Letting Go

A few years ago, I found myself facing a unique challenge. I was one of the women in charge of teaching the children at church. A young girl from our church died in a car accident. It was a Saturday. The next morning I would be facing a room full of children, many of whom would be experiencing this kind of loss for the first time. I can't express the weight I felt at this task. I spent the night pleading with the Lord for guidance. I didn't sleep much but I know I did sleep...because I had this dream....

I was hiking up a trail. It was a hot, sunny day. Other hikers were on the trail. I was carrying a backpack. After a while, I became hot and tired and decided to stop for a short rest.

As I sat by the trail, a man stopped in front of me. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat. The sun was behind him and his face was hidden in shadow.

"Don't sit there too long or you'll never get to the top." he said in a friendly voice.

I was a little irritated that this stranger was interrupting my break. Not wanting to seem rude, I replied "I'm just taking a break"

The man looked down at the pack lying by my feet. "That's going to slow you down. Why not let me take it for you?"

Again, I was irritated. That was my pack. I wasn't going to just hand it over!

"That's okay." I said curtly. "There isn't much in there. I can handle it."

"I don't think so. " He said, a sad tone in his voice. "That pack will get heavier as you keep going. Eventually it will become too heavy for you. It will keep you from reaching the top."

After a pause he added, "I can carry it for you. Then you can make it."

I looked at the man closely. I noticed for the first time that he had a huge mound of packs on his back.

"No," I said again "It looks like you have a lot to carry already. I will carry my own pack." I was feeling a little insulted by this man. Was he saying I was too weak to carry my own weight?

The man sighed. "Well, do you mind if I look in your pack? See what's so important to you?"

I didn't want to show him but I sat quietly while he opened the pack and reached inside. He pulled out a large, heavy stone. On the stone was a photo of the young girl who had recently passed away. I felt my chest tighten as I saw her picture.

"This is your pain." he said solemnly, placing the stone on the ground.

He reached into the pack again and pulled out another stone, similar to the first. "This is your grief." he said and laid it next to the first. He reached into a side pocket and pulled out a handful of pebbles. "Sins." he said, almost amused. I looked away, feeling self-conscious.

"Well," He said, matter-of-factly, "These are heavy burdens. They will hold you back unless you let me carry them for you."

I felt panicked and desperate.

"I can't!" I said, choking back tears. "If I give it to you I will forget her!"

The man picked up one of the stones and took the photo off of it. "Here." He said "These are your memories. They're not heavy. You can carry they in your pocket. They won't slow you down at all. In fact, if you take that out and look at it from time to time it might even give you the motivation to keep going."

A feeling of relief and happiness flooded through me.

The man put the stones back in the pack. "So, can I take this for you?"

I nodded my consent.

He smiled and threw it on top of the others. "Don't sit there too long!' he said as he continued up the trail.


"Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows" Isaiah 53:4

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28-30

Ignorance Is NOT Bliss...Or Is It?

Deployments are hard. They are stressful and put random strains on you that you don't expect. There is also a Murphy's Law that if something can go wrong it will happen during a deployment.


Now, I don't really put much stock in such superstitions. I think stuff will happen no matter what. It is just more upsetting when you are shouldering the burdens alone.

We are now about 2 months into this relatively short deployment. And it is holiday season. The kids and I wanted a break. We discussed it and decided to spend Thanksgiving with my family in North Carolina. My husband was not thrilled about this idea. We discussed it. A lot. Sometimes after we talked I had such a feeling of foreboding that I didn't even want to leave the house! The decision was still unmade the morning we planned to leave. I mean, we had packed and stopped the mail and newspaper and done everything as if we were going but I wasn't going anywhere until I was sure of what to do and I just wasn't.

I had prayed about it a few times and was still coming up blank. I even wondered if I was being like Joseph Smith and the 116 lost pages, asking over and over when the answer was no. But I hadn't really gotten a no either.

So, that morning, I gathered the kids together and discussed the situation. I explained that there was going to be some possible bad weather. I explained that one of them had been sick just the day before and the others might get sick on the trip if it was going around like it does in big families. I told them we could go for Christmas instead. We all wanted to go now. We all wanted to spend Christmas in our own home. So we prayed again.

I remember at some point that morning pleading for assurance that either decision was best. I was so torn and I really needed an answer either way. I silently asked if we would be safe. Suddenly I had the assurance I was seeking. Yes, we would be safe.

That was good enough for me. We loaded up the care and headed out. It rained for the first half of the trip. Normally I hate driving in rain. I hate being a passenger in heavy rain! But this time I was fine. I was cheerful. I drove right through the storm without feeling stressed out at all. We got beyond the storm and headed on to my parents house.

We enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving with cousins and grandparents, aunts and uncles. I got to hold one of the newest members of the family. All the kids played really well the whole time. I talked a lot with my dad and my brother who had flown in from Utah. My grandmother had the great-granddaughters over for a sleepover, just like when I was a kid and spent the night with my cousins there. And on the other side of the family all 20 of the great-grandchildren were together for the first time and were able to take a picture together with their great-grandmother. My oldest son played football with his second cousins and had a great time. We were treated to a mini concert by my cousin's daughter on her tiny cello and her dad let all the little kids try it out (My kids LOVED it!!!) I spent some time with my mom and sister-in-law shopping on Black Friday. And I came home with lots of Christmas presents to go under our tree!

I had planned to drive home on Monday. The extended forecast had shown rain on Monday and Tuesday so I considered leaving Sunday. When my youngest woke up Saturday with an eye infection I considered it again. Honestly, I wasn’t quite ready to go back to real life. There was now a slow-moving winter storm coming right across our path home. If I waited it out we wouldn't leave until Wednesday or Thursday. I decided to go on Monday as planned. I felt uncertain about what to do but I didn't know why. I did think of asking my dad to check out the Suburban for me but I felt kind of silly. We had done a lot of work to it and there was nothing to suggest that anything was wrong. Well, I had to add a gallon of coolant on the way there so I had been keeping an eye on that. I even checked it before I left and bought 2 gallons to keep with me just in case but it was fine.

The first part of the trip was great we had pretty good weather and made good time to Knoxville, TN. That is about half way for us. We stopped for lunch at McDonalds and I let the kids play for about an hour. We filled up the tank and started back on I-40. At which point I couldn't go above 50mph and the RPM's shot up to 5!!! I didn’t know what was wrong so I pulled over and checked for a flat tired or parking brake but everything looked okay. I went on to the next exit and got off. We drove around for a few minutes looking for a place to park so I could use the GPS to find a mechanic. I saw a lube shop and stopped there. The man was VERY nice and said they could take a look and either fix it or tell us where to take it.

First, they found a bad leak in the transmission line. Apparently it had been cut and sliced with rubber hose which was not good enough. They replaced it with a metal pipe and assured me that it would last for a while. But after adding 5 quarts of fluid it still wouldn't shift into third gear. They said the upper gears were bad and I should put it in2nd gear to drive. "Don't go above 45 and you should be fine." They suggested the interstate because it would be the straightest, shortest route and limit more wear on the gears.

We had 225 miles to go. It was raining pretty hard. 45 isn't bad in those conditions. We drove about 2 hours before it was dark and clear... and 70 mph. We were stopped by a state trooper. He wasn't very helpful but said that if I got off at the next exit I could take a highway that ran parallel to the interstate “for a while". We crawled along to the exit and got something to eat. Well, the kids ate. I was too upset to eat. I bought a map (since GPS can be really stupid!) and took that highway to the next town, about 20 miles. The clerk that sold me the map said there was nothing after that. (He turned out to be right!)

We got a hotel in Cookesville. I didn't want to try the unfamiliar roads at night, in bad weather with a flood watch out. I couldn't risk being stuck in the middle of nowhere with 7 kids. I didn't sleep well. But we got a free breakfast and I was able to email my husband. (Did I mention he's deployed?) Until this point I had considered getting it fixed, even if we had to stay a few days. That didn't quite seem like the best idea (think of keeping 7 kids entertained without a car... and did I mention the winter storm? No exactly walking weather!) I did a quick search for "rebuild transmission cost" and saw that the top few results were around 2000-2500.

Okay, never mind. I guess we will keep going. I prayed a lot that morning. I felt like we should stop by the dealership that the GPS had shown. I talked to the guy about cost, time, and how to get home in 2nd gear. He basically confirmed everything I already knew but at least that was reassuring. He and another guy said the highway I had taken to get there would go all the way to Nashville and I should have no trouble getting home if I took it slow. I also asked about a 9 passenger vehicle, just in case. The guy made some suggestions but didn't have one. I decided to keep going. Before I even got out of town my husband called. He made more suggestion, mainly to go slow (about 35) and add some Transmedic to protect what was left of the transmission. I went right back to the place across from the dealer and the guys there put some stuff in it for me.

