The Challenge of Difficult

The semester is over and I survived.  It took a lot of work, but it felt good.   It was a different kind of work than regular life.  Life is hard; it  can tire you out emotionally and beat you down.  While school is difficult, it raises you up.  That is the difference between school life and regular life, one is difficult and the other is hard.  Not that there isn't growth that I appreciate in the hard things in life, it is just nice to have a break from hard to enjoy the challenge of difficult.

Living in the Twilight Zone

I stepped back out of the hospital door and looked around.  Where am I?  An all too familiar feeling of panic swept over me.  had become allhadJust take one step at a time, I thought to myself.  Slow and easy.  Not too far and don't turn in any direction; keep the door you just exited in sight.  One step.  Look around.  Cars in a parking lot, business buildings, and a few homes.  Nothing familiar yet.  One step more.  Where is everybody?  Where is anybody that could help me? 

My memory of this incident unfolds like an old black and white Twilight Zone episode: A woman steps out of a building and finds herself in a different country where she had never before been.  Talk yourself through this, Lori.  You were at Mark’s office for cognitive rehabilitation.  You have to get back there to find your car.  Another step.  Glance back.  The door was still there.  Don’t go too far.  One more step.  He sent you across the street to the hospital to deal with billing.  He took you outside of his office and pointed the way.  It was only across the street.  Pause; look around. Panic; my heart was racing.  But I’ve never seen these buildings before.  I’ve never seen that street.  Where am I?

I continued trying to figure out where I was and how to get to my car.  If he sent me across the street, his office must somehow be across the street from where I am.  One more cautious step.  My view expanded around the neighboring building to the right, and across the street.  A school.  A playground.  A memory: the directions to his office said it was next door to an elementary school.  That must be the building.  My car must be parked behind it. Yet I’d been going to cognitive therapy for months.  Possibly even years.  And I’d never seen that building before.  I cautiously walked across the street to the rear of the building … where I found my parked car.

The accident was almost eleven years ago.  I don’t know how long I’d been in rehabilitative therapy.  Long enough to know it was a safe harbor in a tumultuous sea of confusion.  It didn’t matter how often I was there or that it was only one turn in the hallway to the office—it was understood that I

couldn’t find my way from the waiting room by myself.  While others would respond, “Oh, I forget where I park my car all the time,” in cognitive rehabilitation, it was understood that getting lost in a parking lot wasn’t anything like “forgetting" where I parked my car.  It was not knowing where I was or how I got there.  And that no matter how many times it happened, it was frightening.  So mostly I stayed home; going to rehab was one of the few times I left the house.

Growing up, school, like everything else, came fairly easily.  I was an honors student—especially in math—who could miss any number of classes and still get A’s.  Putting off assignments until the last minute, I'd whip off my homework and be out the door for a late evening.   I was adventuresome, outgoing and social, and that was where my energy went.  Each day, with minimal sleep, I jumped out of bed full of life, starting my day made-up and dressed to the "T."  I juggled school, work, and lots of social life—and still got all A’s.  After high school I traveled Europe. I had a fun, spontaneous life-style. I don’t know that I knew where I was going, or cared.  Self –discipline, direction and real hard work weren’t anything I ever knew, desired or thought I needed in any area of my life.  But that was then.  

This is now:  Daylight.  I roll over and look at the clock.  Ten hours.  Lori, you’ve been in bed ten hours.  Get up!  I can’t; the exhaustion is too much, I think back to myself.  You have so much to do today.  Get up!  The further we get into the semester, the more sleep I need.  Mark from cognitive rehabilitation warned me, what seems like a lifetime ago, that chronic exhaustion would always be my worst enemy.  

Ten a.m.  The day’s half gone.  I run and wiggle my way through half the laundry and half the dishes—only the necessary chores.  I don’t have time or energy for more.  I run and wiggle because I don't have time or energy for a proper warm up for the stretching that is a necessary part of my pain management.    

Mark also taught me about “energy dollars.”  I only have so many in a day; when they are gone, they are gone.  My daily tasks, he compared, take as much brain energy from me as the amount of brain energy it takes for a healthy-brained woman to work on her thesis.  At the end of her thesis, she crashes.  At the end of each day—often times sooner—I crash.  I also need days of “recovery time,” when I do nothing.  Nothing to others means watching TV or reading.  “Nothing” to me means nothing.  TV and reading take brain energy.  Everything takes brain energy.  Noise takes brain energy—even casual conversation.  I live in a world of silence and isolation.  That is how I function best.  That is how I preserve energy for the things I must accomplish.

