I had an epiphany in the Salt Lake Temple. I realized that I am Olive. Olive is my granddaughter, a three-year-old bulwark of individuality, a dark-eyed, adorable little firecracker of a child with a glorious halo of impossibly curly blonde hair. The realization that I am Olive came to me like a spiritual/mental firecracker. Given my 57-year-old persona, I would not have thought it of me. Pity; evidently, to paraphrase Wordsworth, the world has been "too much with me" for too long. How did I go from being Olive to ... my present persona: staid, measured, timid almost, when it comes to engaging with people: not wanting to impose myself upon anyone. Holding back - holding back my true self when I could be blessing lives with my true self - because I fear offending.
Olive on the other hand, has no qualms about being her true self. She tells it like it is, remarkably adroitly. She recognizes her supreme right as a child of the universe to be, nothing withstanding; she makes no apologies, nor demands any from others.
One day she was disgruntled, injured over something (I can't remember what) that had happened to her as a result of her own behavior, and her aunt remonstrated, "Well, that's what you get."I am still trying to figure out what was behind Olive's reaction; her head snapped up, there was a look of ... what was it? a look of utter incomprehension -"that does not compute" - along with a quizzical expression - “What does this mean?” and I found myself fearing lest she should believe those words, but I was not quite sure why. I have been trying to figure this out ever since (we were visiting at the time).
I felt as if there were some profound truth in her reaction, the pure, unsullied response of an innocent child (all children under the age of eight are innocent; see Moroni 8:7-23 and D&C 68:25). What I have been asking myself is, what is that profound truth?What had happened, and I think it had to do with sibling wrangling, was a logical consequence of that wrangling, so in that sense it was indeed "what you get;" but I think her reaction said: "You are telling me that I deserved this?"
How can the answer to that question be, "Yes?" How can one imply culpability upon an innocent person by claiming that she deserves retribution? To answer "yes" to that question, it seems to me, would be to say, as Moroni so strongly exhorts against, that little children sin and therefore need repentance; Moroni "boldly" admonishes against that kind of thinking "That's what you get" implies “you deserved it,“ which in turn implies “you are lacking in some vital essential.“
That statement is verily true for us, who are “grown.” We have to rely upon and plead for the blessings and grace of the Atonement, have to toil all our lives back to the point where little children are. But little children are enough, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Perhaps the statement, "That's what happens when people fight with each other," would be more appropriate. That statement would be true, would be helping the child to understand what she is in for while in this mortal coil, that certain behaviors reap certain consequences, yet with no intimation of intrinsic shortcoming.
I don't know exactly why, but at some point in my young upbringing, I assimilated the idea that children - that I as a child - don't count, that children are second-class citizens whose feelings, thoughts, opinions...needs?...don't matter. I think it was a false tradition of the age, a lingering effect of the industrial revolution (people became programmable machines too); even, perhaps of the eons-old misconception that "children should be seen and not heard." For some reason and to some degree, I bowed down to that idol; I surrendered - not completely, but sufficiently for it to determine some of my attitudes and behaviors - to being "less than."
I think, in fact, that almost all of today’s cultures have been steeped in some false tradition that diminishes the worth of children. If the children of the world had the maturity and wisdom that ought to come with age, they might rise up in retribution. In some ways, in the amazing things they do and say, they do exactly that in their own subtle way.
I just want to know how to help them grown up, knowing how to perpetuate the truth. So - I am Olive. I am going to try to be more like Olive, so that I can help her grow up to be more like Jesus.
An Olive anecdote:A neighbor made tutus, those stiffly flouncing ballerina skirts, for the birthday of Olive and her seven-year-old sister Abbey. Olive wore hers every day thereafter. One day she and I went down the street to make a visit. She was barefooted. Her costume consisted of a slip overlaid by the tutu. She was riding her bike, which is a training-wheel-less two wheeler without pedals, which she scoots along the sidewalk with great prowess and good balance. A businessman getting out of his car in a parking lot observed, watching her, "It doesn't get any better than that: you got your bare feet, you got your bicycle, and you got your ballerina skirt." As we crossed the street toward the neighborhood bakery, upon the sidewalk of which stood a cluster of people, her bicycle gained momentum. With total aplomb, Olive shot right through, announcing without artifice, " 'Scuse me, guys. Bike coming through."
