Gifts

   With the Christmas season just behind us and a new year in front of us I have been thinking a lot about gifts and in particular one gift that I received a little over a year ago. This was not your usual gift wrapped in paper with a bow. In fact at first it didn't look like a gift at all. Let me give you some background first.

A year ago August everything in life seemed to be going really well. My husband, who has schizophrenia and OCD, had a stable job and seemed to be slowly getting better with medication. My children all seemed to be doing well with life and friends, overcoming some of the things that were difficult to them individually. We lived in a home that we loved, in a neighborhood that we loved. We loved the church we attended and had made many lasting friendships there. My health was better than it had been in a long time. I was slowly but surely achieving my goal to lose weight and had already lost 30 lbs. I was excited for the new school year to begin. I had projects waiting to work on for the hours that the kids would be in school. One in particular was an armoire that I bought on Craigslist. I was so ready to sand and then paint it to use as a new computer desk in our front room. Life was good and then it wasn't.

Saturday, August 19th, Rob and I got a call that my cousin's wife, Joanna, had passed away in her sleep during the night. Joanna had been my roommate at BYU. She was one of those people that you instantly feel connected to within the first few minutes of meeting. I had counted myself so lucky that she married my cousin and became family. Joanna and Joseph lived only 20 minutes away but life being as it can be we only saw each other 2 or 3 times a year. It didn't matter though. Every time I saw her I felt that connection and her warm loving heart.

Joseph was on a business trip in Florida. Joanna's parent's were in Idaho preparing to view the solar eclipse happening the next week. Joseph's parents and brothers and sisters were mostly in Salt Lake Valley about an hour away from Joseph and Joanna. Rob and I went to see what we could do to help until other more capable family members arrived. We went to the house where their church group had already started providing service. The children were all at the Bishop's house (leader of a congregation in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints). There were women and men doing what they could to clean the house, do dishes and laundry to ease some of the temporal burdens for the family. I was given a job and waited for Joseph's parents and brother's and sisters to come. There was a lot of hard crying that day. There was so much heartache with the thought of not being with Joanna again until the next life. The thought that Joseph was far away and alone trying desperately to get home. The thought that Joanna's children's hearts were broken. She was a lovely mother. It was hard and painful. When we left for home late in the afternoon the left side of my neck was hurting and I had a headache.

The headache did not go away. It got much worse. Rob gave me a blessing and I was told in the blessing to lay down and rest. So I did for 4 days. That Thursday was Joanna's viewing. I figured I had rested enough. my neck wasn't hurting very much at all. I went to the viewing and hugged family for a couple of hours. On the way home I went to Instacare just to make sure everything was okay. The doctor gave me a prescription for headaches and sent me home.

The next day was Joanna's funeral. It was a beautiful service. There was of course a lot more crying and the same heartache. My head and neck were so much better. I hardly even thought about them.

Saturday my boys were getting ready to go to a birthday party. I wanted to run over to Lowe's and get some paint for my armoire. Rob came too (he almost didn't and I'm so glad he did). When we got out of the store and opened the trunk to the car I felt slightly dizzy and looked down to right myself and then the whole world was wrong. I can't even describe how I felt. Just completely wrong and so dizzy I couldn't keep my eyes open or remain standing. I lay down in the parking lot of Lowe's and Rob called the paramedics.

Laying on the pavement, though, is were I received my gift. My thoughts immediately went to Joanna. She had died and she was 2 years younger than me. I thought of my children and was terrified for them. Rob was better than he had been but he was still sick. I thought of how hurt Rob would be. I had just watched my cousin and his children lose Joanna. I was so scared that now my family would lose me. I prayed and prayed that I could stay a while longer, that I could be here to help my husband and children. I tried to have faith and trust in the plan that my Heavenly Father had for me but I didn't want to go if I could stay. In all of that turmoil I saw how unimportant everything else in my life was. All of those things that I cherished. A stable job, a beautiful home, my upcoming projects, the armoire, none of that compared to my relationships. In fact it was like they had vanished. Anticipating possibly finishing this life and moving on to the next I came to the stark reality that the only things that mattered were my family and friends.

I was taken by ambulance to the hospital. I don't remember much about the journey and only snippets of the hospital. I puked a lot on the ride to the hospital. Rob said that I was completely out of it when they wheeled my into the ER. I remember the doctor asking me to open my eyes, something I hadn't done since laying down on the pavement at Lowe's. I saw his face and then he moved away and I saw Rob. I could tell that Rob was sitting on my right and his dad was on my left from their voices but when I opened my eyes Rob looked to be on the ceiling and everything off to the left was just white and blank. The world was not right. After an MRI the doctors discovered that I had had a stroke.
The pain in my neck had been a tear in the lining of the left ventricular artery. A blood clot had formed to repair the tear. That day at Lowe's the blood clot moved to my brain causing a stroke.

