It's Never Really Been That Hard

I want to reflect on my Ragnar experience, but my thoughts keep sliding backwards. I was trying to determine if running in front of people, uphill, around corners, and through a "chute" was the hardest thing I have ever done. Not really. Physically, I was spent Saturday afternoon, June 18, 2011. I cried while I tried to get my legs to do SOMETHING besides drag along the pavement. I remember a prayer I uttered earlier in the month as I was preparing for the Ragnar experience. I asked Heavenly Father to bring the finish line closer to me if I couldn't get to the end. I was asking for "angels to bear me up" as I have so many times in my life.

Back to the "hardest" question. What has been the hardest thing I have ever done? I honestly cannot answer this query with an absolute. My years in high school were some of my darkest days. My childhood is clouded with memories of a brittle relationship between my parents and grandparents. As my depression deepened in my "young mother" period, I felt like I was drowning. My husband's employment left me alone with 4 young children and I didn't always handle that specific circumstance well. There was a miscarriage, more depression, suffocating self doubt, living with in-laws, financial woes, building a house, parent's divorce, more depression, going back to school,blah, blah,blah. Yet, as I peruse my list of "hard" and "hardest" things, none of them were really that hard. There has not been a challenging experience in my 57 years that I have not had the help of heaven. Ever. There were times when I didn't or couldn't recognize the angels that were bearing me up. There were many time when I felt them all around me. The prayer I offered up as I ran, "please bring the finish line closer, so I can get to the end," had already been spoken many times in my life.

Ragnar, like life, is an experience where there is no choice but to go through it if you want to complete your assignment and honor your commitment to your team and the race. But, like life, you do not run "alone." I had the best support of anyone running. My children, Shauna, Kara, Megan, Michael, their spouses, and Jenna, and McKay were my biggest fans and cheerleaders. My husband Jim was my inspiration to finish. It was one of those, "if he can do it, I can do it," deals! My Ragnar experience reflected my life's experiences, I did not do it alone, so it wasn't really that hard! My family were my angels for this experience.

So, was my prayer answered? Was the finish line brought "closer" so I could get to the end? I dug deep, kept moving, and finished! I know there are trials ahead, I know I will be challenged, but I also know that I am on Heaven's radar. I will always finish, and I will always acknowledge Heaven's hand as I race to every finish line I am asked to cross. The answer is yes, and I am grateful that it wasn't really that hard! Thank you my angels, for bearing me up. Thank you for your example of strength and perseverance. Thank you for trusting me. I love you.

The Spirit of God Like a Fire is Burning

I loved mutual because it was a chance to get out of the house. Even better, I didn't get the "where are you going" and "when will you be home" questions that are requisite for all adolescent aged people. So when our mutual leaders announced that 14 year olds could participate in the Oakland Temple Pageant, I was in!

I was assigned to sing in the balcony choir at the pageant. Practices were held at mutual and as the performance times got closer, we practiced on Saturdays too. I was happy with this arrangement. I could hang out with my friends and get out of chores! Looking back, my immaturity was obvious. I wasn't out to have any kind of experience, except one that would allow me to "hang out", without getting grief from my mom.

We drove to Oakland a few times for dress rehearsal. It was an hour drive from my house, but even that was great because I got to be in the same car as Cory, (sigh). With no other thought than having a good time, I set out for Oakland one last time, for the actual performance.

The pageant's theme was on the restoration of the Gospel and focused on Joseph Smith. I didn't pay close attention during rehearsals. I stood and sang when I was supposed to, passed notes during the rest of the time, and got "shushed" a time or two. The final musical number of the production was the hymn, "The Spirit of God Like a Fire is Burning." It was a grand finale, with an orchestra, a 500 voice youth choir, and actors on the stage. The beginning strains of the hymn floated up to the balcony, a single voice. As the youth chorus joined in and the orchestra swelled to a forte, I began to feel something that had not yet been part of my pageant experience.

As the voices of 500 young men and women who were members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints spilled over the balcony, bearing their testimony of the truthfulness of the restoration, I knew in that moment that everything about Joseph Smith, his vision, his call as a prophet, the restoration of Christ's church, was true. My adolescent distractions faded as I felt the burning in my bosom, that what I was experiencing was God's love and a witness of the truth. It was so personal, as if the Lord himself was softly whispering,"believe."

With tears blurring my vision I finished the final "Amen." I was about to take a breath, when a member of the audience stood and shouted at the stage, "Return to Christ, you heathens, this is all false, return to Christ." The conductor on the stage responded with a "thank you" and the closing prayer was offered.

After the prayer, there were kids sobbing, running to their leaders. "How could he say those things?" they cried. Many were saying their faith was shaken. I stood in the midst of the turmoil, up in the balcony, looking down at the ensuing hubbub below and smiled. I knew, I knew the church was true. My faith wasn't shaken, it was renewed, and no one, not even a misguided pastor of another church could tell me otherwise.

