My God Loves Broken Things

It’s not very often I publish the words of someone else in this format, but from time to time – as I take notes for me to remember, it occurs to me that you might also appreciate them. These words from Chieko Okazaki, are comforting, reassuring and true.

Who is Chieko Nishimura Okazaki?
She was an American writer, educator, and religious leader. I came to admire her while she served in the Relief Society general presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from 1990 to 1997. I looked forward to hearing her speak – she always started with “Aloha” to which the congregation always responded “Aloha” – and I enjoyed reading her words.

Chieko was born in Hawaii in October 1926, growing up in a Buddhist family of Japanese ancestry that was employed on Hawaiian plantations. She was 15 years old when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, and her family did not escape the horror that followed, especially for those of her ethnic and cultural status. She was Hawaiian born, from Japanese heritage, and spent most of her life living in mainland America, but she confronted racism throughout her life.

As a young teen, she became a Christian, working as a maid to pay for high school. Her family (parents and two brothers) sacrificed for her education, and education became her life’s work. She received her first degree in Education at the University of Hawaii in Honolulu, her Master’s degree in Education from the University of Northern Colorado when she was 51 years old, and another degree in Educational Administration.  

Ironically, she was about the age I am now when I first became familiar with her as a speaker and writer. To me, she had a lotta credibility, and I loved her. She served in the trenches and she got it. She really got it.

In The Wilderness by artist: Ron DiCianni

“It’s our faith” said Chieko Okazaki “that He experienced everything- absolutely everything. Sometimes we don’t think through the implications of that belief. We talk in great generalities about the sins of all humankind, about the suffering of the entire human family. But we don’t experience pain in generalities. We experience it individually.

That means He knows what it felt like when your mother died of cancer — how it was for your mother, how it still is for you. He knows what it felt like to lose the student body election. He knows that moment when the brakes locked and the car started to skid. He experienced the slave ship sailing from Ghana toward Virginia. He experienced the gas chambers at Dachau. He experienced Napalm in Vietnam. He knows about drug addiction and alcoholism.”

. . . There is nothing you have experienced . . . that He does not also know and recognize. He understands about rape and infertility and abortion. His last recorded words to his disciples were “And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” He understands your mother-pain when your five-year-old leaves for kindergarten, when a bully picks on your fifth-grader, when your daughter calls to say that the new baby has Down Syndrome. He knows your mother-rage when a trusted babysitter sexually abuses your two-year-old, when someone gives your thirteen-year-old drugs, when someone seduces your seventeen-year-old. He knows the pain you live with when you come home to a quiet apartment where the only children are visitors, when you hear that your former husband and his new wife were sealed in the temple last week, when your fiftieth wedding anniversary rolls around and your husband has been dead for two years. He knows all that. He’s been there. He’s been lower than all that. He’s not waiting for us to be perfect. Perfect people don’t need a Savior. He came to save his people in their imperfections. He is the Lord of the living, and the living make mistakes. He’s not embarrassed by us, angry at us, or shocked. He wants us in our brokenness, in our unhappiness, in our guilt and in our grief.
– Chieko N. Okazaki

One of my favourite songs by Kenneth Cope – Broken. Enjoy.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

When the Price was Paid

This tender image painted by the Danish painter Frans Schwartz at the end of the 19th century, was brought to my attention recently, and I find myself coming back to it again and again. It amazes me, the kind of emotion that can be captured by the talented brush strokes of an inspired artist. This is not the whole picture, its a close up of the faces. While the full image is breathtaking, I am drawn to, and am captivated by these faces.

We learn about it in Luke 22:43,44

And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.

Agony in the Garden by Frans Schwartz 1898

Years ago, I was reading this story from a beautiful illustrated children’s book to my then 4 year old granddaughter Rebecca. At this point in the story, when the angel comforted the Saviour, I said aloud “I wish I was that angel who did that for him.”

She sighed and softly replied “I wish ‘I‘ was that angel.” I reflect back on that previous shared moment from time to time. I’m quite sure she has no recollection of it. But among other things, it testified to me of the power of inspirational art to convey the spirit, and the ability that a child has to respond to it when given the quiet opportunity. And it testified to me as well, of the importance of seeking out those quiet opportunities.

