What's Your Favorite Ride?

Last Sunday one of the speakers at Sacrament meeting was our Stake President. Among other things he said a few words about how the purpose of life wasn’t intended to be centered around the accumulation of wealth. It’s ok to work for the things money can buy but chasing riches isn’t the same as providing well for yourself and your family. There’s a delicate balance involved here. Turns out that a life built on wealth alone won’t bring happiness. It was kind of odd because I had been thinking about this very subject recently.

Wealth is a funny thing. Scriptures are full of teachings about it. It means different things to different cultures around the world and to different people in the same culture or society. For some it’s having a 10 cow wife while for others it’s about having really big numbers on a lot of little pieces of paper. Whatever it is, it’s hard to think of anything that’s caused more mischief for human beings since the beginning of time. Think about the betrayals, hatred, murders, and wars brothers and sisters have visited on each other just to get a bigger sparkly rock, shiny piece of metal, pile of bricks and boards, or patch of dirt than their neighbor. It all seems to be a big deal about “stuff,” even though it all really belongs to Heavenly Father anyway. “He who dies with the most toys wins,” seems to be the world’s motto. It may be more important to remember that “He who dies with the most toys still dies.”

Anyway, Larry and I were talking about this when the subject of cars came up. A great car would be right up there with a 10 cow wife as far as wealth is concerned for him. He’s always loved cars. When we met it was because he was in a car club as a matter of fact. My Scout troupe got together with the car guys up at Slide Rock near Sedona when I was 15. Well, he’s a geezer now and over his lifetime he’s had lots of different cars, a few were even new and nice. Among them have been sedans, pickups (some running), SUV’s, a couple of sports cars, and a 4 wheel drive Jeep named “Honey” that only went backwards when he finally sold it. (Under protest, I might add.) It occurred to me that he would have been able to afford a much better selection of vehicles if he hadn’t brought every single paycheck home since he was 20 years old to buy food, diapers, and shelter for his family. But that’s another “wealth” thing we won’t discuss here.

Anyway, we started talking about his favorites, the ones most memorable, the finest “Ride” he’d ever owned. Out of all those vehicles, including a 1966 fastback Mustang and a really hot, red 1987 Firebird, there was one he kept coming back to…..his first car. He was 16, had just gotten a license and paid 100 dollars for a 1946 Ford that was painted primer black, lowered, with an Oldsmobile grille. He’d worked the summer before his sixteenth birthday in the sweltering watermelon sheds in Glendale, earning enough money loading melons into semi-trucks to pay for the car, a year’s insurance and gas money, which was about 23 cents a gallon at the time. The front bench seat was just springs with no upholstery so he threw an old Indian blanket over it so people could sit without getting pinched. Something was wrong with the starter or battery, he can’t remember which, so in order to get it going he and his buddies would have to jump out and run along side pushing it until they built up enough speed for him to hop back in, pop the clutch and get her going. Tires were a real problem. He didn’t have enough money to buy 4 at a time so at one point he had 4 different sizes on that car. He kept a kind of “tire shop” in the trunk, including a hand pump, tire tools, rims and lug wrenches. That way when the guys spotted a junk tire on the side of the road they could pick it up for later use. He says they could mount an old find in about 10 minutes. ( This tire thing puzzles me because I know Larry’s dad would never stand for us to let his grandkids drive around on bald tires…..no matter what it cost. I’m going to talk with him about this someday when I get to the other side of the veil.)

Once the husband of a friend of Larry’s mom saw this car and when he was buying new tires for his own car gave Larry his old ones…. Imagine 4 matching tires!!! That was a big day I can assure you. That car went to the high school every day, the Dairy Crème after school, football practice and games, Lily’s Taco Shop on Saturday nights after dates, Thunderbird Park on weekends, everywhere the guys went until Larry was able to trade up a couple of years later. He found a 1950 Ford convertible, green with a white top. 125 dollars for that one. The rag top on that car was black and Larry wanted white so he painted it with white shoe polish on advice from a friend. (There could be a problem with the color running but it doesn’t rain much here anyway his friend said.)

Out of all the cars he’s owned this first one seems to hold a special place in his heart. The second car comes close. I don’t have any idea where they would land on the wealth scale. I know they cost far less than any of the other vehicles he’s owned…even the junkers. It made me think of a recent statistic I read about. After a certain level of income people report no increase in personal happiness with more money. Interesting.

So what makes a “fine ride” anyway? What makes people wealthy? Is it just the “stuff?” What was your finest ride?

Money….. wealth….. time spent gathering stones together so to speak. Where do you stand? Are you happy about it? Big questions with important answers. Think about it.

Gratitude

There’s definitely something about gratitude, isn’t there? Something that makes it much more than a custom done to be polite. I think there’s something essential to happiness here……our own happiness and others too……this feeling of thanks. 

When I was new in the gospel I remember being puzzled a bit by the scriptural story of Christ’s healing of the lepers. You know the one…….many were healed but only one of them came back to say thanks. Jesus made it a point to inquire about the ones who hadn’t taken thought to thank him. What puzzled me was that Jesus even mentioned this. At first it seemed out of character to me. Jesus never wanted anything for himself…..certainly not public praise. Why would he be concerned? Was he offended? Did he want credit for the good he did? He saved ten people from a fate worse than death after all………were his feelings hurt that most of them never even looked back? Why did he care? After thinking hard about this I decided that there must be something about gratitude. There must be something in it for those who feel it……for those who express it. Christ wouldn’t have cared so much if there wasn’t. Yes, something important must be involved here.….something essential even. I began to “ponder” as they say.

I recalled one Friday….many years ago when I received a very special gift. As far as presents go it  surely wasn’t fancy or expensive, but I’ve never forgotten how it made me feel. I remember leaving my classroom after a really difficult week……I can’t recall everything that made that week so hard but I was exhausted. I think the week involved three days of state testing for my kids, report cards and parent conferences late into the night, an irate colleague upset about something, kids in trouble, and endless faculty meetings that became scary when you realized that everyone battling it out in the current argument about lunch duty had a college degree. Anyway, I was leaving my classroom…..late again…. and as I locked the door I remember thinking that I hope my family didn’t need  anything from me this weekend…..anything like patience, energy, kindness or an interest in any of their problems. Anything remotely resembling a functioning human being had been wrung out of me and was left in a puddle on that classroom floor. I had nothing left. I was running on empty, fumes even. As I turned the key I decided to cross the hall to check my mailbox before heading home. I flipped on the light in the dark mailroom and there in the wall of cubbies was the gift. In fact, in every mailbox  there was a bright red apple and an envelope. I went to mine and opened the note. I read….“Thank you so much for all you do for our kids. We know it’s sometimes hard. You make a difference to them and to us.” It was signed… Grateful Parents.   

Well, I’ve been given many gifts over the years, some expensive even, I’m sure. Most of them I can’t recall. But I’ll never forget that apple and the way it made me feel. As I opened the door to leave the mailroom the doom and gloom I’d been wallowing in began to lift a little. A lift… yes… there’s something about gratitude that lifts people, isn’t there?

I walked down the hallway heading to the parking lot and there outside the office door stood our dear principle talking to one of the staff. I knew his week had been even tougher than mine and I called, “Hey Sarge, have a good weekend,” as I passed. He looked up and with a big grin said, “Well, we’ve taken on a load of water and here it is Friday and we’re still afloat.” I chuckled and went out the door. Last time we’d had such a terrible week he’d said, “Well, here we’ve been shot at every day this week and we ain’t dead yet.” (Sarge was known for his wise and pithy counsel.) As I walked to my car I realized that even though he was joking I’d heard a note of genuine gratitude in the tone of his voice. He was only half kidding I think. He really was grateful to have made it through a tough week. He seemed tired but hopeful. He was looking forward to the weekend, to his family, and to his fishing pole probably. He wasn’t running on fumes…..he was ready to rest, fill up and have a great weekend. Yes ….there’s something about gratitude that changes our outlook…..that puts our life in a clearer light.

