The push

Today I'd like to tell you a story about war, and about the things we do to save other people. I know most of us are sick to death of hearing about war right now, but today -- March 10 -- is an important holiday in our family, in part because of a different war that happened a long time ago.

You see, on this day in 1967, four very young men got into two very fast planes to complete a dangerous wartime mission: a bombing run of an enemy steel mill in North Vietnam. But someone tipped off the North Vietnamese that they were coming, and as a result both their planes were heavily shot up with anti-aircraft fire. Both were leaking a lot of fuel. One of the pilots, Earl Aman, soon realized that he wouldn't have enough fuel to get back to base, and that he and his weapons system officer (aka the GIB, or "guy in back") would have to eject over enemy territory.

This state of affairs didn't sit well with the pilot of the other plane, a guy named Bob Pardo. Bob's plane was leaking fuel too, but not as much as Earl's. And Bob refused to leave anyone behind. He thought fast and came up with a crazy idea.

"Don't eject just yet," he told Earl. "I'm going to try to push you."

The F-4 Phantoms they were flying were originally Navy jets, so they had tailhooks to help them land on aircraft carriers. And after trying unsuccessfully to push Earl's Phantom using the drag chute in back, Bob had Earl lower the plane's tailhook. He flew up carefully behind the plane and just kissed his windscreen against the heavy tailhook, and somehow, even with turbulence and slipping and a windscreen that kept cracking every time they came in contact, managed to push the other plane far enough that they made it to Laotian airspace -- closer to safety. With barely two minutes of flying time left, all four men ejected from their planes.

One of those men had his back damaged by the ejection seat, and his parachute got caught in the trees as he came down, so he was in a lot of pain. But there was no time to rest, because once he got free and was on the ground, he heard the shouts of some local villagers looking for him. They shot at him a few times, which suggested to him that they weren't friendly, so he started running (as well as he could with a damaged back). He ran for a long time, but eventually his strength gave out. He leaned up against a tree, gasping for breath, and wondered how bad it would be if they caught him and put him in a POW camp.

And then a thought came vividly to his mind. He thought of his new son, who had just been born three months earlier. He thought, If I'm killed or captured, I'll never get to see my little boy. He'll have to grow up without a father. And so, leaning against a tree in the middle of the Laotian wilderness, he prayed. He prayed for help and strength and the ability to evade the unfriendly people who were looking for him. He prayed to be able to see his son. And somehow, he found the strength to keep running. Not long after that, he and the other pilots were picked up by rescue helicopters and brought safely back to base.

Now, why do I tell you this story? Two reasons. First, our family celebrates what we call "Pardo's Pushday" because if Bob Pardo hadn't decided to give that other plane a push, there's a good likelihood we wouldn't be a family. See, Earl Aman's "guy in back," the man who leaned against a tree and prayed for strength, who had never seen his new son, was my father-in-law. The little boy whom he'd never seen was my husband, the intrepid Captain Midnight. And if Dad hadn't been rescued, he certainly would have been either imprisoned or killed. My husband would have grown up without a father. He would never have had a younger brother. Had the circumstances of our lives changed only a little, CM and I might never have met and married.

Here's the other, more important reason. Most of us aren't going to use our incredible flying skills to push a damaged plane out of enemy airspace. But the things we do -- the little pushes of encouragement we give people -- ripple outward in space and time and touch others in ways we couldn't possibly imagine. Because Bob Pardo saved those three men, they and their families would go on to influence so many other lives in so many countries. Likewise, because one of us puts a jar of peanut butter or a few cans of tuna into a Little Free Pantry, someone else might be able to make ends meet until payday comes and won't be kicked out for non-payment of rent. Because one of us donates money to a charitable organization dedicated to helping refugees, a family fleeing Ukraine or Somalia will have a hot meal and a place to sleep tonight. Most of us will never really understand the full impact of the small things we do to help push people to safety -- but it's important to do those things, to send love and help out into the dark, with the faith that they will make a difference for good in the world.

So, happy Pardo's Pushday. It’s traditional to have a donut (whatever flavor you like best) and toast Bob Pardo with it.

(Thanks for the push, Bob.)

The war on Halloween

Content warning: if you avoid discussions of Christianity, hypocrisy or any combination thereof, give this one a pass.

Right, you've been warned.

When it's time for the talk about Santa

 

Sooner or later your kid will ask about Santa Claus, and it's better to plan how you'll respond before that day comes.

The magic coffee table, or A Woman's Work Is Never Noticed

(Trying not to go full ranty-pants here, but We Gotta Talk About This, right? Right.)

Some of you may have seen this before. It's a bit by Australian comedian Troy Kinne, and it never fails to make Captain Midnight cackle.

Yes, it's silly. It's meant to be. But like most comedy, it's also truth writ large. And the truth is that, in our society, domestic maintenance -- the work traditionally done by women -- goes largely unnoticed and unappreciated.

A few months back, Robin Schaer observed one real-life version of the Magic Coffee Table on Twitter: "My friend & her husband lived in an apartment that had a soap dispenser installed on the edge of the kitchen sink. When they moved out after two years, he marveled to her: '[I]t's amazing how that dispenser never ran out of soap in all this time.' Women's work is truly invisible."

Responses to this tweet ranged from hilarious to alarming.

For my part, I shared an experience from my extended family. My maternal grandfather, who lost a leg in WWII when he was in his early twenties, always took pride in his ability to get as many things done with only one leg as other men did with two. It wasn't until my grandmother died that he discovered the full extent of the illusion under which he had lived his entire adult life. Grandma, who was a registered nurse, had done practically everything for Grandpa in a way that rarely drew his attention, so he was able to take most of the credit for being "independent." She died a mere month after being diagnosed with uterine cancer -- as quietly, tidily and efficiently as she'd done everything else in life -- and it was instructive to see how quickly Grandpa succumbed when she was no longer there to support him.

As for me, this blog is called "Confessions of a Laundry Faerie" for a reason. I hope not to be a huge martyr about it, but there are some days when people appreciate the myriad things I do to maintain a household, to run it smoothly -- and there are days when they don't. I'm not alone in this; most people who run households have had similar experiences. The continuous work of maintenance, so critical to a happy and comfortable life, usually isn't important enough to be noticed -- unless and until it stops happening.

