Their Story is My Story

"And thus, in their prosperous circumstances, they did not send away any who were naked, or that were hungry, or that were athirst, or that were sick, or that had not been nourished; and they did not set their hearts upon riches; therefore they were liberal to all, both old and young, both bond and free, both male and female, whether out of the church or in the church, having no respect to persons as to those who stood in need."

Alma 1:30, The Book of Mormon

"It is ...safe... here," he said.
Samer and I had met just moments before. As I was preparing for the Art Expressions class at our local refugee and immigrant office, he and his two children has toddled in, looking relieved to be inside, away from the bitter January chill. My four year old, who has zero inhibitions with strangers (for better or for worse), went right up Samer's young children.
"Hi!" he said with his limitless enthusiasm and complete unawareness of personal space. The kids smiled back and looked at their father unsure how to respond. I approached with a basket of miscellaneous coloring tools and a stack of Hello Kitty coloring pages. I have learned that art, in whatever form, has an incredible way of breaching gaps between people. In this case, my preschooler's desire to interact with kids his age and the language barrier that is ever-present in this unique office.
"Do they want to color?" I asked Semar, motioning my hand with an invisible crayon. He smiled and nodded, speaking to his children in a beautiful and foreign language.
We all sat on the ground encouraging our little ones to color. I asked him about his children, their ages and names, which of course I could barely pronounce and we laughed as I stumbled over the umbs' and ahs'. I introduced my boys, my youngest asleep in the stroller on the other side of the room, and myself.
"My name is Jamey," I placed my hand on my chest and smiled, then motioned to him, "and yours?"
"My name is Samer," he smiled and nodded.
"Sam-al?" I asked.
"No, Sam-er" he articulated kindly.
"Sam-EL?" I tried and failed again.
"No-" he laughed and grabbed a crayon from the basket. He wrote his name, pointed and said it again "Sam. Air."
"Oh! Thank you, Samer." We laughed again.
I asked him how long he and his children have been in the US.
"Four months."
"And where are you from?"
"Syria." The name of his war-torn homeland took a somber tone.
"Well welcome Samer," I leaned in and met his rich brown eyes with a smile "I'm glad you're here. I hope you feel welcome."
He bowed his head. "Yes, thank you. Thank you...It is...safe...here."
I didn't ask about his wife.

Artwork by Syrian refugee.

Samer used to work in the food business. "Sweets," he told me "falafel...tabbouleh..." He currently works at a local restaurant, a job which he seemed incredibly grateful for. In fact, the entire conversation I felt a deep sense of gratitude and humility emanating from Samer. To have suffered what he has, to experience his life...I can't even imagine. And I am overwhelmed each time I come home from working with the refugees, how blessed I am. We have a safe, beautiful home where we can worship how we please, and my husband and I can work in fields we enjoy, where my kids will grow up with food in their bellies and a warm place to rest their heads at night. I have running water, electricity, internet and freedom of speech. The "persecution" I experience in so minimal to what these people have experienced. Although it hasn't always been that way for my demographic.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, aka the Mormons, have a long history of persecution and being driven from their homes. The early Mormon members in the U.S. suffered from angry mobs and pillaging, violent crimes such as beatings, tar and feathering, rape, burning of homes and houses of worship, and even an extermination order. After being repeatedly driven from their homes, they eventually found solace in the Salt Lake Valley, but only after traveling a great distance over uncharted and dangerous terrain. Many saints lost their lives in this journey.

Do these circumstances sound familiar?

65.3 million people around the world have been forced from home. Among them are nearly 21.3 million refugees, over half of whom are children. People of all faiths and backgrounds are risking their lives to cross land and sea to find safety from persecution, terror, and war. 
These aren't war criminals, delinquents, vagabonds, or terrorists. These are people with educations and skills, like Samer, who just want to be safe.

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Every Monday morning I teach an Art Expressions class with Radmila, a Serbian immigrant and certified art therapist. This last week, Radmila was out of town for a funeral and I found myself teaching solo. I tried to prepare as much as I could, pondering and praying on a project that would serve the refugees.

We ended up keeping it simple with colored pencils, markers, and crayons on mixed media paper. I asked them, with the help of our talented interpreters, to draw a goal or dream they had for the future (ndoto in Swahili and hafar in Arabic). Do you know what 90% of them drew?

Homes. Houses.

