THE SACRAMENT

 A little background: I was 17 years old, a senior in high school, and I constantly had a boyfriend. I struggled with self-worth — due to bullying — and I found a false sense of self-worth in always having a sweetheart.

I started off dating a lot of young men who belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Unfortunately, those relationships were unsuccessful. So, I began dating a lot of non-member boys. I argued that I could “change” them and share the gospel with them. I also determined that sometimes young men not of my faith could be kinder and more gentlemanly than some of the boys in the Church.

My senior year, I began dating a boy I met in show choir. Regrettably, he was only 14 years old, which gave my family something to tease me about. He also came from a broken home with a lot of inappropriate principles. Being older and more mature, I thought I could transform him into the perfect guy.

Despite my neediness, I still had a testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I was a good girl. I got straight A’s in seminary. I went to church every week with my family and partook of the sacrament. I tried to keep the commandments.

One particular Sabbath morning, I went to church with my family. We sat in the middle of the congregation as the bishop stood up to begin the meeting. Somehow, my gaze wandered to the sacrament table, and I realized that nobody was there. At the same time, two of my good guy friends (Damon Sheneman and Mickey Matlo) noticed the same thing.  I watched them look at each other and communicate without words as they both headed to the front of the chapel to set up the bread and water.

My heart softened as I realized how extraordinary it was that they were worthy and had the appropriate priesthood to set up the sacrament. I loved how they took their priesthood duties and authority seriously. That day they blessed the lives of those in the congregation — we needed to partake of Christ’s Atonement. 

The sacrament was administered and although there was nothing different about the bread and water, it was a sanctifying experience. The ritual was different because I had realized the importance of the priesthood and I knew I wanted to have the power of God in my own life. In that moment I felt inspired to repent. I knew that I needed to marry someone who held the priesthood. I knew that I needed to date worthy young men who were strong in the gospel of Jesus Christ. I knew that I couldn’t “change” someone. 

The power of that sacrament meeting was never forgotten. 

Spencer W. Kimball explains that “Marriage is perhaps the most vital of all decisions and has the most far-reaching effects, for it has to do not only with immediate happiness, but also with eternal joys.” Eternal joys come from covenants made in the temple to a worthy priesthood holder.

If Damon and Mickey had not used their priesthood for good and served in such a simple, profound way, I may never have achieved my dream of a celestial marriage with a wonderful man! Thank you, Damon and Mickey, wherever you are.

At least that’s the way I remember it.

MUSHROOMS

 

My "original" mushrooms

MUSHROOMS

My daughter thinks mushrooms are gross.  Not only does she find them disgusting, she actually is a bit suspicious of their motives.  She believes mushrooms are little aliens that are waiting for the signal from their mushroom planet to take over Earth.  In the mean time, we eat some of them, and she’s worried that they will retaliate and hold a grudge for all of the mushrooms consumed by unsuspecting earthlings.

I have never given the matter much thought, until my husband and I recently went chasing waterfalls.  We hiked all over Tennessee and Kentucky looking for the majestic floods of cascading water.  Some of the falls were mere trickles, but all of them were simply gorgeous!

On our excursion, Scott found tons of beauty in the leaves that had changed color on the ground.  We took pictures of lots of red and yellow leaves.  Some of the leaves were speckled and also contained shades of brown and green.  I found his color study intriguing.

As we walked, I discovered a small mushroom – I was captivated.  I bent down and studied the specimen.  The shroom was shaped like an umbrella with a white stem.  The bowl of the plant was white with intricate, small, raised bumps all over it.  It was beautiful in its simplicity.  I took a page from my husband’s book and took a picture of the fungi.

At the next waterfall, I found two more specimens.  One was the classic red mushroom with white polka-dots.  The stalk was much bulkier and looked like it could be a lawn ornament.  There was also a tiny yellow mushrooms cluster.  I took photos of these also.

I had found a fascination that I didn’t know I had.  It turned out that I really liked mushrooms.  Of course, I sent the pictures to my youngest daughter.  She expressed her revulsion, but I was not swayed in my newfound admiration of the plants.

