Marriage Changes Over Time

Marriage changes over time.  The first 10 years are spent getting to know one another, your quirks, your idiosyncracies, and the "let's not go there" topics.  Children are usually thrown into the mix, which makes life interesting.  Somehow during those years you learn to stick together or the kids will sink the ship.

The next 10 years are spent trying to figure out how you got where you are, and whether you can weather the storm until the kids are gone.  "Endure 'till the end" is beginning to look like "Oh snap, what have we done?!"  This period usually has teenagers making life seem more complicated than you had ever imagined.

The third 10-year period is a time to "reassess" and set new goals.  It's a time to get to know one another all over again because you've spent so much time raising children that you've forgotten how to have a conversation that doesn't center around one of your children's problems.  It's a time to sit back and decide how the rest of your lives will be spent.

The fourth 10-year period brings so many changes.  For the first time in your married life, you can actually spend time together!  This brings adjustments, of course, but for the most part, it is a sweet period.  We are beginning the 5th year of this period.  One of us is retired, and the other one is not.  For a few more months, we still have our youngest child living at home -- though she doesn't spend much time there.  We hardly see ever see her.  We're looking at more adjustments over the next five years.  Will I still be working?  Full-time?  Part-time?  Will we serve a mission for our church?  Will we travel?  Will we still be in good health?  These are questions that will all be answered soon.  In the meantime, we cherish this time together.  We enjoy watching our adult children in their journeys, and we bond with our beautiful grandchildren.

I don't know what the fifth 10-year period will bring because we're not there yet, but I anticipate that it will be even sweeter than this time.  The chances are that one of us will probably be caring for the other one at some point.  That can be rather challenging, but I think it will also be a sweet time together.  Isn't that what love is all about?

I think Robert Browning said it best:

"Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made.
Our times are in His hand who saith,
'A whole I planned, youth shows but half;
Trust God:  See all, nor be afraid!'"

What Kind of Friend Am I?

It's only 11 days into the new year, and I am already soul searching and evaluating mistakes.  Someone who used to work with me passed away in December from a rare form of cancer, and I found out about it this morning.  He didn't develop cancer until after he left our place of employment.  I haven't seen this man since he left the workplace, but I have thought about him occasionally.

Unfortunately, this young man was very unhappy.  I tried to be a friend to him.  We often ate our lunch together in the break room.  I tried to brighten his unhappy outlook on life.  Nothing I did seemed to work.  He was intent on being unhappy, and always seeing black clouds instead of silver linings.  I felt sorry for him.

There came a day when I realized that trying to put a smile on his face was making me frown.  It seemed nothing I did or said made a difference in his life, but he was pulling me down.  So I began to find something else to do during my breaks, and someone else to be with during lunch.  He was a "drag," or a "downer."

He was 33 years old when he passed away.  I'm sad today.  I'm sad that he had an unhappy life -- or at least he couldn't share his happiness with others.  I'm sad that I gave up on friendship with him.  I shouldn't have done that.  I should have tried harder.  Maybe I should have shared with him how I was feeling about his attitude.  Maybe I could have found a way to make a difference.  Could I have brightened his time on this earth just a little?  Would that have been too great a sacrifice?  What more could I have done to help him?  What more could I have done to be a friend?

The truly haunting question is, where would I be if the Saviour ever gave up on me?  I'm sure I was a "drag," and a "downer," in the Garden of Gethsemane.  How many drops of blood did He sacrifice for me?  I'm guilty of giving up on one of Heavenly Father's children -- because it was easier than working with him to help him solve his problems.  What kind of Christian does that make me?  Not a very good one, I'm sure.

What will I do the next time someone passes through my life?  How will I respond?  Will I be a better friend?  Will I learn something from this experience?  I certainly hope so.

Forever Families

It is December 30th. My family is gathered at a restaurant for one last breakfast together prior to my oldest daughter, Molly, and her family departing for home after the Christmas holiday. I am holding my granddaughter, Jocelyn, in my arms one last time before they leave.

Jocelyn's adoption is not yet final, and she is still a foster child. While we anticipate that the adoption process will go smoothly, and she will at last be ours legally, it is always a little scary until the judge signs off on the final papers. We don't like to think about it, but anything could happen.

Each time Grandpa and I say goodbye to little Jocelyn, there is a twinge in the heart as we realize that if things don't go as planned, it could be the last time we see her. We have to say goodbye as if it were the last time. I whisper in her ear. Jocelyn, I will always love you, and you will always be my granddaughter. No matter what happens, I love you. I'm crying uncontrollably, now, and my kids notice. I have to get it together.

