Which is stronger?  Faith or knowledge? 

We often think that faith comes before knowledge but, actually, knowledge is first.  We cannot have faith in Christ until we learn of Him; it is impossible to believe in something you know nothing of.  We learn of Christ, His attributes, His character, His promises and then we have faith in Him, in who He is, in what He does.   As we act faith, our knowledge grows.  We learn that He is who He says He is and He will do what He promises to do.   His word is sure.   Knowing that, our faith increases, as do our faithful actions.   This, in turn, leads to a greater knowledge of His goodness and grace, which leads to greater acts of faith.    Faith and knowledge form a positive feedback loop that spiral upwards, bringing us into God’s presence. 

“And this is life eternal that they might know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou has sent.” (John 17: 3)
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​I had a beautiful, spiritual “ah ha” moment recently   

In General Conference President Nelson told us to “seek and expect miracles.”  In earlier addresses, he told us, particularly the women, that we can pull down the powers of heaven to bless our loved ones and families.  With that in mind, I decided on four miracles I will seek and expect.   For the next week or so, I pondered the miracles I seek.   I ask in confidence, knowing that things will work out.   I may not get the miracles for which I petition but I am confident that all will work out.   Then I started thinking about that confidence.   Why am I so confident? Am I just wearing figurative “rose-colored” glasses? Am I imagining only good and blinding myself to reality?   Should I just accept things the way they are and figure out how to deal with them?   Then a New Testament verse came to mind.  “……be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you…” (I Peter 3:15)     That is why I am so hopeful/confident that all will work out.   It is because of Christ.   He is the reason for the hope that is in me.  

Three plays, one special girl, tons of fun….  

Lance and I drove to Cedar City where we watched three Shakespeare plays and went on three hikes.   We bought a new battery and new alternator for the van and three flavors of ice cream for Tanah´s roommates.   We ate shrimp on one lawn and watched Tanah slide tackle a dandelion on a different lawn.  We looked at corsets in the SUMA and carrots at the Farmer´s Market and watched Black Widow (the movie not the arachnid) in Tanah’s boss’ apartment.   Best of all, we got to hang out with our sweet-after-10:00-a.m.-daughter.   

The plays we watched were Comedy of Errors, Pericles, and Richard III, performed in the Shakespeare Festival´s outdoor theater.   What a treat!   Comedy of Errors was done 70´s style.   Hard to imagine that a man dressed in a bright yellow suit, doing Fonzie (Happy Days) gestures could successfully say lines from Shakespeare, but he did.  The show was delightful.  That same man played Richard III and was incredibly powerful in that role, so convincing in his physical defects, emotional energy, and moral deficiency.  I did not appreciated Pericles until Lance pointed out that it was like Les Misérables; a good man challenged by incredible hardships remains good and ends up well in the end. 
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We watched plays in the evening and played in the morning (after 10:00 a.m.) and the afternoon.   One of the days, we took a hiking stroll up a ravine in the canyon.  We topped the ridge and soon thereafter it began to rain, then pour.   We were soaked through and would have been chilled if we had not been walking.    While climbing/sliding down the ravine, we started singing.
 
“The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah,
The ants go marching one by one,
The little one stops to suck his thumb,
And they all go marching
Down to the ground,
To get out of the rain,
Boom, boom,  boom…”
 
The appropriateness of the end of the verse, “to get out of the rain”, struck us funny and we continued singing, with Lance making up verses and Tanah and I singing the chorus.  At the conclusion of the third verse a deep voice, coming from our rear, said “I don’t think you can get out of the rain.”


The unexpectedness of the voice caused me to scream.  My scream scared Tanah so she screamed.   Her scream scared me so I screamed again.    That poor mountain biker!   He came up behind us and was simply being friendly.     I think he was as startled by our response as we were by his presence, though he did not scream.
 
 
The rain soon stopped, the sun came out, and the water came down.   As mentioned, we were in a ravine, and the run-off from the storm collected in the previously dry streambed.    I was not worried about a dangerous flash flood because the collection basin feeding the ravine was small and the downpour was short, so we watched the water run rather than seeking high ground.   And it was fun to watch the water come.    It was as if a chocolate fountain was suddenly turned on; brown water began pouring over previously dry rocks, fingering its way along the stream bed as if it were sending out exploratory tendrils.    So cool!
 
Too soon it was over.    Saturday morning, after a trip  to a Farmer’s market, a garage sale, the library, and the supermarket, we had a shrimp picnie on her front lawn and then headed out.   
 
It was truly a fabulous four days with our daughter whom we love so, SO much.   So fun to hear her talk about plays, movies, and books with Lance.   So fun to see her light up around her friends.  So fun to grab her hand and tweek her hair and have her pull out my chin whiskers.   So fun!!!!

Sina said deciding where to hike  “could prove to be somewhat challenging.  We've had several fires….”   I paid little heed to her words, attributing them to an excess of caution and dismissing them as largely irrelevant.   I got the largely part right….
Who is Sina and why was I planning a hike with her?