"GOAL  Buy a goal (good) home for boys."
Guda Koko, a Sudanese refugee

This past week I have been brought to tears over and over again by President Trumps imminent executive order to limit the USA's refugee intake so drastically. And the apathy and empty excuses I hear from a good portion of our citizens makes me ill. Perhaps it's because they are so removed from this demographic, they spend more time listening to pundits and talking heads than stepping outside their bubble of comfort and ease and acknowledging the people who look and act and worship so differently than them...And those may be biting words to hear, but it's the truth.
I can only echo the words of Elder Patrick Kearon "After looking into their eyes and hearing their stories, both of the terror they had fled and of their perilous journey to find refuge, I will never be the same."

I come from Mormon Pioneer stock. My ancestors crossed the plains to safety; for all intents and purposes, they were refugees. Their story truly is my story. 
My goal over the next year is to share as many refugee stories as I can. You may not have the opportunity to interact directly with them, but I do, and I will defend these people with my words and actions to the best of my ability. 
 I hope as your read and see pictures of these people, your heart will be changed and you will seriously consider the biblical admonition:

 "The stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself." (Leviticus 19:34)

Below I've created some links and websites on ways YOU can help:

Read Sister Linda K. Burton's "I Was A Stranger"

Visit the LDS Churches "I Was A Stranger" Website

Read Elder Patrick Kearon's "Refuge From The Storm"

Speak up with STAND's #AmericaDoesNotBanRefugees Google Doc

Volunteer or Donate through the United States Committee for Refugees and Immigrants

Educate yourself through The UN Refugee Agency

Visit Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services

Add you voice to MoveOn's Petition "Do Not Stop Refugee Resettlement"

Review "The New Colossus", the poem written on The Statue of Liberty

Learn more about the vetting process for incoming refugees.

Easter Talk 2016

HOW CAN WE BE STRENGTHENED KNOWING CHRIST NOT ONLY SUFFERED FOR OUR SINS AND WAS RESURRECTED, BUT THAT HE SUFFERED TO UNDERSTAND OUR PAINS AND AFFLICTIONS?

Painting by J. Kirk Richards

"And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.
And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities."
 [ALMA 7:11-12]

“Our Savior’s Atonement does more than assure us of immortality by a universal resurrection and give us the opportunity to be cleansed from sin by repentance and baptism. His Atonement also provides the opportunity to call upon Him who has experienced all of our mortal infirmities to give us the strength to bear the burdens of mortality. He knows of our anguish, and He is there for us. Like the good Samaritan, when He finds us wounded at the wayside, He will bind up our wounds and care for us (see Luke 10:34).”[Elder Dallin H. Oaks]

I want to share three experiences that have brought me to a greater understanding of the Atonement.

PHYSICAL TRIAL

Early one morning, in the beginning of November of last year, I woke up with a weird ache on my right side. I didn’t think much of it, but within an hour the pain was so excruciating I was kneeling in the bathroom sobbing and yelling at Scott to take me to the hospital. A few phone calls to the ER (and a dear friend who came to stay with the boys), a quick blessing, a much quicker drive to the hospital, a blessed morphine drip, and a CAT-SCAN later, we learned I was passing a large kidney stone and that it had lodged itself in my ureter (the tube connecting the kidney to the bladder). To give you a better idea of the situation, an adult ureter is usually about 3-4mm in diameter. Mine had swollen to about twice that size to accommodate the 4x8mm kidney stone and the blockage had created hydronephrosis, or fluid back up in my kidney, and had caused my right kidney to also double in size. Now it may seem like an object the size of a grain of rice shouldn’t cause that much pain. But having given birth twice, I can assure you it was pretty painful. I have heard Veterans compare it to a gunshot wound. I have never prayed nor wept so hard in my life.

Thankfully, the stone was removed without complications, and I was given pain meds and instructions to rest and drink, drink, drink. I wish I could say this was an isolated event and my kidney problems are over. However, the CAT-SCAN at the ER revealed about a dozen more stones awaiting their descent. I was also informed by my urologist that kidney stones are chronic. It seems pain is my new companion. In fact, just over a week ago, I went in for a procedure called a lithotripsy to take care of another 8mm stone in my right kidney.

