Intro through Chapter 3

The Guardian Angel

By LoLyn


All rights reserved; For information about therapy or NLP or information regarding copies please contact:
Growing Together Counseling and Education
801 224 3001



http://www.GrowingTogetherCounseling.com

growingtogethercounseling@comcast.net



© 1999

Chapter 1: Monuments to Eternity


If I were a sculptor, and I wanted to capture

the beauty of an idea to last eternally

I would be most careful in selecting the media I would use.


My children have some silly putty that is very soft and pliable.

It is easy to mold and erase and change,

but soon after it is set aside it returns to a smooth blob,

none of the impressions made on it remain for very long.

It is pliable and soft, offers little resistance to the artist,

neither does it offer any lasting value as a piece of art.

The sand stone grave markers in the cemeteries stand

year after year in the wind and rain,

and the names and etchings are all but gone.

Yet there in the same places stand monuments of granite and marble

on which the imprints put there with great effort

against much resistance still shine brightly and

reflect the artistic abilities of the original artist.

We are artists building monuments for eternity.

If we build our lives against little or no resistance,

we will make an imprint on eternity that will soon melt away and be unreadable.

But if we put the effort out against marble or granite for our monument

it will be a beautiful and lasting contribution to our eternal family circle.

To chip away at granite takes great strength and perseverance;

one must take very small chips and be willing for the statue

to look unfinished for a very long time.

Keeping in mind the words of one famous sculpture,

"it is not what I take away but that which remains

that makes the statue beautiful.

Onlookers in our lives will stand back and say,

'"See I am finished with my clay statue,

it is shiny and it is beautiful.

Your rock has not taken any shape.

In fact I can see no changes in it since I last saw it.

It is still rough and grey," and that may tempt us

to trade the granite for soft clay, or to give up entirely,

because of the contrast we seem to see

between our own work and our neighbors' visible efforts.

But you must look at that granite rock and the very small chips

you have taken, see in it the image that it holds for you

and continue to take more small chips with your chisel,

always letting the Lord guide your hand,

and be content to know that you and God can see the marks you have made.

Let your critics enjoy their clay statues while they last.

It isn't a contest between your granite sculpture and

your neighbor's statue of clay; it is only a matter of

continuing to make an effort against the very resistant granite,

and when you have done all you can, and the time comes to face our Lord,

he will take the chisel from your hand

and finish the sculpture in the form you and he envisioned before the world began.


Assignment to myself


Bind oh my heart,
the tempter's power.
No place in my life may he share.
See that I fall not again to sin,
and conquer with spirit my flesh.
Bind evermore the tempter's snares
That weaken my strength and destroy
Make my heart pure from sin.
My personal millennium.






IDENTITY

Who are you?
And
What makes you so good?
You're nothing but a
blue rose
wilting
in the
desert
sun
dying
for lack
of water.









a leaf
early morning sun
lighted a small leaf
bursting the newly pressed road
of gravel and black tar
to make its way
to light and life.
"Awake oh, my soul"
Are you not stronger
than a leaf?




Chapter 2: MY MIRICLES a letter from Lynda

January 1, 1988 I became aware that I was in intensive care in LDS hospital. From what I heard I had been there for over a week and was likely to be there longer. As I investigated my prospects from the position I was in I was tied to life support systems from about every part of my body. I could not talk because of a respirator hose down my throat into my lungs, so my communications had to be written notes or hand signals from flat on my back.
In the next week I learned that I had died twice according to the monitors, and that the doctors had not expected me to live so my family had been called in. The presence of my children made the difference in my life. Though I did not remember them being there, it was at that moment that I made the decision to live for them.
I remember bits of conversations and priesthood blessings pleading with me to live, to share my talents, to teach and write and share wisdom. I did not understand the intensity of it all, until I learned that I was not expected to live, if I did live it would probably be in a convalescent home, or at least in a wheel chair, and that I would not have much to offer as a mother and teacher.
The day came when I demanded that the respirator hose be taken out. The doctor prescribed a trial of 30 minutes at a time throughout the day with the respirator turned off, with the monitors checking to see if I was processing oxygen. I was determined to pass those tests, and I did.
They took out the tube, and each day other tubes were removed. But I could not talk. I could only whisper. I was told it would take time to get my voice back as the larynx had to heal. Gradually some vibrations came to my voice, but