As I drove home I began to think about a story that I’d heard once in some church meeting. It was about a woman who’d been invited to a very special banquet held in her honor. She’d been given an engraved invitation which explained that all kinds of wonderful dishes were being prepared for her….all of her special favorites…..from lobster to strawberry shortcake. There was only one rule. She could take as much as she wanted from any of the dishes offered but she had to take at least one bite from all of them. On that special night she entered the beautiful banquet hall, gazed in amazement at all the dishes and then did the strangest thing. She took a crystal plate, placed it on a silver tray, and walked slowly up and down that laden banquet table. She passed by the lobster, strawberries, and all the luscious desserts that she adored and went straight to a covered dish at the end of the table. She lifted the lid and there was a dish of liver and onions. She knew the rule. At least one bite from everything offered. Then she began to cry……“ Liver and onions! I detest liver and onions! Then she did the strangest thing. She pulled up a chair in front of that dish and sat down. She filled her plate with a huge helping of the detested liver and holding her head in her hands cried louder and louder……Oh no, I can’t bear it! Oh no…..I hate liver and onions! Then she picked up her fork and began to eat. 

The banquet workers couldn’t believe their eyes! She had passed by all of those wondrous things offered without seeming to notice. All the time, careful and loving preparation of those wonderful dishes had gone unnoticed as she sat in front of the one thing she hated.

Well, I guess there must be something about ingratitude too, something essential. It somehow distorts your vision, I think. It makes the blessings surrounding every one of us seem to disappear. It puts a magnifying glass on the negative and robs us of happiness and the ability to deal with life.

I know that woman. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been that woman a time or two in my life. I can tell you that she’s not happy eating only liver. I want to shake her and say “Look at all the beautiful strawberries and be grateful!”

More stories about gratitude coming up.

Hello Again...

Hello Again,

I know it’s been a long time since I scribbled one of my stories. I’d like to explain.

My husband Larry is an only child. His dear mom has been in the gentle care of our two youngest daughters for the last 6 years. Recently her health began to fail and it’s been every family members’ hands on deck for several months. She passed away and her funeral was the day before Thanksgiving. We miss her and think of her every day. One quick story about Gramma. Katie wasn’t a member of the Church but we had her surrounded by her “All Mormon” posterity. Every single one of her descendants is an active Latter Day Saint. When needed, Larry or grandsons would give her a Priesthood blessing.                         

Well, Gramma loved the holidays. She was known far and wide for her Christmas decorations which filled every room of her house. She looked forward to these special days all year and this would be the first time in her life that she wouldn’t be able to spend them with her family.  All of us were heartbroken about it.  She was in the hospital and unable to travel. A couple of weeks before Thanksgiving Larry gave her a blessing. In it she was blessed that she would be able to spend the holidays with her family and friends. “ How’s that going to happen?” I wondered and then I started looking into having an ambulance transport her to our holiday celebrations. Instead, a few days after placing his hands on his mother’s head, Larry came out of her room and said to me, “Mom’s gone.” The first thought that came to my mind was that the blessing had been fulfilled. Indeed, she would be with cherished family and friends to share all those special things she loved about the holidays.

I’m so grateful for the ties that bind us. They continue forever connecting past, present, and future. By the way, on the other side of the veil, Gramma may be surprised to find that she’s still surrounded by a family of Mormons. For years, her grandaughters have been busily doing temple work.

I hope many blessings were yours during this special time of year. May you especially have felt the love of our Heavenly Father when He sent His Son. Happy New Year to all of you.

By Small Means

I love this church. I love it for a million reasons but right now I’m remembering some special members who reached out to me and mine when help was needed. They lifted and strengthened by doing little things. Just little things. But then you know what the Lord has to say about that, don’t you? Something about by small means great things are brought to pass.

I remember when we were working to get our raggedy old converted family to the temple for the first time. You know, I think the adversary must really hate forever families because the closer we got to that special day the harder life became. Since joining the Church it had been line upon line, precept upon precept, one foot in front of the other, a day at a time, working steadily to become truly Latter Day Saints. Turns out that getting baptized was just the first step for us. Becoming Mormon was a long process. Larry had finally conquered a heavy cigarette habit which had tortured him for years, we were full tithe payers, trying to hold regular family home evenings, attend our meetings, read scriptures and all the rest. I was the ward Primary President if you can believe that, never having been to primary as a child. We had four children by then, the youngest a preschooler and our oldest daughter fifteen or so. This teenaged daughter and I had a strained relationship at the time, becoming difficult as she started high school. Nothing I said or did was right and Larry often had to run interference, sometimes literally standing between us so I couldn’t resort to blows. I once shouted in anger at her about how hard it was to be the mother of a rude, complaining, unreasonable, teenager and she shot back that it was no picnic being the daughter of a bossy, critical, thirty three year old either. You get the picture. She needed to interview with the bishop before going to the temple and I was terrified because I knew that while not exactly breaking any major commandments she was “dancing around the pit,” so to speak, just seeing how close she could get without falling in. She was hanging out with some member kids who had lost their way. She was trying to “help them,” she said. It had never occurred to me that one of our children might not be ready for the temple after Larry and I finally were. My heart was breaking. The next Sunday was fast Sunday and I was very emotional. I stood in Relief Society and bore my testimony. I very briefly mentioned my concerns about this daughter and the temple. That was all. Later that week this beloved, exasperating, child came in from school and as she walked down the hall to her room she turned to me and said in an irritated tone, “What did you do? Am I charity case number 62 or something?” I looked at her completely dumbfounded. I had no idea what she was talking about. “Huh?” I said. (Brevity was usually the safest path to take with her.) She continued accusingly, “This week my seminary teacher asked to take me out to get a root beer, the Mutual president and my teacher want to go to a movie on Saturday, and Bishop’s first counselor and his wife want to go get ice cream after school tomorrow. Did you call them? “No way,” I answered truthfully, “I certainly did not call them.” She sniffed and flounced off to her room.

Funny thing happened though. There was a miraculous change in her attitude. It was as if the care and concern of people other than her annoying mother made all the difference. She seemed to pull back from the edge of the pit. People she respected and admired cared for her, went out of their way for her, wanted the best for her. It changed something. We all made it to the temple.

Ice cream cones and movie tickets? Small means. Love and service? Eternal influence. Anyway, I know great things came to pass and I’m grateful.

Angels

I’ve had a few dealings with angels. Or at least their assistants. Right now I’m thinking of a time over 20 years ago when two of them came to give me a message. It was close to midnight in a hospital parking lot. In my mind, I can still see the pools of light cast by the streetlamps glowing on the blacktop beneath my feet.

I’d better explain. Larry was in that hospital. He’d been there for about three weeks at that point. There was a terrible car wreck. He had major injuries and was still a long, long, way from recovery. By now we’d come past the panicked, can’t breathe point of “Will he live or die?” That and “Can he survive surgery?” had been dealt with in the first week with major help from Heavenly Father. “Will he ever walk again?” was still somewhere up ahead. Now we were at a different stage. We’d now moved to the, “Will any of us make it through this?” stage. We owned a family business at the time, both of us working unbelievable hours to keep it going. It was the start of the busy season. Our kids were part of that too, all of us working together. Now, the “Can I keep the family business going all by myself,” “Are our four kids okay without either of us, because I’ve only seen them in passing for weeks now,” and the “What in the world will we ever do about money?” concerns were crashing in. Keeping the business going seemed to be Larry’s main concern despite his many injuries. It was our only income and it weighed heavily on his mind. Every time I walked into his room he had a hundred questions and instructions. Even on that first terrible day in the emergency room, bones crushed and bleeding, the first thing he said to me was, “It’s payday. You have to get the payroll out to our employees!”

It was about 11:30 at night when the angels came. I was leaving the hospital to go home to take a shower, check on the kids and then come back to sleep in my chair by Larry’s bed until I had to leave for work at 6:00 am. I’d slept there so many nights it was now, “my chair.” As I walked down the halls I could smell antiseptic hospital smells, so unlike someone’s home, I thought. A wave of self pity, exhaustion and despair started to wash over me. The past awful weeks and the uncertain and bleak future came crashing in. The doctors still had no idea when Larry would get out of the hospital. The only thing they knew for sure was that after that, if all went well, it would be at least 6 months of wheelchairs and rehab. This for a man who worked 60 hour weeks a month ago. Suddenly it was all like a choking blackness. I can’t do this anymore, my mind shouted. It’s too much. I can’t be out of my mind with worry about my husband, run our business by myself, be the sole breadwinner, be there for my scared and anxious kids who needed me and not have a breakdown. In fact, I’m having a breakdown right now! I walked out to my car in a spiral of despair. This is too much….you’ve given me more than I can handle, Heavenly Father….why me?….you get the picture.

