Wherefore They are No More Twain

Recently my youngest daughter, Mary, came home from Texas, where she lives and works, so that we could prepare for her wedding next month, here in Utah. For the three and half days she was here we were busy every minute: Getting the dress altered, visiting the venue, arranging food. We spent most of Tuesday scouring the shops for the perfect wedding shoes, only to settle for. . . almost perfect. We had three appointments with the dressmaker altering her dress. Sometimes as we drove around and scurried in and out of stores, we would look at each other and say, “Really? All of this work for one day? For a few hours?”

But I wouldn’t trade it. These days of planning and preparing were a pure joy: A chance to be with my daughter, to laugh and giggle, to share memories of my wedding, my early married years, to talk about her plans for the future.

And now Mary has gone back to Texas, I’m thinking about not just wedding preparations, but marriage preparations. As in, can you prepare?

Mary and Krystian are as prepared as any couple can be. They have been friends for four years, been a couple for two. In the months they were deciding about marriage, they spent an evening each week discussing aspects of married life: one week it was finances, the next relatives, then chores, then jobs. They know each other well. In the “newlywed” bridal shower games, they get almost every answer right.

They have a strong foundation. But still I find myself wanting to advise them, to help them. I decided to write this post about marriage, but I’ve been through draft after draft and nothing seems right. How do you confine the experience of marriage in 800 words? Or 10,000? Or any length or kind of writing?

There’s the joy of waking up every day next to your best friend, the person who loves you best of all. The wonder of watching together a tiny baby so perfect and wonderful that you don’t want to look away for fear of missing a tiny grimace or yawn. The fun of painting walls and planting flowers and buying furniture together and knowing it couldn’t have been done without the shared talents of you both. There’s those times when all your little kids pile on the bed and you laugh and tickle and giggle.

 

But marriage is life and life is unpredictable and what happens when things get tough? What will happen that inevitable time when she or he will do something and he and she will yell or cry? What will happen when jobs don’t go as planned? What will happen if one of them or one of their children gets terribly sick? What will happen if a child chooses poorly and hurts them?

Do they understand that marriage is not just the two of them, it’s his family and hers, it’s their children and their children’s children.

It is leaving father and mother and becoming one. It is starting a new family kingdom that is linked to so many others in a chain going back and forward eternally. It is forevermore thinking not me but we.

It is deciding to “Come what may and love it,” as Joseph B. Wirthlin advised (Ensign, November 2008). Or, more appropriately for marriage: Come what may and love him. And them.

I like the way the Anglican vows specify the possibilities: for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. Whatever happens, that is the bottom line--to love and to cherish, no matter what.

Then someday forty years have passed and you say “I saw whatsisname at Costco today, you know, the one with the hair” and he knows just who you mean.

I think these two do get it. I have heard them make decisions, the way they listen to each other and ask good questions, the way they consider the other person’s needs as well as their own.  They are going to be OK. They will love and cherish through all the joys and sorrows. They will cleave together and be one.

For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh. Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. (Matthew 19:5-6)

Dancing and the Music of the Gospel

I was a dancer in college. When we were learning a new dance, the choreographer or teacher would start by teaching us the steps, counting out the rhythm. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. She or he would demonstrate, and we would follow, stumbling over our feet, trying to get the sequence straight. First we would just “mark” the sequence, just move through the steps at half effort, not really jumping or gliding. Once we got the sequence in our mind (or in our feet, really), we would start doing the steps “full out,” jumping, twirling, focusing on the technique required of each step. Jete, tendu, pas de chat, battement.

But when we quit counting and added the music-- that is when we started to dance. In the music we could hear how the steps came together in phrases, the joy or the longing or the sweetness of the dance. As we continued to dance, the individual steps ceased to matter so much—what mattered was embodying the spirit of the music. We would still be corrected, of course, when we didn’t master the steps as the director wanted, and sometimes we needed to take a phrase and work it through, counting out the rhythm, making sure we were unified and on the beat and kicking to the same level.

But then, finally, the performance. I would stand in the wings of the stage, just behind one of the big black side curtains, listening to the music, waiting for my cue. At that moment, I wasn’t thinking of the individual steps. I would think of the music, the message of the music and the dance, and that now I could share that message with others. I would lift my chest and spread my arms and dance out to share the love I felt in the music.

This all came back to me as I read again Elder Wilford W. Andersen’s talk, “The Music of the Gospel” . He explains, “The dance steps of the gospel are the things we do; the music of the gospel is the joyful spiritual feeling that comes from the Holy Ghost.”

Just like learning the ballet, first we may need to do the steps without the music. We may come to church, do our visiting teaching, even read scriptures because we know we should or because we feel compelled by others. But then the music of the spirit will be heard. Maybe in a Sunday School class, or as you teach the Sunbeams, or when you take a casserole to a new mom, or as you take the Sacrament or especially as you pray or study the scriptures, in that moment what you are doing will make sense. You will see it as part of a larger, more meaningful whole. 

