The Worm Watcher (a short story) written in 1995

This story was the description of an actual event that occurred while I was observing Kyle.  The assignment was to write an observation piece, so here it is, I named myself Debbie--I was doing daycare at the time, so it worked as a role in the story.



He crouched, silently looking at the damp soil.  It was early spring, and what might soon become a flower bed was yet covered with mashed leaves and scattered old bricks.  The air was fresh, but the sun was warming.

He was young, not yet four.  He was sturdily built, with cropped dark hair and round dark eyes.  His face was already slightly browned and his cheeks rosy.  He had a handsome face with even features, and round ears that protruded slightly.  He wore grey sweat pants, a green and black checked flannel jacket and white sneakers.

His arms rested on his bent knees.  His short chubby fingers, relaxed, fell between them.  Other children played near by on swings and trikes, and dug in a near by sand pile.  It seemed a day made for children.  A day care attendant stood supervising the activity.  The boy called to her,  "Look Debbie, a worm!"

The attendant walked over to join the boy.  "What have you got there, Kyle?" she asked.

He reached down and picked up a little red earthworm and dropped it into the palm of his hand where it wriggled into a circle.

A little girl with wispy, white-blonde hair, and a small fair boy with large, blue eyes, came over to join the woman.  They gazed curiously at the worm.

"See.  It's my worm.  He likes me."  Kyle spoke very seriously, very matter of fact.  they all gazed silently at the worm for a moment.  Then in the same grave tone, Kyle continued.

"He likes to live in the sand too."

He wrapped his fingers around the worm, concealing it from the curious eyes of the others and ran, in a sudden burst, to the nearby sand pile.  Crouching again, he carefully set the worm down in the sand.

He watched momentarily as the worm wriggled; then he grasped a handful of sand and sprinkled it carefully over the worm.

"He likes to be in dirt," he said.

After covering the worm completely with several fists full of sand, Kyle began to poke carefully into the sand with his finger, looking for the now buried worm.  He didn't find the worm that way, so very carefully he scooped away a layer of dirt.  He looked, then scooped again, ever so carefully.  Again, dark sober eyes searched the sand thoroughly for the small red worm.  Putting his hands on his knees, he straightened slightly and looked up.

"I can't find my worm," he shouted.

At this he stood and brushed his hands together.  Sand loosened and fell from them.  He looked up.  The spring sunshine fell full on his face.  Suddenly his face changed from a look of serious contemplation to a mischievous grin.  Without warning, he sprang into the air, jumping gleefully about on the sand where he had moments before so carefully placed his worm, thoroughly pouncing on that spot of sand.

"He's gone now," Kyle announced with a lopsided grin, and he ran off to join the other children.

by Sherri S. Crowley

A Single Summer Hour (short story) written in 1994

The screen door closed behind her with a bump and Sherri hesitated for a moment before making her way to the front steps where she carefully jumped--jump, jump, jump, jump--four steps to the sidewalk below.  It was a green summer day, warm and luxurious.  Sherri could hear bees buzzing in the sunshine.  She could smell the warm roses along the driveway near the white picket fence which separated her yard from the white clapboard house next door, where a kind, white-haired widow lived.

Muffin, the big yellow tom cat, rubbed against Sherri's legs.  Sherri sat where she was, on the bottom step of the porch, and stroked the cat's neck and the top of his head.  Muffin purred his appreciation--a mellow sound that blended with the buzzing of the bees and the warm smell of the roses into a mist of contentment that seemed to engulf the small girl who sat, with a bemused look, on the bottom step of the tidy, red-brick house.

The girl was about five years old.  Her hair was chestnut brown as were her eyes and the freckles sprinkled across her nose.  She wore a saffron-yellow, sleeveless, cotton shirt that buttoned down the front and was cut short so that her tummy showed.  Shorts and white tennis shoes completed the outfit.  Sunshine warmed the top of Sherri's head and made her shoulders hot as she stroked the now dozing cat.

"Hey!" came a shout and the screen door opened and closed again with a bang as Terry, Sherri's older brother--a cropped headed freckle face 7 year old full of mischief, bounded through it.  Let's play in the sandpile."

Roused from her reverie, Sherri raced with her brother across the green lawn, past the side of the garage where tall hollyhocks grew, to a large sand box framed with rough planks and shaded by a large chestnut tree that seemed to lean over the picket fence to watch their play.  The sand was smooth yet gritty, hot on top and white, but brown, moist and cool as they dug their hands and now bared toes deeper into it.  They covered their toes and patted the sand firmly around their feet until nothing could be seen of them.  Then they wiggled their toes and watched as the sand cracked and then erupted and their feet sprang free spraying sand all around.

Next, they began constructing a great mound.  They scooped and pushed sand with their hands, then they patted and smoothed it until it was firm all around.  Finally, they began--each on a side--to tunnel carefully through to the center.  When their fingers met they crowed with delight pulling forth sand crusted arms and hands.  They rubbed and shook and jumped about, and the sand cascaded down from their clothes and bodies.Then remembering that across the road were friends and tire swings, and things to fill a summer's day, they raced back across the yard, abandoning sand and shoes, cats and flowers to another hour.

By Sherri  S. Crowley
Obviously, this assignment was to use sensory details.  I quite enjoyed recreating these memories from my childhood.  I had forgotten about this story.  It was fun to read it again.

Christopher Rabbit and the Carrot-Crumble Pie (Short Story) written in 1993

As I recall this story was written to a specific prompt.