My gift was being shown what really mattered and it was an important gift for all that was to come.

I was so fortunate. The stroke only affected my balance. After four days I was able to go home. After a month I was able to drive. After a couple of months I had finished my physical therapy. My balance wasn't perfect but it was really good and still improving. The stroke made me tire easily but I was grateful to be doing so well physically.

About a month after the stroke our sweet family dog, formerly Rob's service dog, Annie, passed away. We were so heartbroken.

My mom went into the hospital and we were told that she had congestive heart failure.

At the end of October Rob was laid off of work.

That December my brother told me that he wanted to sell the house we were renting from him that summer. He was hoping we would be able to buy it. When March came my brother needed to sell the house. Rob did not have a job. We had debt from my stroke. We were not in a position to buy. We needed to move and we had until June. Rob's brother had a basement apartment that he and his wife were willing to rent to us. For three months Rob and I went through everything we owned and got rid of anything that we could live without. It took 4 small moving trucks but we finally got to where we felt we could fit into the apartment.

We have been living with Dan and Dawn for 7 months. There was a lot of pain and heartache leaving our home. Giving up the life we had been steadily building in North Ogden. But that pain and heartache pales next to all of the blessings we have been given since our move. We are closer to my mom which has been so helpful with her illnesses. Our new ward has been so loving. I have seen my children blossom with the special care that leaders have taken over them.

As I have looked back over the last year and a half I can see that having a stroke right after Joanna died was a gift. Heavenly Father knew that all of the things I had been so excited about, my health, my home, Rob's job, my projects were about to be taken away. He allowed me to see what truly matters. I am so grateful for that gift. For that moment in the parking lot where I glimpsed the end of this life and saw that eventually everything will be taken away. The only thing left will be the people I love and that is perfect. 

An epiphany

A few years ago my husband gave me a blessing. In my faith worthy men can act through the guidance of the spirit by laying their hands on our heads and blessing us with what the spirit inspires them to say. I don't remember specifically why I asked for the blessing. It was during a time when Rob was really sick and I was overwhelmed. I have forgotten most of what was said but one small sentence I have never forgotten or what I learned after getting the blessing.

The sentence was "You do not understand the gospel of Jesus Christ". I know from experience that the words in blessings are directly from my Heavenly Father. (Nor do I think that Rob would dare ever say that to me unless prompted by the Holy Ghost). I was shocked. 

I have had the great blessing to have parents that taught me about Jesus Christ. Every Sunday since I was born I have spent 3 hours at my church listening to others teach about Jesus Christ and his gospel. Sometimes I was the one chosen to teach. When I was in High School I took a class every semester called Seminary that specifically taught from the scriptures about Jesus Christ. When I was in college I took a class every semester that taught from the scriptures about Jesus Christ. My favorite class in college and the one that significantly changed me was a class on the New Testament which is basically the gospel of Jesus Christ. In fact the first four books in the New Testament are referred to as the gospels.

What the heck could I have possibly not understood from all of that?

After the blessing I determined that I needed to figure out what I was not understanding. Every morning I spent a bit of time reading the scriptures and praying and writing my thoughts or scriptures that stood out to me in a notebook. So I started using that time to pray and read specifically to determine what I did not understand about the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

For a year every time I opened the scriptures in my study or at church in classes they talked about mercy. It was as if that was all I could read about. Every scripture, every story was about how merciful our Heavenly Father and his Son are and how much they love us. 

Why is this significant? I remember a quote by a leader in my faith. We believe in fact that he was an apostle of Jesus Christ called in our day and time. His name was Neal A. Maxwell. He said "Mercy drenches the plan of salvation." The plan of salvation, the whole reason we are here on this earth and mercy covers it so significantly that it is in every pore. 

This knowledge has changed the way I look at myself. It has changed the way I look at others and how I view the world. Mercy is not easy for us to extend to others. The world we live in can be very unmerciful. People can be unmerciful but there is joy in knowing that mercy is so deeply part of our Heavenly Father and his Son. Mercy is the reason for the atonement of Jesus Christ. It is the reason for us coming to earth. I try to remember that when I have the chance to extend mercy. I am not very good at it. We all fall incredibly short of what our Savior and Heavenly Father are but I can try and mercifully they are there to pick me up and dust me off when I fall short. 

Last Day of School

Max was a fish in his first grade play.  He was awesome!

The last day of 4th and 1st grade.

Handsome boys. 

Ms. Carter was a great 1st grade teacher!

Mrs. Dittmore (shown) and Mrs. Mattheson were great team teachers for 4th grade

Melts my heart.

Lately I have found these two reading together.  The weirdest place was the shower.  

Pictures

  I have made two attempts in the last 2 weeks to take fall pictures of my kids.  I thought that the toddler years were hard but the older they get (or the more pictures I take) the more stubborn they are. Here are my attempts.

 Holly holding Nana's hand

 She's going to kill me

 Hey Holly look at me.

 Look at me please?

 Good enough

Hey boys, sit together so I can get your picture.

 Hey, stand next to each other so I can get your picture.

 I guess asking Sam and Max to stand anywhere near each other without tackling is asking too much.

Comfy

I went into Sam's room to wake him up.  This is where I found him.  When I asked him why he slept there instead of his bed he said he wanted to sleep someplace comfy. 

Pictures in the rain

It rained and rained.  Finally there was what appeared to be a break and we drove to the trail to take pictures.  The lull didn't last long and we were soaked before we finished.   They were tough and adventurous though. 

                                             This is Sam's suave pose.  

                                             This is Holly's "o.k. mom time to go" face.

Father's

Happy Father's Day to my dear husband. 

You are an amazing husband and father. 

I love how you keep a sense of fun in our home (dart guns, marshmallow shooters, javier the javelina, honey bunny, cornflake especially, skeletons in the fridge, protest rally's from the stuffed animals).

I love that you take the kids out for breakfast.

I love how you try to keep us moving toward our Heavenly Father.

I love that you value who you are and that you are worthy to have the priesthood.  That has been one of the most profound gifts you have brought to our family.

I love you!

Erin

The Miracles that didn't happen (an essay written by my Dad a year and a half after he lost his hearing)

When Sister Alexander asked me to write an article on coping with trials, using my experience of the last year and a half, my inclination was to refuse.  I am aware of many people in our ward who have had to endure trials far worse than what I have.  Even in personal experience I've had tougher times in my life.  Sylvia and the kids could write an article on the trials they had putting up with me.  However as I considered the request I realized that I have learned a couple of things about coping with problems and if those things might be a help to someone else then I surely should share them. 

   We belong to a church which almost takes miracles for granted.  In our ward we have witnessed some remarkable instances of the power of God.  It has greatly strengthened our testimonies of the gospel.  But at the same time it makes us wonder why some miracles haven't happened.  When I was growing up I had a very close friend.  Ron was a very extraordinary person.  He excelled at everything.  Sports, academics, leadership, the gospel, everything he did he did well.  But Ron had to live with a trial.  He had Asthma.  It seemed to me it dogged him in everything he did.  We played basketball together.  He was the star of the team.  Without his athletic ability our team would have been in real trouble.  Yet we had to call time out at regular intervals to let him catch his breath and use his "wiffer" to clear his lungs.  Ron went on to serve a very successful mission for the Lord;  graduate from the U of U with a master's degree, excel in his profession and serve the Lord faithfully.  Hundreds of young people can point to Ron as one who helped them on their way.  Ron died a year and a half ago.  The Asthma that had plaqued him all of his life finally caught up with him.  He left many many people wondering why.  It would have been such a tiny miracle.  Just clear his lungs so he could breathe. 

Many members of our ward can remember Tim Gautier.  Tim was a faithful member of our ward.  I served with Tim for a time in the Elder's quorum presidency and we became friends.  Tim had no legs.  He was so faithful, bore such a powerful testimony, was a witness to hundreds of people.  Tim needed a miracle.  Tim died a couple of years ago. 

In the early spring of 1839 Joseph Smith was incarcerated in the Liberty Jail.  The conditions were horrible.  his flock that he had been called by the Lord to lead was scattered across northern Missouri; driven and persecuted by evil men; forced to leave the state; their farms, their towns, their homes.  Joseph sat in jail, unable to help.  The church needed a miracle to save them.  In March of 1829 Joseph Smith wrote a letter to the church that has become one of our classic scriptures.  In it he eloquently penned the question that is on the lips of all who feel they can bear no more.  "O God, where art thou?  And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?  How long shall thy hand be stayed, and thine eye, yea thy pure eye, behold from the eternal heavens the wrongs of thy people and thy servants, and thine ears be penetrated with their cries?  Yea, O Lord, how long shall they suffer these wrongs and unlawful oppressions before thine heart shall be softened toward them and thy bowels be moved with compassion toward them?  O Lord God Almighty, maker of heaven, earth, and seas and all things that in them are, and who controllest and subjectest the devil, and the dark and benighted dominion of Sheol- Stretch foth thine hand: let thine eye pierce, let thy pavilion be taken up:  let thy hiding place no longerbe covered:  Let thine ear be inclined:  Let thine heart be softened:  and thy bowels moved with compassion toward us."  No miracle happened.

Two thousand years ago in the garden of Gethsemane our Savior knelt before his Father and prayed "O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me:  Nevertheless not as I will but as thou will."  Jesus needed a miracle right then or he would have to die.  No miracle happened.  Our Lord was hung on a cross.  He died, after suffering more than anyone else on this earth can imagine.  He could have saved himself.  He could have done the miracle.  But he didn't and because he didn't you and I have been saved from death and been given the hope of eternal life.  I'm truly grateful that that miracle didn't happen. 

At the time of his incarceration in the LIberty jail, when his flock was bing scattered and killed, there was no way for the Prophet Joseph Smith to know that the future leaders of the church, those who would lead the saints into the west and establish the "mountain of the Lord's house" in the tops of the mountains, were being fashioned, tempered and purified in the crucible of northern Missouri.  Without this trial the saints may not have had what it would take to build another Zion in the moutains and deserts of the west.  If a miracle had saved the saints in Missouri it is possible that you and I might not have had the blessings of the gospel. 

I think of the inspiration that Tim Guatier was to me and to his friends at school.  How much more his testimony meant because of the trials he had endured, and I wonder if Tim had not been called on to give this sacrifice what testimonies may have suffered.  What young people just finding their way in the gospel might have become lost. 

I surely don't pretend to know the answers.  I won't try to guess why Ron had to die.  Why some have to suffer so greatly.  But I know that our Father in Heaven knows the answers.  I trust him.  If I am asked to bear with a tribulation for a while I'll try to do it as best I can because I know he has a reason for it. 

Once we can put our trust in the Lord and say truthfully "not as I will but as thou will", then the question isn't "Why me Lord?"  The question becomes, "What would you have me do Lord?"  Does that mean the weight won't seem more than we can bear at times?  Of course not.  Just as was our savior in his darkest hour, we may be overwhelmed and cry out "My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?"  But the answer is always as it was to the prophet Joseph Smith "My son, peace be unto thy soul: thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment.  And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high:  thou shalt triumph over all thy foes."  God's love for us is total and overwhelming.  We can trust in that love forever.

My Dad and Music

My Dad loved music.  When I tried to describe my Dad to Rob once I settled on Hippie Cowboy.  Cowboy because he always wore cowboy boots and Hippie because he loved folk music from the 60's and 70's.  And he always seemed really liberal for a republican. His favorite singer was Joan Baez but he also loved Peter, Paul and Mary.  Simon and Garfunkel were up there too.  I grew up listening to Puff the Magic Dragon, Where have all the flowers gone, The Sound of Silence, Scarborough Fair, all the greats.   We had a record player and I remember my Dad every once and a while would  turn on Joan Baez and zone out.

My Dad played the trumpet and the harmonica.  He learned the trumpet in school and taught himself the harmonica.  I have a memory from when I was little of my Dad and Grandma playing Blue Moon.  My Dad on the trumpet and Grandma on the piano.  The Harmonica was my favorite though.  My Dad would sit on the front porch swing in the evening when it was warm enough and play his harmonica.  He would play songs that he already figured out and sometimes he would take requests and try to figure out new songs.

When I was a freshman in high school my Dad started to notice that he couldn't hear very well.  When he was a child he had Bells Palsy and lost the hearing in his right ear.  Now he was having a hard time with his left ear.  He saw some specialists and they discovered a tumor growing around the Cochlea of his left ear.  The tumor had to be removed.  There was a slight chance that it could be taken out without hurting or taking out the cochlea but more than likely my Dad was going to loose his hearing.  He practiced every night for three months learning how to lip read and then he had the surgery.  The tumor had grown into the cochlea and it was taken out too.

 I know that loosing his hearing was devastating for my Dad.  He couldn't hear his grandchildren.  He couldn't listen to Joan Baez or Peter Paul and Mary.  He couldn't hear his harmonica or trumpet. It didn't weaken his faith that he had a loving Father in Heaven though.  He wrote an essay called The Miracles that Didn't Happen.  He talked mostly about friends that lived their lives with some kind of disability.  He looked up to them and recognized the spiritual strength their trials had given them.

