LINE UPON LINE

by Shauna V. Brown 

     I recall well a ritual my mother performed nightly. She would take an white envelope and clip off the sticky part  into long strips and then apply them criss crossing upon her forehead. One looking at her could well her imagine her fitting well into an Indian tribe. Her ultimate desire was to pull her skin tight while she slept. It was her unique and hopeful way of fighting the lines of age, and gravity. I thought she was beautiful as she was. Yet, with hope in her heart she diligently apply them night after night. Mama was determined to fight mother nature, but the lines of aging came, one by one. 

     In her later years we had a professional photographer  take a picture of her. When our picture proofs came back mother gave a serious inspection.  Then with a touch of chagrin she asked the photographer, “Can you fade, airbrush, feather , something and remove my wrinkles?”  He looked at her and quickly countered as he grinned wide, “Why, would you want to remove them, they’re beautiful, and you’ve earned everyone of them.”   Mother seemed so disappointed and clipped back, “Character lines I guess.” 

     To a photographer he saw her distinctive beauty as a masterful work of art and sculpting of the spirit. Even now as I look at that picture I smile, as I realized the photographer had deeper perspective. He saw in fact, ‘between the lines.’ 

     Clearly he couldn’t see  into her life’s story. He was unaware that she had fought the battle of breast cancer, suffered heart attacks, was nearly blind.  A woman who had tenderly cared for her husband who suffered with Parkinsons for twenty years, was a widow, raised six children, was a Bishop’s wife twice. She thrived being a mother, inventor, prize winning candy maker, author, and yet, surprisingly feared failure.   

     Mother was right she had ‘character lines’ which revealed not only that she had been courageous, faithful, devoted, but she had learned to lean on the Lord.  God had allowed the shaping of her life, without any help of sticky tape, nip or tuck or feathering.  

      Mother frequently regarded her trials as ‘compliments,’ compliments from God. He knew she would withstand any degree of testing.  

      She loved learning and was a constant reader. With red pencil in hand she always was underling favorite thoughts. Often she would pin a quote to the kitchen curtains. This was one of my favorites. It always makes me think of Mama. 

      “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our soul, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God.” Orson F. Whitney 

     Mother definitely relied on the Lord, and sought diligently to allow her life to be refined, shaped and molded by his loving care.  Mama practiced faith and from that faith came lines of perfection and refinement. You see, mother knew that with God all things are possible. He would shape her to become the very best.    

         I recall well a ritual my mother performed nightly. She would take an white envelope and clip off the sticky part  into long strips and then apply them criss crossing upon her forehead. One looking at her could well her imagine her fitting well into an Indian tribe. Her ultimate desire was to pull her skin tight while she slept. It was her unique and hopeful way of fighting the lines of age, and gravity. I thought she was beautiful just as she was. Yet, with hope in her heart she diligently applied them night after night, determined to fight mother nature, but the lines of aging came, one by one. 

     In her later years we had a professional photographer  take a picture of her. When our picture proofs came back mother gave a serious inspection.  Then with an element of chagrin she asked the photographer, “Can you fade, airbrush, feather, something and remove my wrinkles?”  He looked at her with surprise and quickly countered as he grinned wide, “Why, would you want to remove them, they’re beautiful, and you’ve earned everyone of them.”   Mother seemed so disappointed and clipped back, “Character lines I guess.” 

     Even now as I look at that picture I smile, as I realize the photograper 

perhaps had a deeper perspective. He saw in fact, ‘between the lines.’ 

     Clearly he couldn’t see into her life’s story. He was unaware that she had fought the battle of breast cancer, suffered heart attacks, was nearly blind.  A woman who had tenderly cared for her husband who suffered with Parkinsons for over twenty years. She was a widow, had raised six children, was a Bishop’s wife twice. I’m sure he couldn’t see how she thrived being a mother, inventor, prize winning candy maker, author, and yet, surprisingly feared failure.   

     Mother was right she had ‘character lines’ which revealed not only that she had been courageous, faithful, devoted, but she had learned to lean on the Lord.  Mother frequently regarded her trials as ‘compliments,’ compliments from God. Through thick and thin, line upon line, mother had trusted God to shape her life, without any help of sticky tape, nip or tuck or feathering.  She understood that refining often takes time.

            She loved learning and was a constant reader. With red pencil in hand she always was underlining and sharing favorite thoughts. Often she would scribble a quote and pin it to the kitchen curtains. This was one of my favorites. It always makes me think of Mama. 

      “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our soul, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God.”

      ~ Orson F. Whitney 

     Mother definately qualified for being a choice ‘child of God.’  She relied on the Lord, and sought diligently to allow her life to be refined, shaped and molded by his loving care.  Mama practiced faith and from that faith came lines of perfection and refinement. You see, mother knew all along that with God all things are possible.

Stand Tall • Strive Daily • Enjoy the Journey

Love to all Shauna 

                          PERFECT FIT

by Shauna V. Brown

     There is an age-old adage “Everyone has at least one good book in them”.  Encouraged by friends to share one of my Christmas stories, ‘my book’ began.

