TWO RUBIES

Red is my color—always has been. Are we born loving a color? Is it our innate personality that draws us to a color that speaks to us? Red coded personalities are supposed to be the "power wielders." Is that me? Probably. My grandson Michael loves red too. If you see his schoolwork or coloring books everything is done in red. Michael only needs one crayon in his box...me too. Because I love red I was drawn to my grandmothers ruby wedding ring. She didn’t wear it by the time I was exploring her jewelry box –trying on her precious little trinkets. Its red sparkling vibrancy danced on my finger on many occasions.


"Someday when I get married I want a ruby too." I said it often enough and finally to the right person. Mike and I had been dating for 2 years when he gave me the ruby—just the ruby—in a little box with a poem. He was home for spring break from Stanford graduate school. I was teaching school in Grantsville. He had scoured the bay area for just the right ruby and it was heart stopping beautiful to me. As I got to know Mike as my partner I understood that looking for the ruby was an analyst’s dream--kind of like looking for a wife. He just wasn’t sure if she was the right shade of red...but then that is another story. His analyst did finally pick a wife and a ruby for her. She would pick a setting for the gem.


The poem is filled with memories. Some only he and I understand. We were astronomers together then. Mars the red star and Scorpio my sign became a metaphor for us:


Of Gold and Crimson
By Mike Anderson


It was before they fell-
The yellow, rust, and reddened sands
Of nature’s hourglass.
The golden lamp of day had fled,
Altair was still our friend,


High upon the night
Above the scan of watchful eyes.
The wonder of the sky was Mars
With Antares of Scorpio;
Both lit by crimson flame


That perhaps kindled a spark within us.
But Orion became impatient
And stretched upon the horizon.
As he did the pale leaves blushed
And longed to touch the Earth.


Then San Francisco colors—
Cable car doors
And neon signs
And reddened eyes—upon our parting.

But soon the brightness of Sirius
Overcame the blue of winter.
And with it were Santa Clause suits,
Crimson Christmas tree lights,
And honey popcorn balls with bright red ribbons.


Striped ski sweaters,
Pink Noses,
And burgundy clad, little choir boys
With golden hair
No tears upon the season.


Then waiting;
The yellow sandstone of Stanford Quad
With thatched roofs of red,
The golden, snow-covered wheat of Grantsville plains,
Are not faded by winter nor years.


So take those colored images implanted in the past,
Merge them in the mind;
Enfold the Ruby planet,
Imbed it in the golden ring of Saturn,
And place it on your hand.


For the next 25 years I never took the ring off my hand except for a few times I didn’t really plan. The brushed gold setting I chose was unique as the wedding band encircled the stone just like the golden ring of Saturn. The ruby was enthroned up high with four prongs that turned out to be my nemesis. In 25 years I lost the stone 3 times and once I lost the ring. Nothing other than divine providence helped me find the stone and ring on these dreadful occasions. Here are the stories:


1. We were living in Utah and skiing again after 10 years of living in places and in situations that made it difficult. Mike and I had gone to a ski sale and bought me a new pair of boots. When I arrived home and tried them on again I realized that the two boots were different sizes. The next day I loaded Ian, who was about a year, into the car seat of our VW van and drove to the ski shop on Wasatch Blvd. I lifted Ian out of the seat and went into the shop and traded the boot. While I was in there I noticed that the ruby was missing from the setting. I was sick and stressed almost beyond emotional control. I started to pray silently. "Where could I have lost it? Please God don’t let me lose this symbol of our love." When I arrived back at the car I was calm. Something told me to look under the car. I put Ian in the car seat and got on my knees to search. I could see the stone, a small glimmer in the dirt about a foot in. I most likely scraped the stone on the door jam getting Ian out and it bounced under the car. I sobbed in gratitude.


2. I popped the stone off the setting when getting into the back seat of a car once. The miracle was that this time I noticed when it happened and was able to find it with some intense searching. The Lord was with me again.


3. The third time I lost the stone in my bedroom. I can’t remember how it happened but I knew it was somewhere in the deep rust shag carpet. A red stone in rust carpet is the preverbal "needle in a haystack". I combed the carpet on my hands and knees with my fingers for hours crying and praying. Then I got the idea to put a nylon sock over the end of the hose of the vacuum cleaner and run it around the places I thought it might be. Miracle of miracles it got sucked into my trap. This time I was afraid my luck had run out so I took the ring to a jeweler and asked him if we could reset it so that the prongs would hold it more securely. He made the 4 prongs into 6 and lowered its stance. It wasn’t nearly as pretty but I was sure I was pushing God at this point.


