Jubilee

A few weeks ago I was sitting in an armchair at the Cancer Center, receiving my weekly treatment and talking to the man sitting next to me, who was doing the same thing. We briefly compared treatment stories, and talked about side effects. And then he said something very simple, very obvious, really; but it struck me as one of the wisest and profound thoughts I've ever heard.

"It's a small price to pay."

It is a small price to pay – a weekly needle, some minor nausea and discomfort, and for that I get what? A longer, healthier life. The gift of time with my family and friends. The chance to watch my children grow into teenagers, and to help them develop their talents and become remarkable people. A few more years to work on my own problems and become closer to what I know I should be. A small price to pay for all that.


I love a bargain. A sign that says "Clearance: 90% off" gets my heart pumping every time. I like getting more than my money's worth; knowing that I have received more than I paid for. Sometimes I leave the price tags on my really great finds to remind myself what a great deal I got – "This is worth $27.99, and I bought it for a dollar and a half!"

Since my conversation with my chemo pal Jack, I've been thinking about life's bargains – the many remarkable things in the world that we do little or nothing to deserve: sunshine to warm us and feed us, water from the sky to sustain us. Lovely flowers in the spring, colorful leaves in the fall, the first toothless grin or giggle of a young baby.

We are drinking from wells we did not dig.

Above all this, there is the greatest bargain of all: The Plan of Salvation. Our Savior, Jesus Christ, willingly (though not easily) took upon himself our sins, our weaknesses, our childish follies and our mortal pains. He paid the high price for happiness, purity and eternal life, and does not expect us to pay Him back. Indeed, He knows we cannot reimburse Him. He has done what he did out of His great love for us, and what does He ask in return?

Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:4 - 6)

For behold, are we not all beggars?  Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind? (Book of Mormon | Mosiah 4:19)

I say unto you, my brethren, that if you should render all the thanks and praise which your whole soul has power to possess, to that God who has created you, and has kept and preserved you, and has caused that ye should rejoice, and has granted that ye should live in peace one with another —

I say unto you that if ye should serve him who has created you from the beginning, and is preserving you from day to day, by lending you breath, that ye may live and move and do according to your own will, and even supporting you from one moment to another—I say, if ye should serve him with all your whole souls yet ye would be unprofitable servants.
And behold, all that he requires of you is to keep his commandments; and he has promised you that if ye would keep his commandments ye should prosper in the land; and he never doth vary from that which he hath said; therefore, if ye do keep his commandments he doth bless you and prosper you.  (Book of Mormon | Mosiah 2:20 - 22)

I love the song In the Bleak Mid-Winter, based on a poem by Christina Rossetti:

 In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago. 

Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain;
heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ. 

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But his mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshiped the beloved with a kiss. 

What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give him: give my heart.

Indeed, this is what I can give Him: this and little else. Give my heart. Really give it to God, freely, gladly, and reverently.

The Christmas carol Angels We Have Heard on High presents this question: "Shepherds, why this jubilee?" In other words, why all the singing and rejoicing? Why is this such a big deal?


This is why:

And this is why;

And this;

And this;

And this is why:

Because He lives. Because He knows and loves each of us. Because He has the power to comfort us, to make us whole, to bring us home.

That is cause for Jubilee, today and every day of the year.

You can't put a price on that.

Merry Christmas.

Happy Chemo-ween!

For years, when we had lots of young children, Halloween was fun, but a big hassle. All my kids wanted to wear a great costume, and they kept changing their minds about what they wanted to be. I usually ended up standing in the kitchen at eight o'clock p.m. on October 31st with a box of old clothes and a can of spray paint.

But we generally came up with a few good ones.

Crazy Cat Lady

Me with Adam. He's Dr. Who

The three youngest Spencers several Halloweens ago

Danny and my husband Wes.
Both are wearing my wigs.

This year, things were different. Now that our youngest is twelve, no one really wanted to dress up, or go trick-or-treating. Some went to parties, or hung out with friends. But the elements of surprise and silliness were gone.

There was still one person in the family who was willing to play the fool. Me.

Four years ago, my Chemo Club friends and I started dressing up in Halloween costumes on the treatment day closest to Halloween. It has made for a fun day: a neat way to see a different side of the people you see every week with a line in a vein.

Tina the Friendly Scarecrow!

