The Secret in the Library ... by Cindy Beck

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

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

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

© 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"

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

(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

© 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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