When putting away laundry, I open my undergarment drawer.  Letters.  What are they doing in there?  Oh, I need to take those with me over Christmas.  They had to be put where I will see them every day or they’d get lost in one of my many piles.  And every day I ask the same question, “What are they doing in there?”–before I remember the answer.  My Christmas trip is three weeks away, but my initial thought to take the letters with me would not return in that time on its own.

 I consider balancing my checkbook.  Even though there are never more than four or five entries, I decide I don’t have time.  Any kind of math is a struggle.  Next to chronic exhaustion, problem solving and organization are my worst enemies.  But yesterday I figured out an efficient way to store my plastic containers and lids.  I couldn’t do that last week; this week it came naturally.  I’m getting better.

Two-thirty p.m.  You leave for class in an hour and you haven’t showered or eaten.  You won’t get enough calories to make it!  How do other people find time to eat?  I live on things that I can grab after I haven’t eaten and no longer have time:  nuts, peanut butter, raisins and apples.  The hours disappear; it takes me five to ten hours a day to complete my freshman English class assignments—far longer than it should.  Whose idea was this anyway?  Me going back to school!  I should have started back in the sixth grade instead of college.  I quickly shower.  For the most part, I have the choice of spending energy getting ready to go out in public, or going out in public.  I can't do both.  At least I'm clean.  I throw on sweats and a t-shirt.

At school I'm surrounded by people.  Some look familiar.  But out of context I rarely can put an identity on anyone.  It is difficult to have meaningful dialogue when I can't remember anything about a person.  And at inappropriate times, I might blurt out thoughts before they get lost in my brain. My efforts at being friendly end with me feeling socially awkward.  Staying home would be easier, safer.

But here I am out in the world; Heavenly Father has a different plan for me then staying home waiting to die. It’s a plan that I didn’t imagine possible in my years of cognitive rehabilitation.  It is a plan that has evolved through my life’s experiences.  I still don't know the details of my potential or where I will end up. But when I now ask, "Where am I?  How did I get here?  How do I get where I’m going?"  no panic sweeps over me now. I know the answers.

Sharing Religion 212

Tim brought Miriam home for dinner.  I had been curled in bed most of the day catching up on my reading for my N.T. class. The whole Book of Revelations with study guide readings and commentary.  I wish I could spend every Saturday curled in bed with the scriptures and commentary.  I was getting pretty excited about what I was learning by the time Tim and Miriam arrived for dinner.  I began sharing what I had learned.  With my memory that means reading it to them, which turned into a bit of a long process.   Miriam was polite; she acted as if, and  said, she was interested. (And I believe she was.)  Tim lightly laughed here and there throughout at how "long the quote was."  I thought about it afterward.  This was serious business.  We were talking about the end of the world.  And Tim was laughing!

But they made homemade noodles for the first time that were delicious.  And it was a nice evening after all.

Where did 19 and 20 go?

Okay. Okay.  So that wasn't my last two required posts.  I'm sure there were 18 before I published those and now there are still 18.  Hmm.  Where did the other two go?  Fortunately I have a "blog storage file" where I can pull out an old blog draft that never got published.  It will be out of order, but it will meet the requirement until I have more time to write something current.

I Never Thought I'd Be a Blogger

Although some good comes out of Facebook and blogging, a lot of wasted time and energy does too.  I have too little energy to spend it on anything that might waste it.  So I never considered either of the above activities.  Yet, here I am.  It's an English assignment; I never would have gotten here on my own.  In fact, this is my last required entry except the narrative I'll be posting after this.  Another blog related assignment was to add some personality to our blogs.  "Ugh," was my original response.  I didn't have a clue how to do it.  I imagined it to be a confusing and complicated technological process that would cost far too much in time and energy---those elements as precious as gold.

Rani, my daughter, walked me through adding "gadgets."  And although I spent far too much time on it, I found myself enjoying adding things to my blog enough that this may not be my last entry. I've noticed lately that "blog thoughts" come into my mind. In fact, you may soon read of how my kitchen is colder than inside my refrigerator, how I make homemade lotion, deodorant and make-up, about stealing t.p., or the mystery stall in the BYU library restroom.  And then there is Lois, the amazing 92-year-old woman I live under who grows yeast in her kitchen for bread-making and teaches me how to find natural yeast on the bark of a tree. 

