I had a big setback last weekend. I'm still trying to analyze what happened.
I went out of town to a convention and I was nervous regarding how I would eat. My trainer gave me permission to not exercise, since I would be doing a lot more walking around the city and convention center. But what really worried me was eating.
I've been eating a ketogenic diet for the last 4-5 weeks. I'm not sure how long it took me to "adapt," but the little ketone testing strips I use indicated that I was in ketosis for roughly 3-4 of those weeks. I didn't want to lose ground as the scale (used infrequently!) was indicating weight loss. My clothes felt about the same and the mirror certainly wasn't reflecting weight loss, but I had faith that I was doing the right things - and I trust my trainer.
But I'm not good with trusting myself. I am definitely a "when in Rome" kind of guy and being on vacation is a chance to let my hair down (figuratively, since I'm bald). Knowing all of this, I decided to plan ahead. I prepped a bunch of food that I could eat and carry some of it around (yes, I was carrying around bacon in my backpack for 3 days!). I knew that I would be going out to eat with friends, so I decided that I needed to look for the best options - salads, meats, etc., and just stick to those. I decided to look at eating out, but choosing healthy options, as my treat - instead of my usual idea of a treat - eat as much of whatever I want while eating out!
And it seemed to work! I was feeling pretty good about everything - feeling good about my preparation, about my execution, about my restraint in restaurants, etc. Looking back, I was probably feeling too good.
I need to interject something here. For most of my life, I haven't felt very good about myself. When I "mess up" or make a mistake, it usually stems from a place of feeling bad about myself, or feeling sorry for myself. The idea is based on shame - I do bad things, because I am a bad thing. But there are times, when I fall victim to a pretty classic "temptational justification," i.e., "just one won't hurt..." And this usually happens when I'm on an upswing. It's usually when things are going great. I'm thinking to myself, "hey, I'm doing pretty great right now. I can handle indulging in just a little bit of (fill in the blank). It's not going to effect me too terribly, I mean, how can it, when I'm doing so well...?"
So when I had a largely successful trip, I was feeling really good about it and I got lulled into a false sense of security. (Those of us who are shame-based/traumatized - ok, maybe just me - aren't great at differentiating pride from confidence. In other words, I won't allow myself to feel good about myself, because that is prideful and pride deserves to be punished...) Well, I decided that since I'd had great success, that I was going to allow myself one treat on my last day. I knew it would kick me out of ketosis for a day or two, but hey, I was doing so well that I was certain I could regain ketosis in a day or two as well, right?
So I sought out the perfect treat and I found it in a little gelato shop. I told myself that I would not be neurotic about it. While I knew it wasn't the right thing to do, I decided that I was just going to enjoy it and then let it go. And boy howdy, did I enjoy it!! I was walking down the street on cloud nine. I ate slowly and savored every bite. It was nearly a transformative experience. I was going to go home the next day feeling like a winner! ...or so I thought.
While I was driving home I kept mentally replaying difficult scenes from my life. I didn't even realize what was happening at first. It was probably two to three hours into my drive when I realized that I didn't "feel right," but couldn't identify why. So I did my best to do some self-talk and tell myself that I was okay and that I was safe and that everything was going to be ok. It should have worked, but it didn't. It seemed that my self-pity and defenses were up pretty high and didn't want to be pulled back down.
One interesting thing that happened was when I stopped in Grand Junction to gas up. I had the last of my prepped food to eat, but I really wanted a hamburger, fries and a shake. I decided to go to Wendy's, but on the way, I realized that I was not making a nutritional decision. I knew that I was making an emotional decision. I knew that my body didn't really want fast food, but my emotions did. In a completely uncharacteristic move, and what I can only attribute to divine intervention, I turned my car around and just continued driving. I ate the last of my healthy food and for a little while, I felt pretty good about making that decision.
But my emotions had not been appeased and it wasn't long before my previous feelings of being unsettled, or not feeling right, intensified and my thoughts turned to self-shaming thoughts. I berated myself for anything and everything. I beat myself up for being me, i.e., weak, pathetic, a loser, fat, ugly, etc.
After eight hours of driving, I made it home just in time for dinner. At this point, I think I had given up. I didn't have the energy to do anything good for myself or the will power to restrain myself. Even though I made it a point to eat healthy food first (e.g., meat, salad, etc.) I then proceeded to go down pretty hard on some pasta salad, baked carrots/potatoes, bread, chips and salsa, pie and ice cream, etc. It felt so good to give up. It felt right to give up on myself. I had blissfully checked out and it seemed that all my bad feelings had finally gone away - as if filling my belly had filled my emotional needs.
You can jam a round peg into a square hole and pretend that "it fits," but it doesn't fit...