This is too boring Christopher thought.
Christopher Rabbit was digging carrots with Alex and Alexandra Rabbit in the warm sun of a crisp, fall afternoon.  It was the kind of afternoon that made Christopher want to play football.  Christopher sat back on his haunches and looked around.  Alex and Alexandra, Christopher's brother and sister, worked steadily, pulling long, orange carrots out of the cool brown earth.
Christopher looked into his own basket.  A few carrots lay scattered about the bottom of the basket.
It's gonna take forever, Christopher thought.
Mother Rabbit had told her children that they must each pull a basket full of carrots today.  When they finished they could have a special treat--carrot crumble pie.
A fly buzzed around Christopher's long ear.  He watched it carefully out of the corner of his eye.  Stealthily he adjusted his position.  There!  He caught it.
"Hey, you guys,"  Christopher called in triumph.  "I caught this fly right out of the air.  D'ya wanna see?"
"Christopher, why don't you get to work?" Alex said.
"Yeah, we're way ahead of you," Alexandra agreed.
Alexandra hopped back to look into Christopher's basket.
"Gee, Christopher, you hardly have any carrots at all."
"Lemme see."
Alex hopped back too.
"Boy, are you slow, Christopher," Alex said.
"Am not," was Christopher's reply.  "I caught this fly right out of the air."
He let the fly go now and it buzzed out of his hand and into the pale blue sky.
"You're not going to get any carrot-crumble pie if you don't get working," Alex warned.
Alex and Alexandra hopped back to their baskets and began pulling carrots again.
Christopher imagined himself catching a whizzing football.  It whistled past his long ear--thwamp--into his outstretched paws.
Christopher was still daydreaming when he smelled something delicious.  His nose twitched as he recognized the aroma of freshly baked carrot-crumble pie.  Christopher looked up.  Alex and Alexandra were gone.
"Great!" Christopher thought, "We're done."
Christopher looked into his basket--a few carrots lay scattered in the bottom.
"How could Alex and Alexandra be finished already?" he wondered.
Christopher picked up his basket and hopped lazily to the house.
"Christopher, you're done," mother said, as she stepped out of the kitchen.  Mother looked into Christopher's basket--then she frowned.
"Christopher, what have you been doing all afternoon?  Your brother and sister came in with full baskets and yours is hardly started.  You had better go back to the garden patch and try again."
Christopher could hear Alex and Alexandra whispering and snickering in the doorway.
Mother went back inside shaking her head.
"No carrot-crumble pie for you, Christopher Rabbit, not until you fill up that basket."
Christopher hopped slowly toward the garden.  He could see the three pies cooling on the window sill.  It wasn't fair that Alex and Alexandra would get pies and he wouldn't.  After all, they liked pulling carrots, and they didn't have to miss their favorite game to do it.
Before Christopher realized what he was doing, he raced up to the window and snatched one of the carrot-crumble pies.  He sprinted swiftly away, but as he ran he heard his mother call.
"Christopher Rabbit, you come back here this instant!"
Christopher ran and ran.  He didn't stop until he was far away.  Finally, he looked back.  His house was out of sight, and no, no one seemed to be following him.
I out ran them, Christopher thought triumphantly.
Christopher sat down and quickly gobbled up the carrot-crumble pie.  It was delicious; but when he was finished, Christopher didn't feel very well.  Suddenly, he realized that he had to go home now, and he realized, with a pang of regret, that he shouldn't have taken the pie without earning it.
It was dusk now, and cold.  Christopher shivered.  He felt nervous as the shadows of the trees began to lengthen.  He had never been out this late before.
Christopher's feet dragged as he began his trek homeward.  He had never walked so slowly.  It was dark when Christopher reached home.  Lights glowed warmly through the windows, but Christopher paused, reluctant to go in.  As Christopher opened the door, he realized what he had to do.
"I'm sorry, Mother," he apologized. "I'm sorry, Alex and Alexandra.  You deserved the carrot-crumble pie for working hard, but I didn't."  Christopher paused, "Mother, can I pull two baskets of carrots tomorrow to make up for stealing the pie today?"
"You did wrong today, but since I can see that you are sorry, and you have apologized, after you pick the two baskets of carrots, you'll be forgiven for stealing the pie."
"Thank you mother," said Christopher.  He felt as if a heavy weight had lifted from his heart.  "I can't wait to pick carrots!"
Everybody laughed.

By Sherri S. Crowley

The Rock (a short story) written in 1992

This is a short story I wrote about an experience my big brother Terry and I had when we first moved to Bountiful, in approximately 1965.  I wrote it up as a short story in 1992 and submitted it as a first attempt for a class I was taking in writing.  I was hoping to become an author of children's stories at the time, but I only wrote a few stories before I got too busy doing daycare and watching my own kids grow up.  The next few stories are what came of the attempt to write for children.

The Rock

     "There's nothing to do here," Ralph grumbled, as he scuffed his sneaker into a rock, sending it scuttering across the driveway.
     Lynda, his little sister, followed behind him quietly.  They had only been living in the new house for a few days.  At first there had been a lot to do.   Running around the empty rooms had been great fun.  Their voices had echoed in the emptiness.
     They had explored the new yard.  It had seemed wide and empty, like the house.  Only one small tree on the side lawn interrupted the smooth green grass.
     Nothing was really the same here.  There were no big trees to climb, no fields, or ditches, or polliwog ponds.  The traffic passed the driveway with a swish, swish, swish; proof enough that no such places existed in this town.
     Ralph wrinkled his freckled nose and stuck his tongue out at the passing cars.  "Yuck," he said.
     Lynda sighed.  "Maybe we'll see another ambulance," she said.
     The two children walked over to the sidewalk near the road.  Mom called it "the busy street."  It had two lanes of traffic going in each direction, and it seemed like it was always full of cars.
     Lynda lay on her tummy on the cool strip of grass between the sidewalk and the road.
     Ralph stood at the end of the driveway and kicked rocks into the road with a sharp quick motion.  They felt lonely and out of place.
     Suddenly Ralph bent over and picked up a rock.  He looked at it.  He could throw a rock farther than any of his friends back home.  He could throw a rock and hit a can in the empty lot behind the old barn, or skip it four times across the polliwog pond.  Where could he throw rocks now?  No place.  Now Ralph felt funny inside--like there was something squeezing his heart.  His eyes got misty, and the cars blurred together, as he gripped the rock tightly for a moment, and then threw it into the stream of passing cars.
     CRACK!  For a moment the children were frozen in place.  Then they ran--ran to the other side of the house and hid behind the corner.
      Peeking around the corner of the house, they watched in horror as a car slowed and turned around.  It turned into the driveway and a man got out and walked to the back door.
      He knocked.
      Dad answered.
      The two men talked for a moment.
      "Ralph!" Dad called, "Come here."
      The children emerged slowly from behind the house.
      Ralph felt sick.  He could see the crack that snaked across the top of the car's window.
      The man from the car looked sternly at Ralph.  He told the children that it took a lot of money to replace a car window and that it was tricky.  Windows didn't always fit right after they'd been replaced.  He said Ralph was to blame so he'd ought to make Ralph pay for it.
      Ralph swallowed hard, "Yes sir," he said.
      The man paused.  He put his chin in his hand and slowly rubbed his thumb across his jaw.
      Ralph looked at his feet.
      Lynda looked at the man.  She looked at Ralph.  She saw dad.  He looked worried and sad.
      The man cleared his throat.  "Well, he said, "I reckon I'll see if that crack gets any bigger before I decide what to do.  I don't like the idea of a rattle you know.  If they can't get the new one in right it'll rattle, that's for sure.  I know where you live if I decide different."
      The man got back into his car.  He drove away.
      Dad knelt down on one knee and put a hand on Ralph's shoulder.  He looked into Ralph's eyes.  He seemed to understand somehow.  "You know," he said, "sometimes when you feel sad and hurting inside, sometimes you feel like you might get even by giving a hurt back.  But it doesn't really work, you know.  A thoughtless act most times leads to trouble.  An action taken in anger always brings you shame."
      The lights on the cars were beginning to come on.  Dusk was settling in.  Daddy held the children quietly in his big arms for a while.  No one said anything.  Then they walked slowly into the house together.

The Airplane Model

This is a poem that I took out of an old Ensign.  It had won a poetry contest.  It was one of my favorite poems for like--forever. . .it is by Sherwin W. Howard

I remember
My father built a model plane,
One of those rubber-powered ones
That grow out of a hundred bits
Of balsa wood and paper held by glue,
And it flew.

I remember
A card table in the front room
And watching from my child-space
While he cut and pinned and shaped
A thousand fractured moments into place,
And it flew.

I remember,
The cool spring Saturday we went
Outside, conspirators in flight,
Propeller wound to nearly snap,
Its wings held up to brush the morning air,
And it flew.

I remember
The soaring arc that climbed past age
Above the narrow city streets
And rushed headlong into a wind
That cut across an ever-widening sky,
And it flew.