4. I volunteered to go to the cannery and do green beans. The cannery does not allow you to wear jewelry while you are working so I put my ring and my watch in the back pocket of my jeans. After awhile of sorting beans the movement of the conveyer belt was making me a little dizzy so I took a break and reached into my back pocket to remove my watch and check the time. As the beans move along all the bad looking ones get tossed on the floor so a mess builds up around your feet. I didn’t think about the things in my back pocket until we were in the car on the way home. My ring was missing. I most likely dumped it out when I removed my watch. I was sick and sure that there was no possible way that it would ever be found in the mass of bruised beans on the floor but I prayed anyway. I wasn’t about to limit God’s ability to perform another miracle. I called the cannery when I arrived home. Yes, someone had turned in a ring that fit my description. Come to find out my best friend, Dawn Johnson, had found it on the floor peaking out of the beans as her shift relieved ours. The miracle was that it hadn’t already been swept into the trash. I know God is aware of me and He understands the importance of this ring as a symbol of our love.


When my Grandmother died she gave her ruby to my mother who had it reset with two small diamonds and it graced her finger for several years. When my mother died I got the ruby. I wore it on occasion because it bonded me to the two most important women in my life. I decided to have this ruby appraised as I wondered how my grandfather afforded a one-carat stone for my grandmother when they got married. It turned out to be a zirconium type ruby not a natural one. The jeweler said it was a good stone. It has held up over the years with little wear and abrasion.


After altering the setting I wore my ring with no traumatic events for over 10 years. Then last year I was forced to remove it because the fingers on my hands are swollen with Rheumatoid Arthritis to the point that the rings no longer fit. My dilemma is, should I take them to be sized to fit the swollen fingers? I guess I keep hoping that someday my fingers will be normal again. But maybe it is that the ring is waiting in the jewelry box for a little girl to try it on and dream dreams of red sparkly things.

WALLACE GODDARD

I have been reading meridianmagazine.com for a few years and have never missed anything that Wallace Goddard writes. He has been my spiritual mentor. His marriage advice is profound and unique. I saved all of his marriage articles in a computer file but then bought some of his marriage books to give away as gifts. If you are not aquainted with him I implore you to check out his new blog. He is listed on my blogger friends. Here is a recent quote on self esteem: "Self esteem is satan's attempt to clean up pride and make it acceptable." You must read the two articles he has on self esteem. He understands what the family needs in a gospel perspective.

S'MORE BARS

This is a treat that every woman needs because it can be made in 15 minutes to completion and they are gooy and yummy and feel a bit like camping.

Lay 12 whole graham crackers (24 squares) in the bottom of a large cookie sheet close together (a piece of foil in the bottom will make the clean up easier.) They will not fill up the sheet. Microwave 1 cube of butter for about 20 seconds...just until soft but not melted. Stir in 3/4 cup brown sugar and 1/2 tsp. vanilla until well blended. Paint each graham cracker generously with the butter mixture and put back in the cookie sheet. Leave about 1/4 cup of the butter mixture in the bowl. Sprinkle 1 Cup of Chocolate chips over the crackers. Toss 3 cups of minerature marshmallows in the left over butter mixture and sprinkle over the chocolate chips. Bake for 8 minutes at 350 or until golden brown. No campfire burnt marshmallows here. Cool and cut into squares.

THE BOAT by George MacDonald

George MacDonald died in 1905 at age 80. He was a minister, poet, novelist and Christian apologist. He greatly influenced the thinking and work of C. S. Lewis.
*******************************************************************************
I owned a little boat a while ago.
And sailed the morning sea without a fear.
And whither any breeze might fairly blow
I steered my little craft afar and near.

Mine was the boat
And mine the air.
And mine the sea.
Nor mine a care.

My boat became my place of mighty toil.
I sailed at evening to the fishing ground.
At morn my boat was freighted with the spoil
Which my all-conquering work had found.

Mine was the boat.
And mine the net
And mine the skill
And power to get.

One day there came along that silent shore.
While I my net was casting in the sea.
A man who spoke as never man before.
I followed Him; new life began in me.

Mine was the boat
But His the voice.
And His the call.
Yet mine the choice.

Ah! 'twas a fearful night out on the lake.
And all my skill availed not, at the helm.
Till Him asleep I waked, crying, "Take
Thou the helm--lest water overwhelm!"

