The Journey End?

I have been thinking a lot about some of the paths my life has traveled, with recent events my mind is reminded of time when I felt a major decision was life or death in the making. I had received my mission call to serve in Osaka, Japan for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and on the same day received a letter from The headquarters of the Kanas City Royal Baseball Team asking me to report to spring training in Florida. As I spoke with my mother concerning the choice I faced, she at once told me to do what would make me happy, but then she told me what would become a Gertrudism of personal value to me, "Sometimes the journey is more important than the journey's end." Well, as an 18-year old boy, I could neither understand the depth or berth of experience that my mother must have been speaking from.

I had asked my mother about my Grandfather Jencks. She told me of several things which I remember. Again, because of some new perspective in my life, some of my Grandfather's choices have new meaning, as do the way my mother dealt with him until the day he died. I don't know how well I would have received a man whom abandoned me and my sister after my mother had died, yet mother welcomed Grandfather to her home, and cared for and loved him in his greatest hour of need. In fact, I never heard mother speak evil or harshly about him. I was told he had a quick sense of humor and easy smile, he was intensely loyal, which doesn't seem to match his actions or was the choice to leave the only one that kept him in this world for awhile longer? I know that Eaton Jencks had a journey that was his own and in the end had family whom loved and still think of him. I currently am the only brother that has his haircut, my younger brother is getting there but I've had it since I was 21. I also have a strong affinity to cigar smoke, that somehow reminds me of a man I have no memories of. I would dare not assume to guess what my grandfather might have been going through after the woman he loved died, yet the path he chose changed my mother's life forever.  I know now somewhat of the meaning of the Gertrudism, for my journey is far from over yet, just in the past several months I have learned a great deal about my own personal limits, stress and self confidence.  As I have struggled mightily with feelings of worth and questioned the reasons why certain things have happened at this time in my life, I have realized that this is a universal occurrence in everyone's sojourn while here on earth. No one escapes the questions of: Why we are here on earth? Why do things happen to us in a certain way? Is it my fault? Is it chance? Is it God's plan? Is there even a God?  What they place on our head stone or how we are remembered at the end of our life is not what's important, nor is it the goal. I know that we believe that we will be together again, but for now we have this life and this time to influence, mark, and travel our path.  I love my mother and will honor her memory until my last breath, leave my mouth yet the time, love and lessons she taught along the journey's path are all that matter...they are what I rely on now as mile markers in my own journey with those I love and care for. The question is: Are those that accompany me on this journey enjoying their time or regretting a path that placed them along side me at this time? This is a sobering question to ask and answer truthfully, yet if we simply applied this as "the golden rule" how clear will be our motives be and pure the love we offer? My mother's love was offered to all travelers whom came in contact with her, it was how she remained happy and grateful all her days.

Mom knew that each of her children would have their own journeys to travel. Each would choose paths of their own. My early choice to serve a mission was a path I chose out of loyalty to my mother and a desire to serve as my brothers and sister had before. Looking back, if I had taken my mother's advice and made my decision simply on what made me happy, spring would have found me in Florida. How grateful I am that Grandpa Jencks must have passed on some of that loyalty, for without it my journey's path would have been considerably different. Mom's extraordinary understanding of the fact the each of us will be judged righteously and in the end find a place where we will be happy, enabled her to teach us that the real lessons were to be learned as we traveled, and not at journey's end. That we could and should find joy along the way and in the many different adventures life puts in our paths. As I have mentioned many times, mom found joy in many things and many choices in her life. As I have personally struggled with feelings of despair lately, I have tried to remember my mother depressed or discouraged and the only time this comes to mind is late in her life as her health declined and she was unable to do some of the things she enjoyed doing. However, even that was short lived as she simply and courageously chose to be happy. Oh how I wished she were here to help me understand this process now and oh how I miss her! I would not presume to say that there are not medical or mental issues that cause great despair and depression. I know many people whom suffer greatly with all manner of challenges, and many who have every right to say" life is not fair" or "Why me, God?" who choose each day, though what must be difficult and hard, to find joy in the small thing in life. They put on a smile  and one foot in front of the other, and somehow and somewhere, they find hope that tomorrow will be better. How amazing they are. We cannot often change our lot in life, but we can always change the attitude with which we live it. I have always loved this quote, I just wished I could live it better.