(I made him wear this hat I brought. He was a good sport about it.)

I brought this cake I made . . .

And dressed as a member of the  Swedish pop band Abba.

I brought a CD with a song my daughter helped me record. The nurses hit the play button and I came in dancing and singing. Before long, people were singing along and laughing.

Here's the song we sang:

Cancer Queen

(to the tune of Dancing Queen)

Wednesday morning: it’s time to go

Gotta head out for her chemo,

Where they have the right medicine, sitting in the chair.

She’s gonna lose her hair.

She’s been told that she won’t have long,,

She’s not young, but she’s staying strong,

With a bit of Herceptin, everything is fine

This disease doesn’t sleep;

And so she’s gonna keep . . .

Being  the Cancer Queen, old and tired but still on the scene

Cancer Queen, hear the dripping of her IV (oh, yeah)

She can’t walk, she can’t drive, how long can she stay alive? (Who knows?)

See that girl, watch that scene, digging the Cancer Queen.

No one here is ready to die,

We’re not  young but we’re gonna try

Trusting Dr. Ben-Jacob, he always has a plan,

Doing the best we can,

And so we’ll make a stand  .  .  .

And be the Cancer Team, not so young but still on the scene

Cancer Team, come on over and you will see, (oh, yeah)

We will dance, we will thrive., somehow we’re going to survive (oh, yeah)

Check us out, watch the scene, digging our Cancer Queens (and Kings)

It was a lot of fun.

I didn't think that the Trick-or-Treaters who came to my door the next night would appreciate the whole Cancer Queen thing, so I dressed as a Star Trek character for that.

(I'm not a regular cast member with a recurring role, but a nameless extra you can expect will be killed by an alien species before the end of the episode.)

It was a happy, crazy, fun day.

Is it too early for me to start thinking about next year's costume? 

Fall Has Fallen

     There is Someone in charge of earth's beauty – 
     This I know.
     The trees drop their leaves as a winter-bound duty.
     But first, they put on a show.


Autumn has come to our corner of the world. (I was starting to worry that we might not have fall here this year. It looked like we might go straight from summer to winter, an occurrence that would have made me dangerously grumpy.)

It has come in glory and splendor. A few days ago, our family went on a short hike in a wooded area near our home. I was completely smitten by the loveliness that surrounds us. How blessed we are to live in the midst of such beauty!

The Doctrine and Covenants tells us that God has created the beauties and seasons of the earth for our use and pleasure:

       Yea, and the herb, and the good things which come of the earth, whether for food or for raiment, or for houses, or for barns, or for orchards, or for gardens, or for vineyards;
       Yea, all things which come of the earth, in the season thereof, are made for the benefit and the use of man, both to please the eye and to gladden the heart;
       Yea, for food and for raiment, for taste and for smell, to strengthen the body and to enliven the soul.
       And it pleaseth God that he hath given all these things unto man; for unto this end were they made to be used, with judgment, not to excess, neither by extortion. (D&C 59:17-20)

We are also blessed to live in a home with fruit trees in the yard. During the past several weeks, we have been picking some tasty apples and a lot of pears.We gave pears to anyone who would take them, and thanks to the generosity of a kind friend who lent us a dehydrator, we preserved the rest.

These events have left me feeling grateful and humble. We did not plant these trees. And honestly, we don't put much effort into taking care of them. But they continue to reward us with their sweet fruit.

We did not blaze the trail through the canyon, or pave the road that gets us there. 

Several months ago, I heard someone say, "We are drinking from wells we did not dig." I remembered those words while we were picking pears,and I wondered what the original source was. As it turns out, it comes from the Old Testament:

And it shall be, when the LORD thy God shall have brought thee into the land which he sware unto thy fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give thee great and goodly cities, which thou buildedst not, and houses full of all good things, which thou filledst not, and wells digged, which thou diggedst not, vineyards and olive trees, which thou plantedst not; when thou shalt have eaten and be full;
Then beware lest thou forget the LORD . . .  (Deuteronomy 6:10 - 12)

I have never done anything to earn the light that comes from the sun. But it warms me and keeps me alive anyway. Birds sing sweet songs for me even when my bird feeder is empty. I've never dug a well in my life. I don't work to merit the rain that falls on my lawn and eventually comes out my kitchen faucet. But I drink it anyway.

