Cindy Beck: Meandering Thoughts

Avoiding Gossip ... by Cindy Beck

2011-12-05T07:55:00.000-08:00

Tags: gossip, morals, Latter-day Saints

Photo © Lusi

Have you ever started to mention something and then stopped because you were worried you might be gossiping? Or thought about telling a church leader information you’d heard but didn’t for fear he/she would think you were just spreading the latest rumor? Sometimes it’s hard to know if we should share that juicy tidbit that we heard through the grapevine, or let it shrivel and die like an old, wrinkly raisin.

The dictionary defines gossip as, “Idle talk or rumor, especially about the personal or private affairs of others.” That doesn’t really explain it all, though, because sometimes it’s hard to know when a piece of information really is gossip, or if it’s a piece of info that should be shared.

Here’s a list of red flags to heed in order to avoid gossiping.

I Probably Shouldn’t Tell This
Sometimes I’ve overheard another person start to say something and then stop, saying, “I probably shouldn’t tell this; I don’t want to gossip.”

When that happens I’ll think, Ah yes, it’s too late. You can’t back out now after mentioning you know something others don’t. Curiosity will get the better of someone in the group and you’ll be pressured to spill the beans!

People may genuinely mean the phrase, “I shouldn’t tell” and when it slips out, they’ll refuse to cave and tell everyone the information. Other times, however.…

Some people use the phrase as an introduction. They know they intend to gossip, and by allowing others to pressure them into telling, they feel less guilty. After all, they didn’t want to tell, but the group made them. Perhaps they’ll even be able to say the devil made them do it! Shared guilt always feels so much less guilty … or so we rationalize.

Any time the thought, “I probably shouldn’t tell this,” occurs it’s wise to think twice before revealing the information.

It Itches and I Must Scratch
Gossip carries a unique feeling with it. It’s a cross between excitement at being the one to share something others don’t know, and guilt at disclosing information that might hurt or defame someone. It’s like a big, red mosquito bite on the bottom of the foot—an itch that can’t be easily scratched. Once the shoe is off and the scratching begins, it never feels as good as we thought it would.

When that “itchy” feeling grabs hold, take it as a warning and don’t disclose the news.

But Everyone Needs to Know This
There are times when everyone needs to know something. If someone in the ward is ill and no one knows about it, then no one will bring in a meal. If there’s been a murder, rape or robbery in the neighborhood, other neighbors need to know in order to take protective action. At that point the issue of gossip becomes one of degree. We have to ask ourselves, “What’s the least amount of information that I need to disclose in order to help?”

As a Relief Society president, people will often want to tell me information but are afraid they’ll be gossiping. I try to assure them that telling information to appropriate priesthood and auxiliary leaders is not gossiping. Neither the bishop nor I can help others without knowing what’s wrong.

Young Men and Young Women leaders can’t help wayward youth if they don’t know anything about the youth in their charge. Elders Quorums and High Priest Quorums can’t help with temporal affairs when they have no idea what situations are going on in the members’ lives.

There is a caveat here, though, and it lies in purpose. If we relay the information just to spread the news, and because we want everyone to know of someone else’s tragedy, dilemma, bad luck, or “unpardonable” sin, it’s still gossip. If we’re informing appropriate leaders by giving only the info that’s necessary and with the intent of helping those in need, then we’re not gossiping.

Perhaps the previous dictionary definition has a clue after all. The operative word is “idle” which indicates that gossip is something indulged in to pass the time – a practice without any redeeming value. Gossip neither enriches the teller nor the hearer, and hurts relationships more than it helps.

Here’s an interesting exercise. Picture the resurrected Savior sitting and telling the other eleven apostles about Peter denying him before the cock had crowed thrice (Matthew 26:75) … laying out all of Peter’s fears and foibles for everyone to laugh about and to feel superior over.

Having a hard time picturing that? Me, too, because it’s not something the Savior would ever do. Since following the Savior’s example is the goal of all Latter-day Saints, it behooves us to heed the warning signs and refuse to even start down gossip’s hurtful path.

Related Reading
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf, “Looking for the Good,” Liahona.

------ "Avoiding Gossip" © Cindy Beck, 2011------

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The Wilting Rose of Office Romance ... by Cindy Beck

2011-11-21T08:34:00.000-08:00

Tags: love, romance, yourLDSneighborhood.com

Photo © sxc.hu/jovirakel

The well-known poem by Robert Burns, (Love is Like) A Red, Red Rose, compares love to a blossoming flower. And some believe romantic love should be allowed to blossom, whenever and wherever it grows. However, is that really such a good idea? It might be fine for love to bloom at church on Sunday, at a ward picnic, or at a single’s dance, but how about at the office? Obviously, as Latter-day Saints, we’re not talking about extra-marital affairs, where one or both individuals are married, but are talking about singles. Even so, consider these reasons why work romances might be a bad idea, and why love that starts as a blossoming flower might end up wilting like a three-week-old cut rose.

The Company Rules. Many worksites have rules that don’t allow romantic relationships between employees. Elder Quentin L. Cook stated, “…let potential employers know you have high ethical and moral standards….” As Latter-day Saints with a moral and ethical code, when we agree to work for a company, aren’t we also agreeing to abide by their rules?

The bud of love may develop in an individual’s heart, and nothing can stop that. However, in the name of ethics, might not the smart person refuse to nurture it, and instead, let it fade away?

Shhhh, it’s a Secret. A secret love is supposed to be … well … secret! Yet, most couples are unable to keep it concealed, and sooner or later (usually sooner), the happy couple lets something slip. Even if they don’t, it’s not hard to figure it out – especially when two people are sending paper airplanes to each other over their cubicle walls with “I love you!” written on them in red, indelible marker. Co-workers might find the whole situation adorable for a week or so, but after that, they inevitably wish for it to be finished. If the company maintains a non-fraternization rule, colleagues might be placed in an awkward position by keeping the secret a secret.

He’s Right! No, She’s Right! From what I’ve seen, romantic work entanglements usually have an unhappy ending. If the flower of love wilts, workmates end up siding with one person or the other. Strife increases in the workplace as the no-longer-loving couple argues and eventually ends the relationship. Co-workers are caught in the middle. As a result, work output decreases, and a once friendly atmosphere becomes charged with tension and distrust. Elder L. Tom Perry in his talk, “The Joy of Honest Labor” told us that we should put in an honest day’s work for an honest day’s wage, but it’s difficult to do that in an environment filled with tumult.

They Rode Unhappily Into the Sunset. In one of the workplace romances that I witnessed, the relationship went fine for a while, but then the man lost interest. Unfortunately, the woman didn’t. Feeling hurt when he didn’t respond as she expected, she shared details with workmates. The relationship between the couple deteriorated further and he moved away to a bigger city, partially to escape the problems. Talk about an office romance wilting like a rose!

TV shows often portray romantic work events that culminate in marriage, but television is the world of make-believe. Although there may be work romances that have worked out in real life, often times it creates more problems than it solves, leaving two broken hearts in its wake.

I’m not trying to detract from the joy of finding love, nor saying we shouldn’t take a chance on it. I am saying there are large risks involved with office entanglements – dangers such as getting fired over non-fraternization rules, losing friends if the relationship ends, or feeling the need to find other employment and to move elsewhere if the romance fizzles.

Some reading this may have a happy union from an office romance. Others may be happily married, but had an unhappy ending before finding love elsewhere. Still others might have been friends, caught in the middle when a co-worker’s relationship went south. Regardless of which side of the fence you’ve been on … or even if you’ve straddled it … I’d love to hear your thoughts on the issue!

------ "The Wilting Rose of Office Romance" © Cindy Beck, 2011------

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Coping with the Bullies - Advice for Parents of Boys

2011-09-06T07:44:00.000-07:00

Coping with the Bullies, Part 2 ... by C.L. Beck

Tags: parenting, bullies

Photo © Simeon

When bullying happens, parents often tell their son to make friends with the bully, and maybe even take treats to him at home. Yes, we should love our neighbor, but in the case of bullying, nothing could be more ineffective. By giving extra attention to the bully, the child reinforces the bully’s negative behavior. After all, which of us - when given treats, praise, and adoration for bad behavior - would willingly give it up? Bullying is all about power and control, not about who is kind and who is a friend.

Ignoring a bully doesn’t work, either, because he has allies who cheer for him. The lack of attention your son gives the bully does not override the attention he’s getting from his friends. Ignoring a bully simply causes the situation to escalate.

So ... if kindness, cookies, and compassion don't work, and ignoring the bully makes it worse, what is effective?

Teach your son to swagger. Yes, this seems like a funny thing to teach kids, but it's surprising how effective it is. Bullies size up their targets, and a boy that swaggers is more imposing than a mild-mannered one that looks at the ground or an easy-going one who smiles at everyone. It's not necessary for your boy to swagger all the time, just during the first few weeks of school while the pecking order is established. Then it's only used when needed.

After you teach your son how to swagger, have him practice it when he's with you, at times that seem appropriate.

Teach your child "The Stare." I can see some of you raising your eyebrows and saying, "But, staring is impolite." We've all been taught not to stare, but a child who is able to hold his gaze until the other person looks away is sending a signal that he is not an easy target. It shouldn't be used every day with everyone he meets, so it will take effort on your part - as well as practice on your son’s part - to understand when a stare is appropriate.

Find something social at which he excels. This doesn't mean he has to be the star quarterback, but every boy needs something at which he excels; something that gives him friends with similar interests. Self-defense courses are great, but if your son isn't interested in those, try something else that carries a little psychological weight and makes him feel he's a success. Enroll him in anything he enjoys, but that will not be viewed as nerdy by his peers, and at which you're pretty certain he'll succeed.

Don't make your son ride the bus. One of the prime places for bullying is on the school bus. Through no fault of their own, drivers can't watch the road and see what's happening in the back of the bus at the same time. No life lessons will be missed if your child gets a ride from you or the neighborhood carpool.

If there's a problem, talk with the authorities. Take it as far as it needs to go. Talk first to the teacher and the principal, and arrange for either the bully or your child to be moved, monitored, or what ever needs to be done to end the situation. If nothing changes quickly, take it to the school board, and then the police. Better to have all of them angry with you because you've caused them an inconvenience, than to have your son lying in the hospital, comatose, because a bully beat him senseless. And yes, I've known of an instance where that was the case.

If need be, investigate other options … home schooling, charter or private school, or another school district. Then, move your child there.

Those last options might seem extreme, and cost you money or time. However, when it comes to bullying, it’s up to you to put a stop to it – you’re the only protector your son has, and repeated bullying may scar him for life. Or worse yet, end his life before he's had a chance to live it.

[Note: Although this article deals with the bullying that takes place with boys, I plan on addressing the emotional bullying that girls endure in a future article.]

