Sucking Hind Teat

The process of recovery from addiction and other weakness was once described to me as "peeling off  the layers of an onion."  As soon as I get some semblance of recovery from one character weakness and peel it away, I become exposed to another.  The deeper I go the more fundamental the problem.  As in onions this process usually brings a few tears.

I am grateful for this awareness, because I'm finally learning what to do as the next layer of weakness gets exposed.  I am finally able to believe that even this new problem is surmountable.

Ether 12:27 states:   

And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

Thank Heaven I can discover my weakness one layer at a time!  The current layer is overwhelming enough by it's self.  I'd hate to have to deal with it and all the others at the same time.

The current layer seems pretty complex and very deeply rooted in my personality and nature.  I'm just beginning to discover what it is.  I discovered it last week when, while speaking in Sacrament Meeting on the Atonement, I felt my message was being rejected by the audience.  Perhaps not all of them, but a large number.  When I speak in Church I always prepare my remarks so I can look into the eyes of the congregation rather than at a paper lying upon the pulpit.  It enables me to interact with the audience and to gage their reception of my message.  Normally, I get good interaction from a goodly number of attentive participants.  This time was different.  Few would make eye contact with me.  Those who did, seemed wearied by my words.  I came away feeling rejected and dejected.  I had been pleased with my message and with the preparation I had done.  I had gone into the meeting with the confidence of having received the assurance of the Spirit that my message had the approbation of the Lord.  So I was very troubled by the reception the message received.  Though I felt my message was correct and approved of the Lord, I felt an overwhelming urge to apologize for it.

Later in the week, I attended my Grandson's Pinewood Derby contest at Cub Scout Pack Meeting.  He lost and was miserable.  I was miserable too.  It was my first Pinewood Derby since my own Cub Scout days.  Back then, my Dad, being a traveling salesman, was unable to help me with my car.  I lost and added another failure to what was already becoming a long list of failures.  I could see the same dejection through my grandson's tears.  I stood there feeling helpless and wondered if it was just our family's lot to (please pardon the expression) suck hind teat.  I was already certain that it was my lot and I grieved that yet another generation might be relegated to the same status.

For you who didn't grow up on a farm, may I explain the expression.  Hogs have large liters of pigs.  Each sow has two long rows of teats from which the piglets suckle.  The the fore teats are larger, easier to use and yield more volume and nutrition.  The piglets vie for the best positions and the weaker are pushed and driven to settle for what they can get at the hind teat.

That seemed to always be where I found myself in life's pecking order.  I was chosen last for the ball games we played and never seemed to be victorious or fully successful at anything.  I may have mentioned this before.  In fact I thought I had dealt with this before.  There is however an aspect that never occurred to me until this week.

My father had an older brother who went off to California and became a millionaire.  His younger brother did much the same.  Those two families seemed to have everything we did not.  We did without, while they enjoyed a great abundance.  Dad never dissed on the younger brother for reasons I can only guess.  Quite often though, he would point out that the the older brother had lots of family problems that ended in divorce from his wife and estrangement from his children.  Dad would always say, referring to his present and embraced family, "I am far richer than Gerry will ever be."  I believed him then, and I believe him now.

Trouble is, I began to see settling for less of what the world has to offer as being more righteous.  I didn't envy those who had more abundance and success than I; rather, I felt sorry for them.  Further, every time I approached my own success, I subconsciously sabotaged it.  None, of this was ever consciously analysed, or deliberately accomplished, but subconsciously I have persuaded myself that I must not succeed.  The apparent consequence in my life is that I seldom finish anything.  I dropped out of college after three and a half years.  I quit job after job just as I was making head way.  My one attempt at business failed miserably.  I have written several books to near completion.  But I have never finished a single one.  I even quit trying on the last one feeling myself to be unworthy if I did.

I was now just consoling myself by saying, "You finished Sweetie's sewing room."  But I didn't.  It still needs paint on the door and a door knob.  "Okay, but you finished her study."  Nope there's a cupboard that needs paint on the frame and a door.  "How about your study?"  No again.  There's one whole shelf that is left undone.  I think I would feel guilty if I finished it, or the greater project that is the rest of our unfinished house.  After all success is wickedness and failure is righteousness, or as Katie just put it, "Being a Weirdo, is good."

Over all these years as I processed sucking on the hind teat; I first concluded that I was getting by just fine on the hind teat of life. Additionally, I promised I would never be the ignorant pig who would shove someone weaker than myself to the back of the line.  Pretty soon, that led to voluntarily giving up my place in line to someone weaker in addition to the "pathetic" strong ones.  That led to a sense of self-righteousness; which made me feel good about my lot in life.  I was proud to be sucking the hind teat!  I not only pitied those who got more, I rejected more when it was offered to me.  I still do.

