Back Yard Therapy

So after a frustrating day at work, I was mowing my lawn at home as the sun went down last night. Lizzy, my 7 year old, was out on the patio eating M&Ms and watching me. Soon she moved to the swingset. Back and forth and back and forth she went, while I went back and forth and back and forth over the much-too-long lawn. As I went, I thought of clever or childish or vengeful or straightforward ways to communicate my work frustration to my supervisors (all the while knowing none of those expressions would ever be shared). Camel backs and straws, pay commensurate with headaches--that sort of thing.

I mowed over a part of a zucchini plant that was in my way. I don't like zucchini anyway. Then there were a couple branches of raspberry bushes. They were sticking out into the grass where they shouldn't have been. I got out the weed killer and started spraying unwelcome growth in the lawn and in border areas. Lizzy, still swinging, asked, "Why are you killing the weeds? Why don't you find somewhere that they like weeds and pick our weeds out of the ground and take them to that place?"

This is our little environmentalist. When we found termites in our house she was dismayed to learn of our plans to kill them. Instead, she thought we should make a wood pile somewhere outside and encourage the termites to go eat the wood pile instead of our house. They're part of creation, after all, and they just need something to eat. Poor little termites. We joked about making a little sign that said, "Wood pile, this way." We killed them anyway. Some guys came and drilled holes in our concrete and pumped all sorts of poison into the ground. Three times.

Anyway, as I'm spraying weeds, Lizzy says, "Wanna come swing with me?" So I finish my spraying, put the sprayer on the patio, and go sit on the hard plastic swings that are too narrow for adult hind ends. And we swing. The light is receding from the sky overhead. The colors turning to deeper shades of blue, a nice gradation from light blue in the west to deep blue over head. The mountains to the east are getting darker.

Lizzy is singing, "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah." (Really--those are the words she was singing.) And she says, "Want to sing this with me? You sing three blah blahs and then you say names of things that are kind of similar. Like this: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Mountains, clouds, trees, grass. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Stars, moon, planets, sun."

So I join in and we're singing the blah blah song as we swing on ever-more-painful swings. I switch to the two-person glider swing, which is more comfortable. Lizzy changes the song. "So after you say the names of things, then you say what category they are in. Like this: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Mountains, clouds, trees: Nature." And on we go, each singing our own version of the blah blah song. I come up with categories like "space" and "things in our yard" and "parts of our house."

Since I'm thinking of my own words and categories, I'm only half-listening, at best, to Lizzy's words. So I don't notice when she sings "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Sun, lightbulb, furnace, fire..." But I do notice that there is a long pause. She stopped after that list of related items, unsure what to call the list.

After my song continues solo for some time, she finally names her category: "Sources of heat and energy," she intones in her little 7-year-old voice. And I bust up. And she laughs. And there we are laughing and swinging under a dark-blue gradient sky, and I look up and see one bright, clear, bluish star--a planet, I think--right overhead. And we swing and sing blah blahs into the night. And never once do I include "frustrating job" in my categories.

Integrity

Reading the newspaper today, I came across this statement about White House negotiations on the bailout deal: "... said people from both parties who were briefed on the exchange. They spoke on condition of anonymity because the session was private."

Recently I read a similar statement, saying that a source wouldn't reveal his or her name because he or she was "not authorized to speak publicly."

These sort of things are all over in the news. We get a fair amount of news from anonymous sources. Journalists debate the use of anonymous sources, but their concerns center around credibility and reliability.

To me, this practice raises bigger questions about integrity. What does it do to our society to have people in powerful government positions compromising their integrity: revealing things that were presumed to be private, speaking when they are not authorized to speak, etc.? And then their breach of integrity is broadcast in the news when we report the information they shared and we explain why we can't quote them. Now everyone knows that there is someone in this realm of government who is not entirely trustworthy--in the truest sense of that word. They are not worthy of the trust placed in them. How does that affect our society's trust in government? How does it affect our children, to whom we try to teach integrity? How does it affect the behavior of society at large? If people in those sorts of positions are violating trust, maybe it's not that big of a deal. What is the ripple effect of a simple breach of confidence on the moral fabric of our society?

