THE INNKEEPER

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.

"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.

Taking Risks

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)

Cathedral Builders

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

Forgiveness of Others

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

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


2. 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."


3. 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.

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

Joan of Arcadia

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.

Our Deepest Fear

"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).

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

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.