Stories Live On

Last Sunday I listened to several people talk about their strongly held beliefs. It was their desire that their children and grandchildren know of these beliefs. Unfortunately, most did not have all their children and grandchildren present as they testified. Even if they had been there, would they have been in a time and place in their lives to hear what was said?

As I get older, I often wonder what will I have left of myself here when I am not. The written word is my best chance of leaving a taste of who I am. It can serve as an influence even when my voice is gone.

Last Sunday, our grandson ate breakfast with us. We had pancakes. Chatty, as always, Orson wanted to compare notes with his grandpa. “Remember when your mother made pancakes for you the morning you got baptized,” he asked. “Dollar pancakes?”

“Yes,” Jim replied. “My mother made mine dollar size so I could eat more than my dad did.”

“The Black Tag Secret,” mused Orson. We all knew what he meant. It was the title of a story about Jim’s baptism day that Jim wrote in his recently published autobiography. Orson continued to quote details about various stories in the book until I asked him if he had read the whole thing. “Oh yes,” he replied. It was obvious that he had. In fact, the day before, he requested copies of some stories Jim has written since that book. By the next day, Orson informed me that I had made double copies of one of those stories. He looked over my originals and quickly selected the one he was missing.

Shortly after another young grandson, Alex, received his copy of Jim’s book, his mother told us that he had taken it to school with him, because he was in the middle of a story.

Center: Jim's book on display at RootsTech 2020

The book of stories and philosophy Jim gifted his children and grandchildren with at Christmastime seems to have made an impact already. But to me, the most interesting reaction came from Jim, himself. He worries about losing his memories and even losing himself. Maybe that’s the reason he has become so enthusiastic about writing that he sets aside a time every day to do so. I lose track of him for a time, and then he calls me to come and read what he has written on his computer. He has made himself a list of story prompts on his phone, and he often adds to it. He has even begun his own blog at https://rememberingmylifeinstories.blogspot.com/.

I think there is something very satisfying about recording our life’s journey and our thoughts and the lessons we have gained from that journey. It’s not easy. It’s not fun, at least I don’t think so. But I see more than ever that it’s valuable. I treasure the writings and the stories of my parents and grandparents and ancestors. And I love to see other people treasure them too. It’s the influence we have on coming generations that may have lasting value. I hope so.

And I hope I will soon compile some of my own stories.

My Sister Gets Born!

Here is a piece of my autobiography. I was only two at this time, but these feelings are recorded in my heart as "meditative memory." 

My sister and I 

Today my mother and my baby sister are coming home! I can hardly wait to see my little sister. She is too little to play so I am going to help my mama take care of her. Her name is Jill. Daddy and I get in the car and he drives us to the hospital to get Mama and the new baby. Mama comes out of the hospital and she is riding in a chair with wheels on it. The nurse is pushing her. Mama is holding my little sister. She is little.

Daddy takes the baby and Mama gets into the car. I really want to hold the baby, but Mama and Daddy say I have to wait until we get home. At home I sit on the couch and Mama puts her pillow on my lap and then she puts my baby sister on top of the pillow. When I look at her, I love her. I love her so much. The love is so big that I know I loved her from before we came here. I’m so glad to see her again. I missed her. I’m sad too. There are hard things here and I don’t want her to get any hurts. I’m her big sister and I will take care of her. 

Who Am I?

I sat waiting for the family prayer to mark the end of the viewing and visiting shortly before my Aunt Doris’s funeral. I reflected on the renewal of my acquaintance with my deceased mother’s family members. I thought about my mother’s brothers, my four Christensen uncles. Their old age was becoming more obvious.  I had enjoyed the visit with my cousins. My cousins from this family are mostly in the grandparent part of their lives nowadays. Our lives are busy and our interaction comes rarely, except on the superficial level of social media. Today I met some new cousins—twice removed—since they are my cousins’ grandchildren. Until now I only knew those cute little twin babies and the toddler with the wild hair from my Facebook encounters.

Marcus Joy Christensen

An older couple from my aunt’s LDS ward approached me. Although I have never lived in that Las Vegas neighborhood, my grandparents and many of their descendants are long-time residents. This couple wasn't family, however, and they were curious about who I was. “You look like you could be Doris’s sister,” the woman said. I quickly explained that I was her niece, since she had married my mother’s brother. In doing so, I mentioned that my grandfather was Marcus Joy Christensen, patriarch to the clan. Before his death in 1987, he was also their stake patriarch.* They nodded; they knew my grandfather.