We drove down this quiet, scenic country road for hours. I tried to stay around 30 mph. I did NOT want to ruin that gear! We made slow and steady progress. We stopped for lunch at another McDonalds and the kids played for a while. I bought more maps and called a few people from our ward to make sure I was looking at the right roads. By then I was sure of what I was doing and where I was going. My only anxiety was whether the transmission would last until we got home.

Well, it did. We got home after driving for about 7 hours at 30 miles per hour. And the kids were ready to kill each other! (Did I mention I didn't bring a DVD player and I don't have a smart phone? We were really low-tech on this trip!)

Here are some things I learned from this:

I learned that the tender mercies of the Lord are indeed a "multitude". We were able to find good people to help us along the way. We were able to feed ourselves. We were able to travel through a very beautiful area and enjoy it because we weren't racing through it. We had some good talks and prayed together and sang Christmas songs and Primary songs. There was no quick fix. We all had to find better ways to do things. We had to put our personal comforts aside to accommodate the needs of others. We had to really look at each other and acknowledge each other. Let me tell you, it was HARD!!! I have felt for a long time that we are too selfish. Now I see that we really do need to work on that.

At one point I decided to tell some stories. The first one I picked was "The Christmas Oranges". I sobbed through the whole thing! I had been feeling really guilty about this car issue. I don't like to make mistakes. And I am not very forgiving of myself. I imagined that I was little girl, crying into my pillow thinking "I don't deserve an orange anyway!!" And yet there are always people who are very willing to make sacrifices to make it better. Especially the Savior.

And that isn't all! When I got home I had an email that told a similar story of overlooking the flaws of others. I had another with a video clip by Elder Russell M. Nelson about fear and faith. AND a friend of ours was planning to come till the garden while we were gone. I came home to trimmed bushed, racked flower beds, cut grass including the trimming, and beautifully tilled garden! It looked so great even the kids noticed!

I'm pretty sure this isn't the end of this lesson. I still feel really uncertain about the immediate future. But I have a sure hope that it will all work out.

On our way home we saw a rainbow across the road. As we drove the rainbow moved with us. Here are the pictures taken by my 10 year old daughter. You can see a double rainbow in some of the pictures. And, yes, it was raining at the time! (Oh, yeah, that is just a big stick smudge in the middle that I can't get off. Oh, well!)

Superpowers 101: Driving

Modern media and popular culture bombard us with confusing messages. Experts contradict one another. Celebrities with no more credibility than I do endorse products and fashions and even medications. It seems every person you meet has an opinion and a compulsion to share it. Few want to listen or learn. Those few who are sincerly seeking understanding are hard pressed to find it.

Prophets ancient and modern have warned of these dangers that exist in the Last Days. "Then if any man shall say unto you, Lo, here is Christ, or there; believe it not. For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect." Matthew 24:23-24

We live in such a day. The lines between good and evil are blurred. The straight and narrow path is obscurred by complicated interstate exchanges and overpasses. Even if we know we need to get off at a certain exit to reach our destination, we may be trapped by other drivers, racing along in their own little world, unaware of our desires to change lanes and oblivious to our signals. We can easily be hurried along to unfamliar destinations. We can become lost and frustrated as we try to navigate unfamliar roads to turn around or make our way along the side roads. It seems nothing is simple any more.

Except it is. The truth of the gospel has not changed. The difference today if that we must filter through so much to see it clearly. So not only are trying to navigate our way through city interstates during rush hour it is also dark and raining.

We can make it. We have the map (the scriptures) and a GPS (the Spirit) and even someone we can follow who is on a cell phone giving us step by step directions (the prophet). Should be simple, right?

As I think about actully being in this driving scenario I feel stressed. My chest feels tight with anxiety and I can imagine my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Is that how I feel about life too? Sometimes it is. Sometimes I feel like I am going to miss the turn or end up in a wreck. It isn't just my own manuvuering I have to worry about, you know. There are plenty of crazy people out there, talking on the phone or texting while they driving, falling asleep at the wheel, driving while imparred by some  substance, rude, aggressive, or just plain inexperienced. What happens if they impede my journey?

The has clearly advised us to endure to the end no matter what. Eventually we will make it if we just keep trying. We might need to pull over to change a flat or check the directions. We may need to drive slowly or alter our course. Maybe we will need to abandon the car and walk. As long as we keep going, keep following the directions, we will make it.

 "Therefore, continue your journey and let your hearts rejoice; for behold, and lo, I am with you even unto the end." Doctrine & Covenants 100:12

Superwoman VS Dullness

I recently read an article criticizing the the new "I'm a Mormon" videos as being unrealistic. The article explained that most Mormons are not that interesting.

"Sadly, as a whole we are far less interesting than what the ads have masterfully conveyed. Generally speaking, we are collectively a boring people. We might try to mix it up — sometimes serving ethnic fare at our ward dinners or altering the tempo of a hymn, but for the most part, as a group, we are steadfast, obedient, charitable, fertile and a bit dull." (http://www.ldsliving.com/redirect/story/64167-life-portrayed-in-mormon-ads-not-consistent-with-reality)

My response: Speak for yourself! Maybe Mormons in Utah have a kind of  cookie-cutter quality. There might be a bit of the can't-see-the-forest-for-the-trees effect. But there are just under 2 million members in Utah, less than 1/7 of the world's LDS population.

I have lived in 3 countries and know Latter-Day Saints from many others. I have lived in several states and have probably known at least one person from every state...except possibly Rhode Island. I have even lived in Utah, in the community among the normal, non-BYU student population. I have to say that I have yet to meet a dull Mormon.

Maybe that is just my personality. Maybe I just see interesting because I am looking for it. Maybe I have a simpler way of deciding what is interesting and what isn't. Maybe I am easily entertained.

I don't think so. When I first read the aforementioned article, I started thinking of the interesting people I have met. It was like an instant slide show as faces and memories flashed through my mind. I thought "What an idiot. Doesn't his person have anything better to gripe about?"

I thought of the many members I have known who could be described as "characters"; the man with the eyeball tattoo on the back of his head, the woman who wore a Dolly Parton style wig and earrings that brushed her shoulders, the musicians, the artists, the recovering alcoholics, the veterans, the monotone speakers, the tone-deaf singers, the criers, the laughers, the bikers, the snobs and the nerds, the jocks and the scholars. The diversity among the LDS people is vast. We are not dull! Not by any stretch of the imagination!

To me, the point of the "I'm a Mormon" videos is to show our diversity. They show that Mormons come from all walks of life. We experience every challenge and joy in life. Converts need not be ashamed of their quirks. The sacrifices of discipleship need not include our interests and talents.

I challenge anyone who agrees with the sentiments of that article to try making their own "I'm a Mormon" video, just for fun. What would you tell people about yourself? What makes you interesting?

If you can't think of anything then maybe you have some work to do; not on becoming more interesting but on seeing yourself differently. I can tell you right now you ARE interesting. There is no one in the world like you!

Superpowers 101: Sitting

When I was in college my roommate, Wo, was called as a Relief Society President in our single student ward. One of her dictates was that we all sit together. We met in a smallish auditorium-style college classroom. There were maybe 75 seats but only 40 or so young women.

As is custom, we would sit with our friends or roommates in little clusters, leaving spaces between "us" and "them". Wo would have none of this. She refused to start the meeting until there were no spaces. NO ONE was allowed to sit alone.

Admittedly it felt a little juvenile sometimes. "Do I have to sit by her?" or "I need some space to spread out!" or "I just feel like sitting alone today". Like a mother-in-training, Wo held her ground.

Soon we were sitting together just to avoid the hastle. Did it make us closer? Did it create friendships we might not have had? Did it foster a spirit of unity? Who knows. It did make an impression. I never forgot it.

One reason this practice made such an impression was an experience I had around the same time. Another roomie, O,  and I were asked to visit teach an inactive young woman in the ward. The request went something like this: "She moved here in the middle of the year and hasn't been to church once. Her roommates say she works a lot and isn't very friendly. She doesn't want anything to do with the church. Go visit her and see if she wants her name removed from the church records."

Now we were young and new to visiting teaching and this was a very intimidating assignment. O made the appointment and we nervously knocked on her door.

The girl who answered the door reminded me of a firecracker with a smile. She invited us in and seemed bursting with enthusiasm and excitement. She even giggled about how happy she was to have visiting teachers. We were shocked. We asked her name again to make sure we had the right girl.

We asked why she had not been to church. She said she often had to work on Sunday. She had a new job with better hours. She also had not gotten along with her roommates. They had not included her and left for church without her when she didn't have to work. She didn't know where our ward met (on campus there were church services in nearly every building and classroom) so she just stayed home.