I went to bed that night feeling physically satisfied, but emotionally burned out. I'll just summarize the rest of my week: depression, sleeping late, pulling a muscle in my neck that was painful, avoiding people, self-hatred and negative thoughts and round after round of promising to eat healthy and then binging on whatever I could find...
So, it's not been a great week for me. Actually it's been a pretty shitty week. Which is so strange because I was so worried about the time I would be travelling, when it turns out that all of that time actually went pretty great. It was the time immediately following that somehow triggered a shame spiral. I think I have something inside me that won't let me be happy for myself. It's as if I sunk into a shame spiral BECAUSE I had such a good weekend! As if there is some internal sensor that says, "hey, you had a great week, and you were really successful, but you aren't allowed to be successful - or too happy, so we need to re-balance that out with some self-pity..." It's as if I was punishing myself for being happy about having a successful weekend. No, it doesn't make logical sense, but that is because that is shame-logic at work and proof that I have more work to do.
Maybe the worst part is that I know why. I know exactly why I feel this way. I know exactly how this faulty-shame logic started. I have been through some really traumatic experiences in that I was sexually traumatized by two different neighbors in two different neighborhoods about three years apart. But you know what's crazy? As damaging as that was (and it WAS damaging), I suffered a greater trauma by not having my dad's attention. I was neglected by a man who was supposed to love me more than anyone. I was rejected by a man who was always in the next room, but didn't have time for me. Whatever he was involved in was always more important than me.
That is how I learned that I was worthless. That's the only explanation possible for why he didn't spend time with me. I was so bad, so ugly, so fat, so stupid, so broken, so disgusting, that my own father didn't want anything to do with me. I don't deserve to have anything good in my life because I'm not worth it. The adult in me acknowledges how wrong those statements are, but I wasn't an adult when I was neglected. I was a child and I wasn't capable of understanding why my own father wouldn't pay attention to me. The only "logical" explanation was that I wasn't worth it. That child still lives within me. That child is still hurting from not having his dad's attention. And the soul of that child is starving - starving for attention, starving for affection, starving for his father to hold him and tell him that he's important to him and that he's worth his time and attention. Starving to be told that he's okay and that everything is going to be okay.
Is it ironic or completely apparent now why I use those phrases to comfort myself when I'm not feeling right. "You're okay. Everything's going to be okay." The problem is, because it's coming from me, I don't believe it. I feel stuck because these are things I need my dad to say to me, but he's not here to do that. So how do I get that need met when he's not here to meet it?
How am I ever going to move forward with my life, when these missing pieces keep holding me back. It's like my life has been one continuous round of me trying to move forward, but then having a major "setback." But is it really a setback, or me just trying to move beyond my painful past and getting yanked back by a tether that won't seem to break?
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
The "Santa Clause" Trauma
...and no, I'm not talking about the trauma of being forced to sit on a foul-breathed, fat, old stranger's lap while someone gets a photo op out of it...
I'm talking about movies.
It's funny how common it is for a Christmas movie to have the following premise: Child desperately wants something; Child asks Santa for it; Child doesn't get it; Disappointed child "grows up" in that instant and refuses to believe in Santa Clause. (Only to find out years later that he IS real and that their gift was delayed, but just what they needed, when they needed it, whether they recognized it or not... cue sleigh bells for a happy ending!!)
Which leads me to this question - what do you do when someone hurts you by what they DIDN'T do?
As in the case of so many Christmas movies, when a child does not receive what they expect to receive, it can be traumatic. It can shape that child's experience of the world and their fundamental beliefs about themselves in the world. This is especially true when the child has done all they know how to do to get their desire, even if all they know how to do is have hope, faith and belief.
I guess what I'm talking about here is a little more serious than a Christmas movie, but it's the principle of the analogy that I'm going for here.
How does a child grow up to believe in herself/himself when the actions of their own parent(s) say, "you aren't worth my time..."? A child naturally believes in the superiority of their own parents; even sees them as "god-like," in a way. Developmentally, a child doesn't have a mature sense of attribution of cause and effect. In essence they, themselves, are the cause of everything. For example, it's ridiculously common for a child to blame themselves for their parents divorce. For the child, there is no other possibility.
I think that could explain why so many people hurt themselves. And hurt could be anything from negative self-talk to actual physical harm, leading up to suicide. It could explain why some people have a hard time believing in themselves. Or why change is so hard for some people - their own parent(s) taught them that they aren't worth it.
While both of my parents were loving, or at least, did their best to be, my mom often served as an active critical influence (there are loads of reason's why, which I won't go in to...), and that has it's own type of trauma associated with it, but my dad was absent. It's not ironic that I write this today. Today is the anniversary of my dad's death, March 11, 2007. As I write this, I miss him, but I am also realizing that I've been "missing him" since childhood. He was kind; he was gentle; he never yelled or got violent - and I absolutely love and honor him for that. But I have more memories of seeing his back than his face. I have more memories of him retreating, or walking away, than I do of him coming toward me. I realized just today, while I was thinking about him, that I think I was able to let him go when my parents got divorced when I was 14 and I was able to let him go when he passed away 8 years ago when he died, because I had already had to let him go as a child - because he wasn't really there to begin with; at least, he just wasn't "present."
