Update 9/10/08: It was announced today that Elizabeth Smart would appear on the Oprah show to talk about her kidnapping experience.

Originally posted on 6/12/08: I was at the grocery store awhile ago, and the current People magazine caught my eye. On the cover was a photo of Elizabeth Smart I don’t buy magazines off the stand very often, but I bought that magazine. Later, as I read the story, I was struck first by how mature and poised she is, and then by how beautiful she is.

Some quotes from Elizabeth Smart:

“I always knew that no matter what, I’d still be part of my family. They could change my name, change the way I look, starve me to death. But they couldn’t change that I am Ed and Lois Smart’s daughter. That was a very powerful thing to me.”

“It’s just not worth holding on to that kind of hate. It can ruin your life. Nine months of my life had been taken from me, and I wasn’t going to give them any more of my time.”

“Before, I was just your average Mormon girl. And since everything I’ve gone through, there’s been a lot of learning and growing. I’ve learned to listen and not jump to conclusions. I’m not sorry this happened to me anymore, because it made me grow up.”

“It is important to remember that just because something bad happens to you, it doesn’t mean you are bad. You are still entitled to every possible happiness in life.”

What impressed me most about Elizabeth Smart is that she has refused to be a “victim.” The first night she was home after her abduction, she insisted on sleeping in her own bed - the bed from which she had been abducted nine months earlier. She proved to others - and herself - that she would still be there in the morning. Many people would let that horrific experience scar them for life. They might move to get away from the bad memories and associations. Instead, Elizabeth has learned from it and resolved to make her life better. She has taken charge of her own life and has refused to let that experience define who she is. She is a brave and impressive young woman.

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I was watching CNN awhile ago, and they were reporting about Tim Russert’s funeral earlier today. Anderson Cooper mentioned that as the mourners left the service the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” was playing - and then when they walked out, there was a rainbow. The Russert Rainbow! RT and I looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Wow!”

The video they showed of the Russert Rainbow was beautiful - parts of the rainbow were double. I’ve searched for a story or photos of the rainbow, but I haven’t been able to find it. A video of Judy Garland singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” from The Wizard of Oz is below.

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Robin Roberts is such a good news personality. She brings a lot of heart to whatever she reports. Last summer, she was diagnosed with cancer. She had to undergo chemotherapy which resulted in the typical chemo-related hair loss. Declaring that she didn’t want to make her illness a focus of the ABC’s Good Morning, America that she co-anchors, she started wearing a wig. Chemotherapy ended awhile back, and now that her hair has started growing out, she decided today to dump the wig and go au naturale.

I was watching Good Morning, America this morning and saw Robin Roberts. Apparently, not long after I left for work, she was talking to Diane Sawyer and declared that it was time to dump the wig. She swept the wig off her head and revealed her nearly bald head. You can watch the video here. Very touching and inspiring. She has a dignity and grace about her that makes her almost-bald head a beautiful thing.

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From the first time I read Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl many years ago, it has been one of my favorite books.  Viktor Frankl spent three horrifying years at Auschwitz and other Nazi prisons during World War II.  When he gained his freedom, he learned that almost his entire family had been killed.  Man’s Search for Meaning is his description of his experiences and his beliefs about the higher meaning in life.  A really amazing book with so much to make you think.

There is so much basic human truth in it - in addition to being such an incredible story of survival and triumph over the worst that mankind can throw at a person.  Here’s a rather long quote, but one that I feel is important:

“The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportuntiy - even under the most difficult circumstances - to add a deeper meaning to his life.  It may remain brave, dignified and unselfish.  Or in the bitter fight for self-preservation he may forget his human dignity and become no more than an animal.  Here lies the chance for a man either to make use of or to forego the opportunities of attaining the moral values that a difficult situation may afford him.  And this decides whether he is worthy of his sufferings or not.”

That just reminds me of John McCain and how he handled being a POW during the Viet Nam war.

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This is one of RT’s favorite poems. He just asked me to look it up on the internet - within seconds I had it and read it aloud to him. I wanted to include it here, too.

The Bridge Builder

An old man, going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.

“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim, near,
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again will pass this way;
You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?”

The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.”

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I was at the bookstore the other day looking for a couple books that I thought RT would like for Christmas. One of the books I selected was 90 Minutes in Heaven. Since RT was already reading another book, I started reading it Christmas evening, took it with me to Georgia yesterday - and finished it this morning. Fascinating book.

In the true story, the man, Don Piper, was involved in a horrific wreck - and was declared dead at the scene. He was checked immediately and declared dead - then checked again later - still dead.  So they covered him and his car (he was trapped inside and would require the jaws of life to be extracted) with a tarp and concentrated on the accident victims who were alive - along with getting the wreckage cleared away in order for traffic to resume.  They figured the dead man could wait awhile.   But then a minister happened upon the accident scene and felt compelled to pray for the man in the badly mangled car.  The medics and police told him repeatedly that the man was dead, but he still felt strongly that he was supposed to pray for the man.  He climbed into the car and prayed for Don - and eventually started singing a hymn to him - and suddenly the dead man, Don,  started singing along with him.  He was alive - after having been twice declared dead. 