I remember,
The ladder and broom that brushed it down
From shingles where it crashed midway
Along a path from man to boy
I watched tight-lipped while shouting loud inside,
It flew, oh Dad, it flew.

Strings (a poem) written in 1977

Can I touch in you the strings
that will make you beautiful?
Will the song that I sing
harmonize with the music in your soul?
Or will my human hands,
with their careful clumsiness,
only cause discord--
because of the imperfection
in their interpretation
of your needs. . .

By Sherri Scovill

Earth (a poem) written in 1978

The earth seemed to live,
and I felt the throbbing pulse of life
as I reached out to grasp
that fistful of soil
I hold so tightly in my hand.

Quiet sounds of a breeze-filled
night pierced my soul,
as under a tree I knelt
and with tears of wonder
bathing my face
gazed into the starlit sky
to see
the beginnings of eternity
while holding
desperately
to the securing solidness
of that bit of you
I grasp.

By Sherri Scovill

Sept. 26, 1979--Reflective piece--Where do I go from here?

I am going to post some past writing-- whatever I find that I would like to keep track of.  This was tucked into a journal, written on notebook paper.  It was dated Sept. 26, 1979.

Where do I go from here
is a question much dependent on where here is
and the direction which I face.
People tend to be shallow in their vision,
seeing only the road they've already begun,
seeing only the talents they've already proved,
Afraid of stretching out too far,
Afraid of vulnerability
Afraid of failure
Wary of success--a gateway to the unknown,
unexperienced, unexplored.

Searching for a fulfillment to fit my present, past, and future dreams. . .
Something that will blend into harmony with the whole
and yet,
add to the stature of the soul.

Who communes with God?
The careful man,
The wary man,
The concerned man,
The searching soul?

desire. . .
Where does man find desire?
Is it mined like gold, or given as a gift from friends
does it grow within himself
a seed nurtured carefully and tended?
From whence is found the seed
and how is the soil prepared for planting?
How is it guarded against the winter's blast,
the early frost?

Here in the midst of autumn leaves
of crisp cool mornings and sun filled days
Of blazing mountains
and silent sunrise
I find the bluster of scattered purpose
the cool crisp business of many colored moments
scattered in drifting piles and floating
softness upon fitful turnings

A scattering of members
A meeting of new fellows
A single autumn brightness
A million autumn brightnesses
A blazing crackling fire
of mellow warmth.

By Sherri Scovill

Tin Man Symbol and personality traits

But Oz never did give nothing to the tin man that he didn't, didn't already have.                                               -Dewey Bunnell * In The Wizard of Oz, which is so well known thanks to the Judy Garland (et al) movie, each of the four main characters is said to correlate to one of the fourTemperaments.    The Scarecrow is said to represent the Theorist, since he wants the Wizard to give him a brain.  Even though the Scarecrow is presented as the "smartest" of all the characters in the story -- usually the one to solve the puzzles facing them -- knowledge is the area where he feels most deficient.  It's a paradox! A similar paradox holds true for the other characters and Temperaments.  The area where they shine is simultaneously the area in which they feel most defective.  From this weakness, we can deduce the most important value for each of the Temperaments.  Dorothy, who is coincidentally the most "real," is supposed to represent the Stabilizer Temperament, with her longing for home (belonging) and duty.  The Cowardly Lion represents the Improviser, who needs to appear brave -- and the Tin Man craves a heart!  (What Catalyst is not concerned about what is in his heart?) Something not to be overlooked about the Tin Man is how he is made of impenetrable metal, not flesh.  This is a powerful symbol, meant to draw your attention to something important about this character.  When Catalysts get emotionally injured, they tend to erect psychological "barriers" to avoid suffering further damage.  It's a completely understandable reaction.  The paradox is that the same barriers which protect them from getting wounded will also act as barriers that inadvertently preclude them from feeling loved. It can be a dangerous trap for a Catalyst to become a shielded "tin man."  The "protection" thwarts them from getting their own greatest needs met, and thus they can become the bitterest and angriest of people -- with their potential for love, empathy, and understanding completely wasted.  Their aptitude for love can become dwarfed by their capability for cynicism, bitterness, and even hate.   It takes great courage to stay vulnerable and open to the possibility of being hurt when you've been injured in the past.  It's even illogical to do so!  Nevertheless, the obvious remedy of growing "tin skin" will only result in the Catalyst "dying" inside psychologically. It's hard to keep the barriers down, especially when it feels more powerful to live out of your opposite.  Unfortunately, when you get stuck in that seemingly "safe" place, you can't really develop or grow. So be vigilant, and examine yourself often for signs of "tin skin."  If you meet a fellow Tin Man, give 'm a hug. * Recommended reading:  Leadership and Self Deception: Getting Out of the Box * * *

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Information on personality typing by color

There are various personality schemes, but one that is most interesting, is the color code system. It is based on your motivations for doing what you do, and because these change to a small degree during your lifetime, this scheme is perhaps the most accurate personality system today.

The idea is simple - there are four basic colors, white, red, blue and yellow. Each person is a mix of these, often having one color as the dominant. Each color has certain characteristics.


http://www.thecolorcode.com/

The Color Code : A New Way to See Yourself, Your relationships and Life by Taylor Hartman, Ph.d.

The Personality Profile Test was designed to help you discover your own personality type. Perhaps you will learn things about yourself that you were not aware of, or find out why you have certain tendencies or reactions you could never understand. You will probably be able to identify the colors of some of your acquaintances as well. This will help you to understand them better, and point the way to more meaningful relationships.

It's unlikely that your color will prove to be a pure on - 100% Red or Blue or White or Yellow. Nature isn't that simple. Instead even those individuals with a strong affinity for one particular color will find it tinged with traces of others. When your test results reflect high scores in more than one personality area - that is, when two colors are almost equal in strength- you may at first find it difficult to identify the stronger one. As you read further, the motives and characteristics of each personality type will become clear and you will have no trouble determining your primary personality color.

To compute your score, add the totals for each letter (a,b,c,d) chosen from the two sections of the test. The four personality color types are assigned to each of the letters: Red for "a", Blue for "b", White for "c" and Yellow for "d". The letter with the greatest total reflects your natural personality. The number of responses from multiple columns suggests the amount of blend your personality represents. You have only one basic personality, but you may be a strong blend (behaviorally) of two personalities, depending on your response. However, your motive (not your behavior) determines your primary personality.

This color profile is only a guide, not a directive engraved in stone. Few people are completely represented by just one personality, but are probably a mixture of types. The degree to which you have marked responses other than those of your main color reflects this. You are, however, always predominately one color, one personality. As a result of taking the Personality Profile Test, you have discovered the first important truth about yourself. You are either a purist (predominantly one color, totaling 30 or more responses to a single letter) or a mixed personality (two or more colors representing almost equal totals).

Mixed Colors

While purists find it easy to related to examples that reflect primary colors, mixed-color personalities do not. They are more complex. The characteristics of their behavior and their motives are harder to pin down.

The most difficult color combination is Red and Blue. If you are strong in both categories, you will often find yourself stepping on someone's toes to get a task completed (Red), but feeling guilty afterward for making that person unhappy (Blue).

Red-White combinations are difficult to read because they can be aggressive and determined one minute (Red), then quietly passive the next (White). If you fit this category, your guiding motive is power or peace rather than intimacy, which spares you the intense struggle of the Red-Blue combination. You are likely to be misunderstood because your behavior is inconsistent, and you don't easily allow others to figure you out.