The road that is built in hope is more pleasant to the traveler than the road built in despair, even though they both lead to the same destination. ~Marian Zimmer Bradley

So with the new paths that I must now travel, I am committed to choose hope and happiness as my companion. I will not inflect the torment of the ungrateful, selfish and brooding man on those I love as I remember more clearly and more often how much I am loved and how greatly I have been blessed by those who have chosen to walk along my path for a season.

Gertrudism #15   " Sometimes the journey is more important than the journey's end. "

The Results

I start this to give an update on my results of the biopsy of my prostate that occurred last week. The actual procedure was intense, yet not unlike a root canal, just I was opening wide in a different kind of way. The aftermath was another story as the days lingered on with pain and bleeding and as my body battled infection and trauma. My dear friends had invited Shauna and myself to St. George again for golf, food and fun. There I was doing what I could to be pleasant, happy and somewhat normal. Inside I was hoping I would soon wake and the dream would end, fears would calm and this great desire to run as far and fast away from everything and everyone would stop haunting my thoughts.
But here I stood looking at the beautiful green grass and the red rock back drop of the first hole knowing I was surrounded by people who cared and loved me, knowing my wife waited for my return. The sunshine and activity numbed some of the madness in my mind, dinner with my wife and friends, exhaustion and the toll of the procedure and the infection allowed me to sleep. The next day we were on another beautiful course and the symptoms were still more painful than I thought normal so I called the doctor on call which some how was my doctor. There in the middle of a round of golf I found out both good and bad news which on confirmed on Tuesday as Shauna an I met with her.

One of the core samples has cancer, much smaller than she was excepting a gleason score of 3 x3 (range1-10) with acute porosities which is treated with antibiotics for the next 4 week. I would love to ignore the small growth, but that's not possible so I am on "Active Watch" for 3 months, then new blood tests sometime in the next 6 months. Depending on the test results, another biopsy, and after that the cancer will need to be dealt with.

So it hasn't changed yet how I feel: I am still scared, but it's not of what you might think; not of death or even pain. It's of letting the people I love down. It's of failing to be gentle, kind, and loving to those that mean the most to me. A fear that courage is not found within me to face each day with a smile, that anger might better my control or I simply let despair encompass what light there is. These are as honest as emotions as I can express. The story of Scrooge was never about him losing his life, it was always about him losing his humanity. That's what the Ghost of Christmas Future would take and that is certainly what I fear.

I  watched as my mother suffered for many years as her body's functions and ability to sustain life slowly faded away. Mom however always seemed to find the courage to smile, laugh, and love through it all. Some of my most confidential and meaningful conversations occurred as mom lay in her bed, me as an adult, snuggled next to her listening to her struggle to pull air into her lungs. Was she ever too tired? Ever cross? Ever unwilling to give me her "last widow's mite?" Not once . Yet how quickly I forget and let selfish stupid things get in the way of giving comfort when needed, advice when requested, and encouragement that all of us require. So again mom will teach, though I would rather not learn this way, I will do what I can to remember how she lived and loved to the very end of her days.

My beautiful sister, Lynne, also suffered a similar fate and though I only was able to visit a few times, I was able to communicate in other forms. Her humor, intelligence, and grace allow a remarkable insight into her life; they way she love, what she believed, and how she dealt with trials. She was truly amazing and her smile provides comfort even to this day, as I remember how it lit up her face. She also gave comfort to the end of her days and even past as she sang at her own funeral, more a duet for me...but that's another, more sacred story.

A couple of week ago as my brother David was doing his best to distract my frazzled mind with a game of golf on a cool Saturday morning, the subject of Kim came up as we talked of her journey and some of the incredible decisions she was faced with making. As I explained how uncomfortable I was with the responsibility of dealing with the concern being offered in my behalf, he stopped me and told me, "That the one of the greatest gifts Kim gave to many people in their ward and family was to allow them the opportunity to participate in her death."  I have thought of that often since, these amazing women each independent, strong, and capable allowed those whom they loved to assist, care and enjoy what precious time was available. What remarkable examples...hence the fear of failing at such a small bump in the road.