   Threads of Faith~ a Christmas Miracle,  evolved and was inspired by true stories written within pioneer journals. I will be forever grateful for those who jotted down some of their challenges of faith, short comings, as well as rejoicing moments of their lives. I’m sure those early pioneers never gave thought that years and years later someone would cling to their testimony, or trust in a God who listens, as they did.  They never imagined that their life would be a motivation to another. In some instances just a sentence was there for me to ponder. I will be eternally thankful for their messages of hope, faith, trust, and the sacrifices that they experienced.  I hold dear their stories.   

     When I received word that Cedar Fort, wanted to publish my book I was thrilled.  Believe me the writing of it didn’t happen over night. It took months of revising, rewriting, and editing. I am forever grateful for editing skills offered by Katie Van Dyke. I’ll never forget the day when Katie suggested to me that I might consider writing the story from a different point of view. I had written the story in third person, and now, when I thought I was achieving the final draft she offers that first person could be better. 

     “First person?” I questioned.  I admit, I was overwhelmed with the idea. But, I knew Katie, and between her and the good Lord I began again.  I quickly realized it wouldn’t be an easy task. There were moments when I almost quit. However, I soon discovered Katie’s suggestion would hold a far greater impact and perspective.  The story took on a whole new meaning to me as well.   What I imagined would take months and months to complete was dissolved with a renewed constant, driving, loving, pursuit. I loved writing it. 

     In fact, I  was so taken with my leading character, Hillary Whitman, that I could almost hear her breathing. I cried when she cried, I laughed aloud when she did. Hillary, in first person, became the voice for so many.  

     It’s sweet to explain, but there were numerous times when I felt heavenly companions standing close by. I could sense their emotions while I wrote of their personal particle of the story. I was linking lives, real lives, through the written word. Believe me it is quite the experience. I will be forever grateful for the lessons learned from them, by them, and a gift for us all.  

      Little did the publisher to know that I envisioned and hoped that my Christmas book ~ Threads of Faith, would be the same size as a Book of Mormon.  You see, I visualized it as well, tied with a red satin bow around a copy of a Book of Mormon, and given as a gift.  I wanted my book to become a sweet introduction about my latter-day beliefs. 

      I giggled with delighted when the first copy arrived from the publisher. Imagine my joy when I quickly realized it was a ‘perfect fit.’ It was just as I envisioned it.   Once again I know: With God nothing is impossible. 

    The suggestion of ‘first person’ from Katie was inspired for me. The book within me may have centered upon some experiences of early saint’s stories, but in all truth, it gave me an opportunity to share my voice. Through charming characters I share my hope, trust and faith in God.   

Enjoy your Sabbath and Season

What’s in your book? 

Love to All  Shauna 

                         

                                             Vertical Momentum?

by Shauna Brown 

  When I was in high school I had the desire to become a cheerleader.  Yes, those girls wearing short skirts, pompoms, cute as a button and then some. I knew I had all the pep and enthusiasm and definitely a loud voice - perfect fit for me! 

After the announcement for tryouts I spent weeks constantly practicing  routines, round-offs, high kicks. However, the ultimate goal for me was to learn how to do a front flip. Many of the other girls knew how to do flips effortlessly. 

I recall with great clarity one day as I was in the back yard practicing.  My older brother Richard was attempting to be my spotter. Mother was cheering me on as I tried to learn how to do a simple front flip. I’m sure they both could recall that experience  as well.  I thought all one needed to do was to get enough momentum and simply tuck and wala = flip.  However, I always landed on my back.  

     It finally got to the point where all of us were laughing at my attempts, move over Carol Burnett. If someone was in need of comic relief, my acrobatic movements certainly would have filled the need.  Over and over we tried all angles with little success. Disappointment and failure, began to set in. I think mother and Richard both realized I was without even a trickle of hope.  Yet, I can hear mother encourage, “Don’t say can’t - because you can Shauna!” But I all truth I couldn’t. I got to the point that my only prayer in becoming a cheerleader was a hope in my smile, ability to do the routines, wave the pompoms in the air and cross my fingers that my enthusiasm  alone would sway the judges and student body.     I finally concluded that I must place my hope within the hands of the Lord. If faith could move mountains, I was certain that by some outstanding thrust of faith I could rotate in such a way to wow everyone.  

Votes were cast and I once again realized: “I guess I wasn’t meant to be that back bending, high kicking, ever flipping and bouncing cheerleader.”  However, I held on to the reality that I still had a great smile, enthusiasm, and could use my cheering voice from the bleachers.    

     Just this morning I Googled how to do a font flip. What a difference a simple article could have meant fortyish years ago. Watching a YouTube on how to do a flip was eye opening. Do you know it only takes five basic steps to do a flip? There is a set order to follow to achieve and complete the  “front tuck,” “punch-front” or a “front somersault.” 

The article said:  

     “Many people find it hard to do because you can’t see the landing point; the flip can only be completed if you commit yourself to it fully. Once you learn the proper form and prepare accordingly, however, it’s actually a simple move that can be easily mastered.” 