As I neared my car I saw two women coming toward me. When they got closer I could see it was our ward relief society president and one of her counselors, who was a good friend of mine. I wasn’t surprised at the late hour because my friend was a notorious night owl, often doing her weekly grocery shopping at the 24 hour grocery in the wee hours of the morning. Her habits must be rubbing off I thought. I called to them, they came to me, we hugged. They said they had just left my house and our son had sent them here. They wanted to know how Larry was doing today. They wanted to know how the kids were. They wanted to know how I was. Then they delivered the message. The one from angels. One of them said “Kathy, Sister Jones called today. She wants to help you in any way she can. What can she do for you? I promised her I would find something she could do.” Before I could reply my friend said, “Yes, Kathy, I promised somebody too. Sister Brown called and wants to help you and your family. How can she help?” (Names have been changed)

I didn’t hear anything else they said after that. It was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown in my face. I could almost hear a voice saying sternly…….“Stop whining! You can handle what you’ve been given. It’s not too much for you. You’re not alone. ”

You see, Sister Jones was a sweet sister, and a friend. She had just given birth to a baby with multiple physical defects and most probably profound, lifelong mental problems. She had several other children, a home and husband to care for while seeing to the needs of this new, special spirit.

I knew Sister Brown less well, but we had worked together in Relief Society for a short time. I knew she was a wonderful, faithful woman with a lovely home and family. She, too, had just given birth to another beautiful daughter. All were well and healthy, thank God. But, her husband who was an active member, out of the blue had recently decided to leave her and his kids for a married woman he had met at work. No one who knew the family could believe it. Everyone was stunned.

Both of these sisters wanted to help me. Both had contacted the Relief society to see what they could do. Maybe they were angels too, because the cloud of despair began to lift from my mind as I stood there in that pool of lamplight. I would be able to do whatever was needed. My

burdens were no heavier than others bore. In fact, I wouldn’t trade with either of my dear, angel friends. I knew, too, that a message had been deliberately sent that night. I was on the verge of losing it and Heavenly Father had sent word of his care and concern. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to Him and asked help for those dear sisters instead of myself for the first time in weeks. Yes, I’ve had some dealings with angels.

Smoking Hot and Beautiful Are Different

Larry and I were sitting in the parking lot at our nearby high school at one in the morning last Saturday night. We were waiting for our two youngest daughters who teach there to finish closing up the school after the Homecoming dance. Teaching is only one of the things they do. They sponsor a very active student council so they always have tons of extra duties. Organizing homecoming and locking up after dances are just two. Larry doesn’t like them to be there alone that late at night. He says it’s a jungle out there. So when dances are over we go sit in the parking lot. Our daughters think we’re silly and I doubt that two broken down geezers would be much help in a crisis but it makes their dad feel better.


Anyway…..we had arrived way early, just in time for the huge traffic mess, and pulled into a space up front to get out of the way. We sat there and watched as hundreds of students left the dance. Homecoming is a semi-formal so everyone was all dressed up. Lots of the kids looked very nice in their best dancing duds. We noticed that this year there seemed to be a great deal of “sparkly” going on, which I really love. We wished we’d invested in a sequin factory or a “Bedazzler” store or something. It became obvious after a while, however, that quite a few of the girls were having some really serious wardrobe malfunctions. Actually the problem seemed to be more of a lack than a malfunction. In way too many cases there simply wasn’t enough wardrobe to completely cover the child in question.

It was late and dark and Larry can’t see very well now, but when I looked over and saw him shaking his head I knew he could see well enough. Once I was afraid he was going to jump out of the car to angrily cover up some little girl with a raincoat we had in the back of the car. All I could think as this parade passed by was something my daughter-in-law once said to me in a similar situation. “Kathy,” she cried, “What in the world is wrong with that child’s mother!” That’s a good question for sure. Something’s definitely wrong somewhere.

Don’t get me wrong, even though I’m old I understand what motivates these young ladies. They want to be noticed and liked by boys….most teenaged girls do. But this whole thing put me in mind of something that happened about four years ago at another high school’s graduation.

I was sitting at a table just inside the huge auditorium our district used for high school graduations, one of several teachers signing kids in and giving them name cards to hand to the announcer. As they checked in they formed a line directly behind us to wait for the ceremony to start. Nervous, excited kids kept coming through the glass doors carrying caps and gowns over their arms. The group behind me was getting big and we often had to turn to shush them a bit. There were six boys right behind me, one I knew. We spoke a few words and then I got busy and they went to talking and joking like kids do. They all looked so young. One foot still in childhood while a wispy mustache grew on their faces. Tomorrow would take them to college or work or war. I hoped God would bless them all.

The crowd in front of me began to thin out as it grew closer to the time to begin. Then two girls came in wobbling precariously on the highest heels I’d ever seen. They stopped and gave me their names and I looked for their cards. Both had elaborate hair, streaked and piled high. It must have taken hours. Makeup included gargantuan eyelashes and lips. Bling was everywhere. Then there was the wardrobe. One girl’s tight top was cut so low it was truly a worry. I heard her say to the teacher next to me, “Dress code doesn’t matter because of the cap and gown. We’re going to party after.” The other girl wore a skirt so short that she couldn’t possibly sit down and still remain dressed, but we teachers let it pass. We were too late. They were 18 and it was graduation after all. Thank goodness for that cap and gown. They’d be covered from neck to ankle for a while at least. As they leaned over to sign in I noticed one of them glance provocatively over my head to the boys behind me. I turned to say something to my co-worker and noticed the boys….all still talking and laughing, but sort of leering in the general direction of the cleavage and thighs in front of them. I saw one of them hit his neighbor in the ribs with his elbow in case he’d missed it. Alerted, he looked and leered with the rest of them. The girls left, I shook my head and forgot them, and the crowd coming in dwindled to a few latecomers.

Then the door opened and a girl rushed in, hurrying to the table. I noticed a sweet smile. Her hair was simple and shiny, swaying just above her shoulders. She had on a dressy, cream colored knit top….it might have been silk…..with small cap sleeves and a neckline curving just below her collarbone. Her skirt was dark, fitting close to her waist and hips and then swinging out to fall in soft folds ending just above her knees. Her simple, dark heels looked about three inches high. Her makeup was light. I caught a glimpse of a pair of small pearl earrings, a simple necklace, and a thin jeweled watch on her wrist. When she moved a slight scent of some wonderful fragrance moved with her. This girl was absolutely lovely. The only other word that came to mind when you saw her was “beautiful.” It felt like a fresh breeze had just drifted into that now stuffy auditorium. I turned around to say last words to the kids behind me and noticed those six boys again. None of them was talking, laughing or leering. All were standing, silently staring. They were looking at the face of that girl. No joking around….no jabs to the ribs. Just respectful, silent, deep appreciation. One boy had a wistful look on his face. Two of them had their mouths open. One kid looked like he’d just seen a new car or something. It was a totally different response to someone of the opposite sex than I’d seen from them just minutes before.

I realized then that I hadn’t given these young men enough credit. They might be young but they already knew one of the most important lessons in life.

That lesson is that smokin’ hot and beautiful are not the same thing. Nope, not the same thing at all. Beautiful, lovely and of good report. Those are the qualities to look for. Seek after them. I think those six guys are going to be alright. I hope somehow the message gets through to those two girls before it’s too late.

Pornography Is A Lie

     I had an interesting discussion one time with a bunch of teenagers about the subject of pornography. The teenagers were students of mine, most of them seniors, in a Lifeskills class for kids with disabilities. The text we were using covered everything from how to write a check, rent an apartment, get a job, fix your car, shop for groceries, avoid arrest, tornadoes, flash floods and sexual diseases, stay healthy, choose a mate, and plan for parenthood. We were in the middle of the chapter covering sexual matters, knee deep in STD’s, when the subject of pornography came up. None of these kids were LDS and when someone mentioned porn, 100% of them said they viewed it regularly. I kept quiet about the subject until the next day when I posted my regular discussion starter in its usual place on the door. It said……

                   PORNOGRAPHY IS A LIE

     As the kids entered the room there were a lot of comments like, “Wazup? Ms Dub (W)? How can pictures be lies?” and “ Ms Dub, we knew you’d be against porn cause you’re really old and all “churchy.” That sort of thing.