You can be in the same room as someone and say that you're "with" them, but if you aren't giving them your attention, you aren't really "with" them. You're near them - that's all. There were loads of times when my dad would come home on a Saturday evening and I would find out that he'd been out metal detecting, or rock hunting, or fishing, or whatever, and I'd think, "why didn't he take me with him?" I learned early on that my dad liked being alone. In fact, in those rare times when he did take me with him, I always felt like he didn't want me along. I knew that he'd rather be alone and that he had brought me along out of obligation. No child likes to feel that they're a duty.
I talked with him about that before he died and what he told me blew me away. He said he loved being with me, but he felt that I never wanted to be around him! Here we both were, thinking that the other didn't want the other around. As an adult, with a more mature sense of cause of effect, I can look back and see that he liked to be alone because that was what he knew. His own siblings had alienated him and I don't think he ever dealt with that resentment. But he learned to function in the world alone. I see now that his "absence" was just his own loneliness, but for me, as a child, I didn't see that - I couldn't see that. All I could see was that he pulled away from me because I wasn't enough to keep his attention. That was my "I don't believe in Santa Clause moment." But, what I really mean is, that was my "I don't believe in myself," moment. How could I believe in myself, when I wasn't even good enough for my own father's attention?
What happens to a kid with a fearful/critical mother, a present, but "absent" father - and don't forget to throw in some traumatic molestation for good measure? You get a kid who isn't able to see his own worth. You get a kid who thinks very little of himself. You get a kid who doesn't know why he's here or what his purpose in life is. You get a kid who gets involved in lots of addictions and self-defeating/self-harm behaviors. You get a kid who gets anxiety and depression, because he doesn't believe that he's worth being happy, or deserving of it. You get a kid who will do almost anything to avoid the pain of being himself.
I may not believe in Santa Clause, but I am starting to think it's a Christmas miracle that I'm still here...
Here is my plea to fathers: Please pay attention to your children! Please don't just be in the same room with them, give them your undivided attention!! Be interested in them. Ask them to share their thoughts and feelings and then listen/accept without judgment or criticism. Ask them what their interests are, or what their hopes and fears are. Put your arm around them and tell them they are loved. No, more than that, tell them that they are precious to you; that they are important to you and that you are proud of them. Console them when they are scared or lonely. Tell them that they are okay and that everything will be okay. Hug them tightly.
Just to be clear - I do love my father and I miss him terribly! But the disappointment I feel is real and I know that it will just take time to work that out. I look forward to the day when I can think of all the good my father did for me and not feel the hurt anymore.
I'm talking about movies.
It's funny how common it is for a Christmas movie to have the following premise: Child desperately wants something; Child asks Santa for it; Child doesn't get it; Disappointed child "grows up" in that instant and refuses to believe in Santa Clause. (Only to find out years later that he IS real and that their gift was delayed, but just what they needed, when they needed it, whether they recognized it or not... cue sleigh bells for a happy ending!!)
Which leads me to this question - what do you do when someone hurts you by what they DIDN'T do?
As in the case of so many Christmas movies, when a child does not receive what they expect to receive, it can be traumatic. It can shape that child's experience of the world and their fundamental beliefs about themselves in the world. This is especially true when the child has done all they know how to do to get their desire, even if all they know how to do is have hope, faith and belief.
I guess what I'm talking about here is a little more serious than a Christmas movie, but it's the principle of the analogy that I'm going for here.
How does a child grow up to believe in herself/himself when the actions of their own parent(s) say, "you aren't worth my time..."? A child naturally believes in the superiority of their own parents; even sees them as "god-like," in a way. Developmentally, a child doesn't have a mature sense of attribution of cause and effect. In essence they, themselves, are the cause of everything. For example, it's ridiculously common for a child to blame themselves for their parents divorce. For the child, there is no other possibility.
I think that could explain why so many people hurt themselves. And hurt could be anything from negative self-talk to actual physical harm, leading up to suicide. It could explain why some people have a hard time believing in themselves. Or why change is so hard for some people - their own parent(s) taught them that they aren't worth it.
