Becoming Skinhorse

THE INNKEEPER

2010-12-25T00:30:00.003-07:00

It was September 1992. Mom was in trouble. Big trouble. She had often faced significant challenges throughout the years, and just as often, called out for help from family for some sort of financial salvation. Even as a child myself (Mom’s only child), I had been repeatedly pressed to do my part to bail her out from her most current circumstances. These events always strained me—financially, physically, emotionally—and eroded my abilities and even my desire to provide support, though duty held me to the course.

Now age 64 and partially-disabled, Mom was in Sacramento, California, living on her early Social Security retirement income. She was without a car and used one of those battery-powered scooters to help her travel most distances, and while traversing through fair grounds one night, she unwittingly ran her lower leg into a protruding piece of rebar and gashed it wide open. Infection set in and she became further disabled. At the time, she shared the expense of apartment living with a roommate—one whom she came to trust and revere as a friend in relatively short order. After attaining a measurable level of recuperation, she agreed that the roommate should feel comfortable to leave for a desired two-week visit with a family member.

Those two weeks, however, turned into a month, then longer, before Mom reluctantly and sadly gave into her fears that the roommate had left entirely. The so-called visit had been a façade; realizing the shelled appearance of an intended return cut her to the marrow. Mom was abandoned. What’s more, having already endorsed her Social Security check over to her roommate to pay her share of the rent, she learned that the rent went unpaid. An uncompassionate landlord presented an eviction order and threatened, most severely, a lock-out by the Sheriff. Sadly, Mom returned to alcohol for release, which she had successfully quit a few years before, following a lifetime of addiction.

In her soulfully-injured condition, she called and begged me to turn chaos into order. So uncertain of what immediate recourse I might take, especially being 900 miles away, I took inventory of my financial condition once more. It didn't have to take long. I already knew. In just three month’s time, it was my plan to return to the University of Arizona full-time and complete my degree. I was 31 years old and had grown weary of the meager salary that my technical vocation had afforded me. According to plan, then, I would soon be without an income at all, dependent almost fully on school loans to see me through. Now, given our history together, I was expected to also find a way to support my mother once her predicament was revealed. I labored to sustain Mom emotionally, and objectively researched her situation in Sacramento, calling upon a few key people for understanding and guidance. And, I prayed—much. Still, the biggest part of me desperately wanted to run.

One Sunday evening in mid-September, I attended a satellite broadcast of a fireside at my Church, that I might find spiritual relief for my own self and temporarily escape the pressures of my mother’s situation. During that fireside, the story of The Good Samaritan was presented. I had heard it and read it many times before:

And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead.

And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.

And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side.

But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him,

And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.

And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.

(Luke 10:30-35)

Suddenly, I was profoundly and undeniably struck with a realization and a spiritual witness. Samaritans are known to have been most despised in the region. Similarly, Jesus was “despised and rejected of men” (Isaiah 53:3). Having understanding, I saw that the Savior was, himself, The Good Samaritan. And, though my mother had been stripped of her money and abandoned by her supposed friend (yet, a thief); though she was wounded without and within; though her landlord had not compassion on her; though even her only child had considered passing by on the other side; even then, the Savior readily sought to bind up her wounds and carry her to a place of safety, where she might be nursed to health again.

And so it was that I was called to act in another role in this story—

the Innkeeper.

My heart and throat swelled, my cheeks flushed, and tears intensely poured down my face and neck. It was such an astonishing and singular spiritual event that all attempts to describe it in mere words are defied. Fear not was the Lord’s word to me. My mother would be delivered to me for care and healing. I would be sustained in all ways, financially and otherwise. Then and there, the Lord promised me that if I were found lacking at the end of the day, I would be repayed. And so he did. And so he has. And so he will.

I was the Innkeeper. Me. That great privilege and honor was bestowed upon me!

It should not take long to discern what any of us might have wished to have done differently if called to fulfill the role of a certain Innkeeper—some 2,000 Christmases ago at a little town called Bethlehem—when Our Savior’s birth was imminently at hand.

Take a moment. Reflect upon your senses. It may transform your life’s direction, interactions and relationships with others, and personal reservoirs, as it did for me.

Skinhorse Poetry: "Written"

2010-08-02T03:46:00.004-07:00

She knew what she wanted to say
And she said it.

She wrote it in words for all to see.
But, dull, passing glances
Observe only the obvious.
And few know well how to attune
Soulful, comprehending eyes
Between the lines of what is written.

Written on her face
Was a longing for more—
More understanding and empathy.
More sharing of hearts.
More long hugs to help her feel
Connected.
Even short ones might do.

Written on her frame
Was the peculiar personal pattern
Of weathering
That which all must bear:
Heat. Cold. Storm. Wind.
Urging, ever-urging, change.

Written on her sleeve
Was the pain that had taken its toll
After all those many years
When she was at once convinced
That everyone loved the idea of her,
And yet, no one loved her—really.

Written on her hands
Was the traced evidence of strength
From planting and lifting and building and such.
Unpreserved, weakened, from holding on
To so much that could have been let go,
Should have been let go,
So very long ago,
And Forgiven.

Written in her heart
Was the desire to become
Better than she had been—
A follower, a bearer of light and compassion.
Sounding a resonance of past days,
Understanding, finally, the meaning
Of all that had been, and is being,

Written.

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Forgiveness: The Personal Journey of Two Families

2010-07-31T10:30:00.000-07:00

After all of the silence, this is what finally moved me to make a post.

After the Murmuring

2010-06-14T00:02:00.004-07:00

In 1993, and while living in Tucson, Arizona, I was asked to work with the Young Women of the Church for the first time; specifically, the Laurels (ages 16-18). It floors me now to have even considered it, but at the time, I really did not want that assignment! In retrospect, I can't help but laugh and become a little misty-eyed, too, as I skate along my memory banks, reliving some of my experiences with this blessed group of girls. As it turned out, this period of my life was to become one of my most favored, cherished, and sustainingly joyful seasons. Funny, isn't it, that our views of so-called uninspired "mistakes" that leaders make at times culminate to land for our souls our grandest blessings?

My girls during this initial introductory time to the Young Women's program included: Andrea Greenwood, Michele Anglin, Heidi Luke, Heidi Martin, Sara Offen, Jaime Smith, Susannah Rexroat, Marisa Henderson, Jennifer Clark, Cassie Meadows, Joanna White, Julianna Smith, and Melanie Raehl. Did I get everyone? Well, one of these gals will remind me if I left out someone.

I'm laughing again. I just wish I could recapture, for example, the craziness of Sara and Jaime, acting like foreign exchange students (or as a blind student) on the public bus. We sure had some tender and tough times, too. All in all, though, our shared experiences brought us about as close as a leader can be to any one group of girls. I owe it all to them, too.

Well, with that introduction, the following is a journal entry of mine that illustrates the struggle I experienced in letting go of one church calling to assume the responsibilities of another. Perhaps only my former Young Women will be interested enough to read these pages. I'm fine with that. Not everyone can handle my verbosity.

CLICK EACH IMAGE TO ENLARGE.

To the Young Women mentioned above, and others whom I haven't mentioned, I offer an extreme debt of gratitude. Oft-times, when I have trembled with certain doubts that have weighed upon my heart, I have been brought back to the relationships we enjoy, one with another. Truly, I have been unalterably changed and repeatedly sustained because of my bond to each of you. And to think that, in the beginning, I murmured. Now, all I can seem to do is cry out in gratitude.

God bless your lives for the ways that you changed mine. I love you all.

Two New Polls!

2010-05-16T20:30:00.000-07:00

Please check out the two polls on the right-hand side of my blog. Help me out here. First, please respond to the poll. Second, if you want to know anything specific, please leave a comment.

Thanks, friends (and family reading on the sly)!

My Mother, Yvonne

2010-05-09T08:47:00.032-07:00

My mother, Yvonne, struggled nearly all of her days to find peace and joy and love in her life, as was given by family and friends during her latter years.

Mom was born on August 29, 1928—the second of six children. Her siblings include her brother, Donald, two years her senior; Juanita, five years younger; and Deborah, nearly 10 years younger. One other sister named Carol June lived only a month; another of the six was stillborn. Mom was affectionately known as “Sis” to each of her siblings and all of the rest of the family, too. Even her own parents called her “Sis.”

The family grew up in Oklahoma, primarily in Guthrie, but often traveled between Oklahoma and the Houston, Texas area, where Mom was born. Seeing her first light of day on the cusp of the Great Depression, Mom would not be left unscathed by its dark effects, which took a tremendous toll on the family as a whole.

Mom remembers her parents, or the retelling of stories about her parents, as fun-loving people who enjoyed life and one another. However, with money troubles constantly at the threshold of their lives, her father, Earl Roy Plaskett, a carpenter by trade like his father before him, became a kind of man that even his own mother did not recognize.

It is a great understatement to say that Earl was less than kind to the family; and concerning money, he remained very tight-fisted with it throughout life, presumably because of the effects of the Great Depression.

The family tells of a rather humorous story when little Deborah had one of the biggest toothaches of her life. “Sis”—now a young adult herself—had “come through” Guthrie (that's what they called all of her meandering travels) and found Deborah in such a state of great pain and discomfort that she took her little sister to the dentist immediately. With bravado, Mom asked that the dentist please charge her father’s account for the work done. Shortly afterward, Sis left town, Earl got the bill, and Deborah heard his wild rantings for weeks. All of the family thought Mom's financial retaliation to be great fun and laughed together over the story several times in later years.

Her mother—Lois Laura Hollon—was the third sister in the Hollon family to marry Earl Plaskett! (Why these sisters never talked to one another following their divorces and all is beyond me! Oh, the stories I could continue to tell you!) Lois was one of nine children herself. She was very pretty, and, with spit curls hugging her cheeks, could easily be called a flapper in her day. Following the Great Depression, however, things changed. By all accounts told of her by family and others who knew her, Lois eventually became a religious fanatic. Most of her attachments were made within various forms of the Pentecostal religion. Two of her sisters, Maydell and Helen, influenced her to a great degree in this.

Mom recalls the day that her mother, Lois, came home from some type of revival meeting where it was taught that it was a sin to imitate any of God’s creations. So, to conform with what she felt was God’s will, Lois ripped up all of the family photos and tore out all of her very own hand-embroidered stitchings of butterflies and flowers and such from blankets and handkerchiefs and doilies, a talent that many of her family appreciated very much up to that point.

Mom once wrote:

I just can’t separate my fears and anger from the woman called Lois . . . my mother. She should have never painted into the eyes of my soul such vivid pictures of a pit of fire stoked by a devil somewhere in the bowels of the earth that was surely going to consume me for all of eternity. I just knew that was to be my fate. It had to be because that is what she told me.

When Mom was but nine years old, baby sister Deborah was born. Following the birth, Lois became so disabled by back pain that she was laid up in bed for a year. The condition was known as "milk legs." During this time, Mom took on all of the responsibility of becoming a mother herself, which wearied her greatly.

Then, when Mom was around 13, Lois left the family. Though six year-old Deborah refused to budge from off the top of her mother's closed suitcase, her shrill cries filling the air and begging her mother not to leave, Lois left anyway. Not only did she leave the children, she left them in the care of their father. Difficulties for the family now multiplied, perhaps beyond our ability to comprehend.

Mom's brother, Donald, got on his own early in life. By age 14, Mom moved out on her own as well. With the compassionate and protective help of the long-time family doctor, Dr. LeHew, the teen-aged Yvonne was taken out of her father’s home and was given her first real job: washing dishes and setting up trays for patients at the local hospital for $30 a month and room and board. She also ironed bushels of baskets of starched, long-sleeved nurse’s uniforms for $1 a load.

Mom told me often that it was Dr. LeHew who stated that, had it not been for Grandmother Plaskett, she would have committed so-called “infant suicide” for that love found lacking in the home. Mom spoke to me often and fondly of Grandma Plaskett, and once wrote, “My happiest times during childhood were the days I spent with my grandparents.”

One of the highlights of Mom's life as a youth was her playing of the French horn in the school band. She earned first chair, in fact, after enduring much practice in the wooded creek bank area behind Grandma Plaskett’s home. (How emotionally intriguing it is to me that, as a teenager myself, and even before learning of Mom's skill in and love for her chosen instrument, the French horn had became one of my most favorite musical instruments.)

Due to her difficult circumstances, Mom never graduated from high school. Instead, she hit the road on her own somewhere around age 15 and began her life as a self-proclaimed vagabond. The following writing symbolizes very well, I think, the difficulties of Mom’s life on the road and outside the influence of loving ties with family and friends:

I was in Oakland, California on VJ day—the day the Japanese surrendered—and in New York City when the end of the war in Europe was celebrated. One birthday was celebrated somewhere in Wisconsin. Another in Santa Fe. I became hardened. People believed me when I passed as twenty-one. Then, after I finally tired of truck drivers and traveling on buses, I learned how to be a waitress in diners all over the country. Sometimes I would work a week or two, but always restless, I would move on. I felt lonely and desolate going from place to place. I reached in vain for some place to plant roots, for someone to love me; but love eluded me, and I would go on. Liquor became my friend. Drinking dulled the negative feelings. Sitting on a bar stool eased the feeling of isolation.

For most of her life, alcohol supposedly became my mother’s most cherished friend, though it betrayed and consumed her again and again and again. There are not enough words for the pain caused by this bitterest of enemies—in her own life—and in the lives of those who loved her, including me. Alcohol was a difficult adversary for her to overcome; but, in the last 10 years of her life she did overcome it, though the scars of years past remained in great measure. In spite of the grave difficulties of her life, and perhaps because of them as well, Mom did find meaning and purpose, and felt enough love and joy to know that God was with her and that he loved her.

During the summer of 1968, at the age of 40, Mom did an amazing thing: she earned her General Education Diploma! She then entered a junior college in September of that same year and began studying Psychology. Eventually, she earned her Bachelor’s degree in Sociology and had original plans to earn her Master’s as well, though that never did come to fruition.

Mom was a social worker for several years and loved all those she cared for very much. In fact, as a youngster of but nine years of age, I remember sometimes feeling jealous of the people she worked with—usually teens. However, even at my young age, I also figured out that working with all of these people who were but strangers to me was the one thing that held my mother together and that helped to keep her from drinking, so I just silently observed and never complained.