And His the boat.
And His the sea.
And His the peace.
O'er all and me.

Once from the boat He taught the curious throng.
Then bade me cast my net into the sea;
I murmured but obeyed, nor was it long
Before the catch amazed and humbled me.

His was the boat.
And His the skill
And His the catch.
And His my will.

THE BRIDGE BUILDER

READY FOR CHURCH - JACK, CHARMAINE AND CLIFFORD

Me Age 10

My Older Brother Jack, My Mother and Me 20+ years ago

In 1956 I was 10 years old living in Wellington, Utah (a small dusty town about 12 miles west of Price.) My mother was 9 years into her third and worst marriage. My stepfather’s alcoholism and domestic violence made our life full of pain and fear. My mother couldn’t leave. He often threatened to kill her. We believed him because there was a bullet hole in the bedroom window to remind us. More than 20 years later, when the children were gone, she would leave and go into hiding.


But things were looking up for me when I was 10. I walked to Primary with the other kids after school. I loved it. Today when I hear "The Light Divine" it reminds me of the sweetness I felt as I entered the church and sat in peace and hope and sang all those wonderful Primary songs. I learned about Jesus for the first time and I felt His love for me.


My mother was a good woman who paid dearly for the mistakes of her youth. She had a beautiful soprano voice. She could have sung professional opera—her voice was that good. But here she was a smoker, with 4 children in a desperate situation. Her voice would be her salvation and ours.


Someone in that little town found out about my mothers voice and started inviting her to sing with groups and solos at various church functions. Before long she quit smoking and started to attend church. I was finally baptized. My mother went to church and took the children and our life was better. Lots of things didn’t change with my father but there was a different spirit in our home. My mother became a "Bridge Builder." This was the name of a song she sang many times. As a child I eagerly memorized every word because the message was for me. And those words have remained seared on my heart and mind through the years.


THE BRIDGE BUILDER
An old man going a lone highway.
Came at even' tide cold and gray.
To a cavern vast and wide and steep.
With waters rolling cold and deep.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim.
The swollen stream held no fear for him.
But he turned when safe on the other side.
And build a bridge to span the tide.

"Good friend", said a fellow pilgrimed near.
"You are wasting your strength with building here.
Your journey will end at the close of day.
You never again shall pass this way.
You've crossed the ravine deep and dark and wide,
Why, why build this bridge at even' tide?"

The builder lifted his old gray head,
"Good friend, in the path I have come", he said.
"There followeth after me this day,
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
The chasm that was naught to me.
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He too must cross in the twilight dim.
Good friend I'm building this bridge for him."

MEXICAN BEAN AND CORN SALAD OR SALSA

This is delicious as a side dish, dip or as a taco condiment

Drain one can of black beans in a colander and rinse with cold water. Place in a 2-quart bowl. Add one can of white beans or pinto beans drained.
Add: 1 cup of frozen baby corn rinsed
1- Yellow or red bell pepper chopped small
1- small sweet onion or red onion chopped fine
1-2 jalapeno pepper chopped fine (take out the seeds and white membrane to minimize the heat) 1-2 tomatoes chopped
1- clove of garlic grated fine
1 tsp. Cumin seeds crushed (that mortar and pistal thing)
1 T. of olive oil and the juice of 1/2 lime. Salt to taste. Add cilantro if desired. When ready to serve add a chopped avacado if desired. It keeps for several days without the avacado so I don't usually add it until last.

EASY FUDGE

I have a friend (Viki Whitmer) who is a chocolate aficionado. This is her recipe and it is quite good especially if you need a quick treat.
**********************************************Pour one can sweetened condensed milk into a 2 quart bowl.

Microwave on high for one minute. Add one 12 oz. package of milk chocolate chips (Ghirdelli the best) and one teaspoon of vanilla and 2 tablespoons of butter. Stir until melted and smooth. Add one cup of chopped nuts and 1 cup of miniature marshmallows if desired. Pour into a buttered loaf pan or smaller dish and cut into squares when cool.

WE WRITE OF CHRIST

Mike and I were asked to talk in church yesterday from a Testimony of Jesus Christ by President Hinckley. I knew when I read the talk I had to speak about writing our spiritual experiences.