 I was originally able to write on my blog, share myself, because I knew no one else would really read it.  No one in class has the time, and no one else knew about my blog.  Maybe I have a fear in me that I will be rejected or chastised or judged for who I am. I'm a private person. But maybe it is time for that to change.

Fridays and Friendships

It’s almost Friday.  I’ve never loved Fridays the way I do now.  Every Friday is the beginning of a four day weekend for me—no real classes from Thursday until Tuesday, (I don’t count weight lifting on Mondays).  These long weekends are the best when I don’t have to go anywhere; this is when I accomplish the most.  I love staying home, catching up on housework, school work, eating and rest.  If I had one more day—a five day weekend! —, I’d catch up on friendships, send belated email responses and make long overdue calls.  My good intentions in this area rarely come to fruition.  But I’m learning that that is okay. At different stages in our lives people are put into our paths for varied purposes.  I’m grateful for those who influenced me in days gone by and grateful for those who have recently entered my life.  There are so many good people in the world and I am blessed to be surrounded by some of the best. 

The Things That Matter Most

In President Uchtdorf’s most recent General Conference address, he combines analogy, humor, and the telling of stories to guide and direct us to what matters most: the gospel of Jesus Christ.

President Uchtdorf immediately captures our attention with two analogies connected by humor.  His first is about the growth of trees slowing down when conditions are less than ideal.  President Uchtdorf then inserts humor to transition us to his next analogy: “At this point some of you may be thinking, ‘That’s all very fine and good, but what does it have to do with flying an airplane?’ Well, let me tell you.”  For the last six years, we have been listening to analogies from his years of being a pilot. With his next analogy concerning turbulence in the air and the need for a pilot to reduce his speed at such times, he reaffirms his point that, like the growth of the tree, it is not only natural, but a good idea “to slow down a little, steady the course, and focus on the essentials when experiencing adverse conditions.” For those of us who have felt the pain of inadequacy that comes at times of adversity due to an inability to do more than just survive, this was a message to be grateful for.

 President Uchtdorf continues with stories to support his admonition to simplify our lives and come back to what he lists as four basic priorities: “First, our relationship with God is most sacred and vital…Our second key relationship is with our families…The third key relationship we have is with our fellowman…The fourth key relationship is with ourselves.”

In a light and humorous tone, through analogy and storytelling, President Uchtdorf shares with us the solution to the stresses of the world which are to joyfully partake in the doctrines of the pure gospel and to refocus on what matters most.

A Nice Bit of Serendipity

10/8/10:                                      

Thursday was the day we met with Sister Steadman, so I was on campus earlier than usual.  I began at the writer’s clinic in the library.  After the clinic, I tried to find an open computer to revise my paper before meeting with Sister Steadman.  That is a busy place.  I was tired from days of working on our writing assignment and studying for the mid-term that I had taken the evening before.  When I’m tired I get easily confused and my sense of order is worse than when I’m not tired—I forget and misplace things.  I finally got a computer and quickly realized it was too loud in that room even with my noise filters in.  I gathered up my things and headed to the computer lab across form Sister Steadman’s room—only to find out a class had scheduled to meet there.  I looked over my paper—unable to do anything on it officially without the use of a computer—and somehow realized I didn’t have my recorder.  That was not a good thing for two reasons: I can’t afford a new one, and the class information on it is necessary for me.  I felt a bit of panic at the loss and desperately wanted to go searching for it right that minute.  But I didn’t have time to go to the library and back before my scheduled meeting.  Wait, is there silence coming from her room?  Yes.  I checked and she had time to see me in that moment—she had two no-shows.  Thirteen minutes later I was quickly and anxiously entering the library. 

I have three children at BYU—two daughters and a son-in-law.  I noticed Dave out of the corner of my eye.  (Do I stop?  Will I somehow miss out on finding my recorder?) I slow my pace to stop and say hello and spot Rebekah next to him.  They see me and there facial expressions turn to excitement.  (It is always nice when anyone is excited to see me!)  Then as I turn to see who the third person in their party is, I know why.  It’s Rachael!  All four of us, unplanned and unbeknownst to each other had showed up at the very same spot on campus at the same time.  What are the chances of that?  This was the first time they had seen me “as a student.”  “Look at you, Mom!” “You’re so cute with your lunch bag and rolling backpack…in your little sweats…”  (Little is a term they can apply to me as they are all larger than I am.) It is nice when your kids think you are cute—even with a rolling backpack that I only see instructors using—apparently instructors don’t care about being cool either.  And I’ll have to start carrying my little red lunch bag outside my backpack regularly now, as it obviously adds to the “cute” look.  What a great moment; family reunion in the library.  (Too bad I didn’t have enough in my little red lunch bag to share.)  And all because I was confused, lost my recorder and two people didn’t show up for their scheduled meetings.  And yes, someone turned in my recorder; it is safely back in my possession…until next time.