In the first of the book, Don describes the ninety minutes he spent from when the accident happened and he was declared dead to when he suddenly became alive again and started singing with the minister.  His injuries were horrible and he should have died - and his subsequent recuperation was long and horrible - and he will never walk normally again - and many years later he still lives in constant pain from his injuries.  However, for those ninety minutes, he was in heaven, and he describes his experience in detail.  The thing that impressed me most was his description of the music in heaven - how beautiful it was - how it was many different songs that were distinct but also blended in together and was more magnificent that anything he had ever heard before or since.

It brought back memories of the story my  mother told me about when her father died.  My mother was just a young girl of nine years when her father died, and her mother was inconsolable at the loss of the man she adored.  She cried and was unable to sleep for days.  She told my mother that finally one night he appeared to her and told her that everything was going to be all right - that she needed to go to sleep and rest - and then he sang her a song - the most beautiful song she had ever heard.  And she was comforted and she fell asleep for the first time since his death.  When she woke up, although she was comforted, she couldn’t remember the song - only that it was the most indescribably beautiful song she had ever heard.Indescribably beautiful music.  Is that what fills heaven?  Fascinating line of thought…

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Many things I’m thankful for this week:
(1) Sunshine’s love of apples: “I LIKE sour apples” - a phrase we’ll be repeating for years to come. (You had to be there! )
(2) Sweet Stuff’s sweet nature - listening to her talk to her mommy (my little girl!) on the phone
(3) RT’s frequent affirmation of his love for me
(4) Our church and the friends we have there, and the beautiful music each week
(5) That RT and I got most of the blinds put up last night - and mostly that the blinds fit (yea! I measured well!)
(6) The entire Christmas season - there’s nothing about Christmas that doesn’t make me happy
(7) Our driveway - It sounds strange, but everytime I drive on our driveway, I think of how beautiful the scenery is

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A few months ago, I mentioned at church that I thought it would be nice if we sent some boxes of gifts for our soldiers serving in Iraq.  I was amazed at how excited and supportive everyone was.  I put a box for donations in the church, and it was filled the next week.  I packed up the first shipment by myself - 7 boxes!  However, it took me a long time to get all the donations organized on my dining room table.  I told RT that I was going to enlist some help the next time.

So in September we made our second shipment.  I announced in church that we’d meet in the fellowship hall one evening that week and that anyone who wanted to help was welcome to be there.  We had a good crowd and had the boxes packed, the packing slips and customs forms completed in about an hour.  That time there were 15 boxes full of stuff to ship.  We only had two names/addresses of soldiers, but both of those soldiers had agreed to distribute the boxes to individual soldiers in their units.

Last night was our third time to meet.  The response has been overwhelming.  We go to an extremely small Methodist church, but we had fifteen people meet to put the packages together.  Several parents brought their young children.  I was thrilled at how excited the children were to help pack boxes for our soldiers.  Even little 2-year old Meredith drew a picture to include in one of the boxes.  Eight-year old Leland wrote a note on a Christmas card that I wish I had copied.  It brought tears to my eyes to read the sentiments of a young child expressing love and appreciation for our soldiers.

We had pizza to eat as we worked, and we ended up with twenty-eight boxes to ship to Iraq today. 

Let me relate a conversation I had on my way to the church last night.  I stopped at Walgreen’s to pick up some Ziplock bags for the smaller items in the boxes.  I saw that they had some hand and feet warmers on sale - so I bought a lot of those, too.  I wanted to make sure we could put a handwarmer in each box.  The cashier looked at my purchases and said, “You must be going camping . . . right?”

“No,” I replied, “Our church is putting together boxes of gifts to send to our soldiers in Iraq tonight.  These are for them.”

Another customer who was in line behind me, asked, “Do you have someone over there?”

I answered, “My nephew is in Baghdad, but we got an email this morning that today is his last day.  He leaves for Germany tonight.”

“That’s wonderful.  My son-in-law is over there.  This is his fourth tour.  I keep telling him to quit, but he won’t do it.”

Another customer walked past us, then turned and, with tears in her eyes,  said, “God bless them both.”

Amen.

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RT and I were watching Larry King interview “Dog” the Bounty Hunter on TV last night, and Dog has his minister/spiritual advisor there with him.  At one point in the interview the minister said that it was all about “Making your tests into testimony and your messes into messages.”

Dog seemed sad.  His own son sold him out for ten thousand dollars.  Or was it fifteen thousand.  Either way, it was a lousy thing for his son to do.

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This song was sung at the funeral of our friend, Horace, this past Sunday.  I love this song - despite the fact that everytime I see anything about a “cocoon”  becoming a butterfly, I have to note that a cocoon becomes a moth - it’s a chrysalis that becomes a butterfly .  Just read the words - so packed with power and meaning:

Hymn of Promise

In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree
In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free
In the cold and snow of winter there’s a spring that waits to be,
unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

There’s a song in every silence, seeking word and melody;
there’s a dawn in every darkness, bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future; what it holds, a mystery,
unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning; in our time, infinity;
in our doubt there is believing; in our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection; at the last, a victory,
unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

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