Our talks today are taken from a beautiful testimony of Christ written by President Hinckley and published in the March 2008 Ensign. In the talk President Hinckley quoted the following scripture from 2 Nephi 25:

For we labor diligently to write, to persuade our children, and also our brethren, to believe in Christ, and to be reconciled to God; for we know that it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do…

And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins. 2 Nephi 25:23, 26

Today I would like to talk about the importance of "laboring diligently" to write our testimonies and spiritual experiences. How do we "write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look…"

I have had a witness that we can leave nothing more precious and of far reaching importance than our personal spiritual experiences written down. I teach writing classes to convince others that they have the power and ability to write whatever they want. I like to tell my students that: "You may not think you can write but the Holy Ghost knows how and he will help you." I testify this is true. I have had this experience many times.
Our beloved author Nephi was insecure about his writing abilities:2 Nephi: 33 "…neither am I mighty in writing"
"And the words which I have written in weakness will be made strong..."
"I glory in plainness; I glory in truth."

"I have been commanded of Him to write these things, notwithstanding my weakness. "

I think Nephi is trying to tell us that our feelings of insecurity about writing is not an excuse. God did make Nephi’s words "strong" and he will ours also. I have discovered as I have studied writing books that many writers look to God for help and inspiration. Here are a few quotes from some secular authors:

"Although we seldom talk about it in these terms, writing is a means of prayer. It connects us to the invisible world. It gives us a gate or conduit for the other world to talk to us." (Julia Cameron)

"Now this creative power I think is the Holy Ghost." (Brenda Ueland)

"The thing to realize is that the unconscious must be trusted to bring you aid from a higher level than that on which you ordinarily function." (Doretha Brande)

Greg Hansen an LDS writer of music put it this way:
"The belief that each of us is original, unique and has something significant to say ...is fundamental to receiving the level of…inspiration I am referring to. I believe we are inspired 95% of the time, but do not take the time to listen or follow what we’re told. Inspiration is there for the taking, as much as we want it, if we learn how to get it." (Meridian Magazine)

Have you ever written a prayer? I try to get my writing classes to do this every day while they are taking my classes. It is a powerful experience. Your prayers are much more focused when you write them. And in these written prayers you can ask for help in writing your stories and testimony. It is a prayer God will answer when he knows you are determined.

In the 10 months since we started attending here I have heard some wonderful stories and testimonies from you. Some of them have stuck in my mind and because I love stories I worry that they are not written down.

I wonder about the many sweet baby blessings I have heard here. Did anyone bother to jot down the things that were said as a guide to the parents and an inspiration to the child?

I still think about a wonderful story, told in a testimony meeting, by Brother Tom Barlow concerning someone from his mission he reconnected with. There is no end to the power of this story to inspire the members of his family…written down.

Our first Sunday, in the branch, was a testimony meeting and The Cragun family were thanking God for the miracles in behalf of their daughter Sydney who had recovered from a life threatening illness. I knew there were lots of stories to be told about what had gone on here. Cherise is in my writing class right now and has written a charming, joyful little segment of these happenings. I would love for you all to hear it because many of you were part of the story.

Cory Webb’s testimony touched me last Sunday. Her tender spiritual experience could be a treasure someday to her posterity.

Mikes mother is a convert to the church. One Christmas she wrote a history of her testimony as a gift to her children. This is without a doubt the most important gift she ever gave us.

Last Conference President Eyring spoke and wrote something that I think will help us all to realize how important it is to keep track of the movement of God in our lives:

When our children were very small, I started to write down a few things about what happened every day. Let me tell you how that got started. I came home late from a Church assignment. It was after dark. My father-in-law, who lived near us, surprised me as I walked toward the front door of my house. He was carrying a load of pipes over his shoulder, walking very fast and dressed in his work clothes. I knew that he had been building a system to pump water from a stream below us up to our property.

He smiled, spoke softly, and then rushed past me into the darkness to go on with his work. I took a few steps toward the house, thinking of what he was doing for us, and just as I got to the door, I heard in my mind—not in my own voice—these words: I’m not giving you these experiences for yourself. Write them down.

I went inside. I didn’t go to bed. Although I was tired, I took out some paper and began to write. And as I did, I understood the message I had heard in my mind. I was supposed to record for my children to read, someday in the future, how I had seen the hand of God blessing our family. Grandpa didn’t have to do what he was doing for us. He could have had someone else do it or not have done it at all. But he was serving us, his family, in the way covenant disciples of Jesus Christ always do. I knew that was true. And so I wrote it down, so that my children could have the memory someday when they would need it.