Fast forward to a few weeks later, I continued to find mushrooms everywhere.  There were two unique mushrooms in our yard. One had “gills” underneath the cap: The gills looked like gathered ribbon to me.  The second fungus was shaped like a wooden flower.

Last year, my oldest daughter (the one without mycophobia) and I were driving home from grocery shopping.  As we drove, I saw gigantic mushrooms on the side of the road in the shape of a ring.  I quickly turned the car around, jumped out of the car and began snapping pictures.  Each mushroom in the display was the size of a salad plate.

There is really nothing remarkable about mushrooms, but I have learned that there is real beauty in simple things that some people find disturbing.  I think if we take time to really look at things, we can find beauty in almost everything, including alien fungi.

At least that’s the way I remember it.

I used my wedding ring for reference to how big this mushroom was.

MY PHANTOM OF MUSIC

I don’t know when the music theater bug hit me first. 

Perhaps it was when my father brought home “Brigadoon” for movie night.  None of us wanted to watch a movie with such a weird title.  What was “Brigadoon?” 

Once we turned on the movie, I instantly fell in love with the songs, dancing and storytelling this film brought into my life.  I sang “Go Home With [Gaydra Jean]” to my sister for weeks after watching the movie.

Or perhaps it was when my dad introduced me to the music of Andrew Lloyd Webber and gave me a book to read about the elusive Opera Ghost.  I dreamed of being Christine Daae, as she clearly and beautifully sang an E6 as the Phantom guided her.  The magic and the mystery of the opera made my young mind dream of possibilities.

I may have begun loving Broadway theater when my parents made sure we watched “The Sound of Music” when it aired on public television (before videos, DVDs, and instant downloads).  The whole family was armed with dad’s popcorn and Velveta cheese for a snack, as we watched the Nazis try to destroy the von Trap family.  Julie Andrews quickly became my hero as she confidently sang her way to becoming a nanny.

Somehow a love for Broadway found its way inside me and did not let go.  I began auditioning for roles in high school.  I took music lessons.  I even took a few dance classes. (Which could be another story in and of itself about following through despite embarrassment and awkward moments.)

I landed a couple of minor roles in the chorus for the first part of my high school career.  I loved every moment of it.  I continued to sing and dance my way through my teenage years.  And I dreamed of becoming a big star on the stage before I left Grand Junction High School.

Imagine my elation when I learned that our school would be presenting “Oklahoma” my junior year –   Dad had made sure that I had a healthy dose of Rogers and Hammerstein while growing up.  “Oklahoma” was my favorite.  And my favorite character?  Ado Annie, of course.  I loved her solo, “I Cain’t Say No.”  And she made me laugh as she kissed all the boys; I could definitely relate to the boy crazy attitude.  I really wanted the role, but my competition was fierce.

Our director, Mr. Jones, had a daughter that went to school with me and she also loved theater.  I knew Janin wanted the same role and I was sure I would be playing second fiddle to her again.  I tried not to get my hopes up as I auditioned.  Janin was a good actress, but my singing voice was a bit better. 

It was a tight race.  The morning the results were posted, I cried tears of joy and excitement as I realized I was going to be Ado Annie.  (Janin was my understudy.  I later learned that my choir teacher and music director, Mrs. Schafer, really fought for me to get the role of Ado Annie.)

For two months I practiced after school every day.  I sang.  I learned choreography.  I got fitted for costumes – my favorite dress was yellow.  And eventually we choreographed the kissing scenes: the Persian Goodbye and the Oklahoma Hello.  I was on cloud nine throughout the whole experience.

I would be lying if on opening night I said I was confident and not nervous at all.  I was a wreck.  This was my first big role, and I was anxious about everything.  Would I remember my lines?  Would my voice hold out during the song?  What if I forgot the dance moves?  And what if I missed a cue? 

As I tried to calm my anxiety, a friend came in the green room with a rose and a white mask in a vase tied with a black ribbon.  The card read, “Don’t be afraid.  The Angel of Music is with you.”  My stress melted away as I realized that I had had my own Opera Ghost for many years.  I knew at that moment who my Phantom was and that my dad was rooting for me and would always be one of my biggest supporters.  With that knowledge, I was empowered and had the courage to be Ado Annie for our production of “Oklahoma.”