When you stop and consider it, life on Earth is a pretty good deal, after all. 

For behold, are we not all beggars?  Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind? (Book of Mormon | Mosiah 4:19)

Happy fall to you, wherever you are.

Enjoy the show. It's free.

The Big Twelve

A few months ago, I wrote about an empty bird’s nest we found in our yard. I was struck by the timing of this find, since I felt that my own nest was becoming more empty with the departure of my son Danny for his mission.

Then last week, my son Adam found another empty nest in our yard. This one was sloppier, and contained more dirt and mud in its structure.

Again, I found the timing notable, because Adam found this the day after his twelfth birthday.

Of course, turning twelve doesn't mean Adam will be leaving us soon. But it does signal some significant changes, especially since Adam is our youngest.

Several years ago, seven members of our family — Wes and I and five of our children — were in Primary, the children's organization of our church. Now that Adam is twelve, there is no one left in Primary. Soon, Adam will be ordained a Deacon, and participate in Young Mens activities. And because Adam recently started middle school, it brings other changes for our family. We're done with elementary school: no more Wellsville Mile, no more school Halloween parades, no more Geography Bowls, no more Civil War reenactments for our children. All our kids leave for school at the same time now, on the same bus. So this twelfth birthday seemed like a significant one.

Adam at the Wellsville Mile (annual school race)

Adam at the fifth-grade Civil War Reenactment (aka water balloon fight)

We always try to make birthdays special, so I poked around the internet until I found a this fun idea: a candy-filled birthday cake we labeled Big Candy Mountain. 

Adam’s eyes lit up when he saw it.

 And when we cut into it, the candy I had hidden in the center spilled out.

We all enjoyed eating the cake.

So, my youngest child is on his way to becoming a teenager. I can be okay with that.

Probably.

The Invisible Mom: A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, in a far away place, I had a job. I sat in my office and worked, and people liked my work, and gave me money.

I had co-workers, managers, and assistants and other people who talked to me and asked me questions and liked my ideas.

There was also someone in the office called "The Custodian." The Custodian was someone we rarely noticed or paid much attention to. When we came to work in the morning, our wastepaper baskets had been emptied, our desks were dust-free, and the floor was vacuumed. Occasionally we left a brief note for the nameless Custodian, when we needed something done better or had an unusual request. But for the most part, The Custodian was invisible, ummentioned, unrecognized.

A few years ago, it occurred to me: I have become The Custodian. I move, invisible, through the house, using my mysterious magical powers to make clean socks show up in drawers, hot food appear on the table, and stains disappear from neckties. I can't turn a pumpkin into a carriage, but I can make it into a pretty good loaf of pumpkin bread.

This lack of visibility has occasionally made me a little sad. Lately, it's made me just a bit annoyed. My kids are old enough now, I think, to notice and acknowledge that they have a mother, and that she works hard for their benefit.

Then this past Sunday I was writing to my son Danny, who is serving a mission in the Philippines. I didn't have much to say about my week, so I wrote about the church meeting we had attended earlier that day.

Today Sacrament Meeting was all about worshiping the Savior through music. It was just musical numbers and people talking about the songs they were performing. It was really good.

Andrew Johnson played "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief" on his violin, with his mother Rosie accompanying him on the piano. It was beautiful, and made me think of you. Do you remember that when you were about two years old I used to sing that song to you? You loved it, and asked me to sing it often. "Sing 'the man' song," you'd say.

I learned that the song was originally a poem called "The Stranger" by a good man named James Montgomery. He wrote it in 1729 as an answer to the question in Matthew 25:37-38: "Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? Or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?"

I can't know this for sure, but I think the man who wrote the poem that became the song would have liked King Benjamin's sermon: And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God (Mosiah 2:17).

When I heard the song today, I thought about yesterday, when we had a day of service in our ward. We (our family) cleaned the church and then went to a single sister's house to pick up sticks and rake leaves. I realized that we needed more rakes and bags than we had, so I asked Dad to go home and get some. He asked me, "What's our goal here?" and I didn't know what to say, but after he left I knew the answer: Our goal here is to serve our neighbor the way the Savior would. And that means doing the best we can.

That is what you are doing now, Danny. You are reaching out to the stranger, to the poor wayfaring man of grief. You are living the Gospel of Jesus Christ, teaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and serving as He would. Of course, you are not doing it perfectly. But you are doing it with a clean heart and an eye single to his glory. And what a great blessing it is to be able to serve that way!

