Mosaic

The past couple of weeks have been quite tender. We gathered together for my husband's family reunion, feeling sharply the loss of his sister, Arvilla. To pay tribute to her memory, we participated in a Relay for Life walk-a-thon to raise money for cancer research. We all wore yellow shirts in her honor, since that was her favorite color, and took turns walking around the track that night. It was a time of reflection and hope for those who may still fight this battle. It also managed to reopen our heart wounds a tiny bit.

During this same time frame, the mother of one of my closest friends passed away unexpectedly. I found myself grieving for the loss of this great woman, sharing my dear friend's sorrow as she copes with this difficult time. 

I have always found that writing things out helps me deal with painful emotions. So early one morning this past week, I composed the following poem, capturing what I may not be able to share any other way:

Mosaic

The mosaic of my soul lies tattered

Pieces of my heart have chipped away

With each loss inner tiles drift loose

Glue dissolving on pain-filled days.

How hard to be strong for others

When inner tiles slip from my reach

Most don’t comprehend this sorrow—

Save One who tried to teach.

He, alone, understands the heartache;

Counts every teardrop shed--

He paid for the pain I suffer

In unspoken agony He bled.

One by one, we all visit that Garden

Suffering invites us to softly kneel

To place our hand within His own

As He pays the price to heal.

Only then do we discern Eternal Love

Perceive the final cost;

Rising slowly to our feet

We know that all is not lost.

The strength to continue is granted

Inner glue renewed by humble desire

Refined we forge anew

Tiles sealed by the white hot fire.

The picture of our lives is not complete

Without tiles fashioned in hottest flame

And someday when all is restored—

We’ll be called by His sacred name.

Until then we press onward

Slipping our hand inside His own

Knowing we were never meant

To walk through infernos alone.

Cheri J. Crane

July 16, 2013

Family Comes First

Wow, is anyone else amazed that we're already at the end of June? I can't believe how fast the summer months fly by these days. I suspect it's because we're so busy running to varied events, making the most of the warmer weather (we're pretending it's warm in Bear Lake) that the days pass in a hurry.

So far this summer, we've enjoyed spending a lot of time with family members. We've already savored a couple of cookouts, a wedding, and the first in a series of reunions. This past weekend found us up in Wyoming, attending a reunion on my mother's side of the family tree. Held near Cottonwood Lake in Star Valley, it was a fun time of catching up on the latest adventures with beloved family members, sharing awesome food, and playing silly games, like guessing the number of candy pieces inside varied containers.

To me it's also a way of keeping in touch with those who should matter the most. As my mother sat posing for pictures with her siblings, it hit me how fast life tends to slip away. One of these days, these choice people will pass through to another realm and our time spent with them here in mortal mode will be over. How important it is to take the time to enjoy them while they are here.

In this world of hustle and bustle, it can become easy to get bogged down in items that don't really matter. I know in my own life I have had to re-examine priorities. I experienced a little heart glitch a few months ago and have been told to slow down. This is a challenge when life is crazy busy and you find yourself involved in numerous things that are good--but time-consuming none-the-less. So I've been trying to focus on those items that matter most, like family. This means I've had to weed out a few activities that are important, too, but not nearly as crucial as spending time with loved ones. 

When it comes down to it, is it really going to matter how many committees we served on, or how many hours we spent volunteering in the community if we ignore the people in our lives who should be first priority? Don't get me wrong, I know it's important to serve in our communities--I've done so in varied capacities, like the county diabetic support group I helped run for years. But if we're so involved in civic responsibilities that there isn't time to spend with loved ones, something is wrong--especially when time,  energy, and health are at stake.

So this summer, I choose to spend the time at weddings, reunions, cookouts, and enjoying family members while I can, savoring moments that cannot be recaptured. I suspect that when this life is over, and it's all said and done, that is what will matter most of all.

Enjoying the Journey

Yesterday I spoke in our ward with my husband.I thought for today's blog I would draw upon some of what I shared during that adventure.

After we were asked to speak, and were told that we could tackle whatever topic came to mind, I began praying to know what to touch on. I shouldn't have been surprised when I found myself wide awake early one morning with a multitude of thoughts running around inside my scrambled brain.

All of them had to do with finding joy as we journey along in this mortal life. I suspect this came to mind because so many of us are dealing with heart-wrenching trials during these interesting latter-days.