------ "Coping with the Bullies - Advice for Parents of Boys" © Cindy Beck, 2011------

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Coping with the Bullies, Part 1 ... by Cindy Beck

2011-08-22T15:37:00.000-07:00

Coping with the Bullies in My Class (A True Story)

Tags: parenting, bullies

The teacher leaves our middle school classroom, and chaos erupts as soon as he walks out the door. I sit quietly, waiting for his return. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice one of the "troublemakers" moving out of her seat a few rows over, but I don't pay close attention. Better not to look interested when that group is up to something.

Her friends egg her on. As she walks over to where I sit, I figure she'll just walk past. Suddenly, without a word of warning, her hand flashes out and smacks me hard on the face. I sit there, stunned, blinking back tears. Why'd she hit me? What did I ever do to her? I barely know her name.

I fight hard not to cry, and the shame and embarrassment are even more painful than the slap that reddens my face. She struts back to her seat with her buddies cheering as though she'd accomplished something heroic, rather than bullying a shy girl without many friends.

My mind spins in circles, trying to make sense of it. A mild-mannered kid in the next seat whispers anxiously, "What happened? Why did she hit you?"

I shrug my shoulders, not daring to utter a word for fear the tears that I'm struggling with will fall, and things will worsen. If the teacher doesn't come back soon, I know the slap will be followed by a full-fledged scuffle between us ... a fight in which I'll end up pounded into the linoleum floor and sent to the hospital.

No joke about the hospital. These kids love cruelty.

Just then, the teacher walks back in and I let out a small sigh of relief. I'm safe as long as he's there. But, the relief only stays for a moment and then the reality of the situation hits—I'm dead meat when I get on the bus. Literally. I know about this group of kids ... they carry knives ... some have landed in juvenile detention.

Then another thought comes to me. What will my parents say about me being slapped in class? My folks believe I should stand tall, be proud of myself and not hide behind my shyness, so I feel certain that getting slapped in the face and not returning the favor will be frowned upon.

I sit in turmoil for the rest of the class period, not hearing a word the teacher says, only feeling the sting of the slap, and the pain of wondering why. I don't know what to do, but I know that whatever it will be, it can't wait until tomorrow or the next day. It has to happen quickly. I finally reach a terrible decision ... to fight as soon as we walk out into the hall, before she has a chance to corner me on the bus.

I don't know anything about fighting. How do you fight another girl? Slap her in the face, like she did to me? That seems about as beneficial as poking a grizzly bear with a bobby pin.

When class ends, I push my way to her, look her in the eyes—and with my knees shaking so bad it's a wonder my eyeballs don't pop out—I say, "If you're not too chicken, why don't you try hitting me when I'm standing up?"

She obliges.

Because of the narrow hallway, it turns into a shoving match more than an actual fistfight. Teachers intervene in a flash—which would never have happened if I'd waited until we boarded the bus—and off we go to the principal's office.

I wonder how the principal even knows me—I'm such a quiet kid—but I'm glad he's smart enough to believe me. He calls her parents in and then suspends her. He calls my parents, too, and I go home without a suspension.

The next day, I go back and have to face her group, but they don't lay a hand on me. I know it's partly because I stood up for myself, and partly because the principal backed me up and suspended her. Still, I have to live with their whispers and the dirty looks they send my way. Looks filled with hate, and I know that if they ever have the chance and find me alone outside of school, I'm in deep trouble.

It's a terrible time. One of the worst in my life. Fear and worry are my constant companions, since I never know for sure if the group will lie in wait for me. I keep hoping the few friends I have will stand by me, but they're just as scared as I am.

One day, I have a flash of inspiration. Why not just transfer to another school next year? Relief washes through me and I know that I've found a way of coping with the bullies. I smile, knowing that if I can just make it until May, I might actually live long enough to attend high school.

[Author's note: Traveling a few miles of life's road with bullies taught me a great deal. I've never allowed bullying in any class I've taught, nor stood by and watched as it happened on the street ... which, as my hubby will tell you, sometimes gets him into hot water in my defense.

In my next post I'd like to share concepts with you that might help your children avoid being targeted by bullies, and to give suggestions on what to do if those steps don't cure the problem.]

------ "Coping with the Bullies, Part 1" © Cindy Beck, 2011------

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Inspirational Bible Verses of Comfort and Assurance ... by Cindy Beck

2011-05-02T07:13:00.000-07:00

Tags: Bible, Inspirational Bible verses

In times of trial, it's hard to know where to turn for comfort and assurance. It's natural to rely on friends and family, but they don't always have the answers. Sometimes an omniscient source may be needed to help guide us, and the Bible is replete with inspirational verses that not only guide, but also provide comfort, assurance, and strength. Inspirational Bible verses tell us of our uniqueness, our self-worth, and most of all tell us of Heavenly Father's love for us and of His wisdom in giving us a Savior, Jesus Christ, to atone for our sins. Below are six inspirational verses for comfort, strength, and assurance.

Old Testament
Although there are many wonderful books of the Old Testament, Psalms is one of my favorites and so below are three sets of verses that provide strength during difficult times.

Psalm 10: 14-15
This psalm provided comfort after the Twin Towers bombing on September 11, 2001: Thou hast seen it; for thou beholdest mischief and spite, to requite it with thy hand: the poor committeth himself unto thee; thou art the helper of the fatherless. Break thou the arm of the wicked and the evil man: seek out his wickedness till thou find none.

Psalm 23
This is the well known, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want" psalm, and is the ultimate scripture for assurance of God's love. Written by King David, it has always provided comfort—especially before surgery—when the risk of walking through the "valley of the shadow of death" is a real possibility.

Psalm 27: 5
Some days it feels like trouble lurks around every corner—waiting to jump out and grab the unsuspecting—and this inspirational Bible verse provides peace of mind: For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me up upon a rock.

New Testament
I took a few medical courses in college and so feel a sense of kinship with the apostle, Luke, who was a physician. For that reason, he's one of my favorite New Testament authors and below are three sets of inspirational verses from him.

Luke 2
Almost the entire second chapter of Luke is uplifting, because it recounts the joy experienced in heaven and on earth at the birth of Jesus Christ. However, if I had to narrow it down to one set of inspirational thoughts in the second chapter of his writings, it would be Luke 2, verses 9-11: And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid . And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

Luke 12: 6-7
This verse is not only one of my favorites, but also one of my husband’s favorite Bible verses … because he’s a little sparse in the hair department. Despite the humor in that thought, I love this verse because it not only gives the assurance that God loves us, but that He knows each of us individually. We all have days where we feel as if we're just a drop in the mire of humanity, and when those come along, this Bible verse helps: Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.

Luke 12: 27-28
Although sometimes the Bible is difficult to understand, there are places where it contains wonderful imagery. Whenever I want an inspirational Bible verse reminding me that God is the creator of the earth's beauty, as well as reminding me to have faith in Him, I turn to these verses in Luke: Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothe the grass, which is to day in the field, and to morrow is cast into the oven; how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?

Now that you've read my favorite verses, take a second to drop off a comment and tell me yours. Then, take a minute to print off two hard copies of this article ... one to put in your Bible and the other to put in your wallet or purse. You never know when you may need the comfort, consolation, or assurance that's provided in them.

Sources:
"Scriptures," LDS.org.

------ "Inspirational Bible Verses of Comfort and Assurance" © Cindy Beck, 2011------

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Preparing for the Best Two Years of His Life ... by Cindy Beck

2011-02-15T07:36:00.000-08:00

As parents, and members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, one of our goals is to send our sons on church missions when they’re nineteen. The question so many of us have is this … what can we do to prepare them while in their early teens?

LDS missionary at Salt Lake Airport, preparing to leave for Europe

Not long ago, our stake held a meeting for the adults that focused on preparing young men for missions. Thinking the info discussed might prove helpful to others, I took notes. Paraphrased below are several of the questions asked, along with answers … and a few thoughts of my own.

Q: My family has children ranging in age from a baby to a son in his early teens. When we try to hold a family home evening on missionary work for my son’s benefit, my younger children get bored. We feel like we’re neglecting preparing our son. What can we do that will work for family home evening?

A: Prepare a family home evening that can be broken into two parts; the first part for the younger children and the second part focusing on missionary work for your teenager. Hold it close to the younger children’s bedtime. After their portion is completed, put the younger ones to bed and then continue the family home evening with the teenager.

A(Cindy): Hold a family home evening several times a year during which you play the role of an investigator, and your teenagers play the missionaries. Hold it after the younger children are in bed. Let the teens know about it in advance, so they have the opportunity to brush up on their scriptures. Be sure you don’t overplay your role as investigator so much that it becomes a frustrating experience. Give your teenagers time to find the scriptures that might answer your “investigator” questions without feeling pressured about it.

Q: What other things can we do besides family home evening?

A: A good way to let young men become acquainted with missionary work is to have the missionaries over for meals and to arrange for young men to go on splits with them. They’ll see how the missionaries handle the discussions, as well as the fact that it’s not all glamor, but often is hard work. This helps when serving their own missions, because they then have a realistic view and aren’t expecting ministering angels and burning bushes.

A(Cindy): Taking teenagers to see the MTC (for those who live in Utah) or to visit the temple grounds (for those who live near a temple) provides a good opportunity to discuss missionary work with them. This could be done as a mother-son date, or a father-son outing, where the younger children are at home with the other parent, thus giving time for quality discussions with the teenagers.

Q: One of the biggest regrets expressed by missionaries is that they wished they’d studied the scriptures more before their mission. My son attends seminary and already reads his scriptures, but not as much as I’d like. What can I do?

A: One effective method to help the scriptures become more meaningful is to keep a scripture journal. Give teens a nice, new journal to write in and ask them to record the chapter and verse for scriptures that touch them, and to write their feelings about them. Spiritual experiences hold so much more meaning and stay with us when we record them. And the journal can be used as a springboard for memorizing favorite verses, as well, since memorizing something that has meaning is so much easier than memorizing something that does not touch an emotional chord.

A(Cindy): Consider memorizing the scriptures with your son, and offer a reward after a certain number are memorized. The rewards could include tickets to the movies or ball games, as well as treats, a pass on certain chores, or even a little spending money.

Q: What else can we do that will help?

A: It’s important to teach goal setting to young men who plan to go on missions. Goal setting is a habit that can be started long before teen years, and can even come into play when trying to memorize the scriptures.

A(Cindy): One missionary’s mom received a letter thanking her for teaching him how to do laundry and especially how to use OxiClean so his shirts stayed white. Her entire Relief Society got a good laugh out of it, but there’s also a message in that. It’s a good idea to include temporal preparation such as how to cook, clean, and do laundry. We can start on that when our sons are quite young.

