and the structure and story that the Pageant told became clear. It was acted out to a recording that had been made about 40 years before and was narrated in the style of an old Charlton Heston type movie. It began thus...

"“A singular event can set in motion a chain of events that covers years, even centuries and effects the lives of millions of people. Such an event occurred in 1820 when a boy of fourteen went into the woods to pray.

Tonight you will see a story unfold that is based upon one such event. It is not a story that can be told dispassionately, for it is a true story, coloured by the hues of heroic drama; by the violence of life and death, by sublime faith; deep and moving tragdies; by curse, prayer, temple and tomahawk, for this is the story of the Mormon Miracle!”

The trumpets sound for the first scene, confusion in New England over the subject of religion. The scenes of Joseph's vision are simple and beautiful. My favourite scenes were the Book of Mormon scenes which begin with Moroni appearing on the top of the Manti Temple, trumpet in hand, quite a spectacular sight. Christ in America was always going to be the most powerful and I found much to contemplate being in those scenes. Joseph Smiths martyrdom is always moving and then the death of the main characters who illustrate the truth of life beyond death as, dressed in white they ascend the steps to 'heaven' as angels appear on the hillside to welcome them home. It is a wonderful, moving finale.

One particular family of friends I made that first week was the Cutler Family from Colorado. Alison, the mum, Hannah, thirteen years old and John 11 years old. Together we spent one particularly memorable afternoon at the pioneer house/museum, putting ourselves back in time and imagining what it must have been like to live all those many years ago, fearing attacks by Indians and diseases that killed so quickly and easily.

Pioneer houses stood at the corner of each block of the town, some of them still used, sometimes clad over or extended on. Others looking partially or completely abandoned. Discarded farming machinery was easily found in peoples gardens, used as decoration, or left lying wherever it had last been used.

When dress rehearsals for the pageant began, it seemed as thought the very ghosts of these pioneers had suddenly come alive. They walked again on Temple Hill, dressed in bonnets and coats. As the pageant recounted trials and persecutions those early saints I was able to look at the town which they had founded and realised that I was looking at the fruits of their sacrifices… their children, living in peace and remembering their ancestors in dramatic representation. Hearts of the fathers and children, each turning to the other in an eternal circle of love and belonging. It felt significant too that 600 of these 950 participants were under the age of eighteen, youth learning of the legacy of their great grandparents.

It was seeing the power of this remembering in particular that made me think of the legacy which we have in England, of the early apostles preaching here, the children of those Utah pioneers who continue to return to England, to share the gospel, as missionaries.

I know that most of these youth were not thinking of this, the pageant linking them closely to past generations in a spirit of love and unity, but I could feel it nonetheless. When I spoke to those who were older, I discovered that they knew it, felt it too. They were that previous generation of participating youth who now acknowledged the power of the legacy they held. Thinking of the English Mormon history it made me think and begin to hunger… I want to see a Pageant in England!

Connection, Friendship, Love

There are times in my life when a single strong theme seems to stand out, demanding my attention, showing me how the Principles of Life are lived at their grandest and best. All of the Great Principles of Happiness effect one another, but when one becomes illuminated in a greater light certain others become more greatly enhanced. At this time in life its all about connection, friendship and love.

To fully explain I need to begin at the age of thirteen. That year my family moved from the South of England, to the North. We held a big farewell party that was quite an event. I remember feeling that this farewell party was a very final division that would never be reached across ever again. Maybe that feeling became a self fulfilling prophecy because after the move, although there were attempts to keep in touch, people, rather quickly, let go of me, just as I let go of them.

This happened again two years later when we moved from East Lancashire to West Lancashire. I had friends with whom we promised to keep in touch , but it didn’t happen. Friends made at my third high school and then at university all faded away.

There was one friend I made during University years that did hold on to me, supporting me through my mission, and that was Barbara. She was the first one who really taught me that there are people who don’t see distance and time as an obstacle. However, later on in life, during my two years in Leeds, we dropped out of touch for a bit and contact has been sporadic at best.

In the fourteen years since I left Norwich I had many other opportunities to leave friends behind. There was my mission, which actually I did do slightly better at keeping in touch with people. But only marginally. There were my work colleagues in Leeds and the friends I made in Guatemala whilst volunteering. All meant something to me at the time but that meaning seemed to fade away with time and distance. It seemed that life had taught me that only family went with you, friendship was simply a temporary convenience. But I have slowly become aware that for many other people this just isn’t the case. And they weren’t always living in the same place either.

Is real friendship that lasts very rare because people just aren’t willing to put in the effort? Or are people we actually make deep connections with very rare? Or are my/our expectations of true friendship very narrow? Is continued contact necessary for real friendship to exist or is it possible that loose connections can be as valuable as tight ones?

