New Year: Unresolved

New Year's Eve and Day have never been my favorite celebration. It might be partly because it comes so close on the heels of Christmas, and I'm a bit worn out. But besides that, the end of the year always seems like an approaching deadline. I start thinking about all the things I wish I had done, and usually end up lying in bed, worrying that some really good coupons are expiring.

Also, years ago I heard the superstitious idea that the thing you are doing at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve is a predictor of what you will be doing all year. If that's true, I will be spending 2015 loading the dishwasher. (Hey, wait just a minute! That's what I've been doing all last year!)

Anyway, I'm not making New Year's resolutions this year. I have in the past, but they never really worked for me. I realized this some time ago when I was doing a little spring cleaning and found an index card that I had written my resolutions on. I read them and remembered writing them a few months earlier. But then I saw the date written on the card and realized this was from three years ago. Same un-achieved dreams, different year.

For me, it's better to make some goals and commitments when school gets out for the summer, and then when it starts again. Those are times of real change in our house; change that feels bigger than hanging a new calendar on the bulletin board and trying to remember to put down the right year when I write a check.

But I do think the coming of a new year is a good time for personal thought and reflection. So instead of making a list of goals this week, I'm making a list of things I love. Here's what I have so far:

Hearing children's laughter
Walking barefoot on a warm sidewalk
Lying under a tree and looking up through the branches
Christmas smells
Milkshakes
Nuts
Browsing in a good thrift shop
Making people laugh
Feeling the Spirit
Music that makes me want to smile, or dance, or cry
Seeing my children playing happily together
Living near mountains
Libraries
Warm, freshly baked bread
Quilts!

I'll keep adding to my list, and maybe it will inspire a thought or two in some of you. But what I'm noticing now is that the things that I have deemed “happifiers” are pretty simple stuff. It occurs to me that I might enjoy the new year more if I made an effort to include – and appreciate – these little things I love.

Maybe I should make a New Year's resolution to do that . . . no, no!

Wishing You a Fabluous New Year!

Go Ahead. Make My Day

It may have been my fifth call to the IRS help center. We had received a letter informing us that there was an error in a federal tax return we had filed three years earlier. But no one who worked there seemed to be able to tell me what the problem was.

But this time, I reached someone who felt that he should put some time and effort into the task. It took a while, but he stayed with me on the phone until he found the error – one wrong digit in one of my children's Social Security Number.

I was very grateful, and impressed with his thorough work. I thought he deserved a little credit, so I asked if I could speak to his supervisor.

I heard tension – almost fear – in his deep African-American voice when he said that his supervisor was not available, and that he could give her a message.

“I just wanted to tell her how helpful you were. You solved my problem, and you were kind and pleasant.”

His tone changed completely.

“Ma'am,” he said, “you don't have to tell that to my supervisor. It's enough that you told it to me. I get a lot of people yelling and complaining, and it's great to hear someone say something nice. You just made my day.”

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A few years ago, I spoke briefly to a women I hadn't met before. I couldn't help noticing her eyes – they were such a stunning blue color. I decided to say something about it.

“You probably hear this all the time,” I said, feeling a little awkward, “but you have really beautiful eyes.”

She looked startled. “No, I don't hear that. Thank you. You made my day.”

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I recently sent an e-mail to a friend who had shown me kindness a few days earlier. I explained how her thoughtfulness and generosity had touched me and several other people. She replied to my note with these words: Thank you, Marnie. You made my day.

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I was a very foolish teenager.

And I did some foolish things. In some of the things I was breaking God's laws. Although none of these were serious sins, I am ashamed and sorry for these moments, and I am glad to have repented and left them behind me. I wish I had been smarter.

Still, looking back now I realize that if could relive my teen and young adult years with the power to change one thing about myself and my life, I would not change these foolish moments of transgression.

This one thing is what I would choose to change: I would be kinder.

I would smile and say hello to the shyer kids in the halls of my high school. I would reach out in friendship to the new students. I would be the one to say, “Hey, you guys, don't pick on her. She's my friend.”