----

In conclusion, the sooner we start preparing our sons to serve missions, the better they will be able to serve. When the day comes that they hold the mission call in their hands, we might feel a touch of sadness because we’ll miss them, but we’ll also feel joy in knowing we’ve helped them to prepare to serve the Lord in one of the most meaningful ways possible. And we can look forward to the day when they’ll return and say, “My mission was the best two years of my life!”

(Note: Although this article focused on young men, the information is just as applicable for young women who’d like to serve the Lord.)

Interesting sites:
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
MormonMissionPrep.com

------ © C.L. (Cindy) Beck------

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An Opportunity to Present the Truth ... by Cindy Beck

2010-07-26T09:49:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Several years ago, I endured an uncomfortable plane ride home after visiting family. The roar of the jet engines—as well as people continually jostling against me as they walked the aisles—wore on my nerves and I felt frazzled. After what seemed like forever, the pilot announced we were circling Salt Lake City.

At that point, I became aware of a conversation in the seats behind me. Jeff, a young man from the Salt Lake City area, carried on an animated conversation with his seatmate, Laura, and seemed anxious to share his knowledge of the city with her. (Names have been changed.) After Jeff told her about the city’s nightlife, Laura turned the conversation to what it was like living among the Mormons.

My heart warmed when he explained that he didn’t mind living in Utah and had no problems with the members. However, joy turned to unease when Laura asked, “The Mormons have more than one wife, don’t they?”

I had no clue how many Latter-day Saints sat within earshot, but I felt an almost imperceptible increase in the tension around me, and I worried that the conversation would not end well.

Jeff responded with, “Oh yes, there are lots of them with more than one wife.”
He said it with such conviction that my annoyance level immediately skyrocketed and my worn-thin patience abandoned me. I wondered what right he had to speak so authoritatively on an issue about which he obviously knew nothing. I felt like whipping around in the seat and loudly proclaiming to Laura that Jeff had it all wrong

I recognized, however, that harsh words would create tension and drive away the Spirit at a time when I needed it most (see 3 Nephi 11:29). My mind roiled with thoughts of how to handle the situation. If I said something, would it immediately turn into an argument? Would other people feel the need to jump in on both sides of the issue?

On the other hand, I didn’t feel I could ignore the comment and my heart pounded anxiously as their conversation continued on the subject. Mentally bowing my head, I prayed, Please let someone speak up so Laura doesn’t walk out of here believing the Church currently practices plural marriage.

No one did; I realized the responsibility to correct the misconception resided with me and that I needed guidance. Taking a deep, calming breath, I sent a quick prayer for help heavenward. Then I turned around in the seat and faced the couple. “Excuse me. I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but I overheard you mention that the Mormons practice polygamy. I’m LDS, and although the Church did practice it at one time, we don’t anymore. Those engaging in polygamy today are not members but belong to splinter groups that aren’t affiliated with us.”

I waited for the verbal explosion.

A confused look crossed Jeff’s face. “You don’t practice polygamy? Oh, sorry, I thought you did. Aren’t there groups in Utah that do?”

Laura looked at me with interest, rather than the anger and derision I’d expected. I answered Jeff’s question about splinter groups and reiterated again that Latter-day Saints did not engage in the illegal practice of plural marriage.

They both thanked me for the information, and as I turned back around, I recognized the value of seeking the Spirit rather than just giving a knee-jerk reaction to an incorrect comment. I felt grateful for the prompting to take a calming breath before answering, which helped me control my anger and allowed the conversation to flow in a natural, non-confrontational manner. Responding with kindness had also afforded me the chance to learn that Jeff hadn’t intended to misrepresent the church, he simply lacked accurate knowledge.

In the October 2008 Conference, Elder Robert D Hales said, “In 1983, the First Presidency wrote to Church leaders, ‘Opposition may be in itself an opportunity. Among the continuing challenges faced by our missionaries is a lack of interest in religious matters and in our message. These criticisms create . . . interest in the Church. . . . This provides an opportunity [for members] to present the truth to those whose attention is thus directed toward us.’

“We can take advantage of such opportunities in many ways: a kind letter to the editor, a conversation with a friend, a comment on a blog, or a reassuring word to one who has made a disparaging comment. We can answer with love those who have been influenced by misinformation and prejudice—who are ‘kept from the truth because they know not where to find it’ (D&C 123:12). I assure you that to answer our accusers in this way is never weakness. It is Christian courage in action.”¹

At the time of the incident, Elder Hales hadn’t yet given his talk in General Conference. However, I can testify to the wisdom of his counsel. It takes bravery to defend the truth as well as self-discipline to do so without anger, but with the help of the Spirit, we can use Christian courage and respond to inaccuracies with loving kindness.

It’s my hope that on that day, Jeff and Laura left the plane with a newfound regard for the church, and that non-members sitting nearby, listening to the conversation, felt the Spirit touch their hearts as well.

Notes
1. Robert D. Hales, “Christian Courage: The Price of Discipleship,” Ensign, Nov 2008, 72–75.

------© Cindy Beck------

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Discouraging Smoking

2010-03-17T07:35:00.000-07:00

A Family Home Evening Lesson on the Word of Wisdom

By Cindy Beck

[As adults, we often assume that the Word of Wisdom is easy for young children to keep. However, our sons and daughters are being exposed to all manner of temptations, including the use of tobacco, at much earlier ages than in the past. Even children in elementary school can experience peer pressure about smoking. For that reason it's beneficial for us, as parents, to take the time to discuss tobacco's harmful effects with them, and to talk about ways to handle the peer pressure they may encounter.]

Song: “Keep the Commandments” (Hymns, #303)

Scripture: D&C 89: 4-9, 18

Quote: “Now is the time to set your life’s goals. Now is the time to set your standards firmly and then hold to them throughout your life.” (Spencer W. Kimball, “Decide Now,” Friend, May 1985.)

Story: [Before reading the story below aloud, explain to your children that it’s based on a true event in the life of a young, LDS boy whose friend wanted him to try smoking.]

Barkies and Stogies

“Do you want to smoke some barkies and stogies?” asked Chad.

Tyler tilted his head at the question. His blond hair slid into his eyes as he said, “What are those?”

“You know—barkies are those pieces of bark that peel off the aspen trees. You roll them up like a cigarette. Stogies are left over smokes that you find on the ground in parking lots.”

Tyler scrunched his eyebrows together in thought. I want Chad to keep liking me; I want him to be my friend for a long time.

As Tyler tried to figure out what to say, Chad stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “Well, do you want to or not?”

Crickets chirped in the weedy lot where they’d been playing, and a grasshopper nearby jumped onto a small, purple thistle. Tyler scuffed the ground with the toe of his sneakers, and a dust cloud puffed onto the bottom of his pants. “We’re Mormons,” he finally said.

“So what? I know of a hiding place where we can go, and nobody will know if we do it.” Chad nudged Tyler with his shoulder, as if sharing an important secret.

Tyler swallowed, his mouth tasting dry and his stomach feeling like someone had filled it full of hot air balloons. He wondered if it was because he was afraid to say no or because of the four pancakes he’d wolfed down for breakfast. “We’re not supposed to smoke. Our primary teacher said so."

Chad scowled. “So what! Are you afraid?”

“No, but smoking is bad for you. And it feels crummy.”

Chad looked at Tyler slyly, his brown eyes narrowing. “If you’ve never tried it, how would you know?”

“From camping. One time when I was toasting marshmallows over the campfire, I leaned over and accidentally took a big breath. The smoke went in my mouth and up my nose. It was awful—I coughed so much I almost threw up. And my eyes stung.”

Chad pretended to take a puff on a cigarette, “You’re just making that up because you’re a chicken.”

As Tyler remembered the smoky campfire, he understood why tobacco wasn’t good for people. He straightened his shoulders and thought, I'm not going to break the Word of Wisdom—even if it does mean we're not friends anymore.

“No, Chad. I don’t want to smoke and you shouldn’t either. Heavenly Father said not to. Besides, who would be dumb enough to smoke some old bark off a tree? Or pick up garbage from a parking lot and put it in his mouth?”

Chad’s lips flattened into an angry line and his eyebrows creased. “You’re nothing but a dorky baby. Why don’t you just stay here and cry while I go smoke barkies and stogies?” As he walked away Tyler heard him taunt, “Waaah, waaah, little baby.”

Tyler stood in the vacant lot, watching until his friend turned and ran behind a grove of aspen trees through the block. He felt bad that Chad was going to break the Word of Wisdom and sad that they would no longer be friends, but he also felt good inside. Heavenly Father’s commandments were important and he was glad he said no to smoking.

And on top of that… the rocky feeling in his stomach had disappeared.

****

Discussion: Use the following questions as a springboard to discuss the use of tobacco with your children:

What does the Word of Wisdom advise us to avoid? (See D&C 89.)

Is the Word of Wisdom easy to keep?

Will it be harder to keep as you get older?

Do you know anyone your age who thinks smoking looks interesting or fun?

Why do you suppose they think that?

Have you ever accidentally breathed in smoke from a campfire or fireplace? What did it feel like?

If a friend asks you to try smoking, what are some things you can say?

Treats: Indoor S’Mores

Ingredients:

* 32 miniature graham crackers or 8 regular size graham crackers, broken in 1/2
* 2 milk chocolate bars, the kind that can be broken into squares
* 8 marshmallows

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Lay 1/2 of the graham crackers on a cookie sheet. Top with chocolate pieces to cover. Use kitchen scissors to snip the marshmallows in 1/2 horizontally if using miniature crackers and place 1/2 a marshmallow on top of each graham cracker. If using regular size crackers use a whole marshmallow.

Bake until the marshmallows are puffed and golden brown, about 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from the oven and top with the remaining graham crackers, pressing down slightly to make a sandwich. Serve immediately, while still warm.

Recipe from the FoodNetwork.com

The Secret in the Library ... by Cindy Beck

2010-03-03T09:30:00.000-08:00

The retired couple sat in the Ephraim Fourth Ward library, poring over what looked like a set of old records. Why were they there on a weekday and what were they doing?

Photo by William Hoiles, Basking Ridge, NJ, USA

My husband and I are converts. After baptism, we embraced the gospel wholeheartedly, accepted callings and were sealed as a family in the Logan Temple. Following several years of membership, I felt well-versed in the Latter-day Saint culture in Utah. Yet, something unknown was taking place in the ward library that day in the late 1980s.

Curiosity got the better of me. Leaning through the doorway, I greeted the couple. They looked up and smiled. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Extraction,” the woman replied.

“What’s extraction?”

Her husband explained it consisted of deciphering the names on official documents—birth, marriage, and census records—in order to make them available for genealogy and temple work.