Forgive this minor slip into misandry, but thanks to my experiences, and further because of my faith in God, I can't help but assume that the current prevailing theory about the cosmos -- that the universe and all its wonders spontaneously came into being with no need for a higher power to cause or direct it -- must have been thought up by male scientists. Specifically, male scientists who were able to focus their time and efforts on this theory and its implications, never noticing the person(s) in the background who emptied their trash cans, cleaned their coffee mugs, washed their lab coats, got their cars' oil changed and did all the other countless quotidian things that needed doing. (I'm not wrong about this. Read the names of the greater lights of M-theory, for instance, and you won't see many Sophias or Marcias or Jennifers on the list. You will, however, probably notice the name of Stephen Hawking -- a man who required near-constant physical support by a caretaker just to stay alive and thinking, and who nonetheless averred that the universe went on ticking along with no divine maintenance work whatsoever. The irony there is so thick you'd have to cut it with a blowtorch.)

About a fortnight ago, the United Nations dropped a bombshell summary of a report that, among other things, warned that up to a million species on Earth face extinction within the next five years unless human beings work together in concert to turn around the biodiversity crisis. And at the time, I couldn't help thinking (although I believe God isn't this petty, and indeed is a lot more patient and loving than most people give Him credit for) of a deity who, after having all his cosmic maintenance work ignored for millennia, finally gets fed up: "You humans don't appreciate or recognize all the things I do for you? Don't even think I exist? Fine. Have a crack at taking care of your own biosphere for a while; let's see how you do!"

So what's my point?

Domestic maintenance work is real, it's important, and unless you do this work yourself, you rely on it more than you probably think. So please, practice looking around you. See not only where you are now, but also the people who helped get you there and the work they do. Notice that work, appreciate it, and maybe, occasionally, take the initiative to do some of the heavy lifting yourself. Because you know what? I don't know how the universe works, but I can tell you EXACTLY how the laundry gets done. And I can assure you, no magic coffee tables are involved.

Not the best news to report today.

I posted this to Facebook earlier, but it's been wonky all day, so.

Mom called me this morning. I guess a while ago she hurt her right foot, and although her podiatrist (who is excellent) cleaned things up and was monitoring her closely, two of her toes have gone necrotic all the way to the bone. They will be amputating the second and third toes of her right foot on Friday morning.

It's not just that amputation is a scary word. Mom's podiatrist feels that her balance and ability to walk should not be significantly affected by this surgery. It's that this very thing happened to my aunt Kathie as her health began to decline significantly.

If you pray, won't you pray for my mom? Her name is Karin Buck. (I know I ask for this a lot. It means so much to me when people are willing to keep loved ones in their prayers.) If you'll also pray for the surgeons who will be working on her, that they'll operate to the best of their ability so they can successfully excise all the necrotic tissue, I'd appreciate that as well.

ETA (15 March 2019): Mom reports that she is home again, minus two toes. They think it went pretty well, but she's being referred to a vascular specialist for the underlying circulation issues that caused this to happen. Thanks to all who prayed for Mom and for her surgeons today.

Looking through the window

[First published 2005]

OMETIMES the Internet provides a kind of permeable window into other lives. I don't know how accurate that window is, but it's nonetheless interesting to observe.

I've been lurking in an online forum where atheists support and encourage each other in their lack of belief. They've had a number of things to say to each other about lack of faith, about people of faith, about where one finds strength, and a number of related issues. The thing I find most fascinating is that the overwhelming majority of atheists on this forum really do believe in God, or at least the concept of God. But they think of God as a bully or a rampant egotist, and therefore they refuse to believe in Him. Their feelings actually bear closer resemblance to a parent who has disowned a child, pretending that child is dead, than a person who has never had a child at all.

I know there are probably atheists who have a clearer, more structured concept of God than what I see in this forum -- people who came from a background of faith and who later discarded that faith in favor of materialism. But of those who are currently posting in the forum, the overwhelming majority seem to have a concept of God that is, to coin a phrase, proto-theistic. Their idea of who and what God is has not advanced much further than the teachings of early Roman Christianity -- a God who created everything ex nihilo, including our spirits, and who is therefore responsible for all the wrong choices we might make; a God who tries to bully us into worshiping Him and who offers as our ultimate consolation an eternity of like worship; a God who visits cruelties upon us, providing the primary source of our pain and anguish in life. All I can say is, if I believed in this same kind of simplistic concept of God, I'd probably be an atheist too.

The teachings of my faith paint a portrait of a God who is both easier to understand, and incredibly more complex of a personality, than what is reflected in the comments of the self-styled heathen in this forum. I wish I could find some way to tell them about the God I believe in and love -- a God who created spirit bodies to house our intelligences, which have always existed and have always had the agency to choose; a God who provided a way for us to gain physical bodies and to experience mortality for a season; a God who created a beautiful cosmos, filled with miracles, for us to explore and enjoy; a God who loves each of us intimately not only as we are now, but as we were truly meant to be; a God whose work and glory is to help us become like Him. But I think that to understand these things, you must practice a different way of seeing -- and at least part of that way of seeing involves dropping your learned prejudices and preconceived notions and hurts and angers against what you believe God is. Unfortunately, I can't make anyone do that. It has to come from inside.

"So, are you a Mormon?"

No, I'm not.

There was a time, not very long ago, when I readily would have answered, "Yes, I am." Regular readers may remember that I had a link here on the blog that identified me as a Mormon.

But that changed at the beginning of this month, during a session of General Conference. There, a man I recognize as a prophet of God rose and spoke about the problem with "Mormon" as a signifier for the Church and its members.

My faith has been branded with the name "Mormon" for a long time. Indeed, in the earliest days of the Church, the epithets "Mormon" and "Mormonite" were used against members of the Church as a way of mocking them for their belief in modern scripture -- kind of the same way Jesus' disciples were first called "Christians" in Antioch (Acts 11:26) or the way Paul was accused as "a ringleader of the sect [in some translations, this word is rendered as "cult"] of the Nazarenes" (Acts 24:5). Trying to put a brave face on it, members of the Church started co-opting the word "Mormons" to describe themselves -- even naming their world-famous choral group "the Mormon Tabernacle Choir" -- but no longer.

See, the full name of my church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I realize it's long and unwieldy, and people -- especially the news media -- like to shorten it: "the Mormon Church," "The LDS Church," "The Church of the Latter-day Saints," and so forth. But there's a problem with all these shortened forms: they cut out the most important part of the church's name, which is Jesus Christ -- the being I love, follow and do my admittedly broken best to emulate. We believe our faith is a modern (or "latter-day") restoration of the primitive church Jesus founded while he and his apostles were still on the earth. We further believe that the full name of the Church was given through prophecy by Jesus Christ himself -- so yes, it's kind of important to us! But our church has become so widely known as "the Mormon Church" that it's possible for people who don't know better to pose a question that, if one knows the proper name of the Church, seems ludicrous: "Are Mormons Christians?"