And then after the meeting I went to nursery and built a ramp for the kids to slide their little cars down. They flew off the table and if they landed in the bin I put on the floor, we clapped and cheered. Then we had fruit snacks and mini-marshmallows and I taught a lesson about the sacrament. Good times!

The Church is true, Danny, whether you are in the High Priests quorum or in the nursery; whether you are in Providence, Utah or in the Philippines. We ever pray for thee — keep up the good work.

With great love,

Mom

After I wrote this, I suddenly realized something kind of big: it's not always a bad thing to be invisible. A lot of the time, it's best to serve anonymously.

Christ didn't put on a show of good works. He served quietly; sometimes invisibly.

And, behold, there came a leper and worshiped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean. And Jesus put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I will; be thou clean. And immediately his leprosy was cleansed. And Jesus saith unto him, See thou tell no man; but go thy way (Matthew 8:2 - 4).

And they bring unto him one that was deaf, and had an impediment in his speech; and they beseech him to put his hand upon him. And he took him aside from the multitude, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spit, and touched his tongue; And looking up to heaven, he sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, that is, Be opened. And straightway his ears were opened, and the string of his tongue was loosed, and he spake plain. And he charged them that they should tell no man (Mark 7:32 - 36).

.

When I thought about that, I felt better— better about my life and my role in my home. I decided I could, and should, find joy in serving my family in an unpretentious way.

Don't fairy tales always have a happy ending?

Misheard Purity

The following conversation, or one very similar to it, is not uncommon in my family:

"Mom! You're singing again!"

"What? Was I singing out loud? Oh. But hey, I think I have the right to sing if I want to."

"But not in the grocery store/hallway at church/parent teacher conference/insert embarrassing public place here!"

"Well, excuuuuse me!"

"And that's not how the song goes, anyway!"



I love music of almost any kind. And I always like to sing along with the songs I hear on the radio, or on the CD player, or just what's in my head. I suppose this might be annoying to anyone who happens to be nearby. (I'm not really a good singer.) It certainly annoys my children.They get particularly cranky about it when I don't get the words right.

It's true that the fact that I don't actually know how the song goes is not a barrier to me singing it. When my husband and I were first married, we were listening to a song while we were in the car. One line of song goes, He gave her a shawl and a parasol from France.
My somewhat less romantic interpretation: He gave her a shawl and a pair of swollen glands.

Apparently I'm not the only one. A quick internet search reveals that many people believe that the lead singer of the band Toto sings I left my brains down in Africa. Another song is sometimes believed to contain the line Every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you.

Maybe singers need to enunciate a little better.

One of my children told us that when he was very young, he was confused by the meaning of a line in the song "I Am a Child of God."

     Lead me, guide me, walk beside me, help me find the way;
     Teach me all that I must do, to live with Him someday.

Our son wondered for some time why he would want to be taught
that he is a stew.


But I think sometimes the misheard lyrics are better than the real ones. For me an example of this is "Don't Know Why," by Norah Jones. I like the song, and was especially fond of this (misheard) line: My heart is dressed in white. Turns out the actual lyric reads, My heart is drenched in wine.

I was disappointed to learn this, and I still sing along with my own preferred words.White has traditionally stood for virtue and purity, and the idea of a heart so sweet and pure and innocent that it can be dressed in white is very appealing to me.

Tomorrow, my daughter will attend the Logan Temple to receive her endowment. (For more info about Latter-day Saint temples and what happens there, click here) She – along with me and her father and her grandparents and everyone else there – will be wearing white. And I suppose their hearts will be dressed in white too.

This doesn't mean that everyone there will be perfect. Or that anyone there will be. But they will gather in faith, sharing in common their belief that through the atonement of our Savior Jesus Christ, their hearts can be made pure – not just dressed in white, but pure through and through.

The scriptures have some things to say about hearts that are pure.

Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God." (New Testament; Matthew 5:8)

O all ye that are pure in heart, lift up your heads and receive the pleasing word of God, and feast upon his love; for ye may, if your minds are firm, forever. (Book of Mormon; Jacob 3:2)

Therefore, verily, thus saith the Lord, let Zion rejoice, for this is Zion—THE PURE IN HEART; therefore, let Zion rejoice . . . (Doctrine and Covenants; Section 97:21)


I am looking forward to tomorrow with all my heart.

