All my life I’ve been a drama queen.  While this comes in handy in my profession, it is a distinct disadvantage in real life.  I ache over Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, and Rachmanifnoff.  They speak a musical language that goes straight to my soul.  To me, Anna Karenina is the greatest of all books, because Tolstoy understands the human condition better than any other author I have read.  The number of disastrous romances I had as a young adult defies counting.  Truly.  There were that many, including a death and a schizophrenic fiance.

As most of my readers know,I am bi-polar.  So were my Slavic greats.  Genetically we speak to one another in a language that is the most intelligible there is for us.  Such a would-be Slav am I that I got both my graduate and undergraduate degrees in Slavic history, politics, and economics.

My finest work as a novelist is about the fall of a great Slavic Empire, and is full of tragedy, angst, and neverending love.

Most of you probably do not know that I just went through a semi-emergency hip replacement—my second in six months.  Because of my delicate mental state, these major surgeries are a great trial.  Having overcome my twenty-five year bout with depression only three and a half years ago, you would think that I would remember what it was like.  But, no, the black beast always falls on me, taking me by complete surprise.  It is entirely chemical and only happens after I have blissfully lived in a manic state for close to two weeks.  Then the crash comes.  I can’t begin to describe how horrible it is to revisit this country where I lived for so many years. 

I know there is a God, because as I gained a true testimony of the atonement, I held on until hope came in the form of life-changing medication. 

However, once having lived in that black place, those emotions are never erased.  And that is why every taste I have is informed by Slavic melancholy.  I haven’t known much mania, but that unnatural state is one of high vigilance, seemingly clear vision, and non-stop creativity.  Before my late crash, I wrote for hours every day, starting directly after surgery, and including one complete night.  I plotted a very complex novel, peopled by extraordinary characters and happenings I never would have dreamt in my normal state.   So, it’s a tradeoff.

And that is why I’m Slavic.  I guess my final word on the subject should be thank heavens that:

1.) I live in the day of mood-stabilizers, and

2.) I married a stolid Swede.

Thank you,, Lord.

Since this is the week of Thanksgiving, it is fitting that I should have an experience that makes me extremely grateful for my health and for modern medicine.  As most of my readers know, I had a complete hip replacement last May.  I am still not completely recovered and it was one of if not the most painful thing in my life.  It beat natural childbirth (times 3) and kidney stones.  So, imagine my feelings when two days ago my other hip “went.”   During our trip to Florence, we walked everywhere and I was in constant pain.  I guess I overdid it, but anyone who knows me, knows that isn’t unusual.  I have a high pain tolerance and manage to make it through most things of a physical nature.  However, it’s not necessarily good for or respectful to your body, so it certainly doesn’t count as a virtue.

I couldn’t get into the doctor until today.  Over the weekend, I was certain I was in for another round of surgery without pain killers (I’m allergic) that would make it impossible for me to write my planned novel on Florence before the deadline (Apr 1).  I anticipated an extremely painful cruise to Greece which I might be better off cancelling, and didn’t know how I was going to take care of my coming grandchild.  By far the worst risk to my well-being is my mental health which was taking quite a hit imagining all that pain.

However, I prayed anyway.  I prayed that somehow this would all go away. 

When I went to see Dr. Jackson, he took x-rays and was extremely puzzled.  There appeared to be nothing wrong with my hip at all.  He referred me to a back doctor, because he had never seen such a bad back (severe scoliosis).  The back doctor said that the problem was definitely in my hips and has scheduled me for a shot in the hip joint tomorrow which should take away my pain.

No surgery this time!  The mystery isn’t solved, but I’ve been given a very great blessing.  I still can’t believe it.  I have never realized what a blessing it is to be able to work.  I am so so grateful that I will not be having surgery next week.  I’m so grateful that the Lord has provided for me to be able to go on with my work, my plans, and the chance to be with my daughter when she  has her new baby.

I can’t possibly express how grateful I am for these blessings.  Thank you, Lord.

I am here to remind you that even in these uncertain times, it’s good to plan and to have dreams.  Read “Cast Not Away Therefore thy Confidence,” by Elder Holland and you will see that it is the adversary that wants us to see the world as gray and hopeless.  We all have a mission to prepare for the most glorious event the world has ever known: The Second Coming of our Lord and Savior.

Cut away the dross, the worries, the horrible scenarios and find hope.  And then go forward with that hope, and pursue your dreams.  Put your life in order, so you can receive the enabling power of the atonement.  With God’s help, we can achieve so much more than we ever, ever dreamed possible.

Ezra Taft Benson once said that by turning our lives over to the Lord, he could do much more with them than we could.  I truly believe that.  Since I have done as he suggested, my life has changed beyond all recognition.

I’m happy to be alive an to have future adventures dictated by the Spirit!

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As I struggle to separate myself from this place I have come to love so much in a short time, I wonder why it is so hard.  David (aka Herc) handed me the answer in an article by Jeanette Winterton in the Wall Street Journal.  Manic-Depressive, she  was exploring the connection between her disease (the same as mine) and her creativity.  She made this very revealing comment: “Art isn’t a surface activity. It comes from a deep place and it meets the wound we each carry.”

I have struggled to express this same thought so many times, mostly to beginning writers.  I have called it “writing from your bones.”  I think the reason I am so attached and fulfilled by this place is because there is a spirit that accompanies the huge collection of art and architecture that is this city.  That art represents victory over darkness in each of those artists’ minds.  When we choose to create, we choose not to die or give up.  I have always understood that in a literal sense, but it is true for great art in a figurative sense as well.  Michelangelo is not dead.  At some level, he knew that he would continue to live in his David, a sculpture that is stuffed full of life, more so than many people.