Yet here I am, hoping that memories burn bright, that companionship of loved ones stays close and that somehow courage, faith and fortitude strengthen. As I was told today " knowing you're human is half the battle in keeping your humanity"

No Gertrudism today, doesn't feel right...

but I like these:

“Life itself is simple...it's just not easy.”
― Steve Maraboli,    
“To live greatly, we must develop the capacity to face trouble with courage, disappointment with cheerfulness, and triumph with humility.”
― Thomas S. Monson


    

The Fifty-Five Gallon Drum

I must say that I hate to admit this particular story: 10th grade and I am in a seminary class at Viewmont High School. As I sat four chairs from the front, my teacher was asking us to describe our mothers. I of course was somewhere else. It was after all spring and baseball was in the air, girls were dressed in less, and one had just said yes to a dance. My turn came without notice or warning. Now that's not really true, I had a lot of warning, but I was off in Never Neverland. So in my mind, I had no warning, just "Eric describe your mother" boomed the teacher. Startled out of my trance I simply said the first thing that came to mind, "My mother has the shape of a 55 gallon drum." Silence and then a whack across the back of my head by one of my classmates. "A beautiful 55 gallon drum," I stammered. Whack again to the back of my head.

    You have seen the picture of my beautiful mother that graces this blog, but the only way I ever knew her was how she is pictured in our family picture in the Rock House. She was always heavy and if she worked on losing weight I don't remember it . She had longer hair when she was young, but again I only knew her with shorter hair, always dyed until she moved to the Farmington home where she allow the gray to start it take over. I only remember two hair styles that she wore; one combed and curled up, and then one that was brushed straight back. She wore little make-up. Her lipsticks were often dark reds and maroons and she would often apply a small dab on each cheek and rub it in for blush, very little eye shadow or mascara, and she used an eyebrow pencil. Mother wore no permanent jewelry. Her wedding ring was cut off by dad twice because her hands had swelled up. Earrings were clips because she had no piercings or tattoos that I knew of. Mom had several operation scars but only one accident scar that I knew of from when a steer decided to gorge her right side just under her ribs.  Mother never smelled bad in any way, she had problems with her teeth and many were fixed and replaced. I saw my mother in various states of undress but never thought much of it. Now why would I go to this kind of detail?

   Well you see my mother was beautiful. That's how I saw her always. My best friend Scott Fugate's mom was tall, slender, dark-haired, and pretty, but Scott would often tell me how beautiful mom was. As children, young men, men, husbands with beautiful wives, and fathers with daughters, that opinion never changed, why? Mom was certainly not what the world would consider beautiful if you read the description above, yet beautiful is and was the best word to describe my mother. So I have spent the last while trying to quantify my conclusions.

    I have watched with admiration as I have watched my daughter who has struggled with her weight her entire life shed 70 lbs and become what the world and especially the world of men consider a beauty. It has amazed and saddened me that the truth is the for most people "beauty is only skin deep" as the attention she now receives has changed with her appearance. Yet like my mother, she is no more beautiful than she was before. She will be unhappy when she reads this, but the truth is, in my eyes she has been, and will continue to be stunning, beautiful, and special.

   So first, the emotion that you have with the person helps determine the beauty you behold, and lessen any concern of what others might think.
   Second, as you have experiences with the person and develop bonds of trust and love, these strong forces help mute the flaws and blur the imperfection that we all possess.

I love this quote;

"People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within."

-Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Finally: Mom's beauty was infectious because there was nothing made-up, put-on, or dress-up about it. She was who she was. I'm sure it didn't make her feel good to be described as a fifty-five gallon drum, yet even after I told her the story and she laughed about my situation, I was welcomed with open arms as my mother told and showed me how much she loved me. Well, that love made her beautiful in my eyes and in most everyone's eyes who came in contact with her for any amount of time. It's what Scott felt and saw that I hope we remember, learn, and share with those around us.

