Dancing In The Rain

I have a plaque on my desk that reads, LIFE is not waiting for the storm to pass, but learning to dance in the rain.  I was drawn to it a few years ago when I first saw it in a store.  Its message seemed nice and certainly positive.  It pulled me in and I bought it.  I came home and placed it on my desk where I see it every day.  There was something quite ironic about it though.  Something that didn't really apply to me, but I still liked it.  It didn't apply to me because I really didn't want to dance in the rain.  I didn't even know how to dance in the rain.  I just wanted to get out of the rain.  I didn't like the rain.  Didn't like the way it made me feel.  So I would stay inside where I could stay dry and warm.  Inside wasn't really a bad place to be.  It was safe.  I didn't really need to experience the outside when I could imagine and make up my own world while inside and safe.  When it would stop raining, I would venture out a little bit, only to find myself cautiously waiting and watching for the next storm to hit.  After all, I didn't want to be vulnerable to the effects of that next storm.  I didn't want to get wet and cold and miserable.  I knew it was out there and going to hit at any time.  I actually got very good at predicting when the next storm would come.  I could see the signs.  Sometimes my own actions would keep it at bay, at least for a little while.  Sometimes my own actions would bring it on even sooner, at least that's what I thought.  I later learned that the storm, at least my storm, had a mind of its own.  It only seemed like I could control it.  The more and more I stayed inside, afraid of the storm, the less and less I wanted to go outside.  I was beginning to feel trapped, very trapped within the very same "inside" that I created for myself.  Inside was really a very lonely place, safe but lonely.  My storms were keeping me from enjoying those people and the good experiences outside.  Maybe it wasn't really my storms causing this, but rather my reaction to the storms.  What if I could learn to not be afraid of getting wet, or cold, or miserable.  What if my fear was keeping me from enjoying the sunshine and all the people out there in the sunshine.  I began to wonder if the people outside knew who I was.  I don't think so.  My own doing though, because I didn't let them inside, and when outside, I was too busy watching and waiting for the next storm to even interact with the people out there.  What if my own family didn't even really know me?  What if I lived my whole life afraid of the storm, hiding in what I thought was a safe place, only to leave this life unknown to anyone.  How sad would that be!  I had to do something, but didn't know quite what that might be.  Over time and through some pretty intense soul searching, I have learned that I don't need to be afraid of the storms of life.  I have to say there has been much divine intervention in this soul searching.  I've not been alone and will not be alone.  I have learned that I am strong and can weather the storm.  I have learned that I do have something to offer and contribute to the outside world.  I can be outside with others, getting to know them.  I have learned that there are many others experiencing their own storms, who need my friendship.  I can allow them to get to know me.  I am learning that I don't have to be afraid.  When these storms end, and I move into the next phase of my life, I will be better for having experienced them.  I will not move on as someone beaten and battered by the storm.  I will be ready to experience whatever that next phase is.

I still look up and see my plaque daily.  LIFE  Is not waiting for the storm to pass, but learning to dance in the rain.  I just read and smile.

Parable Of The Tardy

Mornings are especially difficult in my house.  Getting Ali to school on time is a particular challenge.  The other day was no exception.  In our efforts to get out the door, we never seem to have time to say prayer, so we say a quick little prayer to start the day, while in the van, driving to school.  I know, very lame, but better than nothing.  I should back up and tell you that the school is about 1/2 mile from the house, just through the neighborhood.  It takes about 3-4 minutes to get there, and Ali's first class is all the way across the campus from where I drop her off.  So she is saying prayer and says, "Help me to not be late for school".  I glance down to check the time.  It's 7:43 and the final bell rings at 7:45.  There is no way she is going to make it on time.  She finishes the prayer and like a genius, I say, "You know, the bell is going to ring in 2 minutes and we are about 3 minutes away.  The Lord can do miracles, but we need to do our part too.  We can't waste our time in the morning and expect Him to get us there on time.  It's like taking a test for a class we know nothing about.  We can't expect the Lord to help us get an A on that test if we never attend the class and we don't study for the test.  We need to do our part.  Then we can ask Him to help us remember what we studied, so we can do our best on the test."  I asked Ali if she understood and she nodded that she did.  I then smiled and added, "I'm really glad you prayed for that so we could have this little learning opportunity."  I have to admit I was feeling pretty proud of my spur of the moment parenting skills.  I dropped her off and she headed to the office for her tardy slip.  My pride was quickly put in its place when another thought came to me.  I wonder, when I ask the Lord for those 'off the wall' things I pray for, does He sit back and smile and say, "My child, I'm so glad you asked for that.  Now let's see what learning opportunities can come from that request."