We saw miracles as a family.  My Dad never regained his hearing completely but doctors did discover a bit of hearing in his right ear.  He wore a hearing aid  that helped him understand others better.  He was able to go to college later in life.  Something that he had always wanted but thought was well out of his reach.  Once I had bought a CD of Peter Paul and Mary.  My Dad was excited that I liked the music.  I am not sure what made him try it but he turned up his hearing aid and put some headphones on to listen.  We were all startled when my Dad excitedly shouted that he could hear it.  He listened to Blowin' in the Wind and said he could hear the entire song.  He couldn't hear any of the other songs on the CD and I am not sure he could ever hear Blowin' in the Wind again but for one brief moment he could hear Peter Paul and Mary and he loved it.   

For a week before my Dad died he was in the hospital in a coma.  In that time he was given many priesthood blessings.  I remember that they all talked about him being able to do all the things he loved again.  At the time I wasn't willing to let him go and I wondered how a heart attack would allow my Dad to have his hearing again.  Now that he is gone I understand.  His Father in Heaven gave him the blessing of hearing his family again.  Many of us have had experiences since his death that have confirmed to us that he is still here helping his family.  I have nieces that play the piano.  I got to go to their final recitals and I thought how my Dad must be listening too and loving it. 

Poetry

My Dad loved poetry.  He read it; wrote it; lived and breathed it.  One of my favorite memories was a power outage in which my Dad lit candles and pulled out his copy of The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe.  We sat together and he read.  Creepy and Homey at the same time. 

We had a children's book of poetry that we loved Him to read to us.  I love to read it now because I heard them so often as a child I can hear his voice in the words.

 My sisters Christina and Valeri loved the poem Little Orfant Annie (by James Whitcomb Riley) but I hated that poem.  It was about the children of a family listening to the scary stories their maid would tell.  They were all stories about little children who were rude or snotty and then the goblins would come get them. 

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,

An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;

An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,

She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!

An' jist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,

They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,

An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!

An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you

Ef you

Don't

Watch

Out! 

 

Terrifying!

 

My favorite poem was The Tale of Custard the Dragon by Ogden Nash

THE TALE OF CUSTARD THE DRAGON

By Ogden Nash

Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.


Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.


Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.


Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.


Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.


Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.


Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.


Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.


But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.


The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.


Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.


Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.


Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.

1936

I loved that Custard was brave when he had to be but also practical.  He still wants his cage.

What an awesome gift that my Dad gave his children.  We grew up hearing amazing words and we learned to value our minds ability to create.

My Dad

I have been thinking about my Dad lately.  This April he will have been gone 15 years.  I want to do something to mark the time not in a way that says "I miss him so much" but in a way that lets others see him.  I will see my Dad again.  I have confidence that he exists and will someday be reunited with his body.  I do miss him but I know he is doing exactly what he loved doing on earth, taking care of his family.  I think this will be an ongoing post.  This one will introduce my Dad.

 

So The best way to introduce my Dad I think is to talk about his viewing.  I know it seems like a weird and depressing place to start but it really isn't.  My Dad loved quiet and calm.  He did not like to stand out.  We knew at a family party he could be found off to the side reading or playing chess with Uncle Jim.  He did not hold any big leadership positions in church or at work.  I think he might have been a high priest group leader once which in my faith is basically helping to lead and organize the older men in our church group (ward).  My Dad was a quiet unassuming man but his viewing was packed.  The owners of the Mortuary (Larkin one of the bigger mortuaries in Salt Lake) asked my Mom who my Dad was because the line went out the door past the hours of the viewing.  He did die young I am sure that had something to do with it but the bigger reason is that people loved my Dad.  I honestly do not know of anyone that knew my Dad that did not love him.  I really mean love him too not just like but love.  My Dad was kind to everyone.  He was so full of goodness that his eyes twinkled.  There is no other way to describe it they twinkled and sparkled and when he looked at you and smiled you could feel that he genuinely thought you were awesome.  He looked at everyone that way.

  

Fremont Indian State Park

 We took a quick over night trip to central Utah and Fremont state park.  

We saw beautiful scenery, petroglyphs and pictographs.  The kids climbed into a hole in the ground called a pit house and we hiked up stairs built into the mountain by the Fremont indians 1000 years ago. 

The Ogden Temple Open House

 Audrey and Holly