So no, I'm not "a Mormon." I don't worship Mormon, and this isn't Mormon's church. I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If you want something shorter, you can call me LDS or a Latter-day Saint. Or you can just call me "a Christian," because that's what I'm trying to be.

Thanks for your understanding.

The paper girl

[FYI for anyone who's interested: CM and I intend to keep making videos and posting them on the weekends, but I'm not going to announce each and every one -- that would get tedious quickly. So if you scroll down the page a bit, in the right column under the heading "Nifty Places" you should see a link called "Adventures in DS Surgery." This will contain the full playlist of all my DS-related videos on YouTube. (Or just click this link if you're too lazy to scroll.)

That's all. We now return you to your irregularly-scheduled shenanigans.]

Have I done any good in the world today?
Have I helped anyone in need?
Have I cheered up the sad
And made someone feel glad?
If not, I have failed indeed.

--Will Thompson

From the time we moved to Utah until I got into college, my siblings and I had part-time jobs. (It was the only way we could get reliable pocket money to spend or save; Mom, as a newly single parent, had no extra money to provide allowance, especially for six kids.) At one time or another, every one of us had a paper route or helped a sibling deliver papers. Most of the time we walked the route, delivering copies of the Daily Herald to addresses along Apple Avenue, a steeply-inclined road in the Tree Streets neighborhood of Provo.

My sister Julie was still in grade school when she started delivering on the route. At most of the houses she would simply drop the paper on the front porch, or leave it in a designated plastic cubbyhole next to the mailbox. But at one particular house she would stop, walk through the carport and up a few steps to the kitchen door, and knock. A voice from inside would call, "Come in!" At that house, Julie hand-delivered the paper to Mrs. Muhlestein, a housebound older woman whose health problems made it difficult for her to pick up the newspaper from her porch. I think they first became acquainted when Julie realized that Mrs. Muhlestein was distantly related to our cousins, who shared the same last name. Julie would spend a few minutes each day visiting with Mrs. Muhlestein -- usually talking about the news or what was going on at school -- before she headed out to deliver more papers. It got to be a regular thing.

And then Mrs. Muhlestein died. I can't remember how Julie found out, but I do remember that she attended the funeral. Members of Mrs. Muhlestein's family were clustered near the door of the meetinghouse, greeting friends and neighbors who had come to pay their respects. Since none of them recognized Julie, they asked her who she was.

Julie said something like, "Oh, I just delivered the newspaper."

This caused a minor sensation among the Muhlestein family members. Someone said, "Everybody! Come see! It's the paper girl!" And they gathered around her and told her about how much their mother had loved her visits, how she'd looked forward to the knock at the door from the girl who delivered her the news. "You were her window on the world," they told her.

This week I've been thinking a bit about influence -- not just the way other people influence us, but sometimes the way we influence others unawares. Julie didn't set out to be a bright spot in anyone's day. She was just doing her job. But she wanted to make sure she did her job well, and that meant doing something extra for a customer who needed help. It wasn't hard, and it didn't take much of her time, but unbeknownst to her that little daily act made a huge positive difference in another person's life.

Julie's story actually makes me feel a lot less stressed about helping others. I think we often feel like we have to perform huge, heroic acts to make a difference for good, but those grand opportunities to act don't come along very often. Every day, though, it's possible to exercise patience with the brand-new supermarket checker, to show sympathy and kindness to a lonely stranger who needs to talk, to give someone you pass a smile, to drop a friendly note or a sincere compliment as you run errands. There are too many times I’ve worried so much about doing something perfectly that I haven’t done it at all. I'd forgotten that it doesn't have to be perfect; it just has to be done. In the words of Oscar Wilde, "The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the grandest intention."

So if you're thinking about some small kindness you could do, let me encourage you to do it. Now, before it leaves your mind and the opportunity passes. Go and do something today.

Leave the hooch at home! We're havin' a party!

[NOTE: The following post encapsulates a non-drinker's thoughts about partying. Since I've never had a drink, taken a party drug, or felt their effects, I may not know what I'm talking about, so take this meditation with a large grain of salt. Thanks.]

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you might have noticed that I don't drink alcohol, coffee, tea (we're talking Camellia sinensis -- I love herbal teas), or use recreational pharmaceuticals, including tobacco. A lot of this has to do with my faith, as I follow a health rule called the Word of Wisdom which advises members of my Church to avoid such substances. (Obviously, I'm not following it perfectly or I wouldn't be so fat, but that's another story.) Some of it also has to do with genetics; a statistically significant number of my ancestors and extended family members were or are addicted to alcohol, so I strongly suspect that I wouldn't stop at one glass with dinner. I don't presume to make choices for other people, but for me it's a question of deciding between teetotalism and alcoholism, and I've chosen the former.

When people first find out that I don't drink, their responses usually fall into one of two broad categories: "You don't know what you're missing!" and "You're not missing anything." I find this dichotomy curious. I think I understand the people who aver that I'm really not missing anything, since their past experiences with alcohol are, almost to a one, negative -- they talk about feeling dizzy, hypnotized, out of control, blacking out, driving drunk, and throwing up the next day, none of which sounds like fun. But what about the people who say I'm missing out by never taking a drink? What do they get out of the experience that makes them so positive about it?

I think -- and as mentioned, I may be very wrong about this -- that people who feel positive about drinking are either very light drinkers of the one-glass-with-dinner variety, or moderate social drinkers who use alcohol at parties or while out with friends. In this context, alcohol is an enjoyable social lubricant. It helps people relax, unwind, shrug off their responsibilities; it allows them to put their emotional guards down and open up much more than they normally would, to act silly and goof off and be vulnerable to others. It lets them be who they want to be without worrying too much that they're going to be judged for it.

And here's where I think I'm on solid ground, because you can get that same result without having to drink. It involves throwing a certain type of party with a certain group of friends. Seriously!

Why am I so sure I'm right about this? Because I've experienced it.

Back in my early 20s when I was the co-sysop of a Utah-based BBS, Fen (the sysop) used to throw irregular parties for friends and BBS members. Many of these were "stealth parties" where she'd send out the invitation only a few hours before the festivities began. Other parties were more planned out, and they always had themes. One was the Let's Destroy Barney Party, where people congregated at Castle Anthrax (really! It had a Grail-shaped beacon on the roof and everything!), ate a Jurassic Park cake, played various dinosaur-themed games and messily dismembered a Barney plushie in the yard. One was a Jump on the Mattress Party, where we dragged an old mattress to a city park and proceeded to, well, jump on it (then things got really surreal when the belly dancers showed up and started practicing). One was the Regress to Childhood party, where everyone came over in PJs or similar comfy clothes, ate homemade Rice Krispy Treats and sugar cereal, and watched Saturday morning cartoons. All these parties were completely drug free unless you count the liberal consumption of Toxic Punch -- a highly-sugared, grape-juice-and-lemonade-based drink concocted in a dizzy pre-party haste and re-created on numerous occasions thereafter -- which tended to put people into a silly mood.