Moving closer, I looked at the information. Warmth flooded through me—the handwriting looked curlicued and old-fashioned, but to my astonishment, I could read it. I knew with a surety I would work on similar documents.

On the drive home, my mind puzzled over the experience. Several callings already occupied my time—could I fit in another?

I can’t do it now, but someday I’ll do name extraction—maybe when I’m retired.

Feeling a bit guilty, I consoled myself with the thought that there was a season and a time for every purpose (see Ecclesiastes 3:1).

Many years passed, and I no longer saw senior couples in the ward library, unraveling the mysteries in those old records. Members of the church still worked on names, but I didn’t know how. It seemed the calling meant for me no longer existed.

The Opportunity Arises

As I rummaged through my church bag during a Sacrament meeting in the fall of 2007, an announcement from the pulpit—about computers and retrieving names from public records—zipped past me. Turning to my husband, I asked, “What did he say?”

“Something about indexing.”

“Yes, I know that. But, what about it? Is indexing the same as extraction? Is it a calling or are they asking for volunteers? Are the names online now?”

Russ shrugged his shoulders and gave a sympathetic look. “Sorry, but I didn’t catch it.”

My chance had come and I’d missed it while searching for a tissue!

It would have been a simple task to ask the bishop about it after the meeting, but suddenly, trepidation entered. Did I really need to take on another church job? What would happen if it required more time than I had available? Uncertain, I let the opportunity pass.

Several weeks later, the phone rang. “Help!” a friend said breathlessly. “Everything on my computer’s screen has turned upside down. I’m working on indexing and don’t know how to get it back to normal.” Then she added in a teasing voice, “The only way I can read the names is by standing on my head.”

I rushed over. We retraced her movements, pushed the right key and the screen returned to normal. Realizing the perfect opportunity sat in front of me, I asked her questions about indexing. She explained that I needed a computer and an Internet connection, and reassured me that the indexing website had tutorials that explained the program. In addition, the stake had a specialist available to help with questions. Finally, for each batch submitted, another indexer interpreted the same names as a crosscheck.

“The best part,” she said, pointing at the graceful, curved writing displayed on the monitor, “is that if you start a batch of names and don’t have time to finish, you can save the information and come back later. You have a whole week to complete a batch and it only takes about half an hour, total.”

She’d convinced me. I could spare half an hour a week. The calling that I’d known for years would be mine was right at my fingertips—and I wasn’t even retired yet.

The Opportunity Slips Away

I went home, sat at the computer and fidgeted. Doubts crept in, causing me to overlook the scriptural promise, “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you” (Matthew 17:20). Instead, I wondered … what if I couldn’t interpret the writing, or did something wrong and scrambled the records?

Pushing the thought of indexing from my mind, I stood up from the computer, walked away, and went about my daily routine.

Thank goodness for the Spirit’s persistence. The bishopric mentioned the need for volunteers again from the pulpit. A few weeks later, I gathered my courage and went online to FamilySearch Indexing. Once there, I found a site designed so those with minimal computer savvy could excel, and that safeguards prevented mishaps. After creating an ID, a password and reading the tutorials, I wanted to continue. However, it was late in the evening, so I chose to start my first batch on the next free Sunday.

The best laid plans ….

Friday—the late afternoon sun felt unusually warm for the beginning of November. Realizing winter would soon be blowing its icy breath across the landscape, I decided on a bike ride. After enjoying the fresh air for about twenty-five minutes, I headed back. Half a block from home, a slick spot lay in wait. When my front tire hit it, the bike flipped from under me, flinging me to the ground.

Stars exploded in my head as I landed, full force, on my arm and shoulder.

Several hours later, I returned home from the emergency room with a splint-cast on my dominant, right arm. It ran from just below my shoulder down to my elbow, then bent at a ninety-degree angle and continued on to my wrist. I would do no indexing on the upcoming Sunday—or for many weeks thereafter.

It almost seemed like someone didn’t want me to accomplish what the Lord had in mind. I reminded myself that strong opposition often meant you were headed in the right direction.

The Promise is Fulfilled

And now, my dearly beloved, let me assure you that these are principles in relation to the dead and the living that cannot be lightly passed over, as pertaining to our salvation. For their salvation is necessary and essential to our salvation, as Paul says concerning the fathers—that they without us cannot be made perfect—neither can we without our dead be made perfect (D&C 128:15).

Months later, I’m grateful for that quiet whisper years ago and for the persistence with which the Spirit kept whispering.

A hard to describe feeling floods over me as I work on indexing names from the eastern and southern United States. My heart rejoices when names such as John and Hannah are recognizable. I want to sing when the names of their children—Sally and Columbus—become clear. Someone is waiting for them—to place them on a pedigree chart—and one day that family will be sealed to each other.

Often, the information pops out at me, as if the individuals have waited for centuries and can wait no longer. Other times, the writing looks jumbled and I come up with a name that makes no sense—Rxzlpr or Ascie. When that happens, I send a prayer heavenward and wait for inspiration.

Now I understand what took place in the ward library, so long ago. The secret has unfolded, like a blossom warming in the morning sun. It’s not just about deciphering names in an old book, but about the soft, quiet touch by the Spirit—a touch that creates love for those beyond the veil and connects us all as children of our Heavenly Father.

That’s a secret worth sharing.

------© Cindy Beck, 2010------

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The Heart that has Truly Loved ... by Cindy Beck

2010-02-09T16:08:00.000-08:00

Photo © Vintage Holiday Crafts

With February being the month for love, I thought I’d post a story I wrote a few years ago and have kept, waiting for the right time to share it. It took shape in my mind when I remembered this ending line from a poem, “As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, the same look which she turned when he rose.”

Although the story is based on a true event, the main character’s personality is a figment of my imagination. And yet, every time I read this story that I created, the love between Bessy and her husband, Thomas, touches me, and I wonder if perhaps … just perhaps … “Bessy” sent a hint of the tale my way.

The Heart That Has Truly Loved

Tears streamed down Bessy’s face as she fingered the sharp scissors. Sunlight filtered through the ivy that crept along the window casement, but she neither saw it nor heard the finch that twittered from its nest in the heart-shaped leaves.

A small drop of blood oozed as she pressed harder on the blade with her thumb. “If only I had the courage, I would take these scissors and plunge them into my heart,” she cried. A sob caught in her throat as she glanced wildly about the room. There were no mirrors in the bedroom, no basin of water that would reflect the ugliness that was Bessy Moore.

The muslin in her lap slid to the floor, jolting her back to the task at hand. Wiping the tears from her disfigured face, she picked up the cloth and jabbed in the scissors—jabbed them to start the eyeholes for the mask she would wear for the rest of her life.

A soft knock sounded at the door. “Bessy, please let me come in,” Thomas pleaded.

“No!”

“It doesn’t matter that you contracted the pox. It’s you that I love, not your face.” He ran his hands through his hair, causing it to stand on end in his distress, and turned the knob on the door. The handle clicked and then stopped. Bessy had turned the lock days before his return from the city.

“Thomas, please go away. I’m not a fit wife. I can no longer stand by your side. I’m a freak. I can’t …” She broke into sobs, and tears rolled down Thomas’ cheeks at the sound.

“I love you more than life itself,” he whispered.

The golden colors of sunset melted against the horizon as he sat at the desk and wrote with the quill pen. The blues of twilight settled on the house, and still he wrote. Finally finished, he folded the paper, climbed the stairs and slid the note under her door. He knocked softly, just once. Then, putting his ear against the door and holding his breath, Thomas listened.

The bed creaked when she arose. Her nightgown swished, almost sounding like a sigh, as Bessy leaned down to pick up the paper. Thomas pressed his ear more firmly against the rough wood while she read aloud the words he’d penned.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy gifts fading away.
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And the cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear,
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.

The door opened slowly. The muslin rustled as she slipped the mask from her face. Thomas took her in his arms and whispered, “Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art … for my heart, which has truly loved never forgets, and will truly love on to the close.”

Then he took the muslin from her hand, threw it into the hall, and kissed her tears away.

(“Believe Me, if All Those Endearing Young Charms” is believed to have been written by Thomas Moore for his wife, upon finding that she had contracted smallpox and her face had been marred by the disease. Thomas Moore (1779-1852) Irish Melodies)

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As Long as My Heart Beats ... by Cindy Beck

2009-11-02T17:42:00.000-08:00

A Tribute to Freedom

© 2009 Cindy Beck

My dad served in the Air Force as a career military man, and he’s now retired. I have been, and always will be, proud of him and the way in which he served his country, and his willingness to go to war to defend our liberties.

It’s to him, and to all valiant veterans, that I dedicate the following thoughts on freedom.
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As Long as My Heart Beats

What can be written about freedom that hasn’t already been penned? The words of our American forefathers—far more articulate and expressive than anything I could ever compose—declare our right to freedom. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”¹

All I can give then, are my simple thoughts ….

Freedom is what gives me the right to walk the hills at daybreak, watching the pink and gold clouds caress the mountaintops, with no worry that someone will demand a passport, papers, or even ask me why I choose wandering instead of working at a government stipulated job.

The meadowlark’s tune in the canyon sings to me of those who came before—men and women of bravery and courage, who loved liberty more than life and willingly gave their all, making the supreme sacrifice so that I might listen, in peace and free from bondage, to that lark’s lilting song.

A stone’s throw away lies a brook that ripples and laughs on its way to the mighty sea. It speaks to me of freedom to worship a Heavenly Father, to gather with other believers on a bright Sabbath morn and express our love of God in songs, that like the babblings of the brook, rise to the heavens—a right granted with no restrictions by a government that would curtail beliefs in the Holy One of Israel.

And yet, that brook also gurgles of the rights of others to not worship any supreme being at all. Freedom has not always been, but ever should be, universal. All mankind, not just Americans, have been “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.” And I, like the stream, must be willing to allow—no, not just to allow but to encourage—freedom to flow to others, even when their beliefs are different than mine.

The dark-eyed doe that browses on the tender grass reminds me of the right to bear arms, not only as a means to obtain food, but as a protection against an unrighteous government—perhaps foreign, perhaps not—that would choose to rob me of the precious freedoms that I hold dear.

The fawn that suckles near her side causes my heart to swell with gratitude for the liberty to not only choose to procreate but also to decide the number of little feet that might pitter-patter through my life. Freedom insures that the dark-haired, Down syndrome daughter holds as much worth as the blond-haired, highly intelligent son, and that no parent has to choose the life of one over the other.

It is freedom that allows me to attempt to convey in my own simple words the eloquent truths that Thomas Jefferson expressed so well. And as long as my heart beats and forever after, it is my hope that freedom will reign in this great country.

