Chelsea Dyreng

April 8, 2015 · 6:25 pm

To the Mother of Young Children

Part 1

You have only so much love

In your cup.

Most of it goes to your children all day

but you share some with neighbors

and their children.

Sometimes you save some love for yourself

but not very much, because you’ll need love for

older parents

teachers

friends

strangers

and the family dog.

By the time your husband comes home

you only have a little love left.

You could drink the last bit up yourself or

you could give it to him.

Of course you give it to him

because that is the kind of person you are, and

you know that there will always be more in the morning.

Sure enough, when you wake,

your cup is full again and

you pour out your love again

to all those thirsty people around you.

Part 2

One day

you use up all your love

for the people around you and

when your husband comes home

there is no love left in your cup

for him.

So instead you go to sleep

because you know

there will be more in the morning.

And there is.

And as long as your cup is full every morning

you know you’ll find a way to make it last.

Part 3

Then one morning you wake to find

that your cup is empty.

The children clamor for your love

but your cup is empty.

Your husband yearns for your love

but your cup is empty.

Your friends and neighbors and teachers and

strangers and family dog need your love.

But you are empty, empty, empty, empty.

Everyone depends on you.

Everyone is thirsty.

You want to say, I need a vacation!

But everyone knows there is no such thing

as a vacation for mothers.

This is a problem.

So you try to fill up your cup with your tears

but that is hard

and besides, no one wants to drink

your tears.

Part 4

This is when

you come and find Me

and hold out your cup.

(Please be sure it is not upside down.)

I will then fill it with My Love.

And when you know your cup is filled

with Love from Me

it will fill your heart

and your heart

will become a fountain.

And then you will not need a cup

anymore.

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Filed under Parenting

Tagged as children, Christ, motherhood, poetry month

March 31, 2015 · 6:01 pm

Five Favorite Poems

My eleven-year-old came home the other day telling me that her English teacher is starting a really boring unit. For the next few weeks they are going to be studying poetry. She said the word poetry in the same tone she says the words clean the bathroom.

And this is my child?

I, the lover of all types of poetry? I, collector of great books of poems? I, the woman who hosted wild, ruckus Poetry Nights with my friends for years when my daughters were wee babes? This is my child?

I wanted to explain to her that poetry is how people put love and hate and fear and hope into words we can feel. I wanted her to understand that good poetry, really good poetry is like a secret code that you have to decipher, and the best poems have a last line that hits you straight in the heart. I wanted her to know that reading good poetry outloud is like having your mouth filled with chocolate. Poetry is about passion, child! Passion!

But all I could muster up at the moment was a flabbergasted, “But poetry is so cool!”

My daughter shrugged. “If you say so.”

Okay, so it will take some time for me to convert her. In the meantime, April is National Poetry Month so let’s get the party started! Here are some of my favorite poems:

1. I Stop Writing the Poem by Tess Gallagher

I once told a very wise woman that I had a dream to write books but that I planned to dutifully wait until all my children were in school. She laughed at me and said that if I did that I would loose all my inspiration. She was right. Since then I have tried to weave my writing in with my mothering and wifer-ing and it has worked out better than I had hoped. There are plenty of times I have to stop writing to fold shirts. Or do laundry. Or listen. It is all part of what women do. But without those children tugging at our sleeves and asking questions, what would there be to write about?

I Stop Writing the Poem

to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I’m still a woman.
I’ll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I’ll get back
to the poem. I’ll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there’s a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it’s done.

2. Master Speed by Robert Frost

I think about this poem when I think about the power of marriage.

Master Speed

No speed of wind or water rushing by
But you have speed far greater. You can climb
Back up a stream of radiance to the sky,
And back through history up the stream of time.
And you were given this swiftness, not for haste
Nor chiefly that you may go where you will,
But in the rush of everything to waste,
That you may have the power of standing still-
Off any still or moving thing you say.
Two such as you with such a master speed
Cannot be parted nor be swept away
From one another once you are agreed
That life is only life forevermore
Together wing to wing and oar to oar.

3. When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer by Walt Whitman

I read this poem when Facebook gets too much for me to handle.

When I heard the learn’d astronomer;

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;

When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;

When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture room,

How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;

Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,

Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

4. Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Every poem by this woman is phenomenal. This one is my favorite.

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It’s the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can’t touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,

They say they still can’t see.

