"We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention."
We
were very glad to find a place to live last spring, and almost
stunned to have a buyer for our house so quickly once we had started
our move. We had actually signed the rental agreement before we
knew whether we would be able to accomplish a sale at all.
But
because we had the clear direction of the Spirit, it was okay.
Figuring out how to accomplish the transition was what threatened to
overwhelm us. We are so grateful for all the help we had, because we
needed it. The last time we had had to move, I was twenty-six years
old and able-bodied. I wasn’t either of those things any more.
When
you watch the Lord bring things together for you — boom, boom,
boom! — it’s pretty hard to argue about whether you’re
in the right place. We knew that mere chance was not responsible,
but we had less time than we had anticipated in which to make major
changes.
Inevitably,
there were things we needed to buy to make the new space work, and
issues we needed to figure out. We were on a corner with a traffic
light, and the lights of the walk-don’t walk signal flashed
through our front window. Okay, we need heavier curtains. The
furnace in the basement was right underneath our bed, and it took a
while not to wake up at the sound of it firing up and turning on.
There
are a lot of adjustments in moving into a new place, especially when
you’ve been in the old place for many years. You have to
rethink all the patterns that have become second nature.
Where
would the silverware and plates go? Which room would we sleep in?
Not the one we intended, because the only phone jack was in that back
room, and we had to set up computer space.
It
was as simple and strange as being at the sink and thinking that I
needed to take something to the table, and starting to turn to my
right — because the entry to the dining room would have been
directly to the right in the old house. Now, the dining room was to
the left and behind, at the diagonal across the room. The back door
was to my right.
There
was only one electrical outlet in each of the two bedrooms, hardly
adequate for this modern age. The curtain rod in what now had to be
our bedroom was over my head, not ideal for a chronic shoulder
injury.
My
six-foot-eight brother-in-law would probably be okay in my kitchen
with its cupboards going all the way up to the eight feet eight inch
ceiling, but I was challenged. The floors were uneven, and there was
no cupboard that would fit a box of cereal.
I
was expressing my tensions to a friend, listing my issues, and she
said, “Am I hearing that this perfect place the Lord put you in
isn’t so perfect after all?”
Part
of me wanted to wail, “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m
saying!” But the wiser part of me was able to respond, “No,
I know this is where we’re supposed to be. It’s amazing
that we got a house for the price of an apartment. We have some
space, and we got to stay in the ward. I know that there’s
never any such thing as a perfect place; I’m just feeling a
little overwhelmed.”
That
query, offered without judgment, served to ground me in this process.
If there were difficulties, they would have solutions. My Father in
Heaven had not placed us somewhere I couldn’t manage.
I
ordered a round, rolling stepstool that locks into place when you put
weight on it, which became my new best friend. I can nudge it with a
foot to move it or bend over and pick it up, because it’s not
heavy, and as an unanticipated bonus it turned out that I can sit
down on it to reach down for a low shelf, which saves my bad back.
Now I could reach things, high or low. It’s actually pretty
slick.
We
figured out what we needed and how we could set things up. There was
one developing worry, though, that I couldn’t solve by
brainstorming.
I
found that I was having some kind of possible allergic reaction to
something. It wasn’t severe, but I had no problem except
inside the house. One of the pluses to this place was new carpet and
a no-pets policy, because I’m allergic to cats.
I
had figured that even if there had been a cat in this house at some
earlier time, the new carpet installation would mean that I didn’t
have to worry about it. I found some type of spilled kibble in an
upper cabinet (which was supposed to have been cleaned), and I was
sniffling a little, my nose and eyes were itching, I was sneezing
some, and it was better when I was not at home.
If
there was cat dander here, continued exposure would make my troubles
worse as time went on.
What
if laying a new carpet wasn’t enough? What if they hadn’t
truly stripped the surface of the floors? What if living here made me
sick, locked into a year’s lease and hoping to stay a lot
longer than that?
I
had to hold onto the certainty that the Lord had put us here, had
confirmed that this was his plan for us, and he was totally aware
that I was allergic to cats. He would not put me somewhere that
would make me sick, I was sure of that. I kept repeating that. I
knew that if I let fear get to me, the weight of all the burdens we
were dealing with would clobber me.
Once
the weather warmed up and we were opening windows, I quit having a
problem. Maybe it was just the carpet glue. I bought a good furnace
filter, and now, with the heat running again, I’m fine.
I
also realized that we have passed the six month mark, and the
pathways through the rooms, the dips in the floor, how things are set
up, are all second nature now. We have been here for half of a year,
and it’s become home, not just the place we’re living
now.
I’ve
reflected that it’s not unlike the experience of conversion to
the gospel. It requires a shift in dynamics, habits, and patterns in
one’s life to join the Church. The jargon is unfamiliar, the
people are new to us.
The
last few converts who have been baptized in our ward have practically
leaped into the water, but it’s not that easy for everyone.
People
are baptized because they have an experience with the Spirit and an
answer to prayer. After that door is opened, it’s easy to feel
uncertain, or to wrestle with the disapproval of family members or
friends, or to wonder if you can make all these changes. Even those
of us with long experience hit points where we want to cry, “I
don’t know if I can really do this!”
We
ask our members to attend meetings every week, to serve in callings
they don’t know how to do, and to shift into a new way of life
and a new way of thinking. A way that promises light and joy they
can’t find anywhere else, but it can feel strange at first.
Our
Heavenly Father promises us that he’s right there with us in
this, new members or old. We need to look out for the new person who
may not know how to ask a question, or who might be feeling a little
lost.
If
we can wrap our love around them, befriend and encourage them, then
the patterns will become second nature to them as they are to us.
Help them continue, to learn how they may experience the Spirit
blessing their lives.
Till
they know that they have found their true home.
Marian J. Stoddard was born in Washington, D.C., and grew up in its Maryland suburbs. Her
father grew up in Carson City, Nevada, and her mother in Salt Lake City, so she was always
partly a Westerner at heart, and she ended up raising her family in Washington State. Her family
took road trips all over the United States and Canada, so there were lots of adventures.
The adventures of music, literature, and art were also valued and pursued. Playing tourist always
included the local museums as well as historical sites and places of natural beauty. Discussions
at home, around the dinner table or working in the kitchen, could cover politics, philosophy, or
poetry, with the perspective of the gospel underlying all. Words and ideas, and testimony and
service, were the family currency.
Marian graduated from Winston Churchill High School in Potomac, Maryland, and attended the
University of Utah as the recipient of the Ralph Hardy Memorial Scholarship, where she was
graduated with honors, receiving a B.A. in English. She also met the love of her life, a law
student, three weeks after her arrival; she jokes that she had to marry him because her mother
always wanted a tenor in the family. (She sings second soprano.) They were married two years
later and have six children and six grandchildren (so far). She treasures her family, her friends,
and her opportunities to serve.
Visit Marian at her blog, greaterthansparrows. You can contact her at
bloggermarian@gmail.com.
Marian and her husband live in Tacoma, Washington. Together they teach those who are
preparing to go to the temple for the first time, and she also teaches a Stake Relief Society
Institute class.