I hope my heart comes home a little more white  – a little more pure.

What I Learned Taking Two Boys to the Hospital

When Sam was in fifth grade, he went on a field trip to a ski resort. He was not a very experienced skier, but I knew he would be well-supervised.

When he came home that afternoon, I asked him how his ski trip had been.

“Good,” he said, “It was cool.” Then he held out his left arm, and I saw a small piece of white gauze draped loosely on his wrist.

“I fell,” he said, when I asked him what had happened.

“Does it hurt? Did someone look at it?”

“It doesn't hurt much,” Sam said.

I’m no medical expert, and it looked fine to me. I told him to let me know if the pain continued or increased.

The next day Sam said his arm still hurt. He said it the same way he had before, very casually. It was Friday, and our family doctor’s office was closed. I certainly didn't want to take him to the emergency room.

I had a thought. “Hey, Sam,” I said, “I have an appointment with the doctor on Tuesday for the baby. If your arm still hurts, I’ll take you in then.”

He said. “Okay,” and I thought that was the end of it.

So I was surprised when, on Tuesday morning, Sam asked what time we were going to the doctor.

“It still hurts?” I asked, and when he nodded, I said, “The appointment is at 10:30.”

So I went to the doctor’s office with my oldest child and my youngest child. After the doctor examined Adam, I asked him to take a look at Sam’s arm. I was a little embarrassed to ask him, since the appointment was for Adam, and I had a suspicion that Sam was just looking for an excuse to miss school.

The doctor told me that I should take Sam’s to the hospital for an X-ray, something  I hadn't unexpected to hear. I loaded Sam and Adam back into the van and drove to the hospital.

A technician X-rayed Sam’s arm and we waited in the emergency room lobby for the results. After a while, a man in hospital scrubs came and called Sam’s  name. I stood up and pointed at Sam, and the man came closer.

"This is Sam?"

“

Sam and I both nodded.

“When did you hurt your arm?” the man asked.

When we told him it had happened on Thursday, the man shook his head in disbelief. “This is one tough kid,” he said. “His arm is broken in three places. You need to get a cast on it right away.”

A terrible wave of maternal guilt swept over me. Five days! I had sent my child to school and to church; I had made him do his homework and his chores, and all the time he had a broken arm. I turned to him with tears in my eyes and an apology on my tongue, but before I could say a word, he spoke up. “Cool! I broke my arm!”

He choose a green cast, since he would have it on for St. Patrick’s  Day, and everyone at school signed it. It was the best six weeks he’d had in a long time.

*    *    *    *    *    *

Ten years later:

When Ben said he was feeling sick, Wes and I wondered if he had eaten something bad. He was a very strong and healthy 15-year-old and had almost never been ill.

But the next the day he felt worse, and was feeling some abdominal  pain. I called a neighbor and asked if she could give us a ride to Instacare. The doctor at Instacare examined Ben briefly, then told us to go straight to the hospital’s emergency room. There they confirmed that Ben had appendicitis.

The staff gave Ben IV medication for his pain and began to prepare him for surgery. Wes arrived and we waited while our son’s appendix was removed.

After the surgery Ben was sleepy and confused, but the surgeon said things had gone well. We stayed with him until he was more coherent, but it was getting late and our other children were home alone. Wes told Ben that we would be back in the morning.

“I’m not going,” I said. “I’m going to stay.”

Wes was surprised. “You want to stay here all night?” He knows I don’t like hospitals. And we both knew that I wouldn't get any sleep if I was there.

“I’m going to stay. I don’t want Ben to be alone.”

“He’ll be fine. They’ll take care of him. He’s fifteen.”

I shrugged. I just felt like I wanted to stay.

“Let’s ask Ben,” Wes said, and asked Ben if he wanted me to stayed there with him. He said he didn't care.

I felt I should stay, and I did. Ben slept most of the night, and when he stirred a couple of times he seemed groggy and hardly aware of my presence. In the morning, Ben was released and Wes came and took us both home. Ben recovered quickly, and I basically put the whole thing out of my mind.

Many months later, I became seriously ill and was hospitalized. When I became more stable, Wes brought the five children who were living at home to visit me. During the visit, Wes asked each child to say something nice about me.