We volunteered to show her where church was and invited her to walk with us on Sunday. She smiled and said she would like that. Then she hung her head and asked shyly, "Can I sit with you, too? I don't want to sit alone."

I have to say that is one of the most humbling, moving, life-altering moments of my life. How many times have I felt that way? How many others are afraid to come to church because they don't want to be alone in a room full of people? We all want to belong, to have friends and be accepted. Why do we think we are the only ones?

I think of this experience every time I think of visiting teaching or reactivation or friendshipping new converts. I think of this when I attend a new ward. Sometimes I am treated like I have a contagious disease with people leaving an empty seat between us on either side. Sometimes I am greeted by so many people that my head spins!

There are still times when I feel a kind of homesickness for the ward I grew up in. I feel nostalgic for the warm, welcoming feeling of being surrounded by people who love and care for me. I have felt that same belonging among Saints in many places. I have also felt that absence of that feeling. I am shocked and even hurt when I feel like an outsider at church. In most cases, that feeling disappeared over time. I have a certain tenacity when it comes to church and I will force my way into the church clicks if need be.

Others are not so determined. They are the ones who get bullied or snubbed right out of the church. Many have testimonies of the Book of Mormon and the restored gospel. They just don't think they fit in the church family.

How many are there? How many are like this young woman, in a new place, insecure, disoriented, anxious and alone? How many are silently asking "Can I sit with you? I don't want to sit alone."

Superwoman VS Mommy Butt Magnets

What are Mommy Butt Magnets? You know, that mysterious magnetic force that causes your children to follow you around the house all day. It is obvious that one is placed into the mother's back side and the other is in the child's forehead. That explains why they keep getting hit in the head when the mother makes a quick turn or bends over without warning.

I am not sure who placed these magnets into the mother and her offspring but it is really a safety hazard. I, personally, have knocked my kids down, stepped on their toes and bonked them in the head with my elbows or something I am carrying or knocked them onto a counter or doorknob or wall. I estimate that more than half of the injuries my kids experience from the time they can walk until they go to school are caused by this dangerous Butt Magnet.

I am not sure how long it takes for the force to wear off. My oldest child is 11 and he still occasionally falls victim to the pull of the Mommy Butt Magnet, although it seems his attractive force is no longer in his forehead. I know the field has weakened somewhat because he does not follow me around all the time.

One possible explanation for the seemingly weakened strength of the magnets is that there are younger children around. Perhaps they are deflecting the magnetic field from the older children. I know that more than one small child can be affected at one time, giving the "train" effect. Sometimes they form in a small cluster around the back of the mother. There is a definite increase in hazards associated with this clustering or train-car phenomenon.

Anyone experiencing this should be aware that the strength of the Mommy Butt Magnet is severely weakened when you are ion a public place. It seems that the magnet in the child's forehead is shorted by the proximity to toys, candy, other children, animals, buttons, balloons, and generally anything shiny, noisy or interesting. Mothers can not rely on the Butt Magnets to keep their children close in a public environment.

There seems to be no cure, no tests to detect it, and therefore no way of removing it. Those experiencing symptoms of this phenomenon should do their best to minimize accidents and take precautions to insure the safety of those involved.

Good Luck!

Superwoman Lasagna

Superwoman Lasagna


Start by adding a little olive oil to a large (4+ qt.) pot.

Add at least 1 heaping tsp crushed garlic (I use the kind in a jar. You can use fresh if you want).

Add about 1/2 chopped sweet onion (I use Walla Walla sweet onions. I buy them in season, dice them and freeze them to use later)

Cook on low heat until onions and garlic start to brown a little. (If I use fresh ingredients, like a tomato or basil from the garden, I add it at this point.)

Add 2 lbs lean ground beef. (I use 93% lean. The leaner the better so you don't have to drain it.)

Cover and cook over medium heat, stirring often.

When meat is well cooked, add 2, 12oz cans tomato paste and 24 oz water.(I use the cans to measure this) Also add 2 tsp salt, 1 tsp basil, 1/2 tsp pepper, 1 TBSP parsley, dash of oregano if desired. Stir well.

Let sauce simmer while preparing other steps.



Mix 1 16oz container of cottage cheese with 2 eggs. (Use a blender if you don't like chunky cottage cheese.) Set aside.



Cook 1 lb. Lasagna noodles until soft enough to use ( leave mine very "chewy" at this step in the cooking process. They are easier to handle and don't get overcooked while baking)



By now your sauce should be just right. In a VERY large pan (I use an 11x14 and it is just barely big enough) or 2 medium sized pans, layer sauce, noodles, cottage cheese, noodles, sauce, noodles. If you are careful and do it right, you will use everything you have prepared in these layers. Top with grated Parmesan cheese and 1lb shredded whole milk mozzarella cheese (such as Polly-o).



Bake 350 for 30 minutes, until the edges are browned ant the cheese is bubbly.

Serve with salad and garlic bread.



This can be made ahead and frozen prior to baking. You can also freeze the leftovers. Or bake it in 2 pans and freeze one and eat the other.



WARNING: This is not a recipe to rush through. The more time you take to let things simmer, the better it will be!

When Lights Go Out

When I was in college, I had a friend who was a bit of pyromaniac. She came over one night and, somehow, we ended up with a table full of lit candles. My friend was playing with the little flames and occasionally put one out. Each time, I was surprised by how much darker the room was when one of those little lights went out. Relighting a candle didn't seem to be nearly as noticeable as loosing the light when it went out.

2010 has turned out to be a year of loss. We have lost more than one friend this year to untimely deaths. Each one has been a shock. But the most significant loss we have experienced this year has been the passing of my mother-in-law, Beverly Marshall.

She was diagnosed with cancer in May and died in October. All who knew her have experienced a mixture of relief that she is no longer suffering and deep sadness that she is gone.

During her funeral, I took my little ones into the hall because they were getting restless. I spoke with my 4 year old son about what was happening. He seemed to have lots of questions and was even a little confused...or so I thought.

I asked him if he understood what had happened to Grandma.
He said, "Yes. She died."
"Do you know what that means?" I asked him.
"Yes." he said sadly then added "It means her light's not on anymore."

I was doing pretty good until that moment. Then I started crying. I was so moved by how simply he had explained it. I have thought of that moment often since then. It is such a beautiful way of explaining death. As I think of each of the people that have passed on this year, I am touched by how each of them exemplified the counsel to "let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in Heaven."

One was an example of home teaching at its best. He was a single father with teenage daughters when we moved to Belgium. My husband was gone to a 4-month school in the states and we had a huge yard that needed tending. Brother Gonzalez came over several times with the missionaries to cut the grass and trim the hedges. His daughters helped with housework and played with the kids. I was so grateful for his willingness to serve our family during a stressful and frustrating time. His service reminds me that even when we think we are alone, our Heavenly Father is always there and will send just the right person to take care of His children.

Another example was a man I have known my whole life. I don't have a single memory of him where is was not smiling and joking, trying to make others happy. He was the embodiment of cheerfulness. He, too, succumbed to cancer, but his battle was long and taxing. Yet even during his long illness, he attended church, fulfilled his Priesthood duties, and was an example to all who knew him of faithfulness and discipleship. 

Another is the little girl from our ward I wrote about previously. When I think of her, I think of those first few times I taught sharing time in Primary. I would look out at the sea of children; talking, looking at their feet, ignoring me... and there would be this happy, smiling face, watching me. She was always eager to answer a question and gave me a little reassurance that I wasn't talking to the clock on the back wall. So simple, yet so meaningful.

This brings me back to my mother-in-law. She was a quiet lady, never pushing or judging. She reached out in many ways. She shared several storied with me about simple things she had done that change lives. Smiling to a girl in the hall in high school, offering a seat to a young mother in Relief Society, welcoming a young woman into their home and into their family. Each of these examples are glimpses into the light she shared with others.

There is one story that has really stuck with me. Years ago, she and her husband were going to the temple in Washington DC. During the drive, they discussed an acquaintance who was having surgery. Beverly decided to put his name on the prayer roll in the temple.

When they arrived, she went to put the man's name on the prayer roll. She couldn't remember what his name was. All she could think about was Steve McQueen, the actor. She kept picturing a scene from one of his movies. After a moment, she gave up trying to remember the man's name and went about her day.

The next day, Steve McQueen died. (That was 30 years ago this week, by the way.)

This story was such an eye-opener for me. We hear phrases like "We are all God's children" or "God loves everyone". Until I heard this story, I thought I understood that. But I didn't really apply that understanding to celebrities or politicians or historical figures. I realized that I had a kind of arrogance like "I am child of God but I don't know who you people are."