While both of my parents were loving, or at least, did their best to be, my mom often served as an active critical influence (there are loads of reason's why, which I won't go in to...), and that has it's own type of trauma associated with it, but my dad was absent. It's not ironic that I write this today. Today is the anniversary of my dad's death, March 11, 2007. As I write this, I miss him, but I am also realizing that I've been "missing him" since childhood. He was kind; he was gentle; he never yelled or got violent - and I absolutely love and honor him for that. But I have more memories of seeing his back than his face. I have more memories of him retreating, or walking away, than I do of him coming toward me. I realized just today, while I was thinking about him, that I think I was able to let him go when my parents got divorced when I was 14 and I was able to let him go when he passed away 8 years ago when he died, because I had already had to let him go as a child - because he wasn't really there to begin with; at least, he just wasn't "present."
You can be in the same room as someone and say that you're "with" them, but if you aren't giving them your attention, you aren't really "with" them. You're near them - that's all. There were loads of times when my dad would come home on a Saturday evening and I would find out that he'd been out metal detecting, or rock hunting, or fishing, or whatever, and I'd think, "why didn't he take me with him?" I learned early on that my dad liked being alone. In fact, in those rare times when he did take me with him, I always felt like he didn't want me along. I knew that he'd rather be alone and that he had brought me along out of obligation. No child likes to feel that they're a duty.
I talked with him about that before he died and what he told me blew me away. He said he loved being with me, but he felt that I never wanted to be around him! Here we both were, thinking that the other didn't want the other around. As an adult, with a more mature sense of cause of effect, I can look back and see that he liked to be alone because that was what he knew. His own siblings had alienated him and I don't think he ever dealt with that resentment. But he learned to function in the world alone. I see now that his "absence" was just his own loneliness, but for me, as a child, I didn't see that - I couldn't see that. All I could see was that he pulled away from me because I wasn't enough to keep his attention. That was my "I don't believe in Santa Clause moment." But, what I really mean is, that was my "I don't believe in myself," moment. How could I believe in myself, when I wasn't even good enough for my own father's attention?
What happens to a kid with a fearful/critical mother, a present, but "absent" father - and don't forget to throw in some traumatic molestation for good measure? You get a kid who isn't able to see his own worth. You get a kid who thinks very little of himself. You get a kid who doesn't know why he's here or what his purpose in life is. You get a kid who gets involved in lots of addictions and self-defeating/self-harm behaviors. You get a kid who gets anxiety and depression, because he doesn't believe that he's worth being happy, or deserving of it. You get a kid who will do almost anything to avoid the pain of being himself.
I may not believe in Santa Clause, but I am starting to think it's a Christmas miracle that I'm still here...
Here is my plea to fathers: Please pay attention to your children! Please don't just be in the same room with them, give them your undivided attention!! Be interested in them. Ask them to share their thoughts and feelings and then listen/accept without judgment or criticism. Ask them what their interests are, or what their hopes and fears are. Put your arm around them and tell them they are loved. No, more than that, tell them that they are precious to you; that they are important to you and that you are proud of them. Console them when they are scared or lonely. Tell them that they are okay and that everything will be okay. Hug them tightly.
Just to be clear - I do love my father and I miss him terribly! But the disappointment I feel is real and I know that it will just take time to work that out. I look forward to the day when I can think of all the good my father did for me and not feel the hurt anymore.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Anniversary and I quit!
Today is my dad's Birthday. I feel bad that I didn't remember until this morning when I woke up. This time of year is hard because my thoughts turn to my dad and our relationship, which was good, then rocky, then good again. Next week, the 11th to be exact, will be the anniversary of his passing (7 years ago!). It's always a hard time of year - my thoughts and moods are like a pendulum as I swing from things I miss (and things I will miss in the future), to gratitude for the time we had.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
The fact that I hadn't remembered my dad's birthday is only a reflection of how difficult things have been for me recently. Mostly internal struggles about what I want out of life and what I think I'm worth having. I've never been good about putting my needs first - it feels selfish and prideful. But little by litte I'm discovering that a rusty, broken tool is useless. A tool needs to be maintained in order to work effectively. I can't be a benefit to those around me if I'm broken and rusty. I have not been healthy, maybe ever, but certainly more recently. I have found a great career that is service-oriented, but at the expense of my health.
So I've done something either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid - and submitted my resignation. I've given 60 days notice so I will be done by the end of April. I will meet the requirements to garner my national certification, which is a milestone I would greatly regret missing. But after that...? I have no back-up plan. I don't even know that I want to continue with Speech-Language Pathology.
I am terrified. I believe I've done the right thing, but I don't know if I have. I worry that I'm being irresponsible, or that I'm making a rash decision, but ultimately, I don't think so. I hope that what I've done is an expression of faith. Faith in myself that it's time to give myself a chance to be healthy, faith that I'm worth it, and faith that I have a loving Father in Heaven who will support me in my decision and will provide for my needs, as well as my health and happiness. Ultimately, I hope that in so doing I will find that I am well enough to be of service to Him.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
The fact that I hadn't remembered my dad's birthday is only a reflection of how difficult things have been for me recently. Mostly internal struggles about what I want out of life and what I think I'm worth having. I've never been good about putting my needs first - it feels selfish and prideful. But little by litte I'm discovering that a rusty, broken tool is useless. A tool needs to be maintained in order to work effectively. I can't be a benefit to those around me if I'm broken and rusty. I have not been healthy, maybe ever, but certainly more recently. I have found a great career that is service-oriented, but at the expense of my health.
