When Heavenly Father Trusts You to Give to Others

 

You will never believe what happened to me yesterday! I was in line at Walmart and a man was in front of me. I looked at him and he was dressed like he was poor. He only had 4 bananas and a package of toilet paper, but he didn’t have enough money. He was $1.78 short. He took out his wallet, but he didn’t have the money. He didn’t know what to do, because even if he put away the bananas, there wasn’t enough money for the toilet paper. 

I told the store clerk I would pay the $1.78 for that man. He accepted, and thanked me. As I stepped up to the clerk, the man behind me in line, came up and handed me a hundred-dollar bill. “This is for you,” he said.

“Oh, no, I can’t take your money,” I responded.

“I fix air conditioners and just got paid $5,000.00. I saw what you did. The spirit told me that if I gave you this hundred dollars, you were the kind of person who would pass it on if you don’t need it. You can use it for yourself, or you can give it away…but it is yours to do what you want. Take it.” 

I did take it. It is sitting in my wallet. I have been praying to have eyes to see and ears to hear who needs money. I felt so happy that Heavenly Father would tell that man that he could give me money and trust me to give it to someone who needs it more than I do.

Watch My Boy

 

Edit: While I yearned that this meant something. I've had many dreams recently where I was nursing babies, and when I saw the news about all the orphaned children from Gaza, I wanted to adopt. This dream means nothing spiritually, except my desire to care for children again.

Dream 4/24/25

I got on a plane. Immediately, I saw/felt there was tenseness. The plane had children on the plane with other adults, and one of the older girls had hurriedly written with marker a huge number with a dollar sign on a bin in the closet and shut the door to it. I knew it was the amount of money the bad people were stealing.

I looked around the plane and tried to recognize who was bad and who was not, by the communication across the aisles to each other. As I recognized who was bad, I knew they knew I knew. In that process, I noticed the man in front of me with his back to me was bad. I also recognized that I knew who he was, so whenever he turned around, I hid my face. Nevertheless, he found out I was there. 

At some point, the plane landed and 2 policemen entered, not knowing who was bad and had guns. At the same time, one of the bad men escaped out the back. I knew there was going to be a gun fight, so I pulled all the little children around me and we huddled on the floor, as I put my arms around them and was praying for our protection. The bad man I knew saw this.

The bad men finally got control of the plane because the man, who had escaped got back on the plane, entered and changed control. The man I knew was sitting up on a chair (as were all the bad men who had control of the plane) and I was still on the floor. He pointed to another a older child, also sitting up on a chair, and looking at me, said, “You forgot (______)," pointing to that child.

I called the child’s name and motioned to him to come to me. There was fear in his eyes, as he looked at me and the man in the chair next to me that had told me about him, but I kept calling. I motioned for him to get down, and he crawled over to me, and I included him in my circle of protection.

Later, I asked the boy who his father was, and to my shock, he said it was the bad man I knew, the same man who had pointed him out. The bad men finally left the plane with whatever they were trying to smuggle, and I told the boy, he had to go with his dad.

The danger was over…but suddenly a window on the plane opened and the boy I had rescued, yelled, “Watch out. They are going to shoot you.” 

We all hit the floor, and the boy’s father snarled, “You belong with her,” as he broke the window and threw him in the plane towards me. The boy immediately scrambled to me, as we waited for the gunfire. But there was none. Either the men had been captured, or it had been a ruse.

BUT I knew one thing. I was to keep the boy. The father, who was bad, obviously loved his son, because he had twice asked me to watch his boy. Then the dream ended.

BE WARNED: My MRI Experience

[Note, this is transcribed from a Blog in my past (August 3, 2012)...before I was on Facebook].

 I remember a girl telling me about running away during her MRI because she was claustrophobic. It was hysterically funny to me at the time, but when I was faced with having to experience the same, I started to worry. What would I do? I talked to many people, hoping technology had improved. "Oh, yes," they said. "It's different, now." And so it was that I walked into the imaging center with relative calmness...and filled out paper after paper giving up my right to sue for any adverse effects.

I'm really starting to feel calm now.(Sarcastic remark) Then I filled out a paper about them injecting me with some dye or something. No one said word one about that! I started to sweat. My left shoulder tensed up to a knot. "Breathe. Breathe," I kept telling myself while I massaged my shoulder. "Do you need some water?" the nurse at the desk asked.

