Church Talk

Today, I spoke in sacrament meeting as part of the Relief Society Presidency.  I'm the second counselor.  Our assigned topic was "the ward family" which is a totally made up topic that has nearly zero talks or other references to work with, so that a speaker can not sound like she made the whole thing up.

Well, I made the whole thing up - the talk that is, not the details within it.  Those are true.  I talked about my ward growing up and about an experience Ross and I had right before Christmas.

If you'd like to read it, here it is.  My mom said I should put it on the blog.

I have.

I was raised in Magna, Utah and grew up as a member of a pretty interesting ward.  I was in the same ward as my grandparents and they were two of the founders.  In fact, my grandpa was bishop of the Lake Ridge 4th ward twice, totaling 13 years in a 20 year span.  My grandma unofficially ran the show in our ward and her dominance started with our row.  You see, the back row of the chapel was reserved for the Huber family, my family.  In fact, if someone was sitting on our pew as we walked into the chapel for sacrament meeting, my grandmother would politely request they move and stand there until they did.  Not only did we have our row, we also had assigned seats.  I sat next to my grandmother, no questions asked.  It was my job to pass out the Werther’s Originals after the sacrament.

During my childhood, there were some characters in my ward, the most interesting being Bob.  He once ran for President of the United States.  He also built an ark in his backyard, always carried a ketchup packet in his front pocket, sometimes came to church using a  wheelchair and drove around in a van with a hand carved orca whale on the roof.  There was Gary, who was legally blind and a Type 1 Diabetic and in spite of his vision impairment and amputated toes, still drove around the neighborhood daily.  When BYU won a game on a Saturday, Vernita, wore her “BYU Blue” dress to church on Sunday to show her allegiance.   And my dad made sure to wear his bright red Utah tie when the opposite was true.  There was Tor, the Norwegian sign painter; Evelyn who we called “evil-lynn” because, well, she was; and the Hills who we referred to as the Radley’s because the whole family rarely came outside, except for church, and they all reminded us of Boo.  Brother Wolfgram was from New Zealand and was crushed upon by every woman and young woman in my ward because of his kind heart, Mauri accent, and striking good looks.  Sue and Yvonne were two of the old grandmas of our ward who crocheted dish rags and made bottle brush cleaners for everyone’s birthday.   Brother Rhode was a single dad and my mom’s unofficial primary counselor who did the greatest sharing times I’ve ever seen and Brother Edwards was the most enthusiastic primary chorister who ever lived  and he ran singing time like a rock concert.  My home teachers growing up were Brother Burkette and Brother Weber. They were both eternally in their 80’s and faithfully came every month for years until they each passed away.  They always stayed too long, but they were hilarious.  Watching their monthly performance was like watching Statler and Waldorf, the old guys in the balcony from the Muppets.  

When I turned 9 years old, my dad was called to be the bishop.  He was 33  and the calling required him to cut off his permed mullet to lead our ward.  In the 6 years he was bishop, I sat on the front row as he performed many weddings and presided of many funerals; was his faithful home teaching companion to all the widows in the ward, and always rode shotgun as we traveled to activities, fundraisers and service projects.  Once, as bishop, my dad was invited by the mother of a new family in our ward to be her dance partner, to the song “Hungry Eyes” in the ward talent show.  He declined.

This is the short list of some of the more eccentric members of my ward growing up and I tell you about these people with no malice or ill will.    In fact, quite the opposite.  These individuals were part of my ward family growing up and they, with so many others, helped to turn me into the person I am today.  They were my teachers and advisors, often my role models, and sometimes, bright flashing warning signs.  Robert D. Hales said in 1996 that ward families are made up of adults, youth, children, the single, married and widowed all caring for and strengthening one another.   Unlike our ward today, there were only a total of 6 kids (2 boys and 4 girls) my age growing up, and our mutual never totalled more than 30.  There was often a “recycling” of adults in leadership positions and the same 6 women ran our ward’s young women’s program faithfully for decades, just rotating presidency and advisory roles.  And, those 6 women, Wendy, Beth, Karen, Leia, Kandie and Shannon were some of the most influential in my life, even calling me to be the 1st counselor in the YW presidency months after I graduated from high school.

The “ward family” is not something mentioned in any handbook.   In fact, there are very few searchable talks and references through church websites and resources.  On LDS.org, there were remarks given by a man named David Brown in December of 2005.  He stated that the purpose of a ward family is two-fold.  One, to ease loneliness for those that are lonely - the widowed, elderly, and solitary members who need checking in, sacrament brought to their homes, or someone to talk to.  The second purpose is to provide a safe harbor.  A ward family that is a safe harbor, according to Brown does the following: has warm and friendly members; testimonies shared with conviction; abounds in charity; has well attended activities and dedicated home and visiting teachers who rarely miss a visit.  I would add, a ward that is a safe harbor also has youth who do not feel isolated or excluded, members who accept callings and opportunities to teach, pray and speak willingly, and an overwhelming light of Christ.  Simply put, a ward family creates a sense of community and support for those living within its boundaries, regardless of whether or not those individuals are members of the Church.  

The Friday before Christmas, Ross and I attended a funeral.  The husband of a co-worker passed away from quick battle with cancer - he was a navy veteran and a lifelong smoker who had been suffering from bad health for months.  There were only about 25 people in attendance - primarily co-workers and a few family members flown in from Kentucky.  The memorial service was held in the Relief Society room of a church in Sandy, conducted by a bishop, with food provided by a Relief Society.  The family is not LDS, but due to the husband’s health problems, had through a friend been in contact with their bishop and the sister missionaries.  Even though the occasion was sad, this memorial service was uplifting and inspiring.  Ross contacted the Navy and had military honors performed.  The bishop had been talking with the family for several months and had taken the time to get to know them.  He shared personal experiences and insights that were perfect for the small service.  Each of the deceased's brothers shared a few words in their thick Kentucky drawls.  They spoke lovingly of their brother, but more interestingly, they spoke of the surprise and amazement at the LDS community's support of their family in this time of need.  They were in awe of the kindness, charity and love they were receiving from a group of people they did not know.

Sister Bonnie Oscarson, in her address at the October General Conference said, “How much value is there in fixing the world if the people around us are falling apart and we don’t notice?” We are often overwhelmed with talk about society’s attack on the family, religion and Christianity.  I would like to argue that in fact, there are good people in this world!  At the funeral mentioned previously, two of the Non-LDS brothers offered the opening and closing prayers.  These prayers were sincere and inspiring. There are good people all over the world, and though they may not be the same faith as us, they still need our help.  It is up to us as members of the church, to extend our “Ward Family” to those that do not attend church with us.  We must help and serve those who are different than us.  When the world goes low, we must go higher. We should be persistent in our efforts to embrace our differences and look to find light in all those who cross our paths.

In the same conference address, Sister Oscarson also said, “Pray for help in recognizing those in your ward families who need love and encouragement.  Instead of attending church with the questions of ‘What am I going to get out of this meeting?’ ask, ‘Who needs me today?’”  As we begin a new year, with a new direction in our Sunday meetings requiring us to be more active in our membership, faith and devotion, I invite you to focus more of your energy and attention on others - those within your ward families and community.

I look back with the utmost fondness on the ward of my childhood.  I remember the experiences and individuals that influenced my life for the good - those who served faithfully in their callings.  I remember the activities and service projects, the dinners and fundraisers.  I remember being taught by example how to be a good member of my faith and my ward.  If you have not yet set some goals for yourself in this new year, I encourage you to set a goal to be a better member of your ward family

Amen.

A Dapper Trio

Over the weekend we were shopping at the Salt and Honey Market, mostly to check on my inventory because I was a vendor at the show.  While there, Wyatt decided that he wanted a bow tie, as part of his birthday presents.  We obliged.

On Sunday morning, he started to get dressed and then Quinn decided to jump on the bow tie bandwagon and, thanks to the last couple years of dressy Christmas presents from Grandma Judy, we were able to find a bow tie for Elliott, too.  I must say that these boys of mine, especially when the big boys have fresh haircuts, end up being a pretty dapper trio.

And as we all came down stairs ready for church, I realized that we were all dressed the same - navy blues, so it warranted a front porch selfie before we left the house.

Parker's Mission Pictures

On September 2, 2015, Parker Stewart Wood reports the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah.  He will be serving a two year mission in the Houston, Texas East Mission, also covering a large portion of Louisiana.  We will miss Parker tremendously when he is gone, with Willie gone, there really won't be anyone, for about 6 months to make us laugh out loud.  But, Parker will be a great missionary and we are so excited for him to sweat it out in the South for two years.

Yesterday, we ventured out to take some missionary pictures.  It was hot and the sun was bright, and my eyes were a bit blurry, but we still got some good shots.  I was happy that he wanted me to take some pictures for him and both Quinn and I, who are now very lonely with both boys in school all day, were extremely happy for the afternoon company.











While we were at the Jordan River Temple, Parker was approached by a small family because he was holding the Texas state flag.  The son of the family had returned on Wednesday from the Houston South mission and was pretty exited to see Parker, someone who would be going to his mission in a month.

The returned Elders mom then crossed the street to me, with my camera and asked excitedly, "Is this your first missionary?"  I smiled and laughed and said, "Well, I'm old enough to be his mother, but I'm just his cousin and volunteered to take some pictures for him."  She smiled and laughed.  We talked about her son for a few minutes and "my" "other missionary son" in Lithuania.

It was a really funny little exchange...Me, Parker's "mom" taking his picture with his "little brother" in the stroller watching YouTube on my phone.

In a nutshell....

Last week was busy.  The busy was compounded by the fact that Ross and I have been sick.  Him for 11 days and me for 17, but whose counting.  Oh wait, I am!  We seem to have some sort of allergy driven cold/flu/bronchitis type thing.  Life is really hard with three kids when both parents are sick.  And exhausted.  But, we managed to pull another week out of our Mary Poppins carpet bag in spite of it all.




Wyatt had the week off of school for "kindergarten testing".  That's a rant of a post on it's own, but I'll just avoid it for now.  I had big plans to keep him busy, but being a sick parent with a lazy couch potato has it's advantages.  Staying home and watching tv is one of them.

Haley and the kids came over to jump on the trampoline, watch bugs and eat lunch.

We waited for the floor guy to come and fix a bad spot on the floor.  He never showed.  We waited for the oven repair man to come back for the 4th time to finally figure out why our oven doesn't work.  The igniter burned a hole through the base.  We could have blown ourselves up.  Good times.

I made two pioneer trek skirts and a trek apron for a neighbor's daughter.  I made three fanny packs and a purse for my sister.  I let my house become a total disaster.  I still haven't put my living and dining rooms back together because the baseboards need to be caulked and painted.

The boys had four baseball games: Elliott on Tuesday and Thursday and Wyatt on Wednesday and Friday.  Both boys played well.  Both boys went 2-0.  Both boys finished their regular season with error free games.  Both boys teams are in the playoffs starting this week.

We attended cousin Luke's baptism.  While at the church, Jack and Quinn were wearing the same outfits and Quinn saw a picture of Jesus holding a lamb on his lap.  He turned to us and said, "Look at Jesus holding that cute puppy."  It was pretty funny.



Ross finally got around to taking Wyatt shopping for his birthday present, a new bike, a month late.  He's got to learn to ride it without training wheels, and after a few attempts on Saturday afternoon, he may be 12 before he can figure it out.



We ended Saturday with our first trip to the splash pad.  My boys seem, at times, incapable of just "playing" and they spent all their splash pad time lying on the concrete instead of actually playing in the water.  Oh well.  And Quinn fell asleep.  7:00 pm naps are where it's at...only if the kid wakes up long enough to get his pajamas on and go back to bed.  Those are pretty sweet nights.



Here's to another LONG week of baseball and school and hopefully not being too sick anymore.  I'm getting tired of blowing bright pink brain matter out of my nose, while feeling like a small elephant is sitting on my chest.

Matchy Matchy

Every Sunday, we all get dressed independently of each other.  And, every Sunday, as we all emerge from our bedrooms and closets, we all seem to coordinate naturally.

This past Sunday was no exception.  The color scheme: red, white, blue, khaki.  Our dad was the odd man out, but the rest of us were in our coordinating glory.  

And of course, had to document it with a dozen failed selfies.

Elliott's Baptism

Yesterday, on Valentine's Day, Elliott was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.  We were so happy and proud of him for making the decision to get baptized and happy to have so many family members come to celebrate with us.

Ross' parents and brother's family traveled from Arizona to be with him on his day.

After the baptism, we took immediate family to Mt. Mike's Pizza for lunch and had a lot of fun.

It was really a great, great day.

The Spirit of Service

Every year, the youth of our neighborhood, do some sort of service project, in two events.  They hold a neighborhood bonfire where people bring donations for some charity and then they do a Christmas program at a local Alzheimer facility.  This year, Ross was in charge of the combined "service" activity and he followed that old mantra, "Go big or go home!"

Go big he (we) did.  Ross did some research and found the Family Support Center of Midvale.  This organization provides a lot of services to people around the valley, mostly transitional housing, day care and counseling for families down on their luck or women and children leaving abusive situations.  After talking to Kellie, on of the awesome people who help run the facility, it was decided that they would be our charity for the year.

Ross agreed to provide Christmas gifts for 7 families, as well as use the traditional neighborhood bonfire to collect donations for general center operations.  Then, he pretty much handed the project over to me.  I organized all the people (I think it was 28), and we made ornaments with gifts listed, three ornaments per person.  I also put together gift bags for each of the moms, added items like socks and underwear (I was taught well by my grandma) to each child's list, and then we placed all the ornaments on two trees in the lobby of our church.

Then, we just waited for the gifts, as well as donations of boxes, wrapping paper, and so much more to arrive at our house.  By last Saturday, my front living room and dining room looked like the salvation army of new gifts.  Each person had a minimum of 6 items, and most people in our neighborhood bought more than was on each tag.  I figured that we had around 150 presents donated, even some big items like bedding, long boards, and play station games.

As items started to roll in, I felt Santa's pressure to make my list and check it twice.  The more organized I could be, the better things would turn out.



Last Saturday four women in my neighborhood came over to help me check, double check, and box all the presents in preparation for the youth wrapping them on Tuesday night.  It took us a little over 2 hours to go through all 7 families and in the end, I was only missing three items: underwear, a Lego set, and a stroller.  The generosity was amazing and I was so proud to be able to help with such a project.

Last night was our wrapping night and it was amazing.  Kellie, from the center came to help out and we had about 50 kids and adults show up to wrap all the presents and stuff almost 30 stockings with wonderful prizes for any kids who will be entering the center on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.





I grew up in a family where service has always been a priority.  I've watched my grandparents and parents serve so many others, that even though it's challenging at times, it really is second nature to me.  And, my obsessive need to plan and organize fits right in to a project like this.  It just made my heart so happy to be part of such a project and I hope, that next year, we can do the same thing all over again.

This is what Christmas (well, really all the year) is about and it was just an awesome thing.

When it all falls apart

You know how when you are in the hospital, they ask you to rank your pain? You have a scale of 1-10, 10 being the worst pain you ever could feel in your life I suppose. I've been in those situations and never really ranked my pain higher than a 7 probably. Either the pain of the procedures I've had hasn't been bad (really, it has been though) or I have a pretty high thresh hold for pain. Either way, I've not been higher than a 7 and as soon as I'm home, I quit the hard stuff and recuperate on tylenol and advil.

The last 15 days or so of my life haven't gone so well. They've been around an 8 or 9 on the "pain" scale. Pretty much every single day, something in my world of #firstworldproblems has gone terribly wrong and if you would have talked to me at any given time in those last two weeks, I probably, if I wasn't wallowing in my own "pain" would have sat down and told you all the gory details.  There has been a lot of arguing and raising of voices, dramatic expression of frustration at the actions of other people towards and around me and my family, sadness at the choices of others.  Many things have broken, strange conversations have happened, and bad attitudes, at least on my part, abound.  I've pretty much felt like giving up on just about everything because nothing has been happening as it should.

Yesterday, we skipped out on stake conference because we were going to attend a baby blessing instead and it was the first I've been to church in three weeks time.  It was, honestly, a little strange to be in such a familiar setting, and really refreshing, too.  It was a Fast Sunday and let's face it, Fast Sunday in a different ward has the potential to be full of surprises.  But instead, for the most part, it was really good.  I was happy to be in the meeting and feel the spirit that was there.  I was happy to hear the messages that were shared.  I was happy to be reminded that no one is forcing me to make the choices I make in this life - that they are mine, and I make them happily.

Today is Monday.  Monday is preparation day in Lithuania, which means it is letter day from that big Iggy brother of mine.  Words cannot begin to describe how I look forward to Monday mornings.  Lately, I've taken to keeping my phone by my bedside on Sunday nights because 1) on the off chance that I wake up around the time he sends his e-mails, I think about trying to catch him and 2) the first thing I do when I get out of bed on Monday morning is read his letter.  It lifts me up and inspires me and makes me smile.

This Monday, I got an e-mail from him.  My brother likes to talk about our "chi" - our inner spirit that guides us and keeps us balanced.  My letter to him for the week, basically, detailed how my chi was lost, and my struggle to try and find it.  (Seriously Internet, you have no idea how rough these last two weeks have been.  Going to lunch and me talking the WHOLE time couldn't even begin to cover it!)  I told him of a couple experience though that were helping me feel like I was getting back on track.  He told me that my e-mail was intense to read, but then he shared some things with me that were really important for me to hear from my wise missionary little brother, who, is way too skinny.  It's funny how from so far away, in a different time zone, he knew the right things to say to me.

And then, in typical Willie fashion, he signed off like this:

Be calm. Be happy.

Express your thoughts. Let it all out. 

May all of your wildest dreams come true :)

 

Thanks Napoleon.  For your information, I drink almond milk and yes, it's because I think I'm fat!

Oh, get to the point, right?

What is the point?

I think that the point is - sometimes life really really sucks.  It sucks so hard and so bad that you don't even want to get out of bed.  It just sucks your will right out of you.  But, no matter what, there are things that make it better.  Like your goofball kids doing well in school, and making each other laugh, and having great soccer games.  Or, your baby saying the word "cooties" all the time and calls his brothers, "the boys" and sings the chorus, "say Geronimo" from the song we heard on the radio all day long.  And, a husband who is your opposite so when you are sitting inside the emotional toilet, he is at least on the seat, not all the way in.  Or your mom and your aunts remind you that girl power rules and that learning how to work hard is pretty much the most important thing.

And all of that stuff, if only for the fact that it is barely keeping me sane, is the stuff I need to think about.

 

 

It's been a long time since we had a wedding

Over the weekend, my cousin Eddie married the beautiful Nina.  Eddie, is about as white as you can get, but he served his LDS mission in Samoa, and pretty much thinks he is a Samoan.  Nina, well, she is Samoan, but has lived in Utah since she was a little girl.

They were sealed on Saturday morning in the Oquirrh Mountain Temple.  The ceremony was nice, and I was happy to be in the temple.  The temple is such a peaceful, beautiful and calm place.  It was so nice to be there with other family members, on my side of the family in support of Eddie and Nina's family who were there to support her.  There was a such a calm and sweet spirit there.  My grandpa was very emotional, I'd like to think that it was because my grandma was close by, watching the proceedings, sharing her love and her spirit with us.

The rest of the wedding was done with traditional Samoan flare.  I'd never been to a Polynesian wedding, though I knew a lot about how they worked and the wedding didn't disappoint.  It was a big party!  The food was interesting - I didn't actually eat anything but grapes and a few hours de vours - sorry and no offense - but my stomach these days doesn't do well with fried or greasy and there was a little too much of that on the buffet line.  Then, there was a great program with singing and dancing and a wedding haka.  Oh, I love a good haka!

The reception started at 3:00 in the afternoon and the sit down dinner and program were over by 6:00, giving us our entire evening to do whatever we wanted to do, which was pretty nice.  It was a very fun evening and a new cultural experience. 

At the temple, after the sealing, my grandpa gave Nina a hug and said, "Welcome to the family."  He then turned to Eddie and said, something like, "Well, I guess you are welcome to stay."  It was pretty funny.  It's great to welcome a little bit of diversity to the family.

Summer Vacation, Week Three

Seriously Folks, minus a trip to Disneyland, it feels like we crammed two months worth of activities into three weeks in July.  Phew.  I'm pretty exhausted.

And, I took pretty much zero pictures to prove we did anything.

Classic.

Anyway, here's a quick breakdown.

We swam 5 times.  Three times at great grandpa's house and two times for swimming lessons.  Quinn is completely fearless in the water, and I have some video to prove it.  The video however, is on my phone and I haven't the gumption to bother getting it off my phone and onto this blog at this very moment, maybe later.  But trust me.  He's fearless.





Update - I uploaded one of the swimming videos.  Obviously.

We went to the Museum of Natural Curiosity with some cousins and then to lunch at Cubbys.  We were behind schedule (not because of me) and we didn't eat lunch until 2:00.  That caused for some meltdowns (not me).

We celebrated Pioneer day by polishing the silverware of our ancestors.  Well, Elliott polished it, supervised by me, for $20 dollars.  He's earning money to buy his own ipod touch and he's over half way there and mom is being a little too generous donating to the cause, but I really want him to reach his goal and figure the sooner he does it, the better.



Then, we celebrated our Pioneer heritage with a bbq at great grandpa's and even more swimming and eating and bravery in the water.  I wore my bathing suit much more than I was comfortable with this week, but I was told by a certain boy that I'm married to that in spite of the flab, it was a good thing.  At least he didn't mind.

Our dad was at scout camp on this third week of our summer vacation and his truck died.  It is currently sitting at a Ford dealership in Logan, Utah awaiting diagnosis and we are hoping (fingers crossed) that it doesn't need a brand new transmission.  That maybe it just needs a hug and some kisses instead.  I also got a new windshield on Saturday and in the process, some cosmetic parts of my car were broken and now I'm driving the white trash griswold mobile.

On Saturday, we hosted the 4th annual Petersen Family 24th-ish of July BBQ.  It was a great party with yummy food.  This was the first time in four years that we had nearly every single family member attend, and were only missing four.  Ross and I really like to host parties and had a great time having everyone over to play.  Ross borrowed from a lady at work a "candy cannon" and as the grand finale of the party, we shot candy at the kids and into the road for them to catch.  It was pretty fun to watch.





On Sunday, we headed up to Smithfield, Utah, to listen to the homecoming report of a certain Elder Marshall.  He was Willie's trainer for his first few months in Lithuania and we felt pretty lucky to be able to attend the meeting.  He humored my mom and told her about his plans for the future and took a picture with us before we headed out.  It was a pretty uplifting meeting and anything that can help us feel closer to that big iggy is worth a four hour round trip drive.  And it may be the closest I get to a "summer vacation" so I'll take it.

sort of really just only for me...

I've never been a fan of the word "fault'. 
Dictionary.com defines fault as:

1.  a defect or imperfection; flaw; failing: a fault in the brakes; a fault in one's character.

2.  responsibility for failure or a wrongful act: It is my fault that we have not finished

3.  an error or mistake: a fault in addition.

4.  a misdeed or transgression: to confess one's faults.

 

Looking at these definitions, fault generally implies that something has gone wrong, or someone has done something wrong.  But fault also looks for someone, or something to blame for a situation that has headed south, ended poorly, or hurt another person.

 

Like I said, I'm not a big believer in fault.  Because with fault, there is always blame.  And blame? Blame doesn't really get you anywhere very fast does it?  All blame gets you, generally speaking, is anger and resentment, and that icky taste in your mouth like you get after you've thrown-up but before you've had the chance to brush your teeth. 

 

Rather than think in terms of fault and blame, I like to think in terms of responsibility and ownership.  You see, in fault, you are always looking for someone to blame for what has happened to you, or for what you did to someone else.  With responsibility, you are accepting ownership of your actions and preparing to take the necessary steps to right a wrong, march on a new path, start a new day.

 

It's sort of like that poem by Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken"

 

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

 

I had to memorize this poem in junior high and the last stanza often makes it's way from the murky depths of my memory to the forefront of my mind.  I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference... There has to be something said for learning to leave fault and blame aside for responsibility and ownership, right?  As hard as those life lessons were (and are!), we take them, suck them in, and spit them out, better on the other side.  I can think of several experiences from when I was in school, when I was a teacher, and my life as an adult and parent, where those life lessons have chewed me up and I had two roads to travel on - two paths to take.  The path where I could blame someone else for my mistakes, or the path where I could take responsibility and fix the wrong.

Henry David Thoreau said, when he was living at Walden Pond, in Connecticut, that he wanted to live deep, and suck out all the marrow of life.  And not when he had come to die, discover that he had not lived.  How do we do that?  How do we live deep and suck out all that our lives have to offer?  For some of us, it's our family and maybe for others it's our work.  Whatever it is, we have to find it and do it to our best ability, because who wants to be that person on their death bed saying, "I wish I had spent more time with my kids and grandchildren!"  or "I wish I would have stayed by his bedside instead of going to work!"  Whatever it is, we don't want to be that person.  We don't want blame to follow us.  

Maybe that brings a new word to the table.  Opportunity.

We don't have opportunity if we have faulty and blame.  But we do have opportunity with responsibility and ownership.  It abounds with the latter.  Our lives are up to us, and the choices that we make.  Some of those choices bring us joy, others heartache.  Sometimes, we make dastardly choices and manage to get through by the skin of our teeth and other times, we make choices with a conscious that is so in tune, that miraculous things happen.  I'd like to be abounding with the latter on this one as well.

Our world, especially for those of us with faith, regardless of all the bad that exists, is full of justice and mercy and understanding.  Those were gifts to us from Christ, that we can have every day, even if we don't deserve them.  The kindness of strangers gives this to us, as do our families and friends, our communities, and even our legal system.  It's our job, to take these things, and do the best we can in our own lives with them, and in turn, try to better the lives of others.

I want to be one of those people who tries to see the good, to see the small miracles, the tender mercies, if you will, in my every day life and be thankful and grateful for those blessings and joys.  I want to know that good or bad, things happen for a reason and have the faith and understanding in mercy and justice to realize that there is a light and a goodness on the other side of heartache and sadness, but that it may take a long time to find it.  I hope to be one of those people that can always try to see the good in someone, even if it doesn't feel like there is any good to be seen.  

I want to always seek opportunity.

 

 

Praise to the Man

I've said it before, but I have a lot of faith and I believe in miracles.  I believe that, no matter the circumstance or situation, no matter the joy or heartache involved, it's part of a bigger plan, one that though before I was born I may have been privy to the details, now that I'm here on the earth, I'm just along for the ride.

Sometimes with tears of sadness and frustration.

Sometimes with tears of pride and joy.

This week though, I was able to pray fervently for a couple extra miracles for my grandpa and along with, hopefully, the rest of my family, we were able to bring those miracles to fruition.

My grandpa's fall, broken vertebrae in his neck, and subsequent surgeries and rehabilitation stays started three months ago on March 17.  It's been a long and arduous road for him to recover from neck, prostate, and a bevy of other physical maladies and mental and emotional hurdles.  As a family we've visited when we could,  I've visited on the rare opportunities I've had to be alone while running errands, and we've prayed for him night and day to get better.

The biggest battle he's been waging is with his swallowing mechanism.  Every two weeks, for months now, he's had a swallow test where they put barium in his throat, hook him up to some sort of x-ray machine and watch how he swallows certain foods.  But, the small flap in his throat that blocks his windpipe when he eats to prevent him from aspirating has been malfunctioning and thus, he's had a feeding tube for months.

Though the folks at the rehab place love my grandpa, and he's had some really good experiences there, he has been so ready to get out of "prison" as he has called it, and the last few weeks has been more adventurous - visiting graves on memorial day, and heading home for a few hours every Saturday to supervise the yard work and the pool preparations.

But this week....THIS WEEK....we finally got the miracles we've been praying for.

On Tuesday, my Grandpa was freed of his neck collar.  And my mom said the first thing he did when he got in the truck from the doctor's office was to offer a prayer of gratitude.

On Wednesday, my Grandpa passed his swallow test.   He passed! My mom was there.  She said everyone cheered.  Many cried.  That all those who my grandpa has touched during his stay were there to support him and were so excited for him.

Passing the swallow test means no more feeding tube.  No neck brace, no feeding tube means no more rehab and he gets to go home.  His home has been made ready for him, it's almost beckoning to him to return.  He has to stay a few more days to get him off the sauce completely, but soon he will be home.

And the first thing he wanted when his freedom from the tube was declared.

A diet coke!

Grandma would have been so proud.

And the first thing the boys and I did when we rushed to visit him after school on Wednesday?  A happy dance of course.  We made him laugh.  Not sure if it was at us or with us, but we'll take the laugh, because we haven't seen him do that for months.

My grandpa is the wisest man I know.  He is the most faithful.  The most strong.  The most honest and true.  He has dealt with this trial and hurdle with grace and veracity.  He has fought to get better and stronger and tougher.  He sits in his room and listens to the scriptures on CD.  He still attends church and bears his testimony.  He has invited others at the center to go with him.  He is the best example of the grace of God that I have in my life.  I have always "feared" my grandpa, but in the true biblical sense of the word.  I have never been afraid of him.  But I have the deepest respect and gratitude for him and his life, just like I do for the Savior.  He is to be honored and respected always and forever.  Just like my grandma's.

I am so proud of him.

I am so happy for him.

He is going home.

Accepting blessings through trials

That brother of mine has been gone from us on his mission for three weeks.  Three weeks doesn't even make a dent in two years, but, it's three weeks closer to having him back home.  It's been tough having him gone.  The first few days were really sucky, but as with most things in life, it gets a little bit easier.

Sunday dinner is pretty rough.  My boys sit at the kids table by themselves and we don't hear the muffled laughter that they had with their uncle.  They just quietly eat and then ask to be excused.  It's different.  Not bad, but it just will take a little bit more getting used to.

I've heard said countless times, that for the young men and women who serve full-time missions, they and their families are blessed beyond measure.  That the sacrifice of 18 - 24 months reaps rewards in heaven and on earth.  And that, while these courageous and strong youth are out serving the Lord, that as long as they and their families are righteous, rewards will be reaped.

I've always believed that.  It makes so much sens.  But, this week my family has experienced those blessings and "missionary miracles" first hand.



On Monday, at lunchtime at "the yard", my grandpa set out for his daily constitutional around my uncles t-shirt shop when he fell.  He fell forward and he fell hard.  He's too old to really brace himself and he smashed his face into the concrete floor.  My uncles got him up and his face was bloodied, but he was conscious and coherent and was able to get himself into the bathroom.  He agreed to get checked out by a doctor because he was in pain, and, headed to an emergency room.

While there, things were not good and though he was "okay" after some tests and scans and x-rays, it was realized that my grandpa's fall had caused him to break the top two vertebrae in his neck.  The vertebrae that hold his head up and are dangerously close to his spinal cord.  It was decided to transfer him by ambulance to another hospital where a surgeon could do more tests and figure out the best way to help him.

At that point, the prayers started pouring in.  Family and friends prayed.  My grandpa was given a priesthood blessing.  His name was put on the prayer rolls of several temples.  By Monday night, the surgeon felt the best option for my grandpa would be surgery to put him in a halo neck brace.  The kind that gets screwed into your skull.  This apparatus would probably be attached to him for at least three months and because of the nature of the device, he wouldn't be able to care for himself.

More prayers and blessings.

Surgery was scheduled for Tuesday morning.

More prayers.  More prayers.

Yesterday morning, after checking him out, the surgeon decided that a halo would not be necessary, that it would be better for him and his recovery, to fuse my grandpa's broken neck to his shoulders.  He'd completely lose the ability to turn his head for the rest of his life, and would have to relearn a lot, but it wasn't a halo.

More prayers and blessings.

Surgery for the fuse was scheduled and my grandpa was wheeled into the operating room.  My mom says that they had him on the table, on his stomach, to do the surgery and when they got his neck open, the bones were not broken like they had been on the x-rays the night before.  In fact, the neck to shoulder fuse wasn't going to be necessary.  A call was made from the operating room to the family to change my grandpa's surgery  - they needed permission to flip him to his back, and fix his neck through his throat (icky!) - and all he needed was a solitary pin and the vertebrae in question fused to one that wasn't broken. (If I have all my details correct).

Can you believe that?

 I can.

I texted my mom last night and said that I was so happy my grandpa got to be a miracle.  And that the blessings of my brother being a valiant missionary, even if it's only been for three weeks, and the strength of us on earth and my grandma in heaven, healed my grandpa enough to help him be okay.  To sustain himself through the procedure.  To renew our faith, and maybe even restore the faith in a few others.

I so believe in faith and God and the power of prayer and miracles.  My grandpa has a long road to recovery ahead of him and it will be one of the bigger trials of his life.  But through faith, great works happen.  Through our trials we get stronger.

After something like this the last couple of days, I just don't know how you can't believe that that there is someone, something out there watching over us and protecting us.

I'm so grateful for my brother.  And that my grandpa is going to be okay.

Strangers

On Saturday morning I was downtown, by myself.  If you follow me on Instagram, I was headed into what would be an ill-fated hair cut appointment.  But, before all of that, I met a stranger.

In the parking lot, a man, probably the age of my parents,  and his large, what I would guess - labradoodle, were going for a walk and as I was headed into my appointment, he stopped me.  He told me that he was from Ohio, bringing his son and new daughter-in-law to Idaho and that they'd stopped in Utah for a few days.  He had never been before and wanted to know if the weather was always "this nice" in January.  Now, on Saturday morning there wasn't much of an inversion, the sky was blue, the sun was shining and it was 45 degrees when I got out of my car so "nice" was a bit of an understatement.  I told him that yes, generally speaking, the weather is nice like this often in the winter, but that we'd had some pretty cold and icky days - you know....talking weather with a stranger.

I turned to go into the building, and he kept talking.  He told me about Betsy, his wife, and their three children.  He told me how nervous he was that his son was moving so far from home (his other two children live close by - his youngest going to the University of Dayton) and that he and his wife would be first time empty-nesters.  He asked me about my parents (Are they both living? - odd question) and my siblings and I mentioned that my parents would soon be of the empty nest variety, too because my brother was leaving for two years to serve an LDS mission.

Well, that comment apparently opened the door he was waiting for, and I was - in a kind and sincere and curious way, bombarded with questions.

"Are you a Mormon?" he asked point blank.  "I assume that you are because you have just been so nice." He said.

"Yes, I am."  I replied.

He wanted to know all about my brother's mission.  He wanted to know if I had served a mission.  Had my husband?  Had my father?  He wanted to know what Welfare Square was (he saw it from the freeway).  He knew a Mormon in Ohio 25 years ago and that Mormon worked for the Church for a church farm and wanted to know about Humanitarian aid.

After about 15 minutes of talking in the parking lot I started to get cold and was late to my ill-fated haircut appointment.  But, I kept talking (good thing I was early to start with).  He was going home in the afternoon so he had a couple of hours to kill before his son dropped him off at the airport, and he wanted to know what to do.

I told him:
You cannot come to Salt Lake City without seeing Temple Square and to go there first - temple square, the church history museum and the family history library.  I told him that if he still had time, he could wander around City Creek and grab a bite to eat.  Then, I told him he could go to Library Square because the Library is cool.  And finally, I told him if he wanted, to ride trax straight up 4th south and wander around the University of Utah campus because college campus' are cool.

Finally, he apologized for taking so much of my time.  He shook my hand (two handed shake, for the record though, I got the vibe that he wanted to hug me) told me that I had a beautiful city, and walked away with his giant fuzzy dog.

It's kind of a funny thing.  Stuff like this happens to my mom all the time.  She seems to have a sign painted on her forehead that says, "Talk to me.  Tell me your life story.  I am a good listener."  I cannot tell you the number of times I've been with her, on a metro, at a restaurant, on an elevator, walking through a new city, where someone finds her and gabs her ear off.  This generally doesn't happen to me, largely because I scowl and avert my eyes to the ground to avoid the gaze of others.  But, the older I get, the more it seems that I have the same thing stamped on my forehead.

And, the reality of it is, it's a pretty cool thing.

Foodie Sunday

I may get struck down by lightning for saying this, but I do not like General Conference Sunday.  I am a creature of habit and routine.  A day where everyone is sitting around without routine, in their jammies just doesn't work for me.  My boys are crazy like caged tigers, fighting and yelling and burping and farting and throwing and crying.  My husband just wants to watch football all day.  I do not like sitting at home and being required to watch church on tv.  I would rather go to three hours of church instead.  In our house, the television is hardly every on and yesterday it didn't get turned off.  I guess to most it's not a big deal, but yesterday I felt like I was in the eye of a tornado hurling me towards a sever panic attack.

But, we had good food.  I figured that since we were going to be home all day and since my mom wouldn't be holding our weekly Sunday dinner that we at least should eat well.  And well we did eat.

On Saturday I made caramel popcorn with one of our new favorite recipes and Ross, Elliott and I devoured nearly three microwave bags worth of the delicious corn in a matter of minutes.

For Sunday, we decided to do a brunch of liege waffles.  These bad boys are my new obsession and we've had them two weeks in a row.  They are so filling and yummy and absolutely rich and decadent that I think I'm good for a month or two.

 

Wyatt and I had ours with Nutella and berries and whipped cream.  Ross had his with fresh peaches and cream.  Even though Elliott loves them, he chose not to eat his yesterday and starved until dinner.  

For dinner, we had another one of our favorites.  It's a copycat recipe for the California Pizza Kitchen Lime-Tequila pasta.  It's also absolutely rich and decadent and I ate so much I got a bit of a stomach ache after.  But, when you only eat it 3 or 4 times a year, it's okay to indulge.

Yes, our day was spent in heavy cream calorie heaven. Almost makes up for the tornado.

Alpine Loop

I haven't been to church for 5 weeks.  Two weeks being on "bed rest" and three weeks with a new baby.  Honestly?  I sort of miss it.  A three hour block often feels LONG, but when you don't go for a while, it's sort of sad.  I'll be back this Sunday.  I'm looking forward to it.  If I can sit still for that long.

This past Sunday, we went to the church of the fall leaves.  Because there weren't official meetings due to the Brigham City Temple dedication, we went for a drive.  It was a lovely afternoon full of the beauty of the earth.

We took the Alpine Loop road from Timpanogos down to Sundance and back home.  The boys were on their best behavior, we stopped for snacks, and everyone but our dad fell asleep once we got back on the freeway and headed home.

It was my husband's idea to go for the drive.  It was a good idea.  He must have known I needed to see the leaves - one of my most favorite things.  As a special treat, he didn't even wear his headphones in the car and hardly listened to football.  Instead?  He talked to me almost the entire time (except when I was asleep of course).

It made me happy.

A very good Sunday.

The perfect start to our lazy Sunday

Lauren and Nate

Not only was August 2 the first day of Kindergarten, it was also the day my cousin Lauren chose to marry.  The boys and I missed the morning ceremony because of school, but we were able to make it to the luncheon and the reception that night.  The wedding was very pretty and the reception was held at "the old meeting house" on highland drive.  It was a bit of a nostalgic evening because the last time I was at that reception center was for my sister's wedding, just over 5 years ago, when Elliott was six weeks old.

It was fun to be back and remember that time from so long ago.

Because we didn't make it to the ceremony, I really didn't take many pictures.  In fact, I assigned my camera to my brother and he took the majority of them.  He even did a pretty good job with quite a few.

Congratulations to Lauren and Nate!  And good luck.  Being married is an awesome thing.  And it's really hard, too.

FYI - There are more pictures.  Click HERE if you'd like to see the rest on flickr.

all the grandkids in attendance (I don't think that this was even half?)

My mom and her siblings, two were missing

Easter, a couple of weeks late

As mentioned previously, we spent Easter weekend in Arizona with Ross family.  Two of our days were spent in a single home with 11 people, three dogs, and a little too much chaos (at least for me).  We ate food, played with toys, had Easter treasure hunts and egg searches and some great family time.  Five little boys in the family 5 and under can really wear the grown-ups out.   Good thing we're adding boy number #6 to the mix this fall.

(P.S.  Loads more pictures on flickr - just click on any pic to see the rest)

Being goofy boys.

Talking about the hunt...

The "golden" grandson reaps all the spoils because he's bigger and faster.

The twiners being rabbits with carrots and celery.

Little boys coloring easter eggs.  Figuring out how to share the colors and the eggs was a bit of a challenge....with boys it seems all that matters is doing the most eggs, the the best.

Having dad (aka Uncle Ross) read the clues to find the Easter baskets.

Such a handsome bunch of sweet and mischievous little boys...boys who did not want to hold still for a group shot.