I wish I could report that I was the picture of faithfulness my entire teenage experience. I wasn't. But I knew. And the "knowing" saved me many times from myself and my poor choices. Today, I stand with those that bear witness of Jesus Christ. He is my Savior. His atonement has worked miracles in my life, as I have come to accept his grace and goodness. Joseph Smith saw God the Father and His son Jesus Christ. We as a church, are led by a prophet of God, President Thomas Spencer Monson. The Book of Mormon is true, and another testament of Jesus Christ. These are not trite word, repeated out of habit, but my deep and abiding testimony of what is true. Goodness will prevail, and truth will win, I have no doubt. To my children and grandchildren, in the words of President Monson, our future is as bright as our faith. The spirit of God is real, and it burns in my heart. I am grateful Heavenly Father trusted me with that sacred experience 43 years ago. I am grateful the fire of a living testimony burns bright in your homes and in your hearts.

We'll sing and we'll shout with the armies of heaven, hosanna, hosanna, to God and the lamb, let glory to them, in the highest be given, henceforth and forever, amen, and amen!

Be My Valentine

The ubiquitous boxes of school valentines sat on the kitchen counter. There were four of them. A box for me, a box for my brother, a box for my sister, and one for my two younger sisters to share. They were all the same, to the chagrin of my brother who claimed they were too "girly". It was 1966, before you could choose a popular cartoon character to express your valentine sentiments to your peers. No transformers "shouting" at you to be a valentine or Sponge Bob Squarepants giggling his way through sappy sentiments. Silly puns and cute, chubby faced children adorned our cards. I did find a treasure in my box, a large valentine with a chubby faced bear stating, "I couldn't BEAR it if you won't be my valentine." It was the perfect valentine for Tony.

Tony was ten going on eleven. I had a major crush on him in 5th grade. Tony had dark hair, a wide face, and was king of the playground. I was a mousy, buck toothed, girl who was always reading. More impossible pairings have happened, but this crush was crushed by Tony's complete indifference to my existence.

Nevertheless, it was Valentine's Day and I wanted to give Tony the largest and most important Valentine in my box. I carefully laid out all the cards and handpicked one for each student in my class. It was like playing chess with valentines. The right saying had to paired with the right person. I signed my name on each valentine, except Tony's. I knew he wouldn't know if I gave him a valentine or not. But I wanted him to have my biggest and best valentine. Love makes us do stupid things! But, I wasn't a complete fool. Regardless of how much I liked Tony, I didn't like him enough to be humiliated in front of the class! The extra large valentine I was offering would be evidence of my affections. No, I had to give it to him anonymously. It was the only way to express my unrequited love without being humiliated!

I can't recall the exact details of this specific Valentine's Day. I remember pink cupcakes, red construction paper and paper doilies. I remember the teacher telling us we could open our valentines at our desks if were quiet and polite. But I remember with clarity Tony's response to my Valentine. He held it up for all to see and called across the room to his friend, "Hey Billy (yes, there really was a boy in my 5th grade class named Billy) look what I got, a Bruin valentine! I'm saving this one!" A bruin, or bear, was the mascot of the high school close to our elementary. Bruins, as the high schoolers were called were cool to Tony. So my valentine, by association, was cool to Tony. A quiet smile spread across my face.

Billy hollered back, "Who's it from?" Before the teacher could shush either one of the boys, Tony hollered, "I dunno, I'm still keeping it." My smile widened, my valentine offering had been accepted and celebrated by my true love! Mousy, insignificant me, who was crushing on the most popular boy in 5th grade, had the best Valentine's Day ever! I didn't care if he did not know who gave him his Bruin valentine. He liked it, and by association, I pretended he liked me. A good Valentine's day indeed!

Dear Andrew,

Three years ago Grandpa D and I flew to California to meet you for the first time! You were a bit tardy on your arrival, so we got to your home about the same time you did! Your mom and dad were adjusting to new parenthood, while being concerned about our comfort and clean sheets! I was quite impressed with how you handled both your parents and your grandparents. You were vocal when you wanted something and serenely sleeping when you didn't. We all had the opportunity to hold you, kiss you, comfort you, and love you, and we didn't think about anything else except your comfort and care.

Grandpa and I attended church the Sunday we were there. We had sluffed Sunday School class. (shhh, don't tell your parents!) I was outside enjoying the California winter, when a train of toddlers walked by, arms folded with serious smiles. There was a boy, about three, at the end of the procession. His sandy hair was slicked back except for a stubborn lock that hooked over his forehead. His tie was a tad askew and his shoelaces were undone. Yet, there was purpose in his stride and a look of determined reverence on his face. His folded arms seemed bolted to his chest as he brought up the rear of the nursery promenade. As the children rounded the corner of the church, I couldn't help but think of the newborn baby boy that lay in my daughter's arms. I pondered the idea of that baby being three, in a crooked tie and undone shoes, working on his reverence with fierce determination. I thought to myself, "Oh, so far in the future, it will take a while for Megan's baby to grow up!" I also felt a twinge of sadness, because I knew I would miss the moments that would shaped the wonderful 3 year old you would become!

