Wednesday, February 7, 2018
Change is part of life. The End. (Shortest blog post ever.) Kidding. For some reason this morning, that theme seems to be running through my head. Life is change. If it wasn’t, there would not really be a reason to exist. In a nutshell, without change, there would be no growth. And as we all know, that is a big part of why we’re here in mortal mode. (Ponder Adam & Eve and the Garden of Eden.) We are here to learn, to grow, and to change.
That being said . . . change is a hard thing. Again, consider the plight of Adam and Eve. They start out in a garden where everything grows without effort. It’s a beautiful place to live and there are no trials. Every day is the same—eat yummy food that grows like crazy on trees, plants, etc. Play with the cute animals, who are all tame and well behaved. Drink water that is pure. Sleep when tired, and start over. There are no illnesses, no bumps or bruises, it truly is a paradise. And everything stays the same. Continually. There is no change, no learning, no growth.
Enter satan. (I purposely don’t capitalize his name.) He stirred things up nicely. And suddenly, there was change. And with it came growth and learning. But it was a hard thing.
I can’t even imagine how difficult it was for Adam and Eve who were brave enough to decide that change was good. They went from having everything handed to them, to growing it all themselves. If they wanted to eat, drink, or sleep, they had to find a way to make that happen. The animals were no longer in nice mode. I’m sure that was a factor as well as some of them developed a real attitude problem. But in way of good news, each day was different.
Light speed to our day. Life is definitely in change mode—everywhere we look. So that must mean that we’re being given vast opportunities for growth and learning, right?! The problem is, sometimes I think we get a little overwhelmed by all of the changes that are taking place. There are days when we want to hide in a corner and dream of Eden.
Change is hard. I learned that principle at the ripe age of three when my parents brought home an interesting bundle of joy wrapped in a blue blanket. The arrival of my little brother shifted my world in an instant. I don’t remember much about all of that, but I was told that for a while, I pouted. I went from being an only child to becoming an older sister. It was an abrupt transformation that took a few months to absorb. But it was totally worth it! And I will be eternally grateful for the siblings I’ve been blessed with.
Years ago, I had the pleasure of being the youngest Primary President our ward had ever seen to that point in time. (This did not fill hearts with rapture. Most thought the bishop had lost his mind.) We saw a lot of change during the five years I served in that capacity. Among other things, I was the last Primary President to serve in the old, white church house that once existed in our small farming community. I was the first to serve in the new brick church building that we still use. It was a time of adjustment, growth, and learning. Times were changing and as my counselors and I did our best to make decisions that we felt would improve life in Primary land, we had numerous critics who pointed out that we were changing things . . . a lot. One of the changes came after an edict arrived from Salt Lake. We were to do away with the beloved Cub Scout Rodeo, a staple in our ward since the beginning of time. This did not go over well at all with the local population. The reason for the change was valid—liability was factored into the decision. Cub Scouts were getting injured periodically from this activity. So we were to discontinue this practice immediately, and promote a Cub Scout Carnival in its place. Can I just say that this announcement went over like a lead balloon?!
Feeling rather frustrated, I penned the following poem later on:
Make the Wind a Friend
“Change, change is not for me!”
Said an oak with dignity.
“Why it’s an outrage to even contemplate
“Thoughts of change that irritate!”
And so he thought and said each day,
Refusing to bend when the wind blew his way.
A young willow, observing the strain
Thought the oak was in great pain.
“Please, sir, but it seems to me
“That you are not a happy tree.
“Perhaps if you would try to bend,
“The wind could become a treasured friend.
“Offering a breeze when the day is warm . . .”
“I WILL NOT GIVE IN TO THE STORM!”
The oak tree bellowed with disgust
Thinking that his rage was just.
Ignoring the willow, he defied the wind
Never willing to rescind.
In time, the wind destroyed the tree,
A fierce gale turning it into debris.
Pride and fear inhibited the growth that might have been,
If the oak had welcomed the wind as his friend.
Cheri J. Crane
Ironically, I now find myself to be an oak—with the mindset of a willow. Interesting combination. For the most part, I like change. I know it’s essential to life, and yet I find myself dragging my feet somewhat when faced with changes that aren’t very fun. For instance, it’s a difficult thing to watch your parent age. You want things to go back to when they were active, enjoying life, and in good health. And yet, somehow you know that particular ship has sailed.
I absolutely love being a grandmother, but I find myself worrying over items like the kind of world my grandchildren are inheriting. I gape at fashions and trends that seem a bit over the top, and long for the days when leggings were called tights and they were worn under dresses and such. On the other hand, I seem to recall a time in history when leggings were all the rage, worn under tunics as swords were strapped to the side. So I guess it is true, if you wait long enough, different fashion statements become popular again.
