Two significant events transpired in the last week. My mother became both a missionary and a blogger.
Mom and Official Woody Step-Dad® ZeeMeister report for their one year mission in the Family History Center on June 5. They've been looking forward to this for months now, or years if you follow their own history. Practically since they were courting they've been discussing missions (note: plural) and have already served a local service mission in their home stake in Texas. Now they're actually "going" on a mission (I guess they've grown a foot or two), and were officially set apart last weekend.
I know Mom is particularly excited about family history work, so this is a perfect mission call for her. We are also excited about this; but I have to be fair and realize that missions require serving others, and having her up there doing research on our own family lines just doesn't seem cricket. I suppose I could always go to Salt Lake and feign ignorance of the Church just so I could get her to surreptitiously look up old Uncle So-and-So, but they'd find her out. They always do. My own mission president had eyes everywhere in a country where communication required extensive knowledge of local telegraph offices. (You may think I'm kidding. You would be incorrect.) Anyway, he always found out when we weren't toeing the line, and I suspect it had to do with a much higher form of communication. So I don't think I'll be tempting that hotline with any non-member performances over the next year.
The blogging aspect of my mother's life is a hoot. I'm not saying that Mom has been in any way a late adopter. Reluctant, perhaps. Recalcitrant, even. But not late. Still, blogging requires a bit more confidence in navigating one's way through the bowels of the internet, getting lost in the occasional backwater or even swamping the boat with a crocodile or two in the water. I suspect that's been Mom's perspective, at any rate. Now, as she puts it, she ARE one. Her writing is wonderful. I wish I'd gotten just a bit more of that talent for myself, dagnabbit. Check her (and perhaps even Bob's on occasion) posting efforts at Bro. and Sis. Zornes on a Mission.
I'm so prilled* for my Mom.
* "Prilled" is a coined word that one of our ward members uses to indicate the sort of pride that it's probably alright for good Latter-day Saints to have without actually being, you know, prideful, which is a heinous crime. At least according to President Benson. "Prilled" seems like a workable compromise between "pleased" and "thrilled," which are used almost interchangeably when talking about our loved ones anyway. That's about as close to "proud" as we allow ourselves to get these days. Just so you know.
P.S. A hat tip goes to Baby Sis Amy who actually presented the blog all set up and ready for posting to Mom and Bob before they left. Where DOES she get those funky templates?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Mouthpiece? Or Just Mouthy?
I think I finally figured out part of my patriarchal blessing.
I received my patriarchal blessing thirty-five years ago. It's fortunate that my mother was the patriarch's transcriptionist at the time, because her off-the-tape transcript is the only copy I have of that blessing. I'm told there's a way to get an "official" copy, but I've never really had the time or inclination to pursue it.
I kind of like having the original. It's like listening to a recording of Wilford Woodruff bearing his testimony "into a talking machine" as he did over a hundred years ago. It's one thing to read it, and another thing altogether to hear it as it fell from his lips. I of course have no copy of the original recording of my patriarchal blessing, but having the unedited transcript is the next best thing. I remember the man's voice extremely well. He was a tenor, and tenors rarely forget other tenor voices. Also, he'd been our bishop at one time, and our family doctor for many years.
I received some wonderful counsel in that blessing. I was told in no uncertain terms that it was time to "turn away from the childish things." I'm sure that was included because that's always been a weakness of mine. I've been slow — very slow — to grow up. Part of being a performer for so many years, among other things. I was given many wonderful promises about my life as a husband and father, several of which have already come to pass. I was admonished to do temple work for my kindred dead. Took me a few years to catch on to that one.
The one phrase that always struck me, however, came about halfway through the blessing. I can still vaguely remember hearing it come from the patriarch's mouth when he said it. He said that I would serve as one of the Lord's mouthpieces, as it were.
A mouthpiece.
My siblings can read this and smile. They know what a mouthy kid I was (and still am, really). I may be painfully shy around folks I don't really know, but if I'm comfortable around someone, I talk. Probably too much. (This may be why I don't have many "close" friends.) At one point I wondered if this had anything to do with my acting skills. But the term "mouthpiece" usually put me in mind of a special witness. Something along the lines of an apostle or prophet. Something that I've never felt I could be.
Now I think I get it.
I've made no secret of the fact that I have a passion for teaching, and teaching the gospel is one of my favorite pastimes. I have taught in most of the Sunday School courses over the years, and substituted in nearly all the auxiliaries (excepting Young Women, of course). (Wait; not strictly true. I have on occasion taught young women as a visiting "specialist" on one topic or another. I guess that counts.) My favorite callings in the Church are teaching callings.
The funny thing is, most of us are called to teach. If we have families, we teach. We all teach by example, whether we intend to or not and whether that example is good or bad. Parents by definition are teachers, again for better or worse. Even as children and siblings we teach each other every day. It's a natural part of who we are as children of a loving Eternal Father.
The kind of teaching I love, though, is the kind that comes from having a spiritual gift. When in the presence of a teacher who has such a gift, I enjoy that experience more than going to the theater. When called to teach, no matter how challenging the class may be, I pour myself into that calling and will likely think back on it as my favorite. At least until the next such calling comes along. I believe this to be one of the gifts of the Spirit that were promised to me so many years ago.
When called to teach, I become a mouthpiece. I believe this is what my patriarchal blessing presaged.
