Whole

The Equation

Our family reunion addictions workshop illuminated more than just my obsessions with schedules and peanut butter. It exposed the mirror through which I view myself: fragmented, patched with Elmer’s, representable by some complex equation:

x = (y-z)(a+b+c+d) - (f+g+h+i)

where

x = me

y = my net worth, in dollars and cents

z = female accomplishment since the dawn of time

a = hours spent housecleaning, scripture-reading, or weight-losing

b = cub scout badges sewn on sons’ uniforms

c = dollars earned in home business or saved in bargain shopping

d = cookies or casseroles delivered to needy neighbors

f = decibels my voice rises at any point on any given day

g = desserts consumed

h = to-do list items remaining un-checked after midnight

and i = should-do items that never even made the to-do list

Examining this equation, I suddenly understood why sometimes, I yell at my children—even when I’ve resolved not to. Why sometimes I slam doors, curse clocks, and cry buckets. Why I rarely feel praiseworthy and regularly slap my own figurative face.

The “x” is usually negative.

The Truth

But the equation’s a fraud.

That’s what I learned at the family reunion: My equation is counterfeit, but God’s is real, and His works.

My parents could have named me Independence. (Independence or Nancy Drew, but that’s another essay altogether.) I pommelled my way to earth without any kind of medical attendant, debuting so abruptly that my dad delivered me, relieved he’d paid attention in Prenatal 101. My grandmother claims by two I lisped my slogan: “I can do it by all myself.” Thirty years later, my husband will tell you, not much has changed, save—in the spirit of “they twain shall be one flesh” (and that, by the way, is its own essay, too)—”all myself” now includes him, my indisputably better half.

The problem with do-it-yourself determination is self-evident: you can’t. Not even multiplied by world’s best spouse. I know. I’ve tried. Note the equation. It doesn’t work. And, contrary to twenty years’ fallacious reasoning, I’m not the one exceptional misfit who comes out of the equation in red. It doesn’t work for me and it doesn’t work for anyone—not even Sister Incredible who seems to have it all together. Every “x” ends up negative when defined in those counterfeit terms.

The good news is my Heavenly Father never measures in my equation. He offers another:

x must = X

where x = me, his daughter

and X = Him, the Omniscient, Omnipotent God, the Eternal Father

Of course, just as my bundles-of-newborn-baby-chub-and-cuddles are infinitely precious but incontestably less capable than I, even so I am nothing compared to my Heavenly Father. Though I want

x = X,

reality is that

x < X

and will be forever and ever.

Always.

The Way

Knowing this would be the case, that Eternal Father prepared means whereby the problem might equate. His Son, Jesus Christ, in the meridian of time propelled His own way to earth much like I did: unattended save by parents, in a stable, bedded in straw. Unlike me, He claimed Deity as Father of His body and spirit. He exercised power over temptation. He fulfilled all righteousness. At His ministry’s end, He offered Himself as sacrifice for my shortcomings and sins. He gave Himself as ransom, the Infinite Atonement. He suffered, bled, died, and on the third day, rose again. For Him, and Only for Him, God’s equation works:

JC = X

He is the Son, God is the Father, but in every respect, they are one and the same.

To me, this means hope. Of myself, I am nothing; but with Him, I amount to more. At baptism, I took His name upon me. Determined to serve Him to the end, I promised to take His name, keep His commandments, and always remember Him. When I keep my baptismal covenant, He swallows me up in His perfection, in the enabling power of His Infinite Atonement. In algebraic terms, that looks like this:

x + JC > (y-z)(a+b+c+d) - (f+g+h+i)

Always.

What’s more, because

JC = X,

x + JC will one day = X, too.

Through His Infinite Atonement, I become One with Him. And when I am One with Him, He makes me whole.

Limitations Breed Creativity

A few months ago, I fell in love with a one-liner:

Limitations breed creativity.*

Which explains why my four oldest boys stalked down our alley that April morning, armed with e-cloths and water bucket. “We have a plan!” they exulted, conspiring on its details all the way to their destination. They had to wash two windows without being caught. It was the first of eight challenges in our PD Day “Amazing Race.”

The limitation-creativity relationship first struck me on a different PD day. At the time, inspiration was my only name for it. I knew our family needed some unifying diversion, or I’d spend the whole day policing computer turns. I couldn’t afford the energy, time, or money to sponsor anything extravagant; it had to be local, child-driven, free, and unquestionably fun. A Young Women activity came back to me and inspiration struck: From ten to two that Friday, my kids scrambled through the neighborhood on a service scavenger hunt, washing walls, walking dogs, and tidying yards to tally 335 collective family points by the end of the afternoon—exceeding by 35 our original family goal. Of course, my cleaning at our house racked-up points, too—and that was the beauty of it. We were all a team. Even my daily chores contributed. And when the neighbors wrote, “Thanks!” beside their initials on the boys’ scavenger lists or shook their hands the next Sunday at church, the boys and I both beamed. And it didn’t cost a cent or more than ten minutes’ effort to type a list.