May Olive always be Olive, and may the “Olive“ in me come through.
Olive on the other hand, has no qualms about being her true self. She tells it like it is, remarkably adroitly. She recognizes her supreme right as a child of the universe to be, nothing withstanding; she makes no apologies, nor demands any from others.
One day she was disgruntled, injured over something (I can't remember what) that had happened to her as a result of her own behavior, and her aunt remonstrated, "Well, that's what you get."I am still trying to figure out what was behind Olive's reaction; her head snapped up, there was a look of ... what was it? a look of utter incomprehension -"that does not compute" - along with a quizzical expression - “What does this mean?” and I found myself fearing lest she should believe those words, but I was not quite sure why. I have been trying to figure this out ever since (we were visiting at the time).
I felt as if there were some profound truth in her reaction, the pure, unsullied response of an innocent child (all children under the age of eight are innocent; see Moroni 8:7-23 and D&C 68:25). What I have been asking myself is, what is that profound truth?What had happened, and I think it had to do with sibling wrangling, was a logical consequence of that wrangling, so in that sense it was indeed "what you get;" but I think her reaction said: "You are telling me that I deserved this?"
How can the answer to that question be, "Yes?" How can one imply culpability upon an innocent person by claiming that she deserves retribution? To answer "yes" to that question, it seems to me, would be to say, as Moroni so strongly exhorts against, that little children sin and therefore need repentance; Moroni "boldly" admonishes against that kind of thinking "That's what you get" implies “you deserved it,“ which in turn implies “you are lacking in some vital essential.“
That statement is verily true for us, who are “grown.” We have to rely upon and plead for the blessings and grace of the Atonement, have to toil all our lives back to the point where little children are. But little children are enough, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Perhaps the statement, "That's what happens when people fight with each other," would be more appropriate. That statement would be true, would be helping the child to understand what she is in for while in this mortal coil, that certain behaviors reap certain consequences, yet with no intimation of intrinsic shortcoming.
I don't know exactly why, but at some point in my young upbringing, I assimilated the idea that children - that I as a child - don't count, that children are second-class citizens whose feelings, thoughts, opinions...needs?...don't matter. I think it was a false tradition of the age, a lingering effect of the industrial revolution (people became programmable machines too); even, perhaps of the eons-old misconception that "children should be seen and not heard." For some reason and to some degree, I bowed down to that idol; I surrendered - not completely, but sufficiently for it to determine some of my attitudes and behaviors - to being "less than."
I think, in fact, that almost all of today’s cultures have been steeped in some false tradition that diminishes the worth of children. If the children of the world had the maturity and wisdom that ought to come with age, they might rise up in retribution. In some ways, in the amazing things they do and say, they do exactly that in their own subtle way.
I just want to know how to help them grown up, knowing how to perpetuate the truth. So - I am Olive. I am going to try to be more like Olive, so that I can help her grow up to be more like Jesus.
An Olive anecdote:A neighbor made tutus, those stiffly flouncing ballerina skirts, for the birthday of Olive and her seven-year-old sister Abbey. Olive wore hers every day thereafter. One day she and I went down the street to make a visit. She was barefooted. Her costume consisted of a slip overlaid by the tutu. She was riding her bike, which is a training-wheel-less two wheeler without pedals, which she scoots along the sidewalk with great prowess and good balance. A businessman getting out of his car in a parking lot observed, watching her, "It doesn't get any better than that: you got your bare feet, you got your bicycle, and you got your ballerina skirt." As we crossed the street toward the neighborhood bakery, upon the sidewalk of which stood a cluster of people, her bicycle gained momentum. With total aplomb, Olive shot right through, announcing without artifice, " 'Scuse me, guys. Bike coming through."
May Olive always be Olive, and may the “Olive“ in me come through.
i don't remember saying that
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