Now, while I have a long way to go in overcoming this nature, this weakness; I thank God that I am mature and experienced enough to understand a few things.  First, life is not a competition!  There is abundance in the world even now.  My success doesn't have to preclude someone else's.  Second, not everyone who has succeeded in life has done it by shoving me or anyone else down to a lower station.  Third, Lehi promised that keeping the commandments would lead to prosperity.  There is no sin in success and....there is no righteousness in settling for less than the abundant prosperity the Lord has offered to those who love Him; be that success physical or spiritual.

Understanding this and being aware of the false beliefs that have informed my life is a great first step.  Awareness is a big key to making changes.  Still, I am certain that I am going to need the Lord's help.  Steps six and seven of the 12 Steps as listed in the LDS Addiction Recovery Manual are as follows:

Step 6 - Become entirely ready to have the Lord remove all your character weaknesses.
Step 7 - Humbly ask Heavenly Father to remove your shortcomings.

I believe in these principles.  As Moroni explained in Ether 12:27, God has shown me some more of my character weaknesses.  I am becoming willing and ready to have them removed.  It is God who removes them.  It is remarkable to me that the word here is shortcomings.  I have come up short all of my life and not known that it has been a result of my own erroneous belief systems.  This kind of thinking is certainly a shortcoming and coming short is the result.

So, Osama Bin Laden is Dead

Ten years, thousands of lives, billions of dollars later, was it worth it?  Have we really accomplished anything?  Is the world a better place than it would have been had we left the vengeance to the Lord (to whom it belongs, by the way)?  Does any one think Osama's demise leaves an unfilled vacuum?  How many additional enemies have we made?  How many more kids go to bed at night mourning the loss of a father?  Did defending ourselves from terrorists require all this?  Does anyone feel safer?  Satisfied?  In what way is YOUR life better because Osama Bin Laden is dead?

Book Review - A Cold Train Coming by Larry Barkdull

I have often read and enjoyed Larry Barkdull's articles in Meridian Magazine.  His thoughts on rescuing wayward children seem correct and are very inspirational.

Because of my interest in his articles, I was tickled to discover a book he wrote had somehow made it's way on to our book shelf.  (Booklogged obtains books from everywhere.  No telling where this one came from).

I finished it today, while waiting for drywall mud to dry.  It was wet and stormy outside and cozying up with a good book seemed just the ticket.

It is Fall in Ft. Benton, Montana, 1942.  The war is raging and 14 year old Ben Colby is in love.  He is also in turmoil.  His father has depression.  His mother is overwhelmed.  His brother is ill.  Money is tight.  Tensions are high.  And a cold train is approaching through mounds of isolating snow.  Trying to make sense of it all, Ben writes letters to God.  He gets no answers...Or does he?  That pretty much encapsulates the story, but really, the story is about a dog named Shep...Or is it?

I enjoyed this novel very much.

Four Stars  ****

I Have an Ancestor Who Came Over on the Mayflower

This evening, Sweetie and I were watching Who Do You Think You Are.  In this episode Ashley Judd is researching her ancestors.  She follows her family into New England and eventually traces them to the Plymouth Colony and to one William Brewster who came over on the Mayflower.  It was pretty exciting because she learned a lot about William's story, the religious persecution he suffered and his imprisonment in England before being able to leave for America.

I began to wonder if any of my fairly recently discovered New England lines might trace back to the same voyage.  Statistically it is not that much of stretch to be among the descendants of those few.  Each generation is currently adding thousands to their descendants.  I remember taking a genealogy class at BYU where the professor explained that it is a statistical impossibility, for example, that anyone out of Europe was not a descendant of Charlemagne.  Each generation results in myriad more families marrying into his lines.  With that notion in mind, I suspected that such might also be the case with the Plymouth Colony.

I went to http://new.familysearch.org and clicked on my own family tree.  Knowing which lines go into New England I began to examine each seeking those that lead, first, into Massachusetts.  In moments I found some and not only did a line lead back to the Plymouth Colony but actually lead to the very same William Brewster!
What a thrill to be sitting here watching my very distant cousin Ashley Judd walk into the very jail cell in which Brewster and William Bradford had been incarcerated.

It is one thing to know their names, but to see their places and hear their stories, is my favorite part of Family History.