I closed that day praying in gratitude for the gift of a thought and the delight that it bred. I knew Whom to credit; I’m not that creative, thrifty, or fun.

My opportunities to thank Him for similar blessings continue the longer we live under life’s inevitable limitations. Who’d have thought we could successfully serve leftovers at our monthly babysitting exchange? But limitations plus the Spirit transformed the leftovers into “Restaurant.” A few scribbled menus and our classiest Correlle later, my husband and I became servers to four giggling mademoiselles and five wiggly monsieurs who devoured our leftovers as though they were poshest delicacies. In April, when we needed another priceless team-builder? Limitations plus inspiration and voila, Amazing Race. Now it’s September, and limitations have bred my tutoring business. The Writing Mentor has enrolled students to exceed my loftiest expectations. I’ve turned the turbo back on in my own education, resurrecting the writer who has lain dormant the past dozen years. God’s hand guides every detail. He leads the way through the limits.

It takes me back to my oldest son’s infancy, when I visit-taught a frugal mother in her D.I.-furnished front room. “I’m so grateful for our financial limitations,” she confided. “We get to teach our children that true happiness isn’t purchased, that the riches of eternity only cost our obedience.”

Tonight, I thank God again for blessings from heaven’s windows: a budding business, aspiring students, six squirly sons, a hard-working husband, Amazing Race, amazing Grace, and a little limitation.

* See Bruce Feiler, The Secrets of Happy Families, Chapter Five: “The Buck Starts Here.”

Tribute to My Mentor

My own Writing Mentor retired this spring after twenty years’ service as BYU Writing Center’s director. Writing her tribute revealed her principles influencing my life’s every aspect.

June 13, 2013

Dear Penny,

When you selected me for the Writing Center internship Winter Semester 2001, I was a wordy, ambitious Junior with little idea the impact your one-credit class would have on my future. Big things happened to me in your Writing Center. It was at our weekly staff meeting that I watched the Twin Towers fall on 9/11. The man I would one day marry left me his first Valentine in my Writing Center mailbox. Following our marriage, we ate dinner every night in the Writing Center copy room. I ran out between tutorials to vomit through the morning sickness of my first pregnancy, which you perceived without announcement. Even little things that happened in the Writing Center have made a big difference to me. Your treatise on gift-giving (including President Eyring's, “Giving With Joy”) whispers to me every Christmas; your thoughts on worship (referencing Doctrine & Covenants 93) instruct me each time I consider my covenants.

Twelve years and six sons following my BYU graduation and Writing Center employment, I have forgotten most of my literary theory, Shakespeare quotes, and post-modern poets; but I still remember the principles we practiced and preached at the Writing Center. I have conducted tutorials with my sons and their school assignments, with my brother-in-law and his MBA admission essays, with a neighborhood single mother and her special ed degree. I've tutored my Sophomore brother in his advanced writing class and my correctional educator brother in his prison ed paper. I've tutored my husband in so many business projects, he now gives tutorials to his colleagues. Beyond tutoring others' writing and honing my own, I've found practical application for tutoring strategies in everything from housework to Young Women meetings. In honor of your Writing Center retirement, I offer you my Top Ten of those applications:

1. First Things First. At the Writing Center you  taught us to diagnose and deal with the most critical issues first. Now instead of sifting paper pragmatics, I ref fist fights, fix supper, teach Joy School, and advise Laurels. Yet the principle applies. In all my responsibilities, I am most successful when I begin, like a thesis, with the end in mind; devote my best efforts to developing discipleship; and let that which merely cumbers fall out of my life.

2. Process Over Product. My young women's 2013 New Beginnings was not a professional production; but their self-initiated Mission Impossible act, Musical Values, and Personal Progress Jeopardy—the events that made up their New Beginnings program—engaged every Beehive, Mia Maid, and Laurel in creative thinking, problem solving, and leadership preparation more valuable than any picture-perfect product.

3. Content Over Conventions. Dashing daily through my housekeeping from disaster to disaster has seemed to me the homemaker's equivalent of, "Can you just check my grammar?" What a waste to tidy content that would be better purged; what a shame to lose six childhoods concocting appearances instead of making memories.

4. Keep it to Twenty Minutes. I'm not much better at this standard than I was as a tutor; but I'm learning to set my timers, wrap things up, and leave everyone better for brevity. From presidency meetings to family councils, Primary presentations to disciplinary show-downs, "Exit sooner, not later" proves advantageous.

5. Acknowledge Alternatives. I learned, coaching arguments composed on paper, the value of first acknowledging another's point of view. Employing this elementary step has smoothed untold negotiations from parent parking to business splits to brother rivalry to spousal spats.

6. Transition—Build Bridges. Whether connecting paragraphs or people, I have relied on bridge-building. "Bridge whatever might divide," Gordon Neufeld cautions parents; but I learned bridging first at  the Writing Center.

7. Respond as a Reader. Hypersensitive to correction myself, coaching and correcting once intimidated me. Responding as a reader (or, in teaching or parenting capacities, as an invested but independent observer) has helped me offer suggestions objectively, without fearing offense.

