Flashes Of Light Summary

Not electric, not fire,

not weather in the heavens,

The light flashes appear

Not as I count sixes or sevens.

They can’t be seen by the eyes

Only evidence when I look back,

  Then I notice the ripples

And they become easy to track.

What are the flashes of light or spiritual inspiration I can track throughout my life?

• Even at 18 months old I could feel the love of a stranger who became my aunt.
• When we recall new learning within 24 hours it is stored in long term memory
• There would always be pianos in my life.
• Consider your audience. How can you communicate best in this situation?
• Serving through music is a life long gift.
• Being able to argue both side of an issue isn't always the way to find truth.
• Self- betrayal is a moral compromise, an ignoring how we should be.
• Heavenly Father can bless your choice of spouse.
• Heavenly Father gives sufficient for our needs.
• Part of growing up is taking responsibility for your body.
• The light doesn't come because the world qualifies you.
• Heavenly Father knows your children and what they need.
• Knowing your ancestors thins the veil between mortality and immortality.
• Teaching piano is my calling.
• The spirit can guide you to find the past.
• Teaching by the spirit means "jumping out of the boat".
• The Spirit can teach a different lesson than the one you thought you taught.
• Creativity is an inherited gift from Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother.
• There is often resistance to moving toward a creative goal.
• All good comes from Jesus Christ.
• A sibling is a witness to your birth and place in your family.
• Replace the fear with curiosity.
• Study the scriptures with other women.
• Get used to change
• Write about the things you have inherited. 
• 
  

These thirty one days of writing have helped me so much to crystalize my memories and feel gratitude to Heavenly Father for showing me the way to negotiate my path through mortality. Even though the flashes of light are quick and fleeting I know they are real and will continue to light my way.

                                                  Click here to go back to 31 Days in October 

Some Of My Things Part 4

The Bracelet

My mother, Marta, had some distinctive jewelry from Germany and also some she purchased in America. One piece is very memorable to me as I can visualize it on her left wrist all during my childhood. It was a simple gold bracelet engraved with flowers and leaves. It opened with a clasp and had tiny hook as second security.The jewelry was kept safe in a cedar wooden box, in her bedroom, which I enjoyed opening when I was alone in the house. She didn’t like me rummaging into her private things. If it was Sunday or a day to go out with my father the gold bracelet always adorned her outfit. 

  When I visited her for the last time before her death, I asked to have the bracelet. She was hesitant. I don’t really know why. Maybe because at 92 years of age she still believed she would live on and there were still places to go. Or, maybe it was because she wondered if I really valued this bracelet as much as I said I did. Nevertheless, it was gifted to me and I wore it proudly, still do, each time thinking of my mother. I should have asked for the ivory necklace as well but that would have been greedy. 

My mother enjoyed dressing well. At times I saw a streak of vanity which embarrassed me a little bit. Teenagers are often embarrassed by their mothers and mine was an immigrant who spoke broken English with an accent.  She trained in Germany as a seamstress like her mother. In fact, my aunt was a milliner and made hats in the later 1920s. All the women on my mother’s side followed fashion up to a point. Their style was conservative and refined. They loved fabric, lace, and matching jewelry except for my Aunt Hunni. 

Aunt Hunni came to America and joined a polygamist sect. That changed her way of living and dressing. The Amish lifestyle most closely matched her newfound way of living. Dresses were long, sleeves to the wrist, and no jewelry was allowed. In comparison to my aunt, my mother was now a fashion icon. Okay, that is an exaggeration. But after my aunt telling me my skirts were too short and my shirts too skimpy I appreciated the little elegance my mother demonstrated. But was my mother a little vain? Yes, a little bit and she modeled that to me. I like a good haircut and I do also value pretty things.

So, is the gold bracelet valuable? That is a good question for which I don’t really have an answer. I’m sure it is gold plated if not 10 carat gold. My father fully understood the value of precious metals having lived through the German recession where a wheel barrow of paper money couldn’t buy a loaf of bread. He liked having a small stash of gold as a hedge against inflation. Did they bring the bracelet from Germany? I don’t know. I have a a memory of it being on my mother’s wrist when I was a small child. Shall I make up a plausible story? 

