Great Sunday experience

Every once in a while a biggie comes one' s way from the pulpit. Sunday. May 24th, at the lake Craig Tebbs and Wally Lee spoke. Craig did a good job, talking about how a good example, like he had in Grandpa Tebbs, helps a person through life. Wally's talk was no holds barred. Spirit to spirit. He told how when first practicing law here in Panguitch, he thought he had to go after a friend who from all evidence had committed a crime. I don't know the details. He said that it left he and this friend not speaking for ten years. Wally felt he had not done anything wrong, that he had just been doing his job. It wasn't his fault this friend felt unjustly treated. Wally told how this thing cankered his heart and made it very hard to live in a small town where he might meet this man someplace. He knew he should do something to try to fix the situation, but just couldn't make himself do it. He, as said, felt he hadn't done anything wrong. Then he was asked to be in a bishopric and the bishop said that before he accepted he needed to go apologize to this man. He knew that was true and described how hard it was to make his feet take him to the man's house. (You know Wally, he is good with words and writing.) Anyway he did it and the man stepped out on his porch and they talked it out. He described how good it made him feel. The point of his talk was how important to not let things stay in your heart that make you feel unkindly toward anyone and that builds a pile of bitterness that only hurts you.
All of Wally's family was there at church--brother and mother. Afterwards David, his brother came up to us and was friendly. He had hurt my feelings when I was trying to help with his father's work. I thought he thought I just wasn't good enough to be involved in any way. We talked and I felt better. Then Glen had to tell Wally about how I felt. I was rather cross at him, because it hadn't been anything Wally had done at all. He wasn't involved in his father's art. Now I feel bad that it was brought up. I was living with it all right. I knew the boys were (and still are) suffering from the grief of losing their beloved father, and I hated thinking I might have caused them uncomfortableness over my offer to help. I know how it makes me feel when someone comes in the gallery with art work I just don't think is professional enough. It is awkward. And what do I really know? Maybe my style and place isn't nice enough and would harm their father's name. Sure I felt bad. This is a good example of how it is for probably most people. Sometimes something that shouldn't be such a big deal just happens to scrape off an old scab that was hiding some silly inadequate feeling from childhood. So much of the emotional baggage is tied to previous hurts. In my case, I have carried an inferior feeling from being a little tomboy who was usually dirty and grimy and hanging out with the boys and men and trying to think that "fancy" was terrible. My cousins, Wally's mother and sister, and aunts on my father's side were such ladies. I tried to act like I didn't care, but about age 12 or 13 one day after helping Dad with the marking of the lambs, one of the dirtiest jobs imaginable, but one I thought I didn't mind, I looked down at my chapped, bloody hands, then around at all that was going on and thought: "This isn't any fun." Then I had a problem. How could I get out of my reputation for being rough and tough and a nobody. I thought by age 72 I had figured it out, but just one little thing and Wham! back rushes all those feelings of being inadequate. Anyway, good ol' Wally apologized and apologized for hurting me. And it wasn't even his fault. So much of it was just what I described. I suppose I'd like to think I could have helped promote senior Wally's art. I had been told by Rick Kinatedar that a dead artist's work needs to be kept before the public or they are quickly forgotten. I thought the way we were doing things in the gallery was being successful and not all that low class. David and Joan, on the other hand, were so desirous of handling their beloved one's work in the best possible way, they were more inclined to listen to other very successful people instead of someone like me. (This fact also scraped at old hurts, as I thought how some in our Tebbs family can't trust their own ideas but have to depend on an expert.) This is the kind of thing that, if shared, could make blogs meaningful. When someone reacts in a way that seems exaggerated for the circumstances, perhaps we should wonder if it isn't because of something rearing its head from the past. Whatever, I think we and the Lee's cleared the air. I sure have a big admiration for those boys. The heartache they have endured is beyond my comprehension.