Notes:
1. United States of America’s Declaration of Independence

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Changing a Worry Wart to a Freckle ... by Cindy Beck

2009-09-30T07:50:00.000-07:00

© Cindy Beck, 2009

(Photo by Gnome Icon Artists)

I’ll admit it; I’m a worry wart who frets over everything. There’s so much to be troubled about that it puts me in a tizzy. Will I catch the swine flu this fall? What would I do if my husband became involved in an accident while driving to a meeting? Will that mole on my neck grow to the size of a mango? If I spray for bugs, might I accidentally poison half the world’s water supply?

I find myself wondering what ever happened to the calm person I used to be.

As a kid I didn’t have much to agonize over—mostly just getting good grades in school and remembering to dive under my desk in a hug-the-knees position during a possible nuclear attack. Nowadays, I’m no longer anxious about grades, but the threat of global war is just one item on a long list that includes flu pandemics, the failing economy, disappearing retirement funds, health care, crime, my children/grandchildren’s safety, and last but not least, hair that’s turning gray. Should I color it? What if it turns out looking like a strawberry popsicle instead of the rich auburn I envision? Or what if the chemicals do something wacky and all my hair falls out instead?

Mental health professionals have a term for that feeling of constant anxiety: generalized anxiety disorder (GAD). The National Institute of Mental Health states that GAD in its extreme is characterized by, “Chronic anxiety, exaggerated worry and tension, even when there is little or nothing to provoke it.” The symptoms include an inability to shake off concerns, including worries that are accompanied by physical symptoms, especially, “ … fatigue, headaches, muscle tension, muscle aches, difficulty swallowing, trembling, twitching, irritability, sweating, and hot flashes.”

My friends and I have most of those symptoms, but we’ve been blaming our twitches and hot flashes on menopause. Face it, however; even though more women than men admit feeling anxious, we all worry about life events, even if we don’t take it to the point where we’re trembling and sweating.

What can we do about it? Should we resign ourselves to a fate of being—as my friend, Melanie Adams, jokes—“Thumb-sucking-fetal-positioned-eye-twitching-nervous-nellies”—or is it possible to remain tranquil during the turbulent times in which we live?

The first step to tranquility is to remember that not all worry is bad. Good worry warns us to avoid that swarthy stranger lurking down the alley, reminds us to lock our doors, or to go to the doctor and get that flu shot. It sets off the little mental voice that says, “Don’t buy that mink coat/mansion/4x4 truck with the Hemi engine, that only gets four miles to the gallon. It’ll just put you deeper in debt!” That type of worry is often inspired by the Spirit and provides guidance for daily living.

The second step requires recognizing that anxiety is a part of mortal existence, a side effect of the trials that we go through on earth. The trick is to control it, rather than letting it control us. To that end, here are a few tried and true techniques to help:

• Pray. Yes, we’ve all heard that before, but life really does go smoother and we worry less when we do all we can and then leave our troubles in the hands of the Lord.
• Read the scriptures. Although this is another standby, we’ll be blessed, and there’s nothing like reading about others’ problems to help put our own in perspective.
• Keep a worry journal. When we write down worries and the outcome of them, we often discover that many of those concerns never came to pass. Studies show that eighty-five to ninety-five percent of the time, our worst fears are never confirmed. In addition, the act of writing down what’s bugging us often frees our minds for other, happier pursuits.
• Share the apprehension. By talking out our anxieties, we’re able to confront them and many times find effective solutions. Just be sure to share them with someone who doesn’t over-react and isn’t an even bigger worrier.
• Research the facts. Health issues, in particular, often generate inordinate amounts of concern. Knowledge of the facts gives the power needed to control our worries, and prevents enlarging them to the size of a hippopotamus.
• Establish a time to worry. Pick a particular time of day, and a set amount of time, and worry away. After it’s over, if anxiety pops in again, push it to the back of the mind and say, “I won’t stew about that now. I’ll save it for worry time.” A word of caution: It’s easy to put worry time off until we’re lying in bed, and then we start in on that long list of concerns. In order to sleep well at night, make worry time earlier in the day.
• Have fun. Once a day, take a moment or two to do something enjoyable. Take a deep breath, push all thoughts far away and watch the sunset, join the kids at play, pet the dog, or walk the beach with a friend or a spouse. The rejuvenation which happiness brings will help counteract the fears that the world is falling apart.
• Take time to laugh. Remember that old adage … laugh, and the world laughs with you. Cry, and they’ll put you on Prozac. (Okay, I’ll admit that I did put a slight spin on that saying.)
• Look backward. When a worry does come to pass, looking back on times when we’ve lived through a problem gives instant recognition that we’re strong and can do it again. We’re survivors.
• Keep in mind Luke 12: 25-26: “And which of you with taking thought can add to his stature one cubit? If ye then be not able to do that thing which is least, why take ye thought for the rest?” So, if worrying isn’t going to help us grow taller or keep our hair from falling out (or in my case, going gray) why spend so much time on it?

Give it a try. Just follow the steps above, and see if it doesn’t change that worry wart to a freckle.

Sources:
Anxiety Disorders Association of America: http://www.adaa.org
Ensign Magazine: Dieter F. Uchtdorf, “The Infinite Power of Hope,” Ensign, Nov 2008, 21–24.
National Institute of Mental Health: http://www.nimh.nih.gov/index.shtml

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Review of "Martha's Freedom Train"

2009-08-03T10:04:00.000-07:00

Posted by Cindy Beck

Today, it’s my privilege to review a charming book of historical fiction, written for children by my good friend, C. LaRene Hall.

FROM THE COVER BLURB OF MARTHA'S FREEDOM TRAIN:
Martha and her parents escape slavery with the help of many conductors for the Underground Railroad—an escape route set up by people of all colors. They finally have a safe place to stay, but Mama has caught pneumonia and is too ill to travel farther. Papa learns about a wagon train of Mormons traveling west, and he takes Martha to meet them. Her heart almost breaks when he sends her west with these strangers. Martha encounters many exciting adventures along the way. They cross rivers, see Indians and buffalo. She helps put out a fire, and after falling asleep beside the trail, they accidentally leave her behind. Once they reach the Salt Lake valley, she still has choices to make, and Martha wonders how her papa will find her.

MY OPINION:
This is a delightful story that’s quick reading, and yet contains enough excitement that it’s hard to put down. It’s well written and the characters capture the imagination. Although it’s intended for those ten and older, I found it fun, even as an adult. I liked the moral of the story, that God loves all children regardless of color, and mentally cheered in the section that disclosed Martha had a burning desire to learn to read.

In addition, children and adults alike will enjoy the cute penciled illustrations that depict slices of Martha’s journey. And I loved the pioneer recipes for journey cakes and prickly pear jelly at the back of the book.

Now, if I could just manage to pick a few prickly pears without getting poked …

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
I thought you might like to know a little about LaRene, so here are a few of her responses to Crazy Eights, a game of tag she participated in earlier this year. If you’d like to read all her answers, click here.

Eight Things C. LaRene Hall Wishes She Could Do:
1. Go along ways away
2. Have more writing time
3. Have more time everyday to do what I want
4. Find someone to publish my next book
5. Travel to new places all the time
6. Have no bills
7. Have enough money to travel
8. Have no weeds in the yard

Eight Shows She Watches:
1. News
2. Perry Mason
3. Murder She Wrote
4. My Three Sons
5. I don’t know what else is on. I don’t start watching anything until after 9 pm
6. This is a hard question and I have no answers.
7. A good movie if there is any on.
8. I don’t watch much TV because I’d rather write or read.

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To Know Dad is to Love Him ... by Cindy Beck

2009-06-10T11:29:00.000-07:00

(A fun, family night concept)

Cindy Beck © 2009
(Keywords: Cindy Beck, fathers, Father's Day, family home evening, family night, Dad's Old Fashioned Root Beer, family history, Latter-day Saints, LDS, Mormon, yourLDSNeighborhood.com)

Dads. Most of us—if we’re lucky—grow up with them, and we think we know them pretty well. However, do we really?

Since June is the month to remember fathers, it’s also a great time to have a family home evening centered on discovering Dad—or Granddad’s—secrets. You know, the little things we never think to ask him about, but that he’d love to share.

First, bring Dad his slippers and make him comfy in his favorite chair. He may go through withdrawal with the TV turned off, but you can always let him hold the remote for comfort, as long as he promises not to actually use it.

If there are talented singers in the family, they might like to join in singing, “Fathers” (Children’s Songbook, pg. 209). If the singers aren’t so talented … well, invite them to lift their voices anyway, and if Dad isn’t wearing the slippers, he can use them to cover his ears.

Next, ask the following questions. (Make sure someone has been assigned to write down the answers or even to videotape the evening.)

Dad, what’s your favorite …
Color?
Number?
Movie?
Song?
Food?

Who was …
Your favorite relative outside your immediate family?
Your best friend in high school?
Your favorite teacher?
The nicest person you ever met?
Your favorite president?

How did you …
Learn to drive a car?
Get to school?
Learn to shave?
Propose to Mom?
Learn to swim?

Where did you …
Hide your treasures when you were little?
Go to high school?
Go for summer vacations?
Take girls on dates?
Live when you were thirteen?

When did you …
Compete in your first sporting event?
Realize the church was true?
Decide to get married?
First understand the power of prayer?
Cook your first meal?

If you had life to do all over again, would you …
Live some place else, and where?
Try a different career, and what?
Get more schooling?
Take an exotic vacation, and where?
Buy a sports car, and what kind?

Top the evening off with Dad’s favorite cookies. Or better yet, with root beer floats made with Dad’s Old Fashioned Root Beer. And don’t forget to give Dad a hug.

Someday, as memories fade, you’ll be so glad you took the opportunity—either for yourself, or for your children—to learn more about one of the most important men in your life.

(Note: This family home evening could easily be adapted for children by dividing the questions and letting the children read them to their father or grandfather. Older siblings could be assigned to help non-readers.)

Thank you to Melanie Adams, editor, for her excellent advice on this article.

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Easter Lost, Easter Found ... by Cindy Beck

2009-04-02T19:50:00.000-07:00

© Cindy Beck, 2009
(Keywords: Cindy Beck, celebrations, Easter, Easter bunny, holiday, Jesus Christ, LDS, resurrection, Latter-day Saints, LDS, Mormon, yourLDSNeighborhood.com)

Easter had vanished. Oh, it still existed on the calendar, but with our family grown and gone, it only left my husband and me for celebrations. The joy and anticipation of Easter faded to almost nothing. Some years, it was by sheer luck that I remembered to defrost a ham in time for the holiday dinner, or to color eggs.

We watched our friends hold their “Easter Bunny” celebrations on Saturday and their family dinners on Sunday, and we wondered what would work for us. With no children around, egg hunts and colorful baskets lacked excitement. Dinner with our extended family was normally out of the question because, at the time, our loved ones lived far away.