The bracelet was purchased in Germany by my father on a solo return trip to Germany in the 1960's to visit his mother and sisters. The marking inside the bracelet is a typical German marking according to some research. He purchased it to give my mother a special gift.

 

When I wear her bracelet I finger the engraved flowers and think of the sacrifices she made in coming to America. I also fully appreciate the countless opportunities we had, as her children, to be educated and raised without fear of war and economic hardship. I so wish that for my grandchildren which is why I like to teach them about my family stories.  

Click here to go back to 31 Days in October 

Some Of My Things Part 3

The Tapestry

In 1974 I got married in Salt Lake City, Utah. Of all the gifts I received, one has meant a great deal to me and has moved from house to house over the last forty-eight years. It is a hand-made wool cross-stitch tapestry scene of a courtyard in Germany. Window boxes full of geraniums made the image alive and it was so typical of homes there. The houses called Fachwerk in German, were a type of half-timbering consisting of the erection of a timber structural frame, the walls of which are then infilled with non-structural masonry panels. 

 Every village had a church and the steeple on the right side f the tapestry is characteristic of a town in Germany. 

The dark brown, velvet edging has a gold brocade insert and the back is expertly closed off with a woven material which makes the entire piece look very professional.

The maker is my father’s sister, Erna Titze Klose. She sent the gift from her home in Hannover, Germany. When I received the wedding gift I had no memory of her as I was a small child when we emigrated to America. 

She remembered me as a little blonde haired girl , her brother’s daughter, who was emigrating with her brother and family in 1955. She knew of me through letters and pictures and I knew of her through memories my father shared. The last time she saw me was in Hannover, Germany when we said goodbye and then drove to Hamburg, boarding the ship S.S. America.

 

When I visited Germany in 1998 I finally met Erna, now in her nineties, suffering from severe arthritis. She no longer did handwork but showed me the knitting, crocheting, and cross stitch work from years before. Her skill was evident and most impressive was the finish work. I reminded her of the village cross-stitch she sent me and I told her how much I loved her gift. She seemed pleased. Her living room had a courtyard out a large glass door. I saw the Fachwerk outside her apartment and felt even more attached to the scene on her needlework. Whenever I looked at it I would visualize my time with her.

Click here to go back to the index of 31 Days In October

Some Of My Things Part 2

                                             The Violin

    In 1992, when our youngest daughter, Victoria, wanted to play the violin we rented a small violin of the right size for her height and weight. She began lessons at age eight. Thankfully, back then, our island had a very good Susuki violin teacher, who suggested that since I was a pianist, I might want to attend lessons and learn to play the violin myself.  I immediately agreed because I had a desire to learn a second instrument and I knew we had my husband’s grandmother’s violin in storage. 

As I dusted off the violin case I recalled the things I knew about Olive May Fowler Daniel. She was born in Carter, Oklahoma in 1894. Her father was a farmer but the Fowlers had some genteel southern characteristics. They appreciated the arts and wanted their children to learn to play music. There were two orchestras in the Fowler family and every child played an instrument, sometimes more than one. 

I knew this violin was from Olive’s days at Wayland College, in Plainview, Texas, a Baptist College.  She attended school there from 1915-1918. The college was new, just five years old, and housed primary grades up to college classes. They also offered private violin lessons.  

                                                Olive May married Carl Daniel in 1922 and she started life on a West Texas ranch. There was little time for music or music making. Her life was hard work and her husband was rough and surly. Nevertheless, the violin survived and was passed on to Elizabeth, her oldest daughter, my mother-in-law. The family story is that Olive was a beautiful, cultured woman who suffered from the sadness of losing her first child, Leonard, and then raised two daughters who loved her deeply. I wonder if the violin consoled her or if it was wrapped up and put away as Olive’s sensitive heart must have been during years of a difficult marriage?

                                                                                                          

                                                                        

Before I could actually play Olive’s violin we had to get it restored by fixing the bridge, a wooden part that supported the wire strings. The strings needed to be replaced and the bow restrung. I remember when we picked it up from the music store. I opened the case and gently fingered the strings. They felt tight and had a nice ring. Up to this point we didn’t really know what the quality of sound would be. Since I was completely new to the violin my efforts at learning didn’t reveal much of the tone quality either. My daughter’s violin teacher did play it for me and proclaimed that it had a good sound. 

