Oppostion

I was struck by an interesting question that was asked of me today. Upon learning that my sweet father in law has the same kind of cancer my mother passed away from, and through the experiences we have faced with the difficulties my son has had since birth with a seizure disorder, what have I learned from these trials?

Wow. I’m not sure my answer could possibly convey all that is in my heart. But maybe far too simply put I have come to believe in the power of hope, faith, prayer, and I certainly believe in miracles.

I also recognize there must be opposition in all things. There is no way to pass through this mortal existence with out it. But D&C 58:4 tells us that after much tribulation comes blessings. We must all endure to the end; we all have our struggles, trials, and challenges to bear. To rise above opposition we must have hope and faith. Faith and hope together can overcome our fears.
In one of my favorite talks given by Elder Russell M. Nelson, he reminds us that Faith supplants fear, hope displaces fear. And of course the scriptures tell us, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:27.) To me, what an incredible blessing to hold on to when I am afraid of the challenges that are put before me. I cling to that promise when my heart is full of fear.
To rise above opposition we must not only have hope and faith but a determination as well. There’s a poem about opposition that a kind friend shared with me. It touched my heartstrings because it talks about those who have had things put before them yet chose not to let it hold them back.

I don’t know who the author is, I apologize. But I believe it’s called Opposition.

--Cripple him and you have Sir Walter Scott
--Bury him in the snows of Valley Forge, and you have George Washington
--Raise him in poverty, and you have Abraham Lincoln.
--Subject him to bitter, religious strife and you have Franklin Delanore Roosevelt, the only U.S. President to serve four terms in office.
--Burn him so severely in a school fire that doctors say he will never walk again and you have Glenn Cunningham, who set the world record on 1034 for running the mile in 4 in 6.7 sec.
--Deafen a genius composer and you have Ludwig Van Beethoven.
--Have them born into a society filled with racial prejudice and hatred and you have Booker T. Washington, Harriet Tubman, and Martin Luther King Jr.
--Have him born into a Nazi concentration camp, paralyze him from the waist down at the age of four, and you have Eatman Pearlman, the incomparable pianist.
--Call him retarded and write him off as uneducated and you have Albert Einstein.
--Amputate the cancer-ridden leg of a young Canadian, and you have Terry Fox, who ran half way across Canada on artificial legs.
--Take both legs away from him and you have Douglas Bater, an RAF fighter pilot who was captured three times by the Germans and who escaped 3 times on artificial limbs.
--Label him too stupid to learn and you have Thomas Edison.
--Call him dull, hopeless, and flunk him out of school in the 6th grade, and you have the famous statesman Winston Churchill
--Tell a boy who loves to draw that he has no talent and you have Walt Disney.
--Take a man who did nothing wrong to anyone, and spit on him, mock him, be his trusted friend the completely turn your back on him, and you have Jesus of Nazareth, The Christ and Savior of the world.

While the trials spoken to me today have not really been my own to bear but those of my loved ones, I have learned much by watching each of them as they face have faced their trials head on.

Never will I forget my son coming out of brain surgery, lying in intensive care. His little face was swollen to unrecognizable proportions. I asked him if he was okay. He smiled and said, “I’m great.”

My mother, when she was at her worst was asked about her cancer, “Why you?”
She just shook her head and said, “Why not me?” She went on to participate in research for one of the medications now being used to treat this particular kind of cancer. It is gratifying for me to know that some of what she faced was for the good of others.

And now as my father in law faces his challenges, I stand in awe for the calm determination in which he faces his treatments. Yes, full of hope and faith.

I do believe in miracles. I love and admire those who have taught me such valued lessons to rise above opposition with such grace, and dignity. It’s my hope that as my own trials come, I too can face them full of faith and courage.

Whatever the Weather

by Anna Jones Buttimore

We had our Fast and Testimony meeting last Sunday, since Stake Conference was the first Sunday of the month. A sister who is very dear to me - she has been through some of the worst possible trials, but is still the most loving and faithful woman I know - bore a very brief testimony saying that it was easy to be happy and believe in a loving Father in Heaven when the sun was shining, and when it was raining we should look for a rainbow and remember that He keeps his promises.

I could pretty much end there, I think. So much wisdom in one sentence. But we Brits love to talk about the weather, so I feel the need to continue the metaphor a little longer. On the Sunday when Sister Hornsey bore her testimony, the weather was wonderful. The sun was shining, and it was 23 degrees C (78 degrees F) which is about as hot as it ever gets here. Last night, as I was driving to Subway to collect the fast food we always have on Family Home Evening, the weather broke. Thunder clapped, lightening flashed continuously, and I got soaked through just running from my car to the restaurant. Now, British weather isn't as dramatic as American weather - we don't have tornadoes or hurricanes - but this was a pretty amazing storm all the same. I arrived home to find the children and Hubby Dearest watching it through the window, awe-struck, but just a little scared.