The best and worst moving experience ever

10/5/10                                           

We’re getting ready to move.  We’ve been working on it for months now.  Not that my apartment is taking that time—I’m a minimalist, simple and clutter free. (Well, maybe clutter-free is a stretch. But that is the goal anyway.)  It is the basement apartment we have to get ready for living in that is taking our time.  That is part of the irony of where we are moving and the process we have to go through to move there.  Heavenly Father is the great orchestrator though---we see over and over again.  Because of my brain injury, I have minimal driving abilities—it takes brain energy that needs to go to other things.  (Like studying).  For this reason, it is best if I am within walking distance of campus.  But I’m too old, and I have a high school aged son still at home, to be surrounded by the young college kids most apartments would provide.  That puts one of my options, and a good one, in the Tree Street area above the creamery.  At the beginning of the summer we began the search.  We attended various wards in the area to put the word out.  A couple things looked hopeful and then fell through for us.  None of those were in the fourth ward, which we both sensed was the right place for us.  But with zoning laws, we were told it wasn’t going to happen.  We held out hope, feeling this was where we belonged.  The summer came and went and I was beginning to doubt myself.  October would soon be upon us and my contract would be up where we are—which would mean a large raise in rent and another year’s lease.  Yet I felt no urgency.  I had to talk myself into trusting Heavenly Father—reminding myself of my past moving experiences and how well He had orchestrated them to get us where we needed to be.  Then one day in August, I felt we needed to attend the ward again.  We sat next to an elderly woman (92 years elderly) and had a nice conversation with her afterward.  Then in Relief Society, she came up to me with her address and said, “You just come by and then pray about it.”  And we did.  (Apparently zoning allows the elderly to rent out a part of their homes.)  Here is the irony: I am a minimalist and she is 92, was a depression era child, raised 11 children and has gotten rid of very little in all those years.  (She finds a use for everything.) At one point we were compared to Jack Sprat and his wife.  Her yard is full of grapes and peaches and apples and all kinds of edible plants/greens.  I will get to learn about them all.  She is a fascinating woman and we belong together.  Heavenly Father knows what he is doing.

Why am I here?

9/24/10:                                                         

Why am I here at BYU?  Because this is where Heavenly Father wants me.  Personally, I’d be content with a simple life: eating, sleeping, exercising, reading, spending time with my children and possibly taking a class.  If I’m required to go back to school, I think I’d like to start in the 6^th grade.  There is so much that I could learn starting all over again.  And I would love to be learning just for learning’s sake.  But Heavenly Father has a different plan—one that stretches me.

Many years ago, the kids and I were in the process of moving from Bellingham Washington to Utah.  It was a long process as there was a situation holding us up.  I was told it might be resolved by spring, but no sooner.  Then the prompting came to get all my things packed and in the garage by January.   “Heavenly Father is going to make some miracles in my behalf so we can move in January,” I thought.  And I readily started the packing process.  As January drew near, the moving situation didn’t seem to be working as I had anticipated.  It really was going to be spring before things worked out.  Was I wrong in listening to a prompting?  I began to forget what I had originally felt and slowed down my packing.  On February 11, my house burned down and we lost everything that wasn’t packed and in the garage.  I learned an important lesson to not create endings to our promptings.  When we speculate as to the reasons and/or purposes of God’s plans and inspiration in our lives, we may take actions that change the direction of His plans.
 

So why am I here?  I’m not going to presume that I know exactly.  I only know that I’m where I am supposed to be right now in the moment.  I obviously have something to learn—a lot to learn.  And maybe there will be others who will have something to learn from me too. 