"No," I answered and looked at the clock. (I guess my face was too telling.) 

Finally, it was my turn. I locked up my belongings and glasses, walked into the room, and lo and behold there was that same ancient tube the claustrophobic girl had described. I didn't even think I could fit in that thing, but since I was only MRI-ing my head, I was sure I wouldn't have to go all the way in. I lay down according to her instructions and listened to the spiel about not moving...(as in, "if you move your arm or hand, [they] "would have to start the pictures over."

Oh, I was sure that would NOT happen. I could certainly stay still for five to 10 minutes. But I couldn't relax my arms--there was no room for them on that narrow conveyer belt thingy. They kept falling straight down to the floor, so I clasp them on my stomach...but the nurse assured me that I could set them on the side when I got in.

Got in? They were going to make me go in? Breathe in. Breathe out.

She gave me ear plugs. Ear plugs! What would I need them for? Apparently, it was to be very loud. Next this helmet/cage thing was snapped around my head....like they really thought I would move my head. Really? Was I going to retake a picture? I think not. But oh, yes, they did it. They started packing that cage mask thing with foam pillows around my head. I felt like a newborn baby being prepped for a ride in a baby carrier.

Right before it started, she handed me an air bulb and said, "Squeeze this if you need to stop." Stop? I was not about to stop and have to do this over. Then the machine ride began...and the table moved into the tube a little way as I previously suspected, and a piercing red light shown in my eyes (mind you, I had had them dilated at the eye doctor this morning, so I wisely decided I would keep my eyes closed during this MRI).

As soon as I closed them the machine pulled me in...and kept pulling me in...and kept pulling me...all the way in. Where was the arm room she said there would be to relax on the sides? The sides were so tight on my arms they had no place to go but be on top of me and I squinched them in so as not to get a scraped arm. Obviously the red light was not the MRI.

My hands were laying on my stomach as I breathed deep breaths to relax. Up and down. Up and down went my diaphragm. Yikes! That meant my arms were moving. I couldn't have them move...so I held my hands up about a half inch above my stomach. The machine started clunking, rattling, and vibrating with loud, jarring sounds that were akin to a jackhammer. It didn't seem to end. I continued to hold my hands above my stomach, eyes closed, and slowly tried to relax. I could do this.

Finally, the noise stopped. Whew, it was over. I had done it! The machine started to pull me out. About ONE INCH! It stopped, and the process started all over again. What? Had the machine malfunctioned? I continued to try to relax and kept my hands poised above my stomach. Finally, it ended. 

Yes! I could come out. But the machine pushed me back in another inch and started some different funky grinding sound. This was not going to do. I decided that if the noise started again, I was going to have to rest my hand on my stomach, but what if that moved me? Each break between the bouts of rumbling, I would move one finger down on my stomach, so my hands were eventually resting on my stomach. I took shallower breaths so they would not move up and down. (Now, I was worried about hyperventilation.)

Then I felt it. An itch on the back of my left leg. I could do nothing about it. It got worse. I couldn't even jiggle my leg. What if it were a bug? What if it crawled up farther?Should I squeeze the bulb?

Then the vibration stopped. The conveyer table moved another inch, and the horrible noise began again, but this time my elbow was hurting from the side of the tube. I wondered if I had bruised it going back and forth. I certainly couldn't pull it in any farther to stop it. Yikes. (I moved my arm). Hopefully it was OK. This was not fun. How long had I been in there? Had the technician walked out of the room? I mean, the noise was so loud it was making my ears ring even with ear plugs. If someone wasn't hard of hearing going into this machine, they sure would be coming out. Was it too loud for the nurse? Was she out of the room till the noise was over and the 'broken' machine was just going back and forth because I was stuck and she didn't know it?

I started really praying. Please bless the nurse to come back. Please bless me to get out of this machine. It just kept going.

Finally, when I thought I couldn't take any more, the machine started pulling me out. Yes! It was over. Uh oh. It stopped. The technician took hold of my arm and said, "Now I have to inject you with this liquid and then we only have four more pictures". I imagined what she was doing as I felt each part of the familiar process: the elastic tightly tied around my upper arm, the alcohol swipe, the stick of the needle, the press of the cotton ball, and the tape. The only thing I couldn't feel was if the needle was still in me because she bent my arm back over my stomach the way it used to be and the machine immediately pulled me in again.