Prompted, Prepared and Protected

Something happened today.  Definitely has a WOW factor.  Some would call it unique, mystical, even weird.  Some would call it luck or co-incidence.  Co-incidence, maybe.  But I was once told that the definition of co-incidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.  I like that.  Okay, did I get your attention?  Curious about what happened?  If you are - read on.  

I went up north to Munds Park for our ward camp out this morning.  Dayna and Ali went up last night and I drove this morning by myself.  It's about a 2 hour drive, give or take, and I really enjoy the time by myself to listen to good music, to think and to ponder.  I actually had such wonderful thoughts about another topic for a new post to this blog.  A future post I'll get to soon.  Okay, back to my experience.  I did drive up and had a great few hours, then time to come home.  Dayna and Ali stayed in Munds Park to look up his aunt who was there.  So I started driving down the freeway, fast traffic, some curves and a few cliffs with drop offs.  You get the picture.  About 30 minutes into the drive, a thought popped into my head.  Not a voice, just a thought.  This thought was, "I need to get in the right lane and not speed".  Now I have to interject something here.  I grew up learning of promptings and such.  I've heard many stories, all of which I believe.  I've had thoughts before that may have just been thoughts.  But I've also had thoughts telling me I should do something, and I didn't.  One particular time, I had the same thought 3 times in a short period of time.  The thought was to call my boss about something.  I ignored it all 3 times, dismissing it.  It was such a little thing with not any real significance anyway.  Within a matter of minutes, it came to my attention in a real big way that I should have payed attention to that thought and called my boss.  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  It was no less than a prompting, not life saving, but a prompting that I ignored.  I took that experience and decided I never wanted to feel that way again.  I also wanted the Lord to know I was listening and not ignoring.  So, I have been trying to pay attention to those "thoughts", no matter how small or insignificant they seem.  Now back to the freeway.  I changed into the right lane and kept my speed down.  I pretty much stayed there, unless I needed to pass a really slow vehicle, and then I moved back to the right lane again.  It may not have been anything, but I was going to be safe, not sorry.  I kept driving.  Then I heard a noise that immediately caught my attention.  It was brief, only a second or two, but loud.  It sounded like my tire hit something that hit the metal of the van as well.  At least that's what it sounded like.  I immediately looked in the rear view mirror expecting to see something on the road that I had hit, something like tire tread from another vehicle.  Not a thing to see and nothing wrong with the way the van was driving.  I didn't feel it hit anything either.  I thought, do I pull over and check?   And a thought came back to me, "just keep driving."  So I did.  Now I have learned to be extremely aware of noise and vibrations and anything else that's just not right in my vehicles, and there was nothing at this point, except that brief noise that could have been nothing.  I felt comfortable to just keep driving.  As I got closer to home, I started to hear an extremely slight vibration in the van. 
So slight, it was almost unnoticeable. I didn't feel it, but I heard it, in the way my cup vibrated in the cup holder.   I was not quite where I-17 meets the 101 and I heard that same noise again.  The one where it sounded like my tire hit something.  This time it lasted a few seconds longer and maybe even a little louder.  Again my eyes immediately went to the mirror, but nothing to see.  I now felt/knew that there was something wrong, but what do I do. I stayed in the right lane, wondering do I get off the freeway now and check, or do I go ahead and take the 101.  A thought came back, "just keep driving, carefully, with both hands on the steering wheel".  Within a matter of minutes, I took the ramp onto the 101.  It was a single lane ramp and I had to slow my normal freeway speed down to take the ramp.  So did the cars behind me.  It was there that my left front tire blew.  It was not a convenient place for this to happen.  At least that's what I thought at the time.  There wasn't much of a shoulder, but I was able to control the van and get it to a spot where the tire could be changed.  Within a few minutes a police office pulled up behind me and called for their roadside assistance.  I was back on the road within about 30 minutes.  I don't know what might have happened if it blew going down the freeway with lots of other vehicles speeding all around me.  I don't know why I was  prompted to "just keep driving".  When I went to the tire shop later, the attendant told me he has never seen a tire blow like that, still in one piece but totally shredded.  Not sure what that means either.  I do know that I paid attention to the promptings and somehow knew that if and when I should pull over and check, I would know it.  I never felt panicked or scared, just a matter of fact feeling that something was going to happen and I was not alone.   I felt completely okay with that. 