I believe that I am discovering that any connection, however neglected, however thin, always remains. I think I have found this most strongly epitomized in the story of my Great Aunt Amelia.

This aunt, born around 1908 was injured in a tram accident when she was in her early twenties. She suffered brain damage and was institutionalised. I know only that my grandfather, her brother in law, ever visited her, but he died in the early 1970’s. My mother and her sisters, Aunt Amelia’s nieces, were told nothing or very little about her. It was assumed, because of her condition, that she must have died.

However, early this year one of my cousins found her death certificate. She died in the year 2000, outliving her two brothers and passing away only a few months before her little sister, my nan. That was 70 years of life, mostly unconnected to her family, the people who should have loved and looked after her. Where was the connection? Where was the friendship? Where was the love?

In February 2003 my brother Samuel and his wife Vicky, welcomed their first child, a daughter, into their family and named her Amelia, after our Great Aunt. Amelia was born four months prematurely and suffered brain damage resulting in cerebral palsy. She spent many months in the hospital during which my mother claimed often to have felt that Great Aunt Amelia was there, as a spirit, guarding and protecting little Amelia with perfect empathy for her condition. In Amelia we sometimes wonder if we see something of that lost Aunt, the same strength and beauty of spirit in the face of such difficulty. Although I have never met her I know that I love that Great Aunt Amelia and cant wait to one day meet her for real.

The Connection, the Friendship and the Love, is always there, even beyond death. If a life of isolation, followed by an un-mourned death does not brake a connection then why should I remain in this habit of believing that most farewells, in this life, are final?

This time as I move on to whatever comes next, I am holding on to the people I have come to know, respect and love. My friends from work, who inspire me so much with their concern for others, are waiting until I get back from my America trip before our next ‘Come Dine With Me’ evening. The friends I shared a house with in London, the Zibriskies, whom I will visit with whilst here in America, perfect examples of friends who never let go. A work colleague from Leeds who got back in contact with me and Barbara whom I have recently started chatting to again; I know that the nature of our communication will change, but the connection is still there, always there, always based on friendship and love.

As I begin to really truly value and look for these connections I find myself starting to see new ones I had never appreciated before. My connection to my country for example, and then to the world, as I walked down The Mall in London on the night before the Royal Wedding. People were connecting and recognising each other as I have never seen before. I guess that is a potential power that all weddings hold, the power to bring people together in joy and recognise how we are related in one great family.

And in just these last few hours I have seen most clearly the connections of friendship and family within those of my church. I have arrived in Manti, a rural Utah community, and been so welcomed and looked after that I feel overwhelmingly humbled. I am a stranger, but I have been taken in.

I feel that I am at the beginning of learning the art, skill and spirit of a type friendship that reaches out to anyone, no matter what depth of the relationship, the personality, circumstance or distance. The type of friendship that is based on a love of all. I believe I shall be a diligent student with such an abundance of inspiring teachers around me.

A Box of Chocolates

It is 5 o'clock in the morning and my mum has crashed out on my bed. She usually gets up at about this time but we have just finished an all night marathon of completeing and packing 50 boxes of chocolates. Dad has helped too, but then went home to get some sleep. At 7am he comes to take me to the bus station so that mum can continue to sleep off a full nights work helping me.

It would be fun to have you try my chocolates and see it you can guess everything that went into them. I am very sure that there would be at least one ingredient that you would roll around in your mouth, savouring its sweetness and think... mmm, that tastes familiar, but slightly different. I would smile and say... its a secret, and not just an ingredient either... its the process, and not something the food regulators would even recognise. But without it not a single box or a single chocolate would exist.

My mother is the secret ingredient. Without her there would be nothing. Ironic and perhaps fitting that something created to say thank you to mothers should have been so reliant on a mother for its very existence.

You see it wasnt just this one night together that I count as having been a part of the effort to put those boxes of chocolates in peoples hands. It was also her generosity which provided me with a new home, one with a perfect, new, chocolate making kitchen. Her generosity that enables me to live there very cheaply whilst I get my new business up and running.

Then there were all the sacrifices through the years before that have built the confidence in me to keep going, complete what I started, do better than I thought I could. Like the A levelenglish essays that they edited and typed late into the night, the same for my degree dissertaion. All late sleepless days and nights that have gone into building me.

The financial sacrifices, lending me money, giving me money, feeding me, gifting me, providing the shelter over my head, at home, in Leeds, and now in my new, two bedroomed flat near Chorley.

I know how little I would be without my mother. It is actually frightening to think of how insignificant I would be without having her and her belief in me pushing me through the years. When she wakes up, what will be the task she sets herself? Selling my boxes of chocolates, for me. Not taking anything for herself, just giving, giving, giving. She is then off down to London to help with her grandchildren and visiting her mother-in-law, she just keeps on going.

