Saving Face--Literally

Saving Face (Quite Literally)

So if any of you read last week’s epistle, you know that I went through quite an adventure my sophomore year of high school. What I didn’t mention was that was the year I was trying to gain my own testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was one of the most difficult years of my life! My maternal grandmother died, someone I’m named after—and I was her oldest granddaughter. I always felt like there was a special bond between us. And despite everything—medical attempts, prayers, etc. she passed away. This loss shredded my heart. Shortly after that, one of my best friends was diagnosed with an aggressive form of Lupus (after I watched what she went through, you can understand why it hit me pretty hard when I was diagnosed with this same disease in 1997, but I digress). The Lupus attacked my friend’s kidneys right off the bat, and she spent several months in a hospital in Salt Lake City as she fought for her life. This was before the advent of cell phones, text messages, and things like Skype. So keeping in touch was difficult at best. Long distance phone calls were made sparingly because of the cost. (This would have been in 1976. Just sayin’.) It was a difficult time.

Then, adding insult to injury, I went through what I shared last week. I would say that was a pretty intense, heart-rending year! But I survived. And the testimony I had been seeking developed despite all of that. I’ll be honest—the months following my park adventure were horrible. I didn’t trust people—I felt like my Heavenly Father had let me down . . . a lot. (It would take a while for me to realize how watched over I really was.) I felt betrayed. Hadn’t I been trying to do everything I had been asked to do to gain a testimony? I had been reading the Book of Mormon, praying about it, and pondering things in my spare time. Then I was attacked in the park, and I basically became a bit of a hermit. I went through the motions—attended school, came home, went to my bedroom and studied, played the guitar, read. Worked at my dad’s drugstore once in a while. That was it. I found out later on that my parents were so worried about me, they agreed to let me attend a tri-stake youth conference in West Yellowstone that spring. My Young Women leaders went to bat for me, promising my parents that I would be watched over the entire time. It was everyone’s attempt to pull me out of the shell I had crawled into.

And it worked! I had a good time! I actually smiled and meant it periodically at the varying activities. My good friend who had been fighting Lupus had been able to come, and we had a great time attending the mini-classes. Then the final event took place, a testimony meeting—and the testimony I had been seeking, came together in a way I’ve never forgotten. There we were, in a large room that contained kids from all over the place, and I felt like my heart was on fire as I heard the first few testimonies that were shared. I found myself unable to remain in my seat as I marched toward the podium. And all of the pieces of my struggling testimony came together as I shared what was in my heart. I don’t remember what I said, but I’ve never forgotten what I felt as I gained a strong witness of the truthfulness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

I was on a spiritual high the rest of the night as we journeyed home. I had never experienced such joy—it more than made up for all of the sorrow and pain I had endured the months before. And after that, I came out of my shell. 

There was one problem—there were still things about the LDS Church that I didn’t understand. (Note: I came from an inactive LDS home.) Items like family home evening, family prayer, etc. eluded me. And I didn’t get how promptings from the Holy Ghost worked. I know—I’d had quite an example of that during my park adventure. But it would take me a while to comprehend what promptings were and the importance of heeding them when they came. So I had a refresher course during my senior year of high school. It’s how things work in my life.

By then I worked in my spare time at a local drive-in called The Frost-Top. I had started as a lowly counter girl, then became a full-fledged waitress, fry cook, assistant cook, and by my senior year, I was one of the main cooks. In the summer months, that place was hopping! We would fill the carport, the counter, and the dining room. It would take several waitresses, a couple of fry cooks, and one or two main cooks to keep up with everything. 

The winter months were slower. The tourist season (people heading up to Island Park and West Yellowstone) was pretty much over, and so our main clientele consisted of the local population. On the night in question, it was just myself, and Donna, a good friend of mine, who were working at the drive-in. Because it had been so slow, the owners stopped by with a list of cleaning jobs for both of us. They were on their way to Idaho Falls to pick up supplies and would be gone the rest of the evening. So I was left in charge and was instructed to make sure we cleaned up everything on the list.

Rolling up our sleeves, Donna and I began tackling the items we were to spit-shine that night. Then suddenly, the place filled with customers. The dining room was full, the counter was overflowing, and our carport was maxed out! We tried desperately to call some of the other girls to come in to help, but they either wouldn’t answer the phone, or they told us they were busy. We finally gave up, explained our plight to the customers, and dived in. 

We didn’t know there had been a snowmobile race in Island Park that day. And since we were the only drive-in around for miles, they all stopped in for dinner that night. They were all good sports. They could see our dilemma, so some of the big burly snowmobilers became waitresses for us, and Donna came around behind the grill to help me cook up the orders. We fed everyone, and they all left happy. Then we surveyed our mess and groaned. Dishes were piled everywhere. The floors looked horrible. And there were only two of us to clean it all up.