Dads are remarkable!  My dad helped me to see the situation clearly – I needed a boost of confidence, and I knew my Phantom of Music was the confidence I needed.  He helped me to be independent while encouraging me to be the best Ado Annie I could be.  I’m so grateful for my Angel of Music.  Thanks, dad, for believing in me.

At least that’s the way I remember it.

 

PURPLE CELLO

 

LEARNING THE CELLO

Life was predictable.  I woke up.  I brushed my teeth.  I got dressed.  I read my scriptures.  I did a lot of housework – laundry was on Thursdays.  I taught piano lessons.  I read books and cross stitched.  I made dinner for my family, watched the news with my husband, and went to bed. 

Every day was the same. 

I was in a rut and the monotony began to wear on me.  I tried to obliviate the boredom by practicing the piano more and reading different kinds of books, but I knew I needed an unfamiliar challenge.

Enter, my husband. 

Scott is a fixer and he decided that the fix I needed was to fulfill my childhood dream of playing the cello.

A brand new bright purple cello soon arrived at my door.  Scott knows my personality requires something a bit showy.

I was elated, but I’ll admit that I was also completely scared.  I began playing the piano when I was five years old.  I have a music education degree, and I taught music in the public schools for over 10 years.  But the thought of tuning, learning, and playing a stringed instrument terrified me.  Part of the fear was that I would be a failure. I wasn’t sure I could learn a new skill at age 48.

Scott had my back again. 

He encouraged me to find a teacher and to just start.  I did.  And I fell in love! 

Learning a new skill as an adult definitely isn’t easy.  Here are three life lessons I’ve discovered as a 48-year-old beginner.

-          Identify what’s holding you back.

Does learning a new skill, make you excited? Eager? Curious? Anxious? Nervous? Stressed? Or all of the above?! 

I really liked the idea of picking up a cello and playing just like Stephen Sharp Nelson. But I knew what that would take.  I was afraid of sounding bad.  I was afraid of failing.  And I was afraid of making mistakes.

I’d forgotten that mistakes help us learn. 

According to Dr. Lisabeth Saunders Medlock, “Our mistakes and failures are gifts, gems, guideposts in our learning and growth as people.”  She says to simply “embrace failures, mistakes, screwups and shortcomings because they make us uniquely who we are.”

My fear was failure.  But, as I began, I realized that failure would be the lack of effort – not trying.

-          Allow time for yourself.

How often do you take time for yourself? 

Family, friends and responsibilities always take priority, pushing our own needs, wants and desires to the bottom of our to-do lists.  Maybe we need to change that?

With Scott’s encouragement, I’ve realized that my new creative outlet has helped me grow, become and was a vital part of my own self-care.

Author Brene Brown discovered in her research that loving ourselves more than we love others is the first and most critical step to seeking happiness and fulfillment.  When our needs are met and we feel good about ourselves, it’s easier to elevate the needs of other people in front of our own.  It’s easy to be givers when our cups are full.

Amazingly, when I spend 30 minutes practicing my purple cello I definitely have more energy for making dinner or cleaning my house because of the moments I’ve spent being creative.

-          Ditch the “perfectionist mentality.”

According to one study, 31% of us rank “the fear of not being perfect” as one of our biggest fears.  

Fearing perfectionism holds back many people from learning new things and achieving new goals.  The same study explains that our need to be perfect is becoming a more common hinderance – it is not a good thing.  Setting healthy goals is much more important than aiming for perfection.

A year after picking up my purple cello, I can now tune it by myself.  I still struggle hearing the pitches perfectly, but I feel a sense of accomplishment as I get a little closer each time. 

I’ll continue to focus on increasing my skills and letting go of the pressure that comes from the need to be perfect.

My husband knows me.

