Delicate & Dedicated White 

by Shauna V. Brown 

   This morning I tucked a small white handkerchief into my journal and carried it to church. I would be using it later as part of a the Brigham City Temple Dedication service. 

     After my mothers passing I inherited a box filled with her dainty handkerchiefs. Since then I have gifted most of her delicate linens to loved ones.  Today, I decided my mother would enjoy knowing that I was carrying a bit of her memories, for me, into the sacred setting of a temple dedication.

    When the Jordan River Temple was dedicated  November of 1981, Rick was heavily involved with the open house. Because of his service  Rick and I, as well as Scott and Heather were invited to attend that temple dedication in the Celestial Room. I also got to sing with the temple choir at another of the sessions. So this morning it caused me to reflect once again upon those sweet moments and memories. I was well filled as I meditated upon the purpose of such an event. Grateful that today so many could attend while sitting in stake centers,allowing them to feast upon the messages spoken as well as those felt within the heart.

      I pondered upon the word “dedication.” I believe, it was much more meaningful to me, as I renewed the dedication  of my heart and soul unto God. It was a time to refocus upon my commitment, and remembrance of who I am.  

    Memories of temple dedications, temple sealings, temple beginnings, temple baptisms, temple pondering and temple pleadings, drifted through my heart as I pondered. It made me think of Rick and his "Born-Again" experience as a young 15 year old Methodist.  Grateful that God allows us numerous opportunities throughout our mortal journey to recommit and dedicate our lives to Him. Blessed am I to have so many memories to reflect upon. 

     As I held my mother’s delicate hanky in hand I thought of her hands. To keep me quiet on Sundays during sacrament meetings she would magically fold the hanky into a variety of shapes and forms, much like unto origami. One moment she would have what appeared to be a bird, and then a rocking cradle, and then a fat cat. But today, as I held her hanky my thoughts shifted to how she and daddy helped to form and shape my beliefs and testimony. They were living examples of those willing to give everything to God. They were totally committed to help center Christ in my life.

      I remember on Fast Sunday’s when Mother would  reach over and give a squeeze to my hand. Perhaps to draw my attention and make sure that I was listening. She would then stand and boldly bear her testimony in church.  She always held a hanky close as tears were most predictable. As a child I could only imagine  the courage it would take for mama to stand before a congregation and testify of truths. Somehow her words made me feel to sit a little taller.  Little did I know then how she was tucking and folding into my character strong beliefs of Jesus Christ. I have thanked my Heavenly Father over and over again for my parent’s tutoring and their daily examples. Their lives were key to my childhood, and ever constant during my youth. Even in their later years they pressed forward with courage.  Being the youngest in the family I was blessed to observe so many lessons. Faith, trust, patience, humility, sacrifice were great teachers in my development. 

     Today as I held Mama’s hanky in my hand and raised it high. I raised my voice of thanks for not only Jesus Christ coming into my life, but for my parents who valued Him in theirs.  Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna! 

      Mother was always one with a story to aid in teaching moments.   So, to follow in her footsteps... I would hope we all would consider the waving of the white hanky much like a sign of “surrendering” durring a battle. Surrendering our "will " unto the work of the Lord.  

   I love the way Elder Neal A. Maxwell speaks of surrendering....

“As you submit your wills to God, you are giving  Him the only

         thing you can actually give Him that is really yours to give. 

         Don’t wait too long to find the altar or to begin to place the

         gift of your wills upon it! 

No need to wait for a receipt; the Lord has His own

 special ways of acknowledging.” 

    Elder Neal A. Maxwell 

    May each of us hold up our white handkerchiefs and surrender our will unto God. 

A Day of Dedication ~  our dedication. Not of stone or cut glass, but of our broken hearts and spirits.

            The Brigham City, Utah Temple Dedication .   September 23, 2012

Have a sunshine Sabbath. . . while waving a white hankerchief!