I say,

It’s in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed.

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing,

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It’s in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need for my care.

’Cause I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

5. Ode on Imitations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth

This is just a bite of a much longer poem (but it is the best bite). I taped this (and other poems) to the kitchen cupboard while my daughter Naomi had colic and memorized them while I held her and walked back and forth, back and forth. Can’t remember them now, though, so that is why I have to keep reading them…

Ode on Imitations of Immortality

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;

The soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting

And cometh from afar;

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home.

Thanks for reading. I feel much better now.

2 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized, writing

Tagged as Imitations of Immortality, Master Speed, national poetry month, phenomenal woman, poetry

March 29, 2015 · 4:13 am

Successful Church Choirs

Here are some thoughts I’ve had about directing church choir. We’ll start with the hardest thing first.

How to get people to come (Hint: it is not by bringing cookies)

This is probably the biggest hurtle for choir directors. After all, why should people come to your choir? It is not a required meeting. Only you and your pianist have to be there, and few are the souls kind enough to sit through three (or more) hours of meetings and cheerfully submit to a tedious choir rehearsal, too. As the choir director you must recognize that you are not doing them a favor by directing the choir, they are doing you a favor by coming. Do not waste their time. You must engage your choir at every moment. And you must be prepared: have sharpened pencils ready for them. Have music for every member with a folder that they can write their name on. Know the music. Know where you want them to breathe, when to swell, when to diminish. If you show them you are dedicated and ready to work, they will come.

Another way to think of it is to imagine you are a sports team trying to recruit all-stars into your program. One blanket email out to the ward does nothing to bring people to choir. Zero. You need to create loyalty. A fan base. A following. You do this the old-fashioned way: by asking them individually if they will come. Calling them on the phone, sending a personal invitation through email telling them how much you need their help, and thanking them individually afterward.

How to keep their attention

More people will come to your choir if your rehearsal is fast-paced and there is some sense of urgency. I always have performance-driven choirs. That means we never rehearse just to rehearse: we have a date set to perform and it is only two weeks away. If you have too many rehearsals people will pick and choose which ones they attend and you’ll never have a full choir till the last rehearsal. You need to have one less rehearsal than you think you need. That way there will be a sense of urgency.

Time management

This is so important! I have seen so many directors that rehearse the sopranos for 10 minutes the rest of the choir sits there, vegetating. While you are rehearsing the sopranos, tell everyone else to hum their own part. Or have them sing the soprano line too, that way the sopranos can have more support. Tell the tenors, “watch your music while I rehearse these sopranos so by the time I get to you your part will be perfect” and hold them to it. And if you keep rehearsing a part and it isn’t working, send that section into a room by themselves with a capable musician to plunk out the notes so they don’t take time away from the rest of the choir. Always try to make sure everyone is engaged, somehow.

Most importantly: At least 85% of the time in rehearsal people should be singing, not listening to you talk. They don’t want to hear you talk. They have been listening to people talk all day. They came to sing! So keep your comments and directions to 15% of the rehearsal time. Or less. Also, never let your rehearsal go over an hour, because if you do they will never come back.

How to make them sound good

This takes a college degree. Seriously. People get their college degrees in choral conducting. It is a serious gig, folks. And people who do this know all the techniques to get people to sing as one: dynamics, diction, placement, diphthongs. Most of us don’t know all that stuff and never will. The average ward choir director can help the choir learn their notes and put in a few dynamics and that is about it. So what do you do if you know nothing about directing choirs? Be a leader. Decide how you want the song to sound and tell them what to do. You don’t have to know all the right musical jargon. A choir director who knows little about music but is a good leader is ten times better than a choir director who knows a lot about music and is not a good leader.

One common mistake I see a lot of choir directors make is that they ask their choir for advice. “What do you think we should do here?” “Do you guys want to do it this way or that way?” No. Stop. You decide what you want them to do. You are their leader. Being in a choir with a wishy-washy leader is like following a blind man through a desert. If you are prepared, and you know the song and what you want to do with it, than you will be able to lead with confidence.

Tone-deaf people

Because this is a church choir we don’t exclude anyone based on race, creed, sex or . . . tone deafness. If you have a tone-deaf person come to your choir do not spend a lot of time hashing through notes that they will never be able to match. That will waste the choir’s time and it may make that person feel embarrassed. Welcome tone-deaf people into the choir with open arms, and whenever you hear that low (or high) droning just be glad they are there and they have the heart and willingness to sing.