If you are a Red-Yellow, you are a natural leader and find yourself in a comfortable blend. The Red dynamically directs your life, while the Yellow charismatically invites others to enjoy your friendship.

If you are a Blue-White combination, you are comfortable. You express yourself softly and sincerely. Your personality is easy to read. People find you determined, yet flexible. You are someone with whom almost anyone can get along.

Blue-Yellows are fun to tease. I call them my dual personalities, because they can be footloose and carefree one minute then suddenly turn very serious the next. They may pack the neighborhood kids in the van and race to the beach for a day of sun and fun. But once there, they'll start to worry about all the things they should be doing at home. They are intimacy-based and have no strong desire for power in their relationships.

If White and Yellow are your two strong colors, you possess the best people skills of all the personalities. You are relaxed and usually take the path of least resistance. You do not experience much conflict between your colors, despite the different motives represented by each. You are comfortable with your blend and present an inviting atmosphere to those around you.

Color-coded motives:

Motives are the principle means of identifying a personality color. Each color stands for one particularly strong motive. Red is for power. Blue is for intimacy. White is for peace. Yellow is for fun.

Reds : Reds are hungry for power. Simple stated Reds want their own way. If they have been raised in environments where they were able to manipulate their parents and siblings, they become difficult to manage as they get older. When they have gotten their way for too long, Reds find it almost impossible to relinquish their power and freedom when they meet authorities in society (teachers, bosses, police, clergy, military officers) who refuse to grant them the total control they demand.

Reds want to be productive. Reds like to work - in school, in their careers and in their relationships. Just do not expect them to attach the same importance to things other people care about - like other people's schooling, careers and marriages. But give them a reason to produce, and watch them take off. Reds like to get the job done. They are often workaholics. They will, however, resist being forced to do anything that does not interest them.

Reds want to look good to others. Reds need to appear knowledgable. They crave approval from others for their intelligence and insight. They want to be respected even more than they want to be loved. They want to be admired for their logical, practical minds. When you deal with a Red, be precise and factual. Reds are unmoved by tears or other displays of "weakness."

Reds should not be taken too seriously. Reds are often just stating the facts as they see them, despite their antagonistic demeanor. They seldom say "in my opinion" before stating their opinions. I have seen too many Blues, Whites and Yellows become greatly concerned over issues raised by Reds, only to discover later that the Reds were simply interested in debating. Reds enjoy a good power play. But once you get emotionally involved arguing issues, you may be disappointed and frustrated to find that a Red is no longer interested.

Reds seek leadership opportunities. Despite the rigidity of the military, many young Red men and women select it as a career in order to experience leadership. Reds are often called "control freaks". They like to be in the driver's seat. Red children are often frustrated in school because teachers (often Blue personalities) won't let them take charge. If a Red can get the upper hand, he or she will. Reds are willing to pay any price in order for an opportunity to lead.

Blues

Blues are motivated by altruism. Blues love to do nice things for others. They look for opportunities to give up something in order to bring another person happiness. Selflessness rather than selfishness is their guiding philosophy. Many Blues are uncomfortable doing things solely for themselves. They hold doors for people, offer rides when someone's car breaks down, contribute to charity, even devote their whole lives to helping others.

Blues crave intimacy. More than anything else, Blues want to love and be loved. A Blue will sacrifice a successful career to improve an important relationship. Once considered a female characteristic, this nurturing is more accurately understood as a Blue personality trait.

Blues are gratified when they are listened to, when they feel understood and appreciated. They are notorious for revealing their inadequacies because they value being known and understood so much. In the eyes of a Blue, being vulnerable is small price to pay for the chance to be close. Blues may have their hearts broken more than most people, but they also spend much more time in love.

Blues expend such great effort in making the world a better place that sometimes they need to be told how wonderful they are. They need to be thanked and specifically remembered for their good deeds. They need sincere gratitude. They delight in being remembered on birthdays and other special days, especially if the remembrance is personal - a homemade anniversary card, a welcome home party, a special day that isn't on the calendar. Blues need tender loving care.

Blues are directed by a strong moral conscience. Blues are motivated to behave in a proper, appropriate manner. They have a moral code that guides them in their decision making, their value judgments, even their leisure time. Blues enjoy being "good". Of all the personality colors, Blues come equipped with the strongest sense of integrity. A Blue would rather lose than cheat. Blues are trustworthy. Blues are the people who should be in positions of power, but seldom are.

Whites

Whites are motivated by peace. Whites will do almost anything to avoid confrontation. They like to flow through life without hassle or discomfort. Feeling good is even more important to them than being good.

Whites need kindness. While Whites respond beautifully to thoughtfulness and amiability, they have a strong, silent stubbornness that surfaces when they are treated unkindly. They resent being scolded. They dislike harsh words. They open up instantly to people who are kind, but Whites recoil form those who are hostile.. They are motivated by kindness - and cannot understand why other people are unkind.

Whites like to keep a low profile. Whites enjoy their quiet independence. What appears to some people as quiet desperation can show itself to be bullheadedness. Those who misinterpret the peace-loving nature of a White as an invitation to be demanding and bossy will soon meet a wall of passive resistance. Whites are tougher than people think.

Whites like to be asked their opinions. They won't volunteer them. They value the respect of others, but they rarely go out of their way to seek it. They need to be coaxed to talk about their skill, hobbies and interests

Whites are independent. Unlike Reds, who want to control others, Whites seek only to avoid being controlled. They simply refuse to be under another's thumb, especially when treated without the respect they feel they deserve. Whites want to do things their way, in their own time. They do not ask much of others, and resent it when others demand things from them. They often comply with unreasonable demands - just to keep peace. They will only express their anger and frustration when they can no longer stand being bossed around. Whites do not like to be pushed, and they can be fearsome when they finally "blow up".

Whites are motivated by other people's desires. Whites are open to the recommendations of others on ways to resolve any and all situations. White executives value new management ideas from employees. White children welcome help - they are eager students. Whites make agreeable dates. They are interested in making sure the other person has a good time, and are willing to do whatever the other person wants. Whites, however, want suggestions - not demands.

Yellows

Yellows value play. Yellows consider life to be a party and they're hosting. One father (Blue) was disappointed when his son (Yellow) preferred spending time with friends instead of with him. I reminded the father that his son was motivated by fun and suggested that he should try to come up with activities that his son felt were exciting. It was the "better offer" principle - and it worked. Yellows want to have fun.

Yellows welcome praise. Yellows need to be noticed. Nothing improves a relationship with a Yellow more than praise. Yellows need to know they are valued and approved of . Yellows often act as though they have the world by the tail, but they do have their fears and frustrations - which they rarely confide until they know they are loved. Love is most effectively given to Yellows through praise.

Yellows need intimacy. Yellows often appear so nonchalant that people think they do no care about anything. Nothing could be further from the truth. Yellows need a great deal of attention. They need to be stroked. Yellows enjoy touching. To them, physical contact is the most direct, most intimate connection.

Yellows want to be popular. Yellows like to be at center stage. Socially looking good is very important to them. Friendships command a high priority in their lives because popularity answers one of their basic needs. - the need for approval. Yellows are highly verbal. They relish good conversation. But they can also go with the flow - they can chit-chat superficially with the best of them.