So, what do you think -- weird, mystical or just plain lucky?  I think not.  I know not.  And I am grateful.

Oscar Thomas Parker

Time to write a little about my grandpa, Oscar Thomas Parker.  Throughout his life he was referred to as O.T. or Tom.  He was the oldest of 13, 10 boys and 3 girls.  Grandpa grew up in Lanark, Bear Lake, Idaho.  His grandparents John Parker and Ann Hubbard Parker, came to America in 1877 and settled in that area.  (Another story for a later post.)  Somewhere along the line, the Parker Family Organization was started, with elected officers and all.  They had a historian who would gather family history and put it all together.  My grandpa was very active in keeping all this going, and then my dad took over when grandpa was unable to.  As I was growing up, we had 2 family reunions a year that we never missed.  One was the John Parker reunion.  He was my great great grandpa, so this went back pretty far.  The other was the Oscar Fitzallen Parker/Annie Watkins Parker family reunion.  These were grandpa's parents.  It was always the bigger reunion, even though it didn't go back as far.  More people attended, that is.  Since most of my grandpa's 12 siblings stayed in Bear Lake there were lots of family around.  The ones who moved out of the valley quite often came to the reunion anyway, as it really was a big deal.  The historian would always have copies of pedigree charts with pictures and stories and such for all to take.  I have my dad's Book of Remembrance and it is HUGE.

Grandpa and his brothers grew up playing baseball all over the valley.  His dad would play with them too, and they would challenge other families or teams.  The girls would get up early on Saturday mornings to get their chores done so they could go alone with the boys and watch.  It is written that they were pretty good and would most often win.  They also won "largest family" awards for their family float in the different parades.  Grandpa was asked to serve a mission for the church and his dad didn't know how they would pay for it or get along without grandpa helping with the family income.  They were considered quite poor.  The bishop promised grandpa's dad that if he would let him go, the family debt would be paid off by the time grandpa returned.  So he went.  There was a piece of land that grandpa had purchased, prior to leaving, for $1000.  His dad took over the farming of that land and paid off the $1000 in the 1st year.  Then paid the rest of the family debt in the 2nd year from the earnings off that land. 

Grandpa dated a young girl named Alice Adeline Allen before his mission.  Although they were not engaged, and she was free to "go with other young men", she chose to wait on her missionary and they were married shortly after he returned.  They were very happy and soon were expecting a child.  At the end of this post, there will be scanned pages telling of the birth of this child.  It's an interview of grandpa's youngest sister, Arvilla.  The interview took place when Arvilla was elderly, but she was recounting the events as she remembered them.  She was eight when they happened, so keep in mind this is an interpretation of the events by a young child.  To summarize, both Alice and the baby Theo died as a result of this birth.  I grew up going to her grave every year on Memorial Day, as we also did with graves of other family members.  My dad always referred to her as Aunt Alice.  I later learned that she wasn't really his aunt, but his dad's first wife.  The baby buried with her was his half brother.  Grandpa later met and married Hilda Maud Young, my grandmother. 

In remembering things about grandpa, I have come to the conclusion that he was a quiet, gentle man.  I don't ever remember hearing him raise his voice. (And remember, I grew up on the same farm, just a stone's throw away from their house.)  Maybe he did, but I never heard it in his latter years. He died the summer before my senior year in high school, so I should have some significant memories.  But I find it hard to bring those memories to the surface.  I find that true of a lot of my childhood, so it's not just him.  I have a Book of Mormon that was his, given to him by the Wardboro Ward, as a token of thanks for his service as a ward clerk.  I think everyone in the ward signed the book, all 30 or so.  He also filled the last few pages (you know the blank few at the end) with sayings that he must have liked as he came across them.  I like that about grandpa.  It shows that he was a deep thinker and liked to ponder.  I too collect sayings that have particular meaning to me at the time.  One, that he has written in the book, is from a passenger on a ship that he traveled on.  It says, "Why fear death?  It will be the single most glorious thing we go through in this life".  I know he liked to read.  His books had check marks (numerous check marks) as he would finish reading a chapter, or section.  After his eyes got bad, grandma would read to him.  Then next to the check marks it would say, "finished reading to Tom on (date)".  He had great hair.  When I was young, I would "brush and style" his hair as only a 7-8 year old girl could.  He would just sit and let me do it.  When I would go to town with them in their car, we would end the trip with a stop at Neeley's for a frostie.  Neeley's was the only fast food place in town and a frostie was a soft serve ice cream cone.  Grandma and grandpa cleaned the church building for years along with taking care of the church lawn.  I would help them on occasion.  Grandpa loved his vegetable garden and his flower beds and they were always well kept and beautiful.  I like that about him too.  I loved it when the vegetables would ripen, so I could pick and eat.  My favorites were turnips and peas.  I never have known if turnips were meant to be eaten raw, but I love them that way, just peel and eat like an apple.  The raspberries were definately a real treat too.  I remember the day grandpa died, while weeding his garden, on his hands and knees, between the raspberry rows.  I remember the day of his funeral and how completely depressed and dark I felt after we came home. I don't remember feeling that way about any deaths since.  I wonder if that's because his death was the first close family death I experienced.  Maybe because of my age too.  I think it all makes a difference.  I saw my grandpa again, along with grandma, many years later.  Yes, after grandma died too.  It was in the form of a dream and it was marvelous.

