An "Aha" Moment

I suspect that at the beginning of each new year, we all ponder changes in our lives. Some make resolutions, determined to see them through. I've been guilty of this type of behavior, usually with less than stellar results. But this year, instead of writing down something along the lines of: "In 2011 I promise to . . . blah . . blah . . . blah . . ." I decided to try a different ploy. Ignoring the temptation to draw up a list of items like this:

This year I will lose this much weight: _______________
My blood sugar levels will always stay in this range: ____________
I will get this many hours of sleep per night: ____________
I will exercise ___________ hours every day.

I decided instead to be elusive. I didn't write anything down. I didn't make any pledges, nor did I document goals with family or friends as witnesses. Knowing my tendency to blow such high-browed ambitions about the third month of each year, and the nasty guilt that surfaces as a result, I am being extremely vague in 2011. I have one intent this year: to simply do better. I figure I can adjust what that means on a daily basis. It might mean on a given day that I will spend more time studying the scriptures, or reducing my carb counts. On another day it may mean that I will increase the amount of time I spend on the treadmill. On yet another day, it may simply mean that I will devote a couple of extra hours working on the great American novel.

So far I like this plan much better. I'm not feeling the pressure I've felt in the past, and it's working. I won't jinx things by revealing how often I've exercised since the beginning of 2011, but I think my diabetic doctor will be pleased. Will I earn the "Honor Bee," award by our ward's New Beginnings ceremony in February? Time will tell, but I'm making good strides. And if I don't earn it by then, I still have the rest of 2011 to do so. (I earned the YW Recognition Award in 2010, so I figure the odds are in my favor.)

Am I making progress with the great American novel? I don't have to report to anyone but myself on that one. =D Isn't this great?! And the best part, since I haven't etched anything in stone this year, when asked if I accomplished my goals for 2011, the truthful answer will be a resounding: "You bet!" And since this is something I've never been able to do, no matter how this year turns out, I will feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment. And that will truly be something to celebrate at the close of 2011.

Book Review: "Who's At The Door?"

I'm beginning this year's collection of blog posts with a book review of a new and exciting read. It's entitled: "Who's at the Door," written by Dan Harrington.

This book offers a unique perspective in comparison to the traditional "conversion" stories that many LDS books contain. It is written in first-person-narrative by Dan, who investigated the LDS Church quite thoroughly. This adventure began as a story idea for a local newspaper. Dan's research plunged him into an ongoing quest for truth as he met with a series of LDS missionaries during a two-year period. Extremely well-written and laced with humor, this work of non-fiction is an enjoyable experience. It presents food for thought when considering the process most investigators endure when learning about the LDS religion.

It struck a chord with me right off the bat as my three sons have served missions for the LDS Church in varied locations. One son served in Seattle, Washington, another in Brazil, and our youngest son served in Canada. I found myself comparing some of their experiences with those shared by Mr. Harrington. There were moments of head nodding and shaking as I read through the varied chapters. My heart sunk when I read about the ward member who was a repeated "no-show" during several appointments the elders tried to set up with Dan. I reflected on what my own sons have said about the importance of ward involvement when an investigator begins the journey of looking into the Church.

I think those of us who are born into the LDS Church take so much for granted. We don't realize how much there is to learn for those who are seeking truth and knowledge compliments of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It is often a painful pilgrimage, and one that shouldn't be faced alone.

In some respects, we are all converts to the Gospel. My own journey along that path was filled with obstacles. I came from what would currently be classified as a "less-active" family. Friends, seminary teachers, and inspired YW leaders played a crucial role in my conversion process. And while attending Ricks College, I was still learning important gospel principles that my friends had cut their teeth on while quite young. I'll never forget the night I stared at my college roomies, thinking they were all extremely strange as they knelt together that first time for what they called "family prayer." I had no idea what they were talking about. I also learned about tithing, and Family Home Evening while in college mode.

Can I just say that my first attempt at presenting a FHE lesson was less than enjoyable? I had no idea what I was doing and when one rooomate made what she thought was a humorous observation, the unintended insult cut deep. Fortunately, the witness I had received about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon had been so intense, it was something I never questioned. So while many mistakes were made by myself and well-meaning ward members and friends, I continued forward, knowing that what mattered most was the nugget of truth that burned inside my heart.