One of Mom's most cherished jobs was when she worked at a place called Pisano in Miami, Florida, where she was a live-in housemother for 47 troubled teenage boys, all between the ages of 11 and 18. She stayed there for close to two years when I was about 11 and 12 years old. They all called her “Mother” and loved her dearly. She needed that.

Mom walked tall. She was six feet most of her life. As a seven year-old, I remember jumping on the concrete wall of the Royal Castle hamburger joint in Key West, Florida, exclaiming, “I’m almost as tall as you!” She would laugh a little and I’d jump down. Upon serious reflection and all things considered, I’ve never really been sure if I’ve reached some of the heights she reached in life.

Before I was born, Mom married three times. After I was born, she married twice. She remained heartbroken all of her life over the loss of her second marriage with Morton Rosenzweig.

Prior to her first marriage in 1950, Mom did some very wild things that landed her in the Federal Reformatory for Women in Alderson, West Virginia, where a few notable bad-girl celebrities lived, to serve a sentence of one year and one day.

It was here that she knew Billie Holiday, the great black jazz singer, who lived in a segregated cottage on the far Eastside. It was here that she taunted Tokyo Rose, the WW II propaganda queen, who lived in the same cottage that Mom did. It was here that she was also befriended by Machine Gun Kelly’s wife, Katherine, who liked Mom and treated her like a kid sister—who gave her lipstick and sweets and food sneaked in from the kitchen, and who taught her little tricks in alteration.

It was also here that she experienced solitary confinement a few times, one of which followed a work assignment when the cottage matron ordered Mom to take steel wool and sandpaper to remove the finish from the front door, which was made of rich mahogany wood. Mom refused to do so. Said she:

“That door was so beautiful that I didn’t want it marred, and the matron had failed to tell me that, after I sanded, the finish would be restored to its natural beauty.”

So it is with the beauty of a soul.

Perhaps the beauty of my mother's soul has never been more fully developed than in her love for me, her only child. I have always felt her unconditional love. Always. Even during the last year of her life between 2001 and 2002, when all else seemed so unsteady about me, I knew her love was constant, and this knowledge strengthened me.

One of my favorite stories told by Mom is that of the day I was born. She said that Dr. Massey, her obstetrician, stated that there was a moment during childbirth when he almost lost her. Mom always chose to believe that he was speaking of the moment during delivery when, in her words, she “experienced a most peaceful, serene feeling of walking through a field of brilliant, blue [cornflowers].” How reluctant she was to leave that field, but after hearing my infant cries, she was soon fully back again in the delivery room.

Mom loved God’s creations, especially flowers and plants. Her apartment was filled with plants, some of which she attended to for coming on eight years. She also loved to cook and feed people, being innately generous with her food. Cooking and entertaining were among the greatest joys of her life—in latter years especially—for there was little else that she felt capable of doing for others. She never had much to her name—Never! But, what she had, she shared. I know God loves her much for this most natural of divine qualities.

Mom tackled crossword puzzles every day until the day of her stroke in April 2002, which helped to retain her high degree of intelligence to the very end. She appreciated the fine art of playing Scrabble, too, and cheated at it every sly chance she got. She was generally witty, which naturally attracted people to her throughout her life. And, how she enjoyed a good belly laugh! Amazingly, she had no problem retelling the same amusing anecdote several times over, so as to laugh just as hard at the last telling as she had at the first!

She was one of the biggest flirts you ever did see. In fact, during the last couple of weeks of her life in June 2002, she had to make another trip to the hospital. Even in her weakened condition, and after six days without food, she kept eying one young fireman about 28 years in age who worked with several others to transfer her from the nursing home to the hospital. She finally exclaimed to all present: “He’s cute!” This made everyone laugh and brought a soft blush to the fireman’s face.

Tenderhearted to an amazing degree, Mom cried sweet tears of love and compassion many, many times, as when reading messages of love in cards and letters, either those written to her or by her! She also cried when she was in a state of worry about sick friends, or even when a touching commercial was on. She was, in essence, one big blubbering boob. I think I inherited a little bit of the same from her.

Affectionately known as “Putt-Putt” by her friends at the Martin Luther King Apartments in Tucson, Arizona (for the scooter she rode everywhere she went), Mom became one of the landmark residents there during the last 10 years of her life. This place was one of the most stable and loving homes my mother ever knew. Faithful friendships were made and kept there. And, too, the spillover of love and affection from some of my own beloved friends poured through Mom's life and heart in such a way as to finally help her to find her emotional home. Constancy of love and affection for Mom finally, mercifully, rested with her in abundance as a senior adult.

I know that our Father in Heaven knows perfectly what it is that my mother faced in life. True, she made a series of poor choices to contribute to her difficulties over the course of her nearly 74 years, which also served to create a chasm in her own heart between her and God for much of that time. With empathy, though, I hope that we can all appreciate at least a little of how that kind of thing happens. I especially hope that we will all strive to ensure that a similar fate does not happen to us.

I remain most confident in the teaching that our Father—our most tender parent—will measure out the greatest amount of grace and mercy possible to give my mother (and each of us), as well as the least amount of justice necessary to address any wrongs committed in the flesh.

My mother, Yvonne, was refined symbolically by steel wool and sandpaper all of her days. She is as the choicest and richest of mahogany woods. The natural beauty of her soul is real and deep and eternal. It will be restored by the touch of the Master’s hand.

Rest in the knowledge of love abounding, dear Mother of mine. May it—“the Wind Beneath Your Wings”—carry you to eternal fields of brilliant, blue cornflowers—where I should like to embrace you again one day.

Happy Mother's Day.

"CIRCUS" - Original Song by Jonathan Thwaits

2010-04-24T01:55:00.012-07:00

This has become one of my all-time favorite songs. How happy I am to know the songwriter, Jonathan Thwaits. Thank you, Jon, for such a song as this.

Jon says that this is "a song I wrote about expectations and dealing with them not being realized." True it is that such unrealized dreams can engender profound sadness. Still, what of hope? Hope in yourself and your mettle? Hope in your talent and potential? Hope in God?
And, what of choice? Choosing to not remain downtrodden? Choosing to reinvent yourself if need be? Choosing to fight? What of all that?

Yeah.
Don't give up. Don't give in.

You'll be all right.

CIRCUS

Jonathan Thwaits

You’re too old to join the circus as a runaway teen.
Too young to turn the engine off and let it be.
You set out to meet this weary world with fearlessness.
But, you never thought that life would turn out such a mess.
So what can you do when the world says you’re through?
What can you do?

It feels like Summer’s getting hotter every year.
And, funny how your childhood friends all disappear.
You had plans for all the seven kids you never had.
Dry your eyes and tell yourself it’s not so bad.
But, what can you do when the world says you’re through?
What can you do?

You wish you could stand right up again,
And grab it by the reins,
And hear somebody say:
"I’m gonna be right by your side tonight."
But, every time you cried and you wondered why you were so alone
Didn’t you know that it doesn’t have to be so.

Well, you could fill the sea with troubles that you’ve known.
So, write them in the storybooks and let them go.
And, then, with pen and paper that you’ve got in hand.
Write a different tune and give it to the band!

So, now at the helm of a ship going down—
Don’t stop the fight!
Just lift up your eyes
And look to the sky.

You’ll be all right.
Be all right.

Skinhorse Poetry: "The Empty Chair"

2010-03-17T23:10:00.006-07:00

Large.
Rich in color.
Strong back.
Arms to support.
Residing place.
Presiding place.
Place of honor.
Place of grace.
Not unlike other
Chairs beside it.
And yet —
Yes, different.

Empty now.

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Written during the funeral of President Gordon B. Hinckley, 15th President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, on 2 Feb 2008.

That Ol' Fam Damily! Winnie Laura Dragoo

2010-03-13T21:17:00.062-07:00

Winnie Laura Dragoo is my maternal great-grandmother. I have tremendous respect for her. Though she bore significant hardships in life, she seemed to have done so with much strength and love. I hope that, somehow, I might have acquired some of the same genes which were reflected in her general character.

Winnie and her sibling, Andrew, were born in the home of their austere-looking maternal grandparents, Nathaniel Wheeler Tobey and Winnie Adeline Dennis, in the Oakalla/Copperas Cove area of Burnet County, Texas.

This was the same home that her mother, Melvina Tobey, was born. The stone house was built in 1885 by Nathaniel, being made of "Austin cut stone" (so emphasized by my great aunt, Elba Hollon Hunter), and still stands today across the road from the Tobey Cemetery. I personally touched the stones of this house back in 2001 while on a 2-week family history adventure through Texas and Oklahoma. It was thrilling!

Nathaniel Wheeler Tobey was an owner of slaves in that area, and he used them to clear trees from a significant portion of land that he owned in the nearby Lampasas Valley. I viewed this piece of land myself and considered the heavy price paid by those slaves. The land there is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen; how tragic that it should be marred by human servitude. In prayer, whilst gazing upon that valley, I sought to honor the strength and fortitude of those slaves and hoped that the land might be considered a sacred monument to their many deprivations in life.

The Tobey family is from England, having sailed to the Sandwich Isles in the early 1600s. (They have some kind of ties to the Mayflower that I still have to sort out). The Dennis family descends from Ireland. Winnie Laura's father, Andrew Crawford Dragoo, is of French descent. Eventually, the Dragoo family ties to the religiously persecuted French Huguenots and King Louis XIV's Royal Navy, which one of my ancestors reportedly deserted by jumping ship.

Unfortunately, little is known of Winnie's life as a child or youth. While still a teenager, she taught school in the Oakalla, Burnet County, Texas area before marrying Edward Jesse Hollon in 1896 just before her 18th birthday.

Winnie's wedding dress was lovingly made by her mother, Melvina. The photo of Winnie here shows her in that very dress. White lace was probably not considered very practical for life in the Texas plains in the late 1800s.

From Oakalla in Burnet County, the family traveled east to Cameron in Milam County so that the wedding might be legally licensed at the nearest courthouse. Afterward, Edward and Winnie enjoyed a three-month honeymoon in a covered wagon -- hunting, fishing, and camping along the Brazos River. They then settled into farming to make their living together.

Winnie and Edward were married for 21 years before melanoma cancer of the face took Edward's life. During that time, they deeply loved and adored one another and had nine children together, including Redell who was born 21 days after the death of his father in 1917. (Click here to read my story about Edward and the great care Winnie offered him prior to his death.)

Being left alone to struggle with the raising of six of the nine children led to difficult times. In that fateful year of 1917, Inez (age 19) was wed, less than two months before her father's death. J.D. (17), or "Bud" as he was called, either took care of himself or helped with the family's income. Bonnie (15) had already been living on her own for about a year and was later married for the first time at age 16. That left Winnie with MayDell (13), Lois (10), Helen (8), Tooter (6), Elba (2), and her infant son, Redell. By all appearances, she was very much loved by each of her children.

Following Edward's death, Winnie sold the two-story family dwelling in Velasco, Texas. Over the next few years, she moved her family within Texas from Velasco to Sweeney and later to Alvin. She then moved again to Wichita Falls and back again to Alvin, where she apparently bought another home. Possibly between these latter two moves, Winnie Laura married Jack R. Lane in Wichita Falls in July 1922 (five years after the death of her beloved Edward). Due to Jack's stingy and intimidating nature, the marriage was short-lived.

The 1930 Census reveals that Winnie, at age 51, owned her own home (worth about $2000) and was the manager of a poultry farm! She was still raising the youngest two of her nine children at the time -- Elba (15) and Redell (12). Winnie also maintained her profession as a nurse for 40 years.

In 1942, Winnie moved to Corpus Christi, Texas. One known address is 2918 Koepke Street, which I attempted to visit back in 2001. Unfortunately, the house no longer stands.

Winnie and mother, Melvina.

They seem to have been quite tickled about something in this photo.

Winnie in later years, standing in the cellar of the old Tobey homestead
where she, her brother, Andrew, and her mother, Melvina, were all born.

Winnie wrote the following creed in 1957, which had apparently guided her for many years:

My motto.

I don't worry about yesterday.
It's gone.
I don't worry about today.
I don't have time.
I don't worry about tomorrow.
That's gambling.
I can't live yesterday over and I can't live tomorrow today,
but I can be careful what I think and say.

Laura Hollon

Winnie was more commonly referred to as Laura throughout much of her life. In fact, her gravestone reads Laura Winnie Lane. However, her probate birth record lists her name as Winnie Laura Dragoo, as attested by her own mother, Melvina Tobey Amos.

Winnie is buried next to her namesake, daughter Lois Laura (my grandmother), in Grand Prairie, Texas. Lois preceded her mother in death by 7-1/2 years. Thus, it was by total coincidence that the last available burial plot in the open section of the cemetery was located next to Lois, which the family gratefully assumed for their beloved mother in 1964 when she died at the age of 86.

My only possessions of Winnie. Two shoes, one porcelain and one pewter,
which Winnie had among her collection of little shoes, handed down to her youngest daughter, Elba (my great aunt), and then from Elba to me.
And, a five-year diary, given to me by Aunt Juanita, one of Mom's sisters. (Click to enlarge image.)

Here is my ancestral line of women following maternal ties back to my 3rd great-grandmother. They are as follows, left-to-right: Winnie Adeline DENNIS, Melvina TOBEY Dragoo Amos, Winnie Laura DRAGOO Hollon Lane, Lois Laura HOLLON Plaskett, Yvonne Derelys PLASKETT Hancock Sylvester (nevermind the rest of her names), and me -- Jacqueline Joyce HANCOCK.

The Process of Prayer

2010-02-28T17:07:00.039-07:00

The following is an excerpt from one of my journal entries written over 5,000 moons ago. It continues to be relevant to my experiences of today. How funny that we should continue to face some of the same lessons at different seasons in our lives.

A friend of mine asked me to lunch and shared her concerns about wanting to do what the Lord wanted her to do--not wishing to make changes because of her need for change only. She had prayed for new challenges before work that particular day and promised that, whatever it was, she would be up to it. Then, as soon as she got to work, she had a voice mail message from a guy in another area of the state who was trying to put a team together to set out for a new venture with a different focus.

