I attended a funeral yesterday and I have some feelings I need to express and get out of my head.

I am completely uncomfortable with open caskets.  I cringe when I hear the words, "Doesn't she look beautiful?"; "Doesn't he look good?"  NO...they DON'T!  At least not to me.  I have been to a lot of funerals and not once have I felt inclined to make such a comment.  The spirit has left the body.  It's just a shell now.  Why do people need to look at it?  I don't understand it.  People say they need closure.  I don't need to see a dead body to feel closure.  I realize this is just my own preference and opinion, that's why I get to blog about how I feel about it.

When our first-born baby died, we did not have a funeral; just a graveside service for family.  I did not want an open casket.  This was MY baby.  Yes I felt possessive.  I did not want anyone looking at him.  Besides, it wasn't him.  Know what I mean?  It did NOT look like him, plus he had been pumped with so many fluids in the hospital, that he was bloated and he looked nothing like himself; then you add to that, the fact that the spirit had left his body, which as mentioned above, leaves only a shell.  I wanted family to remember him as he was when alive and well.  I had instructed the mortician, where his body lay awaiting burial, to not allow anyone to see him.  I didn't even want grandparents to see him, but now that I AM one, I can understand their need, I guess.  But there were several acquaintances who were well-meaning, stop by the funeral home to view our baby.  Why? 

Why are there viewings prior to the funeral?  Is it to satisfy a person's curiosity?  I do understand paying respect by offering a piece of our heart to the family members left behind, but I don't like  hearing the chatter that follows, of how the person looked, especially when it's unfavorable.  What purpose does that serve?  I don't mean to be heartless, I just don't understand or like it. 

I do love to hear about a person's life.  Many times I find out more about a person at their funeral, than I knew while they were alive.  In the case of this most recent funeral I attended, I only knew this person during her years of struggle and bad times.  It was refreshing to hear about her earlier years and the good that she did during her life and the successes she enjoyed.  I love hearing all the anecdotes and talents that I hadn't known about.  I love the honor and respect shown to the one who has passed from this life. 

While I don't feel comfortable with over-glorifying a person just because they're dead, I do think it's a wonderful thing to honor and respect them as a child of God.  He loves them, and will welcome all His children home.

Funerals remind me to tell and show my loved ones often, how I feel about them.  Don't let an opportunity pass by to give someone a compliment (an honest one that you think inside, but don't usually open your mouth to say outloud); don't hold back the hugs and other expressions of love and friendship.  I'm getting better at doing this so that I have no regrets.  I imagine how the person who has died, who may be listening to their funeral service, may feel as he/she listens to all the nice things said about them, and wonder why those things were never said to them while alive.  Sad!

Sometimes I feel anxious inside following a funeral.  I think of all the things I don't want to leave un-done.  It makes me frantic.  This can be a good thing because it snaps me out of my trance that I sometimes fall into in life, and take action; get moving.

Funerals can be so uplifting too.  It's such a comfort to know that there is life beyond this one.  Love of a Heavenly Father can be felt so strongly.

Last of all, it causes me to think of what might be said about me when I die.  Not that I want that kind of attention, or have anything said at all.  But what kind of legacy will I leave behind?  As we've recently experienced many fires in surrounding areas, and have asked ourselves what would we grab if our own neighborhood was ever threathened and evacuation was necessary, I've also been thinking about what will I leave behind when I die?  To leave a home at a moment's notice, we realize we only care about precious pictures and special mementos, while all our worldy possessions don't matter anymore.  When I die, I don't care to be remembered for inconsequential things; I hope to be remembered for being a good Wife, Mother, Grandmother, Daughter, Sister, Friend.  I hope what shines brightest, is my love for my Father in Heaven and my Savior.  There should be no question of where I stand on religion and I hope to live up to my beliefs and be remembered for that.

I KNOW That My Redeemer Lives.  There is a plan beyond this life; a grand eternal plan.  I'm not anxious to hurry to the great beyond just yet, but I'm sure happy to know where I'm going.

You matter

Sometimes I think my life is too boring to write about, so I've let a lot of time pass without posting.  I won't try to play catch-up at this point, but will just pick up and move on from here. 

This past Sunday I attended missionary farewells for three young men.  I was touched by each one of their talks and I was moved to tears more than once.  Not too long ago these young men were little boys, playing with my son, and now they're all grown up, talking about and teaching things that we as parents, teachers, and leaders, have tried to instill in them over the years.  Now they dish it back out, and I re-learn. 

Several great principles were talked about that day, but the one that has hit home with me the most is a message shared by my son's best friend.  He was on the high school football team and he talked about how everyone focuses on, and cheers for the one who makes the touchdown.  Have you noticed how many players are out on the field?  They each have a job to do, and yet the only one really noticed is the one attempting to make the touchdown.  If the others don't do their job, the touchdown won't happen.  The other players really don't get much recognition, and yet they shouldn't expect to; they just need to go out there and do their job as best they can. 

He likened this to whatever we do in our lives.  We can't all be in the spotlight, nor should we be.  There is no job more important than another.  Whatever we do, we need to put forth our best effort.

I am happy to be in the background, not noticed, and yet that does not give me the excuse to be a slacker.  I still have a job to do, and it makes a difference.  However I choose to fulfill my role, does affect others.