8. Describe what works; "good" is a four-letter word. Descriptive praise remains my most-used tool whether I'm counselling with my Laurel class presidency, complimenting my husband's gardening, or encouraging my sons' obedience. Little did I know deleting one word from my lexicon would influence so many other future efforts.

9. Einstein bagels work for breakfast. Bagels and cream cheese. Need I say more?

10. Writing is never finished; it's only due. As for sacrament meeting talks, annual auxiliary histories, and family Christmas letters, even so with Personal Progress, marriage, parenting, and discipleship. There are no check-marks on eternity's to-do lists.

So congratulations on your new beginnings as a season for change comes due. Your Writing Center mission is no more finished than my attempt to thank you for it. I am certain your work will continue to influence my life and others’. As careful as you taught me to be with superlatives, I feel confident asserting this one: I learned more at the Writing Center to prepare me to "go forth to serve" than in any other venue of my BYU education. Thank you, Penny, for the memories, the lessons, the opportunities, the tools, and the encouragement to pursue lifelong learning and service. May the Lord's choicest blessings attend your life's next adventures as you continue to bless, brighten, and teach.

Most sincerely,

Sheralee Hardy

Writing Center Tutor 2001-2002

Trail to Conquer

I let my eleven-year-old camp overnight in the wilderness with his two young uncles and a teenage cousin. In the morning, they would tackle a 20 km trail up a mountain rising 800 m. My son’s best buddy, his eleven-year-old cousin, declined the invitation: too hard. My son runs eight-minute miles and thirteen-and-a-half-second hundred-meter dashes. He’s won triathlons and the town 5K; I didn’t doubt his ability. His wilderness savvy? Yes. His knife-handling safety? Most definitely. His spiritual filter to distinguish between virtuous, praiseworthy, and not-so-much-either? You betcha. But his physical ability to conquer the trail? Not at all.

As my husband and I drove him to his uncles’, he smiled, he stamped his feet, he just about quivered with anticipation.

“I hope I can do it,” he grinned beneath his ball cap.

“If we didn’t think you could do it, we wouldn’t send you,” I assured him.

Lately I’ve heard myself emoting variations on my eleven-year-old’s ambition. I’m cherishing my marriage. I’m raising six sons. I’m affecting to direct my local church group’s young women organization. I planted a vegetable garden, though I neglect more than tend it. I make superficial effort to maintain a semi-tidy house (but don’t even ask about the yard). Last month I launched my writing tutoring business, and now I hear my own tremored giggle, “I hope I can do it.” Cliché as the mountain metaphor is, this week, it worked for me. And this weekend, I felt my Father in Heaven assure me, “If I didn’t think you could do it, I wouldn’t send you.”

Gabriel promised Mary, “For with God nothing shall be impossible” (King James Bible, Luke 1.37). Paul promised the Philippians, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Phil. 4.13). I do not doubt those promises. My organization? Yes. My work ethic? Absolutely. My spiritual, physical, mental, emotional, financial capability? You’d better believe it. But my Savior’s capacity to enable my ultimate success? Not at all.

So roll out the trail mix. I’m tying my boots. I’ve got a trail to conquer.

From Foundation Up: The Writing Diagnostic Hierarchy

Reviewing writing is something akin to renovating a house: order matters. You don’t fuss over paint color or crown moldings on walls that you need to remove. You don’t frame a floor plan unless it's affixed to a solid foundation. Good writing and good writing review follow the principle, “First Things First”:

1. Content (Foundation)
1. Is the argument sound?
2. Is there enough evidence to support each assertion?
3. Are the ideas fresh, substantial, well-developed?
2. Structure (Framework)
1. Introduction: Does it catch attention (in the right direction) and conclude with a thesis?
2. Body: Does it begin with necessary background and a brief overview of the other side's point of view, followed by arguments given in ascending order (most persuasive last)?
3. Conclusion: Does it begin with a thesis-restate, recap ideas, and allude to appropriate future action?
3. Thesis (Blueprint)
1. Does it state the thrust of the argument?
2. Does it provide an accurate road-map for the paper (listing arguments in the order they appear in the paper)?
3. Is it the final sentence of the introduction?
4. Paragraphs (Building Materials)
1. Does each paragraph focus on one central idea?
2. Does each paragraph begin with a transition (bridging the previous paragraph & providing a topic sentence, or mini-thesis, for the current paragraph)?
3. Does each paragraph include sufficient support for the paragraph’s assertion?
4. Does each paragraph conclude?
5. Clarity (Functionality)
1. Does the word choice contribute to and never detract from communicating content?
2. Do the sentences vary in length and structure, creating sentence fluency?
6. Conventions (Cosmetics)
1. Is the grammar, usage, and punctuation polished and appropriate?
2. Is the formatting correct for the chosen writing style?

Whether she is crafting a skyscraper or a summer cottage, the builder follows the same basic process. Likewise, poems and political speeches, editorials and encyclopedias, best emerge from review first of foundation and framework. Build a sound structure first. You can polish and paint after the roof and the walls stand secure.