Earlier in the week it was a bit disheartening to walk in to Asda and see boxes of Thorntons chocolates going for £3 each. How could I compete with that I thought. But now I smile... compete? My chocolates contain the most delicious, nourishing, wonderful and priceless ingredient of them all... my mothers love. I think this is why they taste so good!

Mud Fight

A month later I find myself sitting in the midst of this change. Change that the Universe supplied to me, for dyeing my hair brown. To tell it short and precise, I am unemployed.

No, not exactly the change I was hoping for, but it came with a certain amount of relief. Finally, I move on! My work for the last nearly four years has been a blessing, no doubt of that. I have colleagues who have become friends and I have been of use to some of the most vulnerable people in the world - children and teenagers - made refugees by their countries and sometimes by their own families. I have gained a deep insight into the complex arguements for and against immigration.

Yet there was never an outlet for my creative energies, which itched in my brain and at fingertips. Time spent earning money was time taken away from things that were important to me. I have a childrens picture/storybook to complete, a new skill (chocolatier) to develop, artwork to complete, an adventure to embark upon (America), and a search to complete (finding that darned elusive husband). Although I have found it difficult to explain the necessity of all these to the girl sitting at the desk in the job centre the first time I signed on. (I didnt tell her about the elusive husband, or the trip to America). So although I may be jobless, I am not workless.

Should there really be a difference between the two I wonder? I have indulged in too many self help books that tell you to follow the desires of your heart... I have signed on for the ride now!

It was not with trepidation, or worry or regret that I left my workplace, but rather with eager excitement for everything that would come next. I had ideas of what I where I wanted it to go, but there were a lot of variables and unknowns yet to discover. It was at this point I decided to begin writing this blog, since the Great Unknown is always a good story to tell.

The Great Unknown however is proving to be a little tricky to navigate. Loneliness becomes a quick companion on this quest. Encouragement from others becomes a vital nourishment and thankfully I am surrounded by wonderful people who do just that. Without it I feel like a mud fight is going on between Miss Lazy on the one side and Miss 'GET ON WITH IT!' on the other.

The answer to the problem is to ignore both and stay happy by over indulging on TED talks, and spending time chatting to Marcus about them. He is another passenger on unemployed boat who is taking refuge in my house, so I am not really lonely. Thats just a trick that discouragement plays is playing on me. Discouragement is also a liar and a thief, because lessens the value of what I have actually achieved so that it can steal my coming success.

I just make sure that every day something is ticked off my list. I start running again and try to pray for 45 mins... which is a lovely hard thing to achieve because so many ideas start flooding my head. I have to have a writing prayer so as not to forget, which personally, I dont think is disrespectful at all.

I get my first rejection from an editor but the feedback is encouraging. Mum and I come up with a much more exciting plan to publish and distribute it ourselves and raise money for a childrens charity at the same time.

I remember the blog I started and realise that here I can account to myself, read myself and think, its ok to be alone-ish. It wont always be like this. Enjoy it while it lasts

So, this has been today. Its been a good day, and I think that, actually, most days are.

Just over a week ago, on a slow Saturday, I decided to dye my hair from its natural blond to deep, dark brunette.

I realize that this is a mundane and uninspiring act for most people out there. It heralds gray hair and a tightening grip on youth which is slowly slipping away. I have only just got my first gray hair this year and had a hard time finding it amongst my fine blond hairs. I am actually quite proud of this single trophy to the wisdom I have accumulated in my nearly 35 years of life.

I also need to point out that I had never dyed my hair before. Everyone wanted my hair. Its colour, texture, ease of styling. Why then should I not be content with it just as it was?

No, my reason for dyeing my hair was purely psychological. You could call it boredom, which I was at that particular moment. I was also frustrated, with life, with the attempts to change that didn't change anything. I had become different but the world didn't see because it was so accustomed to seeing me in the same way every day. And I needed the world to start treating me differently.

Now there was nothing wrong with me psychologically either, other than the boredom. My spirit, my soul is just as beautiful, and healthy and happy as my hair is perfect. Ok, not completely perfect, but good. I have no past that is not unreconciled. I know how to forgive, to say sorry, to love, to overcome regret. My core being, my spirit, is good and whole and something I think people look at in the same way as my hair. Desirable.

Becoming this way has not been easy. It has been a battle and an adventure these last fifteen years. Learning and understanding my core value as a human being didn't come natural as my blond hair came to me. Although the lessons were hard, I am thankful for them. Remembering those hard times are delicious to me and now I want the next course.

This single act of dyeing my hair was an act of bravery. I was, and am, saying to the world... ok, I am ready, bring it on! I want to grow some more! Do life to me!

And since then it seems that the universe has heard me.