Alas, as far as I know there was never a Dance a Jig with a Pig Party.

During the Regress to Childhood party, a BBS member with the alias of Rod Serling showed up with a backpack full of Silly Putty eggs, which he began tossing into the crowd. He had assumed, rightly, that anybody who showed up at a party to eat sugar cereal and watch Scooby-Doo would be down to play with Silly Putty. Every time something like that happened -- when someone saw the party theme and decided to enhance it in some way -- things just got more fun.

I think these parties worked so well, not despite the fact that they were silly, but because they were silly. They had a preponderance of partygoers who were fairly uninhibited about goofing off in front of others, and that gave everyone else tacit permission to goof off, with the understanding that no one would judge them later for their goofiness. As a BBS member who went by the name of Maxie Zeus once put it, "This is the most fun I've had without being drunk!"

But that's kind of the point. You don't have to get drunk to have a fantastic time. You just have to be willing to put down your inhibitions without first picking up the alcohol. And to do that, you need to trust the people you're with -- that they'll join in, be uninhibited and silly right along with you, and just have fun.

New Blessing Journal entry

Something new went into the Blessing Journal a few days ago. Here's what I wrote:

You have a home.

It isn't something you think about often. You tend to take it for granted. But serving dinner at the emergency women's shelter was a wake-up call to remind you of what a blessing it is to have a permanent home. Your things are secure, not subject to the elements, highly unlikely to be lost or stolen. You can depend on getting a hot shower, three good meals and a warm bed every day. You can sleep and wake on your own timetable. You can wash your clothing whenever you need to do so. You have private transportation you can take nearly anywhere. Your money is safe. You have privacy. You are protected and cherished, not yelled at and beaten, by your wonderful husband. And the spirit of God can reside in your home, improving every aspect of your life, helping you with spiritual and mental stability and growth. Having a home to come back to has also blessed Miss V, Captain Midnight, even Roxy. It's a calm, comfortable, warm and lagom sort of place where love is expressed often and in many forms. What a blessing it is to have a home!

Moloch

The Bible records that the ancient Israelites would sometimes turn away from their God and engage in various forms of idolatry. One particular foreign deity which held a special fascination for the Israelites was an Ammonite fire god whose name was variously rendered as Milcum, Molech or Moloch. Devotees of this god would sacrifice their children by fire to gain his approval. Through various prophets, God warned the Israelites not to "cause their sons and their daughters to pass through the fire unto Moloch," but many parents ignored the warning and performed this "abomination" anyway. It's hard to know what to make of this behavior; after all, what kind of parent would willingly sacrifice his or her child to a false god?

We'll get back to that later.

When I was a tween -- back in the era before the word "tween" had been invented -- I wanted to be a child actress. And frankly, I would have done pretty well on stage or in the movies. I was cute back then, short for my age, with expressive eyes and elflike features. I had a clear speaking voice, sang in tune, read well and could memorize long swaths of text easily. And I had a good understanding of how to interpret text effectively, especially for someone my age. When tryouts for the first movie-musical version of Annie came around, I was desperate to audition. I just knew I'd make a great Annie. But for reasons I didn't understand at the time, my parents wouldn't take me to the auditions. All I remember getting out of them by way of explanation was that they didn't think it would be good for me.

It took the better part of two decades for me to understand why my parents were so cautious about letting me audition for that movie. It wasn't because they didn't think I would do well -- indeed, years later my mom admitted that I was a talented little actress. But that was exactly why she didn't want me to audition. My mom was wise enough to see a few other things about me -- that I was an attractive, charismatic, sensitive, emotional child who had been taught to respect and obey adults. And she felt that such a child should be kept as far away from Hollywood as possible.

Now why would she think that?

Well, if you've been paying attention since the earliest days of the movies (and well before that, in vaudeville and other theater), it shouldn't be all that surprising. Consider this incident related by Shirley Temple, the most famous child actress of the 1930s: "One famous movie executive who shall remain nameless exposed himself to me in his office. 'Mr. X,' I said, 'I thought you were a producer, not an exhibitor.'" She couldn't have been older than her early twenties when this happened. Consider also Ron Howard, now a director and producer, who started out as child actor Ronny Howard in the late '50s and early '60s. If you go to the IMDb and track Ron's early TV show and movie appearances, you will see another name frequently popping up alongside his, quite often in an uncredited role: Rance Howard, his father. The elder Howard, an actor in his own right, did his best to protect his son by making sure he was part of the cast or crew in productions where Ron appeared.

And think of all those talented former child actors and actresses who have become walking train wrecks as adults: Lindsay Lohan, Miley Cyrus, Edward Furlong, Macaulay Culkin, Amanda Bynes, etc., etc., etc. -- or worse, all the former child actors who died of drug overdoses or committed suicide when their careers dried up because they were no longer cute, and hadn't grown up to be beautiful enough for the movies. Even those who make a successful transition to adult acting often go through a terrible patch to get there; Drew Barrymore admits she was a hard drinker and drug abuser who first entered rehab at age fourteen. (You don't have to take my word for any of this; Mara Wilson has written a bang-up article all about why former child stars go crazy on Cracked.)

I've been thinking about this subject a lot recently, as people like Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein and Roy Price enter the news cycle for the most notorious of reasons. Actors and other creatives are finally speaking out about a once-taboo subject: that the "casting couch" method of finding new actors is alive and thriving in the entertainment industry. And if you think the sexual predators hiding in the tall grass of Hollywood only prey on attractive, naïve adults, you've got another think coming.

Children who are the way I once was, with ambitions to act in films, don't know about any of the dangers of the Hollywood machine. They just want to be in movies. Such children, whether they know it or not, need wise, thoughtful parents who keep them as far away from predatory adults as possible. Just as parents are told to watch over their children in amusement parks because such places draw in pedophiles, parents whose children have Hollywood ambitions should be warned that no child should ever be left alone with an older actor, director or producer. It isn't safe. And no matter how famous your child becomes or how much money that child makes, it will never be enough to pay for the damage of having been fed headfirst into the Hollywood-chipper.