What do my kidney stones have to do with the Atonement? Like I mentioned before, I have never cried out to God in such agony before and despite the intensity of my experience, I never once felt alone. Yes, my husband, the medical staff, and a few dear friends, were all physically present and extremely supportive. But besides that I felt an undercurrent of support and oddly enough, peace that I can only label as heaven sent. The words kept coming to my mind “This too shall pass.” [Except, literally speaking, it didn’t pass, the stone got stuck…haha…] and I felt wave after wave of reassurance that everything was going to be okay. I know now that this comfort was a product of Christ’s Atonement. I had every reason to be frightened and anxious, but I can definitely say there was a chord of peace and tranquility throughout it all. I also found myself thinking about the Savior’s suffering in Gethsemane, which pain was so severe it “caused … the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit.” (D&C 19:18)

 I’ve had similar experiences during the birth of my two boys, the first labor was induced by contraction intensifying Pitocin, and the second by a violent bout of the stomach flu. I found myself praying and crying out to God for help, and again I was able to tap into a vein of power, of strength, and of peace with the reminder that “This too shall pass.” I knew I was in God’s hands and under Christ's wing.

 The apostle Paul said “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” Or in modern speech “Because of Christ, I can do hard things!” In his last Conference address, Elder Oaks taught “[B]ecause of His Atonement, the Savior has the power to succor—to help—every mortal pain and affliction. Sometimes His power heals an infirmity, but the scriptures and our experiences teach that sometimes He succors or helps by giving us the strength or patience to endure our infirmities.”

MENTAL ANGUISH

Another chronic condition of mortality that I have been bestowed with is anxiety and depression. Unlike my physical infirmities, this illness has left me feeling angry a lot. I’ve muttered a lot of “Why me’s?” and “Again? Really?”. I feel very little patience with myself when I get stuck in a low mood and sometimes even a bit angry with God. Obviously, my poor attitude tells me this is a trial I have much to learn from still.

Something valuable I have learned is when I’ve openly shared my experiences with depression, I’ve consistently had a number of people approach me afterward and tell me “Me too.” An immediate friendship is born out of this mutual adversity. I’m given the opportunity to serve others who share my demons. It’s like we’re on a special team, the “my brain doesn’t produce enough serotonin” club. I have learned there is a power in a community built around shared experiences {i.e. New Mommy Support Group, Alcoholics Anonymous}, I think the popularity of support groups are a testament of this. Being able to communicate with others who know exactly what you are experiencing, to one degree or another, is empowering. It brings a sense of relief. It gives me hope. And simply knowing there are others out there who understand your battles is extremely validating.

The scriptures teach us that Christ “descended below all things” (D&C 88:6). Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught, “Having ‘descended below all things,’ He comprehends, perfectly and personally, the full range of human suffering.”8 We could even say that having descended below it all, He is perfectly positioned to lift us and give us the strength we need to endure our afflictions. We have only to ask.
Part of the purpose of the Savior’s Atonement is so he can say “Me too.” He suffered so He could understand and therefore provide strength. He’s our all-in-one support group and partner in affliction, our battle buddy, our best friend.

EMOTIONAL AND INTRAPERSONAL SORROW

During one especially low period of my teen years, I found myself feeling very alone. In retrospect, I was obviously very depressed, but I was also struggling with a lot family conflict on top of all the awkward friends and dating stuff you experience at 16. I felt extremely isolated, and frankly, totally worthless. I remember kneeling at the side of my bed in tears and crying out to God “I’m just so tired of feeling like I don’t matter to anyone anymore.” Almost immediately, a voice pierced my mind “You matter to me.” I was overcome with a sense of warmth and love. I know it was the Spirit manifesting my Heavenly Father’s love for me. As I continued in quiet communication with Heavenly Father, my thoughts turned to the Savior, and His suffering. I was reminded of Christ’s love and His awareness of all I was experiencing. This scripture from Isaiah has since become a personal favorite:

 “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands[.]” (ISAIAH 49:15)

 A favorite quote by C.S. Lewis furthers this point—he said "He died not for men, but for each man. If each man had been the only man made, He would have done no less.”

Relying on Christ during my intense physical trials has brought me great comfort and peace, where I otherwise would be anxious and fearful. Crying out to him in my mental anguish has been returned with the power of endurance, a sense of companionship, and hope for the future. Painful emotional experiences and intrapersonal sorrow has been met with a knowledge that I am never alone and an awareness of my Savior’s infinite love.

Elder Oaks has said “…Our Savior experienced and suffered the fulness of all mortal challenges “according to the flesh” so He could know “according to the flesh” how to “succor [which means to give relief or aid to] his people according to their infirmities.” He therefore knows our struggles, our heartaches, our temptations, and our suffering, for He willingly experienced them all as an essential part of His Atonement. And because of this, His Atonement empowers Him to succor us—to give us the strength to bear it all.”