We talked for a moment and then the man, Brother Brown, lingered. “I want to tell you something about your grandfather,” he said. “I had a son who was very quiet. I felt I didn't even know him and certainly didn't understand him. That is, until the day we went to Brother Christensen’s home to receive my son's patriarchal blessing. The blessing was very beautiful,” he continued, “but what I remember most was your grandfather’s tears after he finished. He put his hand on my boy’s shoulder and told me, ‘This young man is just full of love.’”

“The Spirit bore witness to me that it was so,” Brother Brown said. “Your grandfather knew my son better than I did myself, and it was through the Spirit. I’ll never forget that experience.”

Who am I? Who are you? There are times when glimpses of our identity come forth—a blessing, a funeral, or some other deeply revelatory moment. However, it may also be possible and certainly beneficial for us to have that opportunity on a more frequent basis.

Autobiographical writing enables me to both see myself and allow others the same privilege. The process of looking within is not always comfortable, but it is generally rewarding. My thinking becomes more organized and less scattered. Insights come to me from the same source as the insights my grandfather received in his calling as patriarch. I see the turning points in my life. I understand why I believe and think the way I do. I am closer to knowing just who I am.

*A stake patriarch is an ordained priesthood office in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This person, assigned to an LDS stake, is called upon to give once-in-a-lifetime spiritual blessings with prophetic insights to members of that ecclesiastical organization.

Writing My Personal History

I'm spending some wonderful vacation time in
West Palm Beach. Is there anything more inspiring
than a sunrise over the ocean? 

I woke up yesterday morning with an idea. My writing energy these days is going towards writing my own personal history. I joined a writing group. I took a class on writing narrative history with a deadline assignment of 40 pages. My history is progressing, but I have neglected this blog. So what if I put some personal history writing here? Why? Why do I want to publish? I believe the desire is within each of us to be understood, to be heard, to be listened to. And when I read other people's history it sparks thoughts for me. I hope the same is true for you.
(PS "Gentle" feedback is helpful.)

Coping with Abundance
My life story is about the abundance of gifts that I have been given. At so many times in my life, I have cried out, “Too much! I can’t handle all this.” Whether the “too much” consists of apples or grapes from my yard, children in my house, laundry that floods my laundry room and kitchen floor, ideas for a family reunion, heartache, death, pets, ephemera from the past, or bananas, my problem is always about how to handle it.

Solutions for me seem to come in three categories:

1. Live one day at a time.
2. Let go and trust God.
3. Focus on gratitude

.As I ponder how to make a record of my abundant life, I’m faced with the same old problem. There has been too much of it. I’m always reluctant to throw anything away or to ignore any part of something. It may have value. The truth is that it all does have value, but I can cope with it more easily by taking one piece at a time, by trusting that God is guiding me and can make up my deficiencies, and by focusing on my gratitude for everything I have experienced.

The first part of my life—those growing-up years, my teen years and first years of marriage—I survived by taking just one hour or one day at a time. Those years involved my determination to persevere in following my dreams, to keep believing that things would turn out well. I was determined to make my life work by trying as hard as I could. And I could try really hard. And work really hard. And I did. I was given an abundance of personal gifts and an abundance of personal trials. Determination and setting high goals carried the day.  This part of my life began in 1947 with my birth. I married twenty years later, in 1967. Our early married life still carried this theme. A convenient cut-off date for this first section is 1975 when we moved from one Orem house to the other. Thus the first twenty-seven year period of my life I will call Part 1 (to be titled when inspiration hits).

The middle part of my life is the years from 1975 to 2000. We lived at 448 East 100 South in Orem during these years. They were busy years of raising a family, still being involved with my family of origin and working in my Church. Because we called the house we lived in during that time, “The Stubbs Family Residence,” that is my title for this section for now. During those years, the abundance of blessings I received included much adversity. The trials of those years also brought back some of the things I had ignored during Part 1, childhood trauma, living with an imperfect marriage partner and dealing with my son Andy’s life and death, as well as the death of my mother. I could no longer escape or ignore the reality of death, addiction and the overwhelming nature of my chosen vocation of mother and homemaker. I had to learn to let go of my need to be in control. I had to learn to trust God.

The third part of my life is where I am today, from the year 2000 to the present. My abundant life has continued to be abundant in both blessings and trials. I experienced the death of another daughter. I have come to terms with my eating addiction. The lessons continue. Today I see that my focus must be gratitude. My experiences have taught me that I can endure anything one day at a time, that I can trust God to take care of the myriad things that I have no control over, and that I am grateful for my life and my life lessons. Education has been a major thread running through each part of my life and today I can see that my best educational opportunities are those afforded me by the life I have lived and am living today. One day at a time, I’m learning to trust God and be grateful.