We panicked because it was already an hour over when we were supposed to be closed. And we hadn’t tackled hardly any of the items on the to-do lists we had been given. It never occurred to us how happy the owners would be over the money we had made them that night. Instead, we pictured how upset they would be because we didn’t get everything done in the time frame they had wanted. Already exhausted, we did our best to clean up our huge mess.

An hour later, we had things looking pretty sharp. We had scrubbed, washed, and wiped down pretty much everything. Then I heard a disturbing sizzle. I had forgotten about the fryers. That night I was supposed to dump out the oil, take it around back to the grease barrel, clean the fryers, and put in fresh oil for the next day. Normally, we turned off the fryers to cool while we cleaned the rest of the kitchen. I had forgotten in my haste to tidy up that night. So they were still set at 375 degrees. Dismayed, I quickly shut them off.

I ran to the back room and found the large bucket we used to empty the fryers. Normally we emptied them one at a time into the large metal bucket and carried it outside to the grease barrel. That night I had a thought—I figured both fryers of grease would fit inside the bucket. It would save me precious time. The minute that thought entered my head, I felt an impression that this was a bad idea. I ignored it and dumped in the first fryer’s grease. As I reached for the second fryer, I felt that impression again, only stronger. Donna came around the corner just then and saw what I was about to do. She told me she didn’t think it was a good idea, but I explained I was saving us time. Just as I began to dump the oil from the second fryer into the bucket, I was hit a third time with the same impression that THIS WASN’T A GOOD IDEA!!! I ignored it and dumped in the oil anyway. It nearly filled the metal bucket. But I was young, and strong . . . and stupid.

I managed to carry the bucket outside—Donna held the door open for me, still giving me an exasperated look. I carried the bucket around back to the grease barrel. As I lifted it over my head to dump the oil inside the large metal barrel, I remember thinking, “See, everything worked out just fine.” Famous last words. Just then I slipped on the ice that surrounded the barrel, the bucket of oil tipped toward me, and doused my head, face, and neck with the hot oil.

I’m not a screamer, but I screamed that night. Donna came running, saw what had happened, and stood there in panic mode. Then the calming influence of the Comforter took over and she said later that it was like having someone standing beside her, telling her what to do. She dragged me immediately to a snowbank where she felt impressed to cover my face and neck with as much snow as she could grab. She had to sit on me to keep the snow in place. I was in so much pain and so out of it that I fought her a bit. Eventually she felt impressed to get me inside the building. We were both short and petite. I’m not sure how she managed to get me inside that building, but she did. She propped me up against the wall by the phone and put ice from the ice machine everywhere I was burned. Then she called my parents and I was taken to the local hospital.

It was not a pleasant night. I remember fading in and out of consciousness because of the pain. I remember hearing the doctor telling my parents that I would probably need numerous skin grafts, and that I would be scarred the rest of my life. I know they put layers of stuff on my face in an attempt to save it. At some point my mother had arranged for two men from our ward to give me a priesthood blessing. I’m not sure who these men were—by then my entire face was covered with medication and gauze and sight wasn’t possible. I don’t remember the entire blessing. I remember one line—that I would be healed according to my faith. It terrified me. I had a testimony, but I wasn’t sure how much faith I possessed. I was still working on that item. Then the pain meds blissfully knocked me out and I don’t remember anything else about that night.

The next morning, the layers of gauze and goo were slowly removed from my face and neck. I blinked as sight began to return. I saw my mother burst into tears and I was terrified that I now looked like a monster. A hand mirror was brought into the room and I was asked if I wanted to see how things looked. I didn’t, but gathering my courage, I reached for the mirror. I was stunned. I looked like I had a bad sunburn and there was just one blister on the side of my nose. Wow!!! It was a miracle of gigantic proportions. There would be no permanent scarring.

Naturally the doctor took all of the credit. He was a young guy who had just earned his degree and he had tried something he had learned in school to help save my face. I know it helped. But I also know my mother’s faith had a lot to do with how things turned out, that combined with the blessing I received . . . and Donna. Because she heeded the promptings she had received the night before, she had been able to draw out a lot of the heat from my face and neck before it cooked things. She literally saved my face!

Moral of the story: it is important to listen to promptings when they come. Don’t ignore them. You may never know why you were impressed to do or say something, but it’s important regardless! And priesthood blessings are real! I will never deny that fact.

So, yes, I learned a few important things the hard way, but I did learn them, and I’ve never forgotten how crucial they are. In this day of criticism, skepticism, and doubt, I stand as a witness to truth. When I say I know the Gospel is true, it’s because I know it with everything that I am that it is! When I share that priesthood blessings work and are real, it’s because I’ve lived it! And when I state how important it is to heed promptings from the Holy Ghost, it’s because those promptings have saved my life . . . repeatedly. And if you want to know these things for yourself, buckle up, buttercup, it’s quite a ride . . . but totally worth it in the end.