Habitat for Humanity Builds Hope AND Homes

This week I had the wonderful opportunity to be a part of the Utah County Habitat for Humanity Women's Build. Five staff from Heritage assisted as did five of our wonderful students. While I was prepared to work hard, sweat, enjoy the students and get to know them better, I was not prepared for how much my heart would be touched. As I shoveled road base and visited with Krystle, the young widow whose home we were helping to build, I was inspired. 

     Krystle is in her early 30’s, is a mother of two children, and was recently widowed. They are a family rebuilding their lives. This home gives Krystle and her children, community. This home gives them safety and stability. This home is rebuilding their hope and their faith and allows them to share that hope with others.

 One of the things, which was shared with the Heritage Team, was that as the home’s foundation was being laid, Krystle placed a Bible in it. She wanted her children to have the visual that their home would have a foundation based on biblical principles.  Krystle shared with those in attendance that their home would be a home of faith, hope, and love. As Krystle tearfully thanked the students and staff for their efforts on behalf of her family, hearts were touched. Character, faith, empathy, kindness, and part of a home, were all built that day.

    

Hold On 

In 1998 my husband and I decided to take our two oldest sons and their cousins on a rafting trip down the Colorado River. As their cousins “knew a guy,” we borrowed life vests, rafts, and skipped hiring a guide—after all, who needs a guide? The river only flows one direction. With confidence born of the ignorant and thrifty, we were on our way.

It didn’t take us long to realize the raft our sons were in, was holding air, and our raft was holding water. We bailed and planned to pull to shore as soon as we got through the whitewater, which was directly ahead. A moment later, I was tossed face first into the bottom of the raft. I knew I was drowning. No sooner had that thought entered my mind than I was again tossed with great force in another direction. I tried coming up for air but to my dismay, I realized the raft was now on top of my head and I had been thrown under the raft. I tried to bob, push the raft, move a different way, but each time just hit my head on the raft. I could not breathe. I was beginning to panic.

After what seemed like an eternity, the raft moved, I was able to breathe, was rescued by a boat filled with European tourists, and made my way to the sandy shore. Everyone was there but my husband. He had been missing as long as I had but was nowhere in sight. Prayers were uttered and we all watched upstream. In just over a minute Randy came floating towards us, very much alive. He had been sucked into a whirlpool, had felt close to blacking out but had instead come to the surface.

Later as we processed that day’s events we discovered our sons had made it through the white water without incident. What had been a terrifying experience for us they described as “exciting” The difference? They had held on. Although I am embarrassed to admit, much like our not seeing the need to rent rafts, good life vests, or hire a guide, we felt trying to paddle around the white water seemed prudent. We were wrong. Sometimes you just need to hold on and stay the course.

Occasionally when we are in the middle of rough water, holding on is the key to survival. We may be tossed about, we may get wet, we may feel as if we cannot breathe, and we may experience something we never want to repeat, but hold on. Don’t let go. Don’t give up. Hold on.

The pictures are from the actual event described above. Photographers in the Moab area caught it on film. 

"I was in Prison..."

In 1989 my Uncle Paul Fitzgerald (My dad's look alike brother) served in the Jordan River Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

After Uncle Paul's shift he was approached by someone who was also working there that day.

“You must be Crozier's

brother." he asked

"Yes," Paul replied, “Where did you know Crozier?"

"I knew him out at the prison."

"Oh, did you work with him there?" Paul asked.

"No," came the reply," I was an inmate."

This was a story I knew I needed to hear in person. 

On May 29, 1993 my husband Randy and I went to the home of

Roger Callings Anderson, formerly known as the Silk Stocking

Bandit--the same man my Uncle Paul had met in the temple. 

This is his story:

"I was in prison for armed robbery. If you were a little older you probably would have heard of me. I was pretty famous. They called me the Silk Stocking Bandit.  I was sentenced to five

years in prison in 1959 and soon earned the reputation of being a renegade. I had attempted several escapes and had planned another but this one was different. This time I got down on my knees and begged the Lord to help me be free. That was all I wanted. I wanted to be out of prison and I wanted to be free. I thought that maybe if I prayed the Lord would help me this time and my escape would be successful. 

 I did it. I escaped. It only lasted for three days though and it was the three worst

days of hell I had ever experienced.  I didn't sleep, I didn't eat, and the whole time I was hunted by the prison dogs. They eventually found me at a friend’s home. To this day I don't know, if I was turned in or not. 