When we lived on the Elsoff place, I went to school with Sina during our first and second grade years at Young Elementary, a 4 room, 4 grade school in rural Bend, Oregon.   When we moved to the Walker place, also in Bend, Sina became my best friend.  We lived across the pasture from one another and rode the bus to Pilot Butte Elementary together.   When I was not at her house, she was at mine.  We rode horses, waded in ditches, walked, balancing precariously, on top of our swaying corral poles, created a make-believe (but very real to us) farm community with plastic animals and blocks, and played tag in the tops of the trees in our front yard—until Sina nearly fell out and did rip her arm open.   (If you see her, ask the see the scar.  It is still gnarly.)   We were best of friends and almost inseparable…until my family moved from Bend to Madras the August before I entered 7th grade.
  
Kindred spirits stay connected.   Except for a three brief visits--when my basketball team played hers in 9th grade, when we stopped in Reno on the way to a family reunion and when she stopped in SLC on the way to Moab—we have not seen each other since my family moved from Bend.   But we have stayed in touch via Christmas cards, frequent Facebook likes and rare emails.  More significantly, Sina continues to occupy a very special place in my heart.

A permanent resident in my heart, Sina was also a frequent occupier of my thoughts earlier this year.  Knowing that she is an avid hiker and that Lisa, her soulmate and hiking companion, passed away last April and hoping she would welcome an excuse to get out of the city, I invited myself on a hiking/backpacking trip with her in the Reno area this summer.   And she said yes!

Then the doubts began…..  We haven’t seen each other for years and lead very different lives.  I am in education; she is in the medical field.  She is single and lives in a spotless house; I am married with children and live in chaos.    She does not participate in formal worship; I am completely immersed in my faith.   After we caught each other up on our families, what would we talk about? 

I prayed about my concerns.  Later, in the Book of Mormon,  I read Alma 58:11 "Yea, and it came to pass that the Lord our God did visit us with assurances …. yea, insomuch that he did speak peace to our souls….."    And He spoke peace to my soul, giving me the assurance that it will be alright.

And it was alright.  Much more than alright actually.  It was totally awesome.  I am a reluctantly social person; honestly I am more comfortable being by myself than I am interacting with others.   Turns out Sina feels like I do.   Though we both do well alone, we also did great together.   Great!   What did we talk about?   Everything.   She knows my Grace is learning twi (and why), Chick works the graveyard shift (and why), Tanah lights up rooms (and why), and Miles has a razor-sharp tail bone and is spoiled (and why).    She knows I love Lance and why.   I know she loved Lisa and why.   She and Lisa did 60 miles hikes like they were a stroll around the block, could sit on a bridge and chat for hours, and shared a love for cleanliness, hard work, the medical field, and morning coffee.  I know she works with “kids” (20+ year old young adults who frequently cause her to shake her head), that her neighbor Tim is a diesel mechanic with a separated clavicle, and that her nephew is a train engineer and has 3 gun cases.  

While the most delightful part of my visit with Sina was the conversation, we also had some great adventures.  She took me to the Lakes Basin in northern CA where we backpacked into and hiked around stunningly crystal-clear lakes and, the first couple days, enjoyed crystal-clear, bright blue skies.

The second night, as we fell asleep, she said “We’ll probably have a bear tonight; we usually do when we camp here.”
Yep.   We had a bear in camp.  A little after 1:00 I awoke to a loud snap, caused by the breaking of a large branch.   Judging from the size of the sound, the branch had to be at least the size of my calf.   The branch snapping sound was followed by several other large-creature-walking sounds.  I was lying on my back and didn’t move, not wanting to draw attention to myself.    In my peripheral vision, I would see Sina, who was lying beside me, watching the situation.  We had not put the rain fly on our tent so, through the mesh, she could easily see what was happening and watched the bear amble past.  She did not seem to be alarmed so I was not either.   “When she starts to freak out, then I will be concerned,” thought I.  When she rolled over and went back to sleep, so did I.

A couple hours later, I awoke with a start when Sina said my name.  I thought the bear was back.  “We might have to pack up and leave now,” she said.  Smoke had moved in.  We could no longer see the lake, the moon was blood red, and the silhouette of the trees was shrouded by smoke.  “I am not sure I will be able to find the trail in the dark if we leave now, but it might be worse if we wait, and we won’t be able to find our way out in the morning either.  What do you think?”    Remembering how I got lost in the Grand Canyon when I hiked in the semi-dark, I told her we should stay in bed until dawn.  She agreed and went back to sleep.

We got up at 5:30 and easily had enough light hike out.  We could not see across the lake and the mountain tops were entirely obscured but seeing to hike out was not a problem.  When Sina’s mother learned that I was coming to visit she said to Sina, “Be careful.  You and Teresa get into trouble when you are together.”   Thankfully we were not in trouble--not with the bear, not with the smoke—but we did leave so as NOT to get into trouble.    Turns out two big fires in the area had converged so we exited the mountains, returned to Reno, ate some fabulous food, watched a 13 year old win an Olympic gold medal in street skating, and walked the “Four Sisters” in her Reno subdivision, all in the hazy, smoke-filled skies of fire season.