Last but not least!

Treat your accompanist like a king or queen that he/she is. You would be nowhere without them. Make sure they have the music in advance, make sure they know about the rehearsals. Praise them. Give them credit. And when it is all over make sure you thank them. They are your most loyal ally in this terrifying yet extremely rewarding calling.

3 Comments

Filed under Strange Mormon Customs, Uncategorized

Tagged as church choir, church singing, Mormon, ward choir

March 23, 2015 · 11:59 pm

Camping With Kids

Ferron Reservoir, Utah

When I say the words “camping with kids” what images come to mind?

Inconsolable babies? Thunderstorms? Full diapers, mysterious rashes, tick bites? Mosquitoes, bats, burned food, no food, rustic latrines with no toilet paper, snakes, mountains of laundry . . . shall I go on? Would you rather not talk about it?

For parents, camping with kids can be one of the most pointless, frustrating and miserable things you may ever do in your lifetime. Why would you take your entire family out of their normal schedule and air-conditioned environment and purposely put them in a situation where they are cold, wet, dirty, hungry and as uncomfortable as possible?

Scott and I have taken our kids camping in Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, Colorado, Virginia, South Carolina and North Carolina.

Sinks Canyon, Wyoming

We’ve camped in bitter cold, pounding rain, merciless wind and catastrophic thunderstorms. We’ve camped in the mountains, on beaches and in the swamp. And we still go out for more. We can’t get enough of it. We love it.

Perhaps we are insane.

Hurricane Campground, Virginia

I understand if you say that camping with kids is not for you. It is a lot of work. When we go camping we only take the things we know we will use and it still looks like we are planning a three-week vacation to the moon. You’ll have to bring diapers and bikes and pack-and-plays and books and sleeping bags and tents and extra clothes and food and stoves and dutch ovens and coolers and propane tanks . . . you get the idea. And remember, you will need at least an entire day to prepare for your camping trip and two entire days to clean up when you get back!

And then there are the nights! Oh, the agony!

Hurricane Campground, Virginia

It will most likely be one of the Top Three Most Horrible Nights of Your Life, right up there with the other two times you went camping with kids. You will either be freezing cold, sweltering hot or getting eaten alive by invisible bugs. You will hear strange noises, have weird neighbors, and there will almost always be someone who needs help finding the outhouse (hopefully it will be one of your own children and not someone from the next camp). And if you bring a baby, even one that regularly sleeps through the night, expect that just when you finally drift off to sleep he will wake up with a 4-alarm cry. If you expect to sleep through the night, you are in trouble.

Better instead to expect to have a great story to tell everyone else at breakfast.

And speaking of breakfast, did you know camping has a magical effect on food? There is something about not having an option for food for miles and miles that makes any scrap of food taste unbelievable. Dirt and charcoal become flavor enhancers instead of reasons to throw food away. It is miraculous how the outdoors changes your perception of “tasty.”

Ferron Reservoir, Utah

And when food does turn out perfectly, well, you eat like kings. Grateful, ravenous kings.

Merchant’s Millpond, North Carolina

If the above scenarios seem unappealing to you, than camping with kids is not for you. But then, isn’t that the point? It isn’t for you, right?

Merchant’s Millpond, North Carolina

What you see as a world of work, your children will see as a world of discovery.

Eastatoe Falls, North Carolina

Grayson Highlands, Virginia

Merchants Millpond, North Carolina

Stone Mountain, North Carolina

Camping gives kids the opportunity to do a lot of things that are normally off-limits. They can get as dirty as they want. There is no schedule to adhere to, no clocks, no lessons, no school. Boys can swing from trees and girls can find their inner Amazon. They can revert to their carnal nature that their parents are always trying to suppress. They get to sleep outside, pee outside, eat with dirty hands. They howl at the moon. They worship fire.

Camping builds character exponentially and fosters gratitude. Little things become big things: a zipper that zips up–a miracle! A warm sleeping bag–a luxury! A spoon–incredible! Dry socks–to die for!! A flashlight with batteries–heaven!!