I was placed in isolation, (solitary confinement) and given one meal a day.  After about two months I was sent to B North.  That's still in isolation but you get three meals a day and are allowed visits from the prison chaplain.  It was at this time that I met your dad Crozier.  He came to visit me and invited me to come to church when I was out of isolation and in

A Block, where I would be allowed more freedom. Once I got off lock up (isolation) I decided to give it a try. One Sunday it was mentioned that they needed a Sunday School

Secretary.  My buddies, somewhat as a joke, nominated me for the job. I told them, “No," that I didn't want to and wasn't interested.  They may have listened to me, but the Chaplain

didn't.  I explained to him that I was illiterate and would not be able to be a Sunday School secretary if I could neither read nor write.  He said "Roger, let the Lord decide what you can and cannot do." And then asked me if he could give me a Priesthood blessing. Crozier gave me the blessing. It was beautiful. I was told that I would be able to fulfill my secretarial duties and that everything needed to fulfill this responsibility would be given to me. 

I did it!  I gradually learned to read, and from the beginning was able to keep the rolls for Sunday School. There were other blessings he gave me. I had smoked for years and he gave me a blessing that I would find a way to quit my habit. I would usually need to hurry out after church to have a smoke.  This time one of my buddies saw me and said, "You know what you are Roger, You're a hypocrite.  Every Sunday you go to church and every Sunday you can't wait to get out of church so you can smoke.  You are Roger, you're a hypocrite."  This was

the way I found to quit.  His words angered me so much that I threw the cigarette in my mouth at him, threw the pack in my hand at him, threw down my lighter and never smoked again. (This was in the days where were cigarettes were sold in the prison commissary.)

The last Priesthood blessing he gave me was just before I was released. In it I was told that I would be able to get out of prison and stay out.  I was twenty five years old and had been

behind bars for five of those years. I went to prison inactive in the church and came out  active. The prayer that I had prayed before my escape had been answered.  I was finally free.  I was free from walls that kept me in and from bad habits that kept me hooked.  I was going home.

I became involved immediately in M Men and Gleaners or what would now be the Young Single Adult program of the church. They seemed to have known I was coming (Crozier had contacted them) and kept me very busy with dances and plays.  It was there that I met Jolene. We were married on August 26, 1965 and were sealed in the temple on April 15, 1966. I got a job with the Granite School District as a custodian and worked for them until a few years ago. We have three wonderful children, two sons and a daughter.  Both of our boys served full-time missions for the Church. One in Texas and the other in Iowa.  I've had many callings in the church. My first calling after being released was as Young Men’s President.  I have also served as Scout Master, Deacons Quorum Advisor, Elders Quorum President, and most recently as a temple worker in the Jordan River Temple.

Reminiscing...

Crozier used to say, “I don't care what your reasons are

for coming to church.  If you'll just go, the Lord will rub off

on you eventually."

“He was a guard before he was made chaplain.  It didn't seem to

matter much.  He won the inmates over.  His advice was always

good."

“I was in prison and ye came unto me"... 

Matthew 26:36

     

  Roger warmly welcomed us to his home where we met his sweetheart and one of their sons. In their humble home he showed us his prison scrapbooks and shared with us his story of finding Christ in prison.  Roger and his dear wife have since passed away leaving a legacy of faith for their posterity. 

Mothering Day

     Today is Mother's Day. It's a day I like to refer to as Mothering Day. Aunt's, teachers, sisters, Sunday School teachers, loving neighbors, whether they have been given the opportunity to bear children or not, have been mothering to me and mothering to my children. I love and appreciate their nurturing ways.
     My own mother is in her 80th year. She is in the twilight of her life. She is becoming frail, forgetful, and yet remains full of faith. My mom was born in 1936 to George and Katherine Boyce in what then was known as the Riverbottom but is referred to now as the Riverwoods of Provo Utah. She was christened Barbara Ann Boyce in St. Mary's Episcopal Church in Provo Utah. The same church I attend today for meetings and services as a part of my membership in the the Utah Valley Interfaith Association.
     The home she was raised in was an old railroad shack. My grandpa purchased it and transported down Provo Canyon with a wagon and team of horses to the Boyce property. To this day the little home remains, and is a bit northwest of University Ave behind Will's Pit Stop.  When my mom was young an addition was made on the shack turned home, which included a bathroom. The first bathroom for that home.
     Mom, though a member of the Episcopal Church was the speaker at her graduation from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Seminary in 1953. Grandpa and Grandma Boyce both attended. They thought it was pretty cool their Episcopal daughter was giving the graduation speech at a Mormon Seminary graduation.  At age 18,  mom moved away from home to a job and apartment in Salt Lake City.  There she was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a gutsy move, one that changed the dynamics of the relationship with her parents and siblings. It's now been 62 years since my mom kept her faith while at the same time changing her religion.
     As much as I owe my dad for his influence on my chaplaincy, I owe my mom for my love and appreciation about other religions especially those considered High Church.  I experienced the beauty of religious art, cathedrals, and sanctuaries from the times she took me out of school for my religious  education when we lived in Europe. It was my mom who signed me up for Catholic Vacation Bible School.
     On this Mother's Day I pay tribute to my mom. She's a one in a million kind of mom. I love her.