I wrote down a few lines every day for years. I never missed a day no matter how tired I was or how early I would have to start the next day. Before I would write, I would ponder this question: "Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?" As I kept at it, something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.Mike and I spent 2 years as inner city missionaries in Ogden working with people who had various disabilities in a government subsidized housing complex. I wrote many of their stories for them and for me…that as their stories are told "the works of God should be made manifest..." Here is Mike Hayes’ story:

Mike Hayes spoke in Sacrament Meeting our first Sunday at the St. Beneditct’s Manor when we began our mission there. He is a pleasant looking guy standing about 5’8" with dark hair. He was dressed nicely in a dark suit and tie. He is obviously handicapped as one hand and one foot don’t move with ease. He wears glasses and his eyes have a difficult time staying focused. His speech is slightly impeded.

We learned as we visited him that this was his first Sacrament Meeting talk since he became active three years ago. He bore a powerful testimony of his love of the Savior and how his life was better as he tried to live the gospel. His spirit impressed us at the time.

During our visit with Mike we spent a few minutes discussing his work and career goals. He is a bill collector for a nearby business; he does part time drafting and has an online business which he hopes will take off. We were impressed at his ambition with his handicap.

He talked some about a girl friend and his desire to have a family. He happened to mention that he had only been active 3 years. I asked him what brought him back into the church. He told the following story:

"I am an epileptic. I was having seizures so often my life seemed hopeless. I decided the only answer was to end it. I sat on the bed with a 32-caliber revolver. I was contemplating where the best place to shoot would be—in the mouth or at the temple. As I sat there discouraged and distraught something came over me and I dropped to my knees and prayed. I stayed there for a long time pouring out my soul, pleading for help. I glanced at the shelf by my bed. I saw a book—my old dusty scriptures. I put down the gun and picked up the scriptures. They fell open to 2 Timothy 1:7:'For God hath not given us the spirit of fear but of power, and of love and of a sound mind. Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord…'

I cried and dropped to my knees and prayed again. I had my answer.

He pointed to a spot on the wall with the scripture printed out below a picture of the Savior. He said the scripture sustained him daily.

I asked him about his health. He said he got an implant to control his seizures and now only has one or two grand mauls a year. He told us he was happy and hopeful—that the gospel had given him a new life. "

" Yes...that the works of God might be made manifest..." Elder Scott, CR Oct. 93: "Powerful spiritual direction in your life can be overcome or forced into the background unless you provide a way to retain it...Knowledge carefully recorded is knowledge available in time of need. Spiritually sensitive information should be kept in a sacred place that communicates to the Lord how you treasure it. That practice enhances the likelihood of your receiving further light."

Brothers and sisters, the "Word" is Christ. Our Words testify of Him. We need to leave our own written family "scriptures"…our testimonies and spiritual experiences written down so "Our children may know to what source they may look." I pray you will understand the importance of your "words" --they are not for you alone. In Jesus Name, Amen

LOOK UP

Joseph Smith’s Vision of Discouraged Apostles [The Radiant Life, Truman G. Madsen, p.43]

I have read that Joseph Smith once had a vision of the apostles in foreign lands. He saw them standing together with their heads bowed down in discouragement because of the adversities they were facing. Because they were looking down, they could not see that the Savior was there, just above them, ready to help them if they would ask. All they needed to do was look up, but they kept their heads down. The Savior was weeping. It was said that Joseph Smith could not describe this vision without shedding tears himself.

A LITTLE POEM I LOVE

An Unfinished Woman
by Jaroldeen Edwards (Women’s Treasury, p. 138)


Here am I, Lord
The dishes barely done and night long since fallen,
The children would not go to bed
And would not go and
Would not go—
And now they are gone.
Gone to places of their own with children of their own
Who will not go to bed and will not go…
And I have taught them what I could and
They have learned the things they would
And now they’ve gone their way alone to learn the rest
Most on their own.


And I remain, not half spent.
And I remain, not yet content,
So much to do, so much to learn,
So much to feel, so much to yearn.
My past mistakes make stepping-stones,
Not millstones great around my neck but
Stones to guide my searching feet—
And I must search; I’m incomplete.


I watch my years go tumbling by
And I must use them better, I
Have yet so much to learn to do
Before I can return to You.
The hour is late. The night comes on,
My celestial self I would become.
Ah! What wisdom thou gavest to mortal life—
I,
As sister, mother, daughter, wife—
In earthly roles have seen Thy face.
In my womanly life Thy heavenly place
Is taught through humble tasks and pain.
So, if royal robes I would obtain,
To wear as all Thy glories burst—
I’ll need to do the laundry first.