LIFE

by Shauna Brown  

     I like to ponder life. LIFE, a simple four letter word that encompass an eternity of thoughts and incredible breathing moments. 

     As a little girl I was frequently involved in the art of day dreaming, it came naturally to me, kind of second nature, one might say. My school teachers sternly suggested that I put some of my ‘dreaming’ to better use. I tried to focus on math, but more than not it did little to hold my attention. History was far more interesting to me.  I was drawn more to music, art, creative writing and use of my imagination.  

     Looking back now I see more clearly. Not all of us are meant to be a genius, a scientist, an engineer, technical advisors, or lawyers.  I was created to become ME. (Masterfully Enlightened ) The discovery of me will take time, effort and a continued intent to learn more from my creator.  

       Wisely, at a young age my mother introduced me to a librarian. I remember that encounter well. She seemed so ‘librarian’, so single in her love, looks, and knowledge of books. Together we talked about my interests. She pondered for a moment and then she suggested that I might have an affection in reading autobiographies and biographies.  Just the word alone, ‘affection’ seemed enticing. Autobiographies seemed so grown up to me.  She pointed out the shelf containing the vast selections, and then rolled a step ladder closer. You see, my books of ‘affection’ were located on a high top shelf--beyond the reach of most children. (Interesting) The librarian was right.  From the first book I read, I was hooked. Stories and people’s influence upon history attracted my interest. Cover to cover I discovered and was inspired by: Joan of Arc, Annie Oakley, Sojourner Truth, George Washington Carver, Helen Keller, Anne Frank, Antony Van Leeuwenhoek, Marie Curie, Christopher Columbus, Queen Victoria, Florence Nightingale, Mary Queen of Scotts to name a few of my favorites. They instilled within my soul a deeper desire to become someone that could make a difference in life.  

     We are told that God has given each of us specific talents or purposes for coming to earth.  Often I have wished that we all came with a declaration of our unique and special offerings. It would be so much easier to know if I was destined to discover the automobolic usage of molecular vibrations on the inner structure of the heart ( AUMVISH.) Or create the future Broadway spectacular that would sweep successfully to the rest of the world.Perhaps become a famous designer of shoes.  Gladly, I thrive in motherhood, marriage, and being a grandmother. Yet, I am stirred to seek for sharing and becoming more. Almost like I have a higher shelf of eternal possibilities. Constantly I am taken to wonder where my next path will take ME.  It's exciting - mysterious - and drives me to frequent pondering.

     I no longer just read biographies and journals.  I read a broad variety of books. I love to learn. I love to stimulate my mind, educate and finely tune my thoughts and purposes to what I am personally meant to accomplish here on earth.  I have come to realize however, that God is in the creation of our inherent possibilities. We are, each one of us evolving day by day, sentence by sentence into a profoundly perfect novel.  Someday we will stretch forth our hands, hold the leather bound volume. I'm sure I will want to scan the pages and review my life. Clearly we are meant to consider this life a good read. There will be just enough sentences packed with joy. While mixed with intense chapters of heart ache and challenges. Purposely scripted moments to enhance our understanding. Paragraphs that will cause the heart to beat in quiet reverence. It will be an "I can't put it down, read." There will be no editing allowed, but we will treasure the subtle miracles that changed the final draft.  

      Each day I try to take a few minutes for ‘enlightened pondering’--once called day dreaming.  You see I firmly believe that inspiration and direction come in a variety of ways. I find some of my best moments have come in the shower, or in my pajamas. I have discovered as well that while writing life’s novel there will come  times and places demanding an exclamation point, or a comma before we move on. 

      Erma Bombeck was known for sharing her gift of humor. Her following quote has long been a favorite of mine:   “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.”   Erma Bombeck  

    I find added balance in my pursuits from a thought of Marjorie Pay Hinckley: 

“We women have a lot to learn about simplifying our lives. We have to decide what is important and then move along at a pace that is comfortable for us. We have to develop the maturity to stop trying to prove something. We have to learn to be content with what we are.”  

       

     Don’t you like that?  ‘Learn to be content with what we are.’  