I’m  sorry to admit that I don’t remember what any of them said – except for Ben, who said, “When I had my appendix out,  she stayed the whole night with me.”

*    *    *    *    *    *

Thinking about these two experiences has taught me a lesson about being a parent: we don’t always judge things perfectly. We don’t always know what to do. But when we do our best, and follow our hearts, things usually work out – sometimes better than we may have expected. We often don’t see the results of our decisions right away – it may take days, or weeks, or years. But we just have to keep going, hoping, and believing.

Now that I've written this, I realize that the lesson is not just about parenting. It’s about life. It's about Grace.

The scriptures tell us that “it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do,” and that "the Lord's grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness."

I learned a few songs in Spanish in college. For some reason, the only one I remember well is the Mexican folk song "La Bamba," perhaps best known as a 1958 Richie Valens hit. 

This is the part of the song I like most:

Para bailar La Bamba
Se necessita una poca de gracia
Una poca de gracia para mi, para ti.

Here's the rough translation:

To dance La Bamba
A little grace is needed,
A little grace for you and for me.


I don't think this song was meant to be a sermon or a lecture on faith. Most of the lyrics are a bit silly, actually (I'm not a sailor!  I'm the Captain!). But I have learned to believe that in order to figuratively "dance La Bamba" – to get through life reasonably well – a little Grace is needed. For you and for me.

Bamba, Bamba, Bamba, Bamba, Bamba, Bamba, Bamba!

Outage Outing

Yesterday afternoon Adam came to me and said, "I think the power's out." I hadn't noticed, but I flipped some switches and he was right: no electricity.

It's been a while since we've had a power outage that lasted more than a few minutes. In fact, if I'm remembering correctly, the last one was over three years ago. It was in the late fall, and when the lights went out in the early afternoon I assumed they'd be back on before dark. But as darkness started to move in quickly, I realized we needed to prepare for the possibility of a cold, dark night.

I gave my children a few assignments: "Gather blankets from downstairs; we'll all sleep upstairs tonight. Someone help me put together some food we can eat while we can still see. Ben, go get my basket of candles and bring them in here."

Ben was thirteen, and incredulous at my request. "Mom," he said. "The power is out. It's starting to get dark. This is no time to worry about how the house smells."

Okay, it's possible I have too many scented candles.


But I digress. Back to yesterday . . .

It was a very hot and humid day, and without our swamp cooler and fans the house quickly became suffocating. I stepped outside to find that it was even less bearable there. All the drivers in the family were gone. We had no television or computers to distract us, and our phone wasn't working. The sun was setting, and it was getting hard even to read. My plans to do some laundry, make dinner, and write a little were shot.

I finally found a cell phone and asked my daughter to text her dad at work. Power's out, she wrote. Call this phone. I realized that with my hearing loss, I probably wouldn't hear the phone if he called it, so I sat down on the couch, tucked the cell phone just under my leg, and tried to wait patiently.

And then the couch started shaking.

I was near panic. What's going on here? I thought. The power's off and now we're having an earthquake!"

I'm sure that some of you have guessed that the phone I was sitting on was set to vibrate. When I finally figured that out, I had the privilege of spending several fumbling seconds trying to figure out how to answer the phone. But eventually I hit some random button and the phone stopped shaking. Hurray! I could make human contact!

I told my dear Wes how miserable we were. "Okay," he said, "I'll come home and rescue you."

And he did. Fifteen minutes later we were sitting in an air-conditioned van on our way to a pizza restaurant. Peace and comfort had been restored.

At the pizzeria, we made the uncharacteristic choice to splurge a bit. (Since eating out with our family is an uncharacteristic splurge in itself, it didn't seem quite so weird to continue the madness.)

We ordered a something that this restaurant offers mostly as a novelty: the 36-inch pizza.

It's a lot of pizza. It completely covered the table, so we put our plates on our laps. And there's a contest connected to this monstrosity: if two people can finish it off in an hour, they win a prize. (And the prize is: lots more pizza! And maybe barf bags, I don't know . . .) We didn't eat it all, but we put quite a big dent in it. And we laughed and talked and shared.

It was still hot outside when we left the restaurant, and we didn't know if our power was back on, so we went to the library to check out some books and movies and to enjoy their air conditioning, When the library closed at nine, we decided to go home.