The geniuses of the Renaissance were dealing with the “divine void” (aka existential darkness) because they were coming out of the darkness that had enveloped their world for a thousand years.  The beginning of the Renaissance was an incredible explosion of creativity that began in Florence, but quickly spread across Italy and from there throughout western Europe.  After hundreds of years during which everything remained the same, incredible change happened from year to year, decade to decade in the 15th century.

Some thought that darkness was caused somehow by the church, but they didn’t understand that what the church had come to be was not representative of the true Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Maybe this is why as I sat in the Firenze Second Branch this morning, I was suddenly filled with the desire to learn Italian and come here (with Herc) on a couples mission.  Herc, who has a tin ear for language, has even decided to take Italian with me.

Maybe my novel won’t be suspense after all.  That would be the easy way out.  I guess we’ll see.

This is going to be a different kind of post.  I apologize beforehand if it offends anyone.  However, the massive good will and spirit we felt in the Firenzi Second Branch this morning, was thoroughly bludgeoned by reading an article by my favorite columnist, Charles Krauthammer called “Decline is a Choice.”  Being “out of the world” these few days has been heady and exciting, however Krauthammer’s words recalled me to the state of things in my own coutry.  Decline of power may be inevitable (though Krauthammer says it isn’t, despite our present direction), but what I lament is the moral decline.  I am glad most WWII vets are dead or dying so that they don’t know the hell that they trudged through so heroically was “morally wrong.”  I hope that anyone who doesn’t believe evil exists, will take a refresher course and read The Last Waltz.  Fascism was born in a world where people had given up on morals, largely because of the waste of life that was World War I.  Germany’s revenge focused on the Jews and the Slavs as their worst enemies.  We know about the wholesale slaughter and the death camps.  They were unconscionable.

But what about our own society?  What have unborn fetuses ever done to us?  Surely, in all the world, they are the most innocent of beings.  Yet they are being murdered by the millions.  This is not a political choice, it’s a moral choice, and that’s what worries me about America.

The only choice we have really is to change our own hearts to be submissive to Christ, and to preach this unpopular doctrine everywhere we can.  We must be courageous. We need not be angry about political misdeeds, and resigned to our own downfall.  We must continue to do good, to be righteous, not to be ashamed of our Savior, even if it is “politcally incorrect.”

Those of us who are writers are in a unique position to teach truth.  And all truth is centered in Jesus Christ.  Let’s not lose our perspective in this climate of rage and fear.  Let’s take a leaf from our prophet’s book and “be of good cheer,” spreading that cheer as broadly as we can.

It has been many generations since we, as a Church, have needed the kind of individual relationship with the Lord that we need now.  Each of us must internalize guidance from the Spirit to keep us optimistic and headed in the right direction to build the Kingdom. This is a critical time.   There is something required of each of us.  That something can most often be found as we fight to overcome trials and in doing so forge the faith that the pioneers had.  Our true identities do not become clear while we are living a life of ease.  They only become clear when our way has become so difficult that we must take the Savior’s hand and follow him through the rocky terrain.  The feel of our hand in His, the presence of Him in our lives, will sanctify us.  If we stay true to the covenants we have made to sacrifice and consecrate, we will find that we have power for good that we never dreamed of.

Nephi said, speaking of our day: "And I, Nephi, beheld the power of the Lamb of God that it descended upon the saints of the church of the Lamb, and upon the covenant  people of the Lord, who were scattered upon all the face of the earth; and they were armed with righteousness and with the power of God in great glory." (1 Nephi 14:14)  Where do we become the "covenant people of the Lord?"  In the temples.  So as riots rage, and tempests storm upon the wicked, if we are faithful temple-goers, we will not only be spared, but even t in our scattered state we  will be armed with righteousness and with the Power of God in great glory."

In the temples.  So as riots rage, and tempests storm upon the wicked, if we are faithful temple-goers, we will not only be spared, but even t in our scattered state we  will be armed with righteousness and with the Power of God in great glory."

The most important thing I did today was not to fear and tremble.  The most important thing I did today was to take the sacrament and remember my covenants.

I remember when we lived in Missouri and the closest temple was seven hours away.  We would leave the children with a baby-sitter and drive down on Friday, do a session that night and then spend all day Saturday in the temple, leaving late for the drive home.  I would cry when I had to leave the temple and the pure love and closeness to my ancestors that I felt there.

Then when we moved to the Utah Valley and had the Provo Temple seven minutes away, it was the balm to my depressed body and soul.  For a three month period, I did an endowment every day for my German ancestors who’d lived in Russia.  As soon as my son went to college, I applied to be an ordinance worker, and worked two days a week for five years.  Those were five very difficult years, and I spent my stint as a worker in the Celestial Room in hour-long prayers.  All the things I prayed about were resolved miraculously.

Then came my miraculous healing from depression.  My fellow temple workers were all so happy for me!  They had become like a host of mothers to me.  Too soon, however, I was obliged to end my service because of all my orthopedic problems (temple ordinance work is hard!  I don’t know how those elderly sisters do it!).

Since that time, when not laid up after surgery, I have tried to attend once a week.  When I was getting my writing career going, I went even more often.  I needed the revelation and confirmation that I would always receive during my prayers in the Celestial Room.

Yesterday, I was finally able to return for the first time since my surgery.  Yes, I had to take my walker, but I made it!  I have missed the peace and safety so much these last weeks.  Especially after reading the conference talks—so many of which were about the safety of temple covenants.  I am refreshed, revitalized, and recentered.  I thank my Heavenly Father for the gracious gifts of temples where we can get a peek at the Celestial Kingdom.