Gertrudism #14  There is beauty in all things, but can you see it?

Roses, A Vase, and a Lifetime of Understanding

It has been a busy time, full of surprise, wonder and events that quiet frankly have had me astonished at how circular the world and our experiences seem to be. The latest, was the quick wedding of my eldest son. Some 32 years ago my mother was required to experience a similar event when Shauna and I were wed.

   Shortly after we were married, my mother asked me if there was a special piece of china she could paint for us (of course I thought she meant for me being newly married) and I  knew right away what I wanted. I told her a vase with the Salt lake Temple on one side and her testimony on the other side.
She gasped, gulped, and coughed and then in typical Gertrude fashion pulled the Greenware catalog down for me to choose from. Her only requirement, which I thought peculiar, was that it must have a shape pleasing to my eye, one that I could gaze upon and see beauty. Odd as the request was, I searched through the various types of vases until one came into view one, that to this day as I look at it reminds me of the beauty and grace of woman's body. Interesting that I am disclosing that now since I have never mentioned that to anyone except my mother when she had asked what I saw in its shape.

  Assignment for my nieces and nephews : I know that there is something that your parents look at longingly or value an object of some sort. An example of this is the watch I wear, it is of the finest workmanship and valued by society due to its name. I have worn it almost every day for the past 32 years and my youngest son Ethan will receive it upon my death because it has his and my initials on it. Yet its real worth is written on the belly of the watch, an inscription from my wife, given to me when we were married. It reminds me each day how well she understood me from the very start of the adventure we have undertaken.
 Find the story behind their treasure and you will find their heart.

  The vase is 20 inches in height and one of the challenges was to paint a square building on a curved surface, I watch as my mother sketched four, then five, then six times the outline, finally with brush in hand the black base was applied and to my surprise around the entire temple was a ring of roses.

  As you know roses were my mother's favorite flower. I think because they came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. From the black magic rose, a deep purple, to the pure white, and every shade in between. Yet they were all the same family. Giant roses the size of softballs, and small delicate ones no larger than a quarter, ones that grew strong heavy stems, some that climbed and some that bushed up. Mom always found comparison in nature to life. All of her children are of the same family, yet we vary in so many different and beautiful ways. We are all part of a family, community, country, and human race, not one is alien. If we are if fact to learn anything from my mother's existence on this earth then is should be that "Charity Faileth Not and Judges Not." I watched my mother do what she could to better herself until the day she died because that's what she had the ability to control, her action, her belief , her faith. Not once, and I have tried to remember, did I see her tell another person how they should live their lives, she wasn't afraid to say how what she believed was true, but she never told me I had to believe it also.

  Roses are funny plants. Some take direct sun, others like shade, some like lots of water, some little if any, rich dark loam help some to thrive, while sand and pebbles for others. Many gardeners have even graphed two different roses together to create a new type of rose never seen before in nature. More than once we moved roses and adjusted soil in my mother's rose garden so that the individual plants could thrive and blossom to their best.  Mother certainly experienced this with her health, the places she lived, and the challenges her family faced. Each of us get the same opportunity for growth. Sometimes we struggle, sometimes we thrive, most of the time it depends on our willingness to learn and the trust we place in the Gardener.

The vase got three firings of the black on the temple, then mom got sicker....one day while visiting, she asked me to get the vase from the china room. She told me she knew she would die before she would finish it, so she had written her testimony on a paper and placed it inside. She then looked at me squarely, which was my clue to pay attention, "Eric you have the talent ,understanding, and courage to finish this. When the time comes, you will. " Mom died not long after that.

My eldest son max was married recently, very much like I was. I love him dearly and his new wife
and it was a joyful, wonderful day.

Yes mom, I can finish the vase. I understand now. Of course I won't touch it, for my heart swells with gratitude for a woman so selfless and kind, each time I gaze upon the beauty and grace of the woman I see within the lines of the vase.


Gertrudism 13: "What we spend, we lose. What we keep does us little good. What we give away will be ours forever.”