It reminded me of the truth of what Sister Hornsey had said. Good weather can't last long (at least not here). After a few warm days, there is always a storm - and that's when we need to look for rainbows.

Embracing Quiet Moments

We live in a noisy world. And while I enjoy music, being around people, watching movies, or shopping as much as the next person, I find that I also crave quiet time. I tend to be more creative and to think better during tranquil moments. Hence I do my best writing in the early morning hours before the phone begins ringing, and everyone else stirs for the day.

I yearn to enjoy the beauty that surrounds us. I'm very content to wander about, taking random pictures that strike my fancy. I'm sharing some of those today, photos that I took during the month of May. Someday I'm going to paint some of these pictures. It will be another serene activity that will instill a sense of peace.

Finding inner peace is often a difficult task. The world is filled with turmoil. The ability to access news 24\7 keeps us informed of every tragedy that is taking place. Very rarely are positive news stories shared. At the moment, the economy is spiraling out of control. There are indeed wars and rumors of wars, and violent acts of crime are on the increase. Despite all of this, we can fill our hearts and souls with serenity.

Every day I spend time in prayerful meditation. I experience soothing tranquility as I share my current concerns with my Father in heaven. I also peruse the scriptures. It is indeed true that we speak to our Father in prayer, and He answers us through the scriptures. I've lost count of how many times I have found the exact phrase needed that helps me continue on with renewed faith.

I usually begin my day with a relaxing bath. Not only does this help my arthritic joints to move in a better fashion, it also provides me with an opportunity to read a chapter or two from a good book. =D

I then ponder all that I need to accomplish that day. Lately, I've been trying to curtail a few of those activities. I possess limited strength, compliments of this less-than-healthy body I've been blessed with, and I'm trying to adjust accordingly. I pay a huge price when I overdo. I suspect it's Someone's way of letting me know I need to slow down and smell the proverbial roses. ;)

Writing has always been a balm for me. I feel better on the days that I write. It helps me sort out my thought processes, and at times, vent and release bottled up stress. I also find that walking with a friend or family member is another great way to unwind. This summer, I will be walking most mornings with a good friend. We started yesterday and I couldn't believe the difference in how much energy I had for the rest of the day.

It is important to work hard, but I've learned that leisure activities are just as crucial. For me that includes playing in the dirt. It's healing to work in flower beds or a vegetable garden. I always feel better after spending time in both. As I pull out weeds, or plant new flowers, it somehow restores my sense of self-worth and accomplishment.


As I already mentioned, I thoroughly enjoy playing with my camera. It is a hobby that my father shared with me years ago. He taught 4-H photography one summer to encourage me to enjoy something he absolutely loved. It has been an important part of my life ever since. Very rarely do I travel about without taking along at least one camera to record "treasures," along the way.

Since we're all different, varying things will help us to relax. For some it may be fishing, camping, hiking, or dancing. For others it may lie in creating music. I've played the guitar and piano for years, both by ear. I love jamming with my family; this is a great way to secure important bonds, and to have a lot of fun. My tiny granddaughter is already showing a great love for music. She bounces in time as we play songs that have been in our family for years.

Something else that I love to do, is to put jigsaw puzzles together. I know this activity drives some people up the wall, but for me, it's soothing. I love looking things over and then finding the exact piece needed to fill in a gap. ;)

So while this world continues to be crazy, spend some quiet time doing those things that bring joy into your life. I can promise that it will instill the needed peace of heart and mind to survive this complicated era.

There Can Be Miracles by Michele Ashman Bell

This is a five generation picture of my 100 year old grandma, Norene, my father, Nolan, myself, my son, Weston, and his daughter, Halle. Norene is Halle's great, great, grandma!

When I was a little girl I used to follow my dad around like a puppy. We were buddies. He took me fishing, scavenging for antiques, golfing, and even tried to teach me how to play the banjo. I loved gutting the fish, digging through piles of junk to find treasures, running after stray golf balls and listening to my dad play songs. As I got older our relationship became strained. He wasn't active at all in the church and this caused a lot of friction in our home. My mom was a rock, holding steady as storms in our house blew through occasionally. It was a confusing situation at times and I'm sure I was the cause of plenty of contention between my parents.
I was one of four girls in our family and suffice it to say, all of us ended up getting married in the temple. It was difficult not to have my dad there the day I was sealed to my husband. I tried to understand but deep down I really felt bad he could be inside the temple with me on this very special day. My grandmother, who turned 100 years old on June 11th, always told us to never give up on my dad. She reminded us to pray for him, she was convinced he would one day become active.
A few years ago my father was diagnosed with cancer. It was devastating. I was so scared. I wasn't ready for him to go yet. I wanted more time with him.
Our prayers were answered. It was horrible watching him go through the pain and agony of chemo. For months and months he suffered through his treatments. But not only was his body breaking down, so was the wall around his heart.
This horrible experience became the greatest blessing in our lives. It was a miracle. My father emerged a changed man. Today he holds a calling and attends church every week. He is also a current temple recommend holder. I have never felt closer to him in my life than I have with him since he fought his battle with cancer. Before when I would call to talk, he would answer and hand the phone directly to my mom. Now, we can talk for hours. He is the most involved, loving, supportive, and proud father and grandfather I've ever known.
I'm so glad we never gave up praying, exercising faith and believing that my dad would survive cancer and that he would become active in the church. Miracles do happen.

