Life Continues

I have been about as good at keeping up a blog as I am at keeping up a journal - which is horrible, as evident from the two year gap. However, I have gotten a few promptings in recent weeks that it was time to give it a shot again. The question is, "Where to start?"

My last post was written shortly after my oldest left for his 2 year mission. He's now been home for a couple months. Much has happened in those two years: Number 1 served an honorable mission, The Girly graduated from high school & got a scholarship for 2 years at the local community college, and Stitch started high school, turned 16 and officially entered the dating world. There have been lots of laughs, tears, fun times, trials and changes - the most difficult change and trial coming just in the last few months.

My Dad died. My strong, tough, big hearted, invincible Dad....died.

He had been battling prostate cancer for nine years, but, until July, we always held out hope that he would beat it. In July we got the word that there was nothing left to do. Nothing that was slowing the rapid spread of the cancer. All we could do was take advantage of the time we had to spend with him, make sure nothing was left unsaid, and say our goodbyes. It was a blessing and torture all at the same time, as we watched him grow weaker, and more frail, and watched his pain increase.

In August we made the decision to call Number 1's mission president and have him come home from his mission two weeks early. Dad had promised him that he would be here when Number 1 returned, but Dad was burdened by the fear that he wouldn't be able to keep that promise. The relief that washed over him when his grandson walked in to surprise him, still wearing his missionary suit and badge, is a gift I am grateful we could give him. I've never seen him cry the way he did that day. It's a moment I will never forget.

The last three days and nights of his life I spent almost constantly at his side, as my stepmother, siblings, mom and I kept vigil. There was a steady stream of family and friends coming to say their farewells. We drew strength from each other as we struggled to prepare our selves for what we knew would quickly be upon us.

I prayed a lot...in my heart, throughout the days. I knew that he was going somewhere that he would be free of pain, and could finally find peace from the torment he inflicted on himself. I knew he would be greeted by loved ones. I knew this was not "goodbye", but "see you later" -- but my heart was breaking. It physically hurt to think of him not being here.

The last four hours of his life were pure agony to watch. I was certain that I would never be able to erase from my mind the sound of his tortured breathing as his lungs filled with fluid. There came a point that I had to leave the room - had to try to muffle the sound with the noise of the fan and the air conditioner in the next room. I pleaded with Heavenly Father to end it -- and when it continued, I started to ask why, what could be the purpose of prolonging it? When I thought I couldn't possibly stand another second, a thought came to my mind. The Savior felt this pain. My pain. My father's pain. The pain of all the world. He did it so that He would understand me, and what I would need to help me endure it, because He loves me. And then I thought of my Heavenly Father. How He must ache watching His children suffer through trials.  How He must have longed to flee to the farthest point in the universe to escape watching the unfathomable agony His perfect son chose to suffer for each of us. Did His heart ache far worse than mine, knowing that He could end His son's suffering, but that if He did His other children would be lost? It must have! At that moment I knew that our family was not forgotten. The Father and the Savior were keenly aware of our suffering, and were there to strengthen and to succor each of us.

I have continued to feel their love and strength in the weeks since. They bring peace to my heart, that I WILL see my father again, and that, though I can't see him, he's not far away. I am grateful to know that they love me, and know me and what I need. There have been tender mercies to remind me of their love, and to help me feel how close my father still is. I am truly grateful to my Savior, for choosing to endure what He did, and to my Father for allowing it to happen, so that if I strive to live as they ask,  I can return to live with them again some day.....And grateful to know that when my time comes, my Dad will be there to meet me, and wrap me up in one of his great big hugs.

The Best Day of the Week

I LOVE Sundays! I love going to church! Friends who aren't Mormon look at me like I'm nuts when I tell them we go to church for 3 hours every Sunday, but it's the best three hours of the week. I love being able to take the sacrament, to ask forgiveness for my missteps during the week and start fresh. To be reminded of what is truly important and recommit myself to try a little harder to be little better in the upcoming week. I love feeling the Spirit, hearing the testimonies of others, and participating in discussions about the gospel. I love it when something, some point of doctrine that seemed a little obscure before, suddenly comes into focus because the teacher or another member of the congregation explains it from a different perspective than I've heard before. And I love the feeling of support and fellowship that I get from being around others who believe the things that I do.  I feel the difference in my week when I miss church and the uplift to my spirit that I get there.