So I've done something either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid - and submitted my resignation. I've given 60 days notice so I will be done by the end of April. I will meet the requirements to garner my national certification, which is a milestone I would greatly regret missing. But after that...? I have no back-up plan. I don't even know that I want to continue with Speech-Language Pathology.
I am terrified. I believe I've done the right thing, but I don't know if I have. I worry that I'm being irresponsible, or that I'm making a rash decision, but ultimately, I don't think so. I hope that what I've done is an expression of faith. Faith in myself that it's time to give myself a chance to be healthy, faith that I'm worth it, and faith that I have a loving Father in Heaven who will support me in my decision and will provide for my needs, as well as my health and happiness. Ultimately, I hope that in so doing I will find that I am well enough to be of service to Him.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Talk
Sorry for the long post, but I just decided to put my talk "out there," rather than try to summarize it.
"I know that you all see me each week, but I don’t get much of a chance to really interact with you so I thought I would take a few minutes and just tell you a little bit about myself.
My name is Micah Foster. I am currently living in Marilyn Foster’s home while she is serving a mission in Frankfurt, Germany. Marilyn is my step-mom and I am Bob Foster’s son, for those of you who may have known him.
I was born in Virginia, but we moved to Idaho when I was about 2 to be closer to family - which may have something to do with why we then kept on moving every couple of years; at least until we finally settled in Highland, Utah when I was about 8 and that’s where I consider myself from. I am the youngest of three children, I have two sisters and my mom currently lives in Lehi, down by Thanksgiving Point. I used to hate being the “baby” of the family, but I am old enough now to realize that whatever drawbacks it came with, I was really good at it and it also made me terribly interesting so I’ve made my peace with it.
I am currently a full-time graduate student at the University of Utah working on a Master’s degree in Speech Language Pathology. It’s a two year program, which they tell me goes really fast, but right now it doesn’t feel that way. In fact, I spend most weeks wondering if I’m going to make it through at all, as it’s a very difficult program, but I also love what I’m learning and I know it’s where I need to be right now. In fact, going back to school was a bit of a risk for me. I spent the last 11 years working in Human Resources – I’ve been at both the University of Utah and Intermountain Health Care – and wasn’t sure I was capable of quitting a full-time job (and a full-time paycheck) and still survive. Well, for reasons I don’t have time to talk about today, I did it anyway and found that what I thought was a terrifying sacrifice in reality turned out to be a chance to receive many, many blessings and even a few miracles.
I have had 34 years to practice being single; and you know what they say, “practice makes perfect” and they’re right. So it’s nice to know that I’m perfect at something. I am not against being set-up (as sister Stringham can attest), but I’ll be honest, grad school is about a 70-80 hour work week and I am far too exhausted each week to think about dating; I’m not against it, I’m just not as young as I used to be either. (p.s. Sister Stringham, you’re going to make an excellent Single’s Ward Bishop’s Wife someday, so keep it up!)
The last thing I should tell you has to do with my hair. So, I’ve never had long hair before and what started out as kind of a joke has turned into a “thing,” so I promised my classmates that I would not cut my hair until I graduate… or get married (‘cause why not throw that out to the universe?). So you’re looking at about 8 months of growth with about another 16 months to go. The longer it gets the more I realize it’s going to turn into a “bullet” – which is a balding mullet, but since I’m also not dating right now, I’m not too worried about it. Also, just to forewarn you, if I happen to show up to church one day with my hair in cornrows, don’t worry about it, it’s temporary, I haven’t joined a gang or anything, it’s just my way of keeping it real.
That’s my brief introduction and still probably more than you wanted to know. On to the topic at hand.
So, I’ll be honest, I love/hate Brother Ardern’s 2011 October General Conference talk on our use of time. On the one hand, I hate it because it makes me feel guilty for all the time I’ve wasted in the past and also because my life feels so unbalanced now. With school being as intense as it is, I really don’t feel that I have time to do all the things I’m supposed to do and that makes me feel bad. I do acknowledge, however, that, ultimately, going through this difficult time in school will actually enable me to have a better circumstance where I can have more balance and more time to serve, but right now it feels very egocentric.
On the other hand, I do love this talk because it gives me perspective. It reminds me of what my priorities are. So, I kind of ended up in HR merely by chance. I was starting school at the University of Utah and needed a part-time job. I started out part-time and eventually took on more and more responsibility. I graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Interpersonal Communication and that actually seemed a good fit for HR, so I just stayed with it. Unbeknownst to me, however, my life was about to change.