      

     Yesterday was my dad's birthday. He would have been 84. Crozier Kimball Fitzgerald was born in 1932, and complications from his birth caused his mama to die 3 days later. By the age of 17, his childhood home had been destroyed in a fire, and his father had passed away from a stroke, leaving 13 children and their new mama, with big bills, great sorrow, and very little in the cupboards. Dad grew up in absolute poverty. At one point after the fire, he and his older brothers lived in the barn. (Pictured here with his younger sister Betty Ruth Fitzgerald (Bell) and brother Nephi Fitzgerald)
 
    My dad joined the Air Force right out of high school, during the Korean War. He thoroughly enjoyed Boot Camp and told me, "It was lots of fun and much easier than work on the farm" (Who says that?!) He is also the only person I know who loved military mess hall food, and thought it to be, "delicious." Dad had a cheerful nature and was always one who looked on the bright side of life. He was impatient with whiners, and those who could not put in a hard days work. Everyone else he was patient with and worked tirelessly to help them. He had patience with the addict, the imprisoned, and the sick, but zero tolerance for those who were lazy. (Lazy for my dad was someone wouldn't work at least a 10 hour day, -Ha!)

Dad left us a legacy of faith. He loved, and knew he was loved by, his Father in Heaven and his Savior. He lived and and loved the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Family meant the world to him and he taught us that the hard things we went through would end up being, "a good experience." Dad didn't know it at the time, but he was a living, breathing, example, of Posttraumatic Growth. Dad felt life could be sweeter, more lovely, with a greater connection to God, because of the trials in our life. Current research supports Dad's theories.  He nailed it!

Prayer

Prayer

 

As a baby I was diagnosed with a rare skin disease, urticaria pigmentosa. It is a glitch with the mast cells in the body.  It left me with brownish red spots of varying sizes and shapes, much like a cat or a dog has. They were everywhere on my body except for my face and hands. These spots would become raised if I was introduced to anything I was allergic too and the itching would be nearly unbearable. The most painful thing was not how they felt but how they made me feel.  

      My parents were very faithful believers, and called upon the elders of the church to pray over me, and anoint me with oil in the name of the Lord (James 5:14).  I was given a Priesthood Blessing. I do not remember this experience. However, I was told about it many times throughout my life. In this prayer I was blessed that, “If you are faithful, by the time you are old enough for it to be important to you, you will be healed.” I thought it was “important” when I was in kindergarten and asked to come up in front of the class where the teacher pulled up my dress, and pulled down my socks to reveal spotted legs. She then warned my classmates to never call me Spot or Leopard Girl. Up until that point I had not been called those names. In Jr high school when we had to shower and change clothes in front of others for PE, I really thought that would be the time when it was “important.” During high school I lived in the Philippines and it seemed every Youth Group activity was set around a swimming pool or the beach. Once again, I felt it was “important,” to be free from spots.

     During this time my parents continued to work with doctors for answers, treatment and a cure. As my dad was in the military we moved often. Each new doctor seemed very interested in seeing something so rare and did their best to come up with answers and help. Twice I was hospitalized after their attempts at treatment, which caused anaphylactic shock. 

     One doctor, suggested sunbathing when weather would allow and when it wouldn’t, the use of a sunlamp. Something so easy was the most helpful treatment to have been suggested. My spots slowly started to fade. By my senior year most could be hidden by a modest bathing suit. I continued to pray that in God’s timetable they would disappear. A week before my wedding, when it was very “important” to look normal, I only had one spot remaining. It was on the inside of my upper arm hidden from view. By the end of that year I was spot free. 

     Perhaps it’s a simple thing to write about or consider. However this experience was life changing and transforming for me. As a child and youth I hated being so very, very, different and the cause of whispered concerns by strangers of  “catching THAT girls disease.” I cried many a tear because of how different I was. Yet, I am a better person from the experience. I have great compassion for others who feel, look, or act, different. Perhaps it’s the closest I will come, to understanding the feelings of the Biblical Leper.  I too was healed.

     I came to know that prayers may be answered right away, in twenty-two years, or in the next life, but they will be answered. 

The Steps to Chaplaincy

One of the reasons I started writing this blog was to answer the frequent question, "How can I become a chaplain?"
Here are a few thoughts.
1. Have a love for God and His children.
2. Enjoy, find beauty in, and have respect for the world's religions.
3. Get a minimum of an Associates Degree in Religious Studies or a field in Human Services. (Masters Degree preferred)
4. Get your Clinical Pastoral Education--1600 hours
5. Seek ecclesiastical endorsement
6. Become Board Certified
7. Remember it's not about you. To be an effective chaplain, it is the faith tradition of your client which matters, not what your religion/spiritual community/faith background may be.