I felt the familiar squeeze on my right elbow as the table moved back into the machine and wondered again if my elbow was bruised. Oh, no. What if my bent, squeezed arm would prevent whatever was injected from flowing through my body? Would I have to do this over again? Uh-oh, I just thinking about it and it moved again. Ever so slightly. Hopefully that did not mess the picture up.

By now, I figured out that one picture was not just a flash in time, but an eternity of deafening noise. I started counting seconds to see how long each picture was, but soon quit as I was worried that my mental calculations would mess up the MRI since I was not doing that in the previous pictures, but I estimated each picture about 5 minutes, so I just tried to relax for the last 20 minutes.

That is when I felt something pushing the back of my head. The more I thought about it, the more it hurt. I wanted to rip whatever pressure I felt from under my hair. Twenty minutes of feeling that? It felt like I was getting a dent in my head. I held that bulb tighter and prayed. To counter the hurt on the back of my head, I decided to see if I could figure out why it was taking so long to take the pictures, so I tried to feel...(imagined feel) what shred, or slice of my head was being imaged. (Not a good idea for a hypochondriac.) I imagined pain in my eyes, forehead, ears. Oh, I didn't know how long this could go on.

Finally, it was done. I couldn't get off that table fast enough, but I was a little wobbly getting my balance. I felt the back of my head (in case there was a dent). I examined where my head had been resting. Nothing. Smooth as a baby's bottom. I looked at my right elbow (in case there was a bruise). Nothing. Then, I glanced at the clock. I HAD BEEN SUBJECTED TO THAT INSIDIOUS TORTURE FOR AN ENTIRE HOUR! Was it too much to inform me of the length of time I would be in there? I think not!

Be warned. Should you have to have an MRI, it WILL be long. It WILL be in a tube...and if you don't want to literally feel like the stuffing in a Polish sausage, you should not be over weight.

Sacrifice and an answer to my prayer.

 I've consecrated things to the Lord. I've covenanted with the Lord at His request and had so many miracles I can't begin to count. But this morning I wept again, as I have so many nights recently. I prayed for the Ukrainians who our country has taken away support in a war. I prayed for the immigrants who were deported to a foreign prison, and accused of being gang members...without any due process of law to prove their innocence. I prayed for the people who have lost their jobs for no reason. I prayed for the poorer countries that had the aid from our richest country taken away from them. I prayed for those honest people who did their jobs as lawyers, judges, and congressional committee members, which included investigating the January 6th uprising, making legal decisions that allowed Trump to be prosecuted for his crimes. They are now targets and the president has vowed to have them removed from their positions and put in jail. I prayed for Congress and judges who have voted against his measures, and had Trump threaten them with jail and/or removal for opposing him. I prayed for our country, as usual. 

Only this morning, I told Heavenly Father, I would sacrifice something that meant much to me. I am giving it up so I can get something better. The better I asked for was to see his hand in my life and in the world. The better I prayed for was to draw nearer to Him so that I could be his hands and voice in Gathering Israel and doing His will. At the close of my prayer, I felt the Spirit say that I needed to write down the results of my sacrifice when I saw and felt the Lord close to me.

It wasn't long before I saw the first thing I needed to write about. I was reading the article in the Liahona about the ministry of the apostles. I was interested in their qualifications. I already knew they were special witnesses of the Savior, so I skimmed that. But, then I saw Ambassadors to the World. I read time after time where the apostles met with leaders of other countries and offered monetary aid to build shelters for the Ukrainian refugees, to cloth and feed the hungry nations, to fund a hospital to heal the sick. I was overcome with emotion. I felt the Lord say to my spirit, "Your nation may have abandoned them, but I have not." What an answer to my prayer! What I testimony that the prophet and apostles knew ahead to save money to take up the slack in ministering to the needy throughout the world. I am so happy to belong to Christ's Church. I am so happy to be able to testify of His goodness.

Watched Over--Another Miracle

 I have always had a fear of driving on a highway, especially several narrow lanes where the cars are going at least 70 mph. I've had many miracles upon changing lanes or entering a freeway--that there is an open space for me to easily enter, and I attribute that to the fact that I pray before, during, and after such excursions. Nevertheless, I prefer my husband to drive, and I try not to look because he is an impulsive jerky speedster upon occasions. And many times I have been saved from death miraculously when he was driving. During such times, I have anxiety attacks. I raise my level of oxygen, lean the seat back, take an aspirin that is in the car for such cases.

