Editorial
Better Together
Armed with the broom and dustpan, I head for the stairs. Hurry. Girls’ Squad is almost over. I know they’ll all stay longer than they should if they don’t think the job is done.
This is our third year doing Girls’ Squad. An ambitious, creative friend found the idea in the Ensign and recruited four of us. We take turns at each other’s houses working together on a project that never gets done because it’s too big to do alone. Now, these ladies can get a lot done alone. Steffani creates full-blown games like “Gospel Cranium” for girls’ camp. Lisa remodels her own house and fixes her own washer and dryer. Deb grows a huge garden and bottles her own salsa. Lezlie’s food storage is the envy of all of us.
So when we all get together, in two hours we can finish a pretty big project. We’ve refinished a leather couch while other people deep-cleaned the kitchen. We’ve made over pantries, scanned photos into the computer, and organized files. We’ve filled a big moving van with old roofing timbers and insulation. Whatever needs to be done.
My storage room has needed an overhaul for several years. This project seemed almost too big even for Girls’ Squad. When I finally worked up the courage to tackle the storage room, it was the first project to take two sessions to finish. Twice, we filled my minivan with outgrown clothes and obscure books. Now we are almost done.
Hurry, I don’t want to take three sessions! My cell phone rings. 2:20. Ugh. That’ll be Sarah missing the bus again. I grab the phone on my way by, answering as I descend the first couple steps. Somewhere between my “hello” and hers, my heel slides off the edge of a step. I swear loudly as my tail bone hits hard on a step corner. In slow motion, I bounce down several more. I hear Lisa, “Oh, she’s white. That hurts.” Finding the phone somehow still in my hand, I tell Sarah to call back. I breathe like I’m in labor.
Lezlie’s calm voice asks, “Do you feel dizzy or light-headed?”
“Yes,” I croak.
“Can you move yet? Do you want to go over to the couch?”
“Not yet.”
The cell phone rings again. Steffani picks it up, “Sarah, your mom’s hurt and can’t talk right now.”
My husband sits next to me, and I’m finally able to cry. Girls’ Squad heads back to the storage room. When my breath is slower and my head less cloudy, Eric helps me over to the couch, brings me some ice, hugs me while I cry some more. Then he goes to get Sarah.
I rest for a long time, an ice pack strapped to my behind. I hear voice fragments in the storage room down the hall. “Maybe the beans can go over here.” “Make sure we leave room so she can expand.” “Where are we putting canned chicken?” “I think it makes sense to put all the paper goods up high. They’re lightweight.”
Later, I remember what I didn’t hear. No exclamations about what to do with the stacks of canned herring in mustard sauce or the collection of strange cooking concoctions like oyster sauce, mole poblano, red curry paste, furikake, tamarind, and galanga. No whispered conversation about how I managed to tumble down my own stairs. My friends gave me just what I needed—a little space to recover while they finished my project.
It takes a little courage and a lot of trust to let people into these messy parts of our lives. That day, I was vulnerable in so many ways, but it never occurred to me to worry about what they might think. What Girls’ Squad does physically it also does emotionally and spiritually, opening us in our differences, talking and listening, laughing and crying, praying for and supporting each other in whatever ways are needed.
We hope this issue of Segullah does the same. We chose the theme “Palette of Light” to reflect the tone of the writing and artwork, each piece revealing the light found in sharing our experiences. This issue’s contributors, all writing for our 2007 contests, have invited us into a messy bit of their lives. One shares her struggles to get to church with a young family, another her journey through depression, another her deep, emerging appreciation for her sister who is very different from herself. As each author has the courage to paint for us a few honest, luminous pieces of her heart, we listen and are edified.
We each have our own palette of colors and our own unique brush. When we open our paint box and find the courage to make a few strokes—whether on paper or in conversation or in simply letting friends help us—we add light and color to our world. One of us, alone, can make a beautiful painting, but together all our colors, all our stories and struggles and musings, make more. The speaker and the listener, the giver and the receiver, intertwine—all receiving more than the sum of what was offered.
“Let one speak at a time and let all listen to his sayings, that when all have spoken that all may be edified of all” (D&C 88:122).
In her previous life, Cheri survived BYU's music undergrad and English master's programs. Now she keeps busy with her four kids, two in junior high and two younger ones who homeschool. In her "spare" time, she reads as often as possible, writes occasionally, and plays piano even less (though she loves them all). Cheri enjoys hiking and being outdoors and is a sucker for well-crafted movies and gourmet food.
