Therapy Therapy

As we drove across the barren wasteland of Nevada (on our way to the green hills of the Bay Area) on Saturday, I looked back at Caroline sitting in her car seat and thought I'd try to enliven her ride a little. So at the next stop, we switched drivers and I moved to the back seat and sat beside her.

I have a goal to spend 30 minutes a week doing therapy with Caroline--stretching her arms, legs, feet, etc.; moving her around to help her muscles, etc. develop a bit. I'm not sure if that goal is admirable or pitiful. It's a good thing to do therapy with my daughter. But it's pitiful that I have to set a goal to spend 30 minutes a week doing it. I should be setting a goal to do it 30 minutes a day... but for now, 30 minutes a week is an improvement from where I have been, so we're going there first. Later we may increase that.

Anyway, so I sat beside Caroline and I started moving her arms up and down. She loves this. You lift one arm, then while lowering that arm, you lift the other. When you start doing it really fast, she giggles. So I worked her arms a bit--up and down, in and out to touch her chest. Work her forearm muscles a bit. After stretching various muscles, I looked at the clock. My work thus far had taken all of four minutes. How was I going to sustain this activity for 30 minutes?

But I persisted. I moved to her feet. Her ankle/calf muscles (whatever muscles control the angle of your foot) are really tight. So I would slowly bend her foot up and down, up and down. Then move her whole leg in a kicking motion. Then both legs in the scissor kick. The other foot and ankle. Bend knees up to her chest and out. Kick fast, kick slow. Stretch and stretch. More arm work--and hands. Her hands tend to twist down and out a bit; they do not easily twist to face each other (as if you were to clap). So I twist her hands and forearms and hold them there. Move her arms around. Up and down. In and out. Stretch. Stretch. Stretch.

Gradually, I began to fill the time. And as I did so, a surprising thing happened. Feelings of love and connection with Caroline began to grow and deepen. As I held her hands and arms and feet and legs and moved her limbs and massaged her muscles and talked to her and made funny noises to her, I felt greater caring and concern for this little child. The very personal service and physical connection and focused attention were, well, therapeutic for me.

I had done this sort of thing with Caroline before, but other times my attention was more distracted. A week or so ago I worked her muscles while I watched general conference. Another time I remember doing it during a family gathering. But this time we were driving across Nevada. Lizzy was into a book and Christine was two rows away in the front of the van. There was nothing--absolutely nothing--to divert my attention from Caroline. So she became my complete focus. And the movements and exercises we did became less of a task and more of a shared activity, more of a game, more of an expression of love.

I recall some time ago hearing a report of research that showed that parents who enjoy their time with their children are parents who focus on the child, who don't try to do too many things at once. When we are with our children when we are with them--when we are intellectually and emotionally focused on them--we find greater satisfaction in our relationship than when we are distracted or when we are attempting to get something else done at the same time. Multitasking is not necessarily always a good thing.

Granted, we can't devote our full attention to our children all the time or we'd never get anything done. But this experience with Caroline made me think that I need to devote more time to my children. I need to find more time when all I do is focus on my child. Whether it's doing therapy or playing Legos or reading a book or riding a bike or singing a song. And when I'm doing those things, I need to not focus on finishing the book (as I do often with bedtime stories) or building the Lego car. I need to focus on my daughter. I need to have more time when my child is the sole object of my attention. And, for that matter, I need to have more time when my wife is the sole object of my attention, when all I'm doing is seeking to meet her needs and make her happy and enjoy her company.

Such attention may not be more efficient, but I do believe it will be more enjoyable.

On a lighter note...

Yesterday the cousins who are here went on a walk. Caroline was happy outside and fussy in, so we took advantage of the great California weather to stroll around the block. Emma (the oldest of the four girls) decided we would play "choosers" as we walk. In the game of "choosers" you take turns choosing how we will walk. We took big steps, we took little steps, we kicked as we walked, we walked like monsters, we pretended to jump rope, we ran, we galloped, etc. And every three turns we stopped to take a water break. It was great fun. And when Gracie chose skipping as the mode of walking, Lizzy declared enthusiastically, "Oh, good. That's one of my talents!" And off she went skipping with her cousins. The image of those three adorable girls skipping down the street in front of me toward the sun--delighted with the weather and their friendship and the act of skipping--sticks in my head still.