Since then, I have tried harder to see EVERYONE as a child of God. It isn't as easy as you might think. Seeing a person from God's perspective can be kind of painful sometimes. Imagine how disappointed he must be in some of us. How his heart breaks at the wickedness and violence he sees us committing.

I have always loved the passage in Moses 7 where Enoch has been shown the creations of God and the destruction of the wicked.

28 And it came to pass that the God of heaven looked upon the residue of the people, and he wept; and Enoch bore record of it, saying: How is it that the heavens weep, and shed forth their tears as the rain upon the mountains?


29 And Enoch said unto the Lord: How is it that thou canst weep, seeing thou art holy, and from all eternity to all eternity?...

32 The Lord said unto Enoch: Behold these thy brethren; they are the workmanship of mine own hands, and I gave unto them their knowledge, in the day I created them; and in the Garden of Eden, gave I unto man his agency;

33 And unto thy brethren have I said, and also given commandment, that they should love one another, and that they should choose me, their Father; but behold, they are without affection, and they hate their own blood;

I feel like I can understand this better, now that I am a parent. How can God weep? His children are fighting and ignoring one another and acting like spoiled idiots.

And what should we be doing instead? "Mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places" (Mosiah 18:9)
 
I don't know if I have really caught the vision yet. I think I just get little glimpses from time to time. Hopefully, someday, I will be able to align my life more perfectly with the things I have learned. In the meantime, I am grateful for all the lights that shine around me. Because of their examples, I do, indeed, want to glorify my Father in Heaven.

Recognizing Your Own Super Powers

A few years ago, a friend of mine took a small step onto her soapbox. She explained to me how a certain family in our ward needed fellow-shipping. She felt they were being left out and would come to church more often if someone reached out to them. At one point she said "I think about them all the time. I am so worried about them. Why won't anyone reach out to them?!" I could see that her frustration was genuine. She really cared for this family and was deeply moved by the needs she saw.

But I found myself feeling completely unmoved. As she went on about this, I reflected on my own feelings. I had never so much as given them a second thought. I had never once felt inclined to call them up or make a special effort to get to know them better. "Huh." I thought as she continued on her mild rant "I wonder why?"

As my friend paused for breath, I said "Maybe you should do it." She started to back-pedal a little. Excuses poured out. I imagine she had been rehearsing these excuses to herself for a while. She tried to push this "responsibility" back to me. (I guess she was telling me all this so I would do it.) I had not one ounce of guilt when I said "No, I think it's your job." We talked a little and the conversation changed. But I was left feeling much, much wiser.

This was one of those so-called "lightbulb moments" for me. I realized, for the first time, that we each have "assignments" (for lack of a better word) from our Heavenly Father. What really struck me about this conversation is that I knew EXACTLY how my friend was feeling. I have felt the same frustration. I have even said the same things she was saying like "Why won't someone do this?" As she was saying this I was thinking "Duh! Because it's for you to do!" I realized how many times I had been in her shoes, full of passion and equally full of excuses.

The thing is, I believe that, deep down, we know. We each know it is an assignment, a mission, just for us. When those thoughts or feeling come, pushing us out of our comfort zones to do something out of the ordinary, we resist. We want reasons. We want assurances. We also want "Ensign moments"*. We want every step on that limb to be greeted with applause and cheers and warm-fuzzy moments.

"I gave my friend a Book of Mormon and she got baptized the next day!"

"I took a meal to a neighbor and she started sobbing because she had no food."

"I went visiting teaching once to the sister who hadn't been to church in 20 years and she came back to church and her non-member husband got baptized and they went to the temple and their sons served missions all because of my one visit."

It doesn't happen like that. When we do it for us, it doesn't work. The Lord wants us to do it for Him, not becasue He can't but because it will be SO AWESOME for us. We will learn and grow and gain so many blessings if we obey those promptings.

Sometimes, most times, there are no "Ensign Moments". If there is success, it is not through our efforts but through the Spirit of the Lord. It is a confluence of all those involved being willing and humble. In my experience, those moments come when we are not expecting them. For me, the most precious experiences are spontaneous.

I think one reason my friend was so reluctant to act on her feeling is because it would require sacrifice. As I mentioned, those kinds of promptings push us from our comfortable routines. I am reminded of the analogy of the sculptor, working the clay, scraping, twisting, taking some off and adding more. I think when I have those impressions to do something different, I resist because I know it will change me. Change can be hard, even painful sometimes. Why would I choose to do it? (Or let it be done to me, as the case may be).

Well, let me just say this: There have been times when I didn't "go and do" only to find out later the reason I had been prompted. I felt like a spoiled, selfish brat. Sometimes it was too late to fix it. I had missed the chance. There have also been times when I stumbled along, trying to do the Lord's will, awkward and insecure as I was. And...

KABLAM!!! MIRACLES!!!!

Just kidding. The results were sometimes subtle, sometimes anti-climactic, sometimes undetectable. Except in myself. I had peace. I had the assurance that I had done my part.

So, the next time you get the idea to call someone, write them a letter, bake them a cake, whatever. Just do it. See what happens. Maybe they will say "Thanks, but I don't like cake." Just tell them Heavenly Father wanted you to bring them one. You never know.







* The Ensign is a magazine published by the chruch that usually has a few personal stories of spiritual experiences

Superwoman VS Stereotyping: Teenage Boys

Our Stake had a dinner prior to the recent Relief Society General Meeting. I had planned for my husband to stay home with our children but due to unforeseen circumstances, I had to bring them along. The local leaders had arranged for a few men and some teenage boys to help with the child care. They cheerful took my 7 children into the designated room and I left to enjoy a quiet dinner and some rare adult conversation.

I had taken about 3 bites when our ward Relief Society President came and said my 4 year old son had had a little bathroom accident and needed me. I just happened to have a change of clothes for him in the car. I retrieved them and went to get him cleaned and changed.

It was not a simple wetting accident, to put it delicately. But I was pleasantly stunned to find that 2 of the young men were already cleaning the bathroom when I arrived. Apparently, my son had tried to clean himself up and they found him half-naked in the bathroom. One of the young men was mopping and had already cleaned my son's shoes. Another came in with a new garbage bag to replace the one containing...smelly paper towels. They set to work with spray bottles of disinfectant and paper towels, wiping down the dirty surfaces.

I took my son to the ladies' room for a private and more thorough cleaning. When we passed the men's room a few minutes later, they were still cleaning. I didn't hear any joking or laughing, no complaining or comments about how gross it was or the smell.

Now, I am sure this mess was not unlike the kind I have cleaned at home on occasion. It seemed to be fairly localized and was almost cleaned up when I saw it. What impressed me was the maturity of the young men who were dealing with it. Granted, they are both what you might call "sober" youth; quiet, responsible, good-natured. So this episode was not out of character for them. But I couldn't help thinking how their peers might have handled it. No doubt many would have left the whole thing for me to deal with. Others would have cleaned up only if asked, compensated, or threatened. Few teenagers would have done this kind of job without complaining.

I couldn't help thinking about this difference. I have thought often in recent weeks about the ever-widening divide between the righteous and the wicked. There is no doubt in my mind that the righteous of the earth stand out and will stand out more and more in coming years. The decency and morality are as foreign today as pornography and recreational drugs were 200 years ago. The world seems to have turned upside down. (No, I wasn't alive 200 years ago to actually know this from experience!)

I am so grateful for good kids like the teenagers I have described. I am grateful for their wonderful example to my kids. A few weeks ago, our family was talking about the Stripling Warriors and what those young men must have been like. I said that they had great faith and were obedient. My 9 year old daughter mentioned one of the young men from the bathroom incident. "I bet they were like him. He has a lot of faith." I was almost in tears. Not just because she had noticed him but because there was someone like that for my kids to notice.

There are lots of other amazing examples of good teenagers. That isn't a general statement. There is the 13 year old who is our hometeacher. He cheerfully helped us put in our garden, getting covered in mud and clay. And his sister who has been a wonderful babysitter for us. More than one young woman from our ward has moved to sit with restless children when their mother takes a crying baby out of Sacrement meeting. (We live in a military ward, you know, so the fathers are often deployed or otherwise occupied with their jobs on Sunday).

I can't forget the examples in our own family. My kids have cousins on missions and uncles who have recently returned. My neice went with us to the temple this summer and spent the whole time taking care of our then 5 1/2 month old baby. Our older neices and nephews seemed eager to entertain their younger cousins while we grown-ups spent time together.

Each of these moments of small quiet service have provided me with one great big giant reaction. HOPE! Hope for the future. Hope that the world is not entirely going down the toilet. Hope that the next generation really is better, stronger, more capable, more willing and able to prepare the world for the Second Coming of our Lord. Yes, there will be wickedness and destruction and many terrible things in the future. But the Lord is truly doing "a marvelous work and a wonder" in these Last Days.