So we are bound to love life - each chapter, paragraph, as it becomes an eternal testament of divine purpose.

      So this day, might we celebrate those who have influenced and touched our lives- on both sides of heaven. Might we all enjoy the moments and blessings as we seek to become our significant best. 

     Enjoy the Sabbath 

     Love to all 

      Shauna  

                   

                                Life’s Polishing 
 
by Shauna Brown  
 
             My father always took great measures to look and dress his best. Special tailor made suits, crisp ironed white shirts, carefully chosen ties and polished shoes. It’s his shoes I wish to focus upon today.  
         I have vivid memories of my father performing a task that I’m sure he never would have imagined impressed me as a child.   
        Daddy would fill his arms full of his shoes and make his way down to the basement where his supplies for polishing awaited. Contained in a small metal shelf were several round tin cans of black and brown shoe polish, brushes and rags. 
           He then organized the shoes upon the basement stairs. All of his shoes looked pretty much the same to me, Florsheim Wing-tips, in a limited selection of colors: black and brown. Then the ritual began. 
        Daddy would take each shoe and quickly brush the dirt away. Then he would pop the tin lids off to reveal the pasty hues of polish. I can almost smell the musty brown and decadent black scents to this very day.  
             As a familiar,and favorite observer I would wiggle my bottom on one of the steps to get a comfortable view.  There’s an art to polishing I found.   
        After all the shoes had been brushed and cleaned of dirt Daddy then would take each shoe, one by one and carefully apply a thin layer of polish to it. Soon the aroma of polish and wax enveloped us.   
        I marveled at how carefully he worked to insure the proper amounts of shoe polish were applied - evenly.   Inspecting  every inch of the shoe to guarantee he hadn’t missed a spot--so it would  “ polish-up well.”   When finished with the application segment he would then replace the shoe to the step to dry.  Daddy said that by letting it set for a while allowed the polish to restore and condition the leather. 
     When the shoe was dry enough Daddy would take one shoe in hand. Resting it upon his propped up knee he would take a brush and start to briskly brush and shine the shoe. He found rhythm with the movement and sometimes even a slight humming melody came. After a few quick brushings to all sides of the shoe he would then again take a moment to inspect once more.  If approved, he would take the final step in using a soft rag to the finish.  
     I watched as each of the shoes were transformed before my eyes. From dull to delightful they now rested in unified formation upon the stairs.  I liked it when Daddy winked at me with his approving eye and said,  “We did it!” 
        One by one the once dirty and scuffed shoes now shined. At the conclusion of the shining moment Daddy would gather up the shoes and return to his bedroom where he then awarded each pair a ‘shoe tree.’ Stretching the shoe to preserve its shape and stop it from developing creases. He said the trees helped the shoe

to last longer that way.  Stretching the shoe to it’s ultimate design and purpose.  
           Recently as I watched my own sweetheart open a similar tin can of polish I realized how important those simple -shoe shinning moments with my father were. 
       One by one, each of us experience times when our “souls”  are momentarily covered in dirt and dust. We feel scuffed and weary worn, perhaps we discover we even have a hole in the bottom of our soles.  Shine?  Would that even be possible? Some might even offer,  “It’s not worth all the trouble,” “Never mind,”  “It’s a waste of time,”  “It would take a miracle.” 
   How grateful we should be to know our eternal  Father has long been actively “Shoe and soul-shining.” God is the maker of miracles. He is the master of polishing and perfecting.  He stands before us and offers, “Come, I will make you shine once more.”   
      We step forward, sit within his chair and hope that upon closer examination he will remove every trace and particle of dirt. He smiles, inspects and the miracle begins. He carefully wipes away every trace. Imagine a soft, clean and gentle cloth. 
     He then opens a golden tin, and carefully applies, stroke by stroke the necessary polish. It is then we wonder just how long it will take to feel renewed and whole again.   The purposeful polish or healing balm is allowed to set for a time-- God’s time.   
    Reconditioning the spirit isn’t always as easy as merely applying the polish.  
Second phase demands intense brushing and effort.  Daddy would say, “It take elbow grease to make it shine.”  
    I have found we are ultimately  defined by some of life’s earnest and intense brushings.  We are meant to shine, and it frequently it requires work. God is very much aware of what will bring out our individual highlights. 
          