He knew I needed a big, purple, stringed instrument in my life.  And I’ve learned a lot in the process of working with my cello.  Playing the cello has helped me to overcome the fear of failure, take time for myself, and even ditch my perfectionist mentality.  I’ve loved every minute of it!  I am more passionate about music, instruments, and the excitement of playing and practicing every day.  Not everyone would choose the company of a big purple cello, but I encourage everyone to learn something new.  Life is thrilling! 

At least that’s the way I remember it.

SPIRITUAL ROLLER COASTER

 

It was the perfect day to go to Kings Island, despite the fact that I’ve always been terrified of roller coasters.  My partner in crime, Mary Bettenhausen, my best friend’s 11-year-old daughter stood beside me in line to ride the Banshee. 

We were determined to have fun; we were determined to fall in love with the rush of the wind; and we were determined to enjoy the turbulence of the ride. 

Screams echoed around the rides’ sharp turns; the loops, spirals, and zero-gravity rolls at speeds of up to 68 mph made our stomachs turn.  As the teenage ride operator locked us in, Mary and I grabbed each other’s hands. and held on, scared to death.   

Two minutes later, exhilarated and happy, our feet touched the ground.  Mary and I had done something terrifying and somehow lived to tell the tale.  We also decided that we really enjoyed the experience.

I’ve heard the metaphor that life is like a roller coaster MANY times throughout my life.  But I didn’t really understand the analogy until that day, 5 years ago, when we faced our fear of the unknown and rode the Banshee. 

Although I haven’t been on a roller coaster since that day, the memories of riding the roller coaster, at times, seem pretty similar to my Spiritual walk with Heavenly Father. 

Let’s be honest, there are many ups and downs.  There are many twists and turns on the road of faith.  There are days when I’m on fire.  And there are days when I’m a down in the dumps.  Despite my feelings, the roller coaster keeps moving forward.  President Nelson, president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,  calls this spiritual momentum.

President Nelson explains that there are things we can do to keep our momentum, even when our roller coasters seem broken.

First, we can stay on the covenant path.  We can stand in line to get on the roller coaster – despite the heat or frustrating wait.  The covenant path is worth it. 

Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles asked all to consider what their next essential ordinance is.

He received a couple answers to his question: His 7-year-old grandson said baptism.  Another child announced that sealing is an essential ordinance in the future.

Elder Bednar reminded them (and us) that the next essential ordinance for us as we stay on the covenant path is the sacrament – a weekly tradition of bread and water instituted by the Saior when He was on the earth.

Do we truly worship during this sacred opportunity every Sunday?  Do we focus on the Savior as we partake of the symbolic bread and water?

Another way to keep moving forward on our journey is to joyfully repent.  Scott and I recently read the book “Falling to Heaven” on a long drive to Idaho.  One truth seemed to jump off the page; I have been pondering it a lot the past month:  Repentance is an even greater gift than forgiveness. 

A Book of Mormon prophet, Alma, makes this point when he said, “May the Lord grant unto you repentance.”  Notice he does not say, “May the Lord grant unto you forgiveness.”  Repentance allows us to be supported by our Heavenly Father.

Learning about God and our Savior is one of my favorite parts of spiritual momentum.  The Savior is the motivating power behind all that we do.  He is not a dip in the roller coaster – he  is the strength that propels us upward.  He is not a scenic byway or even a major landmark on the ride.  He is “the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father but by Him.”

When Mary and I took the trip to Kings Island, we were both frightened, but we decided that together we could do hard things.  We aren’t alone.  Heavenly Father is always with us, even when we’re riding a rollercoaster. 

At one point, during our Kings Island excursion, Mary’s glasses flew off during a ride.  We prayed, and Heavenly Father provided a miracle.  Her glasses were found. 

During that same trip, Jacob Bettenhausen, who was also along for the adventure, became sick.  We didn’t know what to do.  The group decided to say a prayer and another miracle occurred.  My best friend, Amy, saw a man who “looked” like a member of the Church.  He was.  He gave Jacob a blessing and Jacob was able to continue enjoying the day.  We can expect miracles when we are on the covenant path and living with spiritual momentum.