      When everyone was seated I began my explanation. I told them that this class was all about learning to live full and rewarding lives despite any handicaps a person might have and that basing your life on the truth was an important part of that. We were trying to learn true principles in lots of different areas from finances to parenting skills and apply them to our lives. Sex was no different. Principles were involved. I told them that indeed I was “old and churchy” but that didn’t necessarily make me wrong. Sex, I explained, was one of the most powerful forces known to mankind and one that can bring happiness or misery into people’s lives depending on how its handled. I asked them to think hard and see if they knew of someone who was now miserable because of messing up with sex. They didn’t have to think hard at all…. everybody knew someone. Often that someone was in their own family.

     I continued….  “Understanding the truth about something as important to happiness as sex is would be necessary to living a fulfilling life, wouldn’t it?”

      “Yea, Yea, Yea……why’s porn a lie? someone  said.

     “ Because,” I began,  “porn tells its viewers that great sex is something it’s not. Porn tells people that great sex is something people do with strangers, or do for money, or pay money for, that it’s a group activity, a spectator sport, an exhibition, or something you do in front of a camera. That it’s all about the size of certain body parts, or how a person looks. Porn tells people that it’s OK for sex to be a weapon, a crime, a game, a joke, a job, a contest, a bribe, a payoff, or something you do because you want to be popular.  Porn tells people that sex is only about bodies and that it has nothing to do with the human spirit, that it doesn’t change you, that it means nothing, that feelings don’t matter. Porn says that a condom is all you need to be protected from harm. Well, each and every one of those things is a lie. If you want to build a life of misery, build it on a pack of lies.”

      “Furthermore,” I added emphatically, “all of you know that porn is not only a lie but that it’s wrong.”

     “Wait up, Ms Dub….no way,” said one of the students, “Nobody makes those people do those things…we’re just looking…. Besides it looks like they’re having a real good time….Everybody watches porn”…etc.

     “I can prove that you know the truth,” I said. “Get out paper and pencil….we’re taking the “Porn Test.”

   “ A test?” more than one kid whined.

   “Stop complaining,” I said, “There’s only one question.

     The kids looked up from their seats expectantly. I could see all of their faces and the whites of their eyes. I told them that on second thought they could put their pencils away, they only had to “Think” the answer to the test question. But they had to promise to be honest with that one answer. Agreed.

      I didn’t tell them the most important thing I knew about them at this point. I couldn’t tell them because we had kids of all faiths in our student body. It wouldn’t be appropriate to mention Christ in this situation. Nevertheless, I knew that each of them, no matter what their faith, was born with the light of Christ. The scriptures taught us that. That light helps all Heavenly Father’s children to know right from wrong, good from bad. They all had that light to see by whether they knew it or not.

      So I gave them the test. I asked the question. “Pretend you’re looking at pornography as you usually do. Pretend that the images are right there in front of you now. Now, look deep down in your own heart, mind, and spirit. Be still and listen. Be honest. Isn’t something saying……

             “This is wrong….What those people are doing isn’t good…….it’s wrong. It’s wrong for them and I shouldn’t be watching because I know it’s wrong for me too.”                                                                                         

       “Isn’t something saying that to you? Look at me so I can see the answer in your eyes.”

     My students looked up at me and every single face in that class…. every one…. told the truth about pornography. THEY ALL KNEW.

      There was a kind of sheepish shuffling of feet and desks at that point and then one kid said, “Okay, Ms W…. Then what is great sex?”

“You’re asking an “old, churchy” lady a question like that? Do you really want to know what I think?”

“Yea, sure…why not?” someone said.

“Well then, I have to tell the truth even though you probably won’t like it……… Sex is a precious, divine gift given to a man and a woman who are MARRIED. Some of  life’s greatest blessings come to people through sex. You can become one with another human being through sex. You can get closer to them and connect with them more fully than in any other way. The greatest love you will ever feel will come to your life through sex because your children and grandchildren will come into being because of it. Probably most important of all, sex can never be great unless first there is love. It has to be the mature, unselfish, building a life together kind of love. The, your happiness is more important to me than my own, kind of love. Only if there’s love like that can sex be all it was designed to be.”

     Pornography is a big, fat, lie. It hurts people. Don’t believe it.

His Mother Wasn't Home

    Teenage boys aren’t known for their sound judgment. In fact, scientific studies show that the portion of their brain that controls this skill isn’t fully developed yet. Having taught high school for many years I can testify to the truth of that science. Because of this developmental delay a great deal of the world’s mischief has been invented at the hands of teenaged boys. But in my opinion they didn’t do this alone. Their mothers have to share in the blame because they weren’t home at the time to put a stop to said mischief before it got out of hand. I know this is true because nobody but a teenaged boy would think of these things and because no woman I know would have let their son be the first kid to do some of the crazy stuff we have to deal with today.

        For example…….

           Two teenaged boys stand outside a pasture leaning on the fence. Inside, peacefully grazing is the biggest, meanest, Brahma bull for miles around. Cyclone is it’s name. One kid says to the other…

     “Hey, I know what let’s do! Let’s go in there and one of us climb on the back of old Cyclone and then kick him in the sides until he throws us off and then stomps us into the dirt and breaks both of our legs!  We can get some of  our friends to time us with a stopwatch and the one that stays on longest and is still alive will win a new belt buckle!”

     “Great! says the other kid. Me first!”  Both of those kids had mothers who weren’t home that day…..I guarantee it.

     Or ……

             It’s summer…no school…everybody’s bored. One teenaged friend says to the other as they finish putting rubber bands on the newspapers they’re about to deliver….

“What do you want to do today…go to the movies?”                                                                                   “Nah…I have a better idea,” his friend says as he bands the last paper….“lets hike up to 5 mile bridge and tie big rubber bands to our feet and then dive off the bridge headfirst into the rocky river and see if we survive! It’ll be cool!”

     “That sounds like it might be dangerous,” says the other guy…“I better ask my mom first…Oh, I forgot…she’s not home today….OK, I’m sure she won’t mind. Let’s go!”

    And then there’s…..

      Best friends…Saturday afternoon….looking for something fun to do…..

    “Hey, I know what…..Let’s build a big playpen in your backyard and put pads on our hands and then get in the playpen and beat each other in the head until we’re senseless and one of us falls down with brain damage! Our friends can throw water on us to keep us conscious and the last one standing will win a new belt!” ( Belts must be really important to teenagers)

    “Okay……cool!”

  And don’t forget…….

    “Hey….my friend says he’ll take us for a ride in his new airplane on Saturday. Let’s have some real fun! We’ll take big tarps and hook them to our backs somehow and then when the plane’s really up there we’ll open the door and jump out! I’ll bet the tarps will fill up with air and we’ll just float down to the ground.”

  “That might not work,” says his friend in an excess of caution.…“Let’s stuff the tarps into our backpacks first, we can figure out someway to get them out on the way down. Maybe we could hook a string on the zipper and pull it open that way.”

      “COOL!” Should we ask our moms first?”

      “Nah, my mom always has to go shopping on Saturday. She won’t mind.”

     Then there’s…..

       “Hey Dude, I just got my driver’s license!”

       “Me too!”

       “I know what! Let’s get all our friends with licenses and make a big road in a circle. We’ll all get in our cars and drive 100 miles an hour around and around in the circle while everybody tries to pass and get in front without slowing down until somebody gets in an accident and maybe gets killed!”

         “Cool!”

         “Did you ask your mom if it’s OK?”

         “ Nah, Dude, she’s not home today.”

     There’s more, but you get the picture.

      The moral of this story is…..Moms need to keep a sharp eye out for mischief.  Also, another moral is…. adults should be patient with teenaged boys….their brains aren’t done yet.

Many Sheep Cross the Sky

“To gladden the eye and delight the heart of man…” that’s what the scriptures say. That’s why Heavenly Father’s creations are so beautiful. He made them that way on purpose just for us. How grateful it makes me to think of that kind of love, that kind of skill. It’s something parents feel for sons and daughters……..love that wants them to know beauty and to be happy. I’ve felt something like that myself at times…..“Look, sweetheart…isn’t that amazing!” is a comment I’ve been able to say to my children at times. It always brings me joy to see delight in their eyes. Well, I hope we never pass by Heavenly Father’s creations without noticing how lovely they are, and I hope He’s pleased to see the joy in our eyes.