Now, when I see some ego-sentric, amoral, bratzilla of a teenager on TV, I can tell my kids with complete confidence that they do not, under any circumstance, have permisison to be like that when they get older. Teenagers don't HAVE to be obnoxious, rude, rebellious, defiant, ignorant, tough, cynical, angry, sexy, or threatening. And I have proof!

Opposition In All Things

Life seems full of contradictions. There is pain and suffering and sadness on one side and peace and love and beauty on the other. How is it possible that in the midst of tragedy, people can feel so uplifted and peaceful?

This past weekend, a young girl from our ward was hit by a car and killed. It has been a devastating shock to everyone who knew and loved her and her family. At the same time, Sunday was one of the most spiritually uplifting days I have had in my life.

Because of General Conference next week, we had Fast and Testimony meeting. The members shared their testimonies of the Plan of Salvation, the truth of the Resurrection, the love of the Saviour, and the peace and comfort of the Holy Ghost. It was a very beautiful meeting. Later, I was able to share my testimony with the Primary children. I was amazed at how cheerfully they answered questions about the gospel and how they could apply it to their lives at this time. I realized, more than ever before, how much truth can dispel fear and sorrow.

I have been especially grateful for my blessings the past few days. I have hugged my kids a little harder and longer. I have talked with them about the reality of death and the hope we have in Christ. Over and over I have been stunned by how much peace and comfort I have felt in the knowledge of the gospel. It seems strange that I can feel this way when someone I care for is suffering such a great loss.

I am reminded of Lehi's teachings about opposition.

For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things. If not so, my first-born in the wilderness, righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad. Wherefore, all things must needs be a compound in one; wherefore, if it should be one body it must needs remain as dead, having no life neither death, nor corruption nor incorruption, happiness nor misery, neither sense nor insensibility.(2 Ne 2:11)

Without the dark, bitter moments of life, we can not appreciate the light and happiness. As tragic as this has been, I know there is a lot of good that will come from this.

I have thought a lot about a Mormon Messages video called "The Tender Mercies of the Lord".
I watched it again and realized just how much this has been happening the past few days.

I would like to share my experience with you. The day of the accident, our Relief Society President posted  on Facebook that there had been and accident and they were going to Vanderbilt Regional Medical Center in Nashville. As soon as I saw the news I felt panic and fear. The mother of this young girl is a sister that I have come to admire and love in the few months we have been here. She is the most cheerful and optimistic person I have ever met. The thought of her going through this tragedy sent a wave of nausea through me.

I felt an intense need to pray. After a few minutes of pacing and hand wringing, I called the children in and told them what I knew about their friend. I told them we needed to pray for her. As we bowed our heads and I spoke the first words of prayer, I was overcome with the Spirit. Tears streamed from my eyes. I knew instantly that no amount of prayer would save our dear sweet Courtney. In that same moment, I knew she was okay. She was in the Lord's hands. I knew that her family needed our prayers more than she did. I prayed that they would be comforted.  Because I had told the children we were praying for Courtney, I prayed that she would receive the best care possible and closed the prayer.

We got the news that she was on life-support a few hours later. The next morning we learned that she had passed away. I had spent a sleepless night of worry and concern, in part for the family and in part for the children of the ward. I was teaching Sharing Time. I spent much of the night rehearsing what I would say to those grieving children.

I was doing Sharing Time for the whole month and I had switched the topics so the lesson would be "Prophets testify of Jesus Christ". I had intended to encourage them to listen to conference and see if they were able to hear the prophet bear his testimony of Jesus. I actually did do that. I asked the "Why do prophets testify of Christ?"  I was so amazed at how easily the lesson I had planned fit with the words of comfort I wanted to share with them.

We read Isaiah 53: 3-4 and talked about how Christ can heal our sadness. I explained to them that when we get hurt, a cut or scrape, we have to take care of our injury or it won't heal. I told them that we can take care of our emotional wounds by praying. Just as a physical injury doesn't heal right away our sadness will take time to heal, too. But we have to keep applying the Atonement through prayer and study.

As I thought of this analogy, I thought "well, their pain will go away with time anyway." Then I was reminded of something my mother had shared with me a few years ago.

When she was about 12, one of her classmates accidentally shot herself and died. Because of the social attitudes at the time, the kids were not counseled or comforted much at all. My mom said that she had found a lot of peace when she joined the church. Years later, she ran into a former classmate from that time. As they talked, the woman said that she was still trying to understand and accept what had happened some 40 years ago to their friend. She was in counseling and had tried several different churches but nothing had helped. She was still suffering.

As I thought of this woman, I realized how important the Atonement is in our lives. I had not really thought much about it in this context. The Spirit confirmed to me that all the relief we feel from the pains of life are because of the Savior's sacrifice. If we don't turn to him for relief, we will not find it anywhere else.

I know this may sound strange, but I feel tremendously honored to be in this ward at this time working with these children. I know that the next few months and years may be hard but also a time of amazing growth for all of us.  I am eager and humbled to be part of their lives as they learn about the Savior and build strong testimonies. I hope I am able to fulfill my roll in their growth.

Sisters in Zion

Relief Society has been a significant part of my adult life. I have served in leadership callings and taught classes on Sunday. I have helped plan activities and attended a variety of events designed to fulfill the mission of this great organization. I can not express in words the depth of my love for this organization and the woman who participate in it.

This month, we commemorate the 168th anniversary of the creation of this wonderful society. It is a program I am so honored to be a part of. I could not possibly tell you all the reason. But I would like to share one experience that embodies what Relief Society means to me.

During the years we lived in Germany I attended  several stake meetings for sisters, including auxiliary training and a yearly sisters conference. I had come to love and appreciate the love and devotion expressed by the Stake leaders who planned and executed these meetings. I looked forward to each one as a chance to "fill my lamp with oil". Never was I disappointed by the spirit I felt there.

One cold winter day, I drove myself to the annual sisters conference. I knew this would be the last one I would attend in that stake. We would be moving to Belgium in a few short weeks. I had a late start and arrived just before the meeting started. The other women from my ward were sitting near the front and there didn't seem to be any seats with them. As I looked around for an empty seat, a German sister I didn't know motioned for me to sit by her. I quickly sat down before the opening prayer.

I debated whether or not to move after the prayer but decided to stay. The room seemed full and I didn't want to be rude to the women around me. As the meeting progressed, I found these unknown sisters to be extremely welcoming to me. They passed me an English hymnal, even though I was fine singing in German. At one point they passed along a little container of candy, each taking one and passing it down. At first I just passed it on but the woman next to me motioned for me to take one and gave me an encouraging smile. I realized that they all knew each other and that I was sitting right in the middle of them.

Near the end of the meeting was a special musical number. Each ward had been sent the sheet music ahead of time and asked to learn the song so that we could sing it together. It was part of an arrangement of the hymn "As Sisters in Zion" known as the EFY Medley. We sang the verse in German and the next part in English. As I stood there, surrounded by women I didn't know, singing those beautiful and powerful words, I was overcome by the Spirit. I knew that even though we did not know each other or speak the same language we were indeed Sisters in Zion and Daughters of God. Those wonderful strangers had already proven this to me by their simple acts of acceptance and love.

Not every moment in the church is that powerful. Sometimes the differences between us can distract us from those pure and simple truths of who we are and what our purpose is. That doesn't make them less true. In those moments, I know that Zion is real.

I am so grateful to my loving Heavenly Father who has given me such precious moments of clarity and perspective. During the times when life clouds my vision, I only need to think of moments like this to know who I am and where I want to be.

"What have you done with my name?"

This weekend we gave our new baby a name and a blessing. As I thought about the significance of this priesthood ordinance, I thought of the importance of names. Growing up, my parents taught me that a person's name is sacred. As I got older, I learned that when we gossip or lie about a person, we are damaging their "good name". I also remembered a story I heard as a young girl that made a deep impact on me.

President George Albert Smith told the story of a time when he was seriously ill and had traveled to St. George, Utah, to see if it would improve his health. He became so weak that he could scarcely move. In his account he recalled: “One day, under these conditions, I lost consciousness of my surroundings and thought I had passed to the Other Side. ... I saw a man coming towards me. I became aware that he was a very large man, and I hurried my steps to reach him, because I recognized him as my grandfather. … I remember how happy I was to see him coming. I had been given his name and had always been proud of it.

“When Grandfather came within a few feet of me, he stopped. His stopping was an invitation for me to stop. Then—and this I would like the boys and girls and young people never to forget—he looked at me very earnestly and said:

“ ‘I would like to know what you have done with my name.’