Then one day, it hit me—we’d been looking at Easter as a time for children’s activities and family get-togethers, rather than emphasizing the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Searching the scriptures and pondering the true significance of the holiday, my husband and I brainstormed for ways to make Easter more meaningful. Together we came up with a plan for a week’s worth of simple activities that emphasize the Savior, His sacrifice, and the symbols of resurrection and rebirth.

• Monday before Easter: For family home evening, plant spring bulbs such as jonquils, narcissus, or tulips into pots. Place in a sunny window, keep moist, and watch for their splendor—children and adults alike will enjoy monitoring their growth. Although the flowers won’t bloom in time for Easter Sunday, their blossoms will be a reminder of the resurrection and of new life in the weeks to come.

• Tuesday: Visit the cemetery and place spring flowers on the graves of departed friends and loved ones. Discuss the glory of one day being reunited with them because of the Savior’s atoning sacrifice.

• Wednesday: Do good works that require sacrificing for another. This could include writing notes to servicemen or missionaries, humanitarian projects, donating time at hospitals, or helping the elderly with spring yard work.

• Thursday: Write a note to someone in your family, thanking them for their sacrifices.

• Friday: Read and discuss the story of the crucifixion in Matthew 27:27-54.

• Saturday: Read and discuss D&C 138: 11-24, which details the Savior’s visit to the spirit world prior to his resurrection. Afterwards, color eggs, bake bread or do other Easter traditions that inspire contemplation of the symbolism of rebirth.

• Easter Sunday: In the morning, sing an Easter hymn. Before partaking of the sacrament, read and contemplate the story of the resurrection from Luke 24:1-9. At dinner, set a symbolic place at the table for the Savior.

• Monday: For family home evening, enjoy colored eggs, candy in baskets, or other secular traditions with family or friends. One benefit to celebrating the non-religious traditions on the Monday after is that holiday candy is at half-price.

Try putting the plan into action in your own life. Whether you’re a family of one or ten, you’ll find Easter has a more spiritual tone. Even when you’re only able to implement a few of the ideas, you’ll focus on the atoning sacrifice of the Savior and will feel more fully the joy of the resurrection.

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Pursuing Promptings ... by Cindy Beck

2009-01-20T09:16:00.000-08:00

© Cindy Beck, 2009
(Keywords: Cindy Beck, promptings, Spirit, Holy Ghost, heed promptings, pursuing promptings, Latter-day Saints, LDS, Mormon, yourLDSNeighborhood.com)

Most of us, at one time or another, have trouble heeding the promptings of the Spirit. It’s not usually a case of rebelliousness, but more a product of not understanding what we’re being told.

In the fall of 2007, an unwise decision to ignore the Spirit resulted in an accident on my bike. The broken elbow that followed gave me pause and since then, I’ve come up with a few thoughts on following the dictates of the Spirit.

Pray daily to be guided by the Spirit, and to have an increased sensitivity to His promptings. Ask for help in understanding what the Spirit is telling you. This is vitally important. So often we pray for help, but don’t pray for understanding concerning the how and why of the directives we’re given.

When a particular thought enters your mind repeatedly, don’t say, “Hmm, that’s interesting,” and then go about life as normal. Write the thoughts down, look at them throughout the day, and use your intuitive powers to figure out what you think the Spirit is saying. Once you think you understand, ask for confirmation.

Never ignore a prompting, no matter whether it seems trivial, silly or embarrassing. Recently, I had a nonsensical dream about a friend that had long ago broken off a relationship with me. The dream about her stayed with me during the day, and in keeping with my newfound resolution to heed the Spirit, I decided to visit her. However, deciding to visit and actually doing it was another thing. That friendship had ended on an angry tone. Anxiety and nervousness over how my visit would be received had me pacing the floor. It took half the day to work up the courage to call and arrange it. At my friend’s house, I looked at the carpet, cleared my throat and finally told her about the dream. To my surprise, she seemed to understand what it meant, and although she never gave me an interpretation of it, the incident resulted in reconciliation between us. I’m so grateful I did as the Spirit directed.

When you receive promptings for mundane tasks like, “I’d better pick up that toy lying on the stairs,” you might not see any direct result. Don’t assume that means it wasn’t a whisper from the Holy Ghost. So often we are guided in areas that we deem unimportant, but who can judge the value of a decision that prevents an unseen accident or tragedy?

An author friend of mine, Rachelle Christensen, admits she once received such a prompting but because it came as a quiet whisper and she was busy at the time, she didn’t follow through. While walking through the living room, she saw one of her children’s toys lying on the floor—a small plastic pony. “I noticed it and that should have been enough to pick it up but my hands were full. Later, I was in a hurry and came up with a bottle of applesauce from downstairs and stepped on it just right so that my foot turned over and I fell forward, out of control.” Rachelle not only sprained her ankle, but suffered bruises from the fall.

Remember that all good things come from the Lord. If a thought pops into your mind directing you to do a good deed, don’t waste your time trying to figure out if it was a kindly thought or direction from the Spirit. Instead, just go do it. More often than not, it is guidance you’re receiving.

Another author friend, Nichole Giles, felt a prompting to go outside one hot July afternoon and check on her family’s litter of puppies and their mama. “It was around a hundred degrees outside and I wanted to make sure they had enough shade and water to drink. When I got outside, all the water was gone—the bowls even overturned—and the puppies were lying in every patch of shade they could find and whining because they were so hot. Feeling terrible about their discomfort, I set up a second umbrella (they already had one) and filled their water containers with cool water to drink. As soon as I set them down, those pups and their mother lapped that water up until it was gone, so I refilled it again. While I was out there, I soaked the grass and filled up a low-sided Rubbermaid container so they wouldn't run out again, and so they could jump in it to cool off. Every one of those dogs jumped and played in the water. They'd been cooking in that sunshine. If I hadn't gone out there, the poor dogs might have died from heatstroke.”

From my own experience, I know that following through on the Spirit’s guidance to do a kind deed can often result in being in the right place when another person needs help. One afternoon, while cooking a pot of soup, I received an impression to take some to a friend. You have to understand that in the instant I announce my intention to take someone a meal, the main course will burn, and the dessert will fall flat. I hesitated. Is this really the Holy Ghost speaking to me, or do I have these feelings because I happened to think of Elaine?

I pondered the impression for a few minutes and finally said, “There’s probably nothing wrong with her, but it’s always fun to have someone bring a meal, especially when you’ve had a busy day at work.”

For once, the food turned out right … that in itself should have told me it was a prompting! I drove to Elaine’s house with it and rang the doorbell. Her husband answered the door and ushered me in. There on the couch sat Elaine, pale and weary. Unbeknownst to me, she’d had gall bladder surgery and had just come home from the hospital. The meal was well received and appreciated. Gratitude filled my heart for the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.

If you follow the steps above, I can’t promise that you will always know the right action to take in life. But I can guarantee that you’ll feel an increase in knowledge about the workings of the Spirit, and will become better able to feel and understand His presence.

And isn’t that what we all want?

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Caleb’s Gift ... by Cindy Beck

2008-09-23T16:29:00.000-07:00

(Based on a true story)
© Cindy Beck, 2008

(Keywords: Cindy Beck, gift, birthday, 1910 penny, aggie marble, star quilt, chores, hen, booklet, LDS, YourLDSNeighborhood.com)

Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God . . . (1 John 4:7).

Clink, clink, clink. Caleb shook the little tin box that he’d pulled from under his lumpy mattress. “That doesn’t sound like much money,” he said to his cat, Muffin, as he popped the lid off and turned the tin upside down.

A shiny, 1910 copper penny; a yellow aggie marble; and a piece of string fell out onto the quilt that covered his bed. The tied knots of black and white yarn on the blanket made a star in the middle.

“Ma gave me this quilt for Christmas,” Caleb said to the striped cat, as he sat on the bed. He remembered the look of love in his mother’s eyes as she presented him with the gift. Even on the coldest nights, his star quilt kept him warm.

“Tomorrow is Ma’s birthday, and I want to buy something special to show her that I love her,” he said to Muffin. “Maybe I could get some pretty ribbons for her hair.” The cat blinked at him, then swatted at the penny. It skittered across the bed and dropped with a clunk onto the floor. The coin twirled for a second. Caleb watched in horror as it angled and fell between the wooden floorboards to the dusty darkness beneath.

“Muffin, you bad cat! You’ve made me lose my money.” Caleb knelt on the floor, and put his eye to the crack between the pine boards. “There are strange shadows down there and a cobwebby smell that tickles my … achoo!” He rubbed his nose. “But I don’t see the penny.”

Getting up, Caleb hitched up the strap to his overalls and started toward the door. There was only one thing to do; ask Pa if he could earn another one.

Puffs of dust rose as his bare feet scuffed the dry soil outside. He found his father in the barn, milking the cow.

“Pa, can I do extra chores to earn a penny?”

“You can do them if you want, but I can’t give you a penny.”

“Why not?” Caleb watched the milk squirt into the bucket.

“Because times are hard, and I don’t have a penny to spare. The wooly bear caterpillars have a thick stripe this year, which means there’s a hard winter coming.”

“But I need it to buy Ma some hair ribbons for her birthday.” The black barn cat sashayed over and rubbed against Caleb’s leg.

“I’m sorry,” his father said. “You’ll have to figure out something else. And it’s time to collect the eggs. Head over to the hen house, and be careful not to upset ol’ Clucker—she’s the most persnickety hen in all of Utah.”

“Yes, Pa,” Caleb said, disappointment shadowing his voice.

On his way to the chicken coop, he prayed for an idea for a gift. After checking for eggs and finding none, he stood listening to the soothing clucks of the big red hen.

Suddenly a thought came to him. “That’s it! That’s what I’ll do. Thank you, Heavenly, Father!” The sound of his voice startled Clucker and she flapped her wings and squawked. But, she was fussing to thin air. Caleb was already halfway to the house.

Once inside he said breathlessly, “Ma, is there some paper and a pencil I can use?”

She nodded. “I believe I have a little of that paper that was used to wrap something we bought at the general store.” Ma walked out of the room and came back with a square of neatly folded brown paper and a stubby pencil.

Kissing Caleb on his blond head, she handed the items to him. “Use the paper wisely and don’t waste any.”

“I won’t,” Caleb said as he ran with it to his room.

Laying the paper on his bed, he tore six small squares from it. On the first one he wrote, “Ma’s Special Book.” On the next one he put, “Good for 6 jobs you want me to do without any grumbling.”

He thought for a minute, licked the lead on the end of the pencil and wrote, “Good for 8 hugs,” on another one.

