Storybook

There are moments in life that give us breath and there are moments that take our breath away. There are days which bring joy and jubilation; there are days which bring heartache and sadness. There are glimpses of beauty and visions of nobility; there are pangs of resentment, bitterness, jealousy and anger. There are heights of spirituality and lows of selfishness. There are times we run toward opportunities and relationships and times we run away. There are paths which lead us into the light and detours which lead us astray. There are moments when our grip upon the iron rod is impenetrable and there are times when a strand from the flaxen cord makes our grasp a little slippery. Taken together, all of these experiences intertwine to compose the story of our lives, and although some stories may resemble others of similar circumstance and feat, no two stories are ever exactly the same.

Life stories are fascinating. Whether a person hails from a senator in Boston, a farmer in Peoria, or a fisherman in Seattle, I am interested in his story. I want to know where he comes from, the aspects of his family life, the traditions that have been carried throughout generations, the triumphs that separate him from the rest, the heartbreaks that have strengthened him, and the disappointments that have humbled him.

I volunteer for an indexing program under the direction of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. In the past year, I have indexed over 5100 census records. By translating the information from these documents into a searchable database, people from all corners of the world are able to seek out their history. They are able to find the paths their ancestors have traveled. They are able to know from whence they come and of the rich heritage that runs in their veins. Each individual is part of a divine legacy, and sometimes, it just feels good to know you have roots, even if they do seem to hinge upon the surface rather than deep within the ground. As I am transcribing each person's records, I enjoy taking a minute to ponder the life of that person, considering his spirit and personality, his station and circumstance in life, how he lived in the era of his birth, and what his friends and family were like.

When I consider the story of my own making, I have to be honest when I say the past few years have been a venture through the less-than-desirable vicissitudes of life. I tend to hide my pain behind my humor and wit, yet the dawn of a new decade is not leaving me much room to fade into the background. My disappointment in my life's circumstance has become the elephant in the room, and it has grown so large I often feel that it might suffocate me. I know I have to summon the courage to make some corrections in my course, and I have to be willing to endure a few more thorny pricks before my rose blooms into its full splendor.

My husband and I are an interesting couple. Aside from our comedic wit and impeccable timing, we have similar goals in life. Sometimes we differ and even bicker on the best route to achieve these goals, but ultimately, we know we are working for the common good of our family and for our own personal salvation. For instance, as striving, decent, LDS people, we have based our lives upon the tenants of Christian living. We believe in giving much where much has been given. We believe in education, self-reliance, obeying the law, and giving charity to all, regardless of whether we feel charity is warranted or not. When we see a need, we try our best to fill it, even when the backfire leaves us grimy with soot and ash. My sister facetiously makes reference to what should become the new Thaus and Erika motto, Charity Faileth. As sacrilegious as it may sound, it feels painfully true. Over the course of our almost 14 years together, my sweet husband has wholeheartedly transformed the words of ancient writ into the discourses of present day living. I need not comment on the ways we have sacrificed of that which we have been imparted, yet we have always offered service under the impression that while traversing roads not easily traveled, we would be strengthening our family and moving to greater heights of refinement and clarity. To our great surprise and humility, noble aspirations have indeed led us to greater heights of understanding, yet they have also led us into great snares.

As I reflect upon my deepest feelings on this subject, I struggle to find the appropriate words within the confines of my English language. In my mind, I can often see a paradisiacal ocean that is brilliant, sparkling, and the purest blue my eyes can behold. Brightly colored tropical fish flutter in sychronization, while vibrantly hued coral appear to dance in the soothing lull of the ocean's gentle sway. The rays from the sun warm the crystal clear waters and there is a peaceful and serene calm on the horizon. Conversely, there are other moments when I gaze upon this very same ocean and my eyes behold a scenario that is shocking, mystifying, and repulsive. The aqua blue waters have become murky and polluted, and someone has filled these waters with buckets and buckets of carp. The sun shrinks from my view as the clouds of darkness forebode tempests and torrents on the horizon. In the distance, there is no island to behold, no place of refuge. The raft floating among the tumultuous swells has been punctured, and an overwhelming sense of impending doom sets in as the last remaining bubbles of air dissipate into the heavy shroud of thick, congested atmosphere.

Unfortunately, I am stuck upon this raft in the middle of this ocean. My oars are broken and any remaining air in the raft is slowly leaking from the seams. I call out for help, but no echo is returned. I contemplate my options and realize they are few; I can abandon ship and swim until I find dry land, in the hopes that there is dry land, or I can wait upon my slowly sinking raft and wait for rescue. Neither option seems like much of a solution. I summon my courage to plunge into the dark, murky waters and then notice movement below. Did I mention the waters are infested with hungry, flotsam-eating sharks? Do I really want to be the chum on this day? Those sharks are looking at me, watching my every move. I don't suppose they will confuse me with driftwood.

What a melodramatic story, right? That is what my husband would say. I feel a little entitled to melodrama given my current mental state. I desperately want to exile negative influences from my life, yet honoring my obligations prevents me from doing so. I guess I should clarify. I am noting the differences between my covenants and my obligations. Covenants are a blessed endowment to me; I am honored and privileged to uphold them. On the flip side, my obligations have grown into an enormous and oppressive foe. I have tried kickboxing, running away from, and screaming obscenities at these foes, but they stare at me with their stupid smirks and their endless taunts of aggravated assault.

I heard once that even amidst the storms, peace can be found. Perhaps that is true but I may have accidentally squeezed the last remnants of peace to death while I was going for the jugular. Crap. I have really gotten myself into a pickle this time. And not the good kind of pickle. The tiring kind of pickle when you are running and running, and someone has moved the bases further and further away, and you know the ball is going to smack you in the keister at any time. What to do...what to do? On second thought, there is a weightier question looming overhead. Where am I heading? I thought I was heading to the land of serenity and rejuvenation...the place where everyone is beautiful, kind, and welcoming. The land that is laden with coconut-bearing palm trees and where umbrella-topped fruit drinks are served without end. So how did I get stuck out in this stinky old ocean with deteriorating one-eyed carp ogling me? I think there has been a serious misstep on the navigator's part.

Perhaps focusing more on my young captain-in-training and less on the dinghies that pop up from time to time will help me figure out the coordinates of my destination. Even though minor detours keep plunging me back into the stormy waters, I know my longitude and latitude can always be adjusted. Stay tuned, friends. My ship may be docked, or even floating aimlessly at sea, but the engine is still humming. My story is not over; I believe an interesting turn is about to take place.