My friend was amazed and wondered if it were just a coincidence or not. I said that it probably didn't matter. She said it did, though, because if it were really Heavenly Father trying to tell her something, that she should pay more attention. And, if he gave her a confirmation of where she should be heading, then--when things got rough--she could have confidence that everything would work out fine.

I then found myself just restating the idea that it probably did not matter much whether or not the call about the job were a coincidence. I said I didn't really think it mattered much to the Lord whether she had this job, or that. In the true perspective of the Lord, what matters most is the process of learning to more reliant upon the Lord in finding out what His will is for us.

I spoke aloud thoughts that I had never thought before. Then, I suggested that she make her prayers more specific and diligent. "Specific?" she asked. Yes. Sometimes, the words of our prayers are so generic that they can refer to our jobs one day and our callings the next. Also, in being diligent in prayer, I suggested that the prayer be offered more than every few days and that it be offered in the spirit of fasting and prayer. Not that fasting actually need be done (though it would be to her advantage); rather, that an attitude of prayer and fasting be developed. When we are fasting, we are almost constantly aware of our needs and we seek to have the help of God in fulfilling them. Such reliance upon the Lord must be developed in our everyday lives.

These words which flowed through me may have become a partial answer to her prayers for increased understanding. As pertaining to entirely separate events of the day that I was experiencing on a personal level myself, these words most certainly became an answer to mine.

When seeking answer to prayer, I have always been one to have "good feelings" about one thing or another--nothing astoundingly positive nor disconcerting--just enough to cause me to continue moving towards the goal. Drawing from my own experience, common sense, and already set strengths and capabilities, I have made and carried out decisions for my life. Though I pray often about such decisions, rarely am I moved about by the assurance of direct, unmistakable answer to prayer. Most of the time, anyway, I am okay with that.

I know that God does hear and answers my prayers. But, it remains for me that the clearest part in finding answers to prayer is to brave the process of the search until a more sure reliance upon the Lord is developed. Then--then, the answers will become more apparent.

For more thorough and inspired thoughts on the subject, read or watch Elder Richard G. Scott's March 2007 Conference Address, Using the Supernal Gift of Prayer. For the written address, click here. For the broadcast address, click here.

My Gospel Self-Portrait

2010-02-07T23:36:00.005-07:00

Click drawing to enlarge

In August 2006, I started doodling. Well, that's what I thought I was doing, anyway: drawing a couple of expressions of some gospel-centered themes in my life. As I drew, though, I realized that a good part of my heart's experience over the course of years of study and pondering was being captured here. Amazingly, and much to my delight, I found that these expressions filled an entire sheet by the time I was done.

Oh, it is not possible to translate all the fine details behind the drawings and words. Besides, there are a number of personal stories associated with these images that increase the depth of what is immediately apparent. But if you, the reader, really wanted to know even a portion of what has touched and remained with me, you would get some solid clues from this drawing and from studying the scriptures related to them. If the circumstances were right between us, we might visit another time together in person and fill in some of the more endearing details.

More than have you study me, however, I thought the sharing of my drawing -- or, as I have entitled it -- "My Gospel Self Portrait" might perhaps inspire you to draw your own: a menagerie of gospel themes that pulse through your spiritual life stream currently. Time may change some of those elements in future years as it so often does with other things. For now, though, what spiritual themes occupy your mind and heart? Don't worry about your own art skills, either. That's not really the important part anyway. Just exploring and expressing ideas through a creative medium like this invigorates the soul! I hope you will take up the challenge.

Humanitarian Donations for Haiti and Elsewhere

2010-02-01T10:57:00.008-07:00

Emergency room at Sacred Heart Central Hospital in Port-au-Prince, Haiti.
© Jeffrey D. Allred, Deseret News

Humanitarian Services

The need continues.

For those of you who may not know, I just thought I would make you aware of our Church's website for making donations to Haiti and elsewhere: those areas with the greatest need for humanitarian services.

Please note that 100% of the funds donated are directed towards humanitarian efforts. ZERO funds are diverted for administrative costs. Our Church has long been depended upon and respected as a partner in humanitarian relief the world over. I hope that you will be able to entrust your dollars to them as they continue to serve those most in need.

Please share this link with your family and friends.

"Need" - Original Song by Jonathan Thwaits

2010-01-24T09:55:00.003-07:00

Many moons ago, I worked more particularly with an extraordinary group of young women in my ward in Tucson. First, I was blessed to be their Sunday School teacher; and when that class completed the year, I was called to be Laurel Advisor to this same group of wonderful gals. I became quite close to most of them. Connections formed with these young sisters of mine have kept my heart and mind grounded through the years.

One of these former young women of mine is Marisa. At the time, Marisa's last name was Henderson. Marisa has always struck me as being a most sensitive soul: reflective, down-to-earth, willing and ready to sacrifice, slow to anger and judgment, a peacemaker, a loyal friend, and a romantic. In high school, she was also one of those stand out kind of gals in that she wore clothes that highlighted her as an individual, rather than just conform to the fashion norms. Marisa was Alternative Rock, when Alternative Rock wasn't cool.

Marisa ended up marrying this guy with an oddly-spelled last name whom I never knew: Jonathan Thwaits. For years, I didn't even know how to pronounce that name, and was rather challenged to not do painful somersaults when my tongue stuck to the sidewalk during the attempted roll of the "Th" part of the name. As in THUD! Come to find out, you just drop the "h"-sound altogether. You sound it out like waits, but you put the big, bold "T" ahead of the wait. As it should be. Marisa always has been amazingly patient, yet incredibly bold at the same time. It makes sense that she would not only find a guy who suits her in so many compatible ways, but that she would find a guy with a last name that fits her personality, too.

Well, just like Marisa, her guy Jonathan has turned out to be quite a winner in my book. Unpretentious, intelligent as all get out, playful, a dreamer with enough steady grounding to provide lovingly for his family while reaching for those dreams, a creative genius, and a soulful musician. Through his music, I've come to admire the man that Jonathan is.

I have likewise been lifted up in spirit and continuing hope for the future of my former young woman, Marisa. Yes, even as her blog title declares, All Good Things Come to Them that Thwaits. She has made me a believer.

Here is one of Jon's original songs entitled, "Need." This one touches me on a personal level and fits the theme of my own blog, Becoming Skinhorse, so I gladly include it here. I hope you enjoy it and end up checking out some of his other songs, too. He actually has his own blog with more of his original music. But, for now . . . I hope you will enjoy this one at least half as much as I have.

Taking Risks

2010-01-21T20:28:00.022-07:00

To laugh is to risk being a fool.

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out to another is to risk involvement.

To express feelings is to risk exposing your true self.

To place your ideas, your dreams, before a crowd is to risk their loss.

To love is to risk not being loved in return.

To live is to risk dying.

To hope is to risk despair.

To try is to risk failure.

The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, and is nothing. They may avoid suffering and sorrow, but they simply cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love, or live. Risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. Only a person who risks is free.

- Leo Buscaglia

As a high school Junior, I lived in Sierra Vista, Arizona and was enrolled in Buena High School. (Well, truthfully, as a Junior, I was enrolled in high schools four different times: in Tucson first, then Sierra Vista, then Safford, then back again to Sierra Vista. These moves all followed on the heels of two high school enrollments in 9th grade and five more in 10th grade. Mom wanted to move yet again just before the end of my 11th grade year, but I glued my feet to the floor and basically said, "You go; I'm staying." Oh, but I digress.) I managed to stay in Sierra Vista my entire Senior year and ended up graduating from Buena.

I was blessed to have an extraordinary teacher while at Buena: Dixi Dougherty. We all called her Ms. D for short. She loved her students and loved teaching, and it was part of her natural teaching style to regularly share profound quotes and other significant ideas. The above quote by Leo Buscaglia is one that I remember her having shared during my high school years when I was taking her Psychology, Sociology, and U.S. Constitution classes. I found it refreshing that her teaching style did not change despite the fact that the subjects were so different from one another.

I think some of the key gifts I received from Ms. D were her consistent messages about mankind's need for one another, our humanness, and just simple validation that the emotional patterns already apparent in my young life made sense and were worth something. I dared to vulnerably share a few things when I was young. I risked my heart. She offered safety and understanding as I did so, and greatly enlarged my vision of self-worth and worth to others whom I might encounter in future days.

So, over the years, I've continued to do my share of risking in different ways, just as Leo Buscaglia and Ms. D counseled. I've been able to discern reactions to me and my willingness to risk from several souls, too. Those reactions have run the gamut—everything from downright suspicion, fear, and rejection to whole-hearted acceptance and love. Because of the tangible pain repeatedly handed me as I have dared to risk, I have been tempted to mind my emotional Ps and Qs, to conform more, to blend in, to fade out. But, the strongest part of my inner self continues to teach me, even scold me, saying, "Such thinking is not right. Keep going. Keep trying. Keep sharing."

A few good handfuls of people along the way have spoken words to this general effect after observing me in action a little while: "Jacki, I just don't know how you can do and say some of the things you do and say. I would be scared to death. I could never do that. How do you?" A lot of times, I have to ask for more specifics, because I just can't quite grasp what they are referencing. Once they tell me, I am usually rather surprised that the particulars are such a big deal to the person.

As it turns out, the more critical and worthwhile question is one that I might ask them! "How do you NOT say and do some of these things?" It makes a whole lot more sense to me that we seek to allow the best parts of ourselves breathe free—even in the face of potential pain—rather than allow ourselves to be stifled, muffled, and even suffocated by real or portended fears. Much more comes of life as we do so, especially when there are loved ones by our side to steadily share in the journey.

Click here for more wisdom on the subject:
"Our Deepest Fear" - (April 18, 2009)

Who Do You Tell Your Stories To?

2010-01-21T14:38:00.005-07:00

I just watched the movie "Catch and Release" for the first time the other night. It wasn't a great movie at all. I would never watch it again and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone, even though there were a few good scenes of moral and emotional value. I feel compelled to write about it, though, because for me, one scene in particular was most profound, due to my own personal circumstances. Yet, it came and went so quickly that I really wonder how many other people caught onto the significance of what was being shared between the two main characters.

Don't you get lonely?
    Right now? No.

But, who do you tell your stories to?
    I guess I keep them to myself.

That's a tragedy.
    Yeah.

That's part of the problem that I have: no one to tell my stories to. Well, I shouldn't say NO ONE. That's not really an absolute. There will always be a trusted friend here and there, or a teaching or speaking situation may arise once in a while. But, mostly, I end up keeping my stories to myself. And yes, that is a tragedy.

Some measure of my stories will continue to be revealed through this blog. But any rationally thinking and feeling person should be able to comprehend the limitations and effectiveness of such a medium, so there remains a certain level of frustration for me, for there is much that I could share, given the right mix of circumstances, but can't.

What is also frustrating, though, is that I have a sense that there are a lot of others out there who have rich potential in their lives for sharing with loved ones around them, but who won't. It is just too hard for them to risk their hearts. Or, pride gets in the way. Or, they get busy. Or, or, or . . . so many . . . too many. So, they don't tell their stories, either.

And that — that is one of the greatest tragedies of all.

Skinhorse Poetry: "The Sand of God’s Grace and Genius"

2010-01-18T01:19:00.024-07:00

Quiet solitude, joyful rest,
Reveal the genius and the grace
Of Him who always loves me best,
Who moves the pallor from my face;

And touches me, a trav'ling soul,
With faith and fortitude aright
To reach beyond the shallow shoal,
Lending strength for the mortal fight—

Pressing me toward higher spheres
Where compassion doth overtake
All company of bitter tears,
Offering healing for my sake.

Heartened, take I Gilead's Balm:
Similitude of Sacrifice.
Caress hope in another's palm—
Deliv'rance from a wound-filled life.

Persuaded through that gentle touch,
Love undulates till ocean's end.
Dearth's want collapses under such.
Breadth, length, depth, height doth it transcend.

Now, truth prevails and is prolonged
In this wanderer come home to see;
God's grace and genius, like the sand,
Flows, unmeasured, in one like me.

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Skinhorse Poetry: "The Path to Love"

2010-01-03T23:00:00.016-07:00

Should love's limits
be defined
to exacting perimeters
so cautiously placed
by those who
fear
to search deeper,
reach farther,
risk more,
so that their hearts
might hurt less
in their so-called quest?

And in the discovery
of new love,
must there be
edges marked
and barriers raised
to show
only
the trodden path
where love's carefully
sowed garden ends
and unseen wildflowers
begin?

What shall it be then?
To keep the
respectful distance
and leave to imagination
where limits,
if there be any,
may lie?

Or defy
definitions
of love's limitations,
and challenge the distance--
believing,
and understanding also,
that only in the
stepping over of edges
and sharing of that which is
untrodden
does the truer path
to love
set in?

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

A Blanket and a Comforter, Too

2009-12-27T16:38:00.015-07:00

On December 23rd, I was blessed to enjoy the overnight company of one of my beloved former young women, Jennifer, and her three children, Samantha, Harry, and Preston. As we visited, the children asked why I didn't have a Christmas tree up in my house. I pointed out that, in fact, I had two trees! After taking another quick look around my front room, the children were clearly perplexed.

Within moments, I pointed to both trees, placed on tables, being approximately one foot in height. For some reason, the children did not really accept these as being real Christmas trees and asked why I didn't have a real one that was all decorated and everything. I tried to be funny about things by insisting that they were real enough. "Why, looky here! This tree even has presents under it!" And then I lifted it up, placed a box full of presents on the table, and lowered the tree to literally sit on top of my presents.

They still didn't buy it.

Talk finally turned to my being "poor" as the reason why I didn't have a real tree after I explained that because of my having been laid-off from work seven months up to that point, I just simply couldn't afford a tree this year like I could other years. I think they tried to understand, but I doubt that they really did. A few shrugs of the emotional shoulders and closings of open jaws, and we were finally ready to select and watch a movie. It took a while.

As it turned out, young Samantha got settled in my bed to watch my "so desperately tragic" (as she put it) Becoming Jane movie on her personal DVD player, whilst the rest of us acquiesced to rough it up with Invincible, rather than with one of the more rowdy Indiana Jones series in the front room. Samantha just could not understand how her brothers would not benefit from and actually enjoy watching Becoming Jane. Oh, I dunno. I guess it must just be a guy thing.