Last Thursday, I had to drive down to Fallbrook by myself. I'd done it before, but it was frightening to me. Before I left, I sat in the car and pled with Heavenly Father to watch over me, and specifically asked for an angel to help me, and  that I would travel safely. As soon as I turned around the corner from our house, I heard 3 distinct beeps from my portable oxygen concentrator. I wondered why it was beeping, and turned to find it wasn't in the car next to me. Hmm, maybe I left it in the back of the car, so I turned around and went home to look in the back of the car. It wasn't there. I checked the engine to see if anything was wrong. No. 

So I knocked on our door and asked Mike if my concentrator was in the chair by our bedroom. YES! It was. I was overcome with emotion that I would hear the exact sound of my concentrator, so I could have oxygen when I was driving. How blest I felt.

(The next day, I even drove with Mike in the car and asked him to take off his seat belt to make sure the beeps had not come from the seat belt. I heard 'ding, ding, ding' but no 'beeping' like my oxygen concentrator.) It just verified the blessing I had been given.

Some of my previous discontinued Blog Transcriptions

April 2010

 Today was a student's last day in my class. Yesterday, when we were on 'silence' (waiting for the last straggling finishers of Math TAKS in our hallway) my class was finished. To keep my class quiet, I let them draw at their own, separated desks. Unbeknownst to my departing student, I had whispered to every student (but him) that the drawing paper was to write him a letter, make a card, or just draw something for him...but that it was a secret surprise. Some students immediately put up their partitions to hide their work, while others meandered over to the boy and asked him his favorite color. The students were so excited I don't know how they kept it a surprise, but after today's Reading TAKS was over...my students were told they had to just read. Then, I handed the soon-to-be-departing student the packet of cards/letters from his classmates. When he opened the packet and realized what they were, he grinned from ear to ear. All eyes were on him as he pulled every student's card out one at a time to examine and read. It was just a joy to watch his face, but even more heartwarming was to watch the face of each particular student whose handiwork he was holding. They'd just beam and turn to everyone else to mouth or motion that he was looking at their card. I just loved watching how much joy they got out of what they had done. I have missed so many opportunities in the hurry and scurry of test prep to just let the children be children, to let them practice serving and doing for each other...to feel joy in doing good. It seems that would be the more important lesson in life.

"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

 One of the themes in many fairy tales I read as a child, was where the main character was met by some hideous, odious, or ugly stranger. As the main character treated them with kindness, the hideous person transformed into a beautiful prince, fairy godmother, queen, etc. and all goodness was bestowed upon the kind character. I have had reason to reflect on several incidences where I've met people that others have rejected.

Incident 1: The Transgender Therapist

I admit, I have been very homophobic. Imagine my surprise, when I walked into my breathing therapy and heard the telltale voice of one who is neither male or female, but through hormone therapy has a characteristic voice of someone who has changed genders. I was a bit horrified to be assigned that therapist that day. Who was he or she? The person had a female name and had previously been married to a man, but the person dressed and had a male body. I had an overwhelming desire to know whether this person was biologically male or female, and to know whether they identified themself as a male or female. I felt a nervous awkwardness. I didn't know what to say or do.

(I once had made the mistake of calling a similar person the wrong pronoun in a restaurant, and was sure I must have embarrassed that person...so I wanted to know...but in the knowing, I surely would embarrass this person even more. So I didn't ask, I just talked, joked, and treated them just like any of the regular therapists. Time went on, and I found that person to be a very competent, enjoyable person to be around. I don't know to this day what their gender was, or is...but I did find out that they were a human being, a child of God, and I treated them and love them like I would treat anyone else.

Incident 2: Anthony

There is a 16-yr. old youth that Mike and I 'inherited' from the previous El Centro Hispano. We were told he came from a troubled home, and this was his safe place. He was the middle child with 7 children, ranging from 19 years to 6 mos. He kind of hung around the computer class,  didn't participate in any class, but just played on the computer the entire 4 hours we were at El Centro, then would leave. He spoke English...had long, dark, silky, wavy hair half-way down his back. When Mike quit teaching the computer class, he would go in a separate room with a computer all to himself. I remember telling Mike that was not appropriate, that he should be in a public room...so Mike made it happen. All was going well, when one day, he stole 2 laptops. Mike was livid. He didn't come around for a few days, until the dad brought him back...with the computers, and said, "He steals things. That's what he does." Mike got the dad's phone number.