Back to the topic at hand: Change! It is part of life. What we do with it is up to us, part of the agency thing. I do think it’s important to weigh each decision and ponder whether the change in question is a good thing for us, if there is a choice in the matter. At times, though, change is frequently forced upon us without our consent. Trials, health traumas, or loss arrive without warning, much like the small earthquake we experienced in our realm the other night. Sometimes things just happen and we have to decide how we will respond. And that often determines the kind of person we will become. (No pressure.)
So I guess what I’m trying to say in a rambling fashion is that change is part of why we’re here, and though sometimes that process isn’t very fun, in the long run, it does give us a chance to prove what we’re made of. (Is this when I drop the mike?)
Thursday, January 18, 2018
So it has been a while since I’ve written anything. The holidays happened with gusto . . . and lots of family and fun. Then our clan was blitzed by the raging flu bug that is unfortunately going around. My mother was hit very hard by that particular bug. One night she got up, was extremely dizzy, and began to fall. She tried to stop herself by grabbing onto a small chest of drawers located in her bathroom, and pulled it on top of herself. She lay on the bathroom floor for a good 30-40 minutes before she was able to finally pull her herself out from under all of that.
My mom lives by herself in a cute apartment not far from where I dwell, but I had no idea she was in trouble until I called to check on her the next morning. When she told me what had happened, I knew we needed to take her in to see a doctor. So my oldest son and I hurried into town. (We live about 4 miles outside of the local village.) Since it was January 1st, we knew none of the local clinics would be open, so we took her to ER.
Luckily, Mom hadn’t broken anything, but she was covered in bumps and bruises. She also tested positive for the flu. She was placed on Tamiflu, and her doctor (who happened to be on call that day) insisted that we needed to look into a medical alert system for her to prevent this kind of situation from happening again.
We were just starting to get on top of things after all of that, and our ward suffered the loss of two beloved members—in the same week. Both deaths tore at the heart strings. One was expected, the other was not. And as luck would have it, my husband and I had been assigned church cleaning duty the first two weeks of January. Let’s just say we weren’t bored for those two weeks.
Thus far, the new year has been a bit of a blur. I haven’t even had time to ponder life-changing resolutions. Free time has been nil. (This means there hasn’t been any.) Between all of the adventures mentioned above, plus little things like helping my husband with the local meals on wheels program available in our area, Cub Scout adventures, etc. I do my best to swamp out our abode, and keep up with things like laundry, meals, so on and so forth.
I barely had time to acknowledge and ponder the loss of our beloved prophet, President Thomas S. Monson. A lot of things have slipped to the way side, including blog posts. I apologize for that, but am happy to report that despite everything, I am somehow managing to keep my nose a bit above the turbulent waters that currently surround us.
That’s kind of how life is for a lot of us. I’ve talked to other family members and friends, and though their life adventures differ, they all appear to be in the same boat. LIFE IS CRAZY!!! (Emphasis on “crazy.”)
I remember years ago hearing a seminary teacher state that in the latter days, church members will be kept so busy, they won’t have time to worry about all of the intense events that will be taking place in the world. At the time, I thought that was rather silly. I have lived to a point in my life where I take back what I once thought. We are seeing it. We are living it. It is happening. Just sayin’ . . .
I am realizing that it is crucial these days to make the time for items like personal prayer, scripture study, and however we manage to fill our personal buckets. For me it’s a combination of things, like the two items I already mentioned, and hot baths, going for a walk with a good friend, taking pictures, writing, strumming my guitar, etc. I find that life seems to go better when I can work that stuff in . . . but in light of the crazy times . . . it doesn’t always happen. And a price is paid. Peace of heart and mind seems to fade as we flop into Chicken Little mode.
So we take a step back, take a deep breath, and try again, knowing we must work in the things that will inspire the peace of heart and mind that we desperately need these days.
A writer writes. I’ve heard that saying repeated countless times . . . but it is true. And sometimes we take a lot of notes. I’ve been accused of that on family trips, during General Conference season, etc. So it may not be a surprise to my close family members and friends that I took a few notes the day our new prophet was announced. The ones that stand out are as follows:
“Keep on the covenant path!” President Russell M. Nelson
“The best is yet to come!” President Henry B. Eyring
“Maintain faith in the Lord!” President Eyring
“Wake, eager to face the day’s adventures!” President Russell M. Nelson
“(The Savior) will guide and bless each one of us!” President Dallin H. Oaks
“Face the future with optimism and joy with faith in the Lord!” President Russell M. Nelson
“See the Church as it really is!” President Henry B. Eyring (I took this one to mean that we need to ignore the small stuff and to quit judging each other!)