Yes, roller coasters can be fun.  And sometimes they can be scary.  But it’s our choice whether or not to enjoy the ride.  It’s our choice to stay on the covenant path, even when it’s hard.  We have the opportunity to repent and continue on learning of Heavenly Father and His Son.  We aren’t alone.  We can expect miracles. 

At least that’s the way I remember it.

HAPPY OR SAD

I was on the verge of tears as I stared down at the pile of untouched green beans on my dinner plate.  I had already eaten the meatloaf and the canned pears which were my favorite.  But I hated green beans and knowing that I was expected to eat them made my six-year-old self brim with anger, frustration and disgust. 

My father tried to encourage me to take a bite with a phrase that was extremely familiar to me:  “Sundy, you have to eat your green beans.  But you have a choice.  You can eat them the happy way or the sad way.” 

I knew what the sad way implied.  The sad way included tears.  The sad way including sitting at the table for hours, while everyone else in the family ate ice cream.  The sad way meant that if my green beans weren’t consumed by bedtime, I would be served my leftover green beans for breakfast.  I had chosen the sad way a few times in my young life and I really didn’t like the sad way.

The happy way meant that I could finish my green beans quickly and join my family for dessert and board games before bed.  I knew the happy way was better, but I hated green beans.

Stubbornly, I chose the sad way. 

For 30 minutes I sat and stared at the pile of green beans on my otherwise empty plate.  After another 30 minutes I tried to move the vegetables around on the plate in order to look like I had eaten some.  In the meantime, I tried to ignore the happy sounds coming from the front room – Zane and GJ were enjoying vanilla ice cream topped with Hershey syrup.  In that moment, I realized how much I didn’t like the sad way.  An hour and a half after my family had left me alone with my unfished dinner, I swallowed my beans whole while holding my breath and simultaneously gulping down water. 

The happy way wasn’t as difficult as I had made it out to be for over an hour.

***

It was bedtime, and I was dressed in my favorite silky blue nightgown.  GJ, my sister, was in cotton pajamas.  We had already brushed our teeth, visited the bathroom, and used up all of our excuses to stay up later.  It was bedtime, and it was time for GJ and I to go to sleep.

It was still twilight outside and even though it was 8 at night, our non-negotiable bedtime, my sister and I were wide awake.  The light and our childish energy made it near impossible to fall asleep. 

We giggled.  Mom and Dad told us to go to sleep.

We talked.  Mom and Dad told us to go to sleep.

GJ stole my pillow.  I stole it back.  We began fighting over the pillows.  This time, my mom came into the room and angrily asked, “What is going on?” 

“GJ started it.” I offered.

Mom’s eyes turned firm, glinting in that way that only moms can manage,  “Girls!  There is a happy way and a sad way to go to bed.  You can choose.”

GJ looked at me in horror.  I nodded and agreed that it was time for us to choose the happy way.

Mom closed the door and being the obedient and obliging daughters that we were, we quickly went to sleep.

***

Reflecting on  my parents’ favorite phrase, “you can choose the happy way or the sad way,” helped me realize that my parents were teaching me a great truth:  Attitude is everything!  We can choose to be happy.

Abraham Lincoln said, “Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”

Hard things happen.  Sometimes we have to eat our green beans.  Sometimes we have to go to bed at 8 PM.  As a child those were big things that I didn’t believe I had a choice in.  As an adult, I’ve had to remember the happy way when my husband exercised faith by quitting his job in Las Vegas.  I also struggled with finding the happy way as I came to terms with not being able to carry a child to term after the birth of my two daughters. 

Remembering that I always have a choice (the happy way or the sad way) has helped me to remember that the happy way is always better!

At least that’s the way I remember it.

STORIES

Stories help us make sense of our lives. 

Storytelling is fundamental to growing and learning within a society. Processing and learning from stories defines humanity. My favorite stories are true ones with real life lessons.

My favorite memories are hearing narratives from my grandparents and parents:

Sheila Winward White

Grandma T told me stories about her four sisters and two brothers growing up in rural Idaho. 