Well, he started coming to play computer again, but now Mike was very leery of him. Then, one day, they were missing a computer and looking for him, and hadn't seen him leave. The dad called Mike, and said he had kicked his son out and didn't know where he was. Mike went around the entire Church building, checking every room and calling his name. No answer. Anthony didn't come around for several days, so Mike called the dad to see if he had ever come home. The dad said, yes.

Soon Anthony started coming again. Mike asked him where he had gone the night he was kicked out of his house. He said he had stayed over night at the church! Anthony had heard them calling his name, but he had hid. Mike had a talk with him about the liability of him staying in the church and to never do that again. Michael did not like him.

BUT, all the while Mike was dealing with him, I would see him waiting for us and upon seeing our car, a look of joy would cross his face. I would see him carry in all our supplies. I would see him set up all the tables and chairs. One day it took him 1 hour to single-handedly take down chairs from the entire gym, put all the tables in all the rooms, and seat chairs around them. I would see him politely talk to me. One time I even was trying to figure something out written on the chalkboard (thinking it was Spanish) and he came over to me and said, "It's not Spanish, it's Latin. This is what it says." and he proceeded to tell me. Whereupon, I asked how he knew Latin. He said he had a year of it in high school and had read all these Latin books.

One day I heard Mike's curt responses to Anthony and I knew Mike didn't like him...but I did. I saw the good in him. So I want to the temple (the next day was our shift) and I prayed for Anthony in the Celestial Room. I wanted to know what I could do for him. I felt an overwhelming feeling that I needed to give him a Book of Mormon. So strong was that urging, that I bought one that week and wrote a type-written 2-page letter to him, including my testimony of Christ, my testimony of the Book of Mormon, and my testimony of Anthony being a child of God, and I listed some of his good qualities.

The next day, I brought the Book of Mormon, with the letter glued in the first pages. I read Mike what I had written, and his response was, "I'm glad you see some redeeming quality in him, because I sure don't."

When we got to the church, there was Anthony, waiting to help us. As he set up my room, I told him that I had prayed for him, and was told to give him this book...and I handed it to him. I told him to read the letter in the front, as well as the book. He was setting up the classes, and set it aside, but thanked me. I was a bit disappointed that he did not stay the entire time, but left early. I didn't know if he took the book,...but it wasn't there when I looked.

The next week he came back and told Mike that he had got in an argument with his dad the night I gave him the Book of Mormon, and his dad had forbid him from coming to our church anymore. In the argument, the dad said, "They aren't teaching you anything."

Then Anthony pulled out the Book of Mormon, and said, "This is what they are teaching me, dad." The dad looked at the book. (I don't know if he read the front letter from me) but he gave Anthony back the Book of Mormon and said he could keep coming. He even bought him a Bible to read in addition to the Book of Mormon...and he is reading.

Incident 3: The transient, bi-polar stranger

I was running an errand, and in the process of returning to my room, was met by a bra-less mess of a short-bulky woman--missing teeth, except the two rotten incisors in the front. She came into our building and immediately expounded on her love of the Savior. She never quit talking. She expounded on several names of Christ--the Messiah, Savior, King, her Redeemer, and continued telling the love she felt for Him. She said she was bi-polar and sometimes felt darkness and alone, but when she prayed to God, He would always come to bring her comfort.

In the process of her spiel, Mike and the other people looked away, refusing to converse with her. I (who needed to get to my class) kept answering her, which encouraged her to keep talking. I finally said, "I can tell you have been raised to know who Jesus Christ is." 

She replied, "Nothing brings me greater joy that to hear you say that. That is why I am. That is what I want to share." 

Then she asked for a drink of water...and as she left to get a drink, Mike said to the other person in the room, "My wife is the compassionate one of the two of us"...and they laughed...then he said to me "She just wanted water. She's here all the time." 

Reflection: When I got home, I reflected on these experiences as I was praying and pondering. I was reminded in my mind of the fairy tales where different repulsive strangers were met, and it was a test to see if one would act kindly, or with callous uncaring. As I saw these characters (my strangers) in my mind, the words that came to me were, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

I wept. "Then in a moment to my view, the stranger started from disguise, the tokens in his hands I knew, the Savior stood before mine eyes. He spake, and my poor name he named, "Of me thou hast not been ashamed. These deeds shall thy memorial be. Fear not, thou didst them unto me."