“Everything I had ever done passed before me as though it were a flying picture on a screen—everything I had done. Quickly this vivid retrospect came down to the very time I was standing there. My whole life had passed before me. I smiled and looked at my grandfather and said:

‘I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.’

“He stepped forward and took me in his arms, and as he did so, I became conscious again of my earthly surroundings. My pillow was wet as though water had been poured on it—wet with tears of gratitude that I could answer unashamed.”

President Smith continued to say, “I have thought of this many times, and I want to tell you that I have been trying, more than ever since that time, to take care of that name. So I want to say to the boys and girls, to the young men and women, to the youth of the Church and of all the world: Honor your fathers and mothers. Honor the names that you bear, because some day you will have the privilege and the obligation of reporting to them (and to your Father in heaven) what you have done with their name.” (George Albert Smith, Sharing the Gospel with Others, Deseret Book Co., 1948, pp. 111–12.)(O. Leslie Stone, “The Importance of Reputation,” New Era, Feb 1978, 41)

The statement that we will have to account for what we have done with the names we bear, including the name of our Father in heaven, has gone a long way to keeping me in check. At times, it may seem that it doesn't matter what we do. Maybe we live far from home. No one knows who we are. They don't know our family. Does it really matter if we soil that name a little from time to time?

When I was a Senior in high school, I learned the answer to that question. I found myself in a "Bible bash" with some girls in my chorus class. What had started innocently enough with a few simple questions had turned into "let's gang up on the heathen Mormon and see if we can save her". After 3 days, I knew it had to stop. All we were doing was arguing. We weren't going to change any one's mind. I prayed for a way out of the mess I had gotten myself into.

The next day, as class started, the leader of the "opposition" came up to me, a list of scripture verses in her hand, ready to prove my beliefs wrong. I felt my stomach tighten and silently prayed for a way out. The girl waved the list in my face and said, "I talked to my daddy last night and he gave me list of scriptures to use as ammunition against you." The other girls clustered behind her, reminding me of a pack of wolves ready to pounce on their cornered prey.

The ring leader sat down next to me and said "Before we get started I have to ask you a question. Do you know Harlie Wilson?" This was probably the most unexpected thing she could have asked me at that moment. I had no idea where she was going with it so I just answered truthfully, "Yes."

"How do you know him?" She asked. I felt like I was on trial as she stared hard at me. "He is my uncle. My grandpa's brother." She relaxed and sighed deeply. "I was afraid of that." she said regretfully. Then she folded up her paper and put it away. The "pack of wolves" looked even more startled than I felt at that moment and asked what was going on.

The girl thought a moment and said, "I told my dad all about you and he said I should ask if you were related to Harlie Wilson. He said your uncle used to cut his hair when he was a little boy and that he was the best man he had ever met. He told me that if you were related to him I should leave you alone. I still think I can prove your church is wrong and I really want to. But I have never heard my dad talk about someone with that much respect. My dad is the best man I have ever met and if he says to leave you alone that is what I am going to do."

And that was it. We never argued or even mentioned religion again. This whole episode nearly overwhelmed me with "coincidences". I was deeply grateful for the wonderful example of my great-uncle*. I, like President Smith, had reflected on my behavior and was relieved to know that I was worthy of being associated with my family. My classmate and her father were also people of integrity who recognized the good in others and were willing to set aside their personal differences.

The most important lesson I learned was that you never know who is watching. My uncle didn't know that a little boy sitting in his barber chair was paying attention to what kind of man was holding the scissors.






*This is the only link I could find.

My Own Sleepless in Seattle

Sleepless in Seattle probably ruined more girls than any other movie ever made. We are so prone to that silly, romantic way of thinking anyway. We really didn't need a movie to not only expose every detail of our twisted, delusional way of thinking about love but also show us that it is perfectly normal and that we will eventually end up with the guy that we had those irrational, stalker-like fantasies about.


In reality, it never works out like it does in the movies. People misunderstand each other and misinterpret things. Sometimes it doesn't work out the way you wished it would. Relationships require actual effort, not just some fairytale, love-at-first-sight, whirlwind romance where everyone lives happily ever after.

I hope those of you who know me are picking up on the irony of what I just said. For everyone else, let me explain.

I met my husband in November of 1998. He was stationed at Fort Carson, Colorado and I was a student at BYU in Provo,Utah. We spent 3 days together. Not three days being inseparably in love, three days of me trying my best to ignore him and give him the brush-off that so easily deterred the little boy BYU students I was accustomed to. I did not realize that I was dealing with a confident and rather self-assured GROWN-UP man.

After some patience on his part (not to mention the manipulative persuasion of my roommate, T) I flung myself off the edge of the love cliff and fell seriously into the love ravine. Three weeks after we met we were unofficially engaged (meaning we had set a date but he hadn't asked my dad for permission or given me a ring)

At times, I wonder "What was I thinking! How could I marry a guy I barely knew?" But the truth is, I knew it was right. I still know it, probably better than I did then. How did I know? Well, there are some rather boring, personal reasons. But the more interesting ones are the "signs"; Those "Sleepless in Seattle" moments that still happen sometimes. Here are a few of them.

When I first laid eyes on my husband he was nothing like I expected. T had been telling me about him and I had formed an image in my mind. If I had met him on the street, I would never have guessed that he was the man she had told me about. Even so, I felt as if I had been struck by lightning. I can't really explain it. It wasn't like an instant attraction. I guess it was more of a recognition. I have had moments when I felt like I was meeting an old friend and I accepted that maybe I had known that person in another life. What I felt when I saw my husband was much more...frightening. I didn't know how to react so I tried to run away! (Obviously it didn't work!)

During those first few weeks when we were talking on the phone, quietly checking things off the List, my husband commented that our relationship reminded him of a book called "Added Upon " by Nephi Anderson. I had just been thinking the same thing. The story follows a group of people from the Pre-existence into mortality and beyond. The fact that we both felt this strange familiarity and even related it to the same book was a big "sign".

Already planning our future together, my future husband decided to give me a gift for Christmas. Since we had not known each other very long, he wanted to give me something that was not to forward. He decided on a painting. T had been acting as liaison at times since I was seriously dragging my feet. She questioned me about what I liked and hinted that I was getting a painting. I can’t remember how much she prompted me and how much was just me but I knew I was getting a landscape of mountains and a stream. I had such a clear image in my mind that I actually recognized it when I opened it on Christmas morning!

Another came a few months later when we were finally able to be together in person. We were dressed alike. We were both wearing denim jackets with brown corduroy collars, jeans, and even the exact same Timberland boots! People gave us a hard time all day but we really had not planned it at all. We just had similar taste.

The last one I will share came several years after we were married. We were discussing "Little House on the Prairie". I told him how I always wanted to be pretty and delicate like Mary but I knew I was more like Laura and I didn't like that when I was a kid. I went on to compare our brown hair, big teeth, tomboyish personality, etc.

I noticed that my husband was staring at me, not in the "I'm pretending to listen but I am really thinking about something else" kind of way. He looked like I was speaking a foreign language and he was trying hard to follow it. When I finally stopped listing all the faults I shared with Laura Ingalls, he shook his head and said "What on earth are you talking about?!" I braced myself for some kind of lecture about how I talk too much or I over analyze things.

Instead his lecture went something like this: "Who cares about Mary? Laura was the cool one! She was the one who knew how to get things done and wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. And she was not plain or awkward or whatever you said. She was very pretty. In fact, I had a big crush on her when I was a kid. I always hoped I would be lucky enough to find someone like her when I grew up!"
Isn’t that sweet?

There are other things like how we both like John Denver and hate horror movies. Each time something like that comes up I have to smile. They are each little reassurances that we are indeed meant to be together. Hopefully, together happily, for ever after.

Finding Superman

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that this is going to be about how I met my husband or about guys I dated or how to find the perfect guy. Sorry to disappoint you. While those are all interesting and may come up at some point, that is not what I am writing about today.

Today, I am writing about how to find your superman. Again, you may be thinking, "Well, I am already married to this guy. What good will this do me?" And that would be the point. Did you ever wonder why Lois Lane never realized that Clark Kent was really Superman? Was Clark really that undesirable?  Is it possible to be that blind? Maybe it is?

I used to dream elaborate dreams about what my life would be like when I got married. I had all kinds of hopes and fantasies about the romantic moments and happy memories, the secret codes we would use to talk to each other, the interests and talents we would share. We would be so perfect together. It was a wonderful life.

Then I actually got married.

I am not saying that to be cruel or critical about my husband. He is just... human. NOT a figment of my imagination but a living, breathing, thinking, feeling, moody, normal person. And, amazingly enough, I am just as normal as he is! I had thought I was prepared for the "real" side of life with a "real" person. I like to think of myself as an optimistic realist. But reality was not what I expected.

It hasn't been all bad. Not by a long shot. Our life together has just been...real. We have had arguments and differences of opinion. There are things each of us enjoys that the other finds mind-numbingly boring. We have had times when we struggled financially, spiritually, physically, emotionally. The military life doesn't make it any easier. I guess what I am trying to say is that after all the years of daydreaming and imagining the very best, the real thing was sort of...dull.

Again, I am not trying to be critical of my husband. He has many wonderful qualities. My point is that when you know someone REALLY well, it can be hard to have the right perspective.

I learned early on that I wasn't the only woman who feels this way on occasion. I remember when a friend of ours was called as a counselor in the Bishopric, his wife's reaction was "MY husband? Are you sure?!?!?" Of course, we all might have reacted that way in the same situation. At the same time, I thought her husband was perfect for the job.

This experience and a few others caused me to reflect about my perceptions of people in my life. I realized that if the Bishop asked me to do something or the Stake President gave me his opinion about how something should be done, I would take it seriously. I would not argue or say I would do it and then ignore what they told me. They are priesthood leaders. They have the authority from God to receive inspiration regarding those in their stewardship and they should be respected. I wondered how I would view my husband if he were in one of those positions as a priesthood leader? Wasn't he actually in one already?

I was always taught that the man presides over the home and acts as the priesthood leader of the family. I thought about my husband as the priesthood authority in our home. Did I have the same kind of respect for him as I did for the Bishop? How many times had he made a suggestion and I ignored it? Rolled my eyes? Ended up in an argument because I didn't like what he had to say?

I realized that too often I focused on my husband's weaknesses instead of his strengths. That wasn't fair to him and it wasn't doing our family any good.  I can't say that I never notice his flaws or that I always focus on his strengths. I am not perfect either. But when I try to see him as I should, those flaws become trivial. I see through the disguise and find my superman.

Superpowers 101: Magnifying Your Calling

My kids have discovered magnifying glasses. They wander through the house and yard looking at everything they pass through this amazing device. I have always liked them myself. You can take a very dull, ordinary object and look at it through a magnifying glass and suddenly it becomes fascinating. Even more amazing are microscopes that seem to make things appear out of nowhere. Of course, that only happens if you make the effort to see it that way.

We had a talk in church today about magnifying our callings. In the LDS church a calling is an assignment to serve in a certain position for an unspecified amount of time. We believe that callings come from God. When we talk about magnifying a calling it usually means doing more than the basics. Let me give you an example.

When I was a teenager, a friend of mine was called to play the piano in Sacrament Meeting (the main church service). She was only 14 and we had a large congregation. She was nervous and a little overwhelmed.

I remember her being very critical of herself, pointing out that she had messed up on the third verse or had not gotten the tempo right in a certain place. Most people didn't notice. She played the hymns. We sang them. That was good enough.

Over the next few years, she studied and practiced and improved her piano skills. Her ability to play the notes and make fewer mistakes improved. Was she magnifying her calling? No, she was just becoming a better pianist.

I don't mean to say that she was not talented or that her musical ability was lacking in some way. I am only pointing out that the ability to do something well does not mean you are "magnifying" that task. You might be thinking, "It is just playing the piano. What else can you do?" I will tell you.

My friend played the piano every Sunday for about 4 years. During that time, she often spoke of how she prepared for Sunday. She said she would read the lyrics and ponder the message of the hymn. She would then pray that she would be able to convey that message through her playing. She said she tried to bear her testimony of that particular subject through her playing.

I can remember being at her house for early-morning seminary (a scripture study class for high school students). Before we left for school she would quickly play though a hymn or even a portion of it, because she wanted to make sure it was right for Sunday. She said she was "playing it for the Lord". Honestly, I thought she was being a showoff. We all knew she was a wonderful pianist and she always lived up to her reputation.

Sundays had became a welcome respite for me during this time. Church was a place for me to see friends who shared my values, learn about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and feel the Spirit. I enjoyed music and sang in my high school chorus for 4 years. Singing the hymns was a wonderful addition to Sunday. I remember feeling the Spirit confirm those simple truths as we sang.

After high school I attended BYU. To say there are a lot of musical people at BYU is like saying there are a lot of Mormons there.  I was exposed to many extremely talented pianists. There was no shortage of young men and women who could sit down at a piano and play whatever was put in front of them. To put it simply, they were technically proficient. Many were skilled at adding emotion and feeling, making the music seem alive. Yet something was different.

I was slightly up off by this at first. Over time I came to realize what was different. It was the preparation. Not the temporal preparation but the spiritual preparation. I realized that I had taken for grated the time and sincerity my friend had put into her calling. She had not simply played a hymn well. She had been playing it with a purpose. She had prepared, not for herself, but to make the music the best she could for those she served, including her Father in Heaven.

Since coming to that realization, I have viewed callings differently. Sometimes they may seem small and of no consequence. That is only because we have not magnified them to see what they could be. Imagine what the world would be like if everyone approached their callings in life the way my friend did. Not to do it the "very best ever". To do it with the attitude that we are serving others and serving the Lord. Shouldn't we be giving Him the best we have to offer? Don't the people we serve deserve to have us do more than "good enough"?

I know you might be thinking that you are not a member of my faith and you don't have a calling. What about your calling as a parent or spouse or child? Are we doing the basics, being technically proficient, or are we seeking spiritual guidance to magnify our callings for the betterment of all?

I don't claim to be consistent at magnifying my callings...any of them. But I know that when I have the attitude of serving God and my fellow beings, I do a better job. I think it is because I don't always know what to do or how to do it. But my Heavenly Father does. If I seek his guidance, he will direct me to doing those things that will mean the most to those around me. It isn't about fitting into a mold or doing something a certain way. It is about doing what is needed, when it is needed, how it is needed. Even a Superwoman doesn't know that.

Becoming Superwoman

Seven years ago this fall I was in the midst of my "superwoman transformation". We were living overseas, my husband was deployed, I was caring for 2 children under age 3, and I was 6 months pregnant with twins. Yeah. That was a fun time! I was tired and achy, lonely for my husband, and trying really hard to not be overwhelmed. I was failing.

My husband and his commanding officers were fully aware of my needs and when I gave the word, it was only a matter of logistics to get my husband home a couple of weeks early. I don't like being in situations like that. I don't like asking for help or admitting I have reached my limits. I second guessed myself over and over as I tried to get the necessary doctors' notes to prove that I needed my husband home.

A week after he returned I stopped feeling guilty. I had been admitted to a neonatal hospital in Nuernberg Germany. The stress had not been relieved, it had just changed. I had started dilating and the doctors were afraid I would go into labor any minute. We were playing the "wait and see" game.

Shortly after admitting me and getting me settled into a room, a nurse came in to explain all the possible complications from delivering my babies at 30 weeks. The list was long and devastating. After the nurse left, my roommate tried to comfort me. She was also American. She had been pregnant with identical twins who shared an amniotic sack. They had been at a much higher risk for complications. She had been in the hospital for several weeks and had just delivered by scheduled C-section. She was cheerful and optimistic. The doctor had intentionally put us together so we could support each other, a gesture that was not only successful but inspired. Her companionship and positive attitude went a long way to reassure me.

My husband called our Bishop to come to the hospital and give me a priesthood blessing. I don't remember much about what was said except that the babies would be born in the Lord's time and that others would look to me as an example because of what I would go through. I felt comforted and at peace. At the same time I was sure that I was going to deliver my babies any minute and they would have all kinds of terrible birth defects because of it. Why else would people look to me as an example?

A few days later I was home from the hospital, still pregnant. The doctors felt that I was doing fine and as long as I didn't overdo it, I had a good chance of carrying the twins to term. They were born at 36 weeks, small but healthy. Huh. Well, maybe there was something wrong with them that we hadn't noticed yet. Or maybe I was making too much of what had been said in the blessing. Maybe I had misunderstood.

Time passed and although the next year is a blur, I didn't really see that I was doing anything special or noteworthy. About half way through my husbands deployment to Iraq, I ran into another spouse I hadn't seen in a while. Our husbands worked together but we really didn't socialize.

For some reason she was in a talkative mood and instead of the usual "hi" or head nod, she asked about the kids and told me about hers. Then she said "you know, when I am having a bad day and want to just give up, I think of you. My day automatically gets better. I know that I have nothing to complain about compared to you. If you can do it, I certainly can." All I could do was stare. I was overwhelmed with so many thoughts and emotions I didn't know how to respond.

