Skinhorse Poetry: "Written"

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 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

My Mother, Yvonne

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

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 Sand of God’s Grace and Genius"

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

A Blanket and a Comforter, Too

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.

Book of Ether - Focus on 2:22-25

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 . . .

One of the Best...One of the Worst

(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

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

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

- Søren Aabye Kierkegaard
Danish Philosopher, 1813-1855