Yellows like action. Easily bored, Yellows seek adventure. They can never sit still for long. They choose friends who, like them, refuse to allow the "boring details" to get in the way of the most important thing in life - play.

Personality Overview

MOTIVE

RED BLUE WHITE YELLOW

Power Intimacy Peace Fun

NEEDS

RED BLUE WHITE YELLOW

To look good To be good To feel good To look good

(academically) (morally) (inside) (socially)

To be right To be To be allowed To be popular

understood their own space

Respect Appreciation Respect Praise

Approval Acceptance Acceptance Approval

WANTS

RED BLUE WHITE YELLOW

To hide To reveal To withhold To hide

insecurities insecurities insecurities insecurities

(tightly (loosely)

To please To please To please self/ To please

self others others others/self

Leadership Autonomy Independence Freedom

Challenging Security Contentment Playful

adventure adventure

Strong meat of simple truth

My dad served as a high counselor and as a bishop, so he gave a lot of talks when I was growing up, and I guess I heard some of them repeated a few times.  These are two poems that he used often enough for me to remember them and associate them with my father.  The first, by Emerson, is not the entire poem, which is long, but parts that I remember him quoting.  The second is, It Couldn't Be Done, by Edgar Guest. Enjoy--


If thou canst bear 
Strong meat of simple truth 
If thou durst my words compare 
With what thou thinkest in my soul’s free youth, 
Then take this fact unto thy soul,----- 
God dwells in thee
.  . . . 
Clouded and shrouded there doth sit
The Infinite
Embosomed in a man;
And thou art stranger to thy guest 
. . .
Soul of thy soul.
Be great as doth beseem
The ambassador who bears
The royal presence where he goes.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

It Couldn't Be Done by Edgar Guest

It Couldn’t Be Done

Edgar Guest

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,

But, he with a chuckle replied

That "maybe it couldn’t," but he would be one

Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin

On his face. If he worried he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you’ll never do that;

At least no one has done it";

But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,

And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

Without any doubting or quiddit,

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,

There are thousands to prophesy failure;

There are thousands to point out to you one by one,

The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle it in with a bit of a grin,

Just take off your coat and go to it;

Just start to sing as you tackle the thing

That "couldn’t be done," and you’ll do it.

Beauty and the Beast

http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/beautybeast/index.html

There are some parallels from this story that I find and am trying to use to teach the lessons of my life with my own handsome prince.  Some things and people are not as they appear.

Key points:

Beauty acted out of obedience and to help her father.

She had to do it willingly

She had to find the dream prince underneath the monster

The monster gave her everything he had to try to make her happy

He was willing to die to give her her happiness

He thought she would desert him due to his ugliness

She found that she loved him despite his appearance

She found that under the beast was the prince she had always dreamed to find.

Junk in the Trunk

So, I am off track.  It has been five and a half years since we moved into this house and my goal is to get into the closets and storage areas and de-junk.  For me to manage to tackle this unappealing chore I must dwell on the desired outcome and how great it will feel to finally be organized, streamlined, and better able to function, because all the extraneous clutter of old junk is disposed of.

I can make an analogy with this process of de-junking, to life.  Sometimes we go through life with the proverbial "junk in the trunk."  The pain or disappointment caused by trials, hurts, and challenges, perhaps sins, that we have collected and that we are just carrying around with us.  This cargo is extraneous and actually harmful to us.  It causes us to build walls instead of bridges.  It often causes us to doubt our potential, or our ability to be loved, and our personal value.  It cause us to build walls, instead of bridges, and behind these walls, we hide our junk--and our true selves.  Sometimes in life, as in houses, it is good to get into those closets and do some de-junking.  This is an unappealing chore, there is dust, and cobwebs, and old memories that we don't want to deal with, but when do it and we eliminate all that stuff-- we, like our houses, are clean, ordered, and better able to function because the clutter of our past is cleaned out.

My Mountain (a talk for a New Beginnings program)

Our theme is “My Mountain” This theme idea came to me shortly after I was called as YW president. I was thinking about what I would like to share with you YW. What have I learned through my life experience that might help you face the challenges you may face in your own lives.

This morning while I was eating breakfast I thought about a song I used to sing with my kids when they were little.

“Goin’ on a lion hunt. Gonna catch a big one. But I’m not afraid. Cause I’ve got my toothbrush. My big red tooth brush. Stop. Look. And that’s when you would hit an obstacle, grass, mud, a cave etc. The next line is the one that I thought applied here: Can’t go over it can’t go under it can’t go around it, got to go through it.

Obstcles and trails are like that. You can’t go over them, you can’t go under them, you can’t go around them. You have to go through them.

I thought about overcoming trails and obstacles and facing challenges in life and how important it was for me to have a solid gospel foundation and testimony which I developed as a youth and which I depended on when I was far away from home and when things were unsteady or challenging.

I remembered a time when I was a missionary when I was going through some challenges. It was near Christmas time then too. I had just been made Sr. Companion and given as my Jr. companion a Japanese sister who I had previously worked with as a Jr. Companion. She had been depressed and she and the president thought that I would be a good influence for her.

Not only was I a new Sr. but I was in an unusual and sensitive situation.

Far from home in a challenging situation I thought about being half way through my mission and unable to skip ahead or back, but needing to face my challenges and overcome them and move through it and come out successfully on the other side.

I may have been a little homesick when I tried to express myself in a poem call “My Mountain” because the image of our Rocky Mtns. was clear in my mind as I wrote about them on the other side of the world.

I am sharing this poem with you tonight as a foundation or theme to focus us on as we try to prepare to climb and overcome our own life’s mountains.

Read Poem: “My Mountain”

How do we prepare ourselves to climb our life’s mountains?

Tonight we will share with you some vital supplies or equipment that we need to take with us on our journey up our mountain, and we will give each girl a moment to express how she is developing herself and preparing her spiritual pack by completing value experiences in Personal Progress.

If I were to go on a hike up a mountain I would prepare a pack like this: (hiking pack by table)

(Each item is added to the pack as it is discussed)

Faith--Food

One of the most important things I would have to take along would be food. I need something to nourish myself along the way to give me energy and strength to overcome the obstacles in my way and to keep moving along my path.

In my spiritual life I must also nourish myself daily basic acts such as prayer, scripture study and living the commandments supply me with daily spiritual nourishment that makes my soul strong and resilient, able to face and overcome challenges that come my way.

We exercise faith by living gospel principles, serving faithful, and trusting in the Lord and his promises.

Alma 57: 26, 27

Divine Nature/Fire

The next item I would pack with me is a means to warm myself, cook, find comfort, and purify. I am packing matches so that I can make a fire.

In my spiritual pack fire represents Divine Nature.

As daughters of our Heavenly Father who loves us we should be striving to develop qualities that make us become more like him. Qualities such as charity, peacemaking, obedience, and others

2 Peter 1:5-7

Fire/heat is used to purify metals by removing impurities, it can sanitize and cleanse. Spiritual fire is also used to cleanse our souls.

When we develop out divine nature we eliminate impurities from our lives and develop the higher qualities of our spiritual beings that make us more like our Heavenly Father.