Years ago, when our family first moved to the mountains from the city, we were suddenly surrounded by awesome natural beauty every day and night. It was impossible to ignore and often stopped us in our tracks. I remember standing on the school playground, turning in circles as I looked up into the bluest of blue skies to watch enormous, white clouds racing on the high winds. Clouds never looked like that or moved that fast in the city. I was always fascinated by them. One day one of my students was standing nearby, a Navajo boy. He looked up at my face and said, “Many sheep cross the sky. It will rain soon.” I guess he thought I was looking for an explanation. Living on the mountain, each day, each season, brought its own beauties….some that took your breath away.

Well, all good things must end, they say, and the dreaded day came when our nest emptied and our selfish children refused to give us any of the grandkids to keep in our little house in the big woods. They were all down in the nasty old city, our posterity were. We couldn’t talk them into letting us keep even one sticky little grandbaby or annoying teenager. Lowlanders again, as the mountain folks called them. If we wanted to be near kids and grandkids we had to move. So we both found jobs and went back. It was a wrench in so many ways.

We had grown close to nature up here and I was sure that trading Ponderosa forests and mountain lakes for traffic jams and dust storms would be really hard. It was, but I was surprised at a lesson I learned.

We bought a tiny little “spec” house right at first. It was just a place for temporary shelter while we settled back after years of mountain life. We would look for something permanent later. The house was built for someone else who decided against it, but was ready for move-in right away. School had already started, both of us were adjusting to new jobs and the house had its good points…..the kids and grandkids were nearby, stores were right around the corner, (Not a 50 mile drive over sometimes snow covered, winding, mountain roads), and best of all every kind of restaurant my husband could think of could be found somewhere in the city. (That didn’t stop him from driving us 400 miles to another state for a burrito as big as your head because Sunset magazine had an article about one though.) Despite its good points there was a downside. The house was one of those “ticky, tacky boxes all in a row,” with the red tile roofs that sprawl all over the southwest. You have to count your way down the block to find where you live because every one’s the same, sort of thing. In this suburban neighborhood I certainly didn’t see any hope of finding any connection with the land or animals that had become such a big part of our lives in the woods. This was the city…… albeit the outskirts….. there’s no nature here, I thought.

Well, I was wrong. There is nature here….though a different, smaller kind. Sometimes you have to be very still to experience it, but it calms the soul, nevertheless.

For instance, a small yellow bird with green feathers shading its head comes every day to the palo verde tree just off the back patio. It hops among the green branches, lime colored leaves, and yellow flowers. A vine hangs down from the arbor that I had Guillermo build for me, dangling a purple flower right in the open doorway to the little library we made from the spare bedroom. We knocked out the windows and put a French door that opens onto a tiny courtyard we made there between the house and block wall. Hummingbirds never fail to stop to drink nectar from the blossoms while I sit next to the little fountain that Larry hung on the wall for me. The honeysuckle we planted just months ago now almost covers the whole thing. The tiny courtyard’s only 10 feet wide but is filled with old pots of bright fuscia bouganvillia and hearts and flowers spilling onto the brick pavers. The doors to the little library are usually wide open and one hummer even ventured inside once, standing still in mid-air…… pausing….. I think, to listen to the music we had playing while we sat on the loveseat next to the shelves filled with my books. Bees and butterflies flit to the potted Mexican lime tree that always has some blossoms no matter the season. Its little limes are the most flavorful I’ve ever tasted……the fresh, limey smell fills the kitchen whenever you slice one to put in your ice water. Two lizards visit daily, doing pushups on the wall…their blue bellies showing bright under their tan scales. I see them so often I’ve named them Lucky and Lucy though I’ve no idea of their gender. On restless nights when sleep doesn’t come easily I go and sit on the bench outside our bedroom, a soft breeze moving the leaves on the trees now as tall as the house after only a few months.

In March that breeze brings the heady scent of orange and lemon blossoms which perfumes the air across the Valley. I look up to see a few familiar stars visible above. Even in the light of the city I can find the dippers and the North star. Orion is often there, too, guarding those below with his sword at the ready. Certainly not the clouds of stars we could see in the white swath of the Milky Way on moonless nights on the mountain, but somehow comforting, nevertheless. It turns out that we made a trade of sorts when we moved back to the desert……stars for sunsets it was. Sunsets are often spectacular here, of course. Reds, oranges, and purples paint the darkening western sky almost every night. We had to drive to the Rim overlook to see sunsets on the mountain. Too many huge ponderosa pines blocked the view. But whenever we returned home after being out after dark it was always someone’s job to run and turn off the porch light. Then we could all stand and stare up at the millions of stars so dense that they made a dusty white path across the black night sky. The Milky Way for sunsets…that was the trade.

There are other small pleasures here, too…….soft night breezes and the sounds and smells of freshly cut grass even in winter ….that sort of thing. So we stayed in the little “spec” house…… longer than we intended…… husband now saying, “It’s big enough for just us two and I don’t want to move furniture.” So now years have passed in this temporary, just until we get settled again place. Even though we miss the spectacular beauties of the mountains I now believe it’s true what the old hymn says….“there is beauty all around.” Wherever you are, look for it and be gladdened and delighted. I think it will make Heavenly Father happy.

Powerful Images

I’m old enough to remember my family’s first television set. My childhood family that is. This was back in the day………way back. We were one of the first on our block to have a TV and I remember the excitement of my little brothers and our young friends as we waited outside, sitting on the grass out on the front lawn watching for my dad’s blue Ford to turn the corner onto our street. He had a huge box containing the console TV crammed into the trunk and tied down with ropes to secure it. Neighbors came to help carry it into our family room where it took the place of honor right up front next to the fireplace. My mom placed her loveliest lace doily and plant on top of the dark mahogany box with the green screen, Dad turned the set on, and our lives were changed forever.


Then, of course, as everyone’s house began to have a place of honor for the big box with the green screen………. all of our lives were changed forever.

Television, movies, videos, DVD’s………what mixed thoughts come to mind when I consider the part they now play in our lives. I’ve seen the surface of the moon thanks to TV, the Antarctic and the Amazon, the inner workings of a beating heart, life at the bottom of the oceans, met presidents and prophets, heard symphonies and hoedowns, seen the top of Mount Everest and the bottom of the Grand Canyon, heard Church General Authorities teach eternal truths and so much more. All these things were good…. some were incredible…. some were eternally important, and they enriched my life. On the other hand even though I try not to watch an excessive amount of TV, I’ve wasted more hours than I’d care to count on senseless, mindless, sometimes even soulless drivel. TV sitcoms, game shows, reruns of reruns, commercials, questionable comedy, late night talk shows, violence, cruelty, immorality disguised as funny, modern, and desirable…..I’m ashamed to say I’ve seen them all. I think I may have to account for the time I spent watching this kind of thing someday, and I’m not looking forward to having to explain it, I can tell you.

This is one of the great moral challenges of the last days I think…. choosing carefully how we spend our time. In days past there wasn’t much choice, people spent their time surviving.

One thing may help us and that’s to understand the great power of visual media. I remember clearly a Saturday when I was a 12 year old girl, going to the movies with my best friend on a sunny afternoon. Back then we took the bus downtown to the big ornate theatre with floating clouds on the ceiling and red velvet curtains that folded up over the screen as the movie started. There were no neighborhood multi-plexes back then. On this Saturday the theatre was filled with kids our age and it was a double feature. Two movies for the price of one. Both were horror films, not ones my friend and I usually would choose, but all our friends were there. By today’s standards both of these films could be shown, uncut, on the Saturday morning cartoon shows. Both would probably be rated PG. One was called “Black Sunday” and was set in medieval times. Its opening credits featured an execution. An iron mask with spikes on the inside was hammered into a man’s face, killing him instantly. The other film was “The Man Who Couldn’t Die.” The star was a character who was unable to experience any disease or injury throughout his entire life, due to some magic spell cast on him. The last scenes show the spell breaking and the pains of a lifetime happening all at once as he ascended some stairs in a vain attempt to run away.