It’s looking like our new Church Presidency is trying to tell us that despite all of the craziness taking place in today’s world, we need to focus on the good things. We need to shrug off the negative vibes and actively pursue those items that bring us happiness. It won’t be easy, things of worth seldom are, but I have decided that despite the avalanche of life that mowed over the top of us at the beginning of this new year, it will be possible to find joy. I am determined to make 2018 a year to remember, one that is filled with positive events and peace.
Only we can change our mind set. Only we can pull ourselves out from under whatever has fallen on top of us thus far this year, and be as my mother has been, determined to survive!
With that said, I realize it will be a challenge. It will take everything we have to offer and then some to heed the advice from our church leaders. I am determined to try. And if other avalanches come along in our lives, let’s help each other dig out!
Friday, December 1, 2017
I am the bionic woman. Seriously. I jest not. At least that’s what my diabetic specialist is thinking these days. I had an appointment with him yesterday and to say that he was stunned by some test results would be putting it mildly. He also seemed a bit overwhelmed and kept saying things like, “So this is the future.” “What is my role going to be with all of this?” etc. and so forth.
I understand his confusion. I was feeling similar items about 3-4 months ago. Back then I was feeling overwhelmed and wondering what my role was going to be. Long story short, I was given an opportunity to join a study for a brand new type of insulin pump. As a Type 1 diabetic, I’ve had my share of experiences with insulin pumps. They have been part of my life for years. They function as an artificial pancreas and have done a great job of keeping me alive. Instead of giving 6+ shots a day (for some reason, my body balked at allowing me to mix long lasting insulin with fast acting, but I digress) I merely changed an IV site every 3 days and tada, I could program the pump to punch in needed basal and bolus amounts of insulin.
Fast forward to this past year—now it is possible to allow an insulin pump to figure out how much insulin you need. It’s like wearing a tiny robot 24/7. It “talks” to me when my levels are getting too high or too low, and has a tendency to be a little bit of a dictator. Just sayin’. But the cool thing is, my A1C (diabetic lingo for blood sugar averages—it goes back over a 3 month period) is now lower than it has ever been. Ever. This is impressive. This means I’m under better, tighter control and I may be able to avoid some of the complications that tend to go along with diabetes.
I’ve been dealing with this disease since I was 19. They figure I actually started having problems with it in high school, but we didn’t realize that symptoms like having chicken legs (a term of endearment from my mother) always feeling hungry, and drinking water like a camel were signs that something was amiss. It would take a couple of years in college for my body to go into total rebellion mode. Things got so far out of whack, I began passing out in class, and having seizures. I would later learn that those were symptoms of out of control Type 1 diabetes, something a specialist told us about when I was finally diagnosed.
Unfortunately, most Type 1’s are in rough shape by the time they are identified. As in my case, big red flags are passed off as other things. “Cheri is a toothpick with eyes because she’s always on the run.” “Cheri is constantly running to the potty because she drinks so much water.” “Cheri is exhausted because she is always on the go . . . literally.” So on and so forth.
Type 1’s are usually about half starved by the time the light bulbs click on. Since our bodies don’t digest food properly, in part because the insulin levels aren’t strong enough to process what we’re eating, we lose a ton of weight. And while this may fit the current trend in society to resemble twigs and such, it’s actually not healthy . . . at all.
When it was finally explained that I would be dealing with diabetes the rest of my life, I was ready to celebrate. Having been told that I had items like a brain tumor and/or epilepsy while traversing the diagnosis trail, finally knowing what I was really dealing with was pretty much a relief. I know this type of reaction isn’t normal, but I never have been classified as such, so it was typical for me. Instead of throwing myself or having a meltdown, or screaming that my life was over, I tried instead to learn everything I could about this new challenge.
Through the years, I have tackled odds that seemed rather stacked against me, and currently feel like I have done okay with this particular marathon. I haven’t had perfect control, but I have had good control. This has permitted me to have 3 healthy children. I still have most of my body parts, and though I may possess a bit of an attitude when it comes to life, it is due in part to the fact that I have been fighting for my life for years. I treasure things like family time, personal space, and the ability to accomplish important goals. I realize there are no guarantees with this disease and there are days when I feel like the proverbial last chapter. I did end up with a little heart glitch a few years ago, but we fixed things and I am trying to slow down and take better care of myself.
Since I am the bionic woman, I do sometimes tend to take on more than I can handle. So I am striving to remedy that. (You can hear my children cheering in the background.) I’ve had to pick and choose between activities that I love and adore, but can no longer keep up with. Perhaps in time and with the addition of this new amazing super pump, I will be able to jump back into the fray of life as I once knew it. I know this, I will not go gently into that dark night. When this life is over I will more than likely throw down a very worn out body with a grin on my face that says it all: “I truly lived!” And now, back to showing this new pump who is the actual boss!