So, again: what kind of parent would willingly sacrifice his or her child to a false god?

Rituals

ID you know that certain types of rituals -- that is, certain deliberately-created activities repeated on a regular basis -- can foster greater feelings of calm and happiness? Rituals can be simple, like putting on classical music and lighting candles before a meal (the way my auntie does), or more complex, like baking saffron-and-raisin-studded lussekatter for St. Lucia Day (the way my grandparents did). The regular repetition of a well-loved ritual or tradition creates something to be depended on in an otherwise chaotic world -- which is probably why rituals help us feel calm and happy.

One of our family-specific traditions was instigated by Captain Midnight, quite a few years ago. He got up early on the Saturday morning before our church's semiannual General Conference, went into the kitchen and started making a big hot breakfast. Because Conference is usually broadcast on television and the Internet, it's a rare chance to curl up on the couch and experience a church meeting in pajamas. The combination of spiritual sustenance and literal breakfast spread made getting up to watch Conference a delight, and CM has taken it on himself to make Conference breakfast twice a year.

So if you stroll by our house tomorrow morning and hear the pleasant clanging of pots and pans, don't be alarmed. We're just engaging in a family ritual. A tasty, tasty ritual.

Motes and beams

About this time two years ago, I wrote a little something about talents and mites. This morning, the idea popped into my head that I ought to write something about motes and beams. My immediate response was, "Nah, I got a pounding headache. I can't think right with a headache." But the idea waited patiently while I took some ibuprofen, and when the pounding died away to manageable background levels, I could hear it teasing at me like Roxy-cat wanting to play: "Now? NOW? Hey, hey, now? Now? How 'bout NOW?!"

OK, fine. Now. jeez.

If you read any of the first four books of the New Testament, you will notice that Jesus frequently uses a word to refer to people whose internal thoughts and external actions are out of sync. He calls them "hypocrites." In the original New Testament Greek, the word "hypokrites" means an actor -- that is, someone who interprets or dramatizes a role -- but the flavor Jesus lends to this word makes it clear he means it as an epithet, as someone who works to present himself externally as something he is not just to gain praise and approval from other people. Modern synonyms for "hypocrite" include "phony" and "faker." Most people don't mind being called actors, but virtually no one wants to be called a hypocrite.

The Sermon on the Mount. Not an actual photo. :)

A prime example of the use of this word comes from a talk Jesus gave, commonly known as the Sermon on the Mount. Here's how Matthew recorded it in the King James Version of the Bible:

And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, "Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye;" and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?
Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye. (Matthew 7:3-5)

As a kid, I didn't understand this parable because I didn't know what Jesus meant by "mote" or "beam." It came into greater focus in Sunday School, when our teacher explained that a "mote" was a tiny speck, the smallest visible splinter of wood, while a "beam" was a huge cut of wood like a railroad tie (I grew up in the '70s, when it seemed like all of Northern California was using discarded railroad ties in garden plots, so this explanation was super effective). "Can you imagine trying to pull a tiny speck out of someone else's eye when you have a huge railroad tie in your own eye?" she asked. "Jesus is saying that sometimes we want to help people who have little flaws, but we should first work on our own flaws, which may be much bigger."

A few years ago I read a book with the wry title Thank You For Being Such A Pain, by Mark Rosen. The central conceit of the book is that difficult people -- the ones who worry and annoy us the most -- come into our lives for a reason. The flaws we find most irritating in them are like mirrors into our souls; if we view them rightly, we should see that they reflect similar flaws in our own personalities, and take action to correct those flaws in ourselves. Although Dr. Rosen is Jewish, his list of actions draws from multiple ideologies, religious and secular, on how to handle difficult people. (He wisely points out that a difficult person is very different from an abusive person; that we should not suffer abuse in our lives, whether physical, sexual or emotional; and he makes suggestions about how to get out of an abusive situation.) His discussion about how the flaws in other people mirror the flaws in our own souls hit home with me. Yes, because I still have a long way to go, I sometimes vent about the abrasive things other people do -- but afterward I start reflecting on the things I do that other people might find abrasive, and how I should address those flaws.

Jesus is not saying, as people sometimes suggest, that we cannot or should not help others. He is saying we should first address our own faults, and there's a practical reason for that. In the parable, it is literally impossible to see clearly how to remove a tiny speck from someone else's eye when one's own vision is blocked with a gigantic version of the same problem. In real life, the process of getting rid of a personal flaw lets us see how to help others with that flaw because in doing so, we have gained empathy -- the deep understanding of how hard it is to go through this process, and the sensation of freedom that comes from putting it behind us. This is why groups like Alcoholics Anonymous are composed of people who have struggled to maintain their sobriety. People who have never had a drink in their lives cannot understand how hard it is to control a thirst for alcohol -- but other alcoholics can, and they are most likely to be able to offer empathetic, useful advice because they have personal experience of what works.

Jesus' advice runs counter to much of the world's advice, which seems focused on pointing out other people's flaws. We want to think of ourselves as basically good and not in need of serious change, so self-examination and self-improvement are difficult. It's so much easier to tell other people what to do. For example, if I were to tell some guy on the corner that he smells bad and needs to take a bath, it wouldn't hurt me at all. It might not even cross my mind that he's smelly because he's homeless and it's difficult for him to find a safe place to bathe on the regular -- hey, not my problem. Fielding criticism from other people, on the other hand, is potentially painful. I don't like being confronted with the idea that others don't see me as a pure paragon of beauty and virtue (heh), and I may shrug off their pointed judgments -- even if they're accurate -- just so I can keep feeling good about myself. So this idea about keeping critical thoughts about others to oneself, about performing regular spiritual self-maintenance first, is almost revolutionary. And just like the other principles Jesus taught, when it's tried, it works.

I am a hypocrite. In all probability, so are you. Hypocrisy is a very human trait, and Jesus knew it. The purpose of this parable is to gently make each of us aware of our own hypocrisy, to advise us to place self-examination over external criticism, and to help each of us become a better and more honest person. It takes work. But then, you've probably already noticed that few worthwhile things in life are achieved effortlessly.

David Brian Ashton

David is my cousin, but like all my cousins on my mom's side of the family, he's nearly as close as my siblings. I've written about him here before -- actually, a couple of times.

My Ashton cousins, clockwise from left: Lisa, Jon, David and Tom.

As you might be able to discern from the photo, David is a complete goofball. He loves telling naughty jokes and laughing hysterically. He's always been a nurturing person; I suppose he picked up the trait from his mom, who was a registered nurse. He loves to cook and eat. He loves Madonna and belting out show tunes. He loves the Muppets, especially the fabulous Miss Piggy. He loves his family. He adores his nieces and nephews.