“What else can I give?” he asked Muffin, who’d jumped back up on the bed. She licked her paw, swiped it over one ear and then mewed softly at him.

“What would Ma like besides chores and hugs?” Caleb stroked Muffin’s golden-brown ears as he thought. “Maybe she’d like me to fix supper? I could do bread and milk.”

Muffin blinked her eyes and purred, and Caleb took that as a yes. He wrote, “Good for 1 extra fix supper.” As he was writing, another idea came to him. “Good for 3 help yous,” he wrote on the fifth square.

Now there was only one square left. But what would he put on that one? He’d used up all his good ideas. Scratching the cowlick at the back of his head, he thought hard. “I know,” he said to the cat. And he wrote, “Love you,” on the last one. Then he put all the pieces of paper together, like a little booklet, poked a hole in one corner and tied them together with the piece of string from his tin can.

The next morning, Caleb jumped out of bed and raced into the kitchen. “Happy birthday, Ma!” he said, handing her the gift.

Turning the pages, she smiled, and at the end, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “This is the best birthday present ever … because you filled it with love.”

A warm feeling started in Caleb’s heart. It spread all the way to his toes. He guessed it was good that Muffin had lost his penny. Hair ribbons only last for a short time, but love lasts forever.

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Heed the Promptings, Part 1

2008-08-27T20:28:00.000-07:00

© Cindy Beck, 2008

(Keywords: Cindy Beck, Holy Ghost, promptings, bike ride, spiritual impressions, Spirit, YourLDSNeighborhood.com)

I’m right-handed—yet there I sat, typing the beginnings of this article by hunt and peck with my left hand. Why? Because I failed to persist in my efforts to understand the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

Many years ago, when my hair contained less gray and my joints didn’t ache so much, I took my toddler son on a bike ride. Biking has always been one of my favorite ways to get exercise, so I strapped him into the child’s seat on the back, and off we went. It was a beautiful day and we enjoyed the sunshine and fresh air. Near the end of the ride, I turned the bike in a circle to head home. There was no warning—just a slip of the tire on a wet spot. The bike flew out from under me and I was flung to the asphalt.

Scrambling to my feet, I rushed to my son. His wide eyes reflected fear, but he had been protected by the plastic seat. The gravel embedded in my knees stung and blood seeped from the cuts, but he didn’t have a scratch. As we started home, I searched my heart to see if I had ignored any promptings from the Spirit. Relief flooded through me as I realized that I was blameless. I hadn’t been forewarned but we had been protected.

Move the clock forward to 2007. Over the summer months, and with increasing frequency, images of that long ago day flashed through my mind.

Odd. What did it mean? I gave the thoughts a casual moment of interest, then brushed them off as if they were dust on a windowsill. My son, Dave, was full-grown, so there was no toddler on the back of the bike. And no reason to worry about taking a spill during the dry, high desert summer days.

In November, fall air and bright sunshine once again beckoned. Jumping on my bike, I whirled away across town, the soft breeze teasing my hair, the pungent scent of fallen leaves tickling my nose. On the way home, a friend called to me and I turned the bike. A narrow strip of the cement in front of me looked wet. For a split second I wondered, in jest, if someone was watering the curb and gutter, trying to make them grow.

I should have made the connection with the recent promptings … but didn’t. As my tire crossed the wet patch, the bike flipped out from under me, and before there was even a chance to get my hands down, I crashed to the ground on my right side. Blood dripped from split skin on my little finger. Worse than that, my right arm really hurt. After being flung to the concrete, though, how could any part of me not hurt? I dusted myself off and my friend took me into her house and spot-cleaned the blood from my clothes.

All the while, my arm ached—a lot. I told myself it was just bruised and battered … and maybe I’d pulled a ligament.

Stepping back outside to head home, I put my hands on the handlebars and used my forearms to balance so I could jump up onto the bike’s seat. A recognizable, dark feeling of intense pain shot through my right arm.

I knew what that meant—a broken bone. After living through a broken nose, a shattered ankle and a snapped wrist in my lifetime, the feeling was all too familiar.

And it was a Friday, just after my doctor’s regular office hours. When my husband arrived home from work half an hour later, we drove to the emergency room. The x-ray revealed the arm/elbow had a break right where the two connected.

It wasn’t hard, standing there in the emergency room, to recognize that the Spirit had been warning me for months. Why hadn’t I listened?

My answer to that now sounds feeble. Every time the Spirit pricked my memory, I didn’t understand the message. Was I being warned to avoid wet spots? Or to quit riding my bike? Was I supposed to do that for a week, a month, a year … or forever? Not knowing, and thinking it was just a coincidence that I remembered the past accident, I had brushed it aside. What I should have done was pondered the impression, reasoned out what I thought it meant and then prayed for confirmation. Had I done that, the broken bone could have been prevented.

Fast forward to eight months later. On a fine summer day in 2008, with the breezes blowing and the birds singing from the tree tops, I climbed on my bike and felt that surge of happiness that comes when riding. After gliding down the driveway, I turned onto the road, and an impression came to me. This bike is getting too old. It’s time to get rid of it and buy a new one.

Aw, no. Get rid of my favorite, teal-colored bike? The one that reminds me of the ocean? The one that carried me on biking adventures with my young son?

I thought for a minute. Maybe the Spirit is just telling me I need to tighten the bolts and get new brakes. I rode a little farther, telling myself it was my own logical thoughts that made me worry and that giving the bike a tune-up would take care of the matter.

The words "metal fatigue" came to mind.

I wanted to bargain. Listen, I’ll tighten everything and put new brakes on. That way it’ll be okay during the summer and I can buy a new one for Christmas.

An image of the bike breaking in two and my body lying crumpled on the ground entered my thoughts. At the same time, the prayer that I’d whispered for guidance and protection that morning floated back to me. Stopped short by the impressions, I chastised myself. What sense did it make to pray for guidance, and then to stand around and argue with the Spirit when He gave me direction? Hadn’t anything been learned from the accident of eight short months ago? What about my vow to listen more closely to promptings given me?

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’d learned the consequences of ignoring the Spirit with the last broken bone, and it wasn’t a lesson I wanted to repeat. Walking would give just as good a workout. I turned the bicycle around and headed home.

Today the sparrows and finches are chirping outside my window. The sweet scent of the linden tree across the street calls a siren song. It would be the perfect day for a bike ride … and in the next week or two, when I get a new bicycle, I’m going to take one.

Until then, the old teal bike will remain parked in the garage. And hopefully, the Spirit will continue to guide, and have patience, with its owner.

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"Farworld" review & interview with J. Scott Savage

2008-08-25T07:58:00.000-07:00

Review of Farworld
By Cindy Beck
(Keywords: Cindy Beck, humor, Farworld, Water Keep, J Scott Savage,)

Thirteen-year-old Marcus Kanenas dreams of a world far away. It’s a place where magic is as common as sunshine and where animals and trees talk. His name for the place? Farworld.

Quite unexpectedly, Marcus magically travels from Earth to Farworld. There he meets Kyja, who would love to cast spells and work magic, but alas, is unable. Marcus also meets Master Therapass, a master wizard whose knowledge can change not only Marcus and Kyja’s fate, but the fate of Farworld and Earth, as well.

Enter members of the Dark Circle, whose goal is to exert evil influence, gain power, and eventually destroy all that is good, including Farworld. Marcus and Kyja must travel to Water Keep, their first leg in a journey where they hope to convince the Elementals—beings of water, land, air and fire—to join forces with them. While at Water Keep, Marcus and Kyja face the Summoners—members of the Dark Circle, who can command the living and the dead—and other dreaded creatures.

Marcus and Kyja’s journey is one of not only hardship and danger, but also one of friendship and caring. Marcus and Kyja learn the truth about themselves, the depths of their courage, and the power that each holds within.

Scott Savage does a good job of maintaining suspense and action through out the book. The characters are both charming (the good guys) and despicable (the bad guys). My favorite character was Riph Raph, a “lizard” who not only talked but had magical powers and a wicked sense of comedic timing.

Scott’s sense of humor put a smile on my face, and his artful suspense kept me turning the pages. This is a book that young adults (and old adults) would love!

Interview with J. Scott Savage:

Cindy: I’m here in virtual time and space, for an interview with author, J. Scott Savage. We’re riding on the “lizard,” Riph Raph’s tail, so it’s a little windy. Scott, why don’t you tell us what you can see and smell from this vantage point?

Scott: Well I have to say that sitting on Riph Raph’s tail, the smell is, um . . . not one to write home about. And obviously someone has shrunk us down to rather much smaller than our normal size as Riph Raph is not much larger than a typical housecat. It looks like Riph Raph is scanning for members of the Dark Circle. So maybe we can help him keep an eye out.

Cindy: Have any of your daily habits … such as how you brush your teeth, or what you eat … changed since writing Farworld? If so, how?

Scott: Well I do refer to myself in the third person now, and I occasionally asked random passers by if they know me. So far neither has proven very successful.

Cindy: If you could pick one creature or person from Farworld that you could become, which one would it be? Describe what you would look like, please.

Scott: I think that I would be the Frost Pinnois. I am roughly the size of a large school bus, made entirely of ice, with long icicle spikes on my tail, and a long blue beard. I have skin of tiny icicles and long wings. My body makes a kind of wind chime-like sound when I fly.

Cindy: I noticed in your underwater interview with Shirley Bahlmann, that bubbles kept floating up and about. Was there a fissure in the ocean floor, or was something else causing that? What do you think it was?

Scott: I can honestly say it was underwater gas. For anything more than that, you’d need to consult the Bahlmannator herself.

Cindy: It seems Riph Raph is anxious to rid himself of us, so I’ll only ask one more question. If Shandra Covington, the heroine in your mystery novels were to enter Farworld, what powers would she have?

Scott: Well clearly they would have something to do with food. I think that Shandra would have the ability to turn common rocks into deluxe double cheeseburgers and grass into hot greasy fries. Then she and Kyja would get along great. All of my female characters seem to have a thing for fires. Hmmm.

Cindy: Thanks so much for letting me interview you, Scott, and for giving me the opportunity to read Farworld. It was great and I’m sure your readers will enjoy it.

Scott: Thanks, Cindy. And thanks for the great interview.

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"Heaven Scent" Book Tour Stop

2008-07-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

By C. Lynn Beck
© 2008
Keywords: C. Lynn Beck, Heaven Scent, perfume, Rebecca Talley, author, Rebecca, Aldrich Heights, fragrance, blog tour, forgiveness, religion, Liza, Kyle

Liza has it made. At least that’s what it looks like for Aldrich Heights' star basketball player. Yet, life isn’t as golden on the inside as it appears on the outside. Liza feels abandoned by her father, who places work before family. Once upon a time, Liza and her father were close, but now she wonders if he even loves her anymore. Or if she loves him.