Individual Worth/Map—Route

Next into my pack I need to place my map or guide. If I don’t know where I am supposed to go on my trek, how can I travel the correct course to arrive there safely? I need to have a plan.

In my spiritual climb, my map or guide is compared to knowing my Individual Worth. I need to understand that “I am of infinite worth with my own divine mission which I will strive to fulfill. I am going to read a portion from my Patriarchal Blessing. I feel this could have been written to each of us, and it expresses so well how our Father in Heaven sees each of us.

Excerpt from My patriarchal blessing:

“The Lord is pleased with you this day and wants you to know that he loves you. You are literally one of His daughters, one of the choice spirits called to come upon the earth at this time to perform special labors in His kingdom. Those labors cannot be performed by anyone else but you and no one else can have the privilege and the blessings that are set out for you but you.”

We are each uniquely qualified to fulfill missions on this earth. Learn what those are. Get your own patriarchal blessings to help you understand who you are and what your tasks are in this life.

Pray and get to know the Lord. Learn to recognize the spirit, follow it, let it testify to you of truth. Allow it to direct and guide your life. Get to know yourself as your Father in Heaven knows you and recognize your Individual Worth. Then you will know the route that you must travel and the destination that He has in mind for you on your soul’s journey.

How do we walk this path? By preparing ourselves and making “Personal Progress” a part of our lives.

My Mountain (a poem) written in 1981

I seem to be accustomed to mountains.

Raised in the valleys beneath The Rockies,

I found, as I grew up, a security in those tall solid structures,

Which cast long shadows into the valley,

As the sun seemed to catch one last dream before arising.

Yes, I love the mountains.

From the valley floor you view the mountain

In a fine perspective from top to bottom.

Your eyes can capture its expanse

From the highest peak, to its broad wide base.

Between the valley floor and the highest peak, is the climb.

Both top and bottom soon obstructed by trees, winding trail, and gradual climbing;

Confused by cliffs and crevices, hills and canyons.

Who would expect so many hills and valleys

Upon one mountain face?

And yet, in reflection, it is true.

I pondered the mountains as I lived in the valleys.

I reverenced the mountain as I stood upon its peak.

But I discovered the mountain as I scaled her sides,

Entered her canyons, slept in her crevices,

And in the end, it was the climbing

That made the mountain mine.

Now I find that my life

Is much like climbing mountains,

Living in the valley, sitting on the peaks. . .

But mostly a day to day climbing over steep slopes

And through rocky canyons,

An uncertain winding trail ahead.

Yet, I seem to be accustomed to mountains.

And in the end, it will be the climbing

That makes the mountains mine.

By Sherri Scovill Crowley

Written in Asahigawa, Japan in 1981

The Amazing Story of the Kirby & Sherri Courtship

This story really begins in the summer of 1982. I had returned from my mission to Sapporo Japan in July and was planning to get back into school at BYU when the semester started that fall. I had been planning on living with a friend from my mission, Kathleen Kerr, who was staying in a house with a group of girls. However, I found out that the cost of living there was going up in the fall, and I couldn’t afford it. So I was out looking for a place to live within walking distance of the Y long after most students had signed their housing contracts for the coming school year. I visited multiple apartment complexes, only to be told that they were full for fall. I was driving down off the hill from campus one day when I stopped at a stop sign next to the old Reams apts. I had had a good friend of mine live there back in ’79, so I was familiar with them. I had a strong impression to turn in and ask if they still had rooms available, so I did. I stopped at the office, which was open. I asked about rooms, which they had, and I went over and saw a unit. The price was right and I signed up that day. I felt strongly that I had been led to find just the right place for me to live.

Although there were 6 girls in an apartment usually, I had been put into an apartment with just 3 girls, me and two others who were friends and shared a room. I ended up with a room to myself. I liked it there. The ward was nice and I was close to campus. Things were going well. I was still writing to Rick weekly, but there was no actual commitment there, so I was looking around and dating a little as the opportunity came up. I had not been interested in anyone I had met so far.

I went on a few dates with Martin Crowley in November. His apartment had this weird antic that they did occasionally where they would hang out in front of their apartment and hustle girls as they walked by going to school. Martin approached me in this way and so I took on the challenge. He was asking me if I wanted to get together sometime, and I said yeah, sure, but I told him I didn’t believe that he would actually call me because guys never do follow up on a scheme like this one. So anyway, he called that night. We went on a few dates, but he was too forward, and after a few weeks, I told him I was writing to someone and he would be back soon. He didn’t ask me out anymore after that, but he did come by the apartment to flirt with my roommate Ann. She would cut his hair for free. She was really cute, but she had a serious boyfriend. She and Marty were friends.

One evening in December 1982, I had fallen asleep in my room studying. I was woken up by voices upstairs. Ann was cutting Marty’s hair and I could hear them talking. Kirby was also there. (He was in town to ski for a month or so before he went to basic training.) I needed to come out of the room, but the floor plan was really open and when I left my room Marty heard me downstairs and called to me to come up and meet his brother Kirby. I was not excited to do so. I was in sweats, I was wearing my glasses, and I was rumpled from sleep, but I didn’t know how to avoid it, so I came upstairs and curled up in a chair and silently began to watch the proceedings. Marty and Ann were talking and laughing. Kirby was sitting on the end of the couch near the kitchen listening to them talk too. No one was paying any attention to me, but I was paying a lot of attention to Kirby. That is when I got a strong impression that I knew him, the only way I could describe it to myself was, “I know him from the pre-existence.” When I thought that, it felt right, and I felt like he was important to me in some way. It was like I could “read” him. He seemed to be just as uncomfortable and out of it sitting there as I was. I was intrigued. I decided to get to know this person better, but later, when I was prepared. So I noticed him around for the rest of the week. He was having fun and hustling girls, but he didn’t notice me. That was okay, I had a plan.

Sunday morning I got up and got ready for action. I had this purple dress and high heeled shoes that I had made pre-mission. It was designed to get attention from guys, and it usually worked. I put that on, did my hair and make-up and went to church determined to get re-introduced to Kirby. I did this by flirting with Marty, who was of course with Kirby. Kirby, surprise, surprise, didn’t remember me, so I got introduced again. We went off to Sunday School together, and I sat by Kirby. I remember Marty saying something like: “Hey, she came over to talk to me.” Really, I had come over to talk to Kirby. As luck would have it Kirby and I sat together in Sacrament Meeting as well, and after Sacrament Meeting Kirby was talking to some friends about going skiing the following week. Hmmm, “but I LOOOVE skiing!” Guess who got asked to go skiing? Yep, me. Guess who spent the rest of the afternoon with Kirby, yep, that would also be me.

Funny thing was, that after that evening Kirby started feeling something too. If I remember my history correctly, correct me if I’m wrong honey, he spent some time that afternoon, before dinner, on a rock up on Y mountain thinking about me. Pretty fast connection I’d say. We spent a good part of each day together after that for the rest of the week. We had a great time skiing on Tuesday, and may I say, snow was not the only thing falling that day. I was falling hard for this guy Kirby.