For those of you who are related to me, here's how it goes:

      William Brewster came to Plymouth, Massachusetts on the Mayflower in 1620.  His son
      Jonathan Brewster, 1593-1659, presumably came with him.  He is buried in New London, CT (that's
                                                        info for you Steve).  His daughter
      Mary Brewster, 1627-1645, died in Plymouth, MA.  Her son
      Ezekiel Turner, 1650-1703, died in New London, CT.  His daughter
      Lucretia Turner, 1698-1756, also died in New London , CT.  Her son
      William Calkins, 1724-1762, died in New London, CT.  His daughter
      Temperence Calkins, 1758-1785, died in Brome, Quebec (I think).  her son
      Stephen Scoville, 1783-1869, died in Scugog, Ontario.  His son
      Oliver T. H. Scoville, 1824-1894, is buried in Unionville, MI.  He was a Civil War Vet.  His daughter
      Amaressa Scoville, 1844-1872, she is buried next to her parents in Unionville, MI.  Her daughter
      Mary Elizabeth Beattie, 1875-1904, she is buried in Afton, WY.  Her daughter
      Hazel Beattie Brown Dabel, 1897-1968, she is buried in Freedom, WY.  Her son
      Winslow B. Weber, 1922-1999 is also buried in Freedom, WY.  His son is
      ME!

Now, as I traced this back to me I found a few date mistakes and find myself a bit skeptical the Ezekiel Scoville, husband of Temperence Calkins is actually Stephen Scoville's father.  I've been trying to decide a family to work on for the Family History Class I'm currently taking and think I now have my answer.  I need to be sure of the parentage of Stephen Scoville.  Pretty fun project.  I've been to Stephen's grave on Scugog Island in Ontario and am very anxious to confirm that the pedigree in Family Search is correct.

I don't mean to single out this particular ancestor.  I'm sure William Brewster is someone to be pleased to have in my family tree.  But there are thousands, some famous, most not, who mean just as much to me.  I love them and love discovering their stories, leaning of their courage, faith, faults and trials.  It's such a wonderful time to be alive.  A time when I can sit in front of the TV and watch such inspiring stories come alive, while holding my computer on my lap and searching records from the past, right here in the comfort of my own home.  Contrasting that with my stroll down the street in the recreated Plymouth Colony, and my visit aboard the tiny ship that carried my ancestors across a raging sea, I count myself truly blessed that they sacrificed so much so I could enjoy this - in complete freedom!
    

That's Gross!

The toilet tank began leaking the other day.  It appeared to be coming from where the water supply attached to the tank valve.  I tried tightening it and only made it worse.

Seven year old Megan was over and I asked if she'd like to join me on a trip to Lowe's for some toilet guts.  "Gross!  Papa, that's gross!  Still, she accepted the offer and off the store we went.  We sang along with our co-favorite song from Great Big Sea, called Here's to Charlie Horse, a song about rallying together and solving problems and other things that matter like that.  It's a zippy, rousing tune and we belted it out at the top of our lungs.  Newfoundland music always elevates my mood.  I wanted to link arms and do the grapevine across the parking lot, but already Megs is starting show some prudent inhibition.

We headed for the plumbing department and were accosted by a helpful associate who asked what we were looking for.  "Toilet guts," Megan volunteered with a clear hint of disgust in her tone.  Amused, our guide ushered us right to the spot.  They don't make toilet guts like the used to - thank goodness.  We got out of the store without too much damage, though I did find a new color for our African Violet collection.  Cheap too.  I've been thinking about propagating some of Betty's but that takes nine months from leaf to blossom.  Holding out my hands palms up I weighed nine months against $2.00 and succumbed.  But I digress...

Back at home we tore the tank off the toilet and began disassembling the old guts.  Megan noticed quite a collection of silt in the bottom of the tank.  "Gross Papa!  Is that poop?"

"No this water gets in line before the poop.  The poop all goes down the drain when this water gets dumped into the bowl."

"So what is it then," she asked.  Not convinced.

"It's silt."

"How's it get in there?"

I explained that this is a very old house (by her standards) and that in the old days the spring runoff caused the tap water to get roiled.

"What's roiled?"  she wanted to know.

"Muddy," I said.

"Gro-oss!  Did you drink it?"

"Of course!  One gets thirsty you know."

"Gross!"

"Anyway the silt or mud would settle out of the water and obviously collected on the bottom of the toilet tank."  I explained.   I thought about cleaning it out, but it hasn't hurt anything so far, and who knows who'll be helping me and what questions will be asked the next time I have to replace the guts.

"Papa?"

"Yes dear?"

"Did everybody drink the muddy water?"

"Yes dear."

"Why didn't you just buy bottled water?"

"Wasn't invented yet."

About this time I gave myself a blood blister when the pliers slipped off a nut.  Megan thought it was a good time to let me be alone.

"Grandma?"

"Yes dear."

Did you drink the muddy water in the spring time too?"

"Yes dear."

"Gross!"

"Did anything happen?"

"Well, our skin turned brown when we bathed and the cows started giving chocolate milk for a few weeks."

"Gross!"