And he's been aware for some time now that he was born with a congenital heart defect.

For the last few years, David has been in and out of the hospital -- surgeries to replace his mitral valve, more surgeries to fix problems with the new valve, surgeries to install a pacemaker, etc., etc. Just recently he had a bout of pneumonia that was worse than he'd imagined, but things seemed to be clearing up.

On Monday, David went into work at the Pier 1 he manages. He put in a full day of work, finished up for the day, went out to the parking lot -- and suddenly collapsed. A co-worker saw him go down and called 911. The paramedics did everything they could, but they couldn't stabilize David's heartbeat, so they took him to the hospital. There the doctors tried numerous methods to get David's heart working again, but nothing worked.

David passed away around 9:30 that night. He had just turned 41.

David and little Miss V.

David and Miss V were very close, especially when she was young. He often took care of her, and she thought of him as her Uncle David (technically, they're first cousins once removed, but who's counting?). This has been hard for her; she wanted to tell him she loved him one more time.

Mormons don't really hew to the classic Protestant notion of heaven and hell; we do believe that when people die, their spirits go to a place called the spirit world. It's here on Earth, though perhaps not in the same dimension; we don't ordinarily see them, nor do they see us. So although I will miss David tremendously, I believe he is not that far away. I believe that when my time here is up, I will see him again. And I take great comfort in thinking about David being joyously reunited with his mom, his grandmas, and the other people he loved so much who had gone from his life. As my sister pointed out, if there's such a thing as food in the spirit world, they're all probably in the kitchen making casseroles right now (David loved casseroles, especially tuna casserole with peas and crushed potato chips).

Anyway, I'm making plans to drive out of state to attend his funeral, which is scheduled for this coming Monday. Lots of time with family, lots of stories about David, probably lots of laughing and crying. After all, as David would readily tell you, he was kind of a big deal.

Starting a Blessing Journal

ATELY I've been carrying a lot of stress and anxiety, for a number of reasons that don't need to be articulated here. It's not easy to live with a constant, sore weight of fear in your belly. So today I picked a blank book given to me by my sister, opened it up and wrote the first entry in what I am calling my Blessing Journal.

I'm not the first to come up with this concept. It goes by other names as well -- often it's called a Thankfulness Journal or a Gratitude Journal -- but because I believe in God, and further believe that God is the ultimate source of all good things in life, I perceive such things to be blessings. Besides, it's my choice. So a Blessing Journal it's gonna be.

The concept is pretty simple: cast about in your life for something which is a blessing to you, especially if it's something that's easy to overlook or take for granted, and write it down. The act of writing solidifies the blessing in your head, making it less easy to ignore and increasing your feelings of gratitude for what you've been given. You can keep it very simple or go into detail, as you feel inclined. (I'm sure you don't have to guess how I'm inclined.)

Here's what I wrote for today:

You can speak, read and write English.

Two of the world's most difficult languages to learn are English and Chinese -- Chinese because of its complex writing system and the language tonality where a slightly different tone can drastically change the meaning of a word; English because it has borrowed words from so many other languages that it seems to have no rules. But English is the de facto language of business, communication, art and science. Much of the world speaks English as a second language. Your early command of both spoken and written English has been an enduring blessing in your life. You can readily express your thoughts and feelings, and you have had free access to the thoughts and feelings of others, from autobiography to fiction to scripture. Because you know English, you can easily drive to a new place by reading maps and signs, pick up the items you want at the store, watch copious amounts of Hollywood movies, vote in elections, and otherwise participate in daily life in the United States without the need for an interpreter. Further, your English literacy allows you to be of service to others for whom English is still difficult. It is a great blessing, one not to be taken for granted.

In writing this, I'm not trying to suggest that other languages are inferior to English. But in the United States and other primarily English-speaking countries, it is a huge advantage to be fluent in the most commonly recognized tongue. Most of my maternal relatives had to work very hard to gain some fluency in English, so I was very fortunate to grow up learning it. And reading, primarily from English-language literature, has been the joy of my life.

Not sure I'm going to do this every day, but I do want it to be a regular habit. It's easy to forget your blessings, especially when you're stressing over something, but that's when blessings can be a great strength and comfort. Here's hoping the practice will help keep me sane and grounded.

What do you know about Mormons?

Would you like to know more?

Though I don't talk constantly about my faith on this blog, it is a vital part of who I am. And you may be curious about what Mormons believe, without necessarily wanting to invite missionaries into your home.

So let me invite you to General Conference, which is going on this weekend. It's a twice-annual series of meetings (each meeting is called a "session" and is about 2 hours long) where Mormons and others receive inspiration and instruction. In addition to talks, you'll also hear performances by several choirs, including the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. You can watch or listen to as much or as little as you like, and nobody will contact you. It's a low-key way to learn about Mormonism from Mormons themselves.

Saturday, April 1 sessions start at 10 a.m. Mountain Daylight Time and 2 p.m. MDT.
Sunday, April 2 sessions start at 10 a.m. MDT and 2 p.m. MDT.

Here's the link to watch General Conference on lds.org.

No fooling. I promise.

What my parallel-universe self is doing today

You know the multiverse theory, right? The idea that we live in just one of a cloud of potential alternate universes or dimensions, each opaque to the others? I've been thinking about that today; specifically I've been wondering what one of my parallel-universe selves might be doing with her Thursday.

One of them, I hope, is in Saint Peter's Basilica today, getting up close and personal with one of the greatest works by one of her artistic heroes: the Pietà sculpture by Michelangelo Buonarroti. I hope that in a more placid universe than this, she's untroubled by the shouts and whispers of political upheaval, the cries of triumph or sobs of defeat or breathing out of threatening words against the Other.

I hope instead she's gazing up at the purity of white Carrara marble, chiseled so finely that in places you can see light through it; I hope she's taking in the sweet, sorrowing face of a miraculously youthful Mary as she cradles the cold, lifeless body of her son in her lap. I hope she's gazing in wonder at the exquisitely draped folds of Mary's robe, so perfectly realized that it's almost impossible to believe those folds are made of stone, not fabric. I hope she's only getting a little bit misty at the thought that, at long last, she is really here -- and here too, at last, is the object of supernal beauty she first developed a longing to see in person at age 17, in an inspired humanities class.

Perhaps tomorrow she'll visit the Sistine Chapel.

Well, I can hope.