This was before Christmas. Kirby and Marty were planning a trip home for Christmas. My best friend, Rick, the missionary, was coming back to BYU in January. Kirby can probably help me with the time line here, but Kirby and Marty went home to Othello, WA for Christmas and they were planning on coming back to Provo after New Years. Kirby decided to come back early. He called me New Years Eve from Provo. He asked what I was doing. I was planning on tending my nieces and nephews that night while the married couples went out to a movie. Kirby said he’d come over if I’d feed him. He showed up about 9:00. I guess we ate and Kirby and I played the game “Othello.” He won. The next day I had planned to go skiing with my brothers, but I was going to have to leave mid day. I had to buy a full day pass, so Kirby left me a hoodie to wear the next day skiing. I was picking up Rick in the afternoon. Kirby was going to meet me at the resort and use the rest of my day pass. I slept with the hoodie that night. It smelled like him.

The next day was crazy. I remember giving Kirby the hoodie back at the resort—Here’s where I consult my journal. I met Kirby at 1:00 at Sundance and gave him his hoodie. Rick was going to arrive at 3:20. I remember driving up to the airport. Torn Between Two Lovers came on the radio. I hate that song, but I really hated it that day. I didn’t know what to expect with Rick. We had been pretty close for a long time, but we had been separated for most of that time. I was wondering how I would feel about him, and how he would react to being back with me. Kirby was a pretty strong pull, but Rick had some real history. I had no idea what would happen. We were both pretty nervous. I picked him up and took him back to his new apartment and dropped him off. I met him again later that evening, apparently we ate at my place, and then went back to his apartment where we talked and unpacked and exchanged some gifts. I remember that his apartment was cold. I just remember feeling so cold. I was on the floor in front of the couch. His wallet was sitting nearby. I decided to look through it at the pictures he had inside. There were girls, several of them. All pretty blondes. No pictures of me. He saw me looking. He explained that in the mission they carried these pictures to ward off young girls. Okay, but who were they? Rick seemed to like blondes I thought. He did finally get around to giving me a kiss, but it was a pretty nervous one. By then I was really cold. I just remember trying to keep myself from shivering. I wanted someone to just hold me and warm me up--from the inside out.

I left shortly after that. I went straight to Kirby’s apartment. I told him I thought Rick and I were just friends. He invited me inside and held me in his arms on his lap in a big chair. He kissed me. I was finally warm. I felt like I had come home.

Turns out I had invited Rick to church the next day. It was Sunday and we had 8:00 church; he thought he might need more sleep than that, so I invited him to Sunday dinner. When Kirby found out that Rick wasn’t coming for church, he wanted to come in the morning. So we had Kirby over in the morning until about 4:30 and Rick that evening for dinner. Mom said that Rick seemed like a comfortable old friend, but that Kirby made her nervous. Did she see what was coming? According to my journal, after I took Rick home that evening, I dropped by and read scriptures with Kirby. I don’t remember this. The next morning Rick and I went over to the bookstore together and apparently Rick and Kirby met each other at my apartment that morning, though I don’t remember that either. After that the sequence of events gets a little foggy in my head, and I may get some of this out of order.

(Kirby's edit--January 5, 1983. ) Apparently the feeling was shared, because that night as he prayed Kirby asked if I was the girl for him. He said he didn’t get a yes, so he asked what if he didn’t pursue me. Then, he said, he got a really dark feelig.

Apparently I forgot a date with Rick some days later. I remember thinking he was sick, but maybe that was out of order too. Apparently he came by to pick me up and I was out. He came by like the next day and I was on my way out the door with Kirby. I was wearing a sweater that Rick gave me at the time. It was a bit of a shock for Rick. I told him I would talk to him the next day I believe. Rick and I met on campus as arranged, and we ended up having a talk on the lawn by the bell tower. I told Rick about Kirby at that time, and explained that I really liked him. Rick was pretty surprised. He had not seen this coming, and to tell the truth, neither had I.

January 8, 1983. Kirby took me to the Deseret Gym with his Aunt Margie and her roommate. We played racket-ball, swam, and ran the track. I got pretty mad at Kirby that day because he was spending a lot of time with Margie’s roommate, and I felt neglected. When I told him I was mad, he actually got pretty giddy about that. I was jealous, and he loved it. He took me out to dinner and then to temple square, where he proposed. I was still pretty annoyed with him, so I was astonished that he would propose that night. I told him I would have to think about it. We had a long talk on the way home. The next Monday we went rollerblading with the ward. Kirby showed up that afternoon with matching shirts, they said I’m hers because. . .and I’m his because. . .and then there were check boxes with choices, I can’t remember what they said. I remember thinking that he was pretty anxious to claim me, and I wasn’t quite sure I was ready to publically make an announcement, but we wore the shirts.

(Kirby's Edit-- January 11, Tuesday evening, I accepted.)

By January 16, Kirby and I were engaged, but we weren’t sharing the news yet. I still had a date with Rick that Friday night to go to the temple. Friday was a good night for me, not so good, as it turns out, for Rick or Kirby. In my mind I spent time with a great friend. We had a good talk, and I told him I was going to marry someone else. As far as I could tell, we began it and ended it as friends. I felt so sure I was right. Kirby spent the night riding around town on a bicycle waiting for me to come back from the temple. He had all of his clothes packed up in his car in case I changed my mind while I was up there. I didn’t. Kirby and I announce our engagement that night to our families, but Rick was the first to know. I told him before he left.

I just always thought that God had his hand in this. I was at the right place, at the right time, and we both got hit with thunder bolts. If I had been anywhere else, or if the timing had been off just a bit, history would have been re-written. I find that amazing and fascinating. I can only think that God’s hand was guiding us all.

Sherri—Jan. 2010

Bethany's National Merit Scholarship Application essay

I laugh as I read this writing prompt, because I am not sure whether my father, Kirby Crowley, is my greatest influence, or the obstacle I have overcome.  He is the most intelligent man I know--the strongest.  He is also Manic Depressive.

As his daughter, I built up a psychological hardiness as I lived through his rages and depressions.  Experience with his disorder gave me emotional intelligence and a thicker skin than most.  I learned to smile even when I was falling down.  A sense of humor is a great tool when facing adversity and I know that from experience.

Kirby Crowley is also a genius.  My attention to detail and perfectionist tendencies were inherited from him.  He can do everything from engineering to interrogation to teaching.  As far as I can remember, he trained my siblings and me to think independently.  If we had a problem, he often refused to give us the solution outright.  "Figure it out," he would tell us,  "Don't say 'I don't know', because you do, so figure it out."  This frustrated me when I was younger, until I realized that he had taught me valuable problem solving skills.

This man is someone I can not help but love.  In contrast to the memories of him putting holes in the walls are tender recollections--such as when I had bronchitis and could not breathe and he wrapped the two of us in a blanket and we sat on the porch in the cold air.  He may not be the best at saying "I love you," but it shows in his sacrifices and it is in his voice when he says he is proud of me.

I can truly say that I am who I am today because of my father, Kirby Crowley.