Today in Sunday School we discussed Job and his unwavering faith in God, even when he had lost everything. His lands and wealth are gone, his children are dead, his wife is telling him to curse God, his friends have deserted him, and his skin is essentially rotting and yet he says: "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him: but I will maintain mine own ways before him.  He also shall be my salvation: for an hypocrite shall not come before him." (Job 13:15-16)  His life couldn't be any worse, and yet he holds firm to his faith. He refuses to curse God for the misery that he is in, because he KNOWS that one day he will stand before God and have to make an accounting of his life, and he refuses to face God as a hypocrite who did not live with the faith he professed. What an incredible example. It made me think about how well I live the things that I profess to believe. I want the faith and conviction of Job...to be able to say that when the time comes for me to face my Heavenly Father, that a hypocrite shall not stand before Him. I have some work to do.

The Greatest Gift

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.

~ Isaiah 9:6

How grateful I am for the priceless gift given to the world on that first Christmas so many centuries ago. For the lessons taught and example set  by the man that the blessed child grew to be. And how much more grateful I am for the gift He gave each of us with His suffering in Gethsemane, and His death on Calvary. For though His birth and life were miraculous and holy, it is His death that saved us all, and gave us the power to return again to that home from which we came, to dwell with Him and our Father, if we accept and take advantage of His tremendous gift of the atonement.  I know that He lives. That He came. That He loves me.  And I know that if I strive to live as He taught, I will have the blessing one day to thank Him in person.

May we all remember the gift we recieved on that first Christmas, not just today, but everyday that we live.

Merry Christmas!

Painful Lessons

When I was a Freshman in high school I broke my arm during gymnastics practice. No, not doing some really cool but dangerous stunt, just a simple tumbling pass. (I could go into a long explanation of why it was the wrestling teams fault for the way they put the mats back after their meet, but that's not really important to the story, so I won't...at least not anymore than I just did. :)). Anyway, the doctors couldn't set the bone and I had to have surgery to repair the break. When I woke up from surgery, and all the medication started to wear off, I was in excrutiating pain -- worse than when I broke it. I was sobbing, begging someone to make it stop. My poor father sat by my beside, holding my hand, with this devastated, heartbroken look on his face that let me know he would trade places with me in a heartbeat. (I think he even said it at one point.) That image of my sweet Daddy, hurting because I was hurting, has always stuck with me.

The other night, I got to feel that hurt for myself. The Girly came into our room at 2:30 in the morning, doubled over and crying from a pain in her hip. We laid her on the bed, trying to assess what was happening, asking for specifics on how and where it hurt. She was writhing on the bed, sobbing as the pain would periodically intensify. It didn't take long to determine that one of us had to get her to the hospital. Brian gave her a blessing as I got dressed to go. He tried to carry her downstairs and to the car, but that hurt worse, so we just supported her as best we could as she hobbled, doubled over, to the van. We put her in the back where she could lay down, and I started to the hospital as quick as I could without endangering our lives. She would periodically scream from the backseat, between the sobs that didn't stop. I thought my heart would break. A few times I started to cry, hoping she wouldn't notice since I was driving and it was dark, as I tried to be calm and reassure her that we would be there soon, and it would be okay. When we arrived and checked in they made us sit in the waiting room, her still crying out in pain. All I could do was hold her hand, speak calmly and lovingly to her, and remind her to breath. After about half an hour the pain started to subside to the point that she could bare it more easily, and talk to me again. After a few more hours it was gone. They never did figure out what it was. Just ruled out broken bones or kidney infection and sent us home.