As I read "Who's At The Door?" I identified quite strongly with Dan Harrington. While I didn't have his experience of meeting with missionaries, I did spend many hours discussing gospel doctrine with friends, leaders, and teachers. Their testimonies laid the foundation for me to gain my own witness. Their example and teachings gave me the courage to press forward despite the uphill battle I waged with my father who was often antagonistic toward the Church.

My hat is off to Dan. He has written an honest treatise about a subject that is close to many hearts. Though his journey differed from mine, I respect his opinion and hope that one day he will succeed in his quest. I highly recommend his book. I think it will be an important resource for anyone making this same journey, or for those who are helping anyone involved in the crusade for truth. It will inspire smiles, laughs, and a bit of soul-searching as we reflect on questions we've all asked from time to time.

You can purchase a copy of this book by clicking on this link: Buy Dan's book



And here's a great interview with Dan: Dan's Interview

Gifts of the Heart

My mother has always been a great example of what being a "giver," is all about. She has taught me lessons based on that subject for many years. I will always remember the night she "encouraged" me to help her take dinner into the home of one of my seminary teachers. That family had been in a nasty car accident about two days prior, and their youngest child, an infant, had been killed. I didn't know what to say or do, but my mother taught me that what matters most is simply being there.

There were other lessons, like the time I tripped over a garden hose lying in the front yard and dropped a plate of cream puffs. It was to be part of the dinner she had planned for a family whose mother was home, recovering from major surgery. She didn't lecture on my lack of grace, she merely sighed, helped me pick up the mess, and then instructed me to retrieve the second plate of cream puffs from our house, a treat intended for our family. Not only was I entrusted with carrying the second plate, but I was allowed later on to create a different dessert for our own family.

Years later, after my father's untimely death, my mother was working as a CNA at a nursing home. At the time, she worked with the most difficult wing; her patients had all been diagnosed with a form of Alzheimers. One lady was blind and had been assigned into that unit simply because it was more difficult to care for her. That Christmas Eve, my mother asked all of us to accompany her back to the nursing home. We brought plates of homemade sugar cookies we had decorated earlier that day, and my guitar. We went from room to room, singing Christmas Carols, and sharing treats with those who were alone. I've never forgotten how I felt that night, nor the tears that raced down the face of the blind woman who had felt forgotten and discarded.

This past year, my mother has faced a series of major changes in her life. She had been living with my youngest sister. But when this same sister announced her engagement and upcoming wedding, Mom decided it was time to move on. She wanted to return to Bear Lake, where she had lived for a time after my graduation from high school. We found her a cute apartment in a nearby retirement complex, and now I see her on a daily basis. It has been a fun experience, and she is still teaching me lessons on giving. She gets by on a frugal income these days, but her heart is still very much intent on helping those around her.

This past Thanksgiving, we took in 3 plates of food to ladies who live in Mom's retirement complex. These were some of my mother's new friends, and none of them had plans to do anything special for that holiday. So before we consumed our own feast, we helped our mother take plates of food into these sweet ladies. We later heard how thrilled they had been by the tasty treats we had brought to them that day. In a sad twist, one of these women passed away about a week later. Here is the rest of the story:

We didn't know it at the time, but this dear lady had avoided celebrating Thanksgiving for years. It was on Thanksgiving Day that her only daughter died of a drug overdose. For understandable reasons, Thanksgiving was a time of mourning. Before this year's Thanksgiving season, this same woman had told my mother that she wasn't going to do anything for Christmas either. But after the plate of food was brought into her apartment, this woman caught a bit of my mother's holiday spirit. The next day, she went out and bought gifts for her family, and Christmas cards. She began decorating her apartment for Christmas. People who knew her, said she was happier than she had been in a long time. Then she collapsed upstairs while doing her laundry. She was rushed to a hospital, but her heart, which had undergone a loving transformation, gave out.

I accompanied my mother to her friend's funeral. It was a bittersweet day. Earlier, my mother had been given a Christmas card made out to her by this same friend. We talked for quite some time about how my mother shouldn't feel regret, since she had brought such joy into her new friend's life during her final days in mortal mode.

To me, that's what the holiday season is all about: bringing joy into the lives of others. This is a time of year when we lovingly share with family, friends, and those who need it most. And as I have learned, compliments of my mother, it isn't so much what we give, but how we give. When those gifts are from the heart, they possess the power to change lives and boost spirits. And those are the best gifts of all.

The White Stocking

Several years ago the bishop of our ward gave every family in our small town a small white Christmas stocking. He challenged us to gather as a family and privately decide on an individual basis what our gift to the Savior would be for the coming year. Our gift would be written on scraps of paper, and then folded and placed inside of the white stocking for safe keeping. During the holiday season, this stocking would be kept on the Christmas tree as a reminder of what we had pledged to do in the coming months. After that it was to be placed in an area where it could be seen often to help us remember what we've pledged.

Our family took this challenge to heart and each year on Christmas Eve, we gather as a family to retrieve our personal pledge from the white stocking. Silently we reflect on how well we came through on whatever our gift to the Savior was that year. Then after some thought, we decide what next year's gift will be.

As you may have guessed, these gifts are not of a material nature. They are gifts of the heart and mind, promises of self-improvement. Most in our clan select Christ-like attributes---the choice is up to each individual.

Wouldn't it be a remarkable thing if each year at Christmas-time, the entire world population would take a few moments to reflect on a gift to the Savior? Instead of focusing on the materialistic trends we see this time of year, simple gifts of the heart would be rendered.

This time of year I think of the shepherds who were the first to see the Christ-child after his humble birth. The gifts they brought were simple in comparison with those that were later given by the wise men, and yet I'm certain they were treasured most by our Elder Brother. They were gifts of humility, kindness, and love. Faith, hope, and charity were at the heart of these oblations. These are the character traits our Savior longs for each one of us to embrace and share.

So this Christmas season, as we bustle about preparing for this sacred time of year, let us reflect on how best we can celebrate the birth of our Lord. I think most of us will find that the most joy will come from sharing the simple gifts that were given long ago in a humble stable where the Prince of Peace was born.

Surviving the Aftermath of Suicide

When you first receive word of the suicide death of a loved one, it’s as though the world has tipped on its side. I’ve survived this nightmare twice, and both times as the news descended I felt as though the ocean was roaring inside my ears. There is no way to prepare for this kind of loss. After the initial blow, thankfully a sense of numbness prevails. This is followed by the welcome intervention of the Comforter. Somehow you get through those first difficult days carried by the Spirit. In a state of shock, you handle things you never dreamed you would ever face. Then finally, the funeral, the visits, the final decisions are made. That time passes in a blurred haze—and then the pain descends.

Suicide goes against everything we’ve ever been taught about enduring to the end. As such, when a family member chooses to exit this mortal world by their own hand, we are left without the comfort of knowing it was their time to go. We are inundated with emotions that threaten to tear us apart. Guilt, anger, and grieving pain alternate for attention as we struggle through a loss we can’t put into words. It helps to know that this life isn't the end, nor does progression stop on the other side of the veil. I know that loved ones who commit suicide live on, and receive the help they need on the other side of the veil. That witness has come after years of prayerful research, talking to priesthood leaders, and sacred moments within the temple walls. What a comfort that knowledge has been in my life. It is not our place to judge--we do not fully understand the mindset of those who commit suicide. That task is left to a loving Father in heaven who will take all things into consideration. Our responsibility lies in continuing on, letting go of the pain, and finding peace in forgiveness.

I was told in the days following my father’s suicide that this type of loss is comparable to the trauma experienced by those who survive a war. I would agree with that analysis. Thankfully, we are not left alone in our suffering. It has been my experience that heaven’s eyes are upon families torn apart by this type of tragic loss. We witnessed miracle after miracle in our family following my father’s demise. Hearts around us were touched to help when the need was great. How grateful we are for those who followed through on important promptings.

Since we’re all different, we tend to heal in varied ways. In our family it took a combination of things to repair our broken hearts. We learned that heartache is truly a physical pain. For the longest time I felt as though a stone was wedged tightly inside my heart. Then one day I stumbled onto something that eased that discomfort: serving others.

Nearly a month after losing my father, I was called upon to take dinner into a sister who had been ill. At first, I was resentful. Because of the way my father had died, I had been treated like a non-person. This loss had taken place during a time when suicide was a rare occurrence. Most people didn’t know what to do or say; I can count on one hand the number of people who were brave enough to wade into the mire of grief that became my life. So when I was asked to help someone else, I wasn’t overly thrilled. An overactive conscience prevented me from declining.

I’m fortunate I didn’t cut off a finger as I angrily chopped vegetables for the homemade clam chowder I had decided to make. I was still upset as I toted that kettle of soup inside this sister’s home. But when I saw how sick she really was, the iceberg that had settled inside my heart began to melt. Her need for help was great, and as I did minor household chores before leaving, I pulled outside of my own grief to serve. That was a turning point for me. Serving others proved to be a healing balm for my aching heart. Soon I was looking for ways to help those around me who were struggling. Each time I rendered service, the pain I carried lessened.

On the nights when I couldn’t sleep, I found that if I wrote out everything I was feeling, it also eased the pain. I shredded those pages and with each tear, peace replaced the anguish. I later learned that I had been guided toward taking care of my own therapy. Writing things out is an important release, and something that is recommended when facing traumatic loss. Writing became another healing balm for me and in time, I would become a published author. I truly learned that when much is taken, much is given in its place.

Something else that helped: letting go of the guilt. We had done the best we could under extremely trying conditions. We had to realize we were not to blame for Dad’s death. He was very ill at the time and committed an act he never would have considered had he been in a healthy state of mind. I suspect this same fact is true in most cases, including the more recent suicide death of my brother-in-law. The “what-ifs” can eat us alive if we’re not careful. Prayerfully seek help to heal from this volatile emotion. Professional counseling is a great way to work through this part of the healing process.

Holidays and special family events tend to bring back intense grief. For years I spent nearly every Father’s Day in the bathroom at the church, trying to paste myself back together. In time, those days soften. But at first, they rub salt in an extremely tender heart wound. Prayer, scripture study, temple attendance, and remembering there is strength in numbers are all crucial helps to surviving difficult days. We still gather together as a family to weather the holidays. We try to focus on the good memories of the past, and aim to make fun memories for the future.

Another tip to enduring a difficult day: reflect on the blessings. I would often make a list of the good things happening in my life. It was a needed reminder that despite all that we had lost, numerous positive blessings were also taking place in our lives. Instead of blaming God for what had happened, I tried to realize it was through His help that we were surviving.

I am living proof that it is possible to work through the devastation of a loved one’s suicide. That darkened tunnel can be survived. If this has been your challenge, place your hand in God’s and take each day as it comes. Step by step move forward knowing that eventually the pain will cease. The sun will return to your life and you will feel the warmth of knowing you are not alone in this trial.

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It was mentioned to me at the completion of this article that it might be helpful to know how our family did in the years that followed Dad's unfortunate demise. Here is a brief run-down. As you'll see, we were each able to go on with our lives and enjoy a certain amount of success despite the tremendous heartache we endured:

I was a twenty-two year-old wife and mother when my father passed away. My two younger sisters were both in high school, and our brother was nineteen. Our mother was forty-three when this tragedy struck. A remarkable woman, she moved the family to Logan, Utah so everyone would have access to a college education. She then attended a trade-tech where she graduated as the valedictorian of her class. She worked for several years as a dental assistant and is now retired. She is still a great example of perseverance and fortitude.

My brother was able to serve a mission compliments of some friends of our father who wanted to finance that opportunity in honor of Dad's memory. He left for the mission field about 6 months after we lost our father.

Both of my sisters graduated from college. They are married, have great families, and enjoy wonderful careers. One works as a technical writer for a software company. Her first novel was published this year. The other works for a medical research company where she is a Clinical Research Coordinator.

Our brother served a successful mission in Montreal, Canada. He returned to Logan where he majored in psychology. He eventually obtained a master's degree and he works for the state of Utah, counseling those who are injured in accidents. He is also a talented web designer. He and his wife have three beautiful daughters, and they reside in Utah.

Kennon & I are the proud parents of three sons, we have welcomed two wonderful daughters-in-law to our family, and we love being grandparents to a cute tiny girl. I am a published author with nine books to my credit at this time.

I Survived NaNoWriMo!

So about a month ago, I was challenged by a family member to participate in this year's NaNoWriMo In a nutshell, this is a writing challenge. One has to commit to writing 50,000 words in one month's time. Wow!!! I've dabbled in the writing world before, but I'm not sure I've ever written 50,000 words in 30 days---until now. I'm proud to share that as of this afternoon, I have indeed completed this remarkable feat. (You may hold the applause for later.) ;) [Kidding!]

I have to say this challenge was just that---a challenge! And yet it was a refreshing way to break through writer's block. I used a storyline that has been rattling around in my head for a couple of years. Now it's finally down on paper . . . actually typed up on a word processor on my laptop, but I digress. True, it needs a bit of polishing and such, but it has morphed into a workable manuscript, complete with a plot-line.

Would I have completed the story without this little nudge from NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month)? I'm not sure. All I know is despite all of this past month's adventures, which included feeding 23 people for Thanksgiving dinner, I squeaked in under the wire to finish. What a feeling of accomplishment. Even if this story never succeeds in getting published, what a rush to know I completed what I had pledged to do.

Will I tackle this challenge next year? That remains to be seen, but at this point in time I wouldn't be at all surprised. After all, my future bestseller will possibly be in need of a sequel. ;)

God's Tapestry

This past month has been a blur in our neck of the woods. So many challenging trials are taking place all around me. A couple of those have had quite an impact on my own life.

I've served as the YW president in our ward for nearly 5 years. In that time, I've grown close to the young women that I serve. A month ago, one of my Laurels was involved in a horrible car accident.

My husband and I hurried to the hospital as soon as we learned the news. Samantha was in ER, still unconscious. As I'm also a visiting teacher to Samantha's mother, I spent some time trying to offer comfort as we all prayed that Sam would wake up.

Sam didn't regain consciousness and it was decided that she would be flown by Life-Flight to a hospital in Salt Lake City. However, the weather was nasty that night and fate had other plans. Instead of taking Sam to Salt Lake, the helicopter flew her to the hospital in Idaho Falls, where she has been ever since.

It was a tough few days in the neighborhood. The accident had taken place on a Thursday afternoon. That Sunday she was still in a coma. I had to face a room full of grieving young women and didn't know quite how to handle things. Our Father in heaven did, however. After a heartfelt prayer, an inspired idea popped into my mind. We would make a cassette tape for Sam, one that would contain messages of love from all of the girls and YW leaders.

As we made the tape that Sunday morning, we decided to include a few musical numbers since Sam loves music and she was our main pianist in the YW realm. We saw a tiny miracle take place during YW as tearful frowns turned into hopeful smiles. Making that tape for Samantha was healing for us all.

We were able to get the tape to Sam's family two days later, and it was transferred to the hospital in Idaho Falls. We were later told that Sam had tapped her foot in time to the music as it had been played, and she had moved around in her bed during the messages. Still unconscious, Sam's reaction to the tape gave us hope that she would eventually wake from the coma.

We've seen several miracles with Sam the past few weeks. Prayers have indeed been answered. Despite the brain shearing injury Samantha sustained, she finally woke up, and she is recovering at an amazing rate. She is now in the rehab center of Eastern Idaho Regional Medical Center, making impressive progress each day. You can see daily updates on this link: Sam's Blogsite

Every bone in Samantha's body should have been broken in that accident. Aside from the brain injury, she was fine. That in and of itself is amazing, and a testament to how watched over she really was.

My husband and I stopped in for a quick visit at the hospital in Idaho Falls this past week. It was heartwarming to see Sam's smile, and to hear her call my name. Though she has a ways to go toward a complete recovery, an inner light radiates from her eyes, indicating she is determined to win this battle.

How grateful we are that the Lord is truly at the helm. We have to put our trust in Him, especially when things spiral out of our control. Though life's trials continue, we know that things generally work out for the best. We can't see the entire picture now, but someday it will all make sense.

Along those lines, I will close with a favorite poem that pretty well sums things up:

THE WEAVER
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Written by B.M. Franklin (1882-1965)

My life is just a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaves so skillfully.

Sometimes He weaveth sorrow
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.

Not ‘til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And explain the reasons why-

The dark threads are as needful,
In The Weaver’s skillful hands
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.