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
I’ve noticed a tendency in my life—when I’m facing overwhelming trials, I avoid keeping a journal. For example, during the two years following my father’s death, there is no record of how I survived. Looking back, I now wish I would’ve made an attempt at keeping even a small journal. However, there are other things that I did write: poetry, songs, and my first attempt at writing a novel. Those pages contain snippets of how I was feeling and items that helped me endure.
I found that on the nights I couldn’t sleep, it helped to write out everything I was feeling. Then I would shred those pages and throw it all away. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I was doing my own form of therapy following an extremely traumatic episode in my life. I was, in essence, getting rid of toxic emotions that were tearing me apart following Dad’s suicide.
It worked! Writing has always been an outlet for me. I feel a sense of calming peace when I write. And I feel like I have been guided somewhat on what to write, after I get rid of “the wibbies.” (A family term that means something scary.)
This past year has been filled with “wibbies.” Lots of change, serious illness, parental decline, earthquakes, weird weather, and heartrending trials within our family. And we won’t even go into the daily tragedies we have witnessed on the news. There are days when I feel like I’ve been strapped to the front of the Titanic just as it hit the iceberg. But there have also been numerous tender mercies that have kept us all going.
Probably one of the most challenging items I’ve dealt with this past year was my mother’s serious illness the end of April. For some strange reason that we’re still trying to figure out, her electrolytes plummeted dangerously low. Her condition mimicked a stroke. She went from being a fairly vibrant character, to someone who couldn’t walk or talk. We have spent months helping her regain a sense of self, and to relearn skills most of us take for granted, like using a TV remote, or telephone.
My mother has always been a fighter, and she has, for the most part, bounced back from this year’s challenging “wibbie.” Since I’m the offspring that lives the closest, (I only live 4 miles away) I’ve been the one to primarily help Mom through this adventure. My siblings all rallied when everything hit the fan, but eventually, they had to return to their own adventures at their respective homes. Shortly after Mom was released from the hospital, she came to stay with Kennon and I for a few weeks until we felt like she could return to her apartment, with some assistance. I’ve made countless trips from our abode to Mom’s apartment on an almost daily basis the past few months to help in any way that I could. And it has worked! She is now pretty much back to her independent self—with just a glitch here and there.
So the past few months have been a bit of a blur—and there were other character building moments going on at the same time—enough that most of us have felt like we’ve faced one continuous emotional tsunami. Can I just say that 2017 will not be one of my favorite years? And, true to form, I have not kept a record . . . at all. There is no new poetry, no new songs—but there are a handful of blog posts, and (drumroll please) two new manuscripts that I have tinkered with inbetween all of the fun. We’ll see what happens with that.
The thing I have noticed in my life—there does seem to be a plan. Even when life becomes complicated and my heart feels shredded—the pieces begin to fit together to form a picture I would have never guessed existed. I surmise this is where faith comes into play. I’ll admit, when one is strapped to the front of the Titanic and an iceberg is imminent, it’s a little bit difficult to believe that somehow, things will be okay. The “wibbies” fill us with fear and doubt becomes a real adversary.
There is a scene in one of the “Raiders of the Lost Ark” movies where the main character is frozen in place. He is inside of a cavern and the item he is seeking lies across an impressive gorge. As he is thinking there is no way possible for him to cross to where this item exists, he is told that he must have faith—he must believe there is a way to accomplish this task. Eventually he gathers his courage and takes a step into what appears to be thin air. And as those of you know who have seen this movie, there is a sturdy path that only becomes visible after you take that first important step.
That image has come to mind a lot this past year. I’ve found myself facing a few impressive “wibbies,” and it has been scary to take that step into what appears to be “air.” What I have found . . . again . . . is that there is a path through daunting obstacles. Faith is crucial to possess these days, and it truly is the simple things that give us the strength to carry on: prayer, searching the scriptures, meditating on what really matters, and taking care of our physical selves. (Yes, I actually said that last item. I’m not always a good example of that, but I’m striving to do better. Sleep is starting to become my friend again, exercise is important, and thanks to this new impressive insulin pump, my blood sugar levels are even better than before. Now to kick the pop habit . . .)
Back to my original topic: I may not have kept a journal this past year, but I have kept journals during other adventures in my life. There are enough of those that my posterity will ponder what to do with all of those volumes. I’m sure some of it will be discarded as silliness. But hopefully in some of what I have written, there will be snippets that will make sense and possibly even help when they are facing a difficult time. And when there appears to be a gap or two, I hope they’ll understand that there have been moments that were too difficult to record. Those are the times when they may have to search some of my poetry, songs, blog posts, and books to read between the lines and understand the lessons I learned when “wibbies” surfaced and icebergs seemed too close.