God's Hand. Ellie's Heart.

I’ve hesitated whether to write anything publicly about experiences around here of late. We’ve written plenty in private emails, text exchanges and journal entries, and thought that would be the extent of it. As I laid my head on my pillow last night, it took a surprising effort to fall asleep despite feeling utterly exhausted from a long day. The events of the last month kept playing themselves out in my mind, and after falling to my knees in humble prayer of thanksgiving and gratitude, sleep did come. With it, came the thought that I should be more open about sharing our experiences with others. It is part of our faith, our belief and our testimony--that God is not only in the details of our lives, but He is a God of miracles, and they do still exist in our world today. We have experienced them. Therefore, we will share an abridged version of our experience, in our small way of testifying of God's goodness, mercy and love.

I wrote about Ellie's mystery finger injury a few weeks back. We never did find out a reason for it being broken in two places, but that enigmatic finger turned out to be the start of a series of miracles in Ellie's life. 

I'm going to write the series of events briefly. We know what we view as miracles, I don't need to identify them specifically.

At Ellie's appointment for her finger, the receptionist told me Ellie was due for a well-check up and that I should schedule one. I had planned for her to get one around her upcoming 12th birthday in May to coincide with her getting the required junior high shots. But instead, for whatever reason, I made an appointment for the next week.

A week later at that visit, Ellie's pediatrician spent extra time listening to Ellie's heart. Thinking she heard something abnormal, she had 2 other doctors come in and listen. I stood there as both of the other doctors said everything sounded within the normal range. Our doctor listened again and had the others listen to HER stethoscope, but they still thought everything sounded normal.  Regardless of her co-workers opinions, our pediatrician told me she felt as though Ellie needed to be referred to a pediatric cardiologist at Primary Children's Medical Center.

I was able to get an appointment AT PRIMARY CHILDREN'S MEDICAL CENTER FOUR days later.

The pediatric cardiologist found everything normal that she could HEAR, but routinely did an EKG in which they found a problem within the "electrical system of the heart." The pediatric cardiologist herself, recognized the "powers that be" causing our pediatrician to refer us for something that is impossible to hear. Due to the results of the EKG, she referred us to an electrophysiologist. Knowing Ellie was in the middle of cheer competition season and typically very active (cast was due off the next week and we were planning to go to Portland for a competition), and knowing high exertion could be risky, the cardiologist went up to the front desk and made an appointment with us for the soonest we could be seen. We were to return one week later.

A few days after Ellie's initial cardiologist appointment, I returned to our pediatrician for an unrelated issue with another child. I gave her a brief update on Ellie. After her initial shock that Ellie had already been seen by the cardiologist, she looked me in the eyes and said, "Someone wanted me to hear something that day."

When checking in the next week with the electrophysiologist, I overheard the receptionists talking surprisingly about our appointment. We came to find out a few minutes later, that the doctor actually wasn't "in clinic" that day, but had set up our appointment amidst a conference call and interviews upstairs.

In layman terms, the doctor informed us that Ellie had an abnormality within the functioning of her heart. Unbeknownst to us, she was born with the abnormality, but she never had any symptoms....yet. Due to the lack of symptoms, if she were to continue in physically exerting gymnastics/cheer, it is quite likely we would have never known anything was wrong with her heart until it was quite possibly too late and she could go into cardiac arrest. That could have been 2 weeks or 5 years from now.

Ellie was told she needed to have a procedure done on her heart, and that until it was done, she would be unable to participate in any physically exerting activities (way more devastating to her than the words "at risk of sudden death" that the doctor kept throwing around the conversation). Abruptly stepping down from her competition cheer team smack dab in the middle of competitions was not an easy task for a constant cartwheel flipping and back-hand springing 11 year old girl to do.

Yesterday, March 14th, Ellie underwent a 4 hour procedure on her heart. It was a long 4 hours, but despite me feeling fidgety, Mike and I never felt anxious or worried while waiting for news of the procedure progress. As text after text came through my phone throughout the day, I felt the love, concern, faith and prayers of so many people close to us. 

The procedure went very well. The doctor said it was only a matter of time until the symptoms of her condition would have appeared. It is now 98% likely it is completely fixed, though they'll know with certainty in 2 months

Here we are a day later. Ellie is doing great! She is sore at the sites the three catheters entered into her body, but after a lazy, restful day today, she will be almost completely back to real life tomorrow. 

Today, I gifted Ellie three bracelets I purchased at the hospital gift shop yesterday. I told her, I picked out each one for a specific reason and I want them to always be a tangible reminder of three things. 1. The heart is self-explanatory-but to always remember the story associated with that heart of hers beating inside her body. 2. The "love you" one-is to remember all the people that have given her gifts, sent texts, served us, etc. I hope she always remembers how many people love and care for her. 3. The angel bracelet is to remind her that Heavenly Father uses people here on earth to accomplish His works. There is no end to the angels both seen and unseen that play a part in our lives. (We think our pediatrician is one of them.)

  

We have no explanation for why some youth meet a sudden death on a gym floor or a sports field, and why Ellie was likely spared that ending. We acknowledge the Lord's hand in Ellie's life. We feel humbled and very blessed that we have been the benefactors of true, modern-day miracles.

We believe God lives. We believe He loves us, and we believe that He is involