Sincere Compliments can Shape Us

My granddaughter is a spirited and smart blond four-year-old. Recently she was visiting her cousins. Her cousins have a tradition that whoever says the family prayer receives compliments from the rest of the family. Darling granddaughter said the prayer so the others got to say what nice things they noticed about her. My daughter-in-law told me that as she was tucking her in for the night, her daughter was beaming. “Mommy, when everyone said all those things about me, it made me feel really happy.”

It’s also something she’s likely to remember. When we look back on our lives we see positives and negatives. Those are what stand out. Someday I’ll talk about the negative and the impact it has on us, but today I’ll talk about the positives, the compliments, the kind words that can not only make us feel happy, but can shape who we become.

I grew up in the shadows of beautiful Mount Timpanogas in Orem, Utah. Way back then there was an annual hike up the mountain for anyone who wanted to participate. Thousands each summer ascended the mountain. When I was four, the same age my granddaughter is now, my family joined the hike.  I remember the immensity of the mountain, crossing a snowfield holding my mom’s hand, and my mom and dad telling everyone later that I was such a good hiker I must be part mountain goat,

When I was six and in the first grade, my teacher Mrs. Dowdle commented to the whole class that I was a good reader. When I was in second grade, my teacher Mrs. Meservy chose me and a friend to draw a huge Thanksgiving mural in the back of the room, all by ourselves. In fifth grade, my teacher Mr. Atkinson read aloud a story I wrote to the class.

These early compliments shaped the person I am today. I am a hiker, a reader, an artist, and a writer. I wonder what might have happened had these influential adults not noticed any early talents. These things that I did as a child were not just things, they weren’t just abilities, they are who I am.

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching. What I once felt sure about, I no longer feel so sure about. The very foundation of my belief system has crumbled. What once gave comfort fails me. A few weeks ago I wrote a post about “Listening to the Doubts…” Many of my Facebook friends and blog readers complimented that piece. It really made me feel happy, just like my little granddaughter said.  To know that an experience I had with my daughter resonated with so many of you feels me with joy. It opened some dialogue with some family and friends that I haven’t talked to in years. Some total strangers responded with gratitude. About this same time, I had an experience in my ward where I shared a less that orthodox testimony about my doubts. (This is a more-complex version.) It flowed from my heart. Many of the people in my newer community responded with an outpouring of understanding and even love. They complimented my honesty in sharing something that many felt, but didn’t dare say.

Four and a half years ago we moved three miles from a beautiful part of Cache Valley to an even more beautiful part of Cache Valley.  And even though I love it here and have made new friends, I so miss my old ward and the friends that were a part of my weekly life. My old friends are meeting in the our building on Sundays until their new chapel is built. And today I ran into some of those old friends. One couple complimented the piece “Listening to the Doubts…” And said how much they loved it. The wife hugged me and said she missed me. Then another couple, good friends for years hugged me and told me how much they missed me. Another good friend grabbed me and hugged me. I left in tears.

We are a community. All of us. We learn from each other and we grow by sharing our experiences with each other. Those who responded with gratitude for what a wrote a few weeks ago, and for those who complimented my less-than-orthodox testimony, I thank you. So often, we hold back. We don’t say the one thing someone may need to hear. I have a friend who is a great giver of compliments. He’s a natural Dale Carnegie. He told me once that if you think something nice about someone, you should tell them. He often calls someone up, just to tell them something he noticed about them. I’m not a natural nurturer. I am reserved and less-than-demonstrative, but I will forever love and defend the person who gives me a sincere compliment. I think we are all pretty much the same in that regard. One of the friends I saw in the church hallway today is observant. He notices the tiniest details about the people around him. He and his wife gave me a pair of hiking socks for my birthday this year because they remembered me telling them how much I love a good pair of socks. They complimented me by remembering and noticing and then following through.