Well, it’s been 50 years since I saw those images. They have no use or value to me whatsoever. In fact, I would give a great deal of money if I could get them out of my head right now. Yet, despite my wishes I have those pictures in my brain….. taking up space……useless, unimportant, very powerful….waiting to disturb my peace at the most inopportune times and places for all those years. Nothing I can do will erase them. I put them inside my brain when I was a young girl and here they are in the head of an old lady. Very powerful…. the visual media. We’d be wise to choose carefully.

Man Survey

I’m very grateful for the blessing of eternal marriage. My husband and I have been sealed in the temple for time and eternity, not just until death parts us. It’s a good thing too, because it may take me that long to figure him out. The problem is that he’s a man and men don’t always make sense.


You’d think that being married for decades would be enough to teach a person all about the opposite sex. Well, not necessarily, is all I can say. Men are still a mystery to me even after being married to one for all these years. It must be like what some church authority once said about raising children..... “Before we had kids my wife and I had lots of theories about the proper way to raise children and now we have lots of children and no theories.” It’s the same way with men I guess. There’s only one thing I absolutely know for sure about them and it’s this… they’re different from women. Really, basically, at a cellular level, different. They see the world from a uniquely man point of view which sometimes doesn’t make sense to a woman. Let me tell you about a case in point.

One Sunday when we lived in the mountains I was standing in the church foyer after the meeting when my friend Sandy came up to me looking a bit dejected. I asked her what was wrong and she said that her husband Joey was mad at her and she couldn’t figure out why. I asked her to explain.

“Well,” she said, “It’s about our porch. The front steps have been creaky for the last year or so and finally the top step got so loose that it was a hazard. I practically broke my neck the other day dragging groceries into the house. I’d asked Joey to fix them a hundred times and he always said he’d get to it when he could. Well, he obviously didn’t want to fix them so Tuesday I called a repairman who came right over and took the whole thing apart, rebuilt the top step and only charged me $60. The porch looks like new. I work part-time you know and I paid him from my paycheck. Well, when Joey got home he had a fit! He said he could have fixed that porch for free in less than 30 minutes and I’d wasted $60! Then he went into a long tirade about how I don’t know the value of a dollar….you know. I don’t understand why he’s so mad.”

“I know exactly what you mean!’’ I cried. “I had the same thing with a toilet that kept running.” Larry said it was the flapper and he’d fix it when he got around to it. It drove me crazy for months. I finally called a plumber and then boy did we have a fight. I didn’t understand either. I thought I was doing him a favor.”

“Maybe it’s a man thing,” Sandy said quizzically. (She was still a newlywed, married only about 20 years or so and still at the trying to figure them out stage in life. I’d been married a lot longer than that and had arrived at the you’ll never figure them out so just deal with it stage.)

“I wonder if they’re all like that,” I asked her thoughtfully.

She gazed off into space for a minute and then said, “Let’s find out.”

“How?” I replied.

“We’ll do a survey! Sandy cried. “Let’s start right here and now.”

And so the Man Survey was born in the church foyer. We moved outside the building to the sidewalk to be respectful and if a man came out we asked him if he would take part in our survey.

Sandy explained the porch scenario, changing names to protect herself, while I told my leaky toilet story. We then asked him if he would get mad at his wife in the same situations. We asked all kinds of men…… highly educated professionals, blue collar workers, old men, newlyweds, guys with manicures, fancy dressers, guys who needed a haircut and one guy with red suspenders and grease under his fingernails. In all those surveys we found only ONE sensible man. He listened intently to our stories and then asked, “Where’d she get the money?” We said she works part-time. At that point he exclaimed happily, “Go for it Babe!”

One man was an especially bitter disappointment. After listening intently he looked at us like we had lost our minds and said in a very serious tone, “My wife knows better than to do a thing like that!” He had three college degrees.

After we finished at church we decided to continue to survey men we saw at work during the week. Next Sunday we met again to compare results. “Go for it, Babe!” was the only man who didn’t get at least very annoyed with his wife.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Sandy said dejectedly. “How am I ever going to know what will make Joey upset if he doesn’t make sense?”

“You won’t….but you’ll get used to it.” I replied knowingly.

Another man thing came up a short time later that involved underwear drawers. I quietly went up to Sandy a few weeks after the survey to ask her if her husband kept strange things in his underwear drawers.

“Like what?” she asked, looking at me with a puzzled expression.

“Like socket wrenches, dead batteries, old car dealer brochures, extension cords, cable to an old VCR, various ammunition including shotgun shells, nuts, (walnuts, pistachios, and the kind you use with bolts), magnifying glasses and binoculars, lots of quarters with state pictures, expired coupons for free chile dogs, that sort of thing.” I said.

“Why yes!” she cried, “Why do you ask?”

“Well, Larry and I just had a “discussion” about a car part he had in with his socks. I was putting clean underwear away and I asked him very sweetly, “What’s this dear?” I held up a car part the size of a casserole dish to show him.

“It’s a filter and air cleaner from a 1991 Chevy Metro,” he replied. “Why do you ask and why are you bothering my stuff again?

“Well, cars are usually kept in the garage. Don’t car parts belong in the garage too?”

“HA! That shows what you know! he practically shouted.“We don’t even own that car anymore!”

I just shook my head and walked away. Eternity is a good long time. I just hope it’s long enough.

Good Game

Usually when I do these scribblings I try to disguise the identity of the people involved and change names to protect those both innocent and guilty. Today, however, I’m going to name names. I’m going to tell a little story about a current leader in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, our Stake President, David Allen, and his beautiful wife Becky. I hope I don’t get into trouble.


This happened decades ago, in another ward across the city, when we were all still raising kids. Larry and I were the parents of four children by then, two of them teenagers. Well, teens can be a challenge for anyone as we all know, but we were raggedy converts trying to raise LDS teens. We had zero experience in what this looked like. None of the experiences we had growing up had any application here. In fact, there was only one thing we knew for sure…… the way we were raised was not going to work in this situation. It was an unsettling time for us as parents. Sometimes I felt really alone.

Well, our only son was about 16 at the time, and played on his high school varsity football team. I tried to talk him into something safer, like chess, but he would only shake his head at me and say, “Mom, you’re an idiot…football is my life.” He’d played every year and was now getting to be a sort of a big deal on his team. There were about 70 guys on the team roster, and Dane plus another boy from our ward were two of only three or four boys who were LDS. Big school, lots of peer pressure, overwhelming odds, scary times for Mom and Dad.

I remember those Friday nights….dusty bleachers, bright lights, screaming crowds, marching bands, cheerleaders, players getting injured and hauled off on stretchers, snow cones, and often David and Becky Allen. The Allens? Yes, the Allens.

David was our bishop at the time, crazy busy as bishops always are. Becky was a bishop’s wife, even busier than he was, raising little kids and building a home while David looked after the whole ward. I think you’d have to have been there to appreciate the sacrifices involved in both those heavy calls.

Back to the Friday night football games. So many times I’d be sitting in the bleachers talking with friends, when here would come Bishop and Sister Allen to say hello.

“What are you doing here?” I’d ask in surprise. “You’re kids are still little…..you don’t have to do this for a few years yet!”

“We wanted our boys to know that we’re rooting for them,” they’d say. “Tell Dane we said that he played a really good game.” After a few more words they’d be on their way.

Well, I know a few things about how precious time is for a young couple with kids and lots of responsibilities. I know that a Friday night out with just the two of you can be hard to come by. I know about babysitters and what they cost. I also know that a high school football game isn’t the most romantic spot one can imagine.

I also know that every single time I said to my son, “Brother and Sister Allen stopped by to tell you that you played a really good game.”

He would say, “Bishop and his wife came to my game? Really?” Then he’d look off thoughtfully into space for a few seconds. I could tell by the look in his eyes that this meant something to him, something important. And I always felt a little less alone as a parent when I saw it.

That’s a small thing, you may say, those Friday nights. And I say, “Yes, but you know what the scriptures say about small things.”

Anyway, it was some decades later when the phone rang and it was my son who said I should sit down.

“Oh, no, what’s wrong?” I asked frantically as I sat.

“Lisa and I are in the Stake President’s office and I’ve been called to be in the bishopric. Does it shake your faith?” he asked.