She just smiled and said her goodbyes. As she walked away I tried to make sense of what she had said. This was a woman I barely knew. I had so little contact with her I barely remembered her name. Yet she had looked to me as an example. I knew, down to my bones, that this was a fulfillment of the blessing I had received almost 2 years before. I was humbled by how the Lord had used me and ashamed of myself for doubting his words.

Sometimes I might get a little proud and a little self-centered, but mostly I don't think I am so different from anyone else. I could bore you to tears with stories of other people who have in some way inspired me. Through this experience and a few others I have learned that I don't have to be the best ever or the most perfect, amazing, superhuman, Stepford mom robot on earth. That person doesn't exist. A line from one of my favorite movies says it best;  'Don't be a great man, just be a man and let history make its own judgments." Apparently, when you do your best, people notice.

Superpowers 101: Strengthening the "Feeblenese"

Many years ago, I attended a satellite broadcast of General Conference with my family. I was still a kid, old enough to know what was going on but young enough to be bored. One talk stood out to me. I don't remember who the speaker was. What caught my attention was a phrase he kept repeating "lift up the hands that hang down and strengthen the Feeblenese". I kept thinking "who are the Feeblenese?"

I imagined a tiny tropical island filled with dark-skinned natives dressed in brightly colored clothes. They were impoverished but smiling. As he repeated the phrase over and over, I imagined that they had some kind of rare desease that made them weak so their hands dragged on the ground. They toiled from morning to night to do the basic chores of survival.

By the time the speaker had finished, the image of these poor people was burned into my memory. It has been over 20 years and I still remember that experience vividly. As I got older, I became familiar with the phrase he had repeated. It was from the scriptures, admonishing us to "succor the weak, lift up the hands that hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees."

Because of that talk, and my imaginative misunderstanding of what was being said, I have taken a special interest in this phrase and its true meaning. In the years since I have often asked myself "Who are the Feeble Knees"?

We all become weary at times, with hanging hands and shaking knees. We are in need but don't know how to ask for help. I have found that it doesn't take much to lift those hands and strengthen those knees. A simple, unexpected, unrequested act of kindness can go a long way.

This year, President Thomas S. Monson spoke of service, relating many simple acts of service that had been rendered in honor of his birthday. As he spoke, I thought of the many acts of service that I have received. There are two that stand out to me and I would like to share them with you. Both of these instances occured during my husband's deployment to Iraq a few years ago. Though simple and small, they still touch my heart today.

One priviledge of being a member of the US military is the use of military commissaries. This was an especially comforting service while living overseas where familiar products were otherwise unavailable. The commissaries employ baggers to bag the groceries and load them into your car. They are often retirees or high school kids. The baggers work for tips only. The suggested amount is $.25 per bag. I have long made it a habit to tip the baggers as generously as possible.

We lived in a small community and whether I wanted to or not, I stood out. The commissary workers were always friendly and helpful, distracting the children or helping me load the groceries onto the conveyor belt.

During this particular deployment, I had 4 young children who needed to be strapped into their car seats. This was a time-consuming and sometimes frustrating chore, especially at the end of an equally long and frustrating shopping trip.

One day, a young man bagged my groceries. I assumed he was a student since I only saw him there if I went shopping on evenings or weekends. He was quiet and efficient. I really had not paid much attention to him until that day. As I struggled to get my children buckled into their seats, he loaded my groceries into the back of my van and closed the door. I stopped what I was doing and went to the back to give him his tip. He was gone. I looked around and did not see him anywhere.

I was stunned. Although the baggers were not demanding about their tips, they usually hung around waiting for you to notice them. Even if they walked away, they were slow about it so you could catch them if you wanted to give them a tip. I know it seems small but I was moved to tears by this young man's simple service to me. It wasn't that I couldn't spare those few dollars. It was that he had helped me without a word, without a thank you. He had noticed my struggle and done what he could to help. I cried all the way home.

An equally moving experience happened after another such shopping trip. My twins were old enough to walk and struggle up the 3 flights of stairs to our apartment. I was always torn between leaving them in the van or the apartment while I made multiple trips up and down with groceries. I usually employed the older two kids(who were 3 and 4) to help with at least one light bag as we made our trip up the stairs.

One day, my toddler son insisted on helping. I gave him a plastic bag with one box of tissues in it. I fully expected to be adding this bag to the ones in my hands after just a few steps. As we started our climb, he cheerfully pulled the bag up one step after another. After a while, he began to slow down. He was obviously struggling. Afterall, the box as almost as big as he was!

I offered over and over to take it from him but he refused. He was determined to help. He dragged that bag all the up to our apartment, carried it into the house, removed the tissues from the bag and put them on the counter. He was so proud of himself.

I realized that carrying that extra bag would not have made much difference to me. I was big enough and strong enough to do it with minimal effort. But for him, that was tremendous. He had made a huge sacrifice to help me with the groceries. He had struggled and worked and smiled the whole time. I was reminded of the parable of the Widow's Mite, the woman who gave so little and yet so much. I was humbled by my child's willingness to serve me.

In the Book of Mormon, King Benjamin teaches that when we are in the service of others we are serving God. Sometimes it is hard to serve others. It can be embarrassing and scary, especially if we think our service will go unnoticed or unappreciated. If we think of it as King Benjamin said, that we are not serving people but serving God, it becomes easier. It doesn't feel like service, a duty to perform. It feels like a privilege.

I have learned a lot about the Feeblenese. They don't necessarily live far away or have a crippling disease. They may not even look like they are weak or needy. They often don't need much, just a smile or a conversation, a simple act of service to show them they are not alone and forgotten. They are not always weak either. It turns out that when you strengthen a Feeblenese, they are able to strengthen others. I guess I was all wrong about them!

Superpowers 101: Speaking another language

Your first thought when you read the title of this post was probably about a foreign language. Some of you might have even thought, "I've got that one covered." I bet most of you aren't fluent in the languages I have in mind.

The first language is Baby. I already talked about how confusing and frustrating it can be to try and communicate with children. I also admit that this is a learning process for everyone. But there are a few simple techniques to communicating with a small child that some woman just don't get.

I have spent the last 8 years living in Europe. I have spent many hours trying to communicate with people who didn't speak my language. If I went into a store and started touching stuff, a clerk might start lecturing me in French. I may not have had a clue what the words meant but I knew I had done something he didn't like. How did I know? By his tone and expression.

One of my biggest pet-peeves is when mothers smile and say "no, no, no" in the same sweet, sing-song voice that they say "Let's have some ice cream." They don't understand why their child doesn't listen. It is because he doesn't speak English! He does not know he has done something wrong. How would he? His mother is smiling and making "happy sounds". She must love it when he throws toys at her head.

Equally frustrating is when parents give long, drawn-out instructions to their 14-month-old. I admit that I tend to over-explain things to my kids. I am working on it. A few years ago I saw a news story about how to train your dog. The trainer explained that dogs can't understand much so owners need to keep their commands simple. I decided to try this with my son, who was about 18 months old at the time. I would say "sit", "no", "stop", "eat", etc. It worked. He learned very quickly what those words meant and what I wanted when I said them. In fact, it was so effective that I wished I had learned it 8 years earlier! Another unexpected side effect is that as I became more conscious of what I said, he learned to communicate more effectively. He has a better grasp of the English language at 3 than my other kids have now!

The second language a superwoman needs to learn is Man. I know that sounds cliche but it is true. Some women just don't know how to speak Man and it can cause serious problems and misunderstandings for them. Let me illustrate.

Several years ago, I was talking with some women at church about who could watch the nursery for an upcoming activity. I volunteered my husband. They all rolled their eyes and started laughing. "What's so funny?" I asked, slightly offended. "We have asked your husband several times and he won't do it." I was stunned. "I'll ask him myself." I said and we changed the subject.

That evening, I told my husband about my conversation. "They must have me confused with someone else. No one has asked me to watch the nursery at all. But I will do it this time." Then he said "Oh, wait. Were you talking about So-and-so?" I said yes and he shook his head. It turned out that these women had not actually asked him to do anything. They had said something like "How would you like spending the evening with a room full of little kids. Wouldn't you just love that?" When he replied honestly that no he would not love it, they simply walked away in frustration. He pointed out that no one had ever been specific about what they needed or asked him if he would be willing to do it.

When I explained this to the women involved they were even more disgusted. "See! He IS difficult! How were we supposed to know that he was like that!" I realized for the first time just how different men and women are when it comes to communicating. I grew up in a house full of boys so I have a pretty good grasp of the Man language. Still, I have to be careful or slip into Woman and run the risk of being misinterpreted or ignored.

The point is, we all could do better at expressing ourselves and understanding others. Just as I had to carry around a foreign language dictionary when I was living overseas, we all should carry a mental translation dictionary. Just taking a moment to stop and really listen to what is being said can make all the difference.