So, here's a snippet of what surfaced inside my head that morning: It is actually a commandment from our Savior to find joy in this life. In essence he has said: " . . . verily, I say unto you, and what I say unto one I say unto all, be of good cheer, little children; for I am in your midst and have not forsaken you;" (D. & C. 61:36)

I was reminded that there have always been challenging times, beginning with Adam & Eve. Think about what they went through--going from a heavenly setting full of bliss and peace in the Garden of Eden, to a place where they had to work for every mouthful of food, create their own shelter, and basically, fend for themselves. It definitely could've been a time for self-pity and depression. Instead, both Adam and Eve celebrated this chance to learn and grow and have a family. (See Moses 5:10-11)

I was guided toward the wisdom of King Benjamin found in Mosiah 4:20. I found the humor in his wording of how we tend to "beg" for help when things hit the fan in our lives, and how our Father is always willing to listen to us and help us find peace and joy, regardless of what it is we're struggling through.

We've all been blessed with character-building moments--and since we're all very unique, they are all very different. These are the things that help us learn and grow, stretching us spiritually in our quest to become more like our Heavenly Parents. But it's seldom a "fun" process, gaining the education we came to find in this mortal world. And there are times when we wonder if we'll survive the curriculum. But there is always hope. I often find peace of mind by searching the scriptures.

Mosiah 7:33 basically tells us to do the following:
1-Turn to the Lord.
2-Trust in Him.
3- Serve Him--with a good attitude.
4-And if we are willing to do all of that, we will be delivered from the trial we are enduring, or receive the strength to hang in there.

Alma 36:3 states:
1-We must trust in God.
2- And if we are willing to do that, we'll be supported in our trials.

Proverbs 3:5 shares:
1- We must trust in the Lord with all of our heart (not just a tiny portion)
2- Realize that we are not always going to understand 'why' some things happen.

D. & C. 19:23 instructs:
1- We need to learn about our Savior.
2- We need to listen to His words.
3- Be meek enough to feel the Spirit.
4- We will be given peace.

So on and so forth. If you look through the topical guide under the word, "JOY," you will be amazed by how many references there are to this emotion. I was told once that if you find something mentioned in the scriptures 3 times or more, we need to pay attention. From what I have found, "JOY" is mentioned way more than 3 times. This means it's important. 

To sum things up: we're in mortal mode to learn and grow. This is not always a fun quest. We seem to grow the most from those soul-stretching adventures that come into all of our lives. Despite these challenges, we can find peace and happiness--if we'll seek a cheerful attitude. It's not easy--but things of worth seldom are.

As Lehi so eloquently phrased it: "Adam fell that men (and women) might be; and men are that they might have joy." (2 Nephi 2:24)

Never Forget

Years ago I remember gathering as a family at my paternal grandparents' abode in Idaho to prepare flowery bouquets that were then taken to a nearby cemetery over Memorial weekend. The beautiful flower arrangements were distributed among the family graves in this location. Stories were shared about these people--most of whom I had never met, like my father's sister who passed away the day she was born. I was shown the headstones of pioneer ancestors who had helped settle the area and reminded of the great sacrifices they had made to establish our family. Each year it was pointed out that my paternal grandfather had joined the cemetery board after the death of his infant daughter and how he had helped initiate the beautification of this particular cemetery, planting grass, pine trees, and flowering crab trees once the sagebrush was removed.This effort helped my grieving grandparents deal with the loss of their only daughter. Stories like these helped me gain an appreciation of who these people were and filled me with a determination to live up to their example.

When this yearly ritual was completed in Idaho, my family journeyed to Star Valley, Wyoming to do a similar thing with my mother's family. Once again we gathered at the grandparents' house to organize flowery bouquets that were then taken to another beautiful small town cemetery. We always began by decorating the tiny grave of my mother's brother who died in a tragic accident when he was seven years old. Other bouquets of flowers were then placed near the headstones of aunts and uncles, and ancestral grandparents who are buried in this location. Stories were once again shared about sacrifices made, and the courage these people possessed.

I remember asking about the small American flag that was attached to the side of one relative's grave and being informed that this member of our family had served bravely in the armed forces, fighting for our country. Shortly after this information was shared, I was taken to a special ceremony at this same cemetery where a larger flag was raised, a speech was delivered about the importance of remembering the sacrifices made by those who offered their lives to keep our nation free. And I will never forget the haunting melody of "Taps" as it was played on the trumpet by a talented musician.

Decorating graves over Memorial weekend has been a huge tradition on both sides of my family. My mother promised her mother that this would always take place each year--and each year, she has faithfully come through, despite ugly weather, health challenges, etc. As a child, I enjoyed meeting up with extended family members during this traditional holiday weekend. I loved hearing the stories about my ancestors, and I have passed these same stories on to my own children in an attempt to keep the family flame burning.

Memorial Day took on an even deeper meaning when my own father passed away several years ago. I don't think I will ever forget how hard that first Memorial weekend was as we somberly gathered around Dad's grave. The pain of that time was eased by extended family members who met up with us in Star Valley, sharing love, delicious food, and fond memories of our father.