“No, Son.” I replied. “Well, maybe a little.” And then for some reason I began to remember those Friday night football games, and a busy bishop and his even busier, beautiful wife. I remembered that they always said to tell Dane, “Good game.” I remembered that it mattered to him that they came. I remembered that it mattered to me.

I will tell him. And, Brother and Sister Allen, thank you so much. Good game.

Get On the Elevator

Have you ever been blessed with a miracle? I was blessed with one not long after we were baptized. When it happened I knew that absolutely, somehow, from another place not of this sphere, someone cared enough about me to actually step in.

I was then a student at Arizona State University working to complete my teaching degree. I was thankfully getting close to graduating. It had been a huge struggle in many ways for me to get this far. Larry was supporting our young family and paying for all my college expenses while still in his 20’s. I’m sure he never saw that one coming. We were ignorant of student loans and scholarships so we paid for everything ourselves. Later this turned out to be a blessing because we had no student debt, but at the time it was a burden for sure.

I supplemented our income with part time work while raising our kids and going to school. You might be wondering why we struggled so much along about now. Well, we had married very young but despite that I had always dreamed of going to college. Larry had dropped out of ASU as a senior when our second baby was on the way so that he could work full time to support us. There was really no choice in the matter, so we thought, the kids have to eat. But he stood beside me in my college dream and felt it would be a good investment in our future. So he sacrificed. I sacrificed. And sadly, sometimes our kids sacrificed too. Babysitters, hectic schedules, and fast food dinners were common around our house during my college years.

Well, it was around this same time that we joined the Church. I was learning line upon line about the importance of children and family. I began to see that time is short with our kids and that they and my husband shouldn’t have to give up so much for my dream. They should be my first priority. They were young….. only once. They needed a mom who was there for them. My husband might even need his wife. Maybe this wouldn’t work anymore. Especially this last semester, which was shaping up as a nightmare due to scheduling problems. I needed a few specific required classes to finish, and as I studied the new class schedule I realized that the courses I needed were at the most inconvenient times possible. They were spread out over the entire week, with early starts, long breaks between classes, and required labs at night. We lived an hour by freeway from the university so coming home and returning later in the day was not an option.

So, on the dreaded day of walk-through registration, with a heart full of doubts, I made arrangements for my kids and headed across the city to see what could be done.

As I drove to get on the freeway I passed our neighborhood elementary school and thought dejectedly about the new program that ASU was sponsoring there and in all the other schools in our district. It was an innovative teacher prep program where each university student was placed in a variety of classrooms before student teaching and graduation. Each future teacher had exposure to teaching science, math, English, art, and music, working with all age groups, in both special education and self contained classes. The mornings were spent in the classrooms and then ASU sent their own faculty to teach all the required university classes at the district offices in the afternoon. The day ended at 2:00. All this in our own local school district! Several months earlier when I first heard about this wonder I rushed over to the director’s office to sign up.

This would solve all my problems! No more 2 hour commute! No more night classes! I would be on the same schedule as my kids and be home for them when they walked in from school. No more babysitters! I could cook dinner for my husband! Maybe I could even clean the house! It was a miracle!

I started to explain all this excitedly to the program director when he stopped me with a “Whoa there,” and an upheld hand. He was really sorry but the program was full and there was a waiting list. He could put my name on it but there were lots of students ahead of me.

It’s hard to describe how deep my disappointment was even these many years later.

I’m ashamed to admit this but I went back to that poor man’s office twice again to literally beg him to make an exception in my case, explaining in detail my problems. He was patient and kind but gave me a firm, “Sorry, no,” each time.

So I merged our old car into freeway traffic and headed across the valley to the dreaded walk-through registration.

After a stress filled morning of long lines and class juggling I picked up my paperwork and headed over to the education building to sit in the outdoor courtyard to look closely at what my life would be like for the next few months. I sat on a bench, pulled out my calendar and began to fill the days with class times. After a while I stopped to take a look. I had classes 5 days a week making the 2 hour commute necessary Monday through Friday. Mondays and Wednesdays I wouldn’t get home until after 5:00. On Tuesday and Thursday there was a 9:00 lecture and a 3:00 lab which ended at 6:00. That meant leaving the house before the kids went to school and not getting home until way after 7:00. On those days Larry would need to pick up the kids after he finished work and make supper himself. I’d be gone from home almost all the time until semester’s end. I tried to imagine what this schedule would mean for my husband and children. What would their days be like?

As I stared at the calendar I knew. I also knew that I couldn’t ask my husband and children to live that way. I’d been learning line upon line about eternal families and I knew that the hectic life on that calendar was wrong for mine. More than an education was at stake here. I slowly put my papers in my bag and got up from the bench thinking with heavy heart as I did, “Well, Heavenly Father, I worked so hard. I’ve done everything I could possibly do these past few years to graduate from college. Now it has to be over.”

Then the miracle happened.

As I walked across the courtyard I passed the outdoor elevator. Somewhere from behind me or maybe it was at the back of my head I heard or maybe felt a voice that said, “Get on the elevator.” It startled me. I stopped walking and looked around. I was alone. I started walking to the car once more and there it was again, “Get on the elevator.” The words were not exactly heard but distinctly understood. It was the strangest thing I’d ever experienced.

I turned very slowly and went to the elevator, pushed the button and got on. The ed building was only 2 stories so I pushed “2.” As the doors closed I frantically asked myself….What’s going on?..... Why am I on this elevator?.... Where am I going? I thought about what was on the second floor. I knew that the office of the director I’d been pestering was just a few feet from the now opening doors. Then it dawned on me and I started to get really upset and began a heated argument with the “Voice/Feeling.”

“Are you kidding?? No way am I going to talk to that man again! He’ll think I’m stalking him and call campus security!! I’ll be making a complete fool of myself! Again…… “Get on the elevator.” “What are you talking about? I argued back. I’m ON the elevator already! The doors are open! And I’m NOT going in there no matter what you say!!” I almost shouted it out loud as I walked slowly to the director’s office.

The outer office door opened into a large foyer. There was a receptionist sitting at her desk against the far wall and 5 or 6 smaller offices along the sides. The director’s office was one of them and the door was open. He was at his desk. I stood in the middle of the foyer, about 20 feet away, turned to face him, but didn’t move forward an inch. I think I was poised for a quick getaway. He looked up from his work but didn’t say a word.

I stood stupidly for a few seconds and then blurted out, “Please let me in your program.”

He still didn’t say anything. He just stared at me. Then he picked up the phone and made a call. I couldn’t hear what was said. He hung up the phone, looked at me and said, “You’re in.” With those two words, life changed for our whole family.

When I look back after all these years my heart fills with gratitude. I think of some of the lessons that miracle taught this raggedy old convert. He IS our father. He knows us and our struggles. He loves us. After we’ve done all we can help will come. If we try to understand what’s right and do the right thing help will come. We are not alone.

Miracles happen.

The Swamp’s Full of Gators

Part of the difficulty with our modern lives has to do with alligators. I was reminded of this one day when our oldest daughter called from her home in Seattle to tell me what a frustrating day she’d had with her oldest daughter, then two years old.

“Ma,” she whined, “I had 6 bags of groceries hanging from both arms, about to drop them trying to get into the car while watching the baby and Alex at the same time. Alex’s shoe came off and she had a screaming fit when I stopped to put it back on her foot. She wanted to do it herself! She wants to do everything herself but she’s too little. She sat down right in the middle of the parking lot and wouldn’t let me help. Finally I had to pick her up to haul her off to her car seat while she was kicking and screaming like she was being kidnapped. All the ruckus started the baby crying and then screaming too. People all around me stopped to stare as if they were trying to decide if I really was a kidnapper or just an incompetent mother. One lady looked like she was ready to call the cops. I finally got everything loaded and sped off like we were in a getaway car. I can’t stand days like this!” she wailed.

I thought about this for a minute and told her I knew what her problem was.

“What?”

“Alligators.”

“Alligators? Ma, what are you talking about.”

“Well, you’re trying to drain the swamp and alligators are snapping all around you,” I replied calmly. “And by the way, your alligators’ names have changed.”

“Alligators? Ma, are you crazy?”

“Not yet. Let me explain. It’s the old 'you’re having trouble remembering that the main objective was to drain the swamp because you’re up to your knees in alligators' thing,” I replied. “You have alligators snapping all around you and it makes it harder to think.”