It’s December 23, 2005. My dad calls and says my sister and I should come over to the house (my other sister was living in Texas at the time). We knew he had been having some very minor health concerns and had a few recent doctor’s visits, so his invitation was a little disconcerting. He sat us down and proceeded to tell us what his doctor told him. He had Kidney Cancer and he was only expected to live about another 6 months. I was in shock. I don’t remember a lot of things about that day, but one of the things that stands out the most, was actually what I experienced that night after I had gone back to my apartment. I felt as if I were being torn in two or that a piece of me was dying with him. Arguably, one of the worst nights of my life.
Well, the sixth month prognosis came and went and I felt that everyday my dad lived past that six months was a blessing. Fast forward about a year. I went to visit him in the hospital. I cherished the moments when he and I could be alone together to talk. You should know that while my dad and I always loved each other and got along, we still were never as close as I had wanted us to be. The time I lived with him while I was school and during his illness allowed us to get to know each other better and definitely improved our relationship for which I am extremely grateful. During this particular visit, where it was just the two of us, I could tell he was solemn and contemplative. I pulled my chair up next to his bed and held his hand. We started talking about life and time and preparing to move on to the next world. I asked him how he felt about dying and I was not prepared for what he shared with me.
He said that death held no fear for him, but he was worried about something. He wondered whether or not he was prepared to meet the Savior. That really took me by surprise. Those of you who knew my dad, know what a great man he was. He was kind and thoughtful; he loved the families he home taught; he loved serving in the church and was good at serving others. How could such a good man be afraid to meet the Savior? I vaguely recall giving some typical reinforcement about how I felt that he was more prepared than he realized, but I mean honestly, what else are you going to say?
I think what surprised me about that conversation wasn’t so much what he said, as it was that I saw him in a way that I had never seen him before – as a child of God. I always saw him as just my dad - someone who I could rely on and who was just always there; someone I had depended on my whole life. But for the first time, I saw that not only was he my dad, but he was someone else’s son. It made me realize how personal our relationship with our Father in Heaven is and how important it is to each individual. As strange as it may sound, that moment helped me begin the process of letting him go.
It wasn’t long after that that he celebrated his 60th birthday on March 2, 2007, which was something he was pretty proud about. Nine days later, he passed away. It was March 11, 2007, exactly 5 years ago today.
“And we see that death comes upon mankind, yea, the death which has been spoken of by Amulek, which is the temporal death; nevertheless, there was a space granted unto man in which he might repent; therefore this life became a probationary state; a time to prepare to meet God;”
Alma 12:24
“Yea, I would that ye would come forth and harden not your hearts any longer; for behold, now is the time and the day of your salvation; and therefore if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you. For behold, this life is the time for men to prepare to meet God;”
Alma 34:31-32
I don’t know what your lives are like. I don’t know what you struggle with. Statistically I suppose some of us here struggle with depression, perhaps self-esteem issues; some of us here struggle with finances or maybe with our temper. Some of us struggle with addictions to pornography, alcohol, tobacco, gambling, food even. I don’t know what it is in your life that may be preventing you from preparing yourself to meet the Savior one day. But I do know this: one day, you will meet the Savior. And the way you live now, right now, today, will determine whether you see him as THE Savior or YOUR Savior.
My invitation is for all of us to follow Brother Ardern’s advice: devote your time to the things that matter most. And what matters most is your relationship to your Father in Heaven and to YOUR Savior. Repent. Qualify for mercy. There is no better time than now.
I testify to you that the atonement is real. It’s power is real. Change is possible. Forgiveness is possible. Forget about the past – start from wherever you are right now and do your best. Be patient and forgiving of yourself. Allow the Savior to forgive you. If your sins are of a nature that you need to confess to the Bishop, confess them, don’t wait, don’t put it off. I know God lives. I know we are each precious to him. I know he is there and I know he will help you the way he helped my dad and the way he is helping me. But we have to act – we have to do our part because he cannot force us back to him. But once we choose to follow we begin our preparation. I pray that we will spend our time preparing for our return and I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."
"I know that you all see me each week, but I don’t get much of a chance to really interact with you so I thought I would take a few minutes and just tell you a little bit about myself.
My name is Micah Foster. I am currently living in Marilyn Foster’s home while she is serving a mission in Frankfurt, Germany. Marilyn is my step-mom and I am Bob Foster’s son, for those of you who may have known him.
I was born in Virginia, but we moved to Idaho when I was about 2 to be closer to family - which may have something to do with why we then kept on moving every couple of years; at least until we finally settled in Highland, Utah when I was about 8 and that’s where I consider myself from. I am the youngest of three children, I have two sisters and my mom currently lives in Lehi, down by Thanksgiving Point. I used to hate being the “baby” of the family, but I am old enough now to realize that whatever drawbacks it came with, I was really good at it and it also made me terribly interesting so I’ve made my peace with it.