One day, while my grandma was at school, someone ran into the building proclaiming that my grandma’s family home was on fire.  My grandma and her six siblings ran home to discover a pile of ash where their house had once stood.  The plumber they had hired to install their first indoor bathroom had accidentally caused the fire.  For months, the family of nine lived in tents while they rebuilt their home.

When I have struggled with not having all that I want or need, I have thought of my grandma and her family’s resilience in this difficult time. 

Alvin Lloyd White with his sweetheart, Grandma T.

Grandad was a sailor during WWII.  He didn’t like sharing stories about the war.  The only time you might hear him mention the war was in his sleep; Grandma always said he swore “like a sailor.” But Grandad did love telling the story of how he and Grandma T met.

Grandma T was a nurse officer and Grandad was a petty enlisted man.  Officers and enlisted men were not supposed to date.  He asked her out when he met her during surgery where he was supposed to be assisting.  She said no because he was too young and it wasn’t allowed.  He lied to her about his age, and they met secretly for their first date.  One thing led to another, and pretty soon they were engaged.   When grandma learned he wasn’t as old as he’d originally said, she almost called the wedding off.  He convinced Grandma to still marry him.  Grandad was persistent and very gregarious.  He used those attributes to get what he wanted.  And, although Grandma T was out of his league, he used his persistence and gregarious nature to continue to grow and become and reach grandma’s league!

I have been accused, by my husband – Scott, of being gregarious.  I must have inherited that trait from Grandad. Grandad shows me how that can be a positive in my life.

Olive Hammer McCallister

Grandma Mac suffered from breast cancer.  She was sick most of my father’s teenage years.  She had a rare and dangerous double mastectomy in the 60s.  She overcame the odds and lived for another 40 years.  She was my inspiration when I struggled through illness and poor health.

Life isn’t easy and sometimes we are dealt a hardship like cancer, or in my case: depression.  Grandma endured!  I can too.

M.E. McCallister - Grandpa Mac

Grandpa Mac left home when he was twelve.  He rode the rails and didn’t have a home for many years.  He was a real hobo. 

One day my grandpa’s father tried to hit him.  My grandpa fearlessly took the belt away from his dad.  Knowing he would be in even more trouble later, he ran away from home and hopped a train.  After traveling for hours under the car, he was half frozen when the train stopped in the Rockies.  The kind proprietor of the establishment offered my grandpa a coffee spiked with rum to warm him. Grandpa couldn’t pay him for the drink, but offered to work for room and board.  He worked hard.  Eventually he became a successful entrepreneur. 

My grandpa stopped a cycle of abuse that had been perpetuated for years through love, hard work and kindness.  When I need to stop a negative cycle in my life, I can remember a 12 year old boy taking charge of change.

My dad in uniform - Gary Loren McCallister

My dad seemed to have a story for every situation. He told my siblings stories about friendship, music, and books.  The story that sticks out the most to me was when he joined the army.  My dad lived and served during Vietnam – although he was against the war.

One afternoon, he took a long walk into the mountains and prayed for guidance.  He was not doing well in college, he had broken up with my mom, and was lacking direction.  He didn’t realize it at the time, but the Holy Ghost prompted him to join the army.  He was surprised at the impression, but followed through with the prompting.  Since he joined as a conscientious objector, he joined as a medic.  His enlistment with other like-minded recruits, led him to gaining a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Promptings from the Spirit don’t always make a lot of sense, but they always lead to happiness.  Thanks for teaching me that, dad.

My young mother and father - Gaydra Lea White

My mom left her childhood home in Colorado at the age of 19.  She traveled clear across the ocean to Germany to marry her army medic.  She had never been without her parents, brother and sister.  She had never left the United States before.  She didn’t speak any German.  And she felt completely alone.  To heighten her anxiety, she flew on the German airline, Luftanza, where no one could communicate with her.  She was afraid, but she pushed through her fear and moved forward having faith that she was doing the right thing.

When I need to step out of my comfort zone, I reflect on my mom’s youthful journey and find courage in her example.

There is so much to learn from stories.  And that is the goal of this blog.  I want to tell the stories of my life – the way I remember them – for my friends and posterity.