“Ma, are you crazy?”

“Not yet. Let me explain. What you do everyday is of great importance. You’re trying to build an eternal family and help get them and yourself back to Heavenly Father and the Celestial Kingdom. That’s a big, important job with lots of endless hard work. Screaming kids who sit down in parking lots while you struggle with groceries and a new baby make you forget what you’re really doing. Those are alligators. Cranky husbands, messy houses, too little money, too much to do…..all alligators. You spend so much time fighting off gators each day that it’s hard to remember why you got in the swamp in the first place. You got in there for the most important reason there is. It helps a lot if you remember. For example, you’re not being patient with an hysterical two year old……..you’re nurturing a child of God and building an eternal family. Scott has gators too, you know. Tell him he’s not dealing with an overtime work week, mindless paperwork, and rush hour traffic….he’s providing for an eternal family’s temporal needs. Tell him you appreciate that. Everybody has to deal with their own gators no matter who they are or what their situation in life. See?"

“I guess. But Ma, I can hardly wait for the day when I get this swamp all cleared out. What a relief that’ll be!”

“Kim, bad news. You never will. The alligators names just change,” I told her. “Everybody’s swamp is crawling with gators and everybody has to fight them off each day.”

“What? Are you crazy, Ma?”

“Not yet. Let me explain,” I calmly replied.

“Do you remember when you used to call your father and me every week from Seattle to cry about how you were getting old and had no husband and your biological clock was ticking and you still had no kids….woe is me…..boo hoo boo hoo? (When he came home from work your dad used to ask if “Whining in Seattle” had called today). Remember that? Those were alligators in your swamp. Different names….same alligators. Now instead of “29 and no kids” your gators are named “2 kids in 2 years.” Instead of “No Husband” the gator’s now called “Husband-always-leaves-a-mess-in-the-bathroom.” I, myself, have had many a fight with gators of my own, I can tell you. In fact I used to have some of the same ones you’re dealing with. Now my alligators’ names have changed to “Bad Back,” “Wrinkles and Sags,” and “Too-Little-Time-Left-to-Get-Perfect-Here.” See how it works?”

“Oh no, I think I’m starting to understand you,” Kim replied in a dejected tone.

“Good. Don’t forget that it’s got a lot to do with farming too,” I reminded.

“Farming? Ma, what are you talking about?”

“Plowing straight rows, of course.”

“Ma, are you crazy?”

“Not yet. Let me explain. Some General Authority once told a story I’ll never forget. He said that in the old days before GPS tractors and such when a farmer wanted to plow straight furrows in his fields at planting time he’d always be sure to pick a spot far across the field, clear on the other side, like a tree or a big rock, and then look right at it and head his plow straight for it. If he didn’t take his eyes off the spot…didn’t look around at the ground or rows in front or next to him…just kept heading right to that exact spot….the furrows would be straight as an arrow. If he got distracted, looked down and tried to go by what was happening all around him, the rows would be all curvy and crooked. Good story. Head straight for the mark. Don’t get distracted by all the stuff happening right around you. Keep your eye on the Celestial Kingdom up ahead and just plow straight toward it. Work steadily, every day, line upon line, precept upon precept, every chance you get. Or something like that.”

“Right. I see it now,” Kim remarked wearily.

“If you remember that it’s all about alligators and plowing you’ll be alright.” I reminded. “Of course you can’t forget to hold the doors. Holding doors is a very important part of it too.”

“Doors, Ma?” Kim said in the strangest tone.

“Yes, a wife of one of the prophets, I think it might have been Sister Hinckley, said an important thing. She said…..“Hold the door for everyone you meet, all carry a heavy load whether you can see it or not."

"She knew that we’re all fighting off alligators while trying to plow a straight row and that we should try to help each other out when we can. A very wise woman that Sister Hinckley. She was somebody’s mother. People should always listen to their mothers, you know.”

“Ma, you really are crazy.”

“Not yet.” I said.

All Grown Up

My husband and I have four children….all of them are grown now. Each has a full life entirely separate from us, with college degrees, careers, homes and families of their own. Life has changed dramatically for us since our nest emptied and when you invest so many years in raising kids that can be a bit unsettling. At times I’ve been known to look wistfully around our now quiet home and get a little melancholy. But then, every now and again, almost with uncanny timing the phone rings and I suddenly feel much better.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sitting in the special ed resource room at my desk during my afternoon prep period I begin working on the endless pile of paperwork that is the worst part of the job that I love. In the same room at their desks are two of my colleagues doing the same. We’re mostly quiet, trying to get as much work crammed into the 50 minutes as is humanly possible. That bell will ring soon and kids will pour in to end our misery, but before that happens the phone on my desk rings. I pick up and listen carefully for a few seconds, then prop the receiver between ear and shoulder and go back to typing while listening a lot less carefully. After a minute I say with detached menace, “Let me talk to your sister.” ( Pause to get sister ) “You are not going to wear that sweater. Give it back to her this minute or there will be trouble. I mean it.” (Another pause while phone goes back to original sister) In same stern tone, “No you may not punch your sister in her eye.” I hang up and go back to work.

The three of us continue typing quietly for a few minutes and then Bill says…

“Kathy, I know you have four kids…I was just wondering……how old are they now?”

“ Oh, you mean the ones that just called….well, let me think…..I stop to tally up the years….. 24 and 28,” I reply.

 I look over at him as his head drops into his hands. He’s a single dad with 3 young daughters of his own.

He mutters softly, “Heaven help me…it’s never going to end, is it?”

“Doesn’t look like it so far,” I say as the bell rings.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The phone rings on a quiet Saturday at our home in the mountains. It’s our oldest daughter who lives in the city 100 or so miles away. She has a husband and 5 and a half children.

“Ma” she says “I cut my finger.”

“Is it bad?” I ask.

“It’s pretty bad,” she says.

“ Does it need stitches? I ask.

“Maybe.”

“Well, you better go to urgent care and see if it needs stitches.” I reply.

“Urgent care costs 40 dollars.” she says.

“It IS your finger.” I explain.

“It might just need a butterfly bandage,” she says.

“Is Scott there?” I ask. Scott is her husband.

“Yes.”

“Have him look at it.”

She calls for Scott. Scott comes to look.

“What does he say?” I ask.

“He says it’s pretty bad.”

“Does he think it needs stiches?”

“He says maybe.”

“Well, you better go to urgent care then. If you need to borrow 40 dollars we can arrange that.”

“Don’t be silly,” she replies in an irritated tone.

“Alright then, let us know what happens at urgent care.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll call in the morning.”

She doesn’t call in the morning so I do.

“How many stitches,” I ask.

“None,” she says. “I didn’t go to urgent care. I just put a bandage.”


+++++++++++++++++++++++++


Phone rings on a weekday afternoon. I answer and it’s our son.


“Ma…. Jacob and I are sick and Lisa won’t take care of us.”

(Lisa is his wife. Jacob is their son.) He sounds near death so I ask what’s wrong with them. He says they both have head colds and can’t breathe and are coughing too. He thinks he has a fever but is too weak to get the thermometer.
“I told Jacob," he whines, "that if MY mom were here she’d make chicken soup and bring us Hi C with 7up in it. Lisa won’t take care of us. Will you talk to her?”

“Let me speak to Lisa,” I say sternly.

“Lisa,” he bellows, “my mom wants to talk to you.”

Lisa takes the phone.

“Kathy, they’re driving me crazy. We’ve all had colds this week and I have a huge Mutual meeting tonight. I’ve given them Gatorade and chicken noodle soup but Dane says it has to be Hi C with 7up and the soup isn’t homemade. I don’t have time to make soup or to go to the store for Hi C.”

I realize that this is a tricky situation and I want to be diplomatic and sensitive. So I reply in my most earnest tone of voice.

“ Lisa, dear, its important for you to understand something really basic about Dane. You’re his wife and priorities are at stake here. You must always remember, no matter what happens…..this is critical now…. that you CAN’T GIVE HIM BACK. You married him for time and all eternity and so I’m afraid you’re stuck. And please tell Jacob that if his dad’s mom were there she would tell the both of them to man up, get their own drinks and soup, and stop bothering you. Goodbye dear and good luck.”
 
 Yes, sometimes a phone call is all that you need to bring comfort for a melancholy mood.