Oscar Fitzallen Parker Family

Grandpa seated, front and center, with his mom, dad and siblings.

My dad's brother, Keith, grandpa and my dad.  

Hilda and Tom Parker

This is how I remember grandpa.

What a sweet man.

Alice Adeline Allen Parker and Oscar Thomas Parker

Following are 2 interviews of Arvilla Parker McMurray.  The 2nd interview listed also includes  remarks about my grandma, Hilda Parker.  Arvilla's memory of grandma reaching America has a few different twist to the man who came to "claim" her than my version, (relayed in the post about grandma).  Not sure which one is the most accurate.  Interesting how stories evolve.

Me, "The Blogger".......... go figure!

This blog started as a way to write my life story for my children, and their children, and so on.  I had thoughts to write a little history of my grandparents, and my parents, and then on to me and my story.  All for my posterity, hence the name Past/Present to Future.  It was a closed blog, only my children allowed to view with a password. That is so me!  Certainly wouldn't want anyone else to read things about me.  I proceeded with that plan.  Then I posted "The Journey" and something started happening, something unexpected.  I liked what I wrote.  I liked that I could put some thoughts on paper and actually want people to read it.  It seemed somewhat liberating.  This was new stuff for me, expression vs suppression, wow!  I started to feel like I might want to open my blog and actually write some things other than the intended "family history" type stuff.  They say writing things down helps to bring clarity, you know that right brain, left brain kinda thing.  I can't say I understand it, but I feel it.  I also feel a sense of what I call "non-progression" with the status quo of not putting my self out there (suppression).  So maybe the inner me is trying to tell me something here.  Maybe I need to step out of my comfort zone and not be afraid.  Wow, "AFRAID", that's a big word.  Afraid of what?  You know, I can't even answer that question, so maybe there really isn't anything to be afraid of.

So now the dilemma....the name Past/Present to Future.  Well, this is still for my posterity and the reality of anyone else actually reading this is slim.  But maybe there's a bigger picture here.  My past and my present to my future......hmmm, moving forward.  We're all moving forward, or are we?  Well, at least, time does march on, but am I really moving forward, or am I stuck in the past (suppression)?  I think the name is still a very good fit and will do for now.  I think opening this blog is a small step into my future (expression).  And if there is anyone out there reading this blog, I hope you enjoy.  I hope you find something that may help you to move into your future self as well. 

The Journey

I'm not going to write about family, or heritage, or growing up.  Right now, I feel like writing about me, just me here and now.  I say "here and now", but actually it's more about my journey to find the person I was "then and there".  The "then and there" is before I was born.  It's before I came to this earth to gain a body, to learn, to experience.  It's the pre-mortal world where I was a spirit child of a loving Heavenly Father.  We were all there, you know (or maybe you don't know, but I do).  I don't remember it, I just know.  Remembering it would make it too easy, not as challenging.  We made choices there.  Choices to follow the plan of agency or follow the plan of absolute assurance of returning to Heaven.  Ironic that even while we were fighting over these two plans, the principle of agency was fundamental. 

