The Spirit of Adventure

When I was a little girl, I loved everything. 

The entire world was amazing to me. I think I may have been a better person then, albeit a person with less experience. 

I loved to explore. 

A couple weeks ago, I went caving with some friends on a date. We drove a couple hours down to this little city in the middle of nowhere, then past it--to its outskirts--and parked by a little hill. We got out, put on all of our gear, and started walking up the hill. It was steep. I looked at Abby, the other girl, and she looked at me, and we had a mutual understanding: this was going to be very exhausting and we were both totally out of shape. 

When we reached the top of the hill, there was a small, sunken in pile of rocks. In the middle was a hole, about two feet by two feet, maybe a little smaller, sideways. Kyle, my date, said "Alright! Here it is! Let's get in there!" as her date climbed into the earth, Abby looked at me and whispered, "I'm a little bit claustrophobic..." and I guess I was relieved. I had some reservations about crawling into the ground myself and it felt good to know that I wasn't the only one, although I worried about how she and I would fare underground. 

As sunlight was exchanged for headlamp light and shadows filled my range of vision, I watched the ground closely--all around me--and noticed very quickly how the shape of the passage would require us to crawl, maybe for a very long time. I also noticed the small passage just to my left that dropped away in slippery rock to a large and shadowy hole. This was the kind of adventure on which it was actually quite possible to die. 

Small passages lead to larger ones, then to crawlspaces, then to eight or ten foot tall rooms. The rock formations were amazing, though they were somewhat few and far between, with many chisel marks and broken rocks pealing their sad story of how miners had robbed the cave of its natural beauty years before.  

Timidly crawling gave way to diagonally walking, slowly transitioning to brazenly squirming, then to empowered leaping from stone to stone in the larger rooms. The cave became more familiar. The thought "I am inside the ground. I am underneath the Earth. This is all so wrong." was forced out by thoughts of "Look at this!" "Imagine how this came to be!" "Where does that passage lead?" 

When, after an hour and a half of crawling in hidden wonders, we once again returned to the surface, where the sun was shining, and light was easily taken for granted, I felt stronger, smarter, empowered. 

At about three years old, I was notorious for my adventurous nature. I ran out every day, multiple times a day, and crossed the parking lot of our townhouse complex, and played in the 'woods' across from our home. I searched for bugs and plants and ran my fingers along the tree bark and the moss, exploring everything and trying to get everything I possibly could out of this amazing piece of nature. I caught daddy long legs, held them in the palm of my hand, watching them walk around and spoke to them in whispers, imagining what they would say if they could talk back. Then of course, the neighbors would call my mother, threatening to call social services if they saw me out in the woods or walking through their section of the community lawn on my own again and my mother would find me, try to explain that I had to tell her when I wanted to go to these places and not sneak out, and take me back to our little house. 

I'm not as adventurous as I used to be, although I'm not sure that three year-old me would have liked the dark of that cave much at all... 

But then I think only of the words of one of my favorite childhood movies, Pocahontas, "To be safe, we lose our chance of ever knowing." 

I suppose the reason why I'm less adventurous is that I'm more responsible, have more knowledge of what the consequences may be, but every once in a while, it's important to take a risk, a true adventure, like when I climbed into that hole in the ground, in the top of a hill in central Utah nowhereness, looked at that terrifying drop away passage, and decided to keep going, though treading carefully. When we never let loose of the brain factor of life's adventures, they can never truly penetrate. our brain is preoccupied with thoughts of rationale and leaves little space for thoughts of wonder. 

Remember your inner child, who you once were, let them come exploring with you and allow yourself the experience of wondering about the beauty and vastness of nature rather than how you are going to get down from here. 

Motherhood: the power of love

  Mothers' Day is a time to celebrate not only our mothers, but all the women who have brought us to where we are now through  the mothering quality of nurturing.

Mother Teresa (from deadline.com)

There are many vibrant examples of strong and faithful women of faith inside and outside of any particular church. My grandmother was particularly fond of mother Teresa.   Mother Teresa was a Catholic woman, driven to aid those in need by her love of Christ. She truly lived her faith and acted on what she knew on a minute to minute basis. She sought out the poor, the lost, and the needy and she brought to them a resting place and a knowledge of the very real love of God.  

One of my favorite examples of a woman of faith is Ruth. When everything possible went wrong and her husband, brother-in-law, and father-in-law died, she chose to stay with Naomi, her old and now destitue mother-in-law. Ruth accepted Naomi's faith and stayed with her, relying completely on the counsel she recieved through revelation from Naomi. Sariah, Lehi's wife in the book of Mormon, was similarly faithful; as was Esther. All of these faithful women let everything go to follow the revelations sent from the Lord. They not only left their homes, but went forward into  a completely unpredictable future, seemingly foolish to the eyes of men.  

But a woman does not have to search out the slums of India or gather wheat to support her mother-in-law, or cross the ocean to find a new continent, or speak out in the threat of annihilation in order be considered strong and faithful. She must only follow what she knows to be true and to be tender and caring.  

Sister Bonnie L. Oscarson shared her mother's story in the general women's broadcast of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; she grew up in an inactive member family, but week after week, she would walk herself to her primary meetings and attend church alone because of the nurturing care of her leaders. She knew that they loved her and as Elder Richard G. Scott said in LDS General Conference, the most powerful base from which one can influence another is love.

They have to know and feel that you love them... And that's what the errand of angels is all about.  

We've all heard the song.  

"the errand of angels is given to women; and this is a gift that as sisters, we claim: to do whatsoever is gentle and human, to cheer and to bless in humanity's name."  

In the Family Proclamation to the World,  we find a similar statement regarding the role of women as nurturers. So if love is the most powerful base of influence, a faithful mother truly has more influence than that of any office,  and she has love. She is a nurturer.  

When I ponder upon the meaning of the term 'nurturer', my thoughts go back to my great, great aunt, Ila. Anyone who ever met Ila will tell you that they were definitely her favorite relative, and that she was the sweetest woman you'll ever find. I remember visiting her apartment with my mother. She always had some apple treat baking in the oven, and you were always welcomed in he door with a spirit of love. She cared about you. She wanted to hear all about you and your life. She was a nurturer and a true disciple of Christ.  

There are so many generations of people before us and they brought us to where we are now.  

In certain family lines, there

is a rich heritage of Latter-day Saint faith in my family. Micah Martine Katrine Margrethe Pedersen,  or Martina-as she was more commonly known-is my 5th great grandmother. She was quite the woman. She and her husband were converted to the LDS church in Denmark and had a little girl, but when it came time to leave for America, to follow the saints, his faith ran out and he left her. She crossed the plains, was abandoned by her next husband and her third husband decided she should send her children away, so she went out on her own and raised many wonderful children-from which I descend. She brought that branch of my family into the gospel light and kept them strong in their knowledge through loving faith and prayer. I owe quite a lot to her and to her strength.

As we look into the past, into our heritage, whatever it may be, we can only be strengthened by knowing more about those who came before us. We can learn from their stories and their examples. I've always known and been taught by my own mother that years and generatons don't matter, your innumerable grandmothers (and grandfathers) love you and care about you very much. They have passed from this life, but that only can make them feel closer to you, because now they know you and can watch over you.