Why do I feel this way? I'm not sure exactly, but this is what I'm thinking: my foolish mistakes were not, for the most part, things that hurt anyone besides myself. But I wonder if I could have changed somebody's day ― or week, or year, or life ― with some small compliment, or by asking someone to sit with me at lunch, or by listening with understanding and compassion.

Maybe kindness is bigger than foolishness.

The Apostle Paul has some thoughts about this, too:

  Though I speak with the tongues of men

         and of angels,

     And have not charity,

           I am become as sounding brass,

        Or a tinkling cymbal.

  And though I have the gift of prophecy,

       And understand all mysteries, 

           And all knowledge;

  And though I have all faith, 

       So that I could remove mountains,

             And have not charity,

         I am nothing.

  And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor,

      And though I give my body to be burned,

            And have not charity,

         It profiteth me nothing.

    Charity suffereth long, and is kind;

        Charity envieth not;

          Charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,

            Doth not behave itself unseemly,

         Seeketh not her own,

            Is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;

     Rejoiceth not in iniquity,

           But rejoiceth in the truth;

       Beareth all things, believeth all things,

           Hopeth all things, endureth all things.

   Charity never faileth:

          But whether there be prophecies,

       They shall fail;

           Whether there be tongues,

       They shall cease;

           Whether there be knowledge,

      It shall vanish away.

         And now abideth faith, hope, charity,

             These three;

      But the greatest of these is charity.

                                        (1 Corinthians 13)

At this special time of year, many of us find that our thoughts turn more often to the miraculous and sacred birth of Jesus Christ. It is, indeed, a cause for great celebration.

But it is His life that makes His birth a holy day. It is His love, His words, His service, and ultimately His great sacrifice for us all, that should leave us stunned and wet-eyed as we deck our halls. It is His magnificent glorious charity that will “cover the multitude of sins” as Peter tells us:

   "And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins" (1 Peter 4:8).

It is He, our benevolent Savior, who “makes our day” – not just Christmas Day, but every day that we turn to Him. It can be as simple as a phone call, an email, or a smile in a crowded department store.

So go ahead: make someone's day. You might find that in doing that, you make your own day, too.

Merry Christmas.

And above all things, clothe yourselves with the bond of charity, as with a mantle, which is the bond of perfectness and peace. (Doctrine and Covenants 88:125)

These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full. This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. (John 15:11-12)

Beautiful Day in the Chemo-hood

If you have read my Halloween post from last year, you know that for the past five Octobers, I have been showing up for my weekly treatment at the Cache Valley Cancer Center in costume.

This year was no exception.

Mr. Fred Rogers has been mimicked, mocked, and parodied many times by many people for many years. I planned my costume not as a satire, but as a tribute.

I have always felt great affection for Mr. Rogers. He spoke kindly to me, told me I was special, and didn't seem to mind when I sang along with him. He said "I like you just the way you are" ─ a message I needed then ─ and which, come to think of it, perhaps this old world could really benefit from today.

He worked to make sure that there was a safe place in television for children. He wanted children to have a place where their feelings were okay. He showed us that people who don't look or talk or walk just like us can be our friends.

He showed us, in words and action, what it means to be a friend.

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In the book of Luke, Jesus taught the importance of loving our neighbors.

And, behold, a certain lawyer stood up, and tempted him, saying, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?
He said unto him, What is written in the law?  how readest thou?
And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself.
And he said unto him, Thou hast answered right: this do, and thou shalt live.
But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbour?  (Luke 10:25 - 29)

And then He told the story of the Good Samaritan to redefine what a neighbor is: one who shows mercy and compassion to another ─ regardless of geography. 

Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves? 

And he said, He that shewed mercy on him.  

Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.

Mr. Rogers walked in the door every morning for 31 years and sang a happy song while he put on his sweater and changed his shoes. Than he looked the world in the eye and said, "Hello, neighbor."

That's why I put on my costume and performed his songs at the cancer center. I did it quite poorly, but I made some people laugh and smile, and perhaps eased a burden or two. Maybe, for a minute. I was almost as good a neighbor as he was.