Scars (a Sacrament Meeting talk)

[For those of you who are unfamiliar with the way Mormon church services work, a word of introduction. Latter-day Saint congregations do not have a pastor. There is a local leader known as a bishop who makes sure the congregation runs smoothly, but he doesn't give sermons every week. Instead, members of the congregation are asked to give talks on various topics. Recently I was asked to speak on the topic "Strengthened by the Atonement." Here's my talk from today.]

Today I'd like to talk to you about scars.

My guess is that if you're over six months old, you probably have some kind of scar. I have a small circular scar on my arm, where my pediatrician gave me the very last smallpox vaccination of his medical career. There are a few striped scars across my knuckles to remind me of the time I absent-mindedly leaned up against the red-hot grill of our family's kerosene heater. My brother Tim has a small crescent moon-shaped scar above his left eye, where a German shepherd bit him. And my husband has a scar on the back of his knee, where he impaled himself on a spear-tipped fence.

Most scars happen by accident, or as a result of necessary life experiences, as with my smallpox scar. Other physical scars are more problematic. That amazing tattoo you got at age 19 might not be quite as amazing when you're 45. Or you may wear long-sleeved shirts to deflect difficult questions about the marks you continue to bear from past traumatic experiences you would rather not discuss.

Then there are the scars no one else sees – the marks we wear on our hearts as the result of physical or mental illnesses, the scars left on our souls from wrongs done to us by others, the scars of remorse we bear from having done others harm.

Regardless of what manner of scar we bear, we tend to think of such marks or disfigurements as permanent and immutable. We may believe they are part of us and can never be wiped away. But as partakers of the restored Gospel, we should come to understand that this belief, no matter how deeply seated, how often reinforced, is an illusion. For we live with a hope and a promise that all scars, no matter their type or origin, will at some time be erased by the sacrificial tokens in the hands, feet and side of Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God.

The Atonement – although it is a core tenet of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the central event around which the Plan of Salvation is based – is not as well understood as perhaps it should be. Because I don't claim to have any unusual knowledge of the subject, I have looked to the words and writings of others with greater insights into the Atonement – what it is, what it does, and what that means for us.

Beginning at Gethsemane and continuing with his crucifixion on Golgotha, Jesus Christ took upon himself the great task for which he was born into the world – the Atonement, the means by which mankind may be reconciled with God. We do not know precisely how the Lord took on this burden, but we do know some of what that burden entailed. Speaking of the Savior, Alma taught:

"And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people. And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities. Now the Spirit knoweth all things; nevertheless the Son of God suffereth according to the flesh that he might take upon him the sins of his people, that he might blot out their transgressions according to the power of his deliverance; and now behold, this is the testimony which is in me." (Alma 7:11-13)

Here, Alma partly defines the Atonement of Christ, and teaches us that the Atonement covers more than just suffering for sin. He tells us that Christ would suffer temptations, but also that he would take upon himself pains, sicknesses, infirmities, even death, in order to blot out all these things suffered in mortality so that he might deliver his people unto eternal life. Alma also says that Christ will know how to succor his people – "succor" being a word that means to bring aid and assistance in times of trouble or distress. And "his people" are any and all people who come to Christ seeking deliverance.

Elder Dallin H. Oaks stated, "[B]ecause of His Atonement, the Savior has the power to succor – to help – every mortal pain and affliction. Sometimes His power heals an infirmity, but the scriptures and our experiences teach that sometimes He succors or helps by giving us the strength or patience to endure our infirmities." ("Strengthened by the Atonement of Jesus Christ," October 2015 General Conference)

Enduring an infirmity, as Elder Oaks puts it, can be extremely difficult. [Here I made reference to two people I know, true disciples of Jesus Christ who have endured many years of ill health and debilitating pain.] Not only physical and mental imperfections, but feelings of doubt or deficiency are also covered by the Atonement of Christ. I have spoken to a number of people in the Church – some truly amazing people – who suffer from depression and discouragement because after having done their best, they feel they are still not good enough. If you ever feel this way, I hope you will consider the words and actions of the Savior. He knows what you are going through. His Atonement also applies to your feelings of discouragement. He does not expect you to do everything perfectly in mortality. All he asks of you is to come before the altar with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, and this sacrifice will be counted worthy before him.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell – himself slowly succumbing to the ravages of cancer at the time – said, "While so striving daily, we will fall short. Hence the avoidance of discouragement is so vital. So where is the oft and much needed resilience to be found? Once again, in the glorious Atonement! Thereby we can know the lifting tide flowing from forgiveness." ("Apply the Atoning Blood of Christ," October 1997 General Conference) Or as my mother, a wise woman, puts it, "If we truly understood the power of the Atonement in our lives, we would be the most joyous people on the face of the earth."

When we come to the Savior asking for help, the Atonement covers the whole of our sin. When I was young I believed the way the Atonement worked was that we would have to do everything we could, and the power of the Atonement would then cover the rest, but I was wrong. As imperfect human beings, we cannot do anything to atone for our own sins other than to come to the Lord asking for help. At that point, the power of the Atonement covers EVERYTHING. Our responsibility then becomes to turn away from our past sins, ask for forgiveness, follow the Savior and keep his commandments.

There may be someone here currently thinking, "Well, that's all very well and good, but I've done some terrible things in my past. The people I've hurt can't forgive me, and I can't forgive myself. The Atonement cannot possibly apply to me."

All right, let's talk briefly about serious sins. In the Book of Mormon, the People of Ammon, after being converted to the Gospel, decided they would lay down their weapons and never fight their brethren again. As their king stated: "And now behold, my brethren, since it has been all that we could do (as we were the most lost of all mankind) to repent of all our sins and the many murders which we have committed, and to get God to take them away from our hearts, for it was all we could do to repent sufficiently before God that he would take away our stain – Now, my best beloved brethren, since God hath taken away our stains, and our swords have become bright, then let us stain our swords no more with the blood of our brethren." (Alma 24:11-12)

These were people who, in the words of their own king, "were the most lost of all mankind" and had committed "many murders." But they had great faith that the Atonement of Jesus Christ – a being who, at that time, had not yet even been born – would save them from all their sins, even the sin of murder, if they would only turn away from what they had done. Such was their faith in that salvation that they would not even take up their arms in self-defense, lest they should lose the precious gift they had obtained through the coming Atonement.

If the people of Ammon believed that the Atonement made it possible for them to repent of the sin of murder and to be right before God, should we not have that much more hope to be cleansed of the various sins which we may have committed? I think we should. Even the most serious of sins, although they may call for Church disciplinary processes, can also be repented of through the power of the Atonement.

