Forty-Eight Part Two

Are you still with me? I shared the first half of this post yesterday. Because I recently celebrated another birthday, here are more things that I'm thankful for at this moment (one for every year of my life):

25. The miracle of forgiveness. Forgetting isn't part of the equation. Releasing bitterness is.

26. A steaming bowl of soup for dinner on still-chilly evenings.

27. The process of baking bread, which synchronizes all of my senses.

28. Poetry. A short time ago, I nabbed a thick volume by Leslie Norris (another thrift store find). His work is a "concentration and distillation" of everyday experience. Thanks to the internet I'm discovering some more current poets as well.

29. Segullah literary journal. I love the honest-yet-faithful writings by L.D.S. women. One of my poems will appear in an issue which is coming out soon.

29. Facebook. Laugh in my face or strike me with lightning but I'm thankful for this connection with friends, relatives, and adult children who live far from home.

30. A new journal. It was a thoughtful birthday gift from a new friend; I see it as a reminder that I still have something to say.

31. Old notebooks. I used to carry them with me everywhere because I couldn't wait to write, Now they're a concrete reminder that I can feel that way again.

32. Blogs. I'm fairly new to this world but it's opened up some possibilities to share and read others' thoughts.

33. A comfortable home. That's the thing about middle age. I'm learning to be more content.

34. Sibling harmony. It's what I most enjoy when my brothers and sisters get together and what I hope for with my children. My in-laws treat me like family too.

35. Secure employment. We've been less-affected by economic woes; living modestly is nothing new.

36. Caring teachers. I'm overwhelmed by the impact of dedicated coaches, church leaders, and educators in my children's lives. I still remember teachers who mentored and encouraged me.

37. Books. This differs from #15 because I'm talking about the volumes I've collected over the years. They're faithful friends.

38. Music. Technology allows us to enjoy music with the click of a button although my waistline would be slimmer if I had to walk long distances to a live concert (a la Bach).

39. Memories of a few trips we've taken. I loved the Oregon coast, live oaks in Louisiana, and sampling Texas barbecue.

40. A caring community. We have different views but there is always an outpouring of love when someone experiences tragedy or an urgent need.

41. Unfinished projects. Admittedly, boxes of fabric and decor fill my closet and clutter our room. It's been months since I sent anything to publishers as well. But the potential to improve my life, our home, and my wardrobe is there. I have plenty reasons to get up each day.

42. Scriptures. Reading daily is hard right now but I remember times when I've been filled with peace and insight. I'll keep trying and trust that I'll regain that feeling again.

43. The chartreuse green of new leaves. Right now the willows add a blaze of color to our stark desert landscape.

44. Joseph Smith. He was human and never claimed to be perfect. But he was also a courageous witness of Christ. I'm grateful that he restored the church that is my spiritual anchor here on earth.

45. Visual art. We recently enjoyed a free exhibit at a nearby college. There's nothing like seeing skillfully-rendered paintings or sculptures up close. It's food for the soul.

47. Prayer. Like scripture study, this habit has sometimes been hard for me to maintain. Remembering times when I've felt close to God helps me feel like He's still there.

48. My Savior, Jesus Christ. I love the Easter season and can't deny the power of His atonement. He lived and died for us individually. I hope my life this coming year will more clearly reflect this truth.

Thanks for enduring to the end of this post!

Finding Cumorah

In the summer of 1983, I had the opportunity to be in the cast of The Hill Cumorah Pageant. I was a wicked Nephite woman who followed the crowd in condemning Abinadi and my "missionary companion" was one of Kind Noah's concubines. (That was my wild fling!) Incidentally, a few of the college-age girls harbored secret crushes on the ,single male actors. They were fairly evenly divided between Team Abinadi and Team Captain Moroni. :)

I kept a journal faithfully back then and enjoyed touring many historic sites in the area. Being in the pageant was a spiritual experience as well since it depicts many of the Book of Mormon prophets who testified of Christ and His appearance to the Nephites.

I hated to leave New York when it was time to return home, but I wrote a poem about the Hill Cumorah. A few years and many drafts later, the poem was published in a contest issue of The New Era.

When the LDS Church celebrated Joseph Smith's 200th birthday in 2005, I pulled out the magazine and read the poem again. It had a couple of good lines but most of it was too obscure. Also, my perspective on Joseph Smith and what had occurred at the Hill Cumorah had changed. My oldest son was close to the same age as Joseph Smith when he first saw the ancient record of the Nephite people. In fact, my son had just received his mission call and was preparing to testify of The Book of Mormon and other truths of the restored gospel.

I changed the title and decided to rewrite the poem; the result is more cohesive as it focuses on the seasons of Joseph Smith's burgeoning faith. As a mother, I was struck by how vulnerable he must have felt in his youth as he learned of his life's mission. I used many natural images to evoke those emotions, especially the in first stanzas. While reworking the poem, I also gained a greater appreciation of Joseph's courage in spite of adversity and his lack of education or experience. I hope the last stanza in this poem expresses my gratitude for all that he accomplished.



Finding Cumorah
Manchester County, New York, 1823

Late September
washes a season's green
beyond field and village
and age seventeen.
only leaves
rinsed in afterglow
stir at Joseph's homespun
passing.

He once knelt
in April grove,
drenched with that glory
of Father and Son.
Then summer wove roots
through his harrowed soul
as those parched by mockery
claimed the heavens
closed.

Autumn wind
shimmers into the trees,
quickening vision
of his pending task:
these hands will
lift voices
silenced by stone,
fullness like morning
tide gathering
home.



Since this ended up being a completely different poem, I submitted it to the Ensign and then to the New Era where it was published in the September 2009 issue. A pdf of it is available online.