Eno River, North Carolina

Camping makes work meaningful and concentrates the big, grand, hard-to-fathom Law of the Harvest into a small period of time that they can comprehend. Would you like a fire to get warm? Gather fire wood. Would you like a tent to sleep in? Set it up. Want to get across the lake? Paddle.

Ferron Reservoir, Utah

Merchant’s Millpond, North Carolina

But getting kids to do that stuff is easy. The hard part is getting everyone to fold up the tents when we are done, because seriously, who wants to go home?

Merchant’s Millpond, North Carolina

Have I convinced you yet? No? Well then I know what you are thinking . . . the cost! Surely it must cost a lot of money to get all the camping paraphernalia you need to go out in the wild, especially for kids. But I guarantee that it will cost you less to take your family camping, even if you had to buy all the gear from scratch, than it would take to get your family to Disneyworld. And you can use your camping stuff over and over and over again.

Plus, when you are outside and you don’t have electronics and time commitments, strange things start happening. Kids talk to each other. Kids talk to you. They play games with real, live people.

Ferron Reservoir, Utah

They get to use things like knives and axes; tools that were used for hundreds of years before computers. Tools every child knew how to use by the time they were twelve. Tools that built civilizations.

Ferron Reservoir, Utah

Then, if you really want to see something cool, give your kid a camera and tell them to go far a way. Then see what they bring back.

Ferron Reservoir in Utah, taken by Sophie

For me it is worth it just to see how excited they are to sleep in hammocks or see the light on my son’s face when he says, “You mean I can go to the bathroom in the WOODS?! Awesome!” (Granted, my daughters’ reaction is quite different.)

When they are 75 years old they may not remember the video game or the toy or the book you gave them, but they will remember the tree that almost hit your car (true story!) and the time you fell in the creek, and they will remember listening to the coyotes howl and they will remember the way that trout wriggled when they touched it. And every miserable act of suffering will become a legend in the grand hallways of your family history.

Duck Fork, Utah

But when it all comes down to it, the reason I go camping with kids is for the adventure. There are not enough adventures in our current lifestyle. Why? Because all we do is push buttons. We push buttons for work, for fun, for social needs, for school. Believe me, unless you are breaking the code of the Enigma, it is hard to have an adventure pushing buttons.

Some place in North Carolina

So go on. Get out there. Suffer. Be miserable.

And make adventure happen.

4 Comments

Filed under Family Fun, Parenting

Tagged as camping, camping with kids, parenting, state parks, the outdoors

March 9, 2015 · 2:46 am

Talking to a Child Who Does Not Want to Talk to You

Several years ago I was in a quaint, small-town bookstore. As I chatted with the sixties-something bookstore owner she noticed my three daughters. “Are those girls yours?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said proudly.

“Hmmm . . . ” she said, stroking her chin. “Come with me.” She beckoned me to an obscure corner of her store, and, glancing furtively at my girls, she leaned in close to my ear. “Let me give you some advice,” she said in a low voice. “Someday, when your girls get older they will want nothing to do with you. They will not even want to talk to you.”

“No,” I reassured her, “Not my gir–”

“Listen closely,” she interrupted, “and I will tell you what to do when that happens.”

Then she whispered to me her secret. It was truly brilliant. I tucked her advice away in my mind so that I would be able to use it someday “when my daughters want nothing to do with me” (which of course will never happen). I will share her secret with you.

But first I am going to tell you another story.

I was that child once.

I was that child that didn’t want to have anything to do with her parents. My rebellion hit when I was in my second year of college; the year I fell in love with Trouble.

My parents were frightened for me. My brothers were disappointed in me. My sisters prayed for me. Everyone did all they could to persuade me and admonish me and warn me that I was dating Bagley Family Enemy #1, but I wouldn’t listen. Why? Because when you are 19, very few things matter more than a 6’4″ green-eyed boy who also happens to be an excellent kisser.

Around the time all of this was happening I went to Wal-Mart with my dad. Just before we checked out he grabbed a stuffed bear from the shelf.

“Why are you buying that?” I asked him.

My dad shrugged mysteriously. “Just in the mood.”

In the mood to buy stuffed animals? I thought. Dad, you are weird. I eyed him suspiciously as he paid for his purchases and we left the store, the bear tucked under his arm.

“So . . . are you going to name him?” I asked as we walked to his truck, wondering what my mom was going to think that night when my dad cuddled up with his bear.

“Who?” he said.

