Light Refreshments Served

The president of the Jordan River Temple spoke at our stake conference last Sunday. He was such a cheerful man. He began his talk with a discussion of his love for fly fishing, describing the excitement it holds for him and talking about how he has stood in a river for 10 hours, casting a 5-lb. lure out again and again and never catching a thing, and still keeping at it. Why? “Because,” he said, “the next cast might be the one.”

He went on to talk about how, as much as he loved fly fishing, he had found something he loved even more–temple work. But I couldn’t let go of the image of “the next cast might be the one.” There was so much hope in that idea. It made me want to keep trying at stuff that I’ve been basically unsuccessful at for years, to believe that someday I might actually get it right.

It took me back to a book I loved when I was a young adult and reread recently, I Never Promised You a Rose Garden. I don’t know why I’ve always had this kind of fascination with mental illness; it’s just so interesting to me to see how a mind works its way around the problems life creates for it. This book is about a young woman, Deborah, suffering from schizophrenia, and there’s a scene where one of the patients leaves the disturbed ward of the mental hospital to go out into the world again, and it sends all of the rest of the patients into a frenzy. Deborah asks why, and one of them tells her, “It’s because of the little, little maybe.” And she understands. It’s because maybe someday THEY’LL be well enough to go out, and they hope for that and fear it at the same time.

It’s interesting that sometimes it’s easier just to be sick. If you’re sick, you can keep in your mind the possibility that you would be doing perfectly if only you were well. Whereas if you’re well, and you’re not doing perfectly, it must mean that your best isn’t good enough. And I’m not just talking about mental ward sickness here, you understand. I’m talking about my own garden-variety, everyday sickness that manifests itself in ways like, “Well, I know if I would exercise and eat right I could get some of this weight off, but I just can’t expend that kind of energy right now.” I’m afraid to embrace the little, little maybe that I actually COULD get better, because what if I DID try to exercise and eat right, and I couldn’t do it? Or what if I did do it, but it didn’t help? What if I’m not good enough? Easier to stay sick than to face that possibility.

But even deeper in my heart is the place that wants to be whole, that wants to try, that wants to believe “the next cast might be the one.” That’s the voice I’m trying to listen to today. Maybe it’s time at last.

Some of you may know that Steph and Christian have a family tradition of writing wishes on helium balloons to release them in the air.  (As seen here) Today, Saturday, August 23rd,  we’d like to invite people anywhere, everywhere to write thoughts of faith and hope to be released at the same time. (Nie is going to love this!) Lets do 5:00 AZ time (6:00 MST/7:00/Central/8:00/Eastern).  If you are in Utah, we are having a balloon launch at Kiwanis Park in Provo (820 N 1100 E) from 5:45-7pm.  

If you want to take pictures of the release where you are and then e-mail them to Cjane at cjanemail@gmail.com, and we can post them on Monday on cjane’s blog.

ALSO, 

I would love to continue SNAIL MAIL FOR NIE NIE.  Stephanie has such a love of fine stationery and beautiful things.  I think it would be wonderful for us all to get out our prettiest stationery and send her and Christian a beautiful handwritten letter.  I love the art of snail mail, and they could post it in their hospital rooms.  (Include two letters because Steph and Christian are in separate rooms.)

c/o Stephanie and Christian Nielson
Maricopa County Hospital
2601 East Roosevelt Street
Phoenix, AZ 85008
(No flowers please! Though Nie would love them . . .)

When tragedy strikes, you never really know how you’re going to react.  It’s hard to anticipate the imagined conversations you will have to have, decisions that need to be made, and emotions that will suddenly surface.  No amount of planning or preparation, however necessary or helpful, will really prepare you for what it is to go through something awful.  This is the state that my family found itself in when, last Saturday, we discovered that Topher’s sister, Stephanie and her husband, Christian, were in a plane crash.

I don’t want to go into the details of what happened.  For that information you can go here or here.

I have been thinking about what I want to write about something so personal on this “light” blog.  I don’t have the benefit of perspective yet, but I have felt so strongly about writing about it, that I can’t ignore it.  I want to talk about the goodness of people.  We have all felt so amazed and humbled by the love that has been expressed.  So many people want to “do something.”  WE want to “do something,” but what we do is wait.  I have read so many blogs and posts about Stephanie and Christian:  how much people love them, admire them, have been inspired by Stephanie and her uplifting blog, and will pray and fast for both her and Christian.  Their stake held a fast. Our family, their friends, distant bloggers, old neighbors, and even their mailman joined together to fast and pray for their family.  Literally thousands of people anxiously sent emails expressing love and asking what they can do for help, and abstained from food and drink in mighty prayer in order to invoke the blessings of heaven.  And we have all felt their love, and it has been overwhelming.

I want to acknowledge how good people are.  I don’t know how to write it completely, in the same way that it has meaning to me, but I feel how kind people are.  I can see how they really want to help, and not in a trite way.  When they say, “What can I do?” or “Is there anything I can do?”  the meaning behind those few words is so strong and genuine that it has a real, comforting power.

It’s interesting being a sister in-law in this situation.  In-laws bring different traditions and ways of doing things to a family.  When this happened, my instinct is to buy treats and goodies, make care packages, and bring people food.  It’s what my family would do.  It felt better to me then sitting at home, waiting.  It seems small, and it is, but when a small offer is combined with others’ service, it is powerful.  That’s what I have learned.  I will never again underestimate the smallest offering:  a phone call, a note, a treat, an email, a meal, a kind word.

They have an incredibly long, difficult recovery ahead of them.  Their four small children don’t fully understand what is ahead of them, but they have several fierce surrogate mother and father figures ready to step in and treat those children the way Stephanie and Christian would want them to.  And, as a mother, that would be my biggest concern.  So when I see so many people reaching out like this, so honestly willing to do whatever is needed, I think that this is the way life’s meant to be, and that it will all work out.  And I wish that everyone felt so loved and so supported.

You never know how you’re really going to react in a situation like this.  My faith in the restored Gospel is strengthened, not questioned.  It is the quiet comfort in the back of my head that keeps my heart from racing, and that calms my mind of the “what if’s.”  It is more of a reality than a theory.  I think more of the pain of the situation than I thought I would, but it humbles me to do something.  It reminds me how each day is a literal gift, and embarrasses me of my so-called list of woes.  The goodness of people has inspired me to do better, and to be better.

Editor’s Note: Many have asked if they could donate to Christian & Stephanie’s recovery. First and foremost we’d appreciate your faith and prayers. If you would also like to donate to their financial welfare, please click on the button below. All funds will go directly to Stephanie & Christian and will help pay for their medical bills as well as their household management as they recover. Click to cjane’s blog for updates.