This year as I took my mother on our annual "Memorial Loop", as we call it, we journeyed to Lewisville, Idaho to decorate the graves of my father, and his family. There we met up with cousins on that side who had come to do the same thing. It was wonderful to see them, and to spend a short heartfelt time together as we remembered those who paved the way for us.

Then it was on to Star Valley, Wyoming, where we met up with part of my mother's family and enjoyed renewing family bonds. Once again we journeyed to the cemetery where loved one are buried and set out flowers to commemorate their memory.

One thing I noticed this year . . . there weren't as many people decorating graves. We were told this by the man who owns the place where we stayed in Star Valley. He commented that during this era of busyness, people don't seem as interested in celebrating Memorial weekend in the traditional manner.

To me, this is a sad trend. I know most people celebrate this weekend--but for some it is merely the start of the summer. It's a time to go boating, fishing, camping, barbequing, etc. Those things are fine, and we've often done that ourselves . . . after paying homage to those who have gone before.

I think it's important to spend time remembering where we've come from--it helps us focus on where we need to go--a reminder that someday there will be an accounting of what we've done with our family names. Passing on family stories and examples of sacrifice and courage is important. It helps us to become less selfish as we focus on our ancestors and honor their memory during this special time of year. Taking the time to remember them is crucial--proof that we appreciate all that they have done on our behalf.

Coucher du Soleil

As I sat, absorbing yet another loss this morning, the following words came to mind. 

Coucher du Soleil

The sunset moment comes to us all

None are exempt from that setting

When mortal day is done

And we embrace peace . . . forgetting

Sorrow, pain, grief, despair

These all slip away

As we climb a golden stair

Toward a brighter day

We leave the mortal shell of life behind

Retaining memory of our time

Reuniting with loved ones lost

As we make that final climb.

Though others grieve as we depart

A brighter day will dawn

Peace will settle the anguished heart

Lending strength to carry on.

Cheri J. Crane

May 21, 2013

This Is My Quest . . .

It seems that we all get bitten by the genealogy bug at some point in our lives. (Note: My mother will deny this fact. She purposely assigned out the 4 main branches of our family tree to her four children in the hopes that we would take care of this "tedious task.")

I'll admit that I didn't really get into the family history adventure for several years. Being a wife, a mother of three active boys, a frequent YW leader, camp director, etc. not to mention the tendency to dabble a bit in the writing world occupied most of my time. Then one night I experienced a vivid dream--something that would draw me deep inside the realm of genealogy.

In this dream, my mother led me to a building and indicated that I needed to venture inside. When I did, I met a woman who was dressed in the traditional pilgrim attire. She was tall, slender, blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful. She told me her name (Mercy Young) and shared that she was one of my ancestors. I stood there in a slight state of shock, wondering why I hadn't taken after her side of the family. (My sense of humor often carries over into my dreams. Yeah, I'm weird like that.)

As the dream continued, she told me some things I needed to know concerning a situation I had been praying about. Then she gestured to several people who were hidden in the shadows and told me that I needed to find them.

When I woke up, I was filled with a burning desire to discover if this dream was on the mark. I called my mother and asked if there was a Mercy Young on her side of the family tree. She replied that she had never heard this name before and didn't think so. A bit discouraged, I continued my research  . . . and eventually discovered that Ida Mercy Young was my fifth great-grandmother. I also found that she was on the branch of the family tree that I had been assigned to tackle.

I remember feeling a bit overwhelmed by this discovery. Mercy Young was real . . . she truly was one of my ancestors. After that, I began thinking about the advice she had given me in the dream. I took it to heart and did exactly as she had instructed--and things fell into place, just as she had promised. After that, I began trying to return the favor by researching her family lines, desperately seeking those who were in the shadows.

Several years have passed. I have two large files filled with information, pedigree charts, family group records, and a 15-generation chart that begins with Mercy Young. Through the research that I have completed on her line, I have discovered several pilgrim ancestors, and a few Native Americans from the Wampanoag tribe. Yep, we had ancestors sitting on both sides of that first Thanksgiving table.

It has been a fascinating journey discovering who these people are. I have found stories of courage, devotion, and humor. (Yes, one of my ancestors [John Howland] had the misfortune of falling off the Mayflower. This explains my lack of grace upon occasion. It seems to be a family trait.)

I found out that one of my ancestors was a gypsy, sent from England to the New World as a punishment for some minor infraction of the law. Because of who he was, he wasn't allowed to date any of the pilgrim daughters. Instead, he spent time with the Wampanoag tribe and eventually married Mary (Little Dove) Hyanno, the granddaughter of the chief.

William Brewster, one of the religious leaders of the Plymouth Colony, is also one of my beloved ancestors. His example of perseverance and courage has touched my heart in many ways. He stood firmly for what he believed throughout his life, and though he often paid a high price for his convictions, he never shied away from what he knew was right. 