My first piece was Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. All Susuki method students started with this piece. The favorite children’s song had several open string notes. An open string note is one where the sound on the violin is made without pressing the fingers to the strings. Pitch is altered by pressing the strings along the fretboard. I was very frustrated by that. The piano was so much easier. Press a key and the sound was always the same. But the violin was harder. I had to put my finger on exactly the right spot with exactly the right pressure and then move the bow across the strings with exactly the right momentum. Here I was a piano teacher and I couldn’t play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star in tune on the violin. No matter how often I rubbed the sappy smelling rosin across the bow, which created friction, allowing the bow to grip the strings and make them vibrate clearly, it never really felt or sounded smooth. This violin humbled me. It made me respect those little students lined up across the stage playing their pieces together. I was much more compassionate with my little girl as she struggled to learn.

 Our violin playing came to a halt after several years because my daughter refused to go forward. No matter how much I encouraged, scolded and bribed it was not to be. And then I slowly stopped practicing, too. I took the violin down to play less and less and then it stayed wrapped up on a shelf. Olive May Fowler Daniel is connected to my heart because of these years with her violin. I hope someone else might one day take out her instrument and learn to play with the joy I imagine she had for music. 

Click here to got back to the 31 Days In October index.

Some Of My Things

What is the history of the physical things you have inherited? Will your children know where they came from or what they mean to you? 

These are questions I answered in an online family history class and like a flash of light I knew I really should document some of my things.

I found myself alone upstairs in my  Aunt Hunni’s house one summer day when I was eight years old. Hunni, Johanna Betterman Schulz, was the middle sister of three daughters, my mother being the youngest. I visited there often and always stayed a week or more during summer vacation. She and Onkel Albert owned a farm on the outskirts of Salt Lake City, Utah. The farmhouse was large with a few out-buildings on the acreage. The upstairs in the farmhouse was special because my grandmother lived there.  

 When I reached the top of the stairs my grandmother’s room was visible. As I stepped inside the light from the east window cast a glow on her chest of drawers. The wood was polished and in this light had a rosy glow. There were four large drawers and one shallow drawer on the very top. That drawer held a mystical, secretive aura. Oma, grandmother in German, didn’t allow me to explore her room. I could come in and sit on her couch but I was never allowed to peer into her closets or drawers.

I knew from previous peeking that this top drawer held her jewelry and combs which she wore in her long hair. Tortoise shell hair combs tucked into her gray hair were so interesting to me. Several times I saw her hair down as she sat before her dressing table in just a slip. I watched as she wound her hair around and around and secured the pins and combs carefully into her bun. Then she would push her jeweled combs into the sides of her head. It would take only minutes but I watched it carefully each time, always surprised by the process.

                                                                                                      

 I picked up her combs and smelled them. They had a oily, musty smell much like my Oma’s scent. At first the scent repelled me because it was too real. Oma seemed right by my side. But then I tried the combs in my own hair. They just slipped out. How did she anchor them so tight?

    Oma died in 1965 when I was twelve years old. The chest of drawers stayed in Aunt Hunni’s house until 1983 when I moved to Seattle. Tante Hunni asked if I would like to have this piece of furniture that so captured my imagination. Yes, I really did want this chest which held so many memories of my grandmother. 

In my own home it moved from the bedroom of my sons to the room of my daughters. It was filled with underwear, socks, shirts, hats, perfume, necklaces, and letters. It seemed to fit every occasion and every child. I had it in my own bedroom for a few years until I relinquished it back to a child who needed more room for their clothing. I think what made it so versatile and sturdy was its simple design, beautiful wood, and excellent craftsmanship. Uncle Albert, a farmer, handy with all tools, made it himself in the later forties when Oma came to live with them after emigrating from Germany in 1949.  

At seventy years old she came alone on a ship with two canes, results of a broken hip which didn’t mend correctly, and made the journey across the United States to Utah. She left West Germany after living as a refuge from Silesia. World War II resulted in Silesia becoming a Polish state and most Germans left to resettle in the West. She came to live with Tante Hunni and Onkle Albert in America because her other daughters were married, trying to re-establish themselves in different places in West Germany. Her only son was in East Germany and he was then behind the Iron Curtain.