    Easily mastered? Why then did I end up out of breathe, bruised and beaten down? It is clear to me that what I lacked in my pursuit of a flip was a ‘going up’  - vertical focus, instead of merely leaning forward!  I know I was committed.  I could run and generate the momentum, but beyond that it was simply a disaster. I hadn’t learned the steps of how to perform a flip. Fact, I hadn’t envolved a coach or someone who knew how to do a flip into my pursuit. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a landing point.  

     Today, I ponder where my lifes landing point is. Where do I wish to land?  Have I have defined it well enough. Do I practice my vertical commitment frequently? Who is my instructor? Or do I once again consider using the : ‘fake it till you make it’ attitude? Have I gone to the source where I can learn how to reach that eternal landing point?  

    “Whenever you want to achieve something, keep your eyes open, concentrate and make sure you know exactly what it is you want. No one can hit their target with their eyes closed.”   ~ Paulo Coelho 

        Isn’t that what we all want to know about our personal journey of life. Where does God want us to be, and what does He want us to become?  Are we seeking continual, committed vertical momentum? 

      I have wondered if my life would have taken a different path if I had become a cheerleader. Where are my goal posts positioned? 

I guess that is why I like the thought of L. M. Montgomery, (Anne of Green Gables fame) :

                “The little things of life, sweet and excellent in their place,  

                must not be the things lived for; the highest must be sought 

                and followed; the life of heaven must be begun here on earth.”  

        I know that God had a different landing point for me.  My cheerleading days would evolve around the four walls of my home.  I was meant to be a fulltime cheerleader for my family. There is no routine, no high kicks visible, no pompoms,  but what a blessing to know that I landed smack dab in a place where high fives, hugs, smiles and ‘good job’ can be routinely bestowed.  I love being a mother!  I love being a grandmother!  I love being!

Enjoy your Sabbath!   You can do it!   You can do anything! 

Love Always Shauna 

                                    

                                     

                                      Hold On!

by Shauna Brown 

        I walked into the backyard yesterday and captured a last few remnants of fall for my memory.  I realize that winter’s chill is fast approaching and snow flakes are just around the corner.  

    I have always had a fascination with Autumn. I cherish my childhood memories of walking to school down Dearborn Avenue, lined with tall leafy trees. My friends and I frequently were late, as we found it so much fun to kick the fallen leaves, pile them high into mounds and burying one another, only to be discovered over and over again. I can still hear the laughter, and smell the earthy aromas. 

      I am renewed each Fall with sweet and savory memories. Golden and rustic leaves, corn mazes, and freshly picked pumpkins evoke great times of family gatherings and childhood carvings, canning seasons and apple cider. 

     Yet, this year,  while walking in my grove of golden beauties I felt an added feeling, a pensive one, perhaps a touch of melancholy. Lately, I have come to realize that I am fast approaching that Autumn, season of life. I have danced beyond the newborn Spring. My cheeks reflect the age of sunkissed summers.  

       I drew closer to a large tree and focused on a  few remaining leaves upon it’s branch.  I smiled as I voiced aloud, “Hang on, hang on, cling, just a a little longer. For once you drift and fall, you will settle and with the earth remain.” While looking at the leaves it stirred my thoughts to the story written years ago by,  O Henry.  He penned it in 1907, the Last Leaf.    A sweet story of a young girl, Johnsy, who has fallen ill and is dying of pneumonia. I understand well the reality of it's power and pain. Being sick this past week I constantly prayed for it to stay out of my lungs.

    Anyway, back to the story.  Johnsy has a view from her bed and window of a vine with leaves growing upon it. She observes that each day a few more leaves fall from the vine with the change of season and weather.  Being so sick, feeling little hope, Johnsy decides that when the last leaf falls, she too will die.  

     A neighbor living near by, is an old, frustrated artist named Behrman.  For years he has been claiming that he will paint a masterpiece someday. When Behrman learns of the young girls demise and her declaration about the falling leaf and life’s outlook, he is set to pondering.   Then, that night during a bad storm, with wind howling and pouring rain, Behrman decides to paint his best work. 

     The next morning  someone finds him laying helpless with pain.  His shoes and clothing wet and icy cold. It was later realized what Behrman had been doing.  A lantern is found and still lit, a ladder, an artist palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, some scattered brushes laying on the ground.  Looking upward revealed a masterpiece painted upon the wall. It was Behrman’s hope that Johnsy would always be able to see one solitarily, beautiful, believable, forever painted leaf. Hope filled Johnsy’s soul with faith and she, just as Behrman wished got better.  However, Behrman had been exposed to the harsh elements of the storm and lived but only hours.

     I love the story, and realize everyday I am surrounded by many people who are ever painting leaves for me. Even though they may not carry paint brushes, or climb the ladders,  they often share words to uplift, smiles to give acceptance, tucking messages of hope within my heart. While still others sit an listen.  

     We must all look around and realize that we all have masterpieces to complete--souls to save.  Thanks be to God that He allows us, encourages us, and always is ready embrace us.   Life is good and the lessons come, and each of us will enjoy the eternal masterpieces and seasons of the Father. 

Enjoy Your Sabbath!