CONTEST TIME

“Your father would be so proud of you.”
“Daddy would expect you to take your medicine like a big, brave boy.”
The visitor sat on the couch in the front room of the small house, feeling deeply impressed by how often the widow she visited reminded her children of her deceased husband’s love and concern for them. When the children were at last settled in their beds, she turned to her friend.
“Your husband must have been a wonderful father,” she said.
“What! That bounder? He never lifted a finger to do one thing for me or the kids.”
Startled, the visitor stammered, “But you told the children how proud he would be of them and little Johnny took his medicine willingly when you said his father would expect him to be brave.”
“Oh that!” the mother scoffed. “That worthless man never did anything to help with them when he was alive, but he ain’t going to get off without doing his share now just because he’s dead.”
For some reason, that story has stayed with me for years, both amusing me and reminding me of the importance of fathers.



I was fortunate to be raised by a father whose love I never doubted. He was a farmer which meant I worked beside him from the time I was a small child until I left home as a young adult. He taught me to weed, irrigate, milk, ride a horse or handle a team, pick spuds, drive a truck or tractor, and perform all of the other tasks there are never enough hands to accomplish on a farm. We played together too; he taught me to fish, run races, and dance. He encouraged my love for books and attended all of the plays and performances of my childhood. We shared many chocolate malts, cracked and ate a lot of nuts together, and argued politics. I believed implicitly that nothing could ever harm me as long as my big, strong, brave Daddy was near. I was fortunate to have such a father.

Sometimes I grow weary of the negative role fathers often play in today’s entertainment. Too often they’re cast as brutal and cruel or as childish morons. If only every child could be blessed with not only a wonderful mother, but a kind, loving father too. And I wish the media would portray fathers as positive role models.


Over on my blog I run a contest twice a month. This time the central theme is fathers. The prizes are books, LDS novels I’ve received from various publishers and authors for possible reviews which I write for Meridian Magazine. I’ve been writing reviews for a long time and I have books overflowing every bookcase in my house. I don’t want to throw them away, nor do I want to stuff them in boxes to be forgotten, but the sheer number has gotten out of hand. Books are meant to be read and I’m aware no one can buy every book he or she would like to read and some people live in areas where they have a difficult time acquiring LDS novels, so I decided to give away books to those who visit my blog and write a paragraph or two concerning the topic I introduce at the beginning of each contest period. This time the topic under discussion is fathers and I’m inviting readers of the V-Formation to share memories of their fathers or write a tribute to their fathers, husbands or men they consider exemplary fathers.

From now on (at least for the foreseeable future ) I’ll be extending my win-a-book contest to V-Formation readers. Responses here will be included in each drawing, not just this time but for each contest. Multiple entries are allowed. Every comment made during the two weeks of the contest, no matter to which of the blogs I write it is attached, during that two week period, will be added to the drawing. With each contest I display the covers and tell a little about several books that match the theme, but winners are invited to give me a list of alternative books they would like to read and if I have one of the books on the wish list, I’ll send it instead of or in addition to the proposed prize. The present contest which features fathers is already under way and runs until noon June 15. Prizes must be claimed within five days of announcing the winner and will only be mailed to US or Canadian addresses.


Recently I received duplicate copies of All the Stars in Heaven by Michele Paige Holmes. I’m adding my duplicate copy to the prizes for this contest because this book also has important things to say about a father/daughter relationship, though in this case the example is negative. However, the book is exceptionally good and you can read my review of it next week on Meridian. Until then let’s hear about your fathers.

There are days...

I posted this picture on my personal blog and said that, while I don't usually care too much for cutesy animal pictures, this one makes me laugh. My good friend Jewels said that sometimes she feels this way about her kids.

Now that really made me laugh.

Are there not days, though, when the thought of eternal parenthood as the ultimate reward seems like the ultimate punishment? I hope it's not just me.

Some days, my two teenage girls get along famously. They laugh, they get silly, they talk till all hours of the night. And then there are times when I swear they would dismember each other if they only had the proper tools.

Sometimes the four-year-old is charming and sweet. Then there are times when he uses the words he's learned from the older sisters and makes a stink when his little cousin, whom I babysit, tries to play with his toys.