This challenge has been placed before us, I think, so that we can more fully appreciate temple sealings and eternal families. We look forward to the day when Jocelyn can be sealed to her family in the temple. What a glorious day that will be! That day when no one will ever have the power to separate us! In the meantime, we wait, we hope, we pray, and we depend on the system to do the right thing. The one thing we don't do is to withhold love from a child who so desperately needs love. We don't build any walls to protect our hearts. Jocelyn deserves every inch of our hearts, even if they break. We must continue to believe that there will be that day in the temple to seal her to us for time and all eternity.

Santa & The Helicopter

I was reminded this week about the year Danny took a part-time job for extra Christmas cash with a temp agency. They sent him to Santa school, and he "worked" at the local Lumberjack store. Lumberjack flew him in by helicopter.

Molly was about 14 months old, and we had one car. We all drove to Sacramento Executive Airport together. "Daddy" walked into a conference room at the airport for a "meeting." A few minutes later, "Santa" came out of the conference room unexpectedly, and Molly watched and waved to Santa as he got on the helicopter. Since "Daddy" had to stay for the long meeting, we went home and picked him up later that evening.

Santa had a great time, and would have loved to have done it year after year. However, we weren't at all sure that was a smart thing to do if we wanted to keep the magic alive in our household. By the next year, it would have gotten entirely too complicated. It was very fun while it lasted!

Gratitude to Community and Camp Fire

I owe a lot to my community. I also owe a lot to a youth organization, Camp Fire Boys & Girls. My kids grew up to be pretty decent individuals and contributing members of society through their membership in Camp Fire and because of the support of our community.















Our neighborhood is a very interesting place to live. When my kids were small, it was a mixture of retired couples (who treated my children like their own grandchildren), people from various ethnic groups who got a start in our little neighborhood and then moved on to better things, and the gangs. You could not get a more "random" mix of people if they were computer selected at random. As a matter of fact, the high school my kids attended is the most "diverse" high school in the nation (or so I'm told).















It became apparent very quickly that it was either sink or swim with my kids. Either we got them involved in something that taught good principles and kept them out of trouble, or they would be a gang statistic. Thus entered Camp Fire Boys & Girls. Camp Fire takes kids from kindergarten to senior in high school. So my kids literally grew up in Camp Fire.














The kids LOVED Camp Fire camp. Since my husband is not a camper, Camp Fire camp provided a unique experience for my kids that they would not have received any other way. We weren't rich, by any stretch of the imagination, and even though Camp Fire tried to keep their costs down, camp cost times four kids was astronomical. Fortunately, there was the Camp Fire candy sale once a year. If the kids sold enough candy, they earned certain amounts that could be used to help cut the cost of camp. Also, a good portion of the proceeds from the candy sale came right back to the individual clubs. As a leader, if a child wanted to go to camp, I made those funds available to put on their camp bill. This meant that my own kids, as well as the kids in my club, sold HUGE amounts of candy. There were several years in a row that my family sold in excess of 1,000 units as a family. Each of my kids had a personal goal of selling at least 300 units each, and it often exceeded that.

















Selling candy was a great experience in itself. My kids all learned to change a $20 bill in kindergarten. They learned how to speak to adults. They learned business skills. They learned how to do a business transaction with a blind person. (Blind people fold each denomination of money a different way so they can tell one from the other.) The kids learned to be aware of their surroundings. We sold a monumental amount of candy in front of Mervyns Department Store. The kids learned to tip off the security guards when they saw shoplifters. They learned to be polite and businesslike. I remember them making jokes during the 1987 floods about selling candy in the rain to get the "sympathy" sale. Many times people would ask the kids what kind of candy THEY liked, and then people would buy the candy and give it back to the kids to eat. We met so many wonderful people selling candy!















To this day, my kids can tell you which neighborhoods bought Camp Fire Mints, and which ones bought Almond Roca and Almond Caramel Clusters. On certain streets, they can point out houses that were a sure sale year after year. They reminisce about how I would wait until they got tired and then say, "One more house, I just know this one is going to be a sale." (Growing up in Reno, I knew that the law of averages dictated that if they hadn't sold any candy for 5 or 6 houses, I had a pretty good chance that the next house would be a sale. If it wasn't, I could usually stall the kids for 2 or 3 more houses before I had mutiny on my hands.)















I'm grateful for Camp Fire, a supportive community, and the Camp Fire law (which goes hand in hand with the LDS Articles of Faith, by the way).

Camp Fire Law

Worship God
Seek Beauty
Give Service
Pursue Knowledge
Be Trustworthy
Hold onto Health
Glorify Work
Be Happy

Snipits of Christmas Memories

I think I was about ten years old when Mom and Dad decided it was time to let me be Santa’s helper for my little sister. They bought Colleen a baby doll–the drink and wet kind. I played with that doll for weeks when Colleen wasn’t around, and I was looking forward to watching her eyes when she saw it for the first time.