Just like this chest of drawers my Oma was simple, made resilient and strong by years of war and trouble, and finely finished with faith and tenacity.

                                               Click here to go back to the 31 Days in October index.

Getting Older

 My sixteen year old piano student went to hear the rock band The Who this weekend and raved about the experience. Why would he go see some seventy year olds play music? Because they are cool he said.

Can I still be cool at seventy? I ask because I still have a year in my sixties and I see changes coming in so many ways. My body is a bit more rickety but my spirit is changing for the better. On every birthday I ask myself what my mother was doing at this age. At sixty-nine she was living alone as a widow of almost two years. She was often lonely but yet she was choosing to stay active by going to the temple with her sister every week, visiting her grandchildren, working in her garden, going for a daily walk, and taking a nap every day. She never had a driver's license or an outside the home job, but she was a hard worker with a hard and fast routine. Her routine kept her grounded. I had the impression that change was hard on her.

Get used to change! That is the knowledge I gained from a flash of light.

Don't run from it. Don't resent it. Don't over think it.

                                                                                       Change

When a new theme emerges

  Within a long sonata,

There is a measure just on the verge 

   That strikes a chord like a grand toccata.

It heralds the coming of the new,

   While transitioning from the old,

It tells the ear, wake up, be watchful, too,

   This melody could turn out to be quite bold.

As summer melds into Autumn

  Winds kick up and temperatures fall,

Listen for the notes at the bottom,

  They’re moving, up, upward they crawl.

Click here to go back to the index of 31 days in October.

Gathering A Group of Women

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. 

Herman Hesse

For years I gathered with women to study scripture. It seemed forbidden in the past because there was a notion that false doctrine could be taught if a group gathered outside of a sanctioned church meeting. That was never my experience nor my focus. I gathered when there was a need. Sometimes it came about because I befriended a recent convert and she needed a smaller safe place to grow by asking questions, sometimes I gathered because someone new moved here and a few of us rallied to be a support. sometimes it came about with a granddaughter who agreed to read scripture everyday and send a small video back and forth about what we learned, and sometimes it came about because a sister agreed to talk scripture for a few minutes on the phone everyday. 

Always we gathered to support each other like trees in a forest, roots intertwined and canopies swaying side by side.

"Gather your women" was a flash of light which guided me. 

This year I lost one of my women to brain cancer. A year before her diagnosis we decide to gather once a week to discuss a book together. A slow awakening to God's love was kindled. You can know God's love and yet still be surprised to learn more. In the last months of her life our gathering was by her bedside, her hand in mine. It was holy and sacred. Her tree is gone but her roots are still growing beneath my feet. 

I remember when we decide to meet in person for the first time during The Pandemic. We walked a forest trail together and then rested on a bench overlooking the forest. With masks on our faces we laughed with joy. No other human was in the forest that day. We were alone and filled with our conversation of Heavenly Father, Heavenly Mother, and our friend Jesus.

“Our gathering—all it needs to be is two or three to qualify for Jesus Christ to be in the midst of that and the power that then comes into a room or into a home or into a community because we’ve chosen to live by that doctrine of gathering,” Emily Belle Freeman says referencing the scripture that says, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, …  where two or three are gathered together in my name, … behold, there will I be in the midst of them—even so am I in the midst of you” 

Click here to go back to the 31 Days in October index

October 24- The Last Witness To My Birth

                                                        “Instructions for living a life. 

Pay attention. 

Be astonished. 

Tell about it.” 

Mary Oliver

There is one last witness living who was present at my birth.

Meet my last living brother. He was twelve when I was born. I was a surprise as my mother was forty-three when she conceived. I followed three boys so many years later. They treated me like a princess and at some point I became an adult in their eyes. 

Below you see my birthplace, a home built by my father and brothers in West Germany, some years after they left Silesia as refugees. The trees behind the house remind me that living amongst trees is my legacy. 

         

    Visits from my brother to this island are momentous events.

   He loves nature and always sets out on a walk within hours of arriving. Once he left for a walk telling me he was going to the water. Hours past and finally I jumped into the car to go looking for him. He made it to the water but walked so far along the beach that he couldn't find a path back up. He emerged on someone's driveway and trudged back to my house. 