                 I love what Marianne Williamson  once said, “We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were 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.” 
 
            So I’m giving everyone permission to feel of the renewing polish offered freely by a loving Father.  What ever it takes, God is willing to extend his hands, open his arms, rub hard, and then stand ready with gentle rags.  He is our ultimate “shoe tree” to strengthen and give everlasting support. 
        
It’s time to get polishing!


Foot Note:  Enjoy the Sabbath

                   HOPE

by Shauna V. Brown 

      For weeks while driving to work, I find myself singing a simple child’s song:  

                  I looked out the window and what did I see?  

Popcorn popping on the apricot tree.  

Spring has brought me such a nice surprise. 

Popcorn popping right before my eyes.  

I can take an armful and make a treat.  

A popcorn ball that would smell so sweet. 

 It wasn’t really so, but it seemed to be, 

Popcorn popping on the apricot tree.”

      I have wished for time to stop and gather a popcorn ball of blossoms and breathe in deeply of their fragrance newly born. Sit beneath the budding branches and study the crafting of such tiny creations. I have taken a few pictures to forever capture the moments of bursting possibilities.  Do you know there are rainbows held within?

      It was just a few weeks ago that those same trees now baring countless blossomed bouquets looked barren and winter wrinkled brown. I feel inspired and uplifted by the sight of God’s wondrous planning.   

  

      “The day the Lord created hope was probably the same day he created Spring.”  

                        ~Bern Williams. 

      I like that, SPRING and HOPE - created on the same day, with the desire from God to give a renewed vision of possibilities. Imagine, when branches seem withered and dead, beyond any revivaled dream, some sudden sprig of green shoots forth. For God has planted them, well aware of their awakening season. Some even years and years a head of any seed imbued within the soil, we call life.  God’s plan, God’s timing, God’s purpose held all within his making. 

    One Saturday morning Rick and I stumbled upon a charming picture at a garage sale. We purchased it at a time when it definitely wasn’t in our budget. No, it’s not a Rembrandt, a Van Gogh, Monet, or Renoir.  

      However, from the first sight it warmed my soul, spoke to my heart and for $10.00 we decided it was an visual treat. It’s a copy of a copy and then some. Yet, it has planted days of hope within my heart. Reminded me of growing seasons. Time and time as I have looked upon the young girl, I can sense her belief and hope in her planting. I can almost feel her fingers in the moist earth. I imagine her tapping the soil around the plant to make sure her planting has supported love.  I can almost see a worm wiggling by and marvel at it’s divine purpose. I  too, can almost smell the generations of earthy partings and plantings~ seasons of life.   Each of us hoping, praying for beautiful and countless blossoms. 

       While looking upon our masterpiece, we named it 'HOPE.' I have enjoyed the warm, comforting tones and the simple message painted in the strokes.  The picture’s value has increased, as parting with it would be such sorrow for me. It has beome far more than just a visual treat, it is a symbol of testimony.  

      Just this morning I checked the corner of the painting for the artist’s signature.  I discovered,  penned in gold, “Lindsley.”  I quickly Googled the name and happily discovered the picture that Rick and I had purchased.   I smiled, as a coincidental ah-ha moment popped into my mind.   The artist, David Lindsley, had entitled the painting :  “Hope of Spring”. 

      My heart giggled with confidence knowing that in the blue print of my life, we didn’t just  ‘stumble upon a garage sale.’  God knew Rick would notice a picture hanging crooked on the wall. It would catch his eye and I would love it upon first sight. The seller would ask a surprising price of $10.00. Could she see my instant delight as I quickly opened my wallet? Imagine, I knew I only had one $10.00 bill.  I paid her gladly.  Holding the picture in hand, feeling as if we had purchased a prized Renoir, we took it home to grow within our hearts.  