I watched a movie tonight that I've seen many times; The Help.  I love it, and it always gives me so much to think about, and I love the line that Abeleine says to May Mobley; "You is Kind, You is Smart, You is Important."

Those are my thoughts for tonight.

Zumba

Wow, I haven't posted anything for so long that I almost forgot how to log in.

I went to Zumba tonight and had such a rush, which I tend to get every time I go. But tonight was one of those nights when I just wanted to stay home. I had been at work all day, felt rushed through dinner, ran to the church for a nutrition/cooking class (which was very good), and then rushed off to Zumba. It has been cold all day and we even had snow. I was dreaming of curling up with a good book and having a cup of hot chocolate, but off to Zumba I went.

As the hour progressed, my energy picked up, and certain songs just make me smile. Some songs even give me chills and bring tears to my eyes. Is that weird or what? I just LOVE it! Music is so powerful.

At one point a woman who had been behind me was clearly out of breath and had stopped dancing and I said something to her about how fun this is and she said she used to dance all the time, and WANTS to, but feels like her body just can't do it anymore. She feels so out of shape and wants to cry. She wonders if she should quit. But she told me that she's been watching me since her first day and that she's able to copy me and feel more confident. WOW! She just expressed all the feelings I had when I started back in April. I felt like such a clutz and wanted to cry, but told myself to give it a month. I didn't think I'd EVER catch on. But there was one person who I kept my eyes glued on and she helped me learn and she encouraged me. She also told me that the day would come when someone ELSE would be watching ME! I didn't believe her, but she was right.

After the woman told me she watches me, it made me work harder and concentrate even more. I'm not that great, but I DO love the music, the energy in the room, the fact that my body CAN move, and the RUSH always comes.

I'm finding that being in the stage of life I'm at right now, makes me notice and appreciate so many little things that make me happy.

Lost.....and Found!

Most times when I am given a church responsibility that will be ongoing for a certain length of time, I feel fearful at first, doubtful, inadequate, and wonder how in the world I will be able to accomplish what's been asked of me. I immediately turn to prayer, take a deep breath, and DIG IN!

Over time I figure out what I'm doing, relationships develop, love for those I serve deepens, experiences are etched in my mind forever, my life is changed; and then... BAM...I'm released from that responsibility, and I am LOST!

For the past 3 years I have been serving in a capacity that oversees the welfare of about 150 women, which extends to their families as well. This entails Sunday and weekday meetings, lessons, classes, funerals, caring for the sick and the grieving, serving in many capacities. I have been on a constant run.

But this isn't about me. It's about what I've seen in others. I have seen, from a different vantage point, the service and love that is freely and willingly given by others. I am amazed, impressed with, and in awe of the many women I have served WITH. Whenever there was a need, whatever was asked, was given without hesitation. Most times the asking never had to happen. Things were being done just because a need was known, and out of love and kindness, the need was met.

I have been made aware of the fact that EVERYONE has challenges; some being extremely difficult, but we all have them. I have prayed for, cried for, and loved these strong women who go through the battle of life with determination and faith. I love these women.

I am grateful for the many opportunities over the years, with various responsibilities, that have made me stretch and grow in ways I never thought possible. I am grateful to a Father in Heaven, who has answered my prayers every single time in order to accomplish what I needed to. He has carried me through.

Upon my release from this latest assignment, I expected to feel relief. I expected it to be a cause for celebration, for relaxation, for a chance to catch my breath. It was not. I felt lost. I felt sad. I keep looking at my phone, thinking there's a problem with it because it has ceased to ring. I feel needed no more.

I tried shifting my focus to all the things I've been wanting to do, that I could now do with my free time. Friends and family have been telling me I need a break. I thought I would too, but when that day came last week, I quickly realized I don't WANT a break. When I serve others, and serve God, that's when I am the happiest. Stretching and growing and learning new things makes me a better person.

I continued to feel lost. What was I to do now? Where do I fit in? Will I go back to being my shy self who sits in a back corner all alone, feeling useless?

THEN, I got a call. As of tomorrow I get a new assignment. I get to teach the 3 year old children on Sundays. I have not stopped smiling. Those children are the sweetest, most pure and precious little people that I now get to associate with. How lucky am I? I have found a new focus.

Lost? Never!

Graduate

My next-to-the-youngest son is graduating from high school next week. I believe this is cause to celebrate, but he scoffs and wonders what the big deal is. He doesn't think he has accomplished much in his life. He hasn't received any awards, he didn't become the athlete he always hoped to be, he hasn't been recognized for anything extraodinary, he's not considered a popular kid, he just feels average.

Let me tell you about this "average" kid. He is a natural-born leader. He does not demand this title, yet others seem to gravitate towards him, and follow him. He is someone who does what he wants without concern for what others may think. As a young boy, he would wear striped pants with a plaid shirt, or play T-ball with bright orange shorts and his cowboy boots. He never was one to buy brand name clothing, but would rather see how far his money would stretch. It has never bothered him to dress or act differently than others. He's happy being himself. He is a person of integrity.

This kid has always made me and anyone around him, happy. He has a cheerful disposition ALL the time. He has a sense of humor and can always make people laugh.

He has not achieved scholoastic, athletic, or other honorary awards, but he is a winner. He knows when to step back and glory in the success of others. He is fiercely loyal and supportive of his friends and peers. He attends events in which he'd rather be a participant, but is a spectator, yet he cheers the loudest, exuding genuine happiness in the success of others.

He is one of the bravest people I know. He tried out for, and earned a spot in competing in "Mr. Springville" at the high school. It was a tough competition, broken down into multiple mini competitions. For the talent portion, there were some boys who sang or danced, always with either a group of other friends participating with them, or with music blaring as their background (or cover-up??); skits, where again, friends joined them in the presentation. My son is the ONLY one who opened himself up to a raw display of comedy. There were no flashing lights, no background music, no group of friends performing with him, just him, all alone on that stage, with the student body and parents staring at him, critiquing him. He would either fall flat on his face and get no laughs, or he'd "nail" it. Guess what? He NAILED it! He was scared to death, but he had everyone laughing and applauding enthusiastically. That experience gave him one of the biggest boosts of his life, but he had to take the gamble and jump into the cold water, head first. He didn't drown, but rose above the surface a better person, having more confidence in himself than ever before. I'm so proud of him.

My son is self-motivated, responsible, and honest. I have never once had to drag him out of bed to get to school or work. I've never had to nag him about his homework, or remind him about his work schedule. He always says to me "Mom...I've got it covered", and he does. He never calls into work "sick", but fulfills his responsibility without complaint. His boss knows he can depend on him and has never been disappointed in him. He's not a "flaky" teenager. He is trustworthy and does what he says he will do. He doesn't look for a "cheat" or a shortcut.

My son went to the extra effort of achieving his Eagle Scout award. He doesn't give himself enough credit for this, but it's a big deal I think.

So while others are receiving their awards and medals of honor, scholarships and recognition, (which are all wonderful), I'll take my "average" son any day. He's an exceptional person, a boy growing into a mature young man, who will contribute to society in HIS way. I am so proud of him and love him with all my heart, and I feel this world is a better place because of him.

Mother's Day...don't need the "stuff"

The calendar says this one day a year is supposed to be something special for mothers. I don't like a date on the calendar to dictate what should happen on that day. It sets everyone up for disappointment when expectations aren't met. I tell myself I have no expectations, but then the day arrives and I find that I secretly DO.

I'm not talking about gifts. I honestly don't want "the stuff". I don't need tangible gifts. I don't want my husband or children sweating over what to get me; worrying about not having the funds to purchase something; stressing over what to do for Mom. When the kids were little, teachers at church and/or school would have them draw a picture, or fill out a slip of paper redeemable for a hug, or a voucher good for making their bed (or mine); things of that nature. Now that they're older, they think those gifts were dumb. Actually, those are the gifts I loved the very most. I don't need "the stuff!!!"

This is a day when mothers sometimes feel guilty and depressed because we don't fit the mold of the perfect mother. We want to hide out and wait for Monday so we can get back to reality.

If I could have my perfect day, it would be to stay home and put my feet up, read a good book, have my children at my beck and call, adoring me; have dinner prepared for me; have the kitchen cleaned up afterwards til it shined; receive heartfelt letters of love and appreciation from each child, along with a hug; take a nap; and just do nothing.

Every once in a while I throw myself a little pity-party, feeling overworked and under-paid, wondering if what I do is even noticed, let alone appreciated. But that party is short-lived and now I ask myself; do I really want what I described as my perfect day? No...I really don't! I want to go to church, I want to be busy and interact with my family and others. I want to be out there living my life. I love my children and would do anything for them. I love the mundane things I do around the house that may go unnoticed by my family, but it brings me joy to serve my family in this way. If I were to resign myself to a recliner, I would die inside. I just can't do it, although it does sound nice for a day. :)

So...I'm good! I'm happy. I have a good life. I LOVE being a mother. It's my greatest blessing. So on this Mother's Day, instead of celebrating ME, I'm celebrating my children. I really don't need "the stuff" (although I certainly wouldn't turn down a meal prepared by hands other than mine).

This is also a day to celebrate my own mother of course. She really is the best Mom I could ever ask for. She gives me unconditional love and she's ALWAYS there for me; ALWAYS!!! In just the simplest ways, she makes me feel like a million bucks. When I call her on the phone, her voice escalates in excitement that it's me. Any time we spend together is the highlight of her day. She makes me feel so special. I love her so much. I hope I can convey to my own children, what my mother taught me, and that's how to love.

Happy Mother's Day to all of us.

ER experience

We had a scare last week. My husband woke up in the middle of the night with an exploding pain in his chest. During the next several hours he had constant pain in his neck, and occasional pains in his chest. He did not wake me up because I had not been sleeping well for weeks, but that particular night I was finally sleeping and he didn't want to interrupt my much needed sleep (foolish man). He headed to work (still without waking me) but then found himself turning into the parking lot of our Dr.'s office (smart man). Of course they sent him directly to the ER. Again, he still hadn't called me (foolish).

During his drive there (he drove himself...ALONE...foolish again) he started getting scared, wondering if he'd even make it. He checked himself into the ER at Payson hospital where he received excellent care for the duration of his stay there that day/night.

He called me (finally) and I was completely calm on the phone. I even took time to shower and grab some things before heading out. I worried about my commitments at work, having heavy responsibilities during tax season, and commitments with my church job. But my place was with my husband, so I just had to "bail out" of everything else.

After joining my husband at the hospital, I sat with him all through the day, watching him go through test after test, and then waiting for the results. I remained calm. I even read a little while he dozed. It was almost a relaxing experience to have permission to just sit. Then results from one test came back abnormal, which caused the cardiologist to schedule a cath test, inserting a catheter through the groin to the heart. My husband was wisked away without much notice. He had received a phone call and was ending the call, handing me the phone, and then he was gone. That's when my calmness disappeared. I felt my hands start shaking, and tears forming, worry building, restless legs that had to move, dread, fear, you name it. I have been through some difficult experiences before, which have taught me that things don't always turn out "OK". I hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye, or say "I Love You".

Luckily my waiting time was much shorter than I expected. My husband's heart and arteries are perfectly fine, totally clear. What a relief. I was SO happy to see my husband again. (Although I admit to briefly thinking of the unfairness of it all that he eats hot dogs and hamburgers and pizza all the time, and does NOT exercise, and his heart and arteries are in perfect condition.) While the problem is not his heart, there IS a problem somewhere, and we'll have to follow up on that with our regular Dr.

While he was sleeping off his anesthesia, I pondered what had happened and the range of emotions I had felt. I thought of all the things in life that keep me busy, occupying my time and my thoughts. And yet I realized what is most precious and important to me; my husband and family. This is not a new revelation. I have had many experiences that have pointed me back to my family. What bothers me, is why I can't seem to let other things go. I keep telling myself that I've learned my lesson and that I need a better balance in my life; that I need to keep my priorities straight (family first), and I'll do it for a day, maybe two, and then I let the other things take over again. Then I feel guilty, like I'm a bad wife or mother because I can't seem to put them first as often as I should. Why do I feel such a drive to do well at work and at my church responsibilities, and whatever else I'm asked to do? Am I being a good example to my family or will it be something they, and I, regret? I don't know.

I DO know this. I...LOVE...MY...HUSBAND! That's a truth that can never be questioned.

Noises downstairs

Basements are notorious for scary things: darkness, monsters, spiders, piled up dirty laundry, the boogie-man, water rushing through the pipes, whining furnace, kids causing mischief, etc. None of that applies to my house (right now anyway). My son, daughter-in-law, and grandson live in our basement. They have brought new life to this house. My talented daughter-in-law has decorated their space down there so cute. But what I love most, are the noises I hear from down below. I can hear my grandson running from one end of the house to the other, giggling. He's not playing alone though, because his giggles are followed by the sounds of his parents chasing him, tickling him, playing with him. I hear his mommy playing the piano while he plays at her feet. I hear singing. I wake up in the mornings to hear the cheerful chatter of my grandson in his crib. (His room is below mine.) I hear the soft, gentle voice of his mommy when he cries. I NEVER hear a harsh word or raised voices. I hear nothing but gentleness and love. I think this little boy is a lucky guy because of his wonderful parents. There is no darkness in our basement. It is a roomful of sunshine.

Tuesday night highlights

Every Tuesday night, I go out visiting women in my ward. Most times one of my counselors goes with me. We visit the young, the older, the sick, new move-ins, those in need of help, or whoever we feel may need a visit. It never fails, that no matter how hectic and chaotic my day may have been, tempting me to cancel visits for the night, I am ALWAYS uplifted by those visits. I don't know that we're doing a thing for anyone else, but it lifts my spirits every...single...time. Tuesday nights is my favorite time of the week.

Tonight was devoted to visiting some of the older women. Sometimes those women feel forgotten; all used up; no good to anyone; but I feel differently. As we ring their doorbell, we wait for what seems like a long time before they open the door. I can see in my mind's eye, how they slowly manuever themselves, sometimes using canes or other aids, to safely make it to the door without falling. Sometimes they're a little breathless when they answer. Then they open that door and look up into our eyes, and break into the biggest smile you ever did see. We could've interrupted their dinner, or whatever else they may have been doing, but they set it all aside to visit with us. They are overjoyed to have us there. As we talk, they share life stories and experiences, and as they do so, their love for others always comes through. They shine with the light of Christ.

They will NEVER be forgotten. They have set the examples for which we try to follow. Their shoes are the shoes we try to fill.

Nearly three years ago, I started doing this each week because I felt it was my duty, part of my calling. Not anymore. Tuesday night is the highlight of my week.

Sacrifice

I think I'm over the hump of dealing with my emotions over sending my son on a mission. Now the reality of funding that mission has set in. He worked hard and saved enough money to get everything he needed before going, with some leftover to help us out a bit, yet we still have a monthly amount to scrounge up. How is this going to work? On paper, it doesn't.

We discontinued Comcast, so have no more TV or land-line phone service. We are selling my husband's truck (no bites just yet), which KILLS him (he loves his truck) and little fishing boat (he loves that too). We cut back on food and any other extras we could find. Things are still tight, and quite honestly, we weren't sure how we were going to make those mission payments.

When we read accounts in the scriptures, or modern-day stories of people who are attached to their material possessions, we think (or at least I do) of how selfish they are, and materialistic, and I become judgemental and wonder why they can't see what they're doing and just let go of those "things" and look to the greater good. Now that we have to get rid of some material possessions, I find myself in a position of true mourning.

My husband's truck has been so good to us. There's nothing wrong with it, and it has served us well. It's not only a comfy ride, but we have used that truck countless times to help our children move, or haul things from one place to another, help ward members and neighbors in various ways, tow broken down cars, pull people out of snow and mud when stuck, haul stuff to the dump, tow the boat to favorite fishing spots, loan it out to others, help with service projects, "flags", etc., etc. I think a LOT of people are going to miss our truck. :)

And then there's the fishing boat. A purchase from my husband's brother; lovingly cared for by brother and my husband. Fishing has been my husband's one stress reliever. He has made memories with our children for the past 10 years, taking them one at time for some Daddy/daughter or Daddy/son time, just fishing and talking, eating jerky and whatever else they scrounged up early in the morning before heading out. Good talks happened on the lake while waiting for the fish to bite. Fish were caught, cleaned, and later cooked and eaten. The boat came with us on camping trips, along with tubes to pull the kids on.

Once these items are sold, all we'll have are those memories. It makes me sad to let the item itself go, but how grateful I am for the good times we've had.

It seems silly to mourn for the loss of such things, yet I do. But we learn that life requires us to make sacrifices, and there are better things to sacrifice for, which makes it worth it.

As I sit down to pay our bills today, rather than try to figure out how it's all gonna work, I remind myself to have faith. I know I need to pay our tithing and mission payment first, then I figure I'll just have to juggle the other bills as needed. But we have been blessed in many ways already, by others helping out. Still, I sit there in my room, surrounded by bills, the checkbook, the calculator, working out the numbers one way, then another, when one of our children walks into the room, expressing a desire to help missionary brother. We are handed what might be considered "the widow's mite", and the warmest, most peaceful feeling floods through my soul.

Everything is going to be alright. I love my family. We are so blessed.

Is it worth it?

I said goodbye to my son today for two years. Through my tears, I silently ask myself if this is worth it.

His room is quickly emptied and then filled with another son's stuff. His guitar is laid to rest in the storage room. I already miss the music he made with that instrument. Items of clothing are donated to DI, others are left behind for his return. Bedding is washed, but I catch a whiff of his scent on his pillowcase and dissolve into tears once again.

I can't help but think of what and who he will miss; his siblings, especially one brother who will be on his own mission when he comes home; his nephews and niece; the birth of another nephew or niece, and who knows what else.

For me, I will miss his mere presence, his smile, his laugh, his teasing manner, his generosity, his humility, his strength, his integrity, his testimony, his patience, his calmness, his love.

I mourn for the life as we have known it. Things will never be the same. Change has taken place once again.

If I were to dwell on these reasons alone, then NO, this would not be worth it at all. But wait...I think of all the growth that will come to him with this experience. I think of the man he will become. I think of the diciple of Jesus Christ he is, and of the many other lives he will touch. I think of how this sacrifice on his part, will return to him blessings unmeasured, which therefore, makes it no sacrifice at all. I think of the language he will learn, the communication and public speaking skills he will develop, the ability to do everything on his own now, the need he will have to rely on God everyday and how his relationship with Father in Heaven and Jesus Christ will be cemented. How selfish am I to want to keep him home all to myself? I would not want to deny him of this wonderful experience.

So once again, I hug my son tightly, express my deepest love for him, and then let him go. I bravely wave goodbye as five other missionaries surround him at the MTC and he walks away, yet I know he's in good hands.

Yes I come home and cry some more, and will probably continue to do so for a while, but I know the benefits far outweigh any sacrifice I selfishly think I am making.

I know he is doing what he needs to do, I know the blessings that come, and even as my heart aches, I loosen those apron strings for one more son. It's time for him to fly, and I know this son of mine is ready to soar. Yes, this is worth it!

My big boy needs his mommy

I took my soon-to-be-missionary son to an ear specialist today. He has been having problems hearing, always saying "huh" to everything we said. It was annoying us at first, as we thought he just had selective hearing, but we finally had it checked out a month ago. The Dr. cleared out his ears as best he could, gave us drops to continue for 3 weeks, but the problem remained, so we were referred to a specialist.

I remained in the waiting room while he went back to see the Dr. I wanted to offer to go with him, but didn't want to embarrass him. He's a 19 1/2 yr. old boy (man?) who towers over me. So I waited, and waited and waited. I started to worry, and wondered at one point if he needed me. I began to get agitated. He came out shortly after that and told me the story.

The Dr. had to do some very invasive work on his ears, touching the eardrum many times (very sensitive), using tools that caused so much pain, my son wished he had been put "out" for the procedure. This is a kid who has been known his whole life for having a high tolerance for pain. However, for this particular procedure, he said at one point his eyes were watering (he doesn't want to admit he was crying) and he thought to himself "I want my Mom". It broke my heart to hear him say that. I should've gone in there with him in the first place. But at least he knew I was right outside, not far away. I'm so glad the problem was rectified before he was in the MTC and sent to a Dr. without me (which happens often this Dr. said).

We had a wonderful time driving home because we could actually have a "whole" conversation, where he could hear every word. It opened up a whole new world to him. I stopped and got him a burger for a late lunch and as I handed him the bag, he said "wow...these bags are so noisy!"

I'm so glad my son is feeling better now, and it melts my heart to know he still needs his mommy.

Mr. Springville

My son competed in the SHS Mr. Springville competition, which concluded tonight. None of my other sons participated in this particular activity so I had no idea what was involved. It was quite the major undertaking.

First he had to apply and be accepted into the competition. The application process was more than just signing a piece of paper saying you wanted to enter the contest.

Then all this week there were daily competitions: Leg Day, Costume Day, Cake Day, Poster Day, and Improv day. There were several weeks of early morning rehearsals for their opening dance number, which was SO good. They had to have a talent, which was shared tonight in front of a packed auditorium, there was a swimsuit competition (very modest and humorous actually), a formal-wear competition, and so forth.

Tonight was especially nerve-wracking for my son as he tried to psche himself out for his comedy routine (his talent). I was just as nervous as he was. I want my son to feel succeess. He just didn't want to bomb, and embarrass himself. Well once he got on stage, he did AWESOME! He had the crowd in the palm of his hand. They loved him. I was laughing my head off, but it's even more gratifying to hear everyone around me laughing too.

My son didn't take home the crown, but I couldn't have been more proud of him. He did a very brave thing. All the other kids did great with their talents as well, but they either had others participate with them, or they had music as their companion. My son took a risk and had to put himself "out there", and even the MC guy, who does comedy for a living, told me afterwards that my son "killed it!" I also saw my son's dedication to all that was required of him, which is good preparation for life itself. I love this kid.

If you care to check out the competition, you can google it and look for Mr. Springville "live" (or something like that.)

A Rosy Life

We had a disappointment today. Our married son who currently lives with us (along with his wife and little boy) has worked so hard to get to a place where he can provide for his family. He has a good job, but it is only parttime. He has tried to prove himself as an employee, bent over backwards to develop a good reputation, gone the extra mile, accepted extra shifts and assignments at the drop of a hat, and FINALLY a fulltime position opened up. He was well qualified and applied for it. He interviewed not once, not twice, but THREE times (which is a great sign). He had to take tests, he had to go on a "drive-along", he had to complete paperwork with the HR department. He interviewed well. The three "big-wigs" who did the interviewing, really liked him and narrowed it down to my son and one other guy. They took a week to make their decision. The other guy got the job.

The first emotion we feel is a sickness in the pit of your stomach that precedes despair. Then anger sets in. We know "the other guy" has only been with the company a very short time, and yet his 20 years in retail, spoke louder than the experience my son has to offer. Well how long does my son have to wait to get that experience so badly needed? Sometime, SOMEONE'S got to give him a shot and let all his other great qualities speak louder than his younger years that rob him of being able to claim years of experience.

All I want is a rosy life for my children. Of course I know there must be opposition in all things. Of course we all deal with disappointment throughout our whole life. Of course "life isn't fair". Of course in years to come we may look back and see why things happened the way they did. But for right now, I just want to fix things for my son. I want to see him rewarded for his efforts. I want OTHERS to see what I see in him. He and his family deserve a bed of roses. Unfortunately, those roses have thorns. If I could pull them out for my children, I would. But instead, I just hurt and ache for them.

God bless this wonderful son of mine.

Grandbaby #3

Baby Jack was born on MLK day, this past Monday. 6 lbs. 4 oz., 19" long. He has some blond fuzz, he has a perfectly tiny round head, perfect little nose and mouth, and is just the cutest thing you've ever seen; well...along with his 2 yr. old sister and 20 month old cousin of course. :)

So was the 3rd time around just as exciting as the first? You bet it was. And this time, instead of sitting in the hospital waiting room, I got to take care of our granddaughter. She talked to me, sang to me, played with me, directed me to her house when I got lost momentarily in the dark, prayed with me at bedtime, read me stories. SHE entertained ME!

When I visited baby Jack in the hospital, fully intending on getting plenty of time holding him, instead I watched in awe, as his sweet big sister displayed her motherly instincts, by insisting on holding him. I can share my time with her...of course. It was delightful to watch her hold him, cuddle him, softly touch him, speak softly to him, kiss his little head, and THEN, when the nurse came in to take him away for another blood test, I watched this sweet little granddaughter display her protective mother bear side of her, that all of us women have toward our children, as she broke out into a full-out sob, crying out to the nurse, "NO...BRING MY BABY BACK!" She would not be consoled for the longest time, UNTIL...her mommy pulled out a Snickers bar. Oh yah, we're SO related!

I had two precious days with my granddaughter, and then to top it off, to come home to my little grandson, who currently lives with us, and he comes upstairs and sees me, breaking out into the biggest grin ever, then says "HI" and runs towards me, well that's just cream on top with a cherry and extra chocolate.

Whether it's grandchild #1 or #21, does not; WILL not matter. It's just sugar and spice and everything nice!!!

Heart leaps for joy...in a reserved way

My sister texted me tonight and told me she went to sacrament meeting today with her husband. My heart jumped to my throat. Dare I hope for her reactivation? My sister can not be pushed to do anything she doesn't want to do, so I have learned to "be there" for her when she has questions, but I have to keep my feelings a bit in reserve so I don't push her away with my exuberant reactions.

I know there is a lot of good in this world, a lot of good in other faiths, a lot of happiness that can be found. I also know that there's even MORE joy and happiness to be found in the faith I have embraced my whole life. I love my sister so much, that I just want MORE for her too.

So...my heart is happy with her choice today, but still just a bit reserved. I'm holding back so I'm not disappointed if things don't progress for her. But I am also filled with hope.

The Traveling Snowman

About 6 years ago or so, my Mom bought the same Christmas gift for my daughter and her two cousins that are close in age; a snowman head. It's a pillow really, yet kind of hard to use as such because of the loooonnnnnnnnggggggggggg carrot nose. But it IS cute and SOOOO soft. My daughter kept it on her bed for a couple years until she felt she'd outgrown the little-girl-stuffed animal stage. She did not want Mr. Snowman anymore.

Summer came, and along with it, the drill team annual garage sale. All the girls on the team contribute items to be sold in order to earn money for their Fall trip to California. My daughter decided to sell her snowman head. After all, Gma never comes into her bedroom and never asks about Mr. Snowman, so she'll never know, right? WRONG! Gma is a garage sale junkie.

Gma had moved to Santaquin though, so who would've thought she'd hear about, let alone come, to a Mapleton garage sale, when there were probably hundreds of garage sales going on all over the place, but come to this one she did. Would she remember or even recognize Mr. Snowman? Of course she did. He's quite unique. She asked the host about the garage sale and found out it was being hosted by the SHS drill team, so my Mom asked if a girl by my daughter's name had contributed Mr. Snowman. Indeed she had. BUSTED!!!

Now my Mom could've been hurt, disappointed, or upset, but she was able to chuckle about it and came up with the brilliant idea to buy Mr. Snowman (again), hang onto him until Christmas, and then re-gift him to...........my daughter. Hilarious! Now every year since then, they pass that snowman back and forth, coming up with creative ways to package him up, wondering if the other will guess what the gift is (as real gifts are given too). My husband thinks they should both "get over it already" and cease this silliness. But I think it's a wonderful thing. It's a reminder every year, of a situation that could've caused discomfort, maybe even bitterness, but has rather fostered a fun relationship in sharing a private (not so private anymore) joke that causes them to laugh and love. A gift is a gift, from someone you love, whether it's something you use or not isn't important.

A Heavenly Home

A couple weeks ago I taught a lesson in Relief Society that I wanted to share with my family, including our married children. A had the nagging feeling that I always spend a lot of time preparing nice lessons for others to hear, but I never do the same for my own family, so I decided it was about time I do something about that.

This was a silent lesson, as far as talking goes. I have pictures depicting Christ's hands from babyhood through the ressurrection. I have had these pictures for over a decade and have loved them, but the thought came to me that they would be even more powerful set to music. I was able to choose songs that I love, and I found the perfect ones to go with all 9 pictures. There's also a scripture for each one. So...the way it worked is, I would post the first scripture and picture, and everyone could look up the scripture and read it to themselves as the song was playing. There was a small pause between songs while I posted the next scripture and picture. There was no talking. The entire thing takes 40 minutes.

I thought about my two adorable grandchildren, ages 2 and 19 months. I knew it would be completely unrealistic, even ridiculous to expect these little ones to be quiet, therefore I modified my expectations of tonight's lesson. I told everyone before we started, not to worry about the little ones, to let them play, and we would just get out of the lesson whatever we could.

When the music started, all was quiet. There was a reverant, peaceful feeling in the room. The grandchildren, without ever being prompted or instructed in any way, played in the most reverant way I've ever seen, even speaking in a whisper. These two special little people are typically hyper when they see each other and they sometimes try to "one-up" each other in their cute antics. Not tonight, or at least not during those 40 minutes. They were the sweetest little angels.

Our two year old granddaughter spent her time methodically building a pedestal with blocks. Then, without fanfare, she quietly stepped up on her pedestal and started waving her arm as if leading the music. She moved her lips as if singing the song. She had a reverant, respectful, angelic look on her face as she did so.

At the conclusion of the lesson, I bore my testimony, sharing my story of when I really KNEW that Christ's atonement applied to me personally. I had shared my story with my older children, but not my younger three (at least not in full). Ironically, my happiest, most joyful moment of my life, was at the passing of our firstborn son.

Brandon was born healthy, however 2 weeks later, he was very sick and was admitted to the hospital, where he died 36 hours later. It was a rare staff infection that shut down his organs, poisoned his blood, and took his life. A cause is still not known for omphilitis, nor a cure. I had complete faith that he could be healed, and my prayers were uttered with that healing request. Brandon was moved up to NICU, where he hovered between life and death. I would retreat to the bathroom over and over and over again, PLEADING for his life to be spared, exercising all my faith and love in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, to use their healing power on my son.

The words always came to my mind, that I needed to say "Thy Will Be Done", but I didn't want to do it; consciously REFUSING to say those words. I realized that my pleas were turning from begging, to commanding God what to do. The nurses were honest with us and told us that they were surprised Brandon was still with us. Specialists all over the world were consulted on his case, and all were stymied. A few hours later, we were asked to give permission for Brandon to have a complete blood transfusion. It was then that I retreated to the bathroom one last time. I knelt on that cold, tile floor, and pleaded with Father in Heaven, as I felt my heart was literally breaking, and I felt such pain in my sorrow and time of need, yet as I once again pleaded for Brandon's life to be spared, the words "Thy Will Be Done" were again brought to mind, and this time I knew I HAD to say them, and truly turn the matter over to the Lord.

What happened next was the most spiritual, incredible experience I've ever had in my life, and one on which I draw on from time to time to remind myself of the answers I received that day. I have always believed in Jesus Christ and His atonement, but never until this day, had it sunk in, that he did what he did for ME; that he not only atoned for our sins, but also for our hurts and pains and sorrows.

As I uttered those words "Thy Will Be Done", I truly meant them, knowing Heavenly Father knew what would be best for little Brandon. As soon as I spoke those words, the most incredible warmth that is hard to describe, completely enveloped me, as if arms were wrapped around me. In that moment, I KNEW that yes, Heavenly Father loved ME, and that he and my Savior were aware of ME and my pain at that particular moment, and that the Savior had suffered for me already. I also knew that Brandon would be called home, to his heavenly home. The words came to my mind, "everything will be OK". Those words were a constant mantra going on in my head for quite a while, and the warmth that encompassed me carried me through the next few difficult hours, and days ahead.

As I ended my prayer and headed back to the waiting room, a nurse immediately came out and told us that Brandon was not going to make it and did we want to hold him. Although filled with grief, I knew it would be OK. I knew that the love I felt for my sweet baby boy, could not even compare to the love Heavenly Father has for him, as well as for me, and each of us. I said goodbye to my son, but knew it wasn't really goodbye.

Tender mercies were shown to me throughout my experience. #1) I knew I would be quitting my job after my baby was born, yet I didn't feel I should give official notice until later, so I just took an indefinite maternity leave. My boss, who also handled the insurance for the company, asked me if I wanted to add my baby to our insurance. I told her No, because I knew that after he was born, I'd most likely tell them my intentions of quitting. When I notified her of his birth, she again asked me if I wanted to add him to the insurance. Again I said No. Two weeks later, I called her from the hospital after Brandon had been moved to the NICU, and told her the situation and asked if it was too late to add him to the insurance. I dreaded her answer, as surely I WAS too late, and how wrong it was for me to wait until there was a problem, and then request the blessings of insurance. This woman answered immediately, without pause, "Done...he's on your insurance as of NOW"! Hours later he was gone. Thousands and thousands of dollars was covered by my insurance plan. A few weeks later, I was able to return to my job, which was truly a blessing. #2 Brandon hung on, until I could accept the fact that he wasn't meant to stay with us. I KNOW he hung on for me, and as soon as I had received my answer in that tiny hospital bathroom and felt peace and acceptance, he was gone within minutes. #3 The hospital had taken newborn pictures of him, which we never intended to purchase, thinking that we'd take plenty of pictures ourselves. Three weeks following his death, a packet of pictures arrived in the mail from the hospital. Tender mercies continued to feed my spirit, and testified to me, where my blessings come from.

At one point prior to Brandon's death, I felt such intense pain in my heart, I wondered if I might be having a heart attack. I felt as though there were a hole right through my heart. Over time, my heart was healed. The scar is still there, which is a reminder of the good that came out of the heartbreaking experience, but it is healed.

I cried as I shared my story, not from sadness, but from the joy I felt at receiving the answer I did, in the way I did, and how powerful that experience was, and how it has carried me through life many, many times.

I felt a special, sweet spirit in our home tonight. It felt like a heavenly home, at least for that brief time. That feeling comes and goes in our home, as life happens, but those moments, however brief they might be, are precious, and I am filled with a longing for our true heavenly home.

Rat Race to Peace

I attended my youngest son's choir concert tonight. It's one of my favorite things to do. I found myself totally relaxed and enjoyed the evening immensely. I then realized that I only have 2 1/2 more years before he graduates, thus an end to all the running around to sporting events, fund raisers, concerts, volunteer work, and so much more. I remembered back, not too many years ago, when all six kids were in school, each involved in something, and it seemed like we were in a rat race all the time, running from one thing to another, but ya know what? I loved every minute of it.

My quest for the month of December has been to take the time to slow down enough to really enjoy the season; to experience it with all my senses. Is it really possible to "slow down" while in a rat race? Yes, it is. I realized tonight, after tiredly plopping down in my seat, that I could push other concerns aside and just enjoy the moment. I experienced pure joy watching my son perform and I allowed myself to be carried away in the music and feeling in the air.

We had been invited to a party this evening as well, but once home, I didn't want to shortchange my son and run off to one more thing. This was his night. I wanted to talk to him about it. My rat race ended at home.

Freaky Smiler

I was running around today trying to accomplish at least two week's worth of catch-up errands and grocery shopping, when I realized that I was scrunching my eyebrows and wearing a frown, so deep in concentration, thinking of all the tasks I needed to hurry and get done. That's when I remembered my last post.

So...I made a conscious decision, right then and there, to unscrunch, open up my eyes, notice my surroundings, turn on some Christmas music, and smile. While making a great effort to make eye contact with every driver I passed, ready to cheer them up as well as myself, I found that I might look a bit freaky, because by unscrunching my forehead and opening up my eyes, I had the look of a rather "surprised" and overly stressed woman, with a forced smile painted on my face. Oh well, it cheered ME up, and brought my focus back to things that matter.

I enjoyed the Christmas music as I drove. I made an unplanned stop at Deseret Book and just browsed, totally relaxed. I didn't buy a thing, but it was a good few moments to myself. Then on with the grocery shopping, which I always enjoy, knowing that those I love are waiting at home with hungry tummies and I get to go fill them.

Went out with hubby tonight and we're now relaxing together. That smile is still on my face. Forcing a smile over a frown, really works!