Love to All

  Children's Games - Life Pinning

by Shauna V. Brown 

           As a child growing up I loved going to birthday parties. Birthday parties were much simpler then. Parents didn’t take a slew of children to a bounce house, pony rides or spend hundreds of dollars on food, elaborate invitations, prizes and gift bags. A few games were a main stay at these parties. I could always anticipate playing “London Bridges Falling Down” and "Pin the Tail on the Donkey". I knew that sometime the bandana would be brought out and everyone would gather around the donkey poster on the wall.  Such a simple game. For those few of you who haven’t played it just picture a donkey missing his tail. One by one each player  is blind folded. The player holds a paper donkey’s tail in his hand.  Then, usually the mother, spins and turns the blindfolded player around and around so as to confuse and distract them in knowing where the picture of the donkey is positioned. The winner is the person who places their tail the closest to where it is missing.  I always tried my best to maintain a remembrance of where I started. However, and frequently, as friends giggled, shouted aloud or squealed distracting directions, I became confused--I wandered. After placing the tail on the wall I was allowed to remove the blindfold. Laughing friends and mocking fingers made me feel uncomfortable and frequently embarrassed.  I always found that I was far off course. I had thought I knew where I was going. Only to find... I never came close and the prize was elusive. 

So from simple children’s games, London Bridges and donkeys without tails I haved learned over the years that bridges and dreams can crumble and fall down.   Distractions and distractors can lure us from the direction of our ultimate and eternal gifts of worth. We might even question... “How did I get here?” We might even wonder if the donkey is a symbol of our deliberate stubborness? 

          Of course there will be times when each of us step off the path, but gratefully we can ask for sincere direction, forgiveness and return. It’s so easy to listen to loud voices, enticing invitations or to follow what appears to be a seemingly better or easier path.

     Gratefully we have a loving Father in Heaven who is most mindful of each one of us, as well as the bridges that we will encounter. He knows when our stubborness will lead us off course. It’s important that we daily remove the self applied blindfolds. Oddly, sometimes we think that no one will see, or know, not even God.  

        I have observed over the past four years, [ Rick being a Bishop of a Young Single Adult Ward ] watching many as they change their course, remove the blindfolds, turn their hearts, their will, to their Father in Heaven.   I have seen the joy in their faces as they come to clearly see that their choices can either spin them astray or ultimately direct them to the Savior.

      I love to imagine the scene when we return to our heavenly home. I believe we all will be humble as we see clearly how many times we did listen and follow the soft promptings during life’s pin the tail games and journey. We will then realize that with God's help and Jesus Christ's, we pushed away the distractors, distractions, appetites and addictions and found our way to Christ. 

         So this day, might we all pin our hearts to eternal goals.

 Tuesday With Shauna, as Rick and I were away on Sunday.

Love to All,

Shauna

       ETERNAL SNAPSHOTS

by Shauna V. Brown 

     As mother opened the front door she bubbled with excitement. At first I thought it was because she was anticipating my visit. However, she quickly escorted me into her bedroom. She pointed to the picture of my father’s photo resting on the desk.  It had sat on the desk ever since he passed away. 

“Shauna, I watched as his face turned a shade of pink. I couldn't believe my eyes, yet  I could  almost feel him near.”  Instantly her eyes welled with tears. “Then almost as soon as I saw it, the picture returned back to black and white again.” She cried for a moment as we looked upon the picture. It was clear that mother wished for another brushing with the veil. 

“Oh, Shauna, it was sweet,” she said, almost as if her thoughts were seeking to follow from which the moment came. I marveled that she had been so blessed.  It was such a sweet and timely gift from heaven.

“Oh, how I miss your father.”   “Do you think he misses me, as much as I miss him?” she asked.    What could I say?  My Mother had lost her sweetheart and best friend after fifty two years of marriage. 

“I’m sure Daddy misses you as much.” I said hugging her.