A couple of weeks ago our home-teacher came over and said, “I know you must get tired of hearing this, but I loved your testimony.” No, believe it or not I don’t get tired of hearing it. I get tired of not hearing it.  Does kindness ever get old? Does hearing a sincere compliment ever get tiring? Perhaps to some. But I think we ought to err on the side of complimenting anyway. I know I have so much to learn. I know there are so many times that I have failed to notice and have failed to be kind. One of my favorite lines from a movie was from the old James Stewart movie Harvey “ ‘Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, "In this world, Elwood, you must be" - she always called me Elwood - "In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant." Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me.”’ I do wish I was smarter, and I'm going to keep working at it, keep studying, and doing. I’m also going to have to work on giving compliments. I am going to work on being “oh so pleasant.” It’s not going to be easy. 

Relying on the kindness of strangers

In a Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche DuBois said, "I have always relied on the kindness of strangers." I think all of us at times have relied on the kindness of strangers. Memories flood my mind as I type this out, mostly about people who stopped to help me when I was stranded, before cell phones when we could call a friend or family member. When my friend, Rosanna and I, traveled through Europe we definitely relied on the kindness of strangers many times. We had traveled with a tour group for a month and then we were on our own. We said goodbye to the group in London and felt terribly lonely as their bus drove away. One other new friend we made from the tour JeanAnn was with us. I was the oldest of the three at 20, but had never traveled east of Denver until this trip. I was scared most of the time, because I hated to talk to strangers--still do. Rosanna and JeanAnn were better at it. All three of us really wanted to see Scotland. I think I wanted to go there because  Thayne was a Scottish name. We road the buses along the country and were mesmerized by the rolling green, a green so intense I knew I'd never seen anything like it in nature. We loved the cows! They looked boxier than those we were accustomed to, Picasso cows we dubbed them. JeanAnn was an art history major and I was an art major, so it worked for us. Rosanna wasn't even out of high school yet.

By the time we got into Edinburgh it was a downpour. The rain that had made the hills so intensely green, was also unlike any rain we'd experienced in the dry Utah desert. We really had no idea where we were going to go. JeanAnn had a package with an address on it. She had promised to deliver the package for a friend to the mission home for a missionary. In the pouring rain we found the mission home, which ended up being where the LDS mission president lived with his wife. We knocked on the backdoor of the stately manor and a woman led us, bedraggled and forlorn, through what could only be described as the kind of kitchen you see in the English PBS mini-series, or in this case Scottish. We were led into a lovely living room. Eventually the mission president himself and his gracious wife greeted us. Yes they would see that the missionary got the package, but they wondered where we were staying and wanted to know every detail of our travels. They were parents of girls about our age and were very concerned.  When they found out that we didn't have a place yet, the mission president called a little bed and breakfast and had a missionary drive us over. Then he made sure we were picked up for dinner the next afternoon where we ate with the mission president, his very gracious wife, and two bewildered missionaries. I found out later that the missionaries were uncomfortable with this display of generosity toward young women their own age and that the previous mission president was quite unlike this jovial man. The president told us he would want someone looking out for his daughter if she were traveling in foreign countries. His name was Lamar Poulton. He not only fed us, made sure we had a place to stay, but even tried to give us money when my shoes melted against the heater in my room. I never forgot the kindness of the Poulton's.

Years later, my husband and I stopped to visit a friend in Tremonton. While we were there, the doorbell rang and nicely dressed man came to the door. They visited for a few minutes, and as the man was leaving the friend introduced the man as his insurance agent, Lamar Poulton. I hadn't recognized him, but the name sent shivers through my body as the memory of how much he'd helped me flooded my mind. I quickly asked if he'd been a mission president in Scotland and he said he had been. I relayed the incident to him that had meant so much to me and he only had a vague memory of the three weary travelers. I never saw him again and have no idea if he and his wife are alive thirty-five years later.

This is just one time when someone who had nothing to gain from me helped me. I hope that I have been that kind of person to some stranger in their journey.