I also reflect on the fact, that sometimes, all you can do is offer love and support. There wasn’t a single thing anyone in this universe could have done to take away His pain, or to even make it easier. But this! . . . THIS could be done. . . . A tender embrace, a demonstration of love and empathy, and in this case – heart rending gratitude. For some reason, we do not know the name of this angel, this privileged one sent from above, while many others undoubtedly stood ready, wanting to do the same. What an honour to have been the one to embrace Him at that pivotal moment in time. To have been the one to offer Him comfort, heavenly succor and support. And more personally – Gratitude. Because after all, He did it for us. For you and for me. Personally. Privately. And yet for us all.

Dieter F. Uchtdorf said “What the Saviour did from Gethsemane to Golgotha on our behalf is beyond my ability to grasp. He took upon Himself, the burden of our sins and paid an eternal and binding ransom not only for Adam’s original transgression but also for the sins and transgressions of the billions upon billions of souls who have ever lived. This eternal, sacred sacrifice caused ‘even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer in both body and spirit.’ (DC 19:18)”

Look closely at his reddened eyes in this achingly tender image. At the furrowed brows. I love that his eyes are open. Look at the soft and gentle face of the angel and the enveloping embrace. Though none of us will ever have to experience the depth of His suffering, we know that we do have “our own dark and bitter hours” as Elder Uchtdorf calls them. “Times when our sorrow and grief may appear to be greater than we can bear. There will be times when the weight and remorse of our sins will press mercilessly upon us.”

We can be assured at those times, that we are not alone. That He went before us, and suffered all those things. And not just for our sins, but for our sadness and grief, and hurts of every kind, for our sickness and afflictions. To take them all away. As I heard one say some time ago (referring to suicidal thoughts and intents) “We don’t have to die for our sins. Someone already has.” He knows and He understands. He’s been there. He gets it. He’s atoned for it all. He’s taken my name through the temple of Gethsemane, individually. I don’t pretend to know how, but I absolutely know it. He knows me. And He knows you. He can and will strengthen us. And by taking advantage of that sacrifice, we don’t cause him any more grief, we don’t add to the cost – because the price has already been paid. Whether we accept the gift or not, it has already been purchased. For us.

This song Wondering by Aaron Edson, was brought to my attention from a friend Ron Bissett many years ago. He played it to me over the phone, a poor recording he found somewhere. He wanted me to find him a CD (back before the days of Spotify etc). He asked me because we owned an LDS Bookstore at the time.
I found it for him, and for me, and for several other customers, because that over the phone introduction made it personal for me too. Thanks for the tip Ron. Enjoy.

I really hope that I was that angel, but I kinda think I was not. Unlike the angel however, HE can take pain away. And I can be that angel to others, embracing, comforting, supporting, … not able to take grief away, but loving them through it, and hopefully pointing to the One who can take it away – who will take it away.

Just some of my thoughts on a tender subject. I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

to Santa or not to Santa

…… that is a question every parent must come to terms with at some point early in their parenting. (part 1 of “to Santa or not to Santa”)

And its not a question to be taken lightly, because whatever you decide, it isn’t your right to wreck it for others’ who may choose a different path. For me, in our very first year of parenting it could be avoided. We had the only grandchildren on both sides, so the precedent hadn’t been established. We in fact, unintentionally – had the responsibility for establishing a precedent in both of our families. A place of considerable pressure for someone as young and idealistic as we were.

The dilemma I felt was that I wanted our children to love the Saviour and to recognize that Christmas was first and foremost about celebrating His birth, and to acknowledging the important part He played in our life. I felt that a celebration the magnitude of Christmas, could be justified just as well with or without Santa Claus. But on the other hand, I had many fond memories of Santa and didn’t want to deny my kids the wholesome magic that he brings with him. But still, Santa had overshadowed any feeling I might have had as a child for the Saviour. In fact in my early childhood, I had no knowledge of the birth of Jesus and its connection to Christmas. Nativities were not a part of our Christmas. Truth be told, I don’t believe they were a part of very many people’s Christmas in those days. I never saw one when I was a child, or a youth.

I successfully dodged that bullet for a few years, while our extended families, the grandparents and aunts and uncles stood a respectful distance away from Santa while allowing us the privilege of making that decision. Christmas of 1982 was the year I needed to jump off the fence and make a decision. Jacob was four and a half years old. Sarah was three and a half. They were going to have memories of this Christmas and it was time for me to make the choice: Was Santa going to be a part of our Christmas or not? The problem was, that I didn’t have a crystal ball and couldn’t tell how inviting Santa into our lives would impact our family long term. Dan wanted Santa. Our folks all wanted Santa. All our kids’ aunts and uncles wanted Santa. . . . . And there were other issues to consider. Like how to introduce him at this point?