My favorite lullabies as a child

When I was a child my mother sang me lullabies.  These were my favorites:

Far Away Places

Far away places with strange-soundin' names
Far away over the sea
Those far away places with the strange-soundin' names
Are callin', callin' me

Goin' to China or maybe Siam
I want to see for myself
Those far away places I've been readin' about
In a book that I took from the shelf

I start gettin' restless whenever I hear
The whistle of a train
I pray for the day I can get underway
And look for those castles in Spain

They call me a dreamer, well maybe I am
But I know that I'm yearnin' to see
Those far away places with the strange-soundin' names
Callin', callin' me

(I pray for the day when I'll find a way
Those far away places to see)

Those far away places with the strange-soundin' names that are
Callin', callin' me

The other song that was my favorite was Lavender's Blue  I have heard a few versions of this song, but the one I remember goes:

Lavender's blue, dilly dilly
Lavender's green,
If I were king, dilly dilly,
You'd be my queen.
Who told me so dilly dilly,
Who told me so,
I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so,
If your dilly, dilly heart beats a dilly dilly way,
And if you answer yes,
In a dilly dilly church, on a dilly dilly day,
You'll be wed in a dilly dilly dress of
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green,
If I were king dilly dilly,
And you'd be my queen.

Gemstones--(a poem) written in 2010

Gemstones
By Sherri S. Crowley

My hopes and dreams--
a ruby shaft of sparkling stone
cut with deft precision
from my heart,
tossed casually onto the tile of the hallway
and left lying--
exposed and abandoned,
gradually pulverized into powder
by the repeated striking
of cold steel.

In its place a stone
lodged, and healed over,
heavy and tearless,
lying dormant--
pressurized.
Until one day,
by precision blade,
it is exposed again--
a diamond,
cold, hard, and colorless,
dazzling in captured light
reflecting prisms from all colors--
splintering the light that passes through it
into rainbows.

This gem,
more rare
and more exquisite
than the first,
rests quietly
in that heart--
where hopes
are dawning,
and old dreams awaken
into possibilities.


This poem was written as part of a process of inner healing which has been occurring over the last 7 years.  We all go through stuff.  Thankfully with time, and God's help, we heal.

Explorations on the topic of being one

We must learn that in the Lord’s plan, our understanding comes “line upon line, precept upon precept.”In short, knowledge and understanding

come at the price of patience.

.--D. Uchtdorf

Some of my thoughts on oneness—Line upon line, that is how we gain understanding.

15 I say unto you, that whoso forbiddeth to marry is not ordained of God, for marriage is ordained of God unto man.

  16 Wherefore, it is lawful that he should have one wife, and they twain shall be one flesh, and all this that the earth might answer the end of its creation;

  17 And that it might be filled with the measure of man, according to his creation before the world was made.

The most fundamental concept of couple oneness is the joining of two separate persons in a holy contract, and then physically, in love, so as to create one new life from the two. This new life literally is “one flesh” created from the joining of two persons. This is, in simple terms, a child. A new being who literally embodies the characteristics and personality traits of the parents combined in a unique and amazing way to form another person. Just as you cannot thereafter split this child into two beings representing the original two parents, so you should not assume to divide the parents after they have joined to make the child. Their united efforts and understanding are instead meant to be joined to then raise this child of their union with the best of their combined effort.

What God has joined together, let not man put asunder.--Matt 19:6

Families are the key to Father's plan, and his organizational unit for the eternities. We are expected to learn to operate within them in the manner which Father operates his family. He has given us the order of families within his gospel. The father is to lead, with love and wisdom, showing kindness and respect to his wife and children, using the priesthood of God along with his talents and strength, to order and provide for his family. The wife is to be wholly devoted to the love and support of her husband by lending him love and support, and by taking on a major role in nurturing and rearing of the precious fruits of the marriage union, the children. The man and woman are thus united in one faith and one purpose, in attempting to bring souls into this world, and in guiding them through this earth experience and the gaining of bodies so as to become more like God.

Fulfil ye my joy, that ye be likeminded, having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind. Phil 2:2

Beyond this most fundamental purpose, of “multiplying and replenishing the earth,” there is an added element of true true marital oneness, it is that of unity of purpose, companionship and compatibility, joy and love, that are meant to be enjoyed by the sons and daughters of God as they live together in love and create family units.

It is not good that man should be alone, Gen. 2: 18 (Moses 3: 18).

God did not leave us alone to navigate this earth life. He gave us family units to guide and protect us; to support and strengthen us; to bring us joy. It is his desire that we learn to love one another and serve one another in faith with charity and kindness. If we can do this, we will be blessed to continue to grow within these divinely organized units beyond this life and into the eternities. How vital is it then that we should learn to be one.
Detractors from couple and family oneness--

Could we just simply say that EVERYTHING that Satan has in his arsenal is pointed directly or indirectly at destroying marital and family oneness--that he knows how key marriage and family units are to Father's plan and is bent on destroying them?

I explained to Kyle a few months ago, in a talk we were having, that the church is organized to create, support, and strengthen the family unit, and to provide the ordinances required to seal families and prepare them for the Celestial Kingdom, where the organizational power is designed around the family structure. In the heavens, those without family structure will be assigned to serve those who attain this rank. It is the highest status and the most ennobling position to obtain to in the afterlife.

Father and Husband, Mother and Wife are the titles you can carry with you beyond this life—but only if you live worthy of it.

I have thought for some time now, that it is vital that we master out body, its appetites and passions, and subject ourselves to the laws that God has given us concerning them, or we will loose the ability to access the full power of our bodies in future worlds. Only those who show mastery of their use of the powers of procreation will be allowed to continue to possess them after death.

What then are the distractions from couple and family oneness? The list is seemingly endless, but includes:

media, societal norms, humanistic philosophy, popular political and cultural trends, abortion, same sex marriage, pornography, excessive birth control, sex as entertainment, recreation, etc, adult centered society, excessive focus on career, recreation, pride, financial issues, addictions of various types, habit forming behavior, anger, feelings of depression and inadequacy or worthlessness—These, and many other things are put up to block us or distract us from building solid and secure family units that can raise up children in righteousness before the Lord.

During Sacrament meeting this morning I opened my scriptures to D&C 132:15-32. This chapter has some great instruction for us on marriage and the purposes and potentials of these covenants, and the strength of them. Recommended reading. . .

Object and design of being one

43 And the Father and I are ^aone. I am ^bin the Father and the Father in me; and inasmuch as ye have received me, ye are in me and I in you.

God and Christ are “one.” What does that mean? We know that it does not mean that they are somehow congealed into one conglomerate person. It means that they are one in purpose, and what is this grand purpose? To bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man. And how can we become one with them? By engaging in the same pursuit, by working with God to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of his children. For one thing, we all need bodies, that is where the being parents and families comes in. For another thing we all need the ordinances of the gospel. That is where teaching and serving in the church comes in, being missionaries, doing temple work, serving in callings etc. The power of being one is that we can thereby thwart the powers of the adversary and keep his influence away from us. The collective power of the church when it actually gains a oneness, it phenomenal, as we see happen in the City of Enoch, in AD Americas, and in a few other instances in recorded history.

18 And the Lord called his people ^aZion, because they were of ^bone heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them.

  19 And Enoch continued his preaching in righteousness unto the people of God. And it came to pass in his days, that he built a city that was called the City of Holiness, even Zion.

Becoming one in a gospel sense is possibly the most powerful tool that we can have to work our way back to the presence of the Father.

 21 And he commanded them that there should be no ^acontention one with another, but that they should look forward with ^bone eye, having one faith and one baptism, having their hearts ^cknit together in unity and in love one towards another.