I am currently a full-time graduate student at the University of Utah working on a Master’s degree in Speech Language Pathology. It’s a two year program, which they tell me goes really fast, but right now it doesn’t feel that way. In fact, I spend most weeks wondering if I’m going to make it through at all, as it’s a very difficult program, but I also love what I’m learning and I know it’s where I need to be right now. In fact, going back to school was a bit of a risk for me. I spent the last 11 years working in Human Resources – I’ve been at both the University of Utah and Intermountain Health Care – and wasn’t sure I was capable of quitting a full-time job (and a full-time paycheck) and still survive. Well, for reasons I don’t have time to talk about today, I did it anyway and found that what I thought was a terrifying sacrifice in reality turned out to be a chance to receive many, many blessings and even a few miracles.
I have had 34 years to practice being single; and you know what they say, “practice makes perfect” and they’re right. So it’s nice to know that I’m perfect at something. I am not against being set-up (as sister Stringham can attest), but I’ll be honest, grad school is about a 70-80 hour work week and I am far too exhausted each week to think about dating; I’m not against it, I’m just not as young as I used to be either. (p.s. Sister Stringham, you’re going to make an excellent Single’s Ward Bishop’s Wife someday, so keep it up!)
The last thing I should tell you has to do with my hair. So, I’ve never had long hair before and what started out as kind of a joke has turned into a “thing,” so I promised my classmates that I would not cut my hair until I graduate… or get married (‘cause why not throw that out to the universe?). So you’re looking at about 8 months of growth with about another 16 months to go. The longer it gets the more I realize it’s going to turn into a “bullet” – which is a balding mullet, but since I’m also not dating right now, I’m not too worried about it. Also, just to forewarn you, if I happen to show up to church one day with my hair in cornrows, don’t worry about it, it’s temporary, I haven’t joined a gang or anything, it’s just my way of keeping it real.
That’s my brief introduction and still probably more than you wanted to know. On to the topic at hand.
So, I’ll be honest, I love/hate Brother Ardern’s 2011 October General Conference talk on our use of time. On the one hand, I hate it because it makes me feel guilty for all the time I’ve wasted in the past and also because my life feels so unbalanced now. With school being as intense as it is, I really don’t feel that I have time to do all the things I’m supposed to do and that makes me feel bad. I do acknowledge, however, that, ultimately, going through this difficult time in school will actually enable me to have a better circumstance where I can have more balance and more time to serve, but right now it feels very egocentric.
On the other hand, I do love this talk because it gives me perspective. It reminds me of what my priorities are. So, I kind of ended up in HR merely by chance. I was starting school at the University of Utah and needed a part-time job. I started out part-time and eventually took on more and more responsibility. I graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Interpersonal Communication and that actually seemed a good fit for HR, so I just stayed with it. Unbeknownst to me, however, my life was about to change.
It’s December 23, 2005. My dad calls and says my sister and I should come over to the house (my other sister was living in Texas at the time). We knew he had been having some very minor health concerns and had a few recent doctor’s visits, so his invitation was a little disconcerting. He sat us down and proceeded to tell us what his doctor told him. He had Kidney Cancer and he was only expected to live about another 6 months. I was in shock. I don’t remember a lot of things about that day, but one of the things that stands out the most, was actually what I experienced that night after I had gone back to my apartment. I felt as if I were being torn in two or that a piece of me was dying with him. Arguably, one of the worst nights of my life.
Well, the sixth month prognosis came and went and I felt that everyday my dad lived past that six months was a blessing. Fast forward about a year. I went to visit him in the hospital. I cherished the moments when he and I could be alone together to talk. You should know that while my dad and I always loved each other and got along, we still were never as close as I had wanted us to be. The time I lived with him while I was school and during his illness allowed us to get to know each other better and definitely improved our relationship for which I am extremely grateful. During this particular visit, where it was just the two of us, I could tell he was solemn and contemplative. I pulled my chair up next to his bed and held his hand. We started talking about life and time and preparing to move on to the next world. I asked him how he felt about dying and I was not prepared for what he shared with me.
He said that death held no fear for him, but he was worried about something. He wondered whether or not he was prepared to meet the Savior. That really took me by surprise. Those of you who knew my dad, know what a great man he was. He was kind and thoughtful; he loved the families he home taught; he loved serving in the church and was good at serving others. How could such a good man be afraid to meet the Savior? I vaguely recall giving some typical reinforcement about how I felt that he was more prepared than he realized, but I mean honestly, what else are you going to say?