Change of sentiments

9/30/10: Did I say somewhere that I liked writing?  That it was fun?   That I enjoyed it?  I change those sentiments; this is hard work!  I have a speech before me, The Gettysburg Address that brought me to tears when I first read it.  I see how he uses personification to bring our nation to life—as if it has a life of its own, a life worth saving.  I can see how President Lincoln appeals to his audience’s sense of loyalty and dedication to this great country and to those who died preserving it. I see how he formed his words in such a manner as to re-kindle in them a spirit of Patriotism and re-dedication to the war effort.  I can see how every sentence counted; there were no wasted words. (Notice how I changed the period to a semi-colon to link those two statements together?)  I recognize his humility and reverence in honoring the men who died—and even humility in his not recognizing just how remarkable his speech is.  He felt no greatness in himself for the position he held.  By this time, he was a man tired and beaten down from fighting for a cause he believed in, a cause he had always believed in—had been reared believing in.  And there were those who opposed him in fighting for that cause any longer.  They were tired of the war.  Not one of them had been spared the pain of personally knowing death and/or injury in family or friend from this war. 

Knowing, having been moved to feel all the above, how do I put it in proper form to say what I want to say?  How do I find the words to do it justice?

Thai Food and Writing

During the writing of our restaurant review, I discovered--or re-discovered--that I enjoy writing.  Well, as long as it is on a subject that I enjoy...like eating.  I'm wondering if I've chosen the wrong field by going into Psychology.  I might enjoy more the writing of restaurant reviews.  I wouldn't even need to be paid if they paid for the cost of my meals.  Of course, that wouldn't pay my rent or car insurance.  And what would it benefit society as, I believe one of the young men in class put forth, is a "foundational purpose in seeking to further our educations?"  Do I draw on my past experiences striving to help others understand themselves and become whole?  Or do I blissfully eat my way through my future experiences while sharing those culinary moments with others?  Life hands us some tough choices, I tell you.

The Fishbowl

9/7/10

The fish bowl was scary.  I wonder how often we will have to express our thoughts and opinions in the moment that way.  I need triggers, reminders, notes of a subject for me to remember what I have read—or even written—on that subject.  I had left my “Ophelia” notes on my computer and had a paper with me which only had a small portion of my thoughts on the essays.  Without my notes, those thoughts didn’t exist.  Actually they do exist somewhere in my brain, but I don’t have the ability to recall, find them wherever they have been tucked away, at a moment’s notice.  Out of sight; out of mind.  I learned my lesson to bring all levels of my work with me in the future so that I’m not stuck in the dark.

A Child of God

"I am a child of God."  We hear it, we sing it, and we believe it.  We understand the basics of our doctrine and we think we know what that means.  We think we know who we are.  In comparison to the rest of the world, we do.   Elder Eyring uses the phrase, "a Latter-Day-Saint who knows and values what it means to be a child of God."  How much do I really know and value this knowledge?

"Remembering the Savior produces humility..." (pg. 3),  I live in a culture that speaks of Him, thinks of Him, "remembers Him" daily.  I am surrounded by things that remind me of Him daily.  But I also have a sticky note in the middle of my bathroom mirror to remind me to take my pills.  After a few days I just move a little to the side to see my whole face, no longer conscious of the note or what it is reminding me to do.  It has become "part of the furniture," something I don't notice.  Is Christ too often part of my furniture?  Is my remembrance of Christ like remembering to brush my teeth or take my pills? Yes, part of my daily life, but too often unnoticed, taken for granted, too routine?  Not missed until I'm somewhere with nothing to sit on?  Then I miss my sofa?

"Remember."  What about Him do I remember?  I had been taught to remember Him as I take the sacrament--to acknowledge my weaknesses of the prior week compared to His strengths and how I need to improve to become more like Him.  But I am taught in Elder Eyring's "I Am a Child of God" that there is so much more to remember.  1. In remembering that He is the creator of all things I acknowledge I am nothing compared to Him. 2. In remembering my dependence on his sacrifice b/c of the fall of man and my sins, I acknowledge I am nothing without Him.  3. In remembering His unfailing love for me, his extended arms and how little I understand about what He did to atone for my sins, I know I am loved even when I fall short of who He is. 4.  In remembering that I will only return as an eternal family to live w/ Heavenly Father by obeying the commandments and having the Holy Ghost, I feel I am part of a plan and He has provided a way to compensate for 1 and 2--being nothing.  I am also reminded of the seriousness of keeping the commandments--it is necessary to being with my family.  What could make it more serious than that?  5.  In remembering His example of complete submission to the will of the Father, I accept that what allows Him to be who He is, (and who I want to be like), is that complete submission to the will of the Father.

After 29 years, the experience of taking the sacrament and covenanting to remember Him has changed.  Thank you Elder Eyring.