Finally, I hit upon a plan. I discussed it with Dan and we had an important family council with our kids. It was time. We told them about the old man who lived at the north pole, who loved children. His delight in life we told them was to make children happy, and because of that, he spent his whole year building toys for them which he gave to them once a year on Christmas Eve. We held nothing back. We laid out for them the whole picture. The red suit and beard, the sleigh and reindeer, the elves, the list, …. everything. They were spell bound, wide eyed and enthralled. We told them that there was only one thing Santa loved more than children. He loved Jesus Christ. And he celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ by giving gifts and spreading good cheer because it made him so happy to do so, BUT his one fear and worry, was that children would get so excited about him and the presents, that they would forget about the “reason for the season” – the celebration of the birth of our Saviour.

His commitment was that if that happened in any house he normally visited, he would simply stop coming to that house. As long as the children remembered Jesus, and were grateful for Santa’s gifts then he would come every year for their whole lives. But if the children got too caught up in Santa and thought that Christmas was all about him and not about Jesus, he would stop coming to them. Of course, he might depend on us as parents to let him know how that was going. We told our kids that Dad and I thought they were big enough for us to invite Santa for Christmas – if of course, they wanted him to come. You won’t be surprised to know that they very much wanted him to come! And they promised that they would always remember the reason we celebrated Christmas, which was also the reason Santa did all his wonderful stuff.

The Spirit of Christmas by Greg Olson

That was it then. We officially invited Santa Claus into our Christmas the year of 1982. We were expecting our third child the next spring. It was time we moved on. I had some trepidation, but I was determined to monitor our Santa-meter and keep our Christmases in balance.

As it would happen, Santa Claus happened to be visiting our local shopping mall that Saturday and I asked the kids if they’d like to go see him. They had never seen him – or any likenesses of him, before then. It is wonderful, the control a parent has over the influence the world has on a four year old. Don’t we all wish we could protect them for a life time with the same care and attention we could when they were toddlers? We controlled what they saw on television, what they read and what they saw of the world. And until we were ready, I prevented any exposure they had to Santa Claus. We made preparations to go the very next day to see him.

As we stood in a long line of excited children, (another new experience for Jacob and Sarah, as I normally avoided crowds and malls) – I noted that Santa was asking kids what they wanted for Christmas. Yikes. I forgot about that important detail. Our kids did not know they could make gift requests. I coached them “Santa Claus may ask you what you want for Christmas. If he does, Jacob why don’t you tell him you’d like a covered wagon made out of wood with horses?”
“Okay!” he readily agreed.
“Sarah, how bout you ask him for a princess dress?”
“Okay!” she joined.

Whew. That wasn’t so hard. We got closer and Jacob and Sarah were very observant of all that was going on around them. I too watched the minutes unfold – this truly was a departure point for our little family, at least where the kind old man of Christmas was concerned. My kids were getting big enough that it was time for me to let some of the world into their lives – while I could still control the circumstances.

Finally, we were at the front of the line. Santa invited them to come near to him. I accompanied. He asked them if they had been good children. They assured him they had. As predicted, he asked them what they would like for Christmas. Jacob announced that he would like a toy covered wagon drawn by horses. Sarah told him she would like a princess dress (which bytheway, in 1982 was not the Disney princess dresses we’re so familiar with nowadays). Santa nodded and made mental note, then asked “What else would you like?”
Oops. I hadn’t anticipated that one.
We don’t know.” Jacob confided “Our mom didn’t tell us that one yet.
Whew. Quick thinking Son. We said our good byes and received candy canes for our visit. Dad happily waited on the other side to hear about our experience.

It was a happy day for him and the kids. A bit traumatic for me, but happy nonetheless. Our family was growing up. And we had just taken a big step into a new world that could never be reversed. A tangible innocence was traded in that day, for another circumstance – another innocence that would carry us for several more years until our children were ready to make another transition: a coming-of-age discovery that Santa Claus would play a big part in. In fact, he was here to stay the rest of their lives – in one form or another.

(this is part 1 of our Santa story)  
I’d love to hear about how you made that important choice of inviting (or not inviting) Santa into your family’s lives.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle