Free? Time

They “re-organized” at work again. They've cut my hours down to two days a week. We’ll see how long it lasts, but meanwhile I have some free time!

Free time.
Is time ever free?
My list of "Things to Do" is so long I can never die.

But for now I have some hope of tackling long-neglected projects.
I may even clean some closets.

Time is never free. It always has a cost.
Every minute costs a part of your life, your very soul, a piece of eternity.

But time also pays.
There are dividends in a job accomplished, a relationship strengthened, a memory made.

For such a valuable commodity, you’d think we’d use it better than we do.


I once took an Institute class from Hartman Rector, Jr., formerly of the Seventy. I don’t know how true it is, but he said that our lives are like a video tape, where everything we do is recorded. Happily, when we do something wrong and then repent, that part is erased.
We rejoice that it can be so, but realize that we can get to heaven with a lot of blank spots on our tape, spots that instead could have been filled with righteous things.

If someone were to watch the video of my life, they would want a remote control in their hands, to fast forward all the boring parts, all the hours I spent idly, doing nothing interesting or productive.


So, is time a friend, or an enemy?
We crave it. We curse it. We kill it.
We treasure it, count on it, waste it.
We love it, hate it, ignore it.
And it just keeps passing, gobbling up our life.


"I still find each day too short
for all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take,
all the books I want to read,
and all the friends I want to see." --John Burrough


Whining about it doesn’t help.
It just takes time.


And if I’m making a movie, then I better get going.


Lights!

Camera!

Action!

My Funeral

To my family:

As we gathered and visited at my father’s viewing a number of years ago, some of my siblings started to talk about what they wanted and didn’t want when they died: the kind and even color of flowers, etc. I was so surprised as I had never thought about those things. I was also quite sure that it was the first time any of them had made such things known.

I have thought many times since then that if there are things we care about, we ought to tell someone, and even get it in writing.

So here’s mine. These are the things I care about:


Expenses: I do not want a lot of money spent to bury me, so don’t feel guilty if you choose the cheapest casket; I would. A pine box is just fine. Though I love a soft bed, I don’t need one when I am dead and without feeling. I’ve also learned that Costco sells caskets, and there is a casket discount store in Dallas, Texas.

Location: The one expense I may forgive is getting me out of Texas. I don’t care where I’m buried, just not Texas. Washington is home, and Cemetery Hill right in the neighborhood, but if people want to visit my grave and Utah or Nevada is more convenient, then anywhere in the West is fine with me. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding my body.

Speakers: Anyone who wants to speak may speak, but no one has to. I hope it's not too hard to find something nice to say about me. All to be done in praise and testimony of the Lord's goodness.

Music: This is the one area I care about.
I have joked about singing the Michael McLean song, Together Forever, because then I know everyone will, after they laugh, cry. But I’m not kidding; the music is on my piano.
The one song I really want sung was sung at my Mother’s funeral: Goin’ Home. It expresses so perfectly just the way I feel. The music is on my piano.
I have asked my son Jonathan to sing at my funeral. He can sing alone or with someone, a song of my choosing or his, but I would like him to sing. (I like Negro spirituals.)
The one hymn I care about is Be Still My Soul. Think of my testimony when you sing it.

If you want to know my other favorite hymns, they include:
Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of Creation
Sing Praise to Him who reigns above, the Lord of all creation
Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing
Father in Heaven, in thy love abounding
Redeemer of Israel
Abide with me
Holy, Holy, Holy

People: I know it doesn’t always seem worth spending a lot of money to go see someone who is dead, but I’ve learned the hard way that I would like all of my children at my funeral. You might learn something about me you didn’t know, or think better of me than you have. Besides, you have to stake your claim to my junk.
Otherwise, let my siblings know and email everyone in my address book. Some old friend might miss me.

That’s about all I care about. Don’t stand out in the rain. Tell your children of my testimony. Cry for yourself if you must, but do not cry for me. I will be in Heaven, and happier than you can even imagine.

And don’t forget, I’ll be holding a place for you at my table.

Fading.....

I have a small red spot in the center of my abdomen.
It’s from the bite of some unknown critter.
I notice it every day.
Everyday it gets a little smaller and fades a little more.

I got it six months ago when I was in South Africa.

Like the red spot on my torso, my memories of Africa are shrinking and fading a little every day.
But they are still with me, still a part of me, something I notice every day.

I haven’t written much about my experience in South Africa.
I’ve never known quite what to say.
It was interesting.
It was enlightening.
It was life-changing.
But aren’t we changed by everywhere we’ve been and everyone we’ve met?

I don’t know if I’m more changed by the people I went with,
or the people I met there,
by the good things that happened there
or the not-so-happy things.


I’ve put the quilts I bought there on my beds, hung the wall-hangings on my walls, and set my Zulu dolls out. I guess I’m hoping if I look at them long enough I’ll want to write about it.
I know I don’t want to forget.


So this is a start, though not much of one.
Words seem to add color and give strength to a greying experience.


I wonder what else I should write about before it fades away.


“It’s getting dark,” my Dad often said to hurry us up.

Indeed, the night is coming on.

The Party's Over

The party’s over, but it sure was fun while it lasted.

My two oldest daughters and their oldest daughters came to visit me in Texas!

Jennifer flew in first with Kate and Megan.
A few days later Elizabeth and Rachel joined the fun.
Then Jenn’s family left and Elizabeth and Rachel stayed on.

We did some fun things together:
We cheered the knights at Medieval Times,
had Jack Sparrow as our waiter at the Magic Time Machine,
had a tea party at Alice’s (as in Wonderland), hats, boas and all,
walked the jungle with real fish and fauna at the Aquarium and fake ones at Rainforest Café,
shopped at Texas Treasures and Sam Moon’s and the Mall,
got cookies at the cookie shop and popcorn at the popcorn store,
played Rock Band, In a Pickle, and the family memory game,
wore sarongs every day,
and ate and ate and ate
and swam and swam and swam.
It was a barrel of fun.
All-night slumber parties usually are.

Now the party's over, and they've all gone home.
I'm taking my time putting the bedding and pool toys away.
I don't want it to be over.

It wasn’t quite the experience of baking cookies with Grandma that I first envisioned,
but there was just too much to do on the first visit to Texas that they will remember.

Their suitcases were fuller going home than when they came.
I hope they were filled with happy memories.

My house is quiet and empty now--
no bedding or people filling up my living room,
no shoes or towels littering the hall,
no Disney channel blaring all hours of the night.


It's quiet, but not lonely.

For I have happy memories to fill the space,
a clearer picture of each girl's face,
a closer bond and a heart that's full,
for the time I had with each, and all.

A Sister for All Seasons

It has been said that the family is the basic unit of society.
Indeed, the family is the basic unit of all of eternity.

All of us began in a family; it is our hope that we end up in a family,
and a wise Heavenly Father has put us into families in this life
to prepare us for that great possibility--and so we might have joy.

The family is still the most efficient means for producing human happiness and human goodness, as well as for preparing us for the world of immortality that is to follow.

Neal A. Maxwell

Many of us may find ourselves at sometime in our lives not living in a traditional nuclear family. We may be aged, orphaned, unattached, or in other ways not living in an ideal family. But that need not rob us of the hope of an eternal family, nor of the joys of sweet associations.

Whatever our age or stage or situation in life, we all belong to a larger social group. We belong to a father, mother and extended family, we belong to a ward family, to the human family, and always and forever to God’s eternal family.

Hence the theme for our Stake Enrichment:

A Sister for All Seasons

Whatever our season or circumstances may be, we are always and forever a sister; we are a daughter, and, whether we have children or not, a mother, a nurturer, a source of love and compassion. We have blessings and opportunities to love and be loved, to nurture and to serve, and to connect with others. In every season, we are a sister, and we have sisters.

Sometimes we might forget this, or we don’t feel it is so. We may be at home, or at work or school a lot, and feel that we are alone, or that our lives lack meaning, or we wish things were different.

I heard of a quote that someone kept on her fridge. I couldn't believe it -- it said: This is as good as it gets.
I was home with small children at the time, and I thought that was the most depressing thing I had ever heard. Is this really as good as it gets?

I’ve thought about it a lot over the years. I don’t know what it meant to that person, but I know what it has come to mean to me:

I think it means that TODAY is the stuff of which life is made,
and that we can find purpose and joy in it.

It reminds me of something one displaced woman said:
“I took the raw materials that were handed me, and I fashioned a life from it.”

Our home is the stuff, the raw materials, we have to work with—
to shape a life, to build a character, to leave a legacy.
(Those of you who have children know something of working with raw materials.)

Another sign that hangs on the fridge in my mind is from Ann Madsen:
"I have learned in my home what I know about godliness. And the theory I learn other places, if not applied at home, is useless.”

Home is the laboratory of life, the place where we learn and we teach and we practice for eternity. It is where we develop the attributes and characteristics we inherited from Heavenly Parents. It is where we have the greatest influence on others to live better than we have.

We owe it to those we love to be the best that we can be. We owe it to ourselves; we owe it to our Heavenly Father and to our Savior.

We can do that in any season of our life. As sisters, mothers, grandmothers, aunts, cousins and friends, we can give the highest and the best in us, in every season.

Season is a noun, but it is also a verb; it is something we do. We can season, salt, spice up, and add flavor to the lives of those around us, as we are strong and righteous, positive and fun, kind and caring.

This is it. This is as good as it gets. This is life --with all its agonies, and there are those, and its ecstasies, --every day opportunities to live and learn and love and laugh, to serve and grow, and to be happy.

I want you to know that I know that God is our Father;

we are sisters, truly, every one.

And… it does get better! for --

Eye hath not seen nor ear heard what glorious things God hath prepared for those who love him.

He has done His part.

He is counting on us to do our part--

to return Home to Him,

arm in arm with those we love,

and to have joy in the journey.

I pray that we will.

Tell Me a Story

“Tell Me the Stories of Jesus; I love to hear."

As a child, this was a favorite Primary song.
It still is (though they’ve changed some of the words).

There are “things I would ask Him to tell me, if He was near.”
But He does tell me, in the stories of His life:


“First let me hear how the children stood round His knee…”
I too am a child, in need of His love and guidance.
I want to be near him, to hear him, to be loved by Him.
But like a spoiled child, sometimes I forget, or get distracted.
And yet he bids, "Suffer the children to come unto me."

When I think of Him giving sight to the blind,
I think of all the things He has helped me to see, to understand, to know because of His touch.

I love the story of Jesus calming the sea.
It reminds me that He can calm the storms in my life too.

Jesus knew when woman in a crowd reached out to touch him.
I know that when I reach out in faith, He knows it, He feels it,
and He 'reaches my reaching' and rewards my belief.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd, who seeks after every lost lamb.
The painting of the Shepherd carrying the lamb is sweet, but I know that even lambs can be heavy, and smelly, and hard to hold on to. I love Him for His willingness to carry my burden, even if it’s heavy, unpleasant, or I try to wriggle away.

His sweetest words may have been "Your sins are forgiven."
What peace has come from His power and willingness to do that.
Then I hear His voice, that I can forgive too.

I love the story of Jesus walking on the water.
He has asked us to follow Him, to walk in His footsteps, and whether those footsteps walk on water or in Celestial halls, if we focus on Him and have faith in Him He will make it possible for us to walk where He walks.

He even had the power to raise people from the dead.
Many times He has called me back when I was spiritually dying.
One day He will raise me up, to a state of immortal and incorruptible glory!

When I hear the stories of Jesus, I often notice His hands--
How often they heal and bless, nourish and cleanse, beckon and point the way.
They were cruely pierced, yet those marked hands reach out to all mankind-- and offer joy.


So, tell me the stories of Jesus. I love to hear!

I love the stories of Jesus because they are stories of Love.

I love them because they are about happy endings.

They are not fairy tales.

They are real.

They were true then, and they are true now,
for Jesus yet lives, and loves, and blesses--

And if we walk in His footsteps,
we can live happily ever after.

That's the true story.

There is no end.

(No such thing as) Small Miracles

Well, it’s over: Stake Relief Society Leadership Meeting
(aka Stake Auxiliary Training).

I’m really glad—not only that it’s over, but for the experience that it was.


For me, to plan a big meeting or event like this is like standing in front of a billboard with all your faults and weaknesses flashing in neon lights.

Now that it's over, those lights have dimmed.
Now I feel a soft glow from the inside.
I feel grateful that I could be an instrument in the Lord’s hands,
and that He granted unto us success.


I am grateful for the small miracle that happened.
A few days ago, I needed a long-lost piece of paper with some notes on it, but after looking for a few minutes I knew it was like looking for a needle in a haystack—impossible to find. So I went ahead without it.
After all the preparations were made, I was going over everything when my eyes caught sight of a paper right next to my computer, right in my main work space. As I focused on it, I realized it was the paper I had been looking for—right on top of everything!

It was interesting to me that it showed up after I had already done the work, when I didn’t need it anymore. But reading it gave me peace. It felt to me like an approval for our work. It was, at the very least, a sign to me that the Lord was aware of what we were doing.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had such an experience. To me, these small evidences of God's awareness are not small at all.

It’s why I believe --
that there are special blessings for those who do God’s work,
that sacrifice does bring forth the blessings of heaven,
that no concern of ours is too small for the Lord’s attention,
and that He is aware of us more than we know.

And so I am grateful--
That the meeting is over,
And that I saw the hand of God.


I feel the fire of faith in my bones.

It warms my soul.

It might even make me glow.



P.S. I learned today of another miracle. The sister who sang a special number in our meeting was worried because she's not a soloist. As she sweetly sang she kept turning her head and smiling at us who were sitting a little behind her. I learned it was because when she started to sing she heard another voice singing with her, and thought it was one of us. It wasn't one of us. No wonder she sang like an angel.

Snow

It’s snowing!

I know that people in Utah won’t appreciate that. They may even let out a groan, as will people in Washington after a long, cold winter.

But for us in Texas, it’s a rare event.

We got our first snow of the winter a couple of days ago.
It only snowed during the dark night.

The thing that’s different here is it can be 70 degrees the day before the snow, and 70 degrees again the day after. There’s no putting your seasonal clothes away here.

Texas has to do everything bigger. We had snowflakes the size of plums! OK, the snowflakes weren’t that big, but they did make clumps that big. It was beautiful!

I like the snow because most of the time I can stay home.
The world is somehow quieter, slower, cleaner.
Hot chocolate is at its best.

I know many people have to be out in it.
I know it can get icy and dangerous.
Eventually it will get dirty and ugly.

But for now, it's just magical.

I know lots of people get lots of snow.
I wouldn't want to live there.
It's much more fun as a rare event.

My power is on, my fridge is full, and I am home.

I am tucked in under my blanket.

My curtains are open to the view.

It's a great backdrop for reading a book.


It doesn't get better than that.

All Hail Broke Loose!

Last Saturday morning, we had the worst hail I’ve ever seen in my life!

I know it’s lame that I don’t have pictures, but it was honestly almost the size of golf balls.

The storm came through about 6:30 a.m. Of course the incredible noise woke us up. It took a while to figure out what was going on. It sounded like the slats to the back fence were being hurled at our windows. The whole house was under siege and being pelted from all sides. I finally looked out the window. What the hail?? It was unbelievable! By then a thick white blanket covered the ground.

Luckily the hailstorm didn’t last too long. All I could think of was the car parked out in the driveway and how helpless we felt.

We seemed to survive the storm, so I went to work and forgot about it.


A couple of days later I got an email from my neighbor who had had her roof checked by a roofer, and they needed a new roof!

So I had the roofer come to my house, and I need a new roof too!
The hail even chipped the brick on my house.
And the car?—it now has dimples. But the sun roof is intact.


As I drive around my neighborhood, there are no obvious signs of damage. But everyone I know who has had their roof checked needs a new roof. It's not enough to patch it; the whole thing must be changed. There must be a morality lesson in that.

What I do see in my neighborhood are a lot of signs for roofers, and trucks with roofers in them. Some of them are hail-chasers; they aren’t even from around here. But they know there is work here.


I thought about another storm in my life: an Arctic storm when trees fell through our roof.

I thought again about the lessons I’ve learned from storms:

They do pass.
They can cause damage, seen and unseen.
It’s better to assess the damage than ignore it.
It’s better to fix the damage sooner than later.
Things won’t ever be exactly the same; there always will be remnants.
Some things get better; some are just different.
Good friends are a great help.


We have other storms in life too. They can be financial, social, emotional, or physical.

Sometimes we can see the damage; sometimes it shows up later.

It’s better to fix all you can, and to have good friends to help.


And don’t ever forget the storms.

Be prepared.

Stay close to God.

Appreciate calm skies and sunny days when you have them.

For they too shall pass.

I Remember....

I remember sitting in a Sacrament meeting years ago, surrounded by children. They weren’t mine, so it must have been a Primary Sacrament Meeting Program.
We were singing the Sacrament song, “Behold, the Great Redeemer Die.” I was lost in the beautiful and poetic words of the song, but became distracted by things around me: a couple of girls combing each other’s hair, a little boy poking the child next to him, another girl down the row chatting away out loud. My first impulse was to reach over and shake them. “Don’t you hear these words? Don’t you get it? Don’t you care???”

A breathed out a sign of frustration. Then this thought came to me:

How oft, oh, how very oft, I have been like these children: thoughtless, care-less, forgetful, of the Savior’s Redeeming Love.


I promised then and there that I would not be so carefree, but that I would remember more often, care more deeply, be more changed.

Like a child, I keep forgetting my promise.
I’ve had to make it again and again.
I have to make it every week.


One of my favorite images is that of Christ Knocking at the Door.
It reminds me that we may forget Him, but He never forgets us.
If we even crack the door a little, by just the very thought of Him, He is always right there.


"Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it; prone to leave the God I love," the hymn says.

When I feel far from Him, there is no doubt which one of us has moved.


Remembering brings me back.

Remembering is the key.

It opens the door to the very Christ.



"…if any man open the door, I will come in to him.” Rev. 3:20

Unfinished

In the Zulu township of Sweetwater, near Pietermartizburg, South Africa, lives Edna. Her large family lives in a couple of small cement structures, just one or two rooms each, crudely built right next to each other, with no carpets or running water, and until recently, no electricity. With money made from her quilting, Edna is adding on. Abutting the existing buildings is a half-finished, two-room cinderblock building. She doesn’t have the money to finish it yet.

Just because it’s not finished doesn’t mean it’s not useful. The floors are still dirt and weeds, yet the women cooked a feast there, a native barbecue for dozens of guests. It was a place where people gathered, where food and toys were handed out, where bodies and souls were fed.



I think of myself as an unfinished building, rough and raw and incomplete. My faith and character are built one brick at a time, one experience at a time, one choice at a time.

I am far from complete, yet I am still useful.
I may have mud floors, yet I can give of my self, my means, my service.

My house will not be completed in this life, or in this world.
I don’t have all I need; I can’t do it by myself.

But I can keep working on it, a brick at a time,
and while it’s under construction, it can be useful.


There is no door yet, so it’s always open.

Come on in.

Let’s build together.

2008 - A New Year

Last year, in lieu of New Year’s resolutions, we chose a word to focus on for the year. I liked that.

I’ve known for a while what I wanted my word to be for 2008.
Then it was kind of picked for me when our bishop chose it as a focus for our ward this year.

The word is - REMEMBER.

I’ve wanted for a long time to be better at remembering, to remember more often, more carefully, more profoundly.
The ironic thing is, I always forget.

I watched the funeral and other specials about President Gordon B. Hinckley, all the while remembering all the great things he did in his life, all his life, personally and for others.
How blessed we all are for having known him.
How much we saw the hand of God working in and through him.

During a break I read Henry B. Eyring’s General Conference talk, “O Remember, Remember”. Years ago he had an experience that taught him to ask himself every day, “Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?” And as he pondered and looked for those experiences, he saw things he never would have seen.
The inspiration that came to him was, “I’m not giving you these experiences for yourself. Write them down.”

Finally, in February (I’m getting a late start this year), I took time to ask myself that question, and look for the answers. And, oh, the things I saw that I would not have seen.
I’ve often heard talk of thankfulness, of gratitude journals and such, and know full well the benefits and blessings of counting your blessings, which none of us do enough.
But it seems a different thing to look specifically for the hand of God in your life.

How often in the scriptures are we admonished to remember, -- to remember what the Lord God hath done for the children of men, and for you.
It seems to be an antidote, for when we remember,
we are not inclined to murmur or complain,
nor to stray or wander,
nor to be derelict in our duties.

Every week we promise that we “will always remember Him,”
and in so doing we are promised that “will have His Spirit to be with us.”
That Spirit heals and heartens, lifts and leads, and brings us joy.
Why is it so hard to remember that simple, sacred combination?

I’m getting older. Remembering anything is hard to do, but….

To recognize and to remember the hand of God every day is my goal this year.

I hope I don’t forget.

I Was Tagged!

Here goes, for better or for worse....



Where did you meet your husband?

In Las Vegas, at a Family Home Evening of young adults, before there was a program for young adults. He wasn’t a member at the time. A missionary-minded friend he worked with brought him. Can't remember if he was wearing plaid pants or a striped shirt, but I remember the white shoes, and that he was an insurance guy. I wasn’t impressed.


What was the first thing you said to your husband?

I don't remember, but my girlfriends and I were pretty disgruntled when we were asked to take him home that night. We went up to his apartment and learned he was very smart about very many things. Still not impressed.


Where was your first date?

He took all his other dates out to dinner shows on the Las Vegas Strip, but he just hung out at my place.


Where was your first kiss?

Just outside the door of my apartment, which was just through the alley from his apartment.


Did you have a long or short courtship/engagement?

We would have liked a short engagement, but decided to wait the requisite year for a new member so we could be married in the temple. It was actually only a five-month wait by that point, but it seemed like forever.


Where did you get engaged?

Unofficially, sitting on the couch of my apartment. There was no proposal; it just seemed to both of us that we should/would get married. With no engagement ring (I didn’t want a diamond), and no real wedding events to plan, I’m not sure when it became official.


Where were you married?

In the Salt Lake Temple, December 8, in the middle of a blizzard. We drove all night from Nevada to Provo in a snow storm. We, and the snow plows, were the only ones on the road. I learned after we got there that my husband-to-be had never driven in snow before! Many weddings were cancelled that day, and we could easily have cancelled ours, but we selfishly made our families come out in that weather. The next morning it was 4 degrees.


How did your reception go?

We didn’t have one. I didn’t want one. My parents gave us money instead, which ended up going to wedding expenses after all. We got married at night, and went out for a late dinner with my family afterward. I think it was my sister who brought some roses for me. Someone else ran by a bakery and brought a small cake to the dinner. I never picked wedding colors, or a cake, or even a dress. Both sets of parents later held open houses in their respective states, and we agreed to show up.
I wouldn’t have had a wedding dress but my sister surprised me the morning of my wedding with a dress she had made for me! It was simple but cute, and it fit perfectly! I made a copy of it in hot pink and wore that at the open houses.
The only wedding pictures I have are snapshots taken in the outside entryway of the temple in the snowy dark.


How was your honeymoon?

A month long. We always laughed at people who got married, then spent the next day with their family at Lagoon or something, but we did the same thing. We had a day or two that we could be with my out-of-town family, and someone had tickets to a ballgame, so we hung around to be with them. We made a stop at our apartment in Vegas, then traveled down to California, up through Oregon to Washington where we spent Christmas and had an open house. Then we made the same trip back, having Prime Rib and Cheesecake almost every day and doing a little temple hopping. We still have prime rib and cheesecake on our anniversary.

A Good Fit

Today I went to a regional meeting.
It included all the stake presidents and stake Relief Society presidents of our region. It was pretty interesting.

I looked around the room to see what other stake Relief Society presidents looked like. I learned that they all look different. There isn’t a type or ilk or mold they fit in to.

I find it true of ward Relief Society presidents too. They can be any age or size or color or type. It’s true in Primary, Young Women, and every other organization.
The Lord seems to use the rough materials of which we are all made, and he can make diamonds. It can happen to anyone.

There are certain qualifications preferred to work in the Kingdom.
They do not include a nice wardrobe, being skinny, visible talents, or fitting into a mold.
They do include faith, obedience, and a willingness to serve.

We don’t aspire to high callings, but we can and should prepare ourselves for them.


I’m always surprised when I hear a bishop say he loves to be the bishop, or when I see a stake president so willing, humbly and happily, to do all that is required of him, and more. It takes a special person to love a job that takes a ton of time and work, and includes teenagers, finances, and hard problems. It is an awesome thing to see such a gem.


I find comfort in knowing I don’t have to fit into a mold.
My only need is to conform to what the Lord wants for me.

Fit for the kingdom.
That’s the mold I want to fit.

In the Mood

My husband offered to buy me a CTR mood ring.
For no good reason, I accepted.

I didn't need it, and I don't take much stock in their working.

Well, maybe a little more than before.


Much of the time my ring is blue, which means I'm relaxed.

Sometimes it changes to green, which shows I am active.

But one day......

I was in Washington state, which I love, coming out of Tacoma Boys, the local fruit stand that I love, eating a newly-discovered Honey Crisp apple with sharp English cheese that was heaven, and I noticed the ring on my finger was purple! That's the color for love.

Rachel got a CTR mood ring for her baptism. On the afternoon of her baptism, she was floating around the house, carrying her new scriptures in her new little bag that she loved, that was filled with all the goodies people had given her, and her ring was purple. She was feeling the love.

I'm beginning to be a believer.

I don't believe in rabbit feet, taro cards, palm reading, or ouiji boards, but I do believe in feelings. I think they are emotional, but also physical, mental and chemical. I think they affect our internal environment, and external.

David O. McKay taught:
"The only responsibility that a man cannot evade in this life is.. his personal influence. This is simply the constant radiation of what a man really is. Every moment of his life he is changing to a degree the life of the whole world. Every man has an atmosphere which is affecting every other. To exist is to radiate.... to be a recipient of radiation." --William Jordan


When I was a teenager, I tried to be a Stoic. I didn't want anyone to know what was happening inside me by what they saw on the outside. Silly, I know.
Now I love to see the inner self appear on someone's face, or in their body language, in a smile or in jumping for joy!
Now maybe you can tell what I'm feeling by the ring on my finger, and the look on my face.

My ring has not yet turned orange or red or black. Those colors denote being nervous, unsettled or stressed. If it really works, I suppose it will. But I hope not often.

Today my ring borders on purple. I love that Fall is finally creeping in, that they have hired another person at work, and that in a few short weeks I will see my family!

I am loving life.

That's the mood I'm in.

Can you tell?

Take a guess

Fried Green Tomatoes.
Deep-fried Pralines.
Roasted Corn on the Cob
Deep-fried Marshmallows.
Pineapple Whip Ice Cream.


Guess where I've been?



The Texas State Fair.


I could have had deep-fried alligator, deep-fried cookie dough, deep-fried peach cobbler, deep-fried okra, deep-fried turkey legs, deep-fried banana cream pie, deep-fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or deep-fried funnel cake, but I didn't. There's only so much lard a body can handle.

I did have the best corn dog I've ever had.

But, alas, no scone. What is a state fair without Fisher's scones with raspberry jam? A Texas fair, I guess.

The weather was nice, the crowds just right, the music loud, and the midway was, well, a midway. I appreciated the Ferris Wheel a lot more having just read The Devil in the White City about the Chicago world's fair and the first Wheel.

At 18 months (nursery age!) little Kyra couldn't ride anything (thank goodness) but we enjoyed the petting zoo, the usual and the exotic collections of animals, and playing farmer in the children's barn. (Pester Valerie to post pictures of Kyra's first cotton candy.)

I had never been to the Texas fair before. I didn't make it to California's when we lived there. Way back in Washington I "did the Puyallup."

Fairs are noisy and dirty and crummy. They are crowded and expensive and exhausting. But they are full of interesting things and people, and you always learn something, about animals if not people. And about yourself.

I prefer a museum over a fair, a steak over a corn dog, the symphony over blue-grass. But once in a while, it's kind of fun to go where the buffalos roam.

Grass-roots comes to mind. To go to a state fair is to get back to basics, to living off the land, with other living things, and making things by hand. It's about real people, who work hard and take pride in what they do. It's just so ... American.

And where else can you find Dr. Pepper Beef Jerky?

Relief Society Part 6 -- Something Extraordinary

(No, you didn't miss parts 3, 4 and 5. They are forthcoming.)


At the first meeting of the Relief Society, Emma Smith said,
“We are going to do something extraordinary, something really extraordinary.” Could she have known, could she possible have envisioned the destiny of this Society?

Could she have foreseen that this small gathering in an obscure town in a frontier region would spread to all four corners of the earth?
Could she have imagined this small group of twenty would grow to an organization of over five million sisters world-wide?
Could she have known of the increased opportunities for all women for education, political freedom, leadership and personal development that would come?

Who can gauge the effect Relief Society has had on the lives of millions of women whose knowledge has been increased, whose vision has been expanded, whose lives have been broadened and enriched?
Who can count the projects that have been undertaken, and the good that has been done by this society of sisters?
Who can fathom the acts of charity that have been performed, the faith that has been nurtured, the pains that have been eased, the food that has filled barren tables?
Who can measure the effect of this singular and divinely established institution?
Truly the Relief Society has done something extraordinary.

As women have been blessed, they in turn have blessed the lives of others.
A little thing here, a little thing there, as women all over the world
Warm the soup and the home and the heart;
Light a lamp and a mind and a life;
Change a bed and a soul and the world,
In small but important ways, making footprints in the sands of time, leaving a mark in the hearts and minds and lives of all of God’s children.

How vast is our purpose; how broad is our mission:
to cheer and to bless in humanity’s name.
For charity never faileth, and it endureth forever and ever—
Even in the Kingdom of our God, where we will all sit down together,
For we had charity, one for another.

Relief Society Chapter 2 Seasons

My sophomore year in college I was called for the first time to be a Visiting Teacher. My companion was even quieter and more backward than I was.

We were called to teach Sis. Wilkinson. Sister Wilkinson was the wife of Ernest L. Wilkinson, the president of BYU. Sister Wilkinson was a member of the Relief Society General Board. Sister Wilkinson served on the committee that wrote the Visiting Teaching messages.

I learned more from Sis. Wilkinson than she learned from me.


All my life I’ve had friends of all ages, but I particularly appreciate the older, more mature friends that I’ve had, as they’ve taken me under their wings and let me learn from their wisdom and experience. As a young married, it made all the difference in my life. I'm so grateful for people like Karen, Gincy, Glenna, Rosie, Bobbye and others.


I recently visited a ward where I saw a young woman walk over to a very elderly woman. I could see the sparkle in her eyes and the light in her face from across the room. The love and connection between these two sisters was palpable, and you could tell they had spent some quality time together. I thought it was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen.


Marjorie Hinckley said,
“Oh, how we need each other. Those of us who are old need you who are young. And, hopefully, you who are young need some of us who are old. We need deep and satisfying and loyal friendships with each other. Women need women.”



Relief Society is truly for every season of our lives.

But season is not just a noun; it is also a verb.
We can be the seasoning for others, and they for us --
in all the ages and stages of our lives--
as we expand our circle of friendship.



Strangers are just friends waiting to happen.

Relief Society Part 1 Beginnings

I became a member of Relief Society when I went off to college my freshman year.

Relief Society at that time was at 8:30 am on Sunday morning, a challenge for any college student, but especially for the night owl that I was. I was called to be the chorister, so I had to be there every week, and on time. Every Sunday morning I dragged myself out of bed and left my roommates snug in theirs, and went to Relief Society.
I remember our teacher, an elderly lady with kind eyes, who taught us from her fountain of wisdom and faith. I remember feeling that Relief Society was something special. I knew my roommates were really missing out.
I don’t think I felt well a single Sunday morning that year, but I was glad I "had" to go to Relief Society.


I don’t remember when I came across this quote for the first time, but it has always shaped my attitude about Relief Society:

"The program of the Church is the plan of salvation, and Relief Society is a part of that plan. Sisters, it is your duty to attend Relief Society just as it is the duty of the brethren to attend their Priesthood meetings."

"There is something pathetic about those of our sisters who sit at home waiting to be enticed to Relief Society. Some sisters seem to pour over the offering of Relief Society like a fussy diner searching a menu for something to excite the taste. If you are absenting yourself from Relief Society because 'you don't get anything out of it,' tell me, dear sister, what is it that you are putting into it?" (Boyd K. Packer)


Relief Society has changed over the years. I’m old enough to remember The Relief Society Magazine, putting $2 into a special envelope for annual dues, and Homemaking meetings in the middle of the week. We used to have Spring and Fall Socials, bazaars, and lessons on literature, mother education, and other cultures.


But some things don’t change. It is still a place where we find friendship, where we help one other, and where the lives of individuals and families are bettered.

It really is something special.

It is something you wouldn't want to miss.

"Relief Society is not optional! Attend it, contribute to it, devote yourself to it— great blessings await you, now, and forever."
(Boyd K. Packer)

Moving Day

We’re moving!

Oh, not my family. The business where I work.

Last weekend we packed and the guys moved The Stuff.
Today was our first day at our new digs unpacking The Stuff.

Moves always involve change.
I used to work out in the country. We had our own building on privately owned property with cows just outside our windows.
Now we work in town, in a real office space, with Super Walmart right outside our windows.

Three doors down is a chiropractor. That’s very handy after days like today.

Two doors down is Cookies in Bloom, with scrumptious and beautiful cookies - thick sugar cookies with thick frosting. That almost makes it okay. The fact that they have a post office in their store makes it even better. It might even make up for looking at Walmart.

Before we moved in, the space was a design center where new home owners went to pick out their carpet, flooring, tile, etc. for their new house. It makes for a varied and interesting floor.

For the first time I actually have a desk, a large, real desk. Never mind that I have to share it with two other people. I don't sit much at my job anyway.

And we have space, lots and lots of space. Well, for everything but the actual store. We have space for multiple offices and desks, for a showroom and a classroom, for machine storage and repairs, for our big rolls of batting, and even for all the vehicles and trailers we drive. But not for the store. It's a puny little corner of this big, beautiful place. Oh, well. Who needs a store? or a kitchen? or cows out their window?

My drive to work is a little bit shorter, but instead of cruising down the rural freeway I get to sit through traffic lights.

I'll miss the country feel. I'll miss the homeliness of the boss next door. I'll miss leisurely lunches in the roomy kitchen. I'll miss the friendly mail people.

But I won't miss the bugs, or the clutter, or the long walk for batting.


Change always seems messy.

Changes on the outside seem to change you on the inside.

Some changes are for the better; some are not.

But change is good. It shakes things up, makes you re-evaluate, and redefines things. It can steer you to a better path.


With gratitude for what I had, I'll do my best to make the move.