“The bear,” I said. “What are you going to name him?”

“Oh, yes.” Thoughtful pause. “Him.”

“Him?”

“Yes. His name is Him.”

On that bewildering note my dad put the bear down in the backseat, drove me to my apartment and dropped me off.

A few weeks went by. Awesome weeks. Trouble and I went on long drives, we ate out a lot, we laughed a lot, we kissed . . . a lot. All the while I knew I was creating quite a panic on the home front. And as I desired to be with Trouble more and more, I visited home less and less. After all, why would I want to go home only to get reprimanded? Trouble made me happy. Trouble was all that mattered. Me + Trouble = True Love.

Then, early one morning, I opened the apartment door to leave for my campus job. There on the doorstep sat a vaguely familiar stuffed animal.

It was Him.

Under his paw there was an envelope with my name on it.

I brought the bear inside the apartment, sat down and opened the letter. “Dear Chelsea,” it read. “This is a letter to Him. Since Him cannot read, I was hoping you could read it out loud to Him.”

Okay . . . I thought. My dad truly is the King of Weirdness. But, I sighed, if he took the time to bring this bear to my apartment in the middle of the night I decided to at lease humor him. I read the note (out loud, as directed) to the bear. It wasn’t anything ground breaking. Just a letter about life and working through tough decisions.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what he was trying to do. A few days later there was another letter on the doorstep addressed to Him, presumably for me to read out loud. Then letters started coming in the mail, too. It was happening so often that my roommates were getting thrills every time a “Him letter” showed up. And even though I stopped reading them out loud (too many ears in those apartments!) I secretly began to look forward to the letters because a.) my dad was a funny man who did unpredictable things, and b.) I wasn’t as happy with Trouble as I wished I was. Trouble was a good kisser . . . and that was about it.

My dad wrote to Him about everything: decision making, being wise, having an eternal perspective, and even techniques on how to get to sleep. He drew diagrams and pictures so Him (who had a small brain) could understand.

I did finally break up with Trouble. And then we got back together. Then we broke up again. Finally Trouble went on a mission, but it wasn’t until he came home two years later that I finally pounded the last nail in the coffin of our love. Believe me, Trouble is hard to shake off.

The letters to Him weren’t what saved me from getting into serious problems with this young man. But the letters to Him kept me connected with my dad in a unique and vital way. The fact that my dad took the time to make his messages creative told me that he loved me but did not want to offend me. And because his method was so strangely endearing I didn’t have the heart to get defensive about the advice I was getting. Each letter was a gentle reminder that I was loved and I was being prayed for, and most of all, that I was being trusted to make the right choice on my own.

Now, back to the bookstore owner who had me cornered in her store.

This is what she told me:

You will need a bag of mini marshmallows, some tooth picks and a little candle. Late at night (when people are most willing to share their deepest dreams and fears) invite one of your girls to the kitchen table. (You must only do this with one child at a time.) Light the candle. Turn off the lights. Stick the little marshmallows on the toothpicks. Roast your marshmallows. Because the candle is so small you will have to sit very close to each other. Because you are doing something edible she will not leave. And because you are doing something unpredictable she will know that you care. Then let her talk, and you listen.

I’ve already done this with two of my kids, with magical results. (I am starting this method early, as a preventative measure.)

It is our job as parents to remind, correct, discipline and warn. But it is worth remembering that kids may not always listen to words, but they always listen to love.

“If a man’s heart is rankling with discord and ill feeling toward you, you can’t win him to your way of thinking with all the logic in Christendom. Scolding parents and domineering bosses and husbands, and nagging wives ought to realize that people don’t want to change their minds. They can’t be forced or driven to agree with you or me. But they may possibly be led to if we are gentle and friendly, ever so gentle and ever so friendly.” –Dale Carnegie, How to Win Friends and Influence People

32 Comments

Filed under Parenting, Uncategorized

Tagged as listening, parenting, rebellious children, share goodness

March 1, 2015 · 2:05 pm

Shovel Your Way To Washington, D.C.

Usually when we have a snow day it is really exciting and there is cheering, cartwheels and confetti throwing. But when you have snow day after snow day after snow day . . .

By the eighth snow day my kids’ brains were beginning to atrophy. They were counting bricks in the dining room (there aren’t any) and chasing each other with kitchen utensils, while I was curled up in a little ball in my closet nibbling frantically on chocolate.