I still do not have full control of range or volume. Finally I was told by my doctor that it might not get any better, probably not.
The first step I took from the bed to the chair I crumpled. Each day the doctors told me to take one or two steps, so I would take three or four with assistance. They said walk to the door and back at least once so I did a few times that day with help, and within the week I walked around the hall with my oxygen tank and the aid of a nurse; I was totally exhausted by the effort.
I left the hospital Jan 13 without the assistance of oxygen.
Since the day I was told I was going to live for a short while longer I decided to live it fully. I could have collapsed into a chair and lived with my mother as a cripple, but I have instead lead life to my fullest capabilities. My children live with their father, and I take them as often as I am able, giving them and sharing all I can with them against the day that I could no longer be a part of their lives. I guess I wanted them to at least have memories of a mother who loved them dearly.
January 13, 1989, I was released from the hospital, and two weeks later drove myself to the Navajo reservation to fill my position as Special Ed. Coordinator at Many Farms Arizona. This was a job prepared by the Lord to fit my needs. They specifically did not want me to interfere with the Indian aids who had been running the program, but they did need a certified body in the room to qualify for funding. I was not under pressure to teach, but the teaching I did do had to be done one on one, very close to the students as I still had to whisper. Mostly I did paper work and reports and prepared skills review packets, organized the parent interviews and the staffing meetings for IEP's and acted as a low key coordinator between the classrooms.
When I got to my school in January I walked with a cane; I could not easily climb the three stairs to my room. I was tempted to get a wheel chair, but I


decided I had to face the challenge and learn to walk so I pushed myself against tremendous weakness of muscles and overwhelming pain that 12mg Motrin three times daily did little to ease.
By February I was walking the two blocks to my school from my apartment, by April I was walking to the post office in town about l l/2 miles, resting, and walking home. I tried an aerobics class, but I realized it was too much. I recognized my limitations, but I pushed to the limit, against agonizing pain.
I passed the summer in Utah with my children, living out a basement apartment near my family. Using the stairs several times a day, applying for teaching jobs in Arizona. The answer to my prayers for a job I could handle was always the same, "You will grow to meet your needs; your talents will be restored as they are needed if you continue to work to cultivate them."
I was horrified to realize as I began my job at Many Farms, that I could not comprehend what I was reading as I scanned "Psychology today" for an article listed on the cover. I tried the Ensign and it was the same. I started reading to fill the time at school,I read the third and fourth grade novels in the classroom library, and as I read at school and in the evenings, my comprehension increased and was restored to the level that I got A's in two graduate classes in research and behavior management the next summer at NAU.
In mid July of 1989, I interviewed with and was hired to tutor reading at Taylor, Arizona, to design a program that would fit the schools needs to bring students up to or nearer to grade level in reading. My voice was still weak and I had a job that I did not need a classroom voice for. It was a true miracle and I snatched it up. I studied elementary teaching materials and catalogues for information and supplies to help me make the program. I concentrated on the needs of the children and on their needs for self esteem and motivation; I used

every skill I had as I worked with the children in my care. And miracles happened. Changes in attitudes brought about successes in reading, and we celebrated life together in the spring.
I wanted so badly to have my voice return; I depended on the promises that my talents would be restored as I needed them. I volunteered one day in Relief Society to lead the singing, then remembered I could not sing. I stood up to lead and had no voice above a whisper so I just mouthed the words and led with my hand. I was asked several times after that to substitute and some days I could sing a note or two of the tenor part. The Sunday School asked me to do the opening exercises, so I lead the Sunday School congregation each Sunday. More and more notes are coming within my range, and some days I can sing the entire alto or tenor part, some days I have to switch back and forth. But I get up there and I sing and I give the pep talk that goes with it. I am rising to the challenge, and my voice is returning.
I have finally after nearly two years tapered off the prescription steroids that I was put on in the hospital. The doses were extremely high and the withdrawal symptoms each time I tapered the dosage were painfully uncomfortable, but the side effects of the drug were so devastating that the withdrawal was an absolute necessity. I was told my bloated deformed body would possibly never regain its normal look and weight, so I thank the Lord continuously that forty pounds and a large part of the swelling is gone, that my muscles work, even if they cramp up and that I am able to live a pretty normal healthy life, work a full day on my feet, and still have some strength left at the end of each day. I may not look great to other people, but to me and the Lord, I look terrific.
I've learned to value life for living. In December 1989, l year after my near death experience, I was declared free of the disease for which I was being



treated; I was told my condition would not deteriorate, nor would my life be shortened by the disease that still lingered. I would live with pain that cannot

be relieved, but I would live. So I had to start living to live, rather than preparing to die.
It took several months to rise to the challenge of looking forward to life and preparing for that life. I had to change my way of thinking, my way of spending, my way of dealing with people.
This year I teach in classrooms part of the day, and most days my voice is strong enough to talk to the whole class. When it is not I have them sit in a close group for our discussions, and it works for us.
I have new challenges this year. I challenged myself to fill every minute of my day with teaching, so my schedule is a tight one. I have to organize to have the materials I need with me as I change classes quikly and I cannot just pull out materials from the shelf to fill in if my plans don't cover the time.
I have documentation to organize and complete on each child I work with or test, and individual lesson plans to file. Can this be more challenging or painful than walking out of the hospital? I will rise to the challenge. Is anything too great for the Lord?"
Miraculously, Lynda