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Some of my fellow Chemo-weeners:

Tina the Terrible

The Incredible Hulk. Don't make him mad!
(He's actually the Incredibly Nice Hulk)

A couple of very Good Witches

It's a beautiful day in this Chemo-hood,

A beautiful day to do Chemo,

Would you do mine?

Could you start my line?

It's a neighborly day in this Cancer place,

You probably think I should not show my face –

But, I'm feeling fine, most of the time –

That's why I'm here, for Chemo.

I have always wanted to have a tumor, just like you,

I've always wanted to get my treatment here, with you.

So let's make the most of this Cancerful thing,

Since we're in treatment, we might as well sing:

Would you do mine? Hey, run my line?

Won't you start my Chemo?

Won't you please, Won't you please, Please won't you start my chemo?

It's such a good feeling

To know you're alive -

It's such a happy feeling; we're gonna survive,

And when you wake up ready to say -

I'm gonna fight some cancer today!

It's such a good feeling,

A very good feeling,

A feeling you know you're alive.

There are many articles and essays about Mr. Roger online. Here's one I liked:
http://www.avclub.com/article/is-imister-rogers-neighborhoodi-the-greatest-telev-91882

Hurting and Healing

I don't like getting hurt.

And I get hurt quite often. I have very thin skin – the result, I suppose, of my years of cancer treatment. And I am clumsy and impulsive and impatient.

This is not a good combination for personal safety.

Because I have seven children (and five of them are boys), I have a good amount of experience with broken things: dishes, chairs, windows, beds, large appliances. Fortunately, some of these can be repaired. But I have not yet seen one that has the power to fix itself.

But my body can do that. It can fix itself. And while I don't enjoy being injured, I do like the healing process. It is always a wonder to me to watch a cut or a bruise get smaller, and smaller, and then, disappear.

When I wrote my two missionaries a few weeks ago, I included these thoughts:

I feel blessed. Being sick and in the hospital is of course no fun, but I am glad to be home and I am glad I was able to touch some people while I was in the hospital. So many people need a little boost, a little inspiration. We should always be ready to share our light.

I also realized this: Pain hurts.

Okay, I know, this is hardly news. Everyone – even a small child – knows that pain hurts. And a lot of us sometimes put enormous effort into avoiding any kind of pain: physical, emotional, or the spiritual pain that comes from unrepented sin. Alma spoke about this kind of pain:

But I was racked with eternal torment, for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins. Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, for which I was tormented with the pains of hell . . .

         (Book of Mormon | Alma 36:12-13)

But the way I felt when I was sick is worse than pain. I can deal with pain, because I know what and where it is. The horrible feeling that something was wrong with me rang through my entire body. If pain is comparable to sin, I would compare this feeling to perhaps apostasy, or spiritual darkness. A sin can be repented of and made right eventually. The darkness of spirit can be lifted too, with light and faith and acceptance.

I am not saying this well, and I am not saying it because I want you to feel bad about me. I am very happy now. I am telling you this because you will meet people who are experiencing spiritual misery at both these levels, and although you cannot be the healer – you don't have that power – you can be the light that shows the way to the Only True Healer, our Savior Jesus Christ.

When I wrote that, I was writing to my son and daughter who have been called, and who have accepted the call, to serve as full-time servants of the Lord. So perhaps it doesn't apply to the rest of us.

Or perhaps it does.

I, too, have been called to be a servant, a disciple, a witness of God. And I, too, have openly accepted that calling; that mission. 

I can't do everything. Some days, I feel like I can't do anything. But on those days, I am wrong. Even on dark days, I can be a light -- for my family, my neighbors, my friends, even for strangers. It might be just what someone needs to help stop the hurting and start healing.

The way of the wicked is as darkness: they know not at what they stumble. But the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day. (Proverbs 4:19, 18)

So go forward. Treat everyone you meet as if they need your smile, your help, your light. Some of them really will need it. Others can take it and pass it on. Either way, you've done something really, really good.

PB and Love

Joseph was our smallest baby, and although he grew and was healthy, he never got the rolls of fat my other little ones did. But Joseph was the hungriest baby and child I have ever known. We don't know where he puts it.

When he started kindergarten, it only took me a day or two to learn that we needed to start making lunch early so he would have time to eat before he caught the afternoon kindergarten bus. The first day went something like this:

Joseph ate happily (and messily) and then said, “Mom, can I have another sandwich?”

“Really, Joseph? You've had two big sandwiches already.”

He shrugged and said he was still hungry, and I got the peanut butter and jam out again and made him another. He finished it off, drinking another glass of milk and leaving the peel from the banana he'd eaten too. Then I helped him wash his hands and face and he put his homework in his backpack and we walked to the bus stop, with three-year-old Elisabeth beside us and Adam in the stroller. We waved and said good-bye when he climbed on the kindergarten bus, and then we turned back for home.

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Several years ago, some neighbors invited our family to their house for a backyard cookout. We were happy to be included, but we were a little concerned about our kids, who were picky about some foods and didn't eat meat. Our host assured us that he and his wife would find something they liked.

We arrived at our neighbors' home and sat at a table in their backyard. While her husband cooked burgers and hot dogs at the grill, our friend came from the house and asked what she could prepare for us. Would we like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?

Absolutely.

She went back to the house, but returned a few minutes later to ask a question: “White bread, or whole wheat?”

The responses were divided. She smiled and went back to the house. But she was back soon, with another question: “Crunchy peanut butter or creamy?”

“Oh, really,” I protested, “you don't need to worry about it. They'll eat whatever you give them.”

She listened to my kids as they stated their preference and went back to the house. But not for long. She came back to ask “Strawberry jam or grape?”

It was quite a walk from the house to the table were we sat, and I felt awkward about putting her out this way. But she – and her whole family – were so cheerful about it. And after we ate we played some fun games in the backyard and went home very happy.

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My ten-year battle with cancer has had its ups and downs. On one particular day I was very sick – lying in bed, feeling miserable. My husband was busy with our kids and the day's work, but he checked on me regularly. At one point when I felt so bad I wasn't sure I could go on, Wes poked his head into the room and asked me if I needed anything.

“A resurrected body,” I answered. It seemed to me that nothing else would help me.

My sweet husband assured me that I would get one of those eventually, but for now would I settle for a peanut butter and jam sandwich? I nodded, and he brought me one, and I ate it. And you know, I felt a little better.

● ● ● ● ●

Peanut butter sandwiches are not glamorous or elegant. They aren't expensive, and they aren't very hard to make. They are one of the small, insignificant things in ours lives that we don't think about much.

But small things make a difference. The love and service of a mother for her hungry child, the kindness and cheerfulness of a kind and generous neighbor, and the compassion and care of a man for his ailing wife.

Those aren't such little things.

And there are smarter people than me who think so too:

"Life is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things, in which smiles and kindness, and small obligations given habitually, are what preserve the heart and secure comfort." (Humphry Davy)

"And thus we see that by small means the Lord can bring about great things." (Book of Mormon;1 Nephi 16:29)

"Sometimes when I consider what tremendous consequences come from little things, I am tempted to think there are no little things." (Bruce Barton)

So go ahead, do something little. It might turn out to be bigger than you thought.

Passing Through

Seventy years ago, in 1944, Elizabeth Gull moved to Salt Lake City to work in a aircraft factory. She was eighteen years old, and World War II was changing lives everywhere.

A few years earlier, a young man named Norman Barnes left his home in southern Missouri to join the army. In 1944, he was stationed in Utah.

They met on a blind date. And I guess, as they say, the rest is history — family history for me. They raised four children, and now have 16 grandchildren and 34 great-grandchildren.


About ten years ago, my sisters and I made this video in honor of our grandparents, Norm and Liz Barnes.We are grateful for their guidance and example. Their love story is sweet and inspiring. 

I hope you can feel that as you see and hear their story.

You can read another post about my grandmother's "legacy" to me (in a much less serious sense of the word) here: The Power of the Dark Side

Comments . . . from my friend Anonymous

Recently, it came to my attention that some of my friends who read my blog don't leave comments because they don't know how to do it. I am sorry about that. I am including how-to info at the bottom of the page.

However, I do have one faithful reader who consistently leaves a nice note whenever he visits. This is especially charming because I don't believe I know him personally. He says his name is "Anonymous." Hmm . . . the name sounds familiar . . . but I still don't think I've ever met him. (Or her. No, I don't think so.)

Since these comments are always a pleasure to read, I have felt a little selfish about keeping them all to myself. So today I will be sharing a few of my favorites.

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"Wow, marvelous blog format! How lengthy have you ever been running a blog for? you made blogging glance easy. The whole glance of your site is magnificent, let alone the content material! Here is my page jobs at a veterinary clinic"

 Oh, that's so sweet! I'm blushing . . .

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"Heya i am for the primary time here. I found this board and I in finding It really useful & it helped me out much. I am hoping to provide one thing again and aid others such as you aided me. Also visit my page; visit this page"

It really makes you feel good when you know that by providing one thing you are aiding others.

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"Hello, this weekend is fastidious for me, for the reason that this occasion i am reading this impressive educational article here at my home."

Okay, I had to go to the dictionary for this one. And I came away smiling. How wonderful to know that my friend is feeling excessively critical, demanding and hard to please — all because of me!

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"Hello there, just became aware of your blog through Google, and found that it is really informative. I am going to watch out for brussels. I will be grateful if you continue this in future. Numerous people will be benefited from your writing."

Can you believe it? A compliment and some good advice! I am going to watch out for brussels, too. 

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"Remember: You are never as great as you tink are, and you are never ass poor a speaker as yyou think yoou are. If you use programs other than the browser while connected to the internet, use VPN. Even more likely to bee a problem is a weakness in your password."

I'm sorry. I'm getting a little emotional here. I can't say anything more.

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"If they set up behind the desks close to the hole, they'll be able to put a lot of fire down on you. This diet has you eating as much meat and eggs as you can to increase the body's metabolism. Both brands of tuna subs offer pleasing "mouth- feels", with no un- expected lumps of tuna."

So informative! I did not know any of this!

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"Think about the rich and famous, the media, our rock stars, and movie stars we watch on television. You expect a pot of $250, which you multiply by the probability of winning (. Man, woman, teenage boy -- we think we know what such people look like."

Wow! Has truth ever been so clear? 

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So, now I guess you have a little picture of my friend. He's a busy guy. And so smart! I feel privileged to know him.

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If you still feel like you would like to post a comment (and I recognize that you might feel a little incompetent now that 'Anonymous' has set the bar so high) here's what you do: See those little brown words below that say No Comments? (well, that's what it says now.) Click there. You get a pop-up window where you can write your comment. That should work. If it doesn't work, we'll both be annoyed.

Laundry Quandry

Several weeks ago I wrote about the blessing of finding our house, and how much we have enjoyed watching our family grow here.

But I left out this little bit of truth: When I saw the house for the first time, I was disappointed that the laundry was in the basement. I had hoped for main floor laundry. But that was a small thing, and I could deal with it.

And I did deal with it for several years. But then surgery to remove a cancerous tumor from my head left me essentially bedridden. I gradually began to feel better, learned to walk again, and began to do some work around the house.

But I couldn't get the laundry done. I was not strong enough to carry baskets of clothes and towels and sheets up and down the stairs. I made it work for a while by waiting until my kids were home from school and asking them to carry the laundry up and down. But I couldn't keep up.

Wes and I had occasionally talked about adding on to make a laundry room upstairs. But it would be very expensive, and we had never felt we could make it a priority. It seemed to me the time had come to make it a priority.

I talked to Wes about it. He immediately understood my dilemma and was ready to solve it: "Why didn't you say something earlier? I'll be glad to take over the laundry." 

I looked at him smiling down at me, and I thought, "You dear, sweet, ignorant man. Do you have any idea what you are getting into?"

So my husband became the laundry guy. And to his credit, he did a very good job. He didn't do it the same way I did. I usually did a big load every day or two and did the folding and putting away as soon as the stuff was out of the dryer. Wes saved everything up for Saturday, then had a laundry extravaganza which involved him sitting on the couch in the basement, watching a movie while he sorted and folded a pile of clean clothes taller than me. But it was getting done, and that was what mattered.

As I grew stronger, we shared the laundry duties. I still didn't love our dark, dusty, often-smelly laundry room, but I was content. (ish)

Then one day, Wes said, "I might have bought a washer and dryer this morning."

"You might have?" I didn't understand. How could he not know for sure? It was like me saying, "I might have had a baby yesterday, I don't know, I guess we'll wait and see . . ."

He explained that he had seen an incredible deal online, but that a lot of comments on the site expressed suspicion that the deal was too good to be true. He decided to take a chance, anyway, but when he submitted the payment information, there was no indication that it was accepted.

It looked like it wasn't going to happen, and we didn't think much about it. Then one day about a month later, I picked up the ringing phone and heard a computerized voice say, "Your washer and dryer will be delivered tomorrow."

This was good news; exciting news. But it was not particularly convenient news. Christmas was ten days away. Our oldest son, Sam, was coming home from his mission in five days. And we had no place to put a couple of large appliances.

We cleared a space in our bathroom and hoped it would be big enough (it is an unusually large bathroom, but still . . .). We told the delivery men to put them in the bathroom and we were very glad to see that they fit.

But it was a tight fit. We had to hold our breath and suck in our stomachs to squeeze past the big boxes to get to the toilet. After a few days, our ten-year-old son — who, for obvious reasons, had no real interest in a new washer and dryer — asked what we were going to do with the boxes. We didn't have any ideas. But he did.

We cut the boxes at the bottom so that we could lift them off and for the first time, I got a peek at our new laundry appliances. They were gorgeous — gleaming white with high-tech buttons and dials. In our nearly 25 years of marriage, we had never owned a new washer or dryer. This was a big deal for us.

Getting the boxes off gave us a little more room to move around the bathroom, and our son Adam made a lovely two-room cardboard playhouse in the basement. Our son came home from Argentina, Christmas came and went, the kids all went back to school and Wes went back to work. And the washer and dryer were still in the middle of the bathroom.

I called a plumber who came over and gave me some ideas about where we might install these beauties, but his prognosis was discouraging. There seemed to be no reasonable place they could go, and his price estimates were far higher than we could afford.

So our new washer and dryer stayed in the middle of the bathroom, unused and unusable, for eight months.


In August, I became very sick. I was admitted to the hospital and stayed there for almost a month. My parents, who live three hours away, came to check on me and my kids, and ended up parking their RV in the hospital parking lot. My sister Amber drove up, and stayed by my side at the hospital, occasionally leaving to help with my children or my house.   

My mom is an incredibly good cook, and she prepared amazing meals for me in her small trailer kitchen. My dad brought them to my hospital room, where I ate them happily. (My mother's cooking is a huge step up from hospital food.)

My father is remarkably talented at fixing things. Building and installing just come naturally to him. But he will tell you himself that he's not much of a plumber.

Still, when he saw the washer and dryer sitting rather ridiculously in the middle of the bathroom, his handyman instincts kicked right in. When I finally came home from the hospital and looked in the bathroom, this is what I saw:

I could hardly believe it. My father and my sister Amber had installed the washer and dryer while I was gone. He wouldn't accept any money for the work, but my husband reimbursed him for the parts.

Hurray!

Doing laundry was no longer a chore. It has actually been kind of fun. And we still have the laundry room downstairs, and our kids do their laundry there.

I don't know if this story will mean much to anyone besides me. But when things like this happen, I feel so blessed and grateful. These little tender mercies serve to remind me that life is good. 

☺  ♥  ☺  ♥  ☺  ♥  ☺  ♥  ☺  ♥  ☺   

FAQ:

1.    So, how much did they cost?

$129 dollars each. Free delivery. Wes paid a little more for the dryer because he wanted a gas dryer.

2.    Come on, you can tell us — did your husband really do a good job when he was in charge of the laundry?

He really did. But he thinks about things a little differently than perhaps a woman would. One night, after dinner, I asked him do a load because I needed some things washed for the next day. My dear husband said, "I can't. I have to go Home Teaching in an hour."

Huh?


3.   Is your laundry area always that clean, or did you clean it up for the picture?

Yes. The answer is Yes.