Before Sam started her movie, I asked her if she were ready to have the comforter, too, in addition to the blanket she was already under.

"You have a comforter, too?!?" she asked incredulously.
"Yep." came my quick reply.
"Wow, Jacki! Well, you are FAR from poor if you have a comforter, too!"

I just smiled without a little, and within a lot, as I thought of her simple faith and childlike perspective, as I fluffed the comforter over the bed, making sure to get Sam all snuggly underneath it. Hah! If she only knew how old that comforter is, I thought to myself. It's not like I just purchased it.

But, what a lesson! I really am far from poor if I have my Comforter, too!

16 And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;
17 Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.
18 I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.
. . . . .
25 These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you.
26 But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.
27 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 14:16-27)

And so it is that during times of joblessness, of financial struggle, of emotional distress of varying weights and circumstances, and through all other trials which cannot possibly be enumerated here, it is critical that we all that surround ourselves and get snuggly with this Comforter. For it is this Comforter who brings goodness, love, and hope to our remembrance. He chases away fear and doubt. He warms our very souls and somehow helps us to do the same for those around us who are even more poor, or who are feeling more poorly than we are. And really--when we have this Comforter, we truly are FAR from being poor.

As the little girl, Virginia, once received the fabled testimony of Santa Claus, so do I now unfold similar sentiments, though on a higher and most true plane:

Yes, Samantha . . . there really is a Comforter . . . and He is ours.

Emotional Intelligence Improves Relationships

2009-12-16T11:50:00.000-07:00

Emotional Intelligence Improves Relationships

Click on the link above to be taken to a great resource.

Emotional Intelligence teaches you how to tap into the power of your emotions and use them to enhance your relationships, your career, and your self-confidence. It will also help you overcome stress, anxiety, and depression.

Cathedral Builders

2009-12-13T23:31:00.002-07:00

To all of God's loving cathedral builders out there . . . "With admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."

What Child Is This?

2009-12-06T20:37:00.017-07:00

Of all the times that I love to sing, Christmas is my favorite. From the time that I was a young girl in school, my heart filled with joy and understanding as I learned to sing the songs of Christ. In fact, one of my fondest memories takes me back to the day that my fifth grade class was preparing to put on a Christmas play of sorts and the feelings that overcame me as I joined with them in singing and moving about the stage.

Teachers were careful to concentrate more on the technical aspects of the play's production, rather than emphasizing the meaning behind some of the Christmas songs we sang. And, since I didn't have much of a religious upbringing in my home life, I was pretty much left on my own to discover what it was that we were all singing about.

During a dress rehearsal, the stage lights were brought down low, and we all joined our voices in asking:

What child is this, who, laid to rest
On Mary's lap, is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?

The Arrival of the Shepherds, by Henri Lerolle.
The original is in the Musee des Beaux-Arts in Carcassone, France.

I will never forget the feelings that enveloped me when, as we began to sound the reply to our own question, the Spirit of God lit my heart with understanding. To my young voice and ignorant heart, maturity and strength of conviction were given, and I was literally moved to tears as the message of the Christ Child sunk deep into my soul:

This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing:
Haste, haste to bring him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary!

The Spirit taught me that day, and many days thereafter, helping me draw closer to Christ and to know His name, though it would be many years before I would be able to gain a fuller understanding of His Gospel and an ability to bear witness of its truthfulness to others.

Now, with a fonder appreciation of His Gospel, I continue to sing. As I do, my hope is that others will, through the Spirit, likewise come to understand the miraculous nature of Christ's birth and life, and to feel wondrous gratitude for all that His life promises us.

So bring Him incense, gold, and myrrh,
Come peasant king to own Him,
The King of kings, salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.

Raise, raise the song on high,
The Virgin sings her lullaby:
Joy, joy, for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary!

Skinhorse Music

2009-12-04T14:17:00.005-07:00

Some of you may have noticed that a few blogs these days no longer allow YouTube embeds to play, nor for Playlist.com music links to function. Unless and until I learn of a solution to this problem, I thought I would extend an invitation to any persons still interested in hearing my little collection of music (42 songs currently) to just send me a note.

While this menagerie of music resonates with messages that have brought me and others hope; or an extra measure of love; or which just may simply emotionally capture some of the more poignant, unspeakable yearnings of the heart--the blend is not enjoyable to everyone, and might even be annoying to some. Still, if there are any who would like a link to the music, let me know. Either send me your your email address in a note, or leave it in a post. I will email the invitation from Playlist.com. That's the only way the music can be shared at this time.

And for those of you who are wondering . . . I'm still working on drafting other possible postings. It has just been a tough year. My silence reflects some of this.

Use It Or Lose It

2009-10-21T18:26:00.001-07:00

This is basically a post to show Blogger that I am "active" so that they won't randomly decide to delete my account. The reality is, though, that I don't feel very much like sharing anything new. Is that bad?
Yes . . . I am a horrible person. Admit it.

Tell you what. If I think of something soon, I'll be back soon. If not, I'll be back less than soon, but hopefully not too much longer than a while from now . . . whatever that means.

Infinite Power of Hope

2009-09-17T09:51:00.021-07:00

It was a particularly difficult period. One whom I deeply love was waning. This October 2008 General Conference would prove instrumental and timely in ushering forth words of hope, comfort, and poignant counsel. During the closing address of the first session of Saturday conference, these grand words were spoken by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf:

And to all who suffer—to all who feel discouraged, worried, or lonely—I say with love and deep concern for you, never give in.

Never surrender.

Never allow despair to overcome your spirit.

Embrace and rely upon the Hope of Israel, for the love of the Son of God pierces all darkness, softens all sorrow, and gladdens every heart.

CLICK HERE FOR FULL CONFERENCE ADDRESS

Gratefully, this Hope — this Love — provided a lifeline when darkness dared to completely suffocate one whom I love. Hope has done the same for me many times. Why not for you? Why not for us all . . . again?

That Ol' Fam Damily! JD Hollon

2009-09-09T22:29:00.006-07:00

JD Hollon was born 30 March 1900 in Rogers, Bell, Texas. The first-born son of Edward Jesse Hollon, JD was apparently named after his grandfather, James Deborah Holland--symbolically, at least. Fortunately, the feminine name Deborah never stuck with JD. In fact, the simplicity of those apparent initials were his full legal name!

JD is what appeared on census records. JD is the name he used to enlist for the draft during WW I. JD is what everyone called him, unless they used his nickname "Bud." (Everyone, that is, except his wife, Lillian, who must not have liked the idea of using initials for a name. She decided his name should be Jack, and she was the only one who ever called him that.)

During WW I in 1918

JD was my great uncle, meaning that he was the brother of my grandmother Lois. And while I've never met him, I feel particularly drawn to him for a variety of reasons.

First, I have just always had an impression that he was a good kid, which led to him becoming a good man. Just the fact that JD went around life being called "Bud" says alot to me. If he were a stinker, he couldn't possibly have earned the respect of the masses in being afforded the privilege of being called "Bud."

Secondly, my heart tells me that he was very much like his father, Edward Jesse Hollon: industrious and hard-working; loving, kind, and affectionate as a husband; a helpful companion; playful and strong as a father and provider; and not given to endless self-pity or ridicule of self or others.

Third, during interviews with my great Aunt Elba (JD's youngest sister), I could just see her sparkle at the mention of his name and the recollection of memories involving him. She was about 15 or 16 when he died, so it's not like she was too young to recall anything. Elba just simply adored JD, and by the way she told things, you could almost feel the excitement still lingering in the air from when JD was around all those years ago. People just really thought he was something else.

And, finally, I've simply had a spiritual tugging at me to pay attention to JD. It's never been anything grandiose. Never any whistles or papers flying. Never any dreams. Just some warm feelings continuing to fill me through the years, along with gentle, persistent reminders of the few images I've been given of the family JD left behind while in his prime.

It was the 10th of March 1931 in Houston, Texas. JD was nearly 31 years old.

A brief newspaper clip tells the story:

". . . J. D. Holland, truck driver of Alvin, who was fatally injured Tuesday morning when his truck was hit by a Missouri Pacific passenger train on St. Emmanuel, near Texas. Holland died Tuesday afternoon in St. Joseph's infirmary. Holland was caught in the wreckage of his truck when it was hit by Missouri Pacific train No. 9, fast train from New Orleans. The train was backing into the station at a slow rate of speed."

The Houston Chronicle, Vol. 30, No. 149, pg. 1, Col. 5, and pg. 16, Col. 7. Wed., March 11, 1931. Repository: Houston Public Library, 500 McKinney, Houston, Texas 77002.

That's all that was said. More details were given to the disposition of the train than to JD. Within hours, the glorious boy who turned into a such a promising man was gone, and the remaining wreckage was emotionally incalculable.

A few years before he died, JD married Lillian Brooks and had two little boys. The first one was named Jack and the other was named Billy. Both grew to live full, long lives. Jack was 86 when he finally passed away in 2007; Billy was 79 when he died in 2001. No doubt, they longed for their father and what could have been but wasn't--some days more than others--during all those many years of living. Lillian, too, must have ached for her husband, lost after far too few years together.

Well, this week, I hope to have all of the temple ordinances completed for JD's little family. Without question, these eternal sealings and meetings transcend our earthly understanding. Still, I just have to imagine that however things really transpire in the heavens above and around us, the full family reunion and celebration of the JD Hollon family will be mighty sweet. I am glad to finally be a lasting part of it all.

That Ol' Fam Damily! Edward Jesse Hollon

2009-09-09T16:55:00.023-07:00

Edward Jesse Hollon was my maternal great-grandfather. Facts about the early beginnings of his life are quite varied. The date seems to be clear enough: 6 Feb 1876. However, some sources state he was born in Alabama; others say Texas. Some say his father was born in Georgia; others say North Carolina. At least one report states that Edward was christened Baptist and that his father, James Deborah Holland (note spelling variation) was a plantation owner who brought his family to Texas when Edward was about six months old. While evidence of the nationality of James Deborah Holland has not yet been found, the last name strongly suggests his heritage. It is also said that Edward's mother, Martha Kinsel, was Pennsylvania Dutch.

As a young adult, Edward may have been a sharecropper. After marrying in the fall of 1896 at age 20, it is believed Edward and his nearly 18 year-old bride, Winnie Laura Dragoo (known just as Laura to most), resided for a few years in Temple, Bell, Texas.

Their Wedding Day

16 September 1896 - Cameron, Texas

In the late 1800s and early 1900s, rice was a dependable cash crop in Louisiana and Texas. Sometime in the early 1900s, Edward left his former living of picking cotton (possibly with Laura) and earned the position of Superintendent of the Kinchelo Irrigation Company in Wharton County, Texas. There, the Colorado River splits the towns of Wharton and Glen Flora, both of which are among birthplaces listed for a number of the children. Edward and his young family traveled from Texas to Louisiana sometime between March 1900 and June 1902, but only stayed for a short period before returning to Texas again.

Edward was Superintendent of the Kinchelo Irrigation Company
in Wharton County, Texas around the early 1900s.
There, the Colorado River splits the towns of Wharton and Glen Flora.

Winnie Laura Dragoo Hollon and Edward Jesse Hollon,
still very much in love.
They look to be in their mid- to late-30s.

While in Louisiana, the third child born to Edward and Laura was Bonnie Melvina (named after Laura's mother, Melvina). All eight of the other nine children were born in Texas. As Elba Hollon Hunter humorously recalls, in social circles, Bonnie often proudly revealed her uniqueness in being born in Crowley, Louisiana. (Apparently, Crowley, Louisiana was a booming area during this period. In fact, Dragoo and Tobey family lines are tied to Crowley along with the Hollon line.)

All Nine Hollon Children

(1) Olma Inez (1898–1992)
(2) J.D., or "Bud" (1900–1931)
(3) Bonnie Melvina (1902–1985)
(4) MayDell Jesse (1904–1990)
(5) Lois Laura (1907–1957) - MY GRANDMOTHER
(6) Helen Lucille (1909–2003)
(7) Edward A.C., or "Tooter" (1911–1995)
(8) Elba Genevieve (1915 – )
(9) Redell Pierce (1917–1993)

In addition to the areas lived in as noted by the children's birthplaces, Helen Hollon Andrews states that the family lived and schooled in Velasco, Texas while her father worked as Superintendent of the Freeport sulfur mines. (Edward's son, J.D., also worked at the mines during this period.) Considered part of the middle class at the time, the family rented a two-story, eleven-room home and is said to have purchased one of the first line of Ford cars built.

Referencing the period before Edward Jesse Hollon's death, daughter Helen states that her father was one day pumping water from the well near the family's house when the handle flew up and hit him in the lip. The lip did not heal, which prompted Edward to pursue medical advice and attention from a nearby doctor. He was sent to Marlin, Texas to seek relief for the injury through hot mineral bath treatments at the Majestic BathHouse Sanatorium and Hot Well Pavilion. Unfortunately, the treatments were taken to no avail.

While at the Sanatorium, Edward wrote the following to Laura in a letter:

Marlin, Texas

January 3, 1917

Well my dear darling wife will drop you a few lines this morning to let you know how I am. I thought I would have got a letter from you this morning but did not get one this morning so will write you a few words and am sorry to say I am worse dear. I have to get operated on this evening. I think it is the only thing I can do. I am getting worse all the time. I can't sleep no more and am suffering death darling. I hate to write this to you but you said to tell you the truth but don't you be uneasy. I think it will be alright. When you go to bed tonight kneel down on your loving knees and ask the good Lord to help us darling. If you can pay day you had better send me a little more money for my money is getting low. Don't discourage the children. Try and show them the bright side all the time for I think I will be alright. Now darling I can't write much this morning. I feel so bad. I will try and write more next time. Maybe I will feel better then darling. Write to me often if I don't write. You don't know how proud I am to get your letter from home darling. You would not hardly know me I am so poor. I don't think I would weigh 140 pounds. I hate to look in the glass. Well I had better not tell you anything else for I know you have got enough to bother you now. Well I will have to close with a sad heart. Write soon and a long letter to your poor afflicted boy. Kiss them darling children for me and goodbye until we meet again and may God be with you all is my prayer.