  Together, mother and daddy had strived to create a “Heaven on Earth,” and I believe with full heart that it was. They were an incredible duo. They looked to God and lived their lives seeking to do his will. I know I count it a blessing for having been born into such a home and family. 

     However, the last twenty years of their marriage had been filled with daily trials and challenges as my father had Parkinson disease. I watched as his body became rigid. Where once he had enjoyed a jaunty gate, and perfect posture, he became physically jittery and stumbled frequently. Some moments left him immovable. Yet, as the difficult challenges intensified for both mother and daddy I marveled at their gifts of patience, trust, sacrifice, and unwavering faith. Mother’s dedication continued to expand and develop.  Night and day she was by my father's side. Even though we as a family tried to relieve her and give her time to renew her strength, her endless desire and focus was to be with daddy. I knew she must be tired, as she worked endlessly to make his life more comfortable. It was clear to me, as well as everyone, that their love for each other had only grown.  

Whenever I hear the phrase ‘steadfast and immovable,’ I think of those two--literally. If enduring to the end is the ultimate level at which one is judged then I can only imagine their eternal happiness today. Gratefully I can take an 'eternal snapshot' and visualize them walking hand in hand together on the pathways in heaven. 

 Yesterday, while Rick and I were running errands I saw a car that had vinyl lettering on the back window.  “And they lived happily ~ ever ~ after.”   I know my parents are. Isn’t that the true desire of everyone’s heart?  We just need to appreciate that the “ever “ is now.  The testing periods of life is ongoing. We all will have our bumps in the road, the rough patches and refining times, but it is how we face the storm that defines who we are. It is our choice if we live 'happily'.

I have placed a quote on a wooden plaque outside my office it reads:

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…

          it’s learning to dance in the rain.”

So this Sunday - may we all ‘ live happily - ever - now  and after ‘ counting all experiences, puddles in life, as well as the sunshine moments, as a blessing in our eternal 

development and outlook. 

     We just might have to learn to do a jig or two, and snap a few good pictures! 

Enjoy the Sabbath 

Love to all

      The Art of  "Unpicking"

by Shauna V Brown 

     I recall the day with vivid memory when I was twelve and wanted to surprise my mother by making a blouse. As a child had learned to cross stitch, embroider and made a bunch of awkwardly skilled doll clothes for my Besty McCall doll. Now my mother believed I was ready to begin the next level of learning. She was teaching me how to make straight seams, stitches, darts on our Singer sewing machine. I was beyond excited to become a creator and designer--just like Mama.  Mother and I had long enjoyed selecting patterns from Butterick, McCalls,Vogue, pattern books. Mother had always made my clothes, priding herself that she never purchased any of them from a department store. I had always marveled at how mother and my older sister, Miriam, could make anything out of a piece of fabric.  They were creative miracle makers and masters.  I frequently would watch as mother would scan the piece of fabric and then carefully place the pattern pieces on top, never wasting a scrap of fabric.  Mother would giggle with delight when she announced, “ Made this dress from a fabric remnant for $1.75."It would have cost at least a hundred dollars at Z.C.M.I. ”  Mother was skilled and had won several contests and prizes for her sewing.  She could make anything, and it always it looked professional. Bound buttonholes, lined dresses and suits, embroidered touches were just a few of mother’s specialties.  Sad to say, that hardly any store bought clothes have that “tailor made touch” today. 