I've been given a wonderful opportunity to do just that this summer. Every year our Stake sponsors a sort of Summer Institute, and I've been asked to be its instructor this year. Remember when I wrote that a member of the Stake Presidency can just lean over my shoulder in Church and tell me, "Say, Bro. Woody, I've been meaning to talk to you...?" Well, that's literally how I received this assignment. Fortunately, it's a temporary one.
Every Wednesday for six weeks I get to expound on the life of the Savior from the perspective of the Church's musical production of "The Savior of the World," which our Stake plans to produce next spring. Another Stake in our region produced it last year. We'd heard that they did fifteen minute devotionals before rehearsals to give the cast and staff the historical and spiritual settings for the scenes they were about to practice. Our Stake wants to expand on that idea and do something similar in six one-hour lessons beginning in June. That becomes my job, and suddenly I'm like the proverbial kid in the candy store. The problem is in deciding on which reference materials to use. The scriptures are a given, as are several of the available Institute and Sunday School manuals. But there are so many good scholarly books on this topic that it's nearly impossible to pare it all down into a manageable avalanche of information.
So if you're in the north Orange County area during June and July and have nothing better to do on Wednesdays at lunch time, poke your head in. I shouldn't be too hard to find. I'll be the guy up front wearing sackcloth and ashes. May even have a locust wing stuck to my long, flowing beard with a little dribble of honey.
I am a method actor, after all.
I received my patriarchal blessing thirty-five years ago. It's fortunate that my mother was the patriarch's transcriptionist at the time, because her off-the-tape transcript is the only copy I have of that blessing. I'm told there's a way to get an "official" copy, but I've never really had the time or inclination to pursue it.
I kind of like having the original. It's like listening to a recording of Wilford Woodruff bearing his testimony "into a talking machine" as he did over a hundred years ago. It's one thing to read it, and another thing altogether to hear it as it fell from his lips. I of course have no copy of the original recording of my patriarchal blessing, but having the unedited transcript is the next best thing. I remember the man's voice extremely well. He was a tenor, and tenors rarely forget other tenor voices. Also, he'd been our bishop at one time, and our family doctor for many years.
I received some wonderful counsel in that blessing. I was told in no uncertain terms that it was time to "turn away from the childish things." I'm sure that was included because that's always been a weakness of mine. I've been slow — very slow — to grow up. Part of being a performer for so many years, among other things. I was given many wonderful promises about my life as a husband and father, several of which have already come to pass. I was admonished to do temple work for my kindred dead. Took me a few years to catch on to that one.
The one phrase that always struck me, however, came about halfway through the blessing. I can still vaguely remember hearing it come from the patriarch's mouth when he said it. He said that I would serve as one of the Lord's mouthpieces, as it were.
A mouthpiece.
My siblings can read this and smile. They know what a mouthy kid I was (and still am, really). I may be painfully shy around folks I don't really know, but if I'm comfortable around someone, I talk. Probably too much. (This may be why I don't have many "close" friends.) At one point I wondered if this had anything to do with my acting skills. But the term "mouthpiece" usually put me in mind of a special witness. Something along the lines of an apostle or prophet. Something that I've never felt I could be.
Now I think I get it.
I've made no secret of the fact that I have a passion for teaching, and teaching the gospel is one of my favorite pastimes. I have taught in most of the Sunday School courses over the years, and substituted in nearly all the auxiliaries (excepting Young Women, of course). (Wait; not strictly true. I have on occasion taught young women as a visiting "specialist" on one topic or another. I guess that counts.) My favorite callings in the Church are teaching callings.
The funny thing is, most of us are called to teach. If we have families, we teach. We all teach by example, whether we intend to or not and whether that example is good or bad. Parents by definition are teachers, again for better or worse. Even as children and siblings we teach each other every day. It's a natural part of who we are as children of a loving Eternal Father.
The kind of teaching I love, though, is the kind that comes from having a spiritual gift. When in the presence of a teacher who has such a gift, I enjoy that experience more than going to the theater. When called to teach, no matter how challenging the class may be, I pour myself into that calling and will likely think back on it as my favorite. At least until the next such calling comes along. I believe this to be one of the gifts of the Spirit that were promised to me so many years ago.
When called to teach, I become a mouthpiece. I believe this is what my patriarchal blessing presaged.
I've been given a wonderful opportunity to do just that this summer. Every year our Stake sponsors a sort of Summer Institute, and I've been asked to be its instructor this year. Remember when I wrote that a member of the Stake Presidency can just lean over my shoulder in Church and tell me, "Say, Bro. Woody, I've been meaning to talk to you...?" Well, that's literally how I received this assignment. Fortunately, it's a temporary one.
Every Wednesday for six weeks I get to expound on the life of the Savior from the perspective of the Church's musical production of "The Savior of the World," which our Stake plans to produce next spring. Another Stake in our region produced it last year. We'd heard that they did fifteen minute devotionals before rehearsals to give the cast and staff the historical and spiritual settings for the scenes they were about to practice. Our Stake wants to expand on that idea and do something similar in six one-hour lessons beginning in June. That becomes my job, and suddenly I'm like the proverbial kid in the candy store. The problem is in deciding on which reference materials to use. The scriptures are a given, as are several of the available Institute and Sunday School manuals. But there are so many good scholarly books on this topic that it's nearly impossible to pare it all down into a manageable avalanche of information.
So if you're in the north Orange County area during June and July and have nothing better to do on Wednesdays at lunch time, poke your head in. I shouldn't be too hard to find. I'll be the guy up front wearing sackcloth and ashes. May even have a locust wing stuck to my long, flowing beard with a little dribble of honey.
I am a method actor, after all.
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