I think what surprised me about that conversation wasn’t so much what he said, as it was that I saw him in a way that I had never seen him before – as a child of God. I always saw him as just my dad - someone who I could rely on and who was just always there; someone I had depended on my whole life. But for the first time, I saw that not only was he my dad, but he was someone else’s son. It made me realize how personal our relationship with our Father in Heaven is and how important it is to each individual. As strange as it may sound, that moment helped me begin the process of letting him go.
It wasn’t long after that that he celebrated his 60th birthday on March 2, 2007, which was something he was pretty proud about. Nine days later, he passed away. It was March 11, 2007, exactly 5 years ago today.
“And we see that death comes upon mankind, yea, the death which has been spoken of by Amulek, which is the temporal death; nevertheless, there was a space granted unto man in which he might repent; therefore this life became a probationary state; a time to prepare to meet God;”
Alma 12:24
“Yea, I would that ye would come forth and harden not your hearts any longer; for behold, now is the time and the day of your salvation; and therefore if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you. For behold, this life is the time for men to prepare to meet God;”
Alma 34:31-32
I don’t know what your lives are like. I don’t know what you struggle with. Statistically I suppose some of us here struggle with depression, perhaps self-esteem issues; some of us here struggle with finances or maybe with our temper. Some of us struggle with addictions to pornography, alcohol, tobacco, gambling, food even. I don’t know what it is in your life that may be preventing you from preparing yourself to meet the Savior one day. But I do know this: one day, you will meet the Savior. And the way you live now, right now, today, will determine whether you see him as THE Savior or YOUR Savior.
My invitation is for all of us to follow Brother Ardern’s advice: devote your time to the things that matter most. And what matters most is your relationship to your Father in Heaven and to YOUR Savior. Repent. Qualify for mercy. There is no better time than now.
I testify to you that the atonement is real. It’s power is real. Change is possible. Forgiveness is possible. Forget about the past – start from wherever you are right now and do your best. Be patient and forgiving of yourself. Allow the Savior to forgive you. If your sins are of a nature that you need to confess to the Bishop, confess them, don’t wait, don’t put it off. I know God lives. I know we are each precious to him. I know he is there and I know he will help you the way he helped my dad and the way he is helping me. But we have to act – we have to do our part because he cannot force us back to him. But once we choose to follow we begin our preparation. I pray that we will spend our time preparing for our return and I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."
Friday, June 24, 2011
Homemade Syrup
I miss the Saturday mornings when my dad would make us homemade syrup for our pancakes or french toast*. I remember him getting out the little sauce pot (hardly ever used because my mom normally cooks for an army!) and would put in some water and measure out some sugar. Then he’d separate it and make different flavored syrups, maple, orange, or even just plain, once in a while. I think he may have even put in a little food coloring just to make it interesting.
It seems like such a simple thing now, but I remember it made those mornings feel special – I suppose because it was out of the ordinary. And not only did he not do it often, I never knew of anyone else who could do that at all. Just one more of those surprising things that my dad knew how to do. He seemed so average most of the time and then out of nowhere he’d whip out this special skill he’d been hiding – who knows from where and who knows from how long ago. In fact, in a way, it seemed like these secret things he knew how to do were just a part of him, somehow written into his DNA, patiently waiting for the day they were needed. I bet he had a whole lot of other useful knowledge tucked away in secret corners of his mind, just waiting to be needed for special occasions. He knew how to make syrup. He knew how to make bullets. He could build a camp fire out of almost nothing. He always knew what was wrong with my car. I miss the things he could have taught me, but I’m also grateful for the memories I have of the ordinary days he made special with just a bit of syrup.
*Occasionally we made the "poor man's snow cone," by going outside to make snowballs, then bring them inside and pour on the syrup (we let the syrup cool a little so it didn't melt the snow all at once!).
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| (I snagged this photo off the web w/o permission, i.e. it's not a photo of my own!) |
It seems like such a simple thing now, but I remember it made those mornings feel special – I suppose because it was out of the ordinary. And not only did he not do it often, I never knew of anyone else who could do that at all. Just one more of those surprising things that my dad knew how to do. He seemed so average most of the time and then out of nowhere he’d whip out this special skill he’d been hiding – who knows from where and who knows from how long ago. In fact, in a way, it seemed like these secret things he knew how to do were just a part of him, somehow written into his DNA, patiently waiting for the day they were needed. I bet he had a whole lot of other useful knowledge tucked away in secret corners of his mind, just waiting to be needed for special occasions. He knew how to make syrup. He knew how to make bullets. He could build a camp fire out of almost nothing. He always knew what was wrong with my car. I miss the things he could have taught me, but I’m also grateful for the memories I have of the ordinary days he made special with just a bit of syrup.
*Occasionally we made the "poor man's snow cone," by going outside to make snowballs, then bring them inside and pour on the syrup (we let the syrup cool a little so it didn't melt the snow all at once!).
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