How do we act when we disagree?

                I read a quote this morning by Quentin L. Cook, a prominent leader of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints (Mormon).  He said, "...How we disagree is a real measure of who we are and whether we truly follow the Savior.  It is appropriate to disagree, but it is not appropriate to be disagreeable. ...If we show love and respect even in adverse circumstances, we become more like Christ."

                This reminded me of another story about my dad.  Several years ago my husband and I made a financial decision to sell some family stock that had been given to us by my parents.  One of our sons had totaled our jeep, and we had already been needing to buy another car to accommodate all our drivers and driving needs.  Bottom line:  We needed to buy two cars.  As I mentioned above, we are members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints, and our prophet has asked us to stay out of debt.  We had a resource--this stock.  We didn't even have to sell all of it, just 20%.  This would give us enough to buy two used cars and give us a little extra to use with our discretion, so, we did it.  We just didn't understand how deeply my family felt about NOT selling this stock. ( I have to add here, that it was originally my mother's stock, she passed away in 2004).

                For about a year after we made this "horrendous" decision, we heard about it.  Every time we'd get together with my sister or my father, this would come up.  Every time this came up, I'd feel terrible.  I finally sent my dad an email.  In the email I told my dad that no matter what his opinion was on the subject, no matter how we felt about our decision, right or wrong, it had been made an it was over.  The stock was gone.  There was nothing anyone could do to change that.  We may have not made the best decision, but we made the best decision we could make at the time, and we made it based on our desire to follow the counsel of our prophet to stay out of debt.  I asked him if he could let the matter go, as nothing could change what had already been done.

                My dad moped for a week.   I guess he was hurt by my admission that he was hurting me.  However, once the request had been processed and internalized, to my dad's credit, he has never brought this subject up again.  Good feelings were restored.

                I guess there's a couple of points to be made here.  One, we had a disagreement, but until he really knew my feelings nothing could change.  We had to discuss it (email was a chicken way to do it, but it turned out to be effective).  When he knew my feelings, there were a few emotions involved, but he was mature enough to process what I'd said to him and then take action.  Relationships are so important.  I have others who I interact with who have never learned to do what my dad was able to do, which was basically, move on.  In some of my relationships I've had to accept that things will never change, that problems can't be talked about because it's too damaging to the relationship.  The problem here is that these relationships will never be very good.

                When we disagree or have different viewpoints from others, it's best to be respectful of each other, hear each other's views, and then do as Quentin Cook asks us to do--love and respect the other person and strive to be like the Savior in the way we handle the issue.  It would be good to think about this in our dealings with everyone, whether the disagreement be a family issue, a religious issue, or maybe appropriate to today, a political one.  

Mother, daughter relationships

                There are many facets to mother/daughter relationships.  It's especially interesting after they grow up and leave home--then come back for one reason or another.  My 26 year old daughter who was married a little over a year ago, was home for a month this summer.  I thoroughly enjoyed having her.  We're great friends and I don't see her enough as she lives in Texas.  However, we did have one "incident."  She was very willing to help because she realized that she wasn't entirely on vacation as she was staying so long.  She even spent a little time helping out with grandma who lives about 50 miles away (I'll just say it was a huge help because grandma's not a very easy person to be with).  One morning her dad asked her if she could help weed the backyard.  She came out and helped for maybe 30 minutes. She then told me that she didn't have shoes for weeding and she didn't want to get her only workout shoes dirty.  I replied with information as to where she could find a pair of shoes to garden in.  She went into the house--never to return.  When I finished my jobs and went in, I mentioned her disappearance to her.  When her dad came in, he did the same.  Of course, she was defensive.  "I helped for 30 minutes, isn't that good enough?" Her dad replied, "When I ask for help, I want help until the job is done, that's what I've tried to teach my kids."  "I didn't have the right shoes."  "Mom told you where you could get some."  "I didn't want my socks dirtied either."  Her voice levels were escalating.  "It's always been like this here.  What I do is NEVER GOOD ENOUGH!"  It was like that when I was a teenager and it's never changed.  Can't you thank me for what I do do? My husband and I kept our voices level, as hers went out of control.  When things get out of control, hurtful things are said.  One thing that was mentioned was that we couldn't understand how difficult it is to be without your spouse for a month.  That's laughable after 32 years of marriage.   32 years of marriage also gives us more experience in letting things go.

                I don't remember ever getting a formal apology, but when we were discussing turns with grandma for the weekend, she volunteered to take both Saturday and Sunday.  Her repentance.  This was greatly appreciated as she was not only stuck doing things for her OCD grandmother, but also getting grandpa home from rehab (after surgery) and taking care of all his needs as well.  This allowed dad to go to work on Monday morning early and get other things done that had been neglected. 

Her informal apology was accepted and good feelings restored.  The funny thing was when she called me a few weeks later to complain about her brother-in-law.  She quoted him as saying "Why don't you ever notice the things that I DO..."  I laughed and nearly told her how familiar that sounded, but refrained at the last second.  

My dad

                My dad made me feel like a princess.  He always told me how much he and my mom wanted me.  He even dreamed about me before I was born.   When my older sister was born,  my mom had a lot of problem with her blood clotting.  She also had terrible varicose veins.  The doctor told her  that she shouldn't have any more children.  At that time she had four kids, three boys and one girl.  A few years after that,  she had her veins stripped.  I'm not even sure exactly what that means, but at that time she asked if it might be safe to have another child.  She was given the okay, and they had my older brother. 

                Shortly after that my dad had a dream.  In his dream he was holding a beautiful baby girl. The feelings accompanying the dream were so intense he knew they would have another child and that it would be a girl.  Four years after the birth of their fourth son, I was born.  The kids all went to school and told everyone they had a baby sister (no ultra sounds at that time, of course).  I came into the world at about 3:30 in the afternoon, just as the kids were arriving home from school.  I loved to hear this story.  It made me feel so special, but  I think it made my younger sister Christine (they always said she was their dividend) resent me a little, and maybe even made her doubt they loved her as much.  She was always closer to my mom, but I adored my dad.

                It's interesting how different my memories of my parents are from the memories of  some of my siblings.  I don't know if I was just oblivious to some things, or if birth order has something to do with it.  Or, there is the possibility that I was actually raised by different parents.  I know I'm an entirely different  parent with my youngest child than I was with my oldest.  My little sister has told me that she resented that my parents were so old when they raised her  (my mom was nearly 42 when she was  born).  One time in the store the sales lady asked her if she was having a good time shopping with her grandma.  I doubt my mom even took offense, but it mortified Christine.  She swore she'd never have a baby after she was 39 (more on that later).  I knew my parents were a little older than my friends parents, but it never bothered me, and I was only three years older than Christine.

                There was much to admire in my dad.  He was a scholar--always reading scriptures and history (I'm not sure he ever wasted his time on a novel), he was a scientist.  He was a singer (not really, but he did walk around the house practicing his opera all the time, until he got older).  He always told us stories of his childhood and his family.  My dad was a great father.  He helped me to develop faith in God, a love of the scriptures and a desire to have a family of my own.  Since I was second to the youngest out of seven, he didn't do very well at teaching me how to work, I've had to learn that on my own. 

                I've thought a lot about how having a good dad makes it easier to believe in a loving Heavenly Father.  I think my relationship with Him has a lot to do with my relationship with my dad.