Surely my siblings and I were not this much trouble for my parents. We were all that was good and lovely, charming and witty. We never burped, complained, whined, fought, back-talked, slouched or texted during meals. (Well, we couldn't text during meals. We would have thought it meant something like typing a research paper on a manual typewriter).

I know that I surely never sent my mother to bed emotionally exhausted because of my antics. I never left things out all over the house, didn't drop wet towels on my bedroom floor, didn't leave food crusted on plates in my bedroom.

Here's hoping my mother never sees this post.

Truly, though, and you knew this was coming, there are moments that make the hard stuff, (which really isn't THAT bad), worth it.

Like tonight when my son watched the girls trying to hula-hoop and said, "You guys can't hoop-de-hoop."

Or when the 14-year-old put her arms around my husband's neck this morning, despite a battle of wills last night, and said, "I'm sorry about yesterday, Dad. I love you. Happy Birthday." (Truly, the best part of that whole thing was that she reminded me it was his birthday. Oops).

It's all good, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. It does help, though, that I'm not the only one who looks at the vicious squirrel up there and sees herself attacking the children. Keeps them on their toes. ;-)

For Any Writer Who's Been Rejected

For seven years while I worked for an LDS publisher, I sent out rejection letters. I also sent out a variety of other letters, and have sent out rejection letters for other organizations, but most of my experience with fiction came from these seven years.

Because of my background in teaching (which means giving feedback in writing) and also my background as a writing student (which means getting feedback), I often offered suggestions to writers. I knew at the time that it was more time-consuming and that my employer probably would not appreciate me throwing away my time on books that weren't going to make a profit for the company but...the instinct was too ingrained. Now I hear almost universally that editors should not give any suggestions for rewriting. First, there's always the danger that a writer will rewrite and "fix" whatever's lacking so now the book should be acceptable. And second, another editor may like the manuscript as it is or want other changes. Some writers tell of resubmitting their manuscripts without making any suggested revisions and getting published, and many successful writers describe their experiences getting rejected 10, 20, 30 times before their book was finally accepted. John Grisham's first book, A Time to Kill, was rejected by 28 publishers. When it was finally accepted, it sold through its printing of 5,000 very, very slowly. His second novel was facing a similar list of rejections but fate intervened when some early copies ended up in Hollywood. Some movie producers were excited, Paramount paid $600,000 for it and not surprisingly publishers started begging for the chance to publish The Firm. And most people know that Dr. Seuss's first children's book was rejected by 27 publishers as being silly and nonsensical and "too different from other juveniles on the market to warrant its selling." (That was And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street.)

The stories could go on and on. I could list several examples in LDS publishing but I haven't asked permission so I think I'll just let the authors tell their own stories. I'll just say I know two lovely women whose first books I rejected (and I say "I" but in many cases books go through readers/evaluators and even committee meetings before a decision is made to accept or reject). Nonetheless, I penned the letters (it just doesn't work to say I computered or I keyed the letters and the day may come when no one knows what "penned" means, alas).

Both of these women have written 10 or 12 books now and have many, many devoted readers. I know of other authors who already received rejection letters (from yours truly) but who went on to publish several books and also have devoted readerships.

And just for variety, here's a story about a writer I worked with who had published one book and after very carefully evaluating the next four from this author, I had to reject all of them. It was a hard situation for both of us, possibly harder of the author but I was frustrated too. I wanted to accept a novel from the author. After some discussion, an idea came up, the author wrote a sequel and it was accepted easily as were the next several books.

A few more words on rejection. Agatha Christie's first book was rejected as "not suitable for our list." Mary Higgins Clark's first book "Journey back. to Love" was rejected as "light, slight, and trite." Ann Frank's diary was felt not to have "a special perception or feeling which would lift that book above the "curiosity" level. The Time Machine was considered "not interesting enough." Irving Stone's Lust for Life was felt to be "a long, dull novel about an artist." Chaim Potok's The Chosen was "too long, too static, too repetitious, too ponders and a long list of other negative 'toos'...It is solidly, monumentally boring." Potok himself was felt to have "no novelistic sense whatever."Charles Dickens' Tale of Two Cities was considered "a sheer dead pull from start to finish." Jasper Fforde, author of The Eyre Affair, wrote four novels before getting published and got 76 rejections. And James Patterson, best-selling crime/mystery writer, also received many, many rejections, but check his book on Amazon and you'll see that that didn't stop him. And then there's Tony Hillerman, who was told his first book wouldn't be bad if he'd "get rid of all that Indian stuff."

So the moral of these stories is this: if someone rejects your manuscript, you're in good company.

If you want more stories, try Pushcart's Complete Rotten Reviews & Rejections. Many of these examples were taken from it.