As King Benjamin, who must have been a powerful speaker, gave his farewell address to his people, the influence of the Spirit made them keenly aware of their own fallen state. The Scripture states: "And they all cried aloud with one voice, saying: O have mercy, and apply the atoning blood of Christ that we may receive forgiveness of our sins, and our hearts may be purified; for we believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who created heaven and earth, and all things; who shall come down among the children of men. And it came to pass that after they had spoken these words the Spirit of the Lord came upon them, and they were filled with joy, having received a remission of their sins, and having peace of conscience, because of the exceeding faith which they had in Jesus Christ who should come, according to the words which king Benjamin had spoken unto them." (Mosiah 4:2-3)

Elder Kim B. Clark of the Seventy states: "There is no sin, no guilt, no shame, no fear, no loneliness, no heartache, no loss, no depression, no sadness, no terror, no pain, no challenge, no weakness that Jesus has not experienced and overcome. He has all power over all things. If you turn to Christ and repent of your sins, He will forgive you and cleanse you and change your heart. This is the redeeming power of the Atonement. If you turn to Christ when you face challenges and need capacity beyond your own, He can strengthen you and magnify your capacity. This is the strengthening power of the Atonement. If we come unto Christ and are faithful to our covenants, Jesus will sanctify all of our mortal experience to our blessing both now and forever. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, we may become more and more like Him – we may walk in the newness of life, His sons and daughters, clean, pure in heart, filled with the pure love of Christ, blessed with joy and happiness and peace in this life and eternal life in the world to come." ("The Redeeming and Strengthening Power of the Savior's Atonement," April 2016)

Brothers and sisters, I testify to you that as you not only believe in Christ, but also believe Christ and come to rely on the power of his Atonement, your hearts will truly be filled with the joy and peace the Lord's servants have promised. I promise there will come a day when all your scars, both outside and within, will be stripped away by the power of the Atonement. These things I leave with you in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Here it goes again

Mom's back in the hospital today. Dialysis hasn't been going well and she's retaining water, had coma-level blood sugars, low heartbeat and crazy blood pressure that's been going very high and very low. Her doctors are trying to figure it all out right now. Please pray for her.

ETA (8/13/16): Mom called me this morning from the hospital. She sounds in better spirits today, although she admits that when she first went in the ambulance she wasn't sure that she would make it. If I understand it correctly, the best theory is that she's been retaining water from the peritoneal dialysis she's been undergoing, plus the night before all this happened she had low blood sugar and took insulin on top of that. When she first got to the hospital, her blood glucose was in the 20s somewhere (for comparison's sake, it's supposed to be around 100). One of her doctors thinks she should go home today, and another insists she should go home tomorrow, so I guess they'll go out in the corridors and solve their differences the ancient medical way (LIGHTSABER BATTLE!).

So this went down. Really. I swear.

ETA (8/14/16): Mom called me this afternoon to let me know she was home again. I don't know if she's out of the woods, but at least she's healthy enough to be out of the hospital!

Please pray for Mom

My mom is in the hospital tonight. Her health has gone rapidly downhill over the last few days, and when she was admitted this evening her kidney function had dropped to 6%, she'd gained 20 pounds of fluid weight in two days, and she was suffering from congestive heart failure.

I've been trying to think as calmly and positively as possible, and not to panic over this news. I know the hospital is the best, safest place for Mom to be, and I'm grateful to my sisters for insisting on taking her there. I know they'll almost certainly start her on hemodialysis in the morning, which should fix a number of ills. And I've done everything I can think of to do -- except to ask you to pray for her. Please pray that she'll make it through the next 24 hours. And pray for our family, especially those members who are not taking these tidings well.

Faith isn't just something you believe in when things go smoothly, but something you keep believing in when things go wrong. I don't know how this is going to go. But I am making the active choice to be positive, to look forward with hope, to anticipate happier days ahead. (You could certainly pray for that as well.)

ETA (Thursday, July 7):
Mom's still in the hospital, and will probably be there at least four more days. They had to start her on emergency dialysis not long after she was admitted. This morning she needed a blood transfusion. Her doctors are concerned about getting a UTI under control (which was probably what started this whole incident in the first place, and caused her kidney function to go downhill so quickly). My siblings and family members have been over today to visit Mom, who has been fully cognizant, eating meals, etc. One of my brothers was able to give her a blessing. Tomorrow morning she'll have surgery to install a more permanent hemodialysis port in her chest.

Thanks so much to all of you who have offered prayers and other support. You have no idea how much it means to us. I know there are many many things wrong in the world right now, but there are also so many people who do what they can to help make things right, and they renew my hope.

ETA (Friday, July 8):
This morning Mom successfully had a port put in for hemodialysis. She was resting afterward and they were just about to take her to dialysis treatment when her blood pressure dropped precipitously. Once they had her blood pressure stabilized, they took an EKG to try to find out what was going on. Unfortunately, they can't really proceed with dialysis until they find out what caused her BP to go so low. So now we're playing the waiting game until her doctor has a chance to analyze the EKG. During all this, Mom's been fully alert and able to answer all her doctors' questions, even with the blood pressure drop.

ETA (Saturday, July 9):
Mom went through dialysis today. She had another incident of atrial fibrillation (which is apparently what caused the blood pressure drop yesterday), but they caught it immediately and she's now stable. Until the doctors can figure out what's causing her to go into a-fib, she's going to need to stay in ICU -- so it looks like she'll be there a few more days.

ETA (Sunday, July 10):
Well, Mom had a stress test and a chest X-ray. Her heart looks fine. The best the doctors can figure is that the a-fib incidents are from stress caused by all the extra fluid in her system. So she did another round of dialysis today (we were told she'd undergo dialysis every day she was in the hospital, so this was unsurprising) and they took 5 liters of fluid out of her (yes, 5! That's over a gallon!).

ETA (Monday, July 11):
More dialysis today... AND, better yet, they moved Mom out of the ICU! So that's good news. Hoping the improvements to her health will proceed apace.

ETA (Tuesday, July 12):
Another a-fib incident overnight. However, no dialysis today, which Mom was happy about (we talked a few times on the phone today) because dialysis makes her feel really cold. We'll see whether the day without dialysis is also a day without a-fib. I pray her doctors can figure out what's triggering them.

ETA (Wednesday, July 13):
Mom is home! She called me just before taking a much-needed nap (nobody sleeps well in the hospital). Hemodialysis will continue over the next few days. Her doctors will need to work carefully together to maintain her health, especially since a-fib incidents combined with chronic kidney disease dramatically increase the chances of stroke, but she's home.