Christmas Eve we all gathered around the Christmas tree to open our gifts. Colleen’s doll was sitting right in front of the tree. I looked at the doll, and then I looked at Colleen. I kept waiting for her to pick it up, but she had found something else for her under the tree. Anticipation was killing me. I tried to guide her to the doll, but Dad shook his head. Mom finally told me that I’d better look at the gift tag on the doll. Santa apparently decided that since I’d had so much fun with the doll, it should belong to me. I was thrilled! All thoughts of Colleen with the doll vanished in an instant when I saw that she had something under the tree that delighted her.

The year my older sister, Cheri, went away to Washington to teach school, I couldn’t wait until she came home for Christmas. Up until that time, Cheri had never been much for knitting or crocheting, so what was to come was totally unanticipated. Cheri made a very trendy looking green shawl for me, and I think she’d made one for Colleen, as well. There were also “nose warmers” for us all that were crocheted or knitted and had tassels on the end of them. We had a great time laughing at each other with those things. I saved mine, and years later used it to teach children at church that you can have fun at Christmas without spending a lot of money. One adult teacher, in particular, laughed his head off when I put that nose warmer on!

The year Danny and I were dating, I spent a great deal of time decoupaging little plaques for everyone in the family. I had visited every construction site within walking distance from my apartment to beg for scrap lumber to sand down for the plaques. Fifteen coats of decoupage later, they were finally ready for Christmas. It never occurred to me that they would be too bulky to put in my suitcase on a Greyhound bus to go home for Christmas. Danny, bless his heart, knew that you could ship things by Greyhound (something I didn’t know). It was about 2:00 a.m. one morning when I finally wrapped up the last plaque, and Danny took me to Greyhound to ship them off in advance of my arrival. I had prearranged with Dad to pick them up on the other end.

One year when my kids were small, I went bonkers embroidering dishtowels. I embroidered sets of seven dishtowels for each female in the family. They looked beautiful when they were done, and I was so pleased to be able to give them away.

Danny was the master of freeway finds. Every time a kid needed a new tricycle or bicycle, he’d just keep his eyes open for a freeway find. I took the rust off of quite a number of bikes, painted them, and coerced my next-door neighbor, Harry, into making sure they were in good working order for Christmas.

When the kids were growing up, I used to hide my gifts at Harry and Alma’s house next door, or at Pauline’s house across the street. Then I’d just go to their house to wrap.

When the kids were small, we spent a number of years going to Cheri's home in Dayton, Nevada for Christmas. I don't know why Cheri put up with us all, but she seemed to take everything in stride. Cheri had the perfect house for Christmas. It was an old historic boarding house. She heated it with wood stoves. One room (the red room) was dedicated to a huge pinion pine Christmas tree each year. It just made for an old-fashioned Christmas! We have many memories of Christmas at the boarding house.

As a family, we always did some special "deliveries" each year. We had many fun experiences. I think my favorite memory was the year I accidentally made the delivery to the wrong house! I didn't want to disappoint anyone, so we did "double duty" that year so that BOTH houses received our deliveries.

Christmas Eve we tell the Christmas story, and we have different members of the family fill in parts of the story. We remind the children about the true meaning of Christmas, and why we give gifts. Then, tradition dictates that some of the adults take all the children to "look for Santa." In years past, they couldn't come home until the porch light was turned on, which was the signal that Santa had arrived.

Traditions will be modified to accommodate a growing family. Grown children will also begin their own family traditions. Traditions are fun, and they are good, but they are only as good as the true meaning behind them. I have always loved Christmas because of what it means to me personally. I love celebrating the birth of our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. I love to ponder on Mary and Joseph, and what they must have been thinking at that special time. Each time I carried a child, I ached for Mary when I thought about her traveling by donkey. I've wondered if Mary and Joseph really understood the colossal proportions of their stamp on the whole human race. While we talk about the awesome privilege of caring for God's only begotten son, we often forget how much adversity and sadness they had to endure. How grateful I am that they were worthy and up to the challenge! How grateful I am that Heavenly Father gave us the most precious gift ever given; His Son.
















Note: Pictures from here: http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Christmas+clip+art&FORM=MFEIMG&PUBL=Google&CREA=userid17438615c84721fa2849d54ce17ae41eb7bac

My Conversion Story

The Bishop challenged us in Sacrament Meeting today to write our conversion story. My first thought was, "Which one?" I think I've been converted to the gospel in stages. For me, it seems to be an ongoing process.

As a child, prior to the missionaries coming to our home, I spoke with my father on many occasions about God. He answered most of my questions to my satisfaction. There were lingering questions, however, for which he had no answers. One question was, "Where is God?" I was told that God was everywhere, and he had me memorize, "There's not a spot, where God is not." I thought about that statement for several years. It just didn't make any sense to me. When I prayed to God, I talked to Him like a real person. This convoluted description of Him was difficult for me to comprehend. So when the missionaries came and explained that Heavenly Father has a body, it made perfect sense to me, and I was then more amenable to other things that were taught to me. I'll call that the first step of my conversion.

I was not totally convinced about everything when I was baptized. To be painfully honest, I was baptized because I thought it would make my father happy. He had gained a testimony, and he wanted to do this as a family. My older sister and my older brother had already been baptized. Dad wanted Mom and I to be baptized with him. He would never have forced me to do that, but I knew it would make him happy, so I went along with it. As we began to attend church, and I studied more, I gradually accepted other principles of the gospel. It was truly "line upon line, precept upon precept" for me. I'll call that the second step of my conversion.

Seminary was huge for me. My testimony grew by leaps and bounds in seminary. Unfortunately, the stronger my testimony of the gospel became, the more stumbling blocks Satan put in my path. The Young Women's program or "Mutual" was my demise. Some things happened that were totally unacceptable to me. I stopped going to church altogether my senior year of high school, with the exception of seminary. I loved seminary, continued to study, and graduated from seminary. Seminary was the third step of my conversion process.

After seminary, I dropped out of church for 20 years, with the exception of an occasional appearance. Most people would assume that this was a stagnant period for my testimony and my conversion process. Most people would be wrong. I continued to study the scriptures during that 20-year period. In addition to studying gospel principles, I read the Book of Mormon cover to cover six different times in that 20-year period. I'm going on record here by saying that just because someone isn't coming to church, doesn't mean they don't have a testimony, or have "lost" their testimony. That is a huge misconception in the church. I learned many things in that 20-year-period that strengthened my testimony. That was the fourth step in my conversion process.

Shortly after the birth of my last child, some things began to fall into place for me. I had a difficult time getting pregnant that last time, and she is the result of fertility drugs. (Yes, it was a moment of insanity to take fertility drugs when you already have three children, but that's beside the point.) For several months after she was born, I would hold her in my arms and marvel at the blessing that had been given to me. I began to contemplate what I was doing to show Heavenly Father my gratitude for this blessing, as well as all my blessings.

Shortly thereafter, my son wanted to be baptized. The rule in our home was that you had to prove to mom that you really knew what baptism meant and that you had basic gospel principles down prior to being baptized, so this did not always happen at the age of eight. It was different for each child, depending on their knowledge of the gospel and their testimony. My children were all active in Camp Fire Boys and Girls, and I had the kids earn a couple of religious growth awards prior to baptism. I tailored the basic program to fit our needs, and included missionary lessons as part of the requirement. My eight-year-old son wanted to be baptized, so I asked him the standard question, "What can you tell me about the gospel?" I had not planned on listening for 90 minutes while he bore his testimony to me in a very unique and special way. At the end of our discussion, I told him to earn the Camp Fire awards, take the missionary lessons, and he could be baptized. That 90-minute period with my son was a real eye opener for me. I'll even go so far as to say it was "life changing." There were several other things that happened about this time that really stirred my soul. I guess this time period was the fifth stage of my conversion process.

My husband and I were about to celebrate our anniversary. I didn't know what to do for him for our anniversary. Something had been nagging at me for months, but I was afraid to put it into words (even in my own head). I just knew that I was not supposed to buy my husband an anniversary gift, but I couldn't even admit to myself what I was about to do. On our anniversary, in front of our four children, I told my husband that my gift to him was that one year from that day, we would be sealed in the temple. As soon as it was out of my mouth, I almost had a heart attack--or maybe it was finally that "change of heart" I was feeling. The next year my family studied the Book of Mormon cover to cover. We had many challenges as a family, and I had many personal challenges. Satan worked hard on me (and my family), but in the end, he lost, and we won. This very important year was the sixth stage of my conversion process.

In the years since, I've been in a constant state of learning and growing. Callings have made me grow. Ward members have helped me grow. Temple attendance has had a monumental impact on my growth. I've been tempted, but I've remained steady. The greatest temptations came when I was Relief Society President. Satan pulled out everything in his book of tricks--but he lost again. I'm still growing and learning, and I am in the midst of this seventh stage of my conversion process.

I don't know that I can point to any one moment in my life and say, "That was the moment I was converted." For me it truly was line upon line, precept upon precept.

"For behold, thus saith the Lord God: I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; and blessed are those who hearken unto my precepts, and lend an ear unto my counsel, for they shall learn wisdom; for unto him that receiveth I will give more; and from them that shall say, We have enough, from them shall be taken away even that which they have." 2 Nephi 28:30

I know the gospel is true. I know Heavenly Father has a real body. I know His Son, Jesus Christ, is my older brother, my savior, my redeemer, my friend, and my confidant. I guess it really doesn't matter how I know this, or when I learned it. It is what it is, and I know it with all my heart. I say this in Jesus' name. Amen.