E. J. H.

Edward also sought medical attention from the reputed Scott and White hospital in Temple, Texas. There, he learned that the freak accident with the pump was the unfortunate beginning of melanoma cancer of the face. Within the next ten months or so, cancer spread from his lip and ate much of his face, including his eyes, cheeks, and nose. Only his jawbone remained substantive.

Laura cared for him constantly. As Edward loved his children and wished to visit with them, Laura carefully worked to make him presentable by placing cotton in the cavities of his face.

Finally, at the age of 41, Edward died. The date was 2 November 1917. Twenty-one days later, Laura gave birth to their last son, Redell Pierce Hollon.

Laura and her two youngest children, Elba and Tooter, traveled by train to attend Edward's funeral. Inez tried to make it in time, but weather and/or a washed-out bridge prevented her attendance. (Inez, age 19, was still newly wed to Pierce Barrow at the time of her father's death.) It appears that not all of the children were able to make the trip, most likely because of the difficulty and expense of travel in those days.

Edward is buried in South Elm Cemetery near Buckholts, Texas, just west of C.R. 116 on 166A. The gravestones of James Deborah Holland and Edward Jesse Hollon stand tall at the front of the cemetery like sentinels. Edward's white gravestone is a "Woodsman of the World" marker and looks like a tree.

Postscript: Back in 2001, I made a family history trek through Texas and Oklahoma that lasted about two weeks. On a particular Friday, I spent an enormous amount of time researching the area where the Tobey homestead and cemetery are located. As a result, I lost some much needed time to travel some 1.5 hours to the Cameron, Texas Courthouse to obtain copies of several old records and to identify the locations of grave markers that I needed, including the one pictured here belonging to EJ Hollon. As this was a government-run business, if I didn't get these needed items by 5:00 pm, I would have to stay the entire weekend until opening time on Monday, or go without the desired records.

I arrived at the courthouse counter at 4:45pm.

After stating what I was looking for, and after not-so-patiently, but earnestly acknowledging that "Yes, I realize that you are closing at 5:00. That is why I am in need of your assistance."--I was led to the records room. I was told that most of the records I was looking for had burned in a massive courthouse fire. I was deflated. Some records remained, however, and so I was pointed to the journals for these. Of particular interest, I scoured for any journal entry that showed evidence of the marriage of Edward Jesse Hollon and Winnie Laura Dragoo.

It is not an easy process to find these old records. The lady who had led me to the room kept asking me questions from the room next to mine, all the while as I was trying to concentrate on the task at hand. "What was the groom's name?" and "What date did you say?" and "Did you say Dragoo was the bride's name?" and "Did you say you were a great-great granddaughter?"

I thought, Criminy! I only have 15 minutes, lady! And I still need to get the cemetery locations!

And then I hear, "Ahhhhh . . . here it is!" And she comes towards me. I continue to look desperately for that blasted illegible journal entry, but she interrupts anyway. She starts telling me that back in those early days, when couples were married, they either didn't have the luxury of time on their side to be able to wait for legal documents to be completed, or they simply didn't want to wait. So, they would start their life adventure together, seldom returning to the county seats again for their marriage certificates due to the expense and harsh conditions of travel by wagon and horses. Besides, in those times, other people took your word for it that you were married. No one asked for legal proof.

"So," she said, handing me a piece of paper, "here is the original marriage certificate belonging to Laura and Edward. They never returned to pick it up. And, as you are a direct descendant, you are allowed to have it."

I was speechless and floored. My eyes filled to the brims with tears. I did not hug her, but I should have. I was just too overcome with the enormity of the emotion of it all to even begin to know how to take it all in. But every time--and I mean EVERY time--that I recall the fullness of the scene, my eyes fill with tears again, and my throat swells like it is doing now, and my heart expands beyond its previous bounds, finding room yet again for the gratitude that I felt then and now for the mercy and love of the Lord for each of us.

Truly, this work--this moving and redeeming Spirit of Elijah, has an indescribable way of turning the hearts of the fathers to the children, and that of the children to the fathers--even when we have never met! I've felt it. I know it happens. It is real. It is unconquerable, because all that would try to conquer it has already been overcome by the Savior of us all, even Jesus Christ. It's just really quite amazing to consider when you take a few serious moments to reflect and remember.

That Ol' Fam Damily! Andrew Crawford Dragoo: Will He Ever Get a Headstone?

2009-09-09T10:00:00.001-07:00

I've been trying to sort through the TOBY portion of my family line. A lot of people keep bugging me about it (and have been bugging me about it for years). So, last week, I started looking at it more in earnest. To my surprise, I learned that I have some sort of ties to Francis Cooke, Mayflower voyager. More on that later if I find out anything WOWZA-like. Researching this highly confusing, tedious, and prolific Toby line (26 children by one father, for example) is an exhausting process. It is also one that necessarily must touch upon the the DRAGOO line as well. In the process, I decided to write up one direct ancestor's life history as best I could. See what you think.

Perhaps some of you are not at all interested in family history stories. If that is the case, skip this one. Pearls and all that, ya know.

Andrew Crawford Dragoo about 1906

He worked then on a ranch near San Angelo, Texas

I have a soft place in my heart for this nomadic ancestor of mine -- Andrew Crawford Dragoo. He is my great-great grandfather on my mother's side. In fact, he reminds me in a lot of ways of the lifestyle my mom and I led when I was younger, and I bet she would have really liked imagining things about him if we had sat down together to rifle through the few details discovered about him.

In sorting through these details again recently, I have developed a better idea about who he was and have written them down so that SOMEONE will remember, even if that someone is only me. There isn't much to share, but what is here paints enough of a portrait for one to figure out some of the kind of life he lived, some of the sorrows he felt, some of the weight he carried, some of the troubles he imposed upon others, and maybe even some of what he might still be granted through the grace and love of another.

Andrew Crawford Dragoo was born in 1850 in Texas and appears to have never left Texas. When young, Andrew worked on ranches to support his sisters (or half-sisters), who were "boarded out." Andrew was also the foreman of the Ford ranch at some time in San Angelo, Texas. He worked there for G. Rawley White. Dixie Stogner (of the Dennis line) also states that family stories discussed through the years declare Andrew was a gunfighter, known to many as "Doc."

Andrew married at age 27; his bride was 15. Trouble in the marriage arose quickly. Melvina "Viney" (Toby) Dragoo and Andrew Crawford Dragoo separated before their second child was born. The story passed down from Melvina to other family members is that while living at Oakalla, Burnet, Texas, and while their first child, Winnie Laura, was still a toddler, Melvina was pregnant. (Melvina would have been about 17 at the time, and Andrew would have been around 29.)

One night, Andrew had several of his men friends over to the house visiting, playing cards and gambling. After they left, Melvina told him that she didn't want them there at the house again if they were going to gamble; if they did gamble, she would leave him. Apparently, all this gambling had happened quite a few times before; in fact, Andrew seemed to have had a reputation for gambling that no one wanted to publicly acknowledge.

Well, a few evenings later, Andrew invited some friends back to the house and the gambling was repeated. True to her word, Melvina picked Winnie Laura up, went out of the house, and walked a short distance to the nearby Toby homestead. She stayed there with her parents, at least until her son, Andrew Nathaniel, was born. (It was in this Toby homestead that Melvina, Winnie Laura, and Andrew Nathaniel were each born. This historic dwelling, built in 1875 by Melvina's father, Nathaniel Wheeler Toby, still stands and is being used as a home at this writing in 2009.)

When their daughter, Winnie Laura, was four years old (about 1882), Andrew and Melvina divorced. Soon afterwards, she married James Amos, a good man, and over time, bore another 10 children. But, Andrew declared that he "never loved but one woman, and that was Viney" and refused to remarry following his divorce.

He shifted around from relative to relative in West Texas. The pattern was about the same wherever he went. He stayed the longest with one nephew, Bill (son of William Dragoo) in the area of Santa Ana and Robert Lee in West Texas. Then, after coming up for a "short visit" with his half-sister, Eliza Jane, Andrew ended up staying for two years. He reported that he had no where else to go. At the time, Eliza was living with her daughter Viola and her family. Later on, Andrew moved on to live for a while with Perry, the son of another half-sister, Minerva.

In 1937, Andrew Crawford Dragoo became so old and ill that his son, Andrew Nathaniel Dragoo, was asked to come and pick him up to take him back to Sinton, Texas. Nathaniel Osborn Dragoo (Andrew Nathaniel's oldest son) was chosen to go along for the trip. Andrew Nathaniel's wife, Sallie, was asked to be caretaker, which responsibility she assumed for the next two years before Andrew Crawford Dragoo's death in 1939 at the age of 88.

The informant for Andrew's death certificate was his son. Of interest, the certificate states that Andrew was a retired barber and that the principle cause of death was senility. Andrew is buried in the Sinton Cemetery, Block 6, Lot 204, in Sinton, Texas.

He never received a headstone.

Divorce didn't keep everyone apart forever.

Here is a family portrait in later years.

Winnie Laura Dragoo Hollon (my great grandmother),

Melvina Toby Dragoo Amos (my gg-grandmother),

Andrew Crawford Dragoo (my gg-grandfather),

and Andrew Nathaniel Dragoo (my great grand uncle).

That Ol' Fam Damily! A Quick Overview

2009-09-09T08:00:00.000-07:00

I am finally getting serious about having my family history lifted out of my computer and brought within the temple walls to complete ordinances of salvation, and hope that my ancestors will choose to accept them. In fact, things are moving along very quickly this very week, which is why I am focusing so strongly and quickly on the family history stories now.

This blog of mine seems to be a good vehicle to better acquaint friends in coming to know about and connect with my ancestors a little bit more as they go through the temple with me, assisting in different ways with this great work of eternal choice and progression. To those who are not assisting in the work, it is my hope that these stories will help to further move you to carry on your own activities in family history research and temple ordinances. It is an enriching process in a multitude of ways.

Just a quick overview first of all. All of my ancestors in the graphic shown above are on my mother's side. These are her grandparents and great-grandparents. Thus, they are my great-grandparents and great-great grandparents. I certainly have much more research done on my family lines than what is showing here; I am choosing to just highlight this segment of the family for certain purposes now.

Begin It Now

2009-09-01T01:54:00.013-07:00

Every once in a while, you come across a quote that just pops you between the eyes, bonks you on the head, sends chills up some part of your body, fills your insides with some sort of inspiration, or any combination of the above--then makes you just want to act right then and there to do something monumental. That's what happened to me in mid-August 1992.

I was discussing a little bit of everyday life with an associate. I worked at a place called Aristocrat Printing & Design in Tucson, Arizona. She worked at Alpha Graphics. Our shop often did specialty work for her shop and I was called upon to consult with her on various projects. We became rather decent friends, as work friends go.

And so it happened that one day, she brought me a quote that she liked. I started to read it, having no forethought as to its content.

I was floored. I nearly cried, but held my tears until I was alone. She never would have understood my emotion.

At the time, I had been working for over 13 years in the printing industry, and while it afforded me a decent living (much better than minimum wage, anyway), I was enormously dissatisfied. The vocation had never helped me to get ahead financially, nor did my work help me to feel that I made one iota of real difference in the world. I knew that I needed to make changes in my life; still, I felt nearly paralyzed by my habitual servitude to that life.

Upon reading this quote by Goethe, however, I immediately received strength to pursue a different life's path. Thoughts flooded my mind, focused on the idea of completing my degree, that I might do something more with the gifts God had given me. The feeling was intense, the direction unmistakably divine in its origin, and the confidence offered that all financial concerns would indeed work out truly did surpass all understanding.

Just over three months later, I quit my job, enrolled in college full-time beginning with the Spring 1993 term, and renewed my journey towards completing my Bachelor of Arts in Communication. I had no idea in advance as to how in the world this would all come together, but I put my full self into motion anyway. I truly did commit myself to following through with my decision, despite my inability to foresee the future, and despite all the varied fears and realities of life that had stagnated my progression during former years.

I had already earned nearly 60 disjointed credit hours by that time, but they counted for little when all was said and done, so that I had to start college nearly from scratch. Nonetheless, three years after my decision to renew my educational journey, I graduated from the University of Arizona, Magna Cum Laude, in Spring 1996.

Never once during that time did I fear for my financial sustenance, nor did I have cause to concern myself. "All manner of unforseen assistance and meetings and material assistance" did indeed present themselves. Naturally, I did pursue and was granted loans, but even these by themselves would not have been enough to cover my school and living expenses for three years. In addition to these loans, a few modest grants and scholarships were obtained. Summer jobs in my printing vocation paid nicely. I received an insurance settlement after having been painfully rear-ended (not the best way to take care of business, but it surely did help). My mom, whom I had been previously supporting after an emergency move from California, finally won her disability suit against the Social Security Administration (and before a judge who was known to be unsympathetic in such cases), which then allowed her to reimburse funds I had already expended on her behalf the previous year. And finally, my roommate generously charged me a paltry $150/mo for rent and utilities for the entire period of my schooling endeavor.

To my great pleasure, temporal salvation, and spiritual satisfaction, the sea had spread its walls before me, allowing me to travel to the other side upon dry ground. Providence--meaning God--moved on my behalf, because I moved first. I acted in faith. I did something. I commited myself to a decision, feeling the strength of the Lord behind me, and I moved.

Truly, that one pivotal decision made all the difference in the world for me, and I suspect for a few others as well. It is surely good to remember these things.

King Benjamin stated, "see that all these things are done in wisdom and order" (Mosiah 4:27). But, let them be done! Pursue dreams! Be bold! Receive genius and power! Begin it now!

Skinhorse Truth - Redeeming Embrace

2009-08-25T03:20:00.005-07:00

Oh, to be redeemed by that pure embrace, where neither release nor abandon submit to fear's whisperings. Blessed and rare is that person who can altogether tender such balm, and in the offering, likewise abide.
- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Book of Ether - Focus on 2:22-25

2009-08-23T19:45:00.014-07:00

As shared in my 8/15 post, Spencer W. Kimball declared that the Book of Ether was "unparalleled." Referring to the Jaredites' story as told in the Book of Ether, King Mosiah said, "And this account shall be written hereafter; for behold, it is expedient that all people should know the things which are written in this account" (Mosiah 28:19, emphasis added). I submit that God's love and power is evident through and throughout the experience of the Jaredites.