     One year, when he came, we rode all the ferries we could because he loves standing on the front of the boat and letting the wind and sun rush through him. THIS is my brother. I love him!

Happy birthday to me, today. 

He will call and if he forgets I will call him. We learned that from our older brother who never once forgot to call us and reminded us when we slipped.

 Click here to see the other days of writing.

No, Not One

Once when teaching a block of scripture from the Book of Psalms I had a questioning student ask why. 

Psalms 14:2 

​The ​​Lord​​ looked down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there were any that did understand, ​and​ seek God.

​​​3 ​They are all gone aside, they are ​all​ together become ​​​filthy​: ​there is​ ​​​none​ that doeth good, no, not one.

His question centered on the point of why would God say that there were none of his children who were good. I didn't have time to explore the question in class but I kept pondering the discussion. To my surprise I found the same statement in every book of scripture.

Doctrine and Covenants 23: 4 

​And my ​​​vineyard​ has become ​​​corrupted​ every whit; and there is none which doeth ​​​good​ save it be a few; and they ​​​err​ in many instances because of ​​​priestcrafts​, all having corrupt minds.

Moroni 10:25 

And wo be unto the children of men if this be the case; for there shall be none that doeth good among you, no not one. For if there be one among you that doeth good, he shall work by the power and gifts of God.

My pondering brought me to asking the question in my mind during the sacrament on the next Sunday. "Am I good, Heavenly Father?"

The answer came as a thought, like a flash of light.

"It is not about you."

The reason why we can do good or be good is because of our Savior, Jesus Christ. We in ourselves, by ourselves, don't do good. The natural woman or man needs 'light' to see how to do good. Good comes through the power and gift of God. The Light of Christ is upon all the children of Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother. The more we heed the light, the more we want to do good. The Good Shepard does the most guiding in our minds. His spirit invites us to do good. 

I have never forgotten that teaching. 

Click here to go back to the 31 Days In October index.

Discovering My Creativity

      

"Unused creativity isn’t benign. It lives within us until it’s expressed, neglected to death, or suffocated by resentment and fear.”

Brené Brown

 When I joined the online class based on the book “the Gifts Of Imperfection” by Brené Brown I did not understand the importance of art journaling. I liked buying a little empty journal book and my first set of gouache paints but I didn't get it. As a social research professor collecting data from hundreds of interviews, a group of people emerged from her study who seemed to have more resiliency and internal peace. She labeled them “The Wholehearted”. They had many characteristics in common, one being that they had creative outlets in their life. Brené didn't know what to do with this information. She didn’t get the connection at first, but surrounded herself with artist and writer friends who then helped her put away her pre-conceived notions about making art. In class videos she recounted that in the past she would say condescendingly to others that they could ‘do their little artwork but she had a real job’. What she learned from her art friends was how to use creativity to integrate her emotions. The “whole hearted” group in her research had characteristics that she herself lacked and that is where her her book took root. During this class I felt a desire to become more wholehearted. So, I did my assignments faithfully and a flash of light crossed my view.

                                           I was actually a very creative person. 

In the past I had expectations of perfection that kept me from engaging in a more creative life. If I didn’t write a book that everyone would read, why write? If I painted a picture that no one would see, why paint? The light flash revealed that I was wrong, very wrong.

      How does writing down your story, painting a representation, or making up a song integrate the most beautiful and the most difficult parts of your life? Some time ago, I listened to a podcast with Elizabeth Gilbert, who was interviewing a young woman song writer. She was grieving the loss of her sister to cancer. She told about her fear of writing music again because the loss was so fresh and making music brought up images that were very disturbing. Elizabeth suggested she let the music guide her to what was bubbling up into her heart. Later, in another call, Elizabeth asked how her creative juices were doing. A joyful song had emerged, quite to her surprise. The music had bridged the gap from pain to joy. 

"It is about integrating our memories, emotions, bodily sensations, and behaviors so that we can have mental health. It frees up our ultra rigid thinking and behavior and allows it to be less chaotic.”