On the flip side of this, the same story included an AP photo of those who were in that White House meeting (see link). As I looked at the picture, I noted the coffee/tea cups in front of the various people sitting there at the table and I thought about all those people drinking their coffee/tea while they talked. But then I noticed that the cup in front of Harry Reid looked different. Look closely. It's upside down. There's our Mormon in high places--holding true to the principles of his belief. Very cool.

A Son of God

Imagine Moses on a tall mountain, a staff in his hand and the wind whipping his robes around him. Heavenly Father appears and faces Moses. “Behold,” he begins, “I am the Lord God Almighty, and Endless is my name” (Moses 1:3).

Think of that. Think of Moses, a shepherd, standing before God, feeling his all-encompassing presence, witnessing his unsurpassed glory, and hearing him declare himself as “Almighty” and “Endless.” Almighty: He has all power--unsurpassed strength and capability. Endless: His being, his knowledge, his capacity, his love--he is without end in every way.

And then think of God--the ruler of the universe--saying to Moses what he said next: “And, behold, thou art my son” (Moses 1:4).

Wow. The son of God. Not just an old shepherd, but the offspring of the creator of all things. The child of the heavenly King. The heir of boundless dominions. What a humbling and yet exalting moment that must have been for Moses. To think that this amazing being with such incredible power was Moses’ Father. To think that Moses, an imperfect human, had the capacity to develop into a divine king like his Father.

Were God to appear to each one of us, he would likely say the same thing: “I am God, and you are my child.” And the same truths would apply: we are loved by the most awesome being in the universe, and we have the potential to be like him. We--each of us human beings on this earth--are amazing creatures. We are princes and princesses, children of an all-powerful King. What powerful knowledge that is.

After God had finished talking to Moses in the mountain, he left and Moses fell to the earth. He lacked strength to even stand, and he realized the extent of God’s power and glory when it was gone from him. And then someone else visited Moses. God’s polar opposite, Satan, appeared on the scene.

“Moses, son of man,” said Satan, “worship me” (Moses 1:12).

Son of man? Satan called Moses a son of man? But God just told Moses he was God’s son. When Satan visited Moses, he knew the power of the knowledge God had just given him, and he didn’t want Moses to have that power. So he told Moses he was the son of man. It was as if he were saying, “Moses, don’t listen to that rubbish. You cannot be a son of God. Look at yourself. You’re weak. You’re small. You are nothing. You’re a shepherd, for heaven’s sake! Son of God? Ha! You can’t even stand up.”

Does Satan ever say that to you? Does he ever whisper in your ears that you are not important? Does he tell you that you are not like God? When you hear those subtle messages creeping into your heart and mind, when you feel you are unworthy of God’s love, when you think you cannot do what God has asked you to do, remember: Satan is a liar. And he is telling you these lies because he wants to destroy you.

Like Moses, when we are faced with such devilish messages, we need to stand tall and boldly declare, “Who art thou? For behold, I am a son [or daughter] of God” (Moses 1:13). And like Moses, we need to call on the Son of God for strength (Moses 1:21). For he will help us. For he is our brother, and he has conquered Satan before and he will do it again--every time we ask him to.

She's Gone...

So this evening, I pull into the driveway and see my neighbor and two of his friends on his porch with guitars. These are good kids (two are in my deacons quorum), but I didn't know they were musical. So I pop over to chat.

They're 13-year-old macho guys, so of course they get all awkward about it when I walk up. But after a minute, they loosen up. They call themselves Crevice ("That was Nate's idea," says Diggy), and they've got their first song on YouTube. They are now working on their second song, "Waiting for You."

This one here is called "She's Gone." My favorite lines:

"From the first day that I saw you,
I thought we would click,
but I know I was wrong,
cuz now we are split."

"It's to late,
she's already gone
that's why we
are playing this song."

Actually there are some fun lyrics here. And their second song has some pretty good words too. I'm impressed that they came up with the words and music all by themselves. Very cool.

But mostly as I'm standing in the neighbor's front yard and listening to three budding musicians, I'm thinking, "These guys are 13! Where do they get all this stuff about 'why did you leave me' and 'now there's no sun to brighten my day'?!?" Although thinking about it more now, I remember being 13 and having some big crushes on girls who didn't return my fond feelings... and my crushes got crushed... and I wrote sappy things in my journal...

Anyway, fun kids. From left to right, they are Diggy, Brian (my neighbor), and Nate (also in my ward). My new favorite band.

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.