Funny Statements

Lizzy (and the Scouts) have said several funny things in the last week or so... I've been saving them up...


Loafing and Driving

Tonight Lizzy and I listened to a Hank the Cowdog book while we drove around in the car (helping my brother move a piano). At one point in the story, Hank describes the lazy ranch cat, who loafs around all the time and who "likes to loaf above everything except himself." Lizzy laughed and said, "The cat can't loaf above himself!"

Hank's trusty (or, actually, chicken-livered) deputy is a small dog named Drover. After we finished the story, Lizzy was telling Christine about it and in reference to Drover, she said, "His name is kind of like 'driver'--only "did driver.'"


What do you know?

Last night at dinner, Lizzy got frustrated with me (for what, I can't remember) and said, "Don't you know anything?!"

"I know lots of things," I responded. "Go ahead, ask me something. Anything."

She thought that was funny (whew--frustration averted), and she started asking questions.

"What's 100 divided by six?"

"16 and a little more than a half... two-thirds, actually. 16 and two-thirds."

"What's zero divided by 1,000?"

"Zero."

"What's one divided by 20?"

".05."

"What's a thousand gazillion billion divided by 18, times 12, plus 22?"

"Um... you got me."



A New Take on Polygamy

Tonight after reading scriptures, Lizzy said, "Back in the Old Testament when it was ok to have more than one wife, it would have been funny if one man had two wives and one woman had two husbands and then that man and that woman decided to get together. That would be a lot of parents!"



Triumphant Anthems

Last week a neighbor boy and Lizzy were playing in the back yard together. They found some sticks to use as swords and began playing war. And any good war game has music. So Lizzy's version of war mostly consisted of her dancing around the yard, waving her sword, and singing the war song she made up as they played: "Our swords crash together, our victims cry for mercy."

It had a rather catchy tune, so I decided to sing along. "Our swords crash together--"

"No, no!" Lizzy interrupted. "That's not right. It's more triumphant. Like this: Our swords crash together..." (Sung with gusto and a dramatic shaking of the head... very triumphant and grand, I must say... this was the conquering hero on a white steed singing the tale of her victory.)

Incidentally, the neighbor boy was not to be outdone. When I commented on Lizzy's song, he told me that he had a war song, too. His went like this--think the heavy marching of endless columns of orcs going into battle: "Crash, clang, bam, the battle weapons bang together, bash, boom, clash." A very male sort of song.



Wilderness Survival, According to 12-Year-Olds

A week ago for Scouts we discussed survival skills. When the Scoutmaster asked what four things you need to survive, one of the Scouts quickly raised his hand and gave the answer: "Food, water, love, and shelter."

In response to the laughter from the Scoutmaster and me, other boys chimed in in his defense: "Love is essential. It's been scientifically proven that without love, you'll die."

So next time you go into the wilderness, be sure to pack a teddy bear along with your water purification tablets. (Incidentally, the four things you actually need surprised me. Here they are, in order of priority: warmth, water, sleep, and food. I would not have thought sleep would be on that list.)

In the discussion about water, the Scoutmaster asked what you should do if you run out of water and you're not near civilization. Our experienced campers replied: "Panic."

And when the Scoutmaster asked what you should do if you are lost and you see a helicopter looking for you and you don't have a mirror, someone suggested, "Throw a rock."

Through Mists of Darkness

[It was my turn to write the introductory message for our church congregation's newsletter this month, and this is what I came up with. Thought I'd share...]

In a remote valley near the Red Sea thousands of years ago, a group of people were preparing for a long trip. They knew the journey would be filled with uncertainty and challenges. They would travel into a wilderness, leaving the comforts and security of civilization far behind. And what is more, they didn't exactly know the way, nor did they know where their ultimate destination was—just that it was a land of promise.

In the midst of this uncertainty, the patriarch of the family, Lehi, had a dream. In this dream he saw a tree with fruit that was "desirable to make one happy" (1 Ne. 8:10). Many people wanted to eat the tree's fruit, and fortunately, the way to the tree had a clearly marked path with a helpful handrail.