I thought about my dad in that heartwrenching hour or so between when The Girly had come to the bedroom door and when the pain began to subside. About how he wanted to take my place when I was in pain. And about how I would have gladly, and instantly done the same for my daughter. And then I thought about my Heavenly Father and the Savior. How they must hurt as well when they see any of us in pain, physical or otherwise. But how they can take our pain from us. Maybe not always instantly, though I know that has happenend, because pain can help us to grow, and to an extent it is something we must all experience. But they can share it with us, carry some of it for us, carry us, and help us to heal. I think of the Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane. The anguish and suffering he endured, for me, for all of us. How The Father must have anguished as well as He wathched His son endure it. But He watched one child suffer, so that He could save all the rest. I don't know how He did it without hiding His face and covering His ears. But I know He did. And I'm grateful.

A Serious Thing....

"It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no "ordinary" people. You have never talked to a mere mortal." ~C.S. Lewis

I heard this quote for the first time about a year ago. It was shared by Laurel Christenson at a Time Out for Women and Girls event that I went to with The Girly and some of our friends. On that day Laurel invited a 14 year old girl and her mother up to the stage. She asked all of us in the audience to look at this young woman and see her for who she truly is.....a daughter of God, with infinite worth and potential.....a possible goddess. She asked us to try to see her through Heavenly Father's eyes. Then, she asked us to stand and applaud, and cheer this girl for the royal spark within her. We went nuts. That beautiful young girl recieved a standing ovation the likes of which I have never seen or been part of. And something truly amazing happened. You could see the change come over her as we cheered....the overwhelming realization that she truly was of infinite worth....and deserving of all the applause. We cheered and applauded and cheered some more. After several minutes we were asked to be seated so that Sis Christenson could speak to this young woman. She was overwhelmed, as was her mother watching the wave of emotion that overcame her daughter. It was an honor to be a part of that experience. I wish it was one that every young person could experience.....to be cheered for who they truly are and the potential within them.

I came across this quote again last night and that experience of a year ago came rushing back. I wanted to record it.... as a reminder to myself.....and a challenge....to myself and any of you who may choose to take it...to try to look at all we meet with different eyes. To see them for who they truly are....children of Deity and therefore possible gods and goddesses. How much different would we treat each other if we tried to do this on a daily basis, and to help each other towards reaching that full potential within us?

Eternal Perspective

I originally posted this on Facebook this afternoon, but thought I would share it here as well.

My family just came home a little while ago from the memorial service for a phenomenal woman -- Myrna Pratt. She was an example of unwavering faith and Christlike love to everyone around her. She was the type of woman I want to be. I had the priviledge of living in the Cholla/Moon Valley ward with her and her dear husband Wayne for many years, of teaching her youngest daughter in Young Women's, and getting to be friends with her daughter Pam. All you have to do is look at the wonderful people that her children are to get a glimpse at the type of person she is. Her children paid a beautiful tribute to her today in the songs and words that they shared about their beloved mother. She is such a bright spirit that I believe even those who saw her infrequently or only knew her as an acquaintance will feel the loss of her light.

But isn't it wonderful to know that she is not really gone?! What a blessing it is to know the restored gospel of Jesus Christ...to know that she and all our loved ones, though no longer visible to us, live on in another sphere. To know that she was greeted by the loving, open arms of family that had gone before her...and that she in turn will be waiting to meet her own beautiful family again....That none of us will walk into the next portion of our journey alone, but will be guided and greeted by family and friends.

I had the great blessing of spending time with my Grandma Ann in the weeks leading up to her death, and being with her when she passed....and I KNOW that her family, especially her children that had preceded her, started gathering to comfort and ease that transition for her. As the veil grew thinner she would see them...and speak with them. What a comfort it was to me to know that they were there for her.

I am so grateful for my testimony of the gospel...for an eternal perspective, that helps to ease the loss of family and friends, because I know the loss of their company is only temporary. Our loving Heavenly Father, with our beloved older brother Jesus Christ, has prepared a way for us all to be together again, to spend eternity as families, in the company of those we love most.