Sina said things might get tricky because of fire season.  I dismissed what she said but learned for myself that she was right.  Her warning was relevant; one could say “largely” relevant.  Fire season is real.   And so is friendship. 
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Thank you, Sina, for being a real friend.  

We arrived in Des Moines at 12:15 a.m.   and had to take Lyft to the hotel.    There we were---Lance and I—at the 2021 National Ag in the Classroom Conference, “Field of Dreams”, Des Moines, Iowa.  Coolio!

The food was great—agriculture-related conferences always are--as were the people and the conference sessions.    I learned about things ranging from chickens on Mars to vermiculture to desktop greenhouses.    I toured a soybean/seed corn farm, a cattle feed lot, and (virtually) a hog raising operation.   I learned that having plants in the classroom increases student attention by 70% (not sure I believe that one….), 35% of the food Americans buy is wasted, and Utah ranks 15th in the US in hog production.   I met a man who successfully farms 3,000 acres with just one employee and a woman who has a small hog operation, only 3200 pigs.   

One of the workshops was especially (and unexpectedly) gratifying.  We attended an elementary teacher workshop on chickens, hoping to get ideas for a raising chickens on Mars project.   One of our tasks was to make an art project showing a new breed of chicken.   To incentivize us, the session presenter promised a prize to the art creation she deemed to be the best.    Art supplies included sequins, beads, faux feathers in outrageous colors, and glitter.   Lot of glitter.   The elementary teachers went all out with the bling; their chickens were decked out, glitter galore, shiny sequins everywhere, beads and buttons abounding. 
 
Lance and I chose a different approach.   Lance drew a roasted chicken carcass and a KFC bucket.  It was awesome.  The presenter laughed out loud when she saw it.   I used torn, cut, and crumpled construction paper to create a 3D chicken sitting in a nest.  No bling.  No glitter.  No beads.  Nothing but construction paper.    The presenter, when she saw my entry, gasped and immediately held it up.  “This is the winner,” she said.   And she presented me with set of 21 plastic eggs, each of which opens to show a different stage of the 21-day development of a chick embryo.   I won an art contest.   Crazy!

Though we were in conference session or on a bus for most of the time, I managed to get over 10,000 steps daily by choosing stairs over escalators and walking in circles during coffee breaks.   Wednesday evening, before the banquet, a younger man (probably in his 20’s) stopped me and said, “I just wanted to tell you how impressed I am that you always take the stairs.”    I guess gray-haired ladies usually use the escalator.

Wednesday evening, after the banquet, I was chatting with Lance and absent-mindedly stepped onto the escalator with him.    About three steps down I discovered my error, squealed, turned around and started running up the down-going escalator.   Fortuitously, I made it back to the top unscathed.   Very fortuitously, I did not run over the gray-haired lady that stepped onto the escalator behind me.

Lance and I were able to attend the 2021 National Ag on the Classroom Conference because I was named the Utah Ag in the Classroom Teacher of the Year (https://utah.agclassroom.org/teacher/award/​ and, as such, was given an all-expense paid trip to the national conference.   As the UT award winner, I was also nominated for the National Ag in the Classroom Excellence in Teaching Award.    I spent hours filling out the application for the national award, finding photos, writing essays, etc….    When I submitted my application to Denise, the UT Ag in the Classroom coordinator, she said, “Editing your application was easy; you are a good writer.”   Her response was very positive, and it seemed that she thought I had a good chance at winning a national award.  My hopes soared.  It would be so cool, SO COOL, to be named as a National Award winner.  I imagined many awesome scenarios and conversations, centered around me.   I thought that receiving a national award would give me clout, respect, and authority; my opinion would matter, if I were a national award recipient.

Nope.   It was not to be.   I did not receive the national award though I did receive feedback about my application.  Negative feedback.  The reviewer said that my writing was disjointed and my thoughts jumbled.  “You should have someone proofread your work before you submit it,” I was told.   Ouch.   Ouch.

So, at the Conference, when the state Ag in the Classroom award recipients lined up to practice walking across the stage for our recognition ceremony, I felt like a total failure.  I failed as a writer.  I failed my state as a nominee.   And, to some degree, I failed as a teacher of agriculture concepts.   And I did it on the national level.   I was a national failure.  I felt awful.
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Thankfully, between the recognition ceremony rehearsal and the actual event, I found some perspective.   Honestly, Teresa!   Quit being ridiculous.   Several ugly traps had grabbed me—pride, basing my value on external factors, and ingratitude to name a few---but blessedly, I reframed my thinking.   I was a state winner, not a national failure.   And, most importantly, I acknowledged that my status as an award recipient is irrelevant.   Awards are fun, attending the conference was great, but the important things in life are inside.  Inside I am a daughter of Heavenly Parents. I have a divine nature and eternal destiny. 

​So do you!