I could go on and on . . . but I will spare you further details of my ancestral "peeps." Instead, I will challenge you to seek out your own--if you aren't already doing so. I can promise that it will be one of the most fascinating journeys through history that you will ever experience. And weird things will happen, like the book one of my cousins happened to mention to me during a family reunion last year. This awesome book contains biographies of several of my ancestors, and I didn't even know it existed until last summer. It has helped fill in some of the missing pieces to the family puzzle I'm still trying to assemble.

The other perk I've noticed is a love that develops between yourself, and your ancestors. I will always be grateful to Mercy Young for the "boot to the head" moment we shared during that brief, but unforgettable dream. And I hope someday, when my adventure of a lifetime is finished, I can meet some of these people, knowing I have done my best to bring honor to our family name.

Steering Past the Iceberg

A few months shy of twenty-five years ago, I was sitting in a doctor's office trying to keep my emotions under control. I had just been informed that I was expecting our third child, and things were going horribly wrong. I was told it was a combination of health issues: the fact that I was a Type 1 diabetic--which can cause all kinds of complications, and I had suffered through a miscarriage two months before. Still hemorrhaging from that heartbreaking adventure, it looked as though I would be facing a similar outcome this time as well. The specialist who had handled my previous two pregnancies smiled kindly and said, "It would be a blessing if you miscarried this child--he or she will never be normal. There will be severe birth defects and your life will be on the line." He went on to say that if I didn't miscarry, I should consider having an abortion since my life was at risk.

Understandably, my heart shattered over this verdict. I was sent home to think about the situation, and I'll admit, I cried during most of the trip back to Idaho. (The specialist was in Utah.) After prayerful consideration, my husband and I decided that regardless of the outcome, I would see this pregnancy through to the end. I had been given a priesthood blessing and I was promised that this child would be born healthy and strong, according to my faith. Wow . . . no pressure. ;)

The following months proved to be extremely challenging. I learned to take each day as it came, and did my best to keep blood sugar levels under control, something that is a challenge during any pregnancy. I saw the specialist nearly once a week for the next couple of months. Each time his opinion was grave--he was convinced I was a human Titanic, heading directly toward a massive iceberg. He made it a point to list every possible thing that he was convinced would go wrong with my baby, and me. We fought a battle of wills as I stubbornly held my ground and refused to budge. I would not terminate this child--by then I had received a strong spiritual witness that I needed to trust in the Lord and see this situation through.

I suspect we all face trials of this nature. The situations differ, the heartaches vary, but we are stretched beyond what we think we can survive. And just when we think we can't take one more thing, if we'll open our hearts, we can receive added strength from a heavenly source. I testify this is a real blessing that can come into our lives compliments of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. We've all probably heard the story of the small child who desired a bicycle. He worked very hard and saved every penny earned, but he was only able to come up with a small portion of the actual cost. The story goes on to say that the father of this child made up the difference, making the purchase of the bicycle possible. So it is with the Atonement. Not only did the Savior suffer for our mistakes in the Garden of Gethsemane, but He also endured every pain and heartache we would face. (See Alma 7:11) As such, He knows best how to help us heal, and how to make up the difference when we have given all that we can, and still face an overwhelming cost.

I will stress that sometimes, despite our best efforts and heaven's help, the answer is simply "no." We are limited in knowing why that is on occasion, but we are promised that someday, all that was lost will be restored in a better setting. It is once again a test of faith and endurance, but we are never left alone to face those agonizing moments of growth. Even when the answer is "yes," it can be an uphill battle against challenging odds.

This past weekend, I tearfully sat through a graduation ceremony at BYU-Idaho as my third son accepted his diploma for a Bachelor degree in biology. He is planning on going onto medical school to become a physician. As he walked across the stage with his beautiful wife, Emily, who also received her bachelor degree that night, I marveled over the morning he was born, twenty-five years ago in April of 1988.

It had been an extremely rough pregnancy, just as my doctor predicted. I spent the final two weeks pretty much bed-ridden since my blood pressure plummeted each time I stood up. It dropped dangerously low just before the c-section, nearly taking my life. The operating table had to be tipped sideways for the c-section so that my blood flow wasn't hampered during the surgery. It was all very scary, but so worth it in the end. I'll never forget the look on my doctor's face when Devin was delivered and he held up my son for me to see. "He is healthy," he said repeatedly, the tears rolling down his face. "I don't know how this happened, but you have delivered a beautiful, healthy baby boy!" I knew how it had happened, and I've always known Who to thank for that miraculous outcome. Not only had this Titanic been carefully steered past the giant iceberg, but I had been drawn into a safe harbor, and given a precious gift I've always treasured--a wonderful son, and the knowledge that no matter what I face in this world, I will never do so alone.