I testify that these things are true. I know my Savior lives and His love is infinite. I know He suffered and died for US, and as He rose on the third day, we too can arise above the trials and heartaches of mortality.  Because of Him, death has no sting. Because of Him we can see our loved ones again. Because of Him we can live with our Father in Heaven again.  I love Him and am eternally grateful for Him. I leave these things with you in the name of our beloved Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Tattoos

Originally written 10/15/13



It was in the wee hours of the morning; I had just finished nursing Griffin and rolled out of bed to put him back into his crib. I don't know about all the other mothers out there, but after I had my baby, all I wanted to do was stare at him, like, all the time. Even now, sometimes during those early morning nursing sessions my body is like "Girl, you need to go back to sleep", but my Mama brain is all "Nah, is cool-- I'll just stare at my baby's perfect, pink skin and long eyelashes and adorable little nose and lips. He won't look like this forever. I can sleep when I'm deeeeeaaaadddd...




So while non-creepily staring at my baby, I notice how silly he looks in his tattoo onesie that one of his aunties had made for him. "What if he does look like that one day--all tatted up?" I thought. I tried to picture a young adult Griffin coming to visit his parents for the holidays in a ratty jean vest and way-too-skinny jeans with tattoos all up his neck and arms, maybe a few piercings, a wild hair-do...My Molly-Mormon heart sank a little. The lifestyle that seems to coincide with such an appearance was not what I wanted for my child, nor was it likely to mesh well with the upbringing and morals we hoped to instill in him.

Then this thought enveloped my mind--

"It wouldn't matter, I would love him anyways."

And I think, at that moment, I received a brief glimpse of Heavenly Father's perfect love, the same love I hope every parent feels towards their children. It was so warm and whole and unmitigated by any sort of judgement or pretense or expectation. It was soft but firm and overwhelming yet gentle. It was just love.

I love my son so much, none of his life decisions, for better or worse, would change how I feel about him. And I know that God feels the same way towards us.

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I used to get so impatient with the parable of The Prodigal Son. It just didn't seem fair that after all the stupid, selfish choices the son had made, even after he had squandered his inheritance and broken his parents hearts, that he was received back home with open arms. In fact, he was celebrated!
I often related more with the elder son who said this to his Father:

" Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends:

But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. (Luke 15:29-30)"

And his father's reply:

"Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine.

It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found. (Luke 15:31-32)"

I used to question the parents of "prodigal sons"; I would question their love and the sincerity of the care for their children. But after that night, staring at my tattooed son, it became very clear that a parents love knows no bounds. And if that love is but a slice of what our Heavenly Father feels for us, His children, can you even imagine the intensity of His devotion to each and every one of us?
God's love is unconditional. He wants us to be happy and I am sure he is disappointed when we make poor decisions that conflict with His law; but that will NEVER EVER change how much He cares and wants us to return home to His presence.

I hope my son doesn't ink his skin, but if he does, I will still love him just as much as the morning he wore the tattooed onesie, just as God undoubtedly, unfailingly, absolutely loves us.

FHE: HAIRCUTS

Scott and I have been on and off about our Family Home Evening (F.H.E.) observance. We were pretty consistent when we were first married, and it seems like we always got a re-boost of commitment after General Conference, and then, of course, having a child didn't make anything easier...
But we are trying to make this a weekly family tradition. And I think trying always counts for something. Shoot, we've only been a family for about 4 years, so I'm not going to beat myself up over missing a few Monday night meetings. The desire is there, we are learning how to prioritize it...
Any. Ways.

A few weeks ago I was lamenting to my husband about my hair which had grown into a delightfully mangy pixie. Looking back at pictures, it really wasn't that bad. But I wanted to go short. Like short-short. If my hair were to be a pair of pants, I wanted it to be a pair of itty-bitty booty shorts. I was feeling wild, rambunctious, and a little bit reckless.Which is another way of saying "Jamey, you're bored." Whatevs. It's my hair, I can do what I want.
Scott was also hankering for a trim and Griffin had the young sprouts of a mullet. His hair behind his ears and next to his neck was growing much faster than the hair on top.... mullet style...

So Monday night, we grabbed Scott's buzzer (I have no idea what its called. Why don't I know what the hair cutting thingy is called?!) and away we sheared!
And, of course, we had to document. Because posterity is going to care about our hair care routine, right?

 BEFORE

AFTER  

We all had pretty short hair to begin with, so obviously not a huge change. But now, it's shorter.
And we spent time as a family, which is what really matters.

>>>Did you know I opened my ETSY? I did. Go check it out. 

Buy yourself something. You deserve it. 

>>>This is stuck in my head.