And eventually, as you continue to pray and study and serve, you will come to see that it is all part of one joyous symphony, and you will not be so worried about each step, because the steps will come naturally. You will study and pray and serve because that is what the music leads you to do, and you will only want to dance along to that glorious music.

“Even when performed well, the music will not solve all of our problems. There will still be crescendos and decrescendos in our lives, staccatos and legatos. Such is the nature of life on planet earth. But when we add music to the dance steps, the sometimes complicated rhythms of marriage and family life tend to move toward a harmonious balance” (Wilford W. Andersen, “The Music of the Gospel,” April LDS Conference, 2015).

Singing in the Ward Choir

I’ve been singing in our LDS congregation (or "ward") choir for, I don’t know, over 30 years. When we moved to this neighborhood with two tiny little girls and a baby soon to arrive, we started going to choir practice. When the kids were little, Paul and I would take turns attending rehearsals. When they got older we would leave them in the care of the oldest child while we practiced. Neither Paul nor I are great musicians, but we go because we enjoy making music, and we enjoy being with friends while we do it. Over all these years--as I have practiced a harmony line over and over, or listened while the bass line practiced, or stood to sing the song through—I have often thought about the parallels between singing in the ward choir and serving in the Lord’s church.

First of all, a ward choir has no audition. Anyone is welcome—in fact anyone who shows up to practice is welcomed ecstatically. We are so glad for any warm body who is willing to join us. Our choir size has fluctuated over the years from as big as 20 to (more often) as small as 8. We are thrilled to have another member. We will take you as you are and help you to be better, but there will be no criticism. The director might gesture toward the sopranos as a whole and chirpily suggest, “Let’s tune up!” Someone in your section might say, “I think we tenors need to go over the harmony in measure 32.” But you won’t be singled out and shamed. All are welcomed and all have an opportunity to improve. That is what church is for. Everyone can come; everyone can learn.

Also, everyone is different. In our choir we have Kim and Maria, who are high, pure sopranos; Glenn who is a profoundly deep bass; and every other vocal range in between. This is good. The music is written for this kind of variation, just as the Lord created us all to be different and designed His church to take advantage of that variation. Some are great teachers, some are great at organizing, some are super with children, some are good speakers. Each of us has something different to contribute and thank goodness for that. Nobody can sing all the parts of a four-part harmony—certainly not at the same time! And we don’t need to feel that we should be able to do everything as well as the next person. I never feel bad that I can’t hit that low G like Brother Glenn. Likewise, I don’t need to feel bad that I’m not very good at thinking of crafts for Relief Society (the women's organization). We need each person with each different talent.

But here’s the deal. Though all our voices are very different, being a choir means we need to work together to sound like one “voice.” Our director is always saying, “Listen to each other.”  She has us practice saying our vowels the same way, practice scales so we hit the same notes on the same sound, and she keeps saying “listen.” When I was a teenager singing with my mom in our ward choir, I had a different idea. I thought, “I want everyone to hear my pretty voice.” I would sing out over my neighbors so I would stand out. That is not the way to have a successful choir. The woman who stands by me in our ward choir has a beautiful solo soprano voice. The director often reminds her to listen to the other sopranos and match her tone to them. As a whole, we have a goal to sound unified and to present the music in a way that sounds lovely. As we serve in our wards, we also need to keep our minds and hearts on the overall goal, that of helping each other to grow closer to God. We need to listen to one another, we need to help each other. We need to beware of pride.

In the choir we are helped in this goal by our good choir director. She listens to all of us and each of us. She has studied the music carefully. She has prepared herself to know how to help us become better. She helps us know which passages we need to practice more carefully. She has us practice exercises that will prepare us to sing more beautifully. She will talk to us about the meaning of the song and how the composition of the music reinforces the message. And when we sing, she uses her arms, her fingers, her face, her whole body to help us interpret the meaning of the song, singing softer or louder, tenderly or powerfully. But sometimes we don’t watch her; we bury our heads in our music following each written note, trying to figure this out on our own, rather than looking up to her to get the spirit of the music.

Sometimes I think we have the same problem in the Lord’s church. He is there to lead us through our “music.” He will help us know what we need more practice with. He will provide us with exercises to learn better. He will help us to work together to bring about His purposes. He will show us the spirit of what we are doing, the meaning behind each individual note, the purpose of all our individual actions. But in order to benefit from His direction, we need to look up, we need to connect with him. We need to listen to His guidance.

About once a month our ward choir performs in church. Often we assemble in the choir seats feeling unprepared. We are a small choir of volunteers with few really good singers. We practice once a week, and not everyone can come to every practice. Sometimes we wonder why we are even trying.

But somehow, every time we perform in Sacrament Meeting, we sound better than we did in practice. Somehow the spirit of the song, praising God, comes through. I have come to believe that, as we have tried so hard to prepare, when it comes to performance time, the singing of our little choir is augmented by heavenly voices. We somehow accomplish, together, in our good purpose, what we could not do alone.

In just the same way, I have found that as we try to serve the Lord, as we listen to others, as we humbly accept both our failings and our abilities, and, especially, as we ask for and heed divine help, we are able to do whatever is necessary to build the Kingdom. The angels are there to help.  

The Drama Llama and 3rd Grade

The Drama Llama came to my granddaughter’s 3^rd grade playground last week. Her tight group of friends suddenly told her she couldn’t play with them anymore.

This is the little girl whose motto has been “Always believe they want to play with you!” She’s the girl who can make friends after five minutes in the hotel pool on vacation.  She skips off to school every day, expecting nothing but good things.

These are the friends she had giggled and laughed with. At recess they slid down snowy playground hills in their snow pants.  They skated at the roller rink, laughing uproariously.

When the leader of her group told her, “We don’t want to play with that girl,” my granddaughter asked, “But what if she’s fun to play with?”

She went on playing with these girls.  They  sang pop songs together on Karaoke and planned on being stars. They started a classroom craze of making little creatures—called Bobs-- from pompoms. The question on everyone’s lips was, “How many Bobs do you have?”

   

Then, suddenly the Drama Llama arrived; my granddaughter was informed she could no longer play with the group. They even sent her a nasty note, saying she was a bad singer—which is not only untrue, but probably the cruelest thing they could say.

As a grandma, I wanted to hurt those mean girls. I had sleepless nights. I tried to think how to shield my sweet little granddaughter from such cruelty.

I’ve seen the Drama Llama before. I’ve seen my teenage daughters hurt by friends they had once trusted and whom they had believed would be friends forever. As a child, I had my own encounters with the Drama Llama. I remember crying silently in the dark backseat of some mother’s car, being driven home after ice skating lessons, where my friends had made fun of my skating and refused to skate with me. I remember wanting to stay inside at recess because I didn’t think anyone would want to play with me. I remember sitting on the curb playing jacks by myself and being lonely.

But the Drama Llama also visits older women. I know a woman in her 70s who doesn’t like to go to church dinners because she doesn’t think anyone would want to sit with her. As a middle aged woman, I was crushed when my best friend remarried and told me she didn’t have time to spend with me.

I have heard of a girls’ camp with an extra tent: anyone who had trouble getting along with the other girls could go to the tent. They called it the Drama Tent.

So, is the drama inevitable? How do we banish the Drama Llama?

The 2002 publication of Rosalind Wiseman’s book Queen Bees and Wannabes: Helping Your DaughterSurvive Cliques, Gossip, Boyfriends and Other Realities of Adolescence sparked widespread conversation about Mean Girls Syndrome. The hilarious and disturbing movie Mean Girls, written by Tina Fey, furthered the awareness and discussion.

But this mean girl behavior describes adolescents and older, right? A 2010 New York Times article reveals otherwise: “While the calculated round of cliquishness and exclusion used to set in over fifth-grade sleepover parties, warfare increasingly permeates the early elementary years” ("The Playground Gets Even Tougher," Pamela Paul, October 8, 2010, New York Times). Paul’s article suggests that society is to blame, that in the media and perhaps in their homes, kids see that appearance is all that matters, and it is funny to make fun of others.

What can be done? Maybe this is just life, and we need to teach our daughters and granddaughters to simply toughen up. Maybe my sweet granddaughter just needs to learn to give as good as she gets and be mean back. Maybe she should be a Drama Llama too.

But I like this research. In a 2012 longitudinal study, 9-11-year olds were asked to perform three acts of kindness per week. (A control group was instructed to visit three places per week.) The results showed the group practicing kindness were not only happier than the control group, but they were also more popular with their peers. They were more well-liked, they were less vulnerable to bullies like the Queen Bees (“KindnessCounts: Prompting Prosocial Behavior in Preadolescents Boosts Peer Acceptanceand Well-Being,”) Perhaps the best way to banish the Drama Llama is through kindness.

But this does not mean that our daughters need to appease the Queen Bees who are ostracizing them. Jesus taught us to love our enemies, and I’m sure he loved the Pharisees and the Sadducees who tried to thwart his teaching and eventually killed him. But, in his love, he clearly pointed out their faults: he told them they were whited sepulchers, he cleared the money changers. We need to teach our daughters to be kind, not to give in to unkindness. And we ourselves need to think more about how to help others than about how others treat us. Then our daughters and their mothers and grandmothers will find other kind people to support them.

This is in fact how my good daughter counseled her little girl. She sent her to school with a treat to share and said, “Go find someone who looks lonely. Share the treat and play with her.”

And our girl is now bouncing off to school again.

But she still misses those giggly friends, I’m sure. I noticed when she came to Sunday dinner, she brought along three little pompoms with googly eyes, three Bobs.

What do you think? Please comment below with your ideas for banishing the Drama Llama.

Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. (1 John 4: 7)