The road was dark. No street lights, no house lights, no porch lights. We saw our neighbors sitting outside, waving paper fans across their faces. Clearly, the electricity was still off.

We pulled into our dark garage and began to feel our way into the house. Adam got there first and opened the door. Then, just as he stepped inside, the kitchen lit up. It was like magic.

And now we can return to our distraction-filled, speedily-moving electronic lives, with perhaps a little more appreciation for the electricity that makes it possible.

As we got ready for bed, I mentioned to Wes that I was getting frustrated with my computer, which we bought used last year. I haven't wanted to complain about it, because, while we always have enough money to get along, we don't usually have of lot left over for luxuries. But, I told him, the computer is becoming increasingly unstable and unreliable, and I haven't felt like I can get anything done on it.

We realized as we talked that we had just spent twice as much money on pizza as we spent to buy the computer. (It was a twenty-five dollar computer.)

"That's okay," I said."We weren't really buying pizza."

He nodded and we smiled. Nothing more needed to be said. We both knew that we were buying memories.

And here I sit, typing up the whole story on my sad little computer, which has been on for two hours now and is still running happily.  So I can still find reasons to believe in little miracles.

And hey, if anyone out there wants leftover pizza, there's some in my refrigerator.

A Couple of Wednesdays in July

On Wednesday, July 17th, we drove to Provo, Utah, to drop our third-born child at the Missionary Training Center, where he will spend nine weeks preparing to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ in the Naga Philippines Mission.

It was not particularly easy for me to leave my dear Danny there, knowing I won't see him for two years. But I'm glad he's made the decision to serve, and I've been okay, so far.

One week later, on July 24th, we celebrated the Utah state holiday Pioneer Day by visiting my grandmother. And when we got home that evening, my daughter Hannah opened her mission call.

We were very surprised. We had each made a guess or two about where Hannah might be called to serve, but no one thought she might go to the Philippines like her brother. She'll be in the Cauayan mission (would you like to buy a consonant?), and Danny will be in the Naga mission. They will both be speaking Tagalog and, because Hannah leaves in December, will be coming home at about the same time.

My head is still spinning. But I feel very blessed, and greatly honored to be the mother of these amazing children.

Independence Days

We like birthdays at our house. And this week we got to celebrate the birthdays of a couple of countries.

On July 1st, we celebrated Canada Day by singing Oh, Canada, eating ice cream that Adam patiently shaped into maple leaves, and watching The Red Green Show.

(No, we're not Canadian. We just like a reason to celebrate.)





Three days  later, on July 4th, we decked the house in red, white and blue, ate an outdoor dinner and patriotically devoured this cake:

Then we watched the American Rock series from Schoolhouse Rock (if you're old enough, you'll remember some of these): The Shot Heard Round the World, No More Kings, Constitution Preamble, The Great American Melting Pot, and my personal favorite, I'm Just a Bill.

We've had a great week. Wherever you live, be grateful for what you have. And maybe eat some really yummy cake . . .

Empty(ing) Nest

Not long ago, after a very strong windstorm, my husband Wes found this in our front yard.

He brought it in to show me, and he was a little surprised that I wanted to keep it. It seemed to be a timely reminder of how our lives are moving now.

I can't count the number of times that some middle-aged woman, seeing me with my little flock of small children, said, "Oh, they grow up so fast." Of course, I didn't believe it. I felt like I was stuck in toddler-time, and would be forever.

But it's turning out that those women were right. When you are raising children, the days are long. But the years are short.

Here's a little history of the last 22 years with my three oldest children:

My oldest child Sam, 1991

Two-year-old Sam and his new sister Hannah, 1993.

Hannah, Sam and Danny, 1995

Sam

Hannah

Danny

Sam graduated from high school and served a two-year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Now he's majoring in Business Management at Brigham Young University and working part-time.

After graduation, Hannah received a lot of great scholarship offers. She has been studying History at Brigham Young University for two years. 

Danny just graduated from high school last month, but he will be leaving home soon: On July 17th, he will enter the Missionary Training Center in Provo to prepare to serve a two-year mission in the Philippines.

I suppose that I really always knew this would happen. That's the goal: to produce happy, successful children who can lead productive, independent lives. (But who still want to come home to visit.)

Three down, four to go.