Plan A: To come to an earth that was going to be prepared for us.  To gain a body through the process of birth.  To experience pain, sorrow, joy, happiness, etc.  To make choices about what to do, how to live our lives, how to treat others.  Doesn't sound too bad, does it.  Think about it though. No memory of the then and there to help us.  No guarantee that we would make right choices.  No guarantee that the people around us would make right choices.  We might be good and make good choices, or we might be subject to those who would make bad choices, causing us much pain and sorrow.  We could suffer at the hand of those who would inflict pain, all kinds of pain, physical, mental, emotional, spiritual.  This suffering might not even be due to our own choices, but rather the choices of others.  Even worse, we could be the ones making those bad choices and inflicting that kind of pain on others.  We could be the real bad guys after this was all over.  No guarantees.  We were promised that there would be a way to correct our bad choices (and there would be many), to heal the pains we would suffer (much of that too).  We would try and hope to return to live with our Heavenly Father after our earthly experiences were over.  All conditional on whether or not we accepted that offer to correct our bad choices. 

Plan B:  Come to the earth being prepared for us.  No choices to make.  Therefore, no chance of making wrong choices, no chance of failing.  No chance of having pain inflicted on us, or inflicting pain on others.  No pain, no sorrow, no suffering.  Guaranteed return to live with Heavenly Father.

So why did I choose plan A???  Seems pretty risky.  You know, all the people who live on this earth, have ever lived on this earth and will live on this earth picked plan A.  (Or maybe you don't know that, but I do.)  Think about that.  Some pretty horrible things have taken place on this earth at the hands of people who chose plan A.  And it wasn't just a simple choosing between plan A and plan B, then simply parting ways.  It was, as we are told, a "war".  People fighting for a cause.  Maybe not a violent war, but a war of words, of persuasion, trying to pull others over to our way of thinking.  I wonder if all were passionate about their point of view and their choice or were some just going along for the ride, because they had to choose one or the other.  Was I passionate about my choice?  Was I actively engaged in the rally to pull others over to "my side", or was I sitting back, just going along for the ride?  Wouldn't plan B have been so much easier?  I can see why it was chosen by many, 1/3 of all of us.  Agency sounds good and all, but come on, who wouldn't want to take the easy, non-risky choice.  So why, why did I choose plan A.  What did I see and know (or feel and believe) that those 1/3 didn't.  What would make me take the harder route? 

Fast forward.....I'm here, on earth, the here and now, age 55.  Life has been ok, but can't really say it's been fabulous.  Those painful experiences we knew would happen, have happened (and will continue).  I can look at other's lives and should be so grateful that I don't have their problems and experiences, so grateful that I have made ok choices for the most part.  But this is my blog and my story, so I'm not going to talk about other's problems and choices.  This is all about me, here and now.  Those experiences leave their mark.  They mold us and form us.  Or do they?  Maybe they just would have us believe they mold and form.  And since I can't remember what I was like in the then and there, that molding and forming is all I really have to go on.  I'm specifically talking about the not so good kind of experiences.  The kind that cause pain and suffering to us due to the poor choices of those around us.  So, that molding/forming may only be a result of that pain and suffering.  May only be covering up who I was then and there.  Who was I then and there?  What was I like?  How do I remember her?  And the really big question, HOW DO I TAP INTO HER STRENGTH TO GET ME THROUGH THE REST OF THIS EARTH LIFE? 

So, this is what I think.  Maybe part of my mission on this earth, part of my journey, is to find this woman.  To uncover all the "would be molding" caused by the not so good experiences.  To recognize and remove that molding to get closer and closer to that woman in the then and there.  I can tell you this much, as I do this, I'm starting to see/feel glimpses of her.  She is cheering me on and I love her for this.  She knows the real me.  She is the real me.  I am not trying to become her, I am trying to find her.  To find those qualities that made me passionate about plan A.  Yes, I said passionate.  I wasn't a fence sitter in the then and there, just going along for the ride.  I was actively engaged in the fight.  What a woman of strength she is.  There are still so many layers of "molding" to sort through.  And I know many more experiences to go through.  After all, that is what I signed up for, it's a life time journey, literally.  But, how can I expect to live with my Heavenly Father again if I can't find her in the here and now?  How can I expect to be worthy (or even comfortable) to be in the presence of my Savior if I can't uncover those qualities that made me so passionate about plan A in the first place?  Don't get me wrong, this is not easy.  It's downright hard.  There are stumbling blocks all along the way and I do stumble, even fall.  But there is a way to get back up, to get around or over the stumbling blocks.  I have uncovered enough of the then and there me to feel her pushing me.  To feel her strength become my strength.  This I know, the journey to find her is spectacular!