Sharie Bowman

The above quote is from my therapist friend, Sharie. She helped me bounce around these ideas so that they stuck to my “inners’. Speaking of Sharie, for more than a decade she has requested that I try a creativity tool called Interplay. This activity combines improvisational play with movement. She confirmed that it has widened her spiritual, emotional, and physical life. I have watched her open up when she dances and sings in these playful group activities. The underlying passion which she always kept in check because she was a rational, intellectual, seems to transport her into a joy that spills over to everyone around her.

Whatever outlet of creativity we have serves to bring us more in tune with the stories in our heads. 

My mental stories have been that I didn’t have enough talent to do the big creative things. But I was equating talent with recognition and validation from the outside world. When I art journaled, the negative stories I carried with me lost some of their potency. As I used paint, lettering, cut out paper pictures I revealed the ideas, sometimes hurtful, in front of me. Some were profound, some entirely ludicrous, some revealed joy that I was afraid to feel. 

Let me share one example.

I was grappling with how to handle uncertainty and vulnerability. In my art journal I wrote uncertainty in white, in the middle of my page, on a dark background of color. Then I painted an inverted triangle above the word ‘uncertainty’, point down seemingly pressing on the word. Another triangle was under the word with it’s point pushing up on the word from beneath. At the tip of both triangles I wrote the words, anxious, dread, shallow breathing, racing thoughts, and tightening heart. Those words described what uncertainty about life felt like inside my body and mind. Then along the higher triangle I wrote, choose to take a walk, meditate, draw or paint, and just move forward. On the lower triangle I wrote, choose to shrink, give up and eat, and run away inside the television. This page in my art journal refocuses my strength. It does the work of integrating my emotions, my memories, my bodily sensations, and my behavior. It brings me back to the wholehearted person I want to become.

I am creative and my creativity encourages me to rewrite my difficult stories and rejoice in the stories of the goodness I have received.

“The irony is that we attempt to disown our difficult stories to appear more whole or more acceptable, but our wholeness—even our whole-heartedness—actually depends on the integration of all of our experiences, including the falls.” –Brené Brown

                                         Click here to go back to the 31 Days in October index.

My Early Morning Guests

While teaching Young Adults was challenging, teaching teenagers was a whole separate learning curve. Receiving flashes of light was essential and I watched for them daily.

"Attending seminary every school morning requires sacrifice, but youth throughout the world are finding that seminary participation is worth every effort. And those who participate have something in common: their seminary experience brings them closer to the Savior and to our Heavenly Father."

Seminary is a program in my church which invites high school age youth to attend a religion class before school starts every school day. Believe me, I was way over my head most of the years I was teaching. But, my efforts were magnified and I give praise and credit to God who made the call and sustained the feeble knees. Our island had very small groups. One very special year I had two boys who came faithfully everyday. 

Seminary challenged me to learn and know the doctrine of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I could not testify of that which I did not know. 

What I Learned From Teaching Seminary

   About Teenagers-

 1. They can be fully engaged one day and have no recollection of your lesson the next day.

 2. They feel incredibly vulnerable.

 3. They want to discuss on a deep level.

 4. They need more connection to their Savior, Jesus Christ.

 5. They need motivation to read the scriptures on their own.

 6. Those who come from homes where spiritual matters are openly discussed have a stronger foundation.

   About Teaching-

1. When you are prepared as a teacher you have less to beat yourself up about when things fall apart.

2. Praying is essential.

3. The longer you teach the more there is in your vessel for The Spirit to work with.

4. Plan readiness activities in advance and have them at hand.

5. Don't be afraid to wait when you ask a question.

6. Use journals and make them important by writing in them often during the week, glue-in quotes and pictures, give open journal quizzes to insure they record information correctly, and at the end of the year pass them around to record last testimonies and thoughts from their peers.

7. You can be obsessed with teaching during the year and completely forget how to teach seminary during the summer.

8. Keep yourself focused by reading the whole Book of Mormon every summer.

    About the Holy Ghost-

1. He can high- jack your lesson and it is absolutely divine.

2. Sometimes he assists your teaching even when you don't deserve it because your students do.

3. He can connect pieces together when your lesson is disjointed.

4. He can teach your students a different lesson that you thought you did.

5. He can flood you with joy and make you feel whole.

 Click here to go back to an index of 31 Days in October.