       Our picture fondly called, HOPE, has become a emblem of greater meaning to us.  Hanging it in our bedroom has planted seeds of peace, nurtured hope, sprouted greater faith, and enhanced a growing season of love.   Patience is grown within God’s purposes and timing.

     I know God is most mindful of all. He is interested in the small and seeming insignificant details of our lives. If we look closer in the corners of our minds, our souls, our lives will reveal the significance of the supreme artist.  His daily masterpieces can be viewed as testaments placed on every inch of this existence.  

     There is Hope, smiling brightly before us.   

     Hope wasn’t meant to simply hang upon a wall. 

     Hope is meant to thrive within the heart.  

  

     Look around. Breathe in some of the blessings that surround you - life smells so good. 

    Enjoy this Sabbath Day, and may all Mothers 

        feel of their worth and significance this day and always. 

Love,

Shauna 

Heaven's Blessings

by Shauna Brown

              My daughter Brittany, welcomed her 5th child into the world on Friday afternoon. Once again I felt heaven at my fingertips.  Joy!  

              Marvelous, incredible, sacred, amazing, awe-inspiring, remarkable, wonder of wonders is the gift of life.  Reverence, gratitude, just barely begin to scratch the feelings held of such a precious gift from God.   

              Within my memory I recalled with equal appreciation my own ‘growing’ experiences. Swollen feet, swollen hands, morning noon and night reflections in the pool of water. Months in bed filled with humble petitions for patience. Reading numerous books of how to raise a child. Painting cribs, sewing blankets, imagining how my life would be as a mother. I treasure the memories of my conversations with my unborn child.  How blessed I feel to have been mentored from on high, as well as encouraged, cheered on by a most loving husband.  Grateful for numerous prayers and blessings that linked my faith to heaven.  Motherhood has created a vast variety of ‘growing’ seasons in my life.   

              My own dear mother stood within the doorway of death with her first child. She was only nineteen.  Doctors indicated that she and the baby would not live through the pregnancy. She had Eclampsia, which at that time gave little hope for survival. Imagine waking up to find yourself surrounded by the ward bishop, home teachers, her sweetheart and the mortician. They were discussing and encouraging the young father to prepare for her funeral.   

            It was then mother closed her eyes and underlined in her mind, a phrase from her patriarchal blessing. It had promised her that she would have sons and daughters if she lived righteously. She allowed the words to distill within her prayers. She reviewed the life she had lived. It was then she concluded she had lived a good life, tried to follow the teachings of the Savior, been a most obedient daughter. So, why then would the good Lord deny or withhold a blessing?  

            I testify that miracles do happen,  prayers are answered, God shares his love, and so it was with my mother. Both mother and child survived. It was a miracle!  My sister Miriam, weighing under three pounds spent her first days nestled in a shoe box. Imagine it!  My sister wore doll clothes for months because she was so little. Mother having been so sick, and losing so much weight she had to learn to walk again.The doctors encouraged mother never to have more children, as the risks were too high. Little did they know that mother’s ‘growing season’ had forged a stronger testimony, driven her faith higher, and trusted in God’s promises.  She brushed that counsel off with, “What do they know, God is  in charge.”    

          I’m grateful she and daddy went forward with their dreams and desires. The promises held within their patriarchal blessings would come to life. One by one came more blessings. In total my parents welcomed four sons and two daughters onto the stage of life. Mother was forty years old when she was pregnant with her last child. One can only imagine how joyful their day was when the finale came and it was ME!  

          Over the years I enjoyed watching my mother hold my newborn babies in her arms. She would kiss them gently on the fold of their little neck, "It's the best little spot, they smell so new from heaven."   She would study their little faces and smile and give gentle squeezes.  I'm sure she was reviewing her own miracles, and memories. At least - that's what I do. 

      So for all who have squeezed and kissed a baby in this life, take time to blow a kiss to heaven. As I'm sure it must be so difficult for our Heavenly Mother to bid them bye.  

            

Enjoy the Sabbath.  

     Oh, I just found out.  Brittany and Steve are going to call our newest addition ~ Ava Joy.    Sounds like heaven!

   Remember - Blow a kiss today!