Now, a disclaimer: I have been personally moved to feel that significant, symbolic keys of knowledge pertaining to the plan of salvation are contained within this account. However, I am not a gospel guru; and, while I attend to symbolism in my studies, I recognize that such an emphasis may cause me to go beyond the mark. So, whatever I may share is offered in the spirit of encouraging your own repeated study of this book within a new frame of reference, in order to spur deeper thinking and generate connections between our lives and those of the Jaredites. Take what you care to take. Discard the rest.

I know that I wrote in my journal about my first significant insights into the Book of Ether. Unfortunately, I cannot find the entry now; so, I will recount it as best as I can.

At the time, I was part of the Tucson Institute Chorale. A smaller group of us ("double quartet") had been practicing one of the most beautiful and moving songs I've ever had the privilege to sing: "The Majesty and Glory of Thy Name" (based on Psalm 8). I taped the music during an evening rehearsal so that I might continue to practice on my own. Thus, while driving home from that rehearsal, I sang the music piece several times over while en route, and continued to do so for some 20 minutes while parked outside of my home. My feelings for the Lord were unusually poignant. I was humbled by and through the Lord’s love for me. Spiritually, I sang my heart out. My tears could not keep up with the depth of feelings in my heart.

Here is the text from Psalm 8, from which the song was inspired . . . and I do mean inspired!

1 O LORD our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! who hast set thy glory above the heavens.
2 Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.
3 When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;
4 What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
5 For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.
6 Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet:
7 All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field;
8 The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.
9 O LORD our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!

"What is man, that thou art mindful of him?" These words kept stirring me to consider how very small I was among all the evidence of God’s creations; yet, my life was deemed invaluable, being of more worth than many sparrows. Who can dare to limit the value of a sparrow?

I prayed. I can no longer recall the prayer, but the feeling ever lingers within; and, when I care to again call up that joyful experience, feelings of supreme gratitude and humility return to me, freely.

It was in this frame of mind, spirit, body—soul—that I left my car and went inside my home to my bedroom alone. Without any predisposition for particular study, I indiscriminately pressed a handful of pages in my scriptures and turned them to the left. When I moved my hand away from the pages, I saw that the stopping point was somewhere in Ether 2. I started reading. Soon, I was brought to this passage:

22 And he cried again unto the Lord saying: O Lord, behold I have done even as thou hast commanded me; and I have prepared the vessels for my people, and behold there is no light in them. Behold, O Lord, wilt thou suffer that we shall cross this great water in darkness?
23 And the Lord said unto the brother of Jared: What will ye that I should do that ye may have light in your vessels? For behold, ye cannot have windows, for they will be dashed in pieces; neither shall ye take fire with you, for ye shall not go by the light of fire.
24 For behold, ye shall be as a whale in the midst of the sea; for the mountain waves shall dash upon you. Nevertheless, I will bring you up again out of the depths of the sea; for the winds have gone forth out of my mouth, and also the rains and the floods have I sent forth.
25 And behold, I prepare you against these things; for ye cannot cross this great deep save I prepare you against the waves of the sea, and the winds which have gone forth, and the floods which shall come. Therefore what will ye that I should prepare for you that ye may have light when ye are swallowed up in the depths of the sea?

(Ether 2:22-25, emphasis added)

The Brother of Jared laments about not having light (and air) for the great journey through the sea to the Promised Land. This was a story that I had read and discussed many times. Suddenly, though, new symbols were opened up in my mind, the likes of which I considered for 45 minutes. I know that the Holy Ghost, who accompanied me and filled my heart with joy and love when I sang that song of praise within the confines of my car, had prepared my mind to understand more of these scriptures.

Now, a few keys to consider:
Vessel = we, ourselves
Light = Light of Christ
Windows = being able to see the end from the beginning; having no veil, and therefore, no need for faith
Fire = whatever temporary or counterfeit agent that tempts us to depend less upon the true Light
Sea = the mortal life we all must pass through
Depths of Sea = deep mortal and spiritual perils
Winds, Rain, Floods = adversity given along the way, either for correction, for the land, or for mercy (see Job 37)
Prepare = Everlasting Atonement of Jesus Christ

How unusually fitting that a later connection should be drawn between Psalm 8 and this passage of scripture in Ether. Again, from Psalm 8:

What is man, that thou art mindful of him? . . . For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his
feet . . . whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.

The overwhelming lesson given me during that night of worship and praise was this: that through the Atonement of Christ, our Father in Heaven already prepared the way for deliverance from the perils of our mortal journey to the Promised Land (eternal life with God). Therefore, what more would we have him do?

Now, a few additional scriptures for you to study and prayerfully consider that complement this passage in Ether 2:

1 Corinthians 10:1-2
Job 37
2 Nephi 8:10
Jonah 2
Alma 7:11-12
Psalm 77:19
Jacob 5:41

More later . . .

Book of Ether (intro)

2009-08-15T00:29:00.005-07:00

Perhaps in stages, I would like to share some thoughts about the Book of Ether that have had an amazing impact on my consideration of our own journeys to the "Promised Land." Concepts started opening up to me around 1990. Since then, I have returned to this book many times when I needed the comfort of the scriptures, or to feel an extra connection with the Lord.

Then, around 2006, I discovered this quote by President Spencer W. Kimball. He states that the Book of Ether is "unparalleled." My own experience in feeling the symbolic power of passages found here tells me this is true. More later . . .

Forgiveness of Others

2009-08-14T00:16:00.019-07:00

I have felt three types of significant forgiveness of others in my life:

That borne after years of childhood grief carried into adulthood, which was released quietly, even unnoticeably, through the grace of the Savior.

That given as an undeniable GIFT from God--an unexpected, spontaneous outpouring of compassion from me towards one who had offended me--witnessing (to me!) of the power of the Lord's "bowels of mercy."

That of long-term strugglings in body and spirit, a Gethsemane-type journey or type for Christ, within my limited sphere of personal experience.

I have also come to learn that where forgiveness is concerned, some healing takes time. Just how much time is dependent on a variety of factors, such as:

Our pride, self-condemnation, or other human foible that keeps us from seeing things and people, ourselves included, as they truly are.
A lack of faith, defined as a principle of power or action. More to the point, though, being unprepared, unable, or unwilling to draw upon Christ's own faith to help us fulfill our desires (see Galatians 2:16,20).

God’s requirement of us to more fully comprehend, even in the smallest degree, what the Savior's pain and sorrow was like.

We are not trifling with sacred things when we juxtapose our limited sufferings with those of the Savior, if our hearts are attuned to the truth of the Lord as we seek to comprehend our divinity.

My understanding of this concept was enlarged while experiencing the despairing depths of life circumstances. I felt misunderstood, falsely accused, ridiculed by my enemies, betrayed by my friends, and left alone to figure it all out for myself. My soul was pained and could not be comforted. So many unanswered pleadings of "Why?" resulted in no small angst about my purpose in life. I was tempted to abandon my purposes, if ever there were any, despite a previous, compelling witness that the Lord had given me a specific work to do.

While in this frame of weakened mind and spirit, I was somehow led to Doctrine & Covenants 138:11-14, which reads:

As I pondered over these things which are written, the eyes of my understanding were opened, and the Spirit of the Lord rested upon me, and I saw the hosts of the dead, both small and great.
And there were gathered together in one place an innumerable company of the spirits of the just, who had been faithful in the testimony of Jesus while they lived in mortality;
And who had offered sacrifice in the similitude of the great sacrifice of the Son of God, and had suffered tribulation in their Redeemer's name.
All these had departed the mortal life, firm in the hope of a glorious resurrection, through the grace of God the Father and his Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ.

The questions that came to me as I studied this passage anew were these:

What is included in faithfulness?

How do we offer sacrifice and suffer tribulation in our Redeemer’s name? ("In" and "Redeemer" are the qualifiers here.)

I will leave readers to ask these and other questions of themselves, for the answers must surely be personalized, even in sacred ways. In general, though, one guiding principle reminded me that the offering of sacrifice is not about me and what I get; rather, it is about others, including the Lord, and what I give. To others, I am to bear the infirmities of the weak, and seek not to please myself, even as Christ sought not to please himself (Romans 15:1-3). To the Lord, I am to offer a broken heart and contrite spirit (2 Nephi 2:7).

And so, pondering upon these things and remaining prayerful, even during my weakest of times, I was given sufficient grace for the day. In time, gifts of the Spirit enabled me to let go of much of my hardness, my bitterness gradually faded, and I came to serve again with zeal and joy.

I believe each of us comes to a crossroads at least once in life where we are strictly challenged by these questions:

Is my soul refusing to be comforted?
Is my soul refusing to forgive?
Is my soul refusing to be forgiven?

I know that the price with which we are bought is an infinite one (1 Corinthians 6:20; Alma 34:10-14). This price pays for all sins committed against us. This price pays even for our greater sin of not forgiving others, but we must turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart, being eventually enabled to forgive through the gift and grace of God.

May you and I realize that we are saved, in this life and in the next, "by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me" (Galatians 2:20). And may forgiveness, of self and others, transform us, leading us to the most exalting of joys.

One of the Best...One of the Worst

2009-08-12T20:36:00.018-07:00

(Originally posted to FaceBook on August 5, 2009)

One of the best sunsets I’ve ever enjoyed…was around November 1983 in Lahaina, Maui, Hawaii. I was serving as a missionary there at the time. My companion and I decided to go to this one point near our home that overlooked the ocean. Pineapples had been planted and harvested there in the past, but the ground was being rested then, and it made for a great place to just hang loose for a while. Waves broke gently on the cliffs below. The ocean appeared calm for miles and miles before us. Prickly pear cactuses (of all things) dotted the tropical slope. And there in the distance (yet, strangely, right within my heart at the same time) was the sunset…gradually lowering, with ever-shifting colors of azure blue, yellow, orange, coral, and grey drawing a curtain on the horizon. What peace. What comfort was mine.

This shot was taken towards the close of the sunset and does not at all
do justice to even a portion of its beauty that evening,
but you probably get the idea.

Prickly pear cactuses on the Maui coastline near Lahaina.

One of the worst tragedies I’ve witnessed…was the explosion and disintegration of the Space Shuttle Challenger and her crew of seven souls on January 28, 1986. At the time, I was working at a print shop in Tucson, Arizona and heard the shocking news on the radio. Later that night, I had a class at Pima Community College and stopped at the cafeteria there to order a quesadilla with all of the fixings. The cafeteria had a television and the eyes of all students there were fixed upon it, including mine. I stood watching and listening as special news coverage repeatedly revealed the awful disaster from all angles. It never ceases to amaze me how such a pristine, blue sky was so emotionally darkened that day by the upward surge of white-clouded destruction. As I watched, tears freely streamed down my cheeks (as they fill my eyes again, even now, over 23 years later). In terms of lives lost, this tragedy was far from the worst. More lives have been lost in a single car accident, for example. Still, America’s hopes for crew member and teacher, Christa McAuliffe--and just the pure excitement generated throughout the world by her addition--made this journey into space such a singular one. Then, 73 seconds after lift off, all of those hopes were stilled. The crew just vanished. How could the story be written this way? The groan of such an overwhelming emptiness cannot be adequately expressed.

STS-51-L crew: (front row) Michael J. Smith, Dick Scobee, Ronald McNair; (back row) Ellison Onizuka, Christa McAuliffe, Gregory Jarvis, Judith Resnik.

One of the best laughs I’ve ever had...came courtesy of one of my roommates, Robin Connelly (Butler now). Along with Robin, my other roommate, Tommie Sue Woolley, and I all made a trip to the Conejos Valley area in southern Colorado one summer. Tommie’s mom owned some cabins there, so the cost was just the price of gas and food. We repaired a downed power line that led to the main cabin, got the water well to pump water, fished in the nearby river, took some nature walks, hiked up to the waterfall at Rough Creek, built fires and made yummy foil dinners, enjoyed the stars, etc.

Tommie Sue Woolley (L), Robin Connolly (R), and Jacki Hancock (C)
at the Conejos Valley in Colorado around 1992.

Then, it was time to go home. After packing up, we all got into the truck, and decided to say a prayer before we left. Robin was elected to say that prayer. She went on for a little while, sharing gratitude for the great time we had there. Then, at the appropriate moment, she said…"and please bless this truck that it will be nourishing and strengthening to our minds and bodies." She paused. We all paused. Tommie and I tried so very hard to contain our heaving snickers. Robin found a way to say "AMEN" as quickly as possible, and Tommie and I just started busting a gut! Tears gushed out from all the laughing! Robin joined with us within moments as well, though she did take pains to try to explain away her slip up. It took us at least another 10 minutes to get ourselves in control enough to start driving off the property. I’m glad that laugh came with us!

One of the worst regrets I’ve carried...was when I decided it was more important for me to offer updates about my mom’s impending death to her brother and sisters via telephone, rather than just stay by her side the whole time during her final moments. When I came back from one of these phone calls, I saw my mom’s eyes fixed and dilated. Just a few minutes earlier, she had been cared for by a group of nurses (washed, etc.), which was a driving reason why I had left to make a phone call in the first place. I think the activities they carried out eked out the last, remaining particles of energy in Mom’s exhausted body. So, I didn’t get that final hug or kiss from her. Instead, I had to drape Mom’s lifeless arms around my neck and hold her as best I could, whispering and singing into her ear my final good-byes. How I wish I had that time back again.

One of the best experiences I've had with God...is a compelling one for me and not at all one that I can share in its fullness. (Aren’t they all, though?) I was preparing a special lesson on the Atonement of the Savior for the Young Women (Laurels) in my charge at the time in Tucson. I spent numerous hours reading, pondering, writing, and repeating the cycle all over again. I considered so many more things about the Savior and His Atonement than I would ever dare attempt to teach. It was an amazing time of preparation of mind for me. This preparation was followed by communication through prayer so powerful that it transformed my spiritual understanding about the Atonement. It was at this time that I came to know for myself, unequivocally, that Jesus Christ lived and died for me. And, had I been the ONLY person who needed spiritual repair in this world and salvation in the next, he would have ransomed himself for my sake, and for my sake alone. And, still…"I stand all amazed…."