Andrew, what seemed like forever, is now here. You are a bright, inquisitive, happy, loving child, who, I am sure is very reverent when you need to be! Your mom and dad are wonderful parents. You are a big brother to Iris. You are three! What I thought would take forever happened in a blink of an eye! The little boy I watched on his reverent march that February weekend has returned to remind me of all that is important. That little boy is you!

I love you Andrew, I am honored to be your grandma. Happy, happy birthday!

Love,

Grandma D

"No TV until your pjs are on"

The routine was the same every winter Sunday evening. As our giant green chevrolet pulled into the driveway, we asked mom, "Can we watch TV?" "TV" was the Sunday evening show, "Wonderful World of Disney." My mother's predictable response, "No TV until your pjs are on." Unfettered by seatbelts (it was the 60's) we climbed over each other and raced to the door, jumping up down like we had to use the bathroom (I think some of us probably did) waiting for Dad to unlock the front door. We thundered up the stairs, oldest to youngest, tugging at our Sunday best, kicking off our Sunday shoes (we inspired Kenny Loggins!!)(Footloose reference) and digging in our drawers for pajamas. We heard our mother's admonition to hang up our clothes, so we kicked them into the closet and raced down the stairs again into the waiting arms of our orange naugahyde couch. The reason for this heated race was the show began right at 7:30, we didn't pull into the driveway until 7:20. We always missed the first important minutes of the show.

One Sunday, my brother Doug and I had a brilliant idea. If we wore our pajamas UNDER our church clothes we could save valuable time getting in position to watch our show. We recruited my sister Gayle to join us. We didn't have a variety of choices when it came to our bed wear. We had summer pajamas and winter pajamas. We knew if we put on our summer pjs and came downstairs we would be sent right back to change. Since the calendar said winter, those were the pajamas we had to wear. Thankfully, the three of us were old enough so pjs with feet weren't part of our wardrobe. But we all had long sleeved, long pants pajamas, and that is what had to go under our Sunday clothes.

As we prepared to get ready for church, my sister and I had an issue that needed solving. Our pj pants showed beneath our dresses. Doug was dressed and pressed and ready to go, as we were still trying to figure out how to hide our pajama bottoms.

"Roll 'em up," he stated. So we did. I remember feeling like a stuffed animal as we hurried to the car. I could feel the pant legs slipping below my skirt. Panicking, I ran back in the house, slid into the bathroom and pulled the pants all the way to my chest. I never entertained the idea of getting caught, but faced with the possibility, I was desperate for anything to hold those pant legs up. I spied some bobby pins on the sink, shoved them into the rolls to hold them up and stiff walked it back to the car. The car horn was honking about now, Dad was mad, Mom was mad, we were going to be late, but the thought of being in front of the TV in record time was worth the wrath!

The one thing the three of us did not allow for was the EXTREME discomfort of wearing two sets of clothes. It was church, so we had to sit still, really still, or else we would get in trouble. The bobby pins were shoving their muted tips into my thigh, the pajamas were itching underneath my dress, one of my pant legs was slipping, I was hot. It was a perfect storm for fidgeting and we didn't dare move a muscle. The sweat began to collect around my hairline after the first hymn. I could feel rivers of water roll down my back by the end of the first talk. The final amen found me sitting in a puddle of perspiration. Doug, Gayle, and I goose stepped it to the car. We were itchy and wet, pant legs were coming undone and we were feeling the terror of being caught.

Again at 7:20 pm our behemoth of a car idled into the driveway. We burst out of the backseat, ripping off our clothes, dancing at the door, flying up and down the stairs in record time. We hit the "on" button. Tinkerbell flew over Sleeping Beauty's castle in all her black and white glory, we did it, we were in our places before the show started. It was worth the sweat, the itch, the insane uncomfortableness, (a real word?) and the threat of mom's wrath. It was so worth it that we did it again the next week and the next, until we really did get caught! Our Sundays of double dressing to preserve our precious TV time were over. Mom wasn't that mad, she even called us resourceful. She did remind us how irreverent we were being by focusing on TV instead of church, a lecture we would hear often over the next decade. Still, I really didn't want to disappoint Mr. Disney by not being there for his show on time! (Click to watch)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttw1buV1GHY

I can't recall when I began to feel my immortality begin to slip. It wasn't at my 40th or 50th birthday celebrations, I felt like I was going to live forever, even then. Perhaps it is the constant, nagging feeling of tiredness. I fall into bed, exhausted, but I wake up every morning excited for the possibilities a new day brings. (Not dead yet!) My life has been bland, white bread even, and predictable, but the predictability of marrying and having children, has produced posterity! I have engaging, interesting, beautiful inside and out, grandchildren!! What a gift these children are. I do not want to take away from their parents, who are also engaging, interesting, beautiful inside and out people. (Where do you think these amazing grandkids came from??) Perhaps my estimation of a bland life does not denote my understanding that I am living a blessed life.

I want my grandchildren to know me as grandma, but I also want to introduce them to the person I was before I became a parent and grandparent. I want to share my stories before mortality takes over. For them I write of my childhood experiences from a long time ago.