Liza’s mother puts her foot down and Liza’s father promises he’ll change and spend more time with them. Just when Liza starts believing him, tragedy strikes. Everything that matters to Liza is gone in one heart-wrenching moment.

Liza’s path to emotional recovery lies in forgiveness. However, she doesn’t see it that way and fights against the very idea … until Kyle, a boy from her high school, introduces Liza to a new religion. With a little help from Kyle—and from above—Liza learns to view the tragedy, and her life, with the right perspective.

Heaven Scent is a touching story that both young women and adults will enjoy. Just be sure to have a box of tissues and family members nearby when you read it—the tissues for the tears, and the family members so you can hug them and feel grateful that they’re with you.

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Rebecca Cornish Talley, author of Heaven Scent, is not only an excellent writer but also a good sport. She's kindly agreed to let me interview her at a “virtual” beach in California.

Rebecca, thank you for joining me on this sunny day at the ocean. I know you love the beach and lived in California as a young girl. Since other interviews have already covered the technical reasons for why and how you wrote Heaven Scent, I thought I’d ask a few personal questions today.

1. If you wouldn’t mind, why don’t you start by telling us what the beach here looks like?

It might be hard to find this particular beach in CA since it’s tucked away in a secret cove, but the water is a brilliant turquoise and so clear I can see my feet. No seaweed tangling around my legs, thankfully. The water temperature is ideal, too. Cool enough to be refreshing, but warm enough to soothe. The clean, soft, white sand feels like satin under my feet and perfectly-shaped seashells wait along the shore for me to add to my collection. The shoreline seems to run forever in either direction and the sky is a pale blue with wisps of clouds gently moving across its great expanse while waves lap soothingly against the shore.

2. That’s such a cute bathing suit you’re wearing. No one would ever guess you had ten kids! If you could design an ideal bathing suit, what would it look like?

It’d mystically take off 20 pounds, and 20 years, when you wear it, slim you in the middle and give definition up top. It’d be available in iridescent colors that change to match your mood (kind of like the old mood rings) and every time you looked in the mirror, you’d see your inner beauty and strength.

3. In other interviews, you’ve said that your initial inspiration for Heaven Scent came from a distinctive perfume your mom used to wear. You often smelled it in the air, during difficult times, even though your mom had passed away. What are your favorite smells at the ocean?

Green apple bubblegum, coconut suntan lotion, and deep fried taquitos. I also love the smell of saltwater on my skin.

4. You’ve mentioned that your love of basketball was another source of inspiration for the book. You can’t play basketball here in the sand, so what games do you like to play at the beach?

The best games are Chase (the seagulls), Tag (with the waves), and Hide-and-Go-Seek (with the sand crabs).

5. Since you live on a farm and have a number of animals, what’s your favorite saltwater animal? And why?

Seals are my favorite saltwater animals because they’re so playful and friendly. I also enjoy watching them swim next to the boats and sun themselves on the buoys. Getting a seal to smile is especially fun, too.

6. Ooo, I notice you’re cooking something over there. Is that a hibachi? A crock-pot? (Hey, this is a virtual beach … so Rebecca can have a crock-pot if she wants!) Or a bonfire? And what is it that I smell cooking?

S’mores. Roasted, gooey marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate—what more do you need? That’s a balanced meal, right? So it must be a bonfire. And we're singing Primary songs around it 'cause I love Primary songs.

7. I see quite a few young women around. You once said you’ve worked with many young women over the years and that’s why Heaven Scent was written for a YA audience. Are these young women here from your church, or are they your family? Why don’t you tell us a little bit about them? (No names, please, we don’t want any stalkers showing up at our beach party!:)

They’re my daughters and my nieces (12 altogether). Aren’t they beautiful? Some sing, some perform, some draw pictures, some make crafts. Some are tall, some are small, some have long hair, some have short, some have blue eyes, some have hazel, some are shy and some are not. Most of all, they’re daughters of our Heavenly Father who want to live with him again someday.

8. Well, Rebecca, I can see the sun is starting to set, so it’s time to pull on a sweatshirt, sit in the warm sand, and watch the sun slide below the horizon. Why don’t you give us a little detail on what colors we’re seeing tonight and how the sunset makes you feel?

I can see the sun’s reflection dancing along the water as it paints the sky in hues of pink, orange, and red. The gentleness of the sun slipping below the horizon makes me realize that as one days ends, another will begin again, and that there is order in all of God’s creations.

Rebecca, thanks for your time and for allowing me to interview you. It’s been a wonderful visit, and I think your readers have enjoyed this personal glimpse into your life. You’re a talented author, your book is terrific, and the story grabbed me by the heart. Thanks so much for writing Heaven Scent.

Thank you, Cindy, for interviewing me here on our virtual beach. It’s been a blast!

Heaven Scent Blog Tour--In Just 5 Days!

2008-06-26T12:47:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you've been keeping track of author, Rebecca Talley's blog tour, and you've read a few of the interviews with her. If so, I promise mine will be different. I'm planning on interviewing her from someplace unique.

Where?

It's a secret, so I can't tell ... but I will give you a hint. It's not from her office.

Go ahead. Take a guess. In a grocery store? And she'll have to tell you what's in her virtual grocery cart ? Mmm ... maybe.

On a virtual deserted island, survivor-style, and she'll have to tell what she's done to stay alive? Possibly ... or then again ... not.

Or will it be in the dead of night, in ....

Nope, most definitely, indubitably, probably not wherever you were thinking!

That's all the hints for now. Be sure you don't miss it, however. Check back on July 1st and read the review of Heaven Scent, as well as the interview with Rebecca.

It'll happen in just 5 days!

Heaven Scent: Coming in 23 Days!

2008-06-08T10:24:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago, I received my reviewer's copy of Heaven Scent by Rebecca Talley.

Have I read it yet? Oh, yes!

Did I find it interesting and exciting? Oh yes!

Watch for my upcoming review and interview with Rebecca. She's a wonderful person and her book was a treat to read. Don't miss out; I'll be posting the review and interview on July 1...

Just 23 days from now!

A Simple Touch of the Heart

2008-06-06T06:54:00.000-07:00

(Based on a true story)
© 2008 C. Lynn Beck

At six-years old, Emily* had already figured out her life was different. Other girls snuggled into soft sweatshirts as the weather cooled—ones that were bubblegum-pink, or banana-yellow. Emily wore an old, holey sweater. It might have been pink . . . once. But by the time someone handed it down to her, it was mostly the color of mud.

At school lunch, other kids munched on bologna sandwiches or peanut butter and jam. And sometimes they brought potato chips.

Emily was lucky to have a piece of smashed bread, covered with a thin layer of butter.

She wondered why her family never had enough food, and why her mother and step-father always argued. Usually he was drunk and had gambled away his paycheck. Even at six, Emily was smart enough to lay low when the fists started flying.

Her brother, Ray*, was five years older but he always kept an eye out for Emily. Once, when he was eleven, he got all dressed up. Emily had never seen him like that before—they didn’t have any clothes that weren’t tattered and worn, so someone must have given them to him. Ray wore green pants, a shirt with embroidered insignia and a hat cocked on the side of his head.

“Ray, how come you look so nice?” Emily asked, her small feet tripping lightly after him as he strode out the door.

“Because I’m a Boy Scout,” Ray said. “I’m going to a Scout meeting. Do you want to hear me say the Scout Oath?”

“Mm-hm.” Emily didn’t know what an oath was, but if he wanted to say one, it was fine with her. She trotted beside him and looked up into his blue eyes.

He took off his hat and held it. Then taking a deep breath, Ray said. “On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times; to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.”

The fact that it was a mouthful of words didn’t faze Emily. But something else about it scratched at the back of her brain. “Who is this God person?”

Ray stopped and put his arm around her small shoulders. “God is what all of us Scouts believe in. He’s the person who lives in heaven and watches over us.”

You’d think that would have been a complicated concept for a six-year-old to grasp, but something touched Emily’s heart. The idea that there was a loving Father in heaven who was concerned about a shy little girl with a hungry tummy—and an even hungrier heart—filled her with a warm, melted caramel feeling that spread from the top of Emily’s head to the bottom of her worn out sneakers.

As a neglected child—who lacked physical and emotional necessities—Emily’s soul rejoiced at the idea that there was a grown-up named God who kept tabs on her. And that He cared if she owned a bright sweatshirt or ate a decent lunch.

That feeling of love stayed with Emily from then on. It sustained her through the difficulties and trials of her young years. It carried Emily through the rebellion and angst of teenage strife. It helped her grow through the wonderful time of early marriage and motherhood.

That feeling was there the day the missionaries knocked on the door. It was even stronger during the lesson about Joseph Smith receiving a heavenly vision. Emily knew that if Heavenly Father could touch her heart when she was six-years old, he could surely speak with a fourteen-year-old boy.

Emily is older now. The hair that peeks out from under her gardening hat is more gray than blonde. The curves and winding turns in life have taken Emily down a better path than the one on which she started. The clothes in her closet run the gamut from bubblegum-pink to banana-yellow. Emily is always well-fed.

Looking back on her experiences, Emily says softly, “I can’t fail to acknowledge that life took a smoother turn because of a Heavenly Father who constantly interceded on my behalf. I owe my good fortune, happiness, and acceptance of the gospel to the One who loved me from the top of my head to the bottom of my worn out sneakers—the One who never let me forget He cared about a shy little girl with a hungry tummy … and an even hungrier heart.”

* Names have been changed.

This article submitted to YourLDSNeighborhood.com for possible publication in their newsletter. Please take a moment to visit YourLDSNeighborhood.com and browse the stores.

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Going Active

2008-06-03T09:26:00.000-07:00

Recently I was visiting with author, Candace Salima, about writing articles for the YourLDSNeighborhood.com newsletter, and since she accepted my offer to help with that, this site will be going active a little sooner than I anticipated.

A new article will be posted here by the end of the week, so check back in a few days to catch my "meandering thoughts."

Redirect to ByTheBecks

2008-05-16T08:50:00.000-07:00

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Hi! Thanks for stopping by. If you’re looking for links to my website or announcements about C. Lynn Beck’s upcoming books or short stories, please check out the links and announcements in the sidebar.

If you’re looking for my thoughts in a blog, you can find them at the links below. My serious thoughts are under the pen name of C. Lynn Beck. My humorous thoughts are under the pen name of C.L. Beck.

ByTheBecks: Write Up My Alley 1--Humorous thoughts about life, or the lack of it.

ByTheBecks: Write Up My Alley 2--Humorous thoughts about life in general, as well as ones focusing on the LDS (Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) culture.

LDS Writers' Blogck--Serious thoughts on writing.
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