Skinhorse Truth: Lengthy Trials

2009-08-09T19:30:00.013-07:00

Sometimes, our lengthy trial is made lengthy for a particular purpose. It may be that we are not prepared to receive the blessing we would design for ourselves. It may be that we are to experience apparent separation or other "enmity" between God and ourselves, that we might better understand and help another who truly is separated from God. Or, it may be that we are to go where the Lord has gone, touching but the edges of his imprint, that we might embrace him in fullness when, alas, we arrive where he is.
- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Quote: Painful state of being

2009-08-09T18:15:00.007-07:00

"The most painful state of being
is remembering the future,
particularly one you can never have."

- Søren Aabye Kierkegaard
Danish Philosopher, 1813-1855

Joan of Arcadia

2009-08-09T17:38:00.013-07:00

This is one of the best TV shows ever! I consider it an absolute treasure and recommend it to all of my friends and their friends!

The heroine of the show is a teenager named Joan (played by Amber Tamblyn). Joan lives in a town called Arcadia. (You may already see that this is a take-off on the whole concept of JOAN of ARC.) Joan enjoys an unusual relationship and communication with God, who gives her numerous missions to complete; thus, helping her to come to know more of her mettle, and preparing her to fulfill even greater, future purposes. The communication given is never quite enough for Joan, though, and she often responds with typical teenage sarcasm and rebellion as she goes about trying to figure out what it is that God really wants her to learn and do.

What Joan learns through the process of fulfilling God's purposes for her affects not only her life, but that of others around her as well. The messages are insightful, inspiring, and often profound. When all is said and done, we ALL seem to act in ways similar to Joan as we go about trying to do our part in fulfilling the purposes of God.

Unfortunately, the show was cancelled shortly after the third season started. To no avail, a great protest by viewers demanded that it be kept on the air, since so many families were brought closer together by watching the episodes and discussing concepts afterwards. This show is not geared towards children; it is better for teens and older kids like you and me.

Without hesitation, I recommend that you check it out. It is worth the money to purchase and keep the two seasons that were produced in full. But, if moola is short, at least look for them at your local library, or borrow them from a friend.

My Trip to Nauvoo for Mom

2009-06-21T18:48:00.040-07:00

Yvonne Derelys Plaskett in 1959

On Mother's Day, I had planned to write something about my mother, which never really materialized. I have had a bit of writer's block ever since that time. As Mom had to assume some of the role of being a father to me as well as a mother, I decided that this Father's Day might be a reasonably appropriate time to share some new things about her. The following is a letter I wrote to The First Presidency a little over six years ago.

April 13, 2003

The First Presidency
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
50 East North Temple Street
Salt Lake City, Utah 84150

Dear Brethren:

I am writing this letter to make a request, but ask that you first endure a story.

Like many people, when it was announced that the Nauvoo Temple was to be rebuilt, the Spirit moved me, tears filled my eyes, and genuine enthusiasm for the undertaking resided within, from the moment the announcement was made through the time of dedication itself. Originally, I had even envisioned participating in the dedication on the Nauvoo Temple grounds, but later resolved to do so at my local Stake Center in Mesa, Arizona.

As things turned out, however, I watched the dedication in the Tucson Rincon Stake Center. A good friend gave me a handkerchief to wave during the Hosanna Shout, which I did wave as I joined in chorus with you and all others present that day to mark the sacred and momentous occasion. I was so grateful to be there.

Something else sacred and momentous happened earlier that day. My mother died. Having suffered a stroke in April, she finally succumbed to its after effects on the morning of June 27th, 2002 at a Tucson hospital. I was there with her when she passed on. I held her during her last living moments, placed my mouth near her left ear, reminded her of the many who loved her, and haltingly sang "God Be With You Till We Meet Again." I trusted that she could indeed hear me, and that somehow, my voice and the Spirit’s voice would comfort her during this time of passing—a time that she had feared for many years.

Symbolically anticipating her resurrection, prior to her burial, I placed the same handkerchief in Mom’s hand that I had used to join in the Hosanna Shout for the dedication of the Nauvoo Temple. Now, my hope is that you will grant me permission to complete my mother’s temple work for her in that very temple on June 27th, 2003—exactly one year from the day she passed away.

My mother, Yvonne Derelys Plaskett Sylvester, was baptized a member of the Church in approximately 1960. I was born in 1961. Though a convert, showing initial promise to fully embrace the gospel, Mom was offended by actions taken by her Bishop that involved me. She reported that because I was conceived out of wedlock, I was given a name and a blessing in the Bishop’s office, while another, presumably more deserving mother had her child blessed in front of the congregation. I do not know if this incident really happened as she said it did, but to her it was real and very hurtful. It gave her all the cause she needed to become disillusioned with the Church and to later leave it before developing a strong understanding and testimony of the gospel.

When I was about 14 years old, my mother again contacted the Church in Sparks, Nevada during a period of extreme difficulty. Eventually, she invited me to learn about the gospel from the missionaries. I had not known of the Church up to that point in my life, but as a result of our tenuous circumstances, I sought to please her and was soon baptized after having taken the discussions, though my participation lacked any evidence of personal interest or conviction.

My mother’s own testimony was weak during that time as well. Having suffered through the effects of years of alcoholism, she either began to drink again, or had never really quite stopped from the time she renewed her acquaintance with the Church. Within a few months of my own baptism, we hit the road yet another time. Approximately three years later, having traveled many miles through many states, and having experienced difficulties I can no longer remember in full, Mom was excommunicated. Though she attempted to regain her membership blessings within the first year or two of her excommunication, she never did prove a lasting commitment to the gospel.

In her latter years, I could discern Mom’s longing desires for a more gospel-centered life. I believe the Spirit tried to inspire her towards righteousness and peace, but Mom’s pride for past hurts kept her from seriously pursuing and understanding the gospel. And, while she had successfully overcome the addiction of alcohol a full ten years before she died, she was not so successful with overcoming tobacco, which addiction she fed constantly, beginning at age 15. To her credit, she quit smoking in full for approximately a year. Unfortunately, she began smoking again about nine months prior to her stroke. During the three months between her stroke and her death, she was free from the addiction of tobacco, but its effects had already become firmly and irrevocably manifested.

There is much more to my mother’s story that you may read if you wish from the pages of her eulogy, enclosed within. Basically, though, I will tell you that my mother had difficult beginnings that put her on a nomadic course through life, which continued to be fraught with difficulty. She made many poor choices of her own accord. She never quite figured out the truth of the gospel for herself in such a way that compelled and propelled comprehensive change, and which offered lasting peace.

Even so, she was intuitively a good women with a giving spirit about her. Many people enjoyed her company and her generosity under very financially humble circumstances. She genuinely loved others, and others loved her in return. She took comfort in priesthood blessings and had her life extended because of those blessings. She was grateful for prayers I offered before meals that we shared, and once—a very special once—she even offered a tender, vocal prayer herself in my presence. Though substantially weak, she exercised what faith she possessed, and overcame much in the process.

I trust that the Lord’s grace will indeed bridge the gap between where my mother left off in her spiritual journey and where the Lord is. I know that He will increase her understanding of truth, her sense of true belonging, and her ultimate rest and peace. It is my hope that you will feel she is prepared enough at this point to receive the opportunity to accept Temple ordinances that will restore her privileges and expand her eternal possibilities.

It is my understanding that one typically waits one year following the death of a loved one before making a request such as I am asking. However, given the symbolic circumstances and time period surrounding my mother’s death, and given the logistics of making travel arrangements and plans for such an event, I respectfully request that you proffer your decision much quicker than the typical request.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I am so appreciative of your service in my behalf. Your love for this work and your love for all people are wondrous to behold and strengthen me personally. I know you are led to do only that which is right and wise. Thus, whatever your decision, I will honor it with respect and a grateful heart.

Affectionately,

Jacqueline J. Hancock

Gratefully, authorization for baptism was indeed given. Nearly six years ago, I was baptized for my mother on the morning of June 27, 2003 in the Nauvoo Temple--not only one year exactly from the date of her passing, but almost one year to the hour as well.

It was a beautiful and peaceful day.

A photo I took of the Nauvoo Temple in June 2003

Skinhorse Poetry: "Arms Which Encircle Us"

2009-05-03T12:33:00.016-07:00

Behold the arms encircling us now—
Oh, those Glorious Arms!

Arms, which, remaining extended,
stay ready to receive and enfold us,
and with comfort sure,
share in the load we bear.

Arms, which, with constancy
of love and gentle kindnesses,
caress our troubled souls;
mercifully touching, warming,
resurrecting
the Hope of Divinity
that dwells within.

Arms, which, in honor
raised
echo sweet the proclamation,
“Be True to thine One Love”;
and, sending grace for nations yet to be,
open wide the veil that we, seeing,
might glance visions of eternity.

Oh, those Glorious Arms!
Strength of heaven,
providers of the Healer’s art,
laborers of righteousness,
witnesses of truth,
source of love abounding—
encircle us evermore
that our tears of joy fall softly
upon those Arms
in grateful adoration.

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Skinhorse Truth: Mortality and Divinity

2009-04-25T18:07:00.009-07:00

Oh, to rise above the mortal plane—
that we may challenge the distance between
our human and divine selves.
- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Skinhorse Truth: Forgiveness

2009-04-23T16:56:00.008-07:00

Forgiveness requires a foreclosure on pride
and a second mortgage on humility.
- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Skinhorse Poetry: "Where Did All the Forgiveness Go?"

2009-04-20T01:17:00.026-07:00

This original poem and personal experience demonstrate that I am one who has been hurt and who has struggled enormously with forgiving another for that hurt. I do not dare claim that my experience is new, or feel my pain to be above that borne by another. Having said that, and while I have hesitated to do so, I finally decided to share a portion of my experience and learning here in the hope that it will be of some benefit to one, or to many, of you.

Where did all the forgiveness go?
Nowhere.
The same as all the apologies.

Yet to forgive—though forgiveness be not sought:
Is it not more glorious than the receipt of pleading?

Reveal thou, thy glory here.

In its place comes once more—Pain.
For, in turning the corner towards forgiveness
Another unsung apology groans out as a reminder
And nearly nothing rings more loudly
Than such a nothingness.

“Oh, how deep the wound!” she cries.
And cries.
And cries again.

Who could trace the path of tears,
Or find its ending point on the tear-streaked face?

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Forgiving another is part of the soul’s requirement to undergo a “mighty change.” My own changing—though paltry in comparison to many—has inspired gratitude within. I understand that the making of a mighty change never really results in our reaching a destination; rather, it is a continuing process. Still, invisible chapter markers help point to critical crossroads.

Efforts made to help rid my heart of any unkind feelings towards one who had hurt me included attending aids that the Lord remarkably charted out for my benefit, revealing in no uncertain terms that He is aware of my needs. Through them, I was prepared to visualize a series of significant things.

First of all, one evening I lay in bed, alone in the darkness, yet very much awake. In this state, I was granted a vision of one particular person who had hurt me deeply and repeatedly so, standing far away from me and diminished in size, the way that artists portray people and things in the distance. Though we faced one another, it was clear that we could not be brought any closer. Almost immediately, and to my great surprise, there stood the Savior next to me. He looked into my eyes, though I could not bear to look into His. He asked me, “Is it not enough that I suffered for all hurts given here? Is there something else that you require? Is there more that I should do?” Tears filled my eyes—not in the vision, but in reality. I answered, even audibly, as I lay there alone in the darkness: “No, you have done all.” Of course His suffering is enough. Of course it is. But in weakness, I had not been able to find a way to fully accept His offerings.

Secondly, and following this former vision, I entered within the Mesa Temple. Before heading into an endowment session, I stopped and took a single piece of paper and pencil and wrote down the names of all those involved in my hurt at the time. I had completed this act many times before. This time, however, I included my own name. All names were, symbolically at least to me, placed upon the Temple altar while I was present there. At last, certain feelings swelled, enabling me to visualize standing peacefully WITH those who had hurt me. Again, tears filled my eyes.

Thirdly, I had a dream in the middle of the night. In my dream, this same particular person stood facing me, obviously troubled. We were within a mere few feet of one another then. An unexpected awareness ensued. Comprehending some of the feelings of hurt that I had inspired myself, I moved towards this person, whom I then compassionately wrapped my arms around long enough to tell how very sorry I was to have contributed any pain.

The dream ended there. No final page was revealed in this chapter of my experience as I dreamed. As time has passed, it has been made clear that the story is still being written, whether in daytime or nighttime hours.

Who could trace the path of tears,
Or find its ending point on the tear-streaked face?

There is only One, and that One is the Savior. The tears have been traced. They are known. Gratefully, the tears have their ending point as well. The pain is becoming more and more soothed by The Balm of Gilead. What comfort this Balm brings.

Some things are certain. We all hurt within ourselves for wrongs committed against us, even grievous wrongs. We all manage to hurt one another, sometimes without even intending to do so. Whichever way our experiences may lead us, we all are in a position to seek and receive forgiveness. Finally, we all struggle with seeking and extending forgiveness.

Yet, if we are to be made right with the Lord, then we will necessarily have to forgive those who have wronged us—even if they never ask for our forgiveness! I think, though, that the Lord understands that everyone’s timetable is different. He says we must forgive; he does not say that we must forgive NOW. Still, it is to our own advantage that we get ourselves set on the right track towards forgiveness, allowing space for it when it comes. As we attune ourselves more and more with the Lord’s purposes, we will find our spiritual speed quicken enough to fully renew our walk with Him.

If you struggle still to forgive, may you begin anew the process of undergoing a mighty change of heart. May you indeed forgive another of their wrongs towards you—not because they need it or deserve it—but because the Lord stands between you and them, asking if His suffering is enough to cover it all.

Please read THE PEACEGIVER by James L. Ferrell for a more thorough spiritual comprehension of the subject of forgiveness. My repeated readings of this book helped to prepare me for some of my own personal experiences.