    Well, back to the story. Mother and daddy had gone out to do the weekly grocery shopping. I thought it would give me plenty of time to prove my talents and skill at sewing. I set out to find the perfect piece of fabric to make myself a blouse. I dug though deep drawers of fabric remnants. I selected a beautiful piece. I believed that I could make my blouse similar to that of my Betsy McCall doll clothes. I didn’t  have a pattern.  I could tell there would be plenty of fabric as it was as tall as I was.  I placed the fabric on the card table and started to cut away. Imagine a “T” shirt and the visual ability to enlarge the form. I then chose the closest matching color of thread, placed it on the top of the sewing machine and after threading the needle, carefully pushed my knee on the lever to get the needle moving. I was excited with the anticipation of mother seeing my creation.  It wasn’t long before I realized that my non patterned blouse wasn’t going to satisfy. Truly the 'surprise' was mine. My head couldn’t go through the neck opening. So I quickly cut a slit up the front.  I declared I would need some buttons or snaps now. Pride entered as I marveled at my ability while I made straight stitches up the sides. I cut holes for the buttons. Selected five pretty white pearl looking buttons and sewed them on. To my shock however, when I went to put my blouse on, there wasn’t enough room for my arm to go through the sleeve.  I was a frustrated twelve year old!  I cried as I looked at my mis-shaped disaster. I bunched it all up and hid it in the bottom of my dresser drawer. I had so wanted to impress my mother, now all I had was an unusable piece of beautiful material. I tried hiding everything, but somehow upon mother's return home she noticed that there were some tiny scrapes of fabric and thread laying on the floor next to the garbage can. ( da-da-da-dum!)  

To simplify my story my mother was more than unhappy. She was intensely upset.  I tried to explain that I wanted to make a beautiful blouse to surprise her. It was then she explained how she had planned on making it into a blouse for herself. I felt even worse as she showed me the suit fabric that she was planning to make to go with it. She cried, I cried. Then she asked for me to bring my “surprise” blouse for her to see.  She unfolded my mangled piece of a blouse and  held it out for view. That’s when we both cried together.  I was more than sorry as I had wasted her special, expensive, fabric. After a while Mama calmed down. 

         Then Mama did her most incredible teaching. Holding my disaster on her lap she pointed out, "Look Shauna, you made these stitches -- even and straight.” Then selecting a button, “Nice and snug, you did a good job of sewing on this button.”  Gratefully it rendered a slight smile of approval. In spite, of her dismay mother saw some of the good things that I had tried to do. She then taught me of the value of a pattern.  “Shauna, I don’t try make anything without a pattern.” 

     Then she instructed, “You’ll need to unpick it all, as we won’t waste the fabric.” 

 “Unpick it?”  I complained.  

“Yes, every seam, every button, every stitch, every inch.” she emphasized.  

For the rest of the afternoon I spent with a seam ripper and needle in hand.  I became skilled at the art of unpicking.  

          While I sat unpicking my creation mother returned to offer a thought. As she sat next to me  she paralleled the experience with how easy it is for everyone to make poor choices. She then taught me a lesson in the “art of forgiveness.” She had shared a few choice words earlier with me with me--hot, intense, curse, ones. She once again apologized, and expressed how sorry she was. Then she asked for my forgiveness for having spoken so unkindly, “Please forgive me Shauna, ”  Stressing that sometimes we need to “unpick” the unkind words. 

        That day I learned  several lessons from my mother.   We must be actively  “unpicking,” mending, patching and forgiving when we have erred even though it is difficult to unpick the tiny stitches.   Sometimes we say and do things that we shouldn’t. Sometimes we feel the need to prove a point to another.  Sometimes we feel the need to put another in their place, remind them of past mistakes, moments to get even, to pay back. That is the time when we better get “unpicking.” 

    Jesus shared, I’m sure with dismay: 

“My disciples, in days of old, sought occasion against one another 

and forgave not one another in their hearts; and for this evil they 

were afflicted and sorely chastened. “

        Doctrine and Covenants 64:8

My sewing experience that Saturday has long lived within my soul. I guess one could say “Mama, stitched it to my heart.” She took my mistakes and “tailor made” the lesson for me as she taught me about the importance and need for the pattern of forgiveness.

Christ has set the pattern and expressed for each one of us the most important reality:

          “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

               It’s for sure, from my first sewing attempt, I didn’t know what I was doing. 

Good Stitching this Sabbath

Love Shauna