With a path and a handrail, it should have been easy to get to the tree, but it wasn't. A thick mist of darkness covered the path, and in the middle of that darkness, travel became confusing. The people could no longer see the tree, and they probably couldn't even see the path they were walking on. In such darkness, if travelers stepped off the path, they may not have noticed at first that the ground was a little different. They may have thought they were continuing on course when they were actually becoming lost.

The only way to stay on course through the darkness would have been to hold fast to the rod of iron. Some people likely held to the rod for a time and then began to doubt that the rod was going in the right direction. Their own senses may have led them to think they should veer to the right, or they may have felt that the rod was veering too much to the left. So they let go. Others may have held to the rod for a long time. As they became used to the feel of the path and of the rod, they may have become confident. After so long following and holding, surely they knew the path and the rod well enough to let go for a minute. Then two minutes. Then half an hour. Soon they would have stumbled on an unexpected rock, and they would have reached for the rod to discover they were nowhere near it. Only those who held continually to the rod made it through this difficult, confusing time of darkness.

For Lehi's family, the next few years after the dream must have been much like walking through that mist of darkness. Most of the travelers did not know the way through the wilderness; they could see neither their destination nor the path. Instead, they had to trust in the prophet and in a compass given them by God. But in the face of hunger or sickness or fatigue or desert sandstorms, that trust may not have been so easy.

Likewise, we all face times when the way may not be clear to us. We may become frustrated or confused. We may not be able to remember clearly where we are going or why we are going there. Fortunately, like those in Lehi's dream, we have a rod of iron. As we hold firmly, and continually, to that rod—as we study the scriptures faithfully—we will find our way through difficulties and we will stay on course toward our ultimate destination. As your bishopric, we testify that the rod of iron will lead you in the right direction and that rich rewards await those who faithfully travel to the end of the path. As you make the scriptures your lifeline and then hold fast, you will be strengthened against temptations and trials and evil. You can make it through the darkness, and like the faithful travelers in Lehi's dream, you will come forth and fall down before the tree and partake of the blessings of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

May you be strengthened to hold firmly to the rod and may you find peace and hope and joy as you do so.

The Eyes of a Babe

The Boy Child lay quietly, the mother now slept,
the husband, a fatherly vigil he kept.
Into my arms, the small Babe was placed;
I pushed back the cloth to look into His face.

The skin was soft—a bit mottled and red—
a wisp of black hair adorned the small head.
Then slowly, slowly, the eyes opened wide—
though the eyes of a babe, I was lost inside.

In those eyes I saw Love, I saw Truth, I saw Peace,
Majesty and Meekness, worlds that don’t cease.
I also saw sorrow and pain so extreme
that I let out a cry at what I had seen.

But as the eyes stayed open, I saw more—I saw me—
all my joys, all my sorrows, my sins and my deeds.
My soul opened wide, my depths I did see.
I saw myself in those eyes, and those eyes saw me.

The gaze did not burn, nor sharply chastise,
but understanding forgiveness offered the eyes.
They said, “Come lay your burdens and follow thou me.”
My soul leapt and said yes, and I became free.

But a moment in my arms held I the small Boy,
yet a lifetime it seemed—immeasurable Joy!
His eyes now He closed, and gently as able
laid I Him in the manger and retired from the stable.

And now as I stand in the chill of the night,
my sheep are as calm as the Star burning bright.
I remember the angels and the song they did raise.
I remember those eyes, I remember that gaze.

[Christmas Eve, 1997, Provo, Utah]

Grandma's Funeral Files

Here are links to files related to Grandma McClellan's funeral this week:

Audio Recording (wav format; 20.5 MB)

Audio Recording (mp3 format; 40.5 MB)

Picture of the Last Note Grandma Wrote to Her Family


And here are audio files from Grandpa McClellan's funeral three years ago:

Audio Recording (wav format; 13 MB)

Audio Recording (mp3 format; 25.7 MB)


To download the files, right click on the link (control-click for Macs) and select the option to "save as" or "download as." I can only leave these files on our server for a few days.