Our Deepest Fear

2009-04-18T14:18:00.018-07:00

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Quoted by Nelson Mandela. Written by Marianne Williamson, A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles, Harper Collins, 1992. From Chapter 7, Section 3 (Pg. 190-191).

A Better Resurrection

2009-04-12T19:18:00.020-07:00

Talk given by

Jacqueline J. Hancock,
Beverly Ward

Sacrament Meeting,
Easter Sunday - April 12, 2009

The Apostle Paul taught, "If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable."1

I believe what he was saying here is that, if we look to Christ only for our daily bread, then we miss the greater point – even the promise – of Him being the "Bread of Life." Jesus himself attested, "I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst."2

This Bread of Life spoke at length of his gift of resurrection, though the people understood him not. Five days before his final Passover supper, before he would become The Passover himself, Jesus the Christ spoke these words about his resurrection, and our resurrection because of him: "Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit."3

The Resurrection is:
* A life- and death-altering event and experience.
* Based on eternal law and sacrifice.
* Given to all mankind as an unconditional gift, regardless of whether we be good, or whether we be evil.4

We will all live again, and live forever in an immortal state, because of the gift of the Bread of Life. So, truly, "If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable."5

But, let us not forget to enjoy our daily bread!

If I may borrow again from Paul (taking license to change a couple of words and propose a junior theory of my own), "If in the NEXT life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men and women, most miserable."

While in this mortal frame, there’s a lot about life that I don’t think I’ll ever quite understand, ever be able to explain, or ever find solace enough to help meet and overcome all the injustices, the blows to the guts, and heavy sighs. Gratefully, I do know such a time will eventually come, when through spiritual eyes, ALL will be discerned, causing the final sigh to, at last, breathe in new life and light. Still, while in this life, I hope for better days, better circumstances, better health, better relationships, and better chances to make meaningful contributions so as to comprehend my purpose or purposes.

The scriptures are also replete with references to things that are better. Here are a few:

"For the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did; by the which we draw nigh unto God."6

" . . . [Christ] is the mediator of a better covenant, which was established upon better promises."7

" . . . ye have in heaven a better and an enduring substance."8

" . . . they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly."9

"And now I say, is there not a type in this thing? For just as surely as this director did bring our fathers, by following its course, to the promised land, shall the words of Christ, if we follow their course, carry us beyond this vale of sorrow into a far better land of promise."10

In addition to these, there is a favorite passage of mine found in Hebrews 11. This entire chapter deals with the subject of faith, beginning in verse 1 with its definition. It goes on to describe exemplars of faith through the ages, including Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Sara, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, and Moses. The walls of Jericho were brought down by faith extended. And even the harlot Rahab - a prostitute, of all people – is included here because of her great faith.

(Starting now in Hebrews 11:32): "And what shall I more say? for the time would fail me to tell of Gedeon, and of Barak, and of Samson, and of Jephthae; of David also, and Samuel, and of the prophets . . . "

And what shall I more say? For the time would fail me to tell of Juanita Wagner, and Marguerite Payne, and Tom Wright, and Garth Lamoreux, and Jill Lawlor, and Kathleen Whipple, and Sheryl Allred, and Nick Nelson, and Terrie Wood, and Juanita Svedi, and Katy Cochran:

". . . Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions,
"Quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens.
". . . And others had trial of cruel mockings and scourgings, yea, moreover of bonds and imprisonment . . .
". . . Women received their dead raised to life again: and others were tortured, not accepting deliverance; that they might obtain a better resurrection . . . ."11

"Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God."12

Thus, it is FAITH that leads us to a better resurrection; meaning a better, immortal – even eternal life – because it first leads us through a better mortal life!

Our lives there reflect our lives here. Some may say, "Oh! Well, then! There is no hope for me, for I stink here!" And, here’s where our true hope in Christ comes in. As taught by James E. Faust, "All of us have made wrong turns along the way. I believe the kind and merciful God, whose children we are, will judge us as lightly as He can for the wrongs that we have done and give us the maximum blessing for the good that we do."13

But, let us not take for granted the many gifts extended to us through, and because of, the Atonement of our Savior. Make no mistake: we must reverence Christ’s faith by extending our own. We do this when we strive to be, or to become, better in our obedience and abandonment of sin; in our willingness to love (and be loved); in our repentance; in our forgiveness of another’s wrongs; in forgiving ourselves when Christ has done the same, or when it seems that he would forgive – if we would only allow him to do so.

In short, when we strive to be or become a better disciple of Christ, then will our hope in Christ increase, both in this world and in the world to come, where ours will be a better resurrection.

In 2003, I was in Nauvoo, Illinois. I traveled there to complete temple ordinances on June 27th for my mother who had died exactly one year before. This day also marked the one-year anniversary of the restoration and opening of the Nauvoo Temple, as well as the death of Joseph Smith. Referencing the period immediately following the martyrdom of Joseph, I recorded the following in my journal:

"I do not think that I would have enjoyed living 159 years ago. I wonder what my own faith would have been like then. Would I have stayed and helped to carry the collective load of the Saints at that time? I would like to think so. I would hope that my resilience and desire for a better cause – and better resurrection – would enliven the best within me to overcome the temporary trials given in the heat of the day. I can hope for no less of myself now, either.

"It is time to resurrect that hope that is within me, to invite the Spirit to strengthen the bands of my own faith in Christ, and to trust in his purposes for me. I cannot see his plans for me. I do not understand all his ways. I cannot possibly know of his power – his ability to intercede on my behalf and cause even the shackles of hell that ever chase after me to loosen and fall away.

"Though I cannot, or do not, see the full power of the Lord’s love in my little life . . . I am so much more filled with courage and determination to be more faithful. I trust all the more, too, that the Atonement will help to see me through the most difficult of times and grant me clarity of vision enough to remain in my place – though the future presented before me may be covered with a thick veil."14

May we each resurrect the divinity within us today – this Easter morn’ – that we may pass through the veil, whispering as we go, because our hearts are that tender and that swollen with joy, that we might obtain a better resurrection. This is my hope. May it be your hope as well. In the sacred name of our only True Hope, the Bread of Life – even our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ – Amen.

FOOTNOTES:
1. 1 Corinthians 15:19
2. John 6:35
3. John 12:24
4. 1 Corinthians 15:22
5. 1 Corinthians 15:19
6. Hebrews 7:19
7. Hebrews 8:6
8. Hebrews 10:34
9. Hebrews 11:16
10. Alma 37:45
11. Hebrews 11:32-36 (verses 35 and 36 transposed, for emphasis)
12. Ether 12:4
13. James E. Faust, Ensign, Nov. 1996, p. 53.
14. Journal entry of Jacqueline J. Hancock, dated June 29, 2003.

Wait . . . I will show you something – The Miracle of the Three Trees

2009-04-09T00:00:00.016-07:00

As told by Jeanie McAllister in A Singular Life.

One of my favorite stories about miracles is of three young trees who lived together on a hillside. They often talked about what each would like to be when he grew up.

One said, "Babies are the sweetest things in the world. should like to be a baby's cradle."

The second spoke, "That would not please me at all. I should like to be a great ship so I might cross many waters and carry cargoes of gold."

The third tree stood off by himself in deep reflection. "Have you no dream for the future?" asked the others.

"No dream," he answered, "except to stay on this hillside and point men to God. What could a tree do better than that?"

Years passed, and the three small trees grew up to be tall and beautiful. One day men came to the hillside and cut down the first tree. But he was not made into a cradle. Instead he was hewn into rough pieces and carelessly put together to form a manger. "This is not what I planned to be," he sobbed heartbrokenly. "Shoved into this dark stable with no one but the cattle."

But Heavenly Father, who loves trees, whispered, "Wait. I will show you something." And he did.

For one night when God's Only Begotten Son was born, he was wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in the manger. The manger quivered with delight. "In all my dreams I never thought to hold a baby like this," he said. "Why, I am part of a miracle. Truly, this is better than all my planning."

Years passed. And men came to the hillside and cut down the second tree. But he was not made into a great sailing vessel. Instead he became a tiny fishing boat owned by a man named Peter. "To think that my life has come to this," he complained unhappily. "Just a fishing boat."

But Heavenly Father, who loves trees, whispered, "Wait. I will show you something." And he did.

For one day on the Lake of Gennesaret, Jesus sat in the little boat and spoke to the multitude on the shore. He spoke words of such wisdom and light that the little boat listened eagerly. "Why, I am part of a miracle," he whispered, his heart full of wonder. "In all my dreams I never thought to carry a cargo like this. Truly, this is better than all my planning."

Months went by, and men came to the hillside to cut down the third tree. "I don't want to go into the valley," he wept, as the axe cut into his heart. But the men tore away his branches, hewed him apart, and fashioned his pieces into a crude cross. "This is terrible," he quivered. "They are going to hang someone. Oh, I never wanted this to happen to me. I only wanted to stand on the hillside and point men to God."

But Heavenly Father, who loves trees, whispered, "Wait. I will show you something." And he did.

For one day Jesus took up his cross and was led to a place called Golgotha where he was crucified between two thieves. Afterwards, his body was laid in a tomb. But at dawn on the third day when Mary Magdalene and the others came to the sepulchre, an angel met them, saying, "He is not here: for he is risen, as he said." (Matthew 28:6.)

And the cross began to understand. "Why, I am part of a miracle," he marveled. "Jesus' great mission was to give his life so that all who have ever lived on earth can one day return to God and live with him again. In all my dreams I never thought to point men to God in this way. Truly this is better than all my planning."

========

SKINHORSE:
Each of us is attended by a host of difficulties that seem to do their utmost best to overcome us. Sometimes, they do. At least for me, when a few long days come my way, they are often joined by a few long nights as well. During these periods, I am tempted to give up and give in, rather than wait for God’s intended miracles to unfold: those of light, life, love, and learning.

I sometimes question, What is the purpose in all of this? What is my purpose? At these moments--and when I can remember to do so--I try to envision the tender embrace of a loving heavenly father, holding me close to His chest, stroking my hair a little, and softly whispering in my ear, "Wait . . . I will show you something."

So, I do. And he does!

Whether envisioned or real, that little whisper gives me strength and courage enough to view and act upon my circumstances a little differently. And, I find hope enough to press on in my journey with a fuller expectation that, in God’s own way, and in His own time, all will be revealed . . . including the wondrous variety of His miraculous expressions in my life. In your life. In our lives together.

Wait . . .
Wait . . .
Wait . . .

Allow Him to show you something.

Skinhorse Poetry: "HOPE"

2009-04-04T20:17:00.028-07:00

Before and after each fall of evening,
Before and after each dark and turbulent storm,
Abides the One
Whose love doth shine

H o p e

Into every watchful eye.

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Please watch this "Ray of Hope" slideshow

with music by Secret Garden: THE PROMISE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=stNT4X2BZtE

Skinhorse Poetry: "I'd Like to Capture a Rainbow"

2009-04-04T18:04:00.026-07:00

I'd like to capture a rainbow
And stick it in a big box
So that,
Anytime you wanted to,
You could reach in and pull out
A piece of sunshine.

I’d like to build you a mountain
That you could call your very own—
A place to find serenity
In those times when you
Feel the need to be
Closer to yourself, or to God.

I’d like to be the one
Who’s there with you when you’re
Lonely or troubled
Or you just need
Someone
To hold on to.

I’d like to do all this and more
To make your life happy.

But sometimes
It isn’t easy to do
The things I would like to do
Or give the things I would
Like to give.

So . . . until I learn how to
Catch rainbows and build mountains,
Let me do for you
That which I know best . . .

. . . Let me simply be your friend.

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

SKINHORSE:
In the early 1980s, I sold this poem to Blue Mountain Arts Company. They subsequently used it to make a card; later, it was included in a calendar and a book. Since then, I have discovered this poem has been published on several websites, often with words altered. Imagine my surprise and great honor to recently discover it had been included as part of the obituary of a cherished mother of 16 children:

Roark, Laura -a model mother, entered eternal life August 30,1991. She was born June 19, 1907 into the family of Jeff and Mary Jane Halcomb Caudill, in Letcher County. Laura was married to John D. Roark, who preceded her in death. Laura reared sixteen children. This in itself would qualify her as a superwoman. Of these sixteen children, ten were her biological offspring. She was a member of the Defeated Creek Old Regular Baptist Church, wherein she had been a member for approximately thirty-five years. Mama was an obedient servant of God and cherished her fellowship in the Old Regular Baptist Association. Mama believed and proclaimed that Jesus was the solution to all problems. She never failed to express His wondrous ways and to recommend him as a savior for her children and others. Mother had a wish that she echoed often, her wish to die in the spirit of the Lord. We, the children, other family members, and Christian friends, were by her bedside when she died. I feel that her obedience and devotion to God contributed to her wish being granted, because we witnessed spiritual events that convinced me that Mama died in the spirit of the Lord. I feel that this eloquent passage from Jacqueline J. Hancock echoes Mama's thoughts, especially for her children. "I'd like to be the one who's there with you when you're lonely or troubled or you just need someone to hold on to. I'd like to do all this and more to make your life happy. But sometimes, it isn't easy to do the things I would like to do or give the things I would like to give," so trust in God. Submitted by her children. http://www.knottkentuckykinfolk.com/orb_indian_bottom/1992_2.htm

"What Is Real?" - the Life Mantra of SKINHORSE

2009-03-30T23:49:00.038-07:00

Excerpt from

THE VELVETEEN RABBIT

by Margery Williams

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

SKINHORSE:
As a 16-year old, I discovered this quote for the first time while shopping at a mall in Tucson, Arizona. It was intertwined within a unique poster-sized artist's rendition of the scene in the nursery. Intrigued and stirred at the first reading, its powerful message soon became my life's mantra. That poster continues to hang within my home today.

The teachings of the Skin Horse have kept me grounded at times when relationships have become all too complicated and painful; or during those periods when the hope for connection has seemed much too distant, shallow, or fleeting to ever begin to fill the empty spaces; and even following the bitter tears inspired by some (with sharp edges) who tend to look for ugliness where only love has ever been.

Becoming Skinhorse in my own right is worth all the attending struggles to me. Thus, I retain a willingness to keep offering up pieces of myself, hoping along the way to meet up with a few more of those who, like me, desire to stay on the path to...Becoming REAL.