We had planned a trip to DC planned this weekend, but because of the snow we didn’t think we’d even be able to get our mini van out of our cul-de-sac. You see, we live at the bottom of a hill where even snowplows dare not go (at least for the fist two days after a storm . . . sometimes more) and we were stuck. Scott would still be going to DC (because he was going for business) in his 4×4 truck, but we would be stuck at home.

Stuck. At. Home.

To humor us Scott tried four times to get the van up the hill to prove that it was hopeless. “There is just too much ice on the road,” he said.

But Sophie was determined. She rounded up her sisters and they all took shovels to the top of the hill. And for the better part of an hour they cleared two tire tracks in the snow.

Five hours later we arrived in Washington, D.C.

We saw the White House. (Free)

The Museum of Natural Science. (Free)

The Library of Congress (Free)

We surreptitiously ended up at Ford’s Theater. Not part of the original plan, but a great bonus. (Also free)

The International Spy Museum (A great hit, but not free.)

And The Red Velvet Cupcakery (Not free but worth it.)

To end our whirlwind 2-day trip we stopped off at the temple.

We saw the model:

And the real thing:

“Did you learn as much as you would have if you had gone to school for those two weeks?” I asked the kids as we drove home.

“More!” They said.

All because a girl and her sisters were willing to shovel.

Thanks, Sophie!

3 Comments

Filed under Family Fun, Parenting

Tagged as children, D.C., family trip, Free, snow days, Washington, What to do in D.C.

February 26, 2015 · 2:00 pm

Dear Utah

Dear Utah: We have your snow.

It arrived in the middle of the night and dusted our world in white gloriousness.

We will not be giving it back.

In fact, I think we will eat it.

Thank you for sharing.

Sincerely,

SNOW ICE CREAM RECIPE

1 bucket of snow

1 can evaporated milk

1 cup sugar

1 tsp vanilla

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Tagged as snow, snow ice cream, Utah

February 16, 2015 · 3:56 am

Teaching Children to Be Believers

The first thing you might notice about a Mormon sacrament meeting is the noise.

In almost every Mormon congregation (besides college wards and nursing home wards) there will be a moderate-to-loud roar of children. Children crying, children asking, children chewing, children humming, children making car noises, or if you were near my pew today, children burping.

But now imagine you are a four-year-old boy.

You have to sit still for an hour and ten minutes. You are scrunched between three sisters, a mom and a baby while you listen to people give sermons using words which you don’t understand. You are told you are not to make noise unless you are singing hymns from a hymnbook that you can’t yet read. And when you feel the urge to kick or run or jump or yell your mother hands you crayons and expects you to draw. For my 4-year-old who can’t even stand to wear shoes on his feet, I would have better luck making him eat the crayons than use them.

There are strategies I’ve used over the years. I’ve brought food, bottles, blankets, books, notebooks, markers, pens, magnets, toy cars, silly putty, flannel toys and truckfulls of Cheerios. I’ve drawn things for him, read things to him, explained things to him, colored pictures of him, spelled words for him, folded origami for him, created pipe cleaner animals for him.

But there comes a time when the child can no longer stand the monotony of the meeting, and no pipe cleaner animal or origami creation or cheerio will suffice. If he does not get to beat his chest and howl or toss his shoe three pews back he will explode. And since you are not allowed to howl or throw your shoes at church, that is exactly what he does.

When this happens he must be taken out.

They say the most effective way to correct an unruly child at church is to take him to an empty classroom where there are no treats, no snacks, no toys to play with and they can sit there and calm down. The theory here is that he will see that it is more “fun” to come back to the pew than be in a toyless, sugarless room.

Once I took my misbehaving 4-year-old into a deserted room to let his temper tantrum run its course. He yelled and screamed and pounded the wall. I told him we would stay in there until he calmed down. My plan backfired on me, though, when a man who was teaching a class on the other side of the wall my son was pounding on opened the door and asked if everything was alright. We had to leave, of course and go some place else. But the other classrooms were full and it was raining icicles outside. So we went back to the pew. Child 10 points, Mom 0.

Another time I took him to a deserted room and turned off the lights, hoping that a toyless, sugarless, lightless room would do the trick. I didn’t leave him in there alone, of course. I stood next to the door, frightening the next three adults who unsuspectingly opened the door to see my face staring at them from the darkness.

And then there was the time that he was being good. I remember it very clearly: he was sitting with his hands folded, swinging his feet and making soft buzzing sounds with his lips. Ahhhh . . . I thought . . . this is great. This is nice. He is calm and quiet. And just as I was basking in those thoughts the woman in front of me turns around and asks, “Do you want me to take your son out?”

After which I promptly burst into tears and had to walk around the parking lot by myself for 15 minutes.

Why do we do this? Why do we put ourselves and our children through this mutual torture session? Why? Is anybody getting anything out of this? Is it worth it?!

Yes, yes, yes!!!!

We Mormons are pretty over the top when it comes to teaching our kids about religion. We bring them to three hours of meetings on Sunday. We give them another devotional on Monday night. We read scriptures as a family every day. Teenage boys pass the sacrament and hold the priesthood. Teenage girls can preach from the pulpit. Children of every age take the sacrament (our communion). Youth give lessons, participate in leadership meetings and sing in choir (the choir pianist just got his driver’s license last year!). At 6:00 am every weekday morning they take seminary classes where they memorize scriptures from the New Testament, Old Testament and Book of Mormon. They are expected to dress modestly, act modestly, they have a pamphlet of standards they carry around with them. They don’t have sex. Once a month they fast. They go on missions.

Who does this anymore?

I’ve heard some people say we brainwash our kids into believing the doctrines of our church. But that is not brainwashing. I’ll tell you what brainwashing is, but we have to switch into a darker gear.

The Dark Side of Teaching Children

Recently I read an article in the Wall Street Journal entitled Child Soldiers Who Escaped Islamic State. In it they interviewed children that escaped Islamic State military training camps where children as young as 8 regularly witness beheadings. Where children are gathered, school-field trip style, and given candy as they watch executions. There are many more graphic details that I can’t go into on this blog because my children read it. But suffice it to say that Islamic State knows how to do a few things really well. And one of them is to raise a generation of devout believers.

In his book Acts of Faith Eboo Patel wrote:

“Many mainstream religious institutions ignore young people or, worse, think their role should be limited to designing the annual T-shirt. By contrast, religious extremists build their institutions around the desire of young people to have a clear identity and make a powerful impact.”

Are we Christians doing our part provide today’s youth with “a clear identity to make a powerful impact”? Americans in particular have set aside many rituals that once gave children purpose and destiny: prayer, baptism, repentance, chastity. So how do we expect children to make good decisions when they have no moral foundation? Many parents seem to have no problem releasing their children into an immoral world without giving them a spiritual direction. Instead we arm our kids with phones so that they can get answers to their problems from Google instead of God.

I even have Mormon friends who do not want to “indoctrinate” their own children with Mormon beliefs so that they can be “open-minded” and make decisions for themselves. This is crazy! Children come to earth with minds like open buckets. If parents do not fill that bucket someone else will.

But how do you know what you are filling their bucket with Truth?

I don’t know if I’m filling my kids with Truth or not, but the gospel of Jesus Christ is the Truest thing I have found, since it has already brought a lot of happiness to my own life. My aim is to give them the hope that there is so much more to this sad, earth; that there is a greater Plan, a greater Designer and greater Hope, and that death is not the end, but just graduation. I am teaching them that no matter what horrible mistake they make they have a Savior who has died for them and will forgive them if they repent. I teach them to not forget they are children of God, and not to forget that everyone else is, too. I can’t prove to them that God exists, but no one can prove that He doesn’t.

“We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.” We unapologetically flood our children with this knowledge.

We can’t be ambivalent about our children’s spiritual education when there are people on the other side of the world teaching their children there is value and honor in intimidation and killing. We must match their increasing darkness with our increasing light.

Children need a moral education that goes beyond teaching them to recycle, wash their hands, play by the rules, and don’t do things that will get them in jail. They need to have a spiritual identity. And with that spiritual identity will come an inner voice that will guide them to make choices consistent with their beliefs.

Humans are born hungry to believe in something. If we neglect our children spiritually they will find other places to fill that void. Science can prove a lot, but one thing that science will never be able to tell is us what happens to us after we die. Only faith can claim that prize. And why not choose a faith that in the process will make you into the best possible person you can be?

Last Sunday I watched my son, now 5, get ready for church without prodding and without complaint. He sat in the pew reverently and thoughtfully, cradling scriptures he brought himself. This lasted for a record 20 minutes before he finally stood on the pew and tried to swipe the scriptures from the girl in front of him. Hopefully this trend can keep improving, and by the time he is a young adult he will have the power and knowledge to make an impact on the world because he will have a gained personal testimony. He will choose light instead of darkness, he will choose to spread the Good News instead of spreading hatred, and he will choose to ignite hope instead of instilling fear . . . or worse, indifference.

9 Comments

Filed under Parenting, Strange Mormon Customs

Tagged as children, extremists, Islamic State, Jesus Christ, LDS, Mormon, Strange Mormon Customs, teaching children to believe

February 2, 2015 · 2:48 am

The Thief of Happiness

Last week we took our kids bowling. We rented two lanes, side by side. Scott and I were on one lane, and four kids were on the other, with the fifth child orbiting.

Scott typed in everyone’s name on the computer and each child oo-ed and aah-ed as they saw their name appear in the neon screens above us. How exciting! Bowling is so fun! We chose our balls and began our game.

Everything started out just fine. We had some unconventional positions, some sliding, some ball-bouncing, a few spares, a couple strikes. The scores started to add up.

Well, some of them did.

It soon became apparent to one of my children (who will from this point on will be referred to as the Star of the Story) that she was not improving. In fact, her siblings were surpassing her. Including her younger siblings.

By the time we were on the ninth frame, the Star of the Story was not having fun at all. And each time she bowled she became more and more emotionally discombobulated. Then came the second-to-lowest moment: In an effort to improve her score she threw (and I mean threw) her ball so hard that it catapulted out of her lane, over the gutter and into ours, knocking down the pins in the middle of my turn. She was devastated and embarrassed.

We managed to cheer her up a bit, at least so that she would not give up. On her final turn she picked up her ball with renewed determination. She stepped forward, aimed, and with all her might flung the ball across the polished hardwoods where it bounced, bounced, bounced and landed in the next lane. Again.

What happened next?

source

The Star of the Story was in tears, two others crying for completely unrelated reasons, one was indifferent, and one was supremely happy because she had broken 100, beating everyone including me and, dare I say, Scott.

Mercifully, though, the game was over, and we got outta there.

Comparison is the thief of happiness, a wise woman once told me. Had there not been a screen up there telling us everyone’s score, the Star of the Story would have had a great time. Her attitude would have radiated to everyone else and by the end everyone would have been laughing. Without the numbers I believe she would have found it hilariously funny that her ball went rogue. In fact, the others probably would have tried to get theirs to do the same thing.

It took a full hour and a trip to Chick-Fil-A before the Star of the Story could finally see the humor in what had happened. We all agreed that next time we go bowling she would most likely be the first one to beat her previous score, where as Little Miss 106 may have more of a challenge.

There are a lot of numbers out there that we measure ourselves by, which is, when you think about it, pretty silly.

If the Star of the Story can learn how to lose and start again using her Own Best as her gauge, then she will find much happiness in her life, since joy is not found in conquering others as much as it is in conquering yourself.

In the end, she is the star to no one’s story but her own.

Photo credit: Badger Explosion, April 18, 1943, Nevada test sight by Federal Government of the United States [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

5 Comments

Filed under Parenting

Tagged as comparison, parenting, sibling rivalry

January 28, 2015 · 4:21 pm

Chelsea Sits Down to Write a Novel. Five Years Later . . .

It took me 2 years to write, 2 years to rewrite and 1 year in the middle to have a baby. Last week, on my 37th birthday, I signed my first writing contract. My book, The Cenote, will be published by Cedar Fort, a publisher based out of Utah.

For me this is pretty much mind-blowing.

What is the book about? It is about an ancient village in Mexico and a large pool of water called a cenote (say-NOH-tay).

And that is all I’m going to tell you, for now.

Suffice it to say that it is kind of a romance, kind of a mystery, kind of a coming-of-age story, and fortunately is not autobiographical.

Chelsea Dyreng

To the Mother of Young Children

Five Favorite Poems

Successful Church Choirs

Camping With Kids

Shovel Your Way To Washington, D.C.

Dear Utah

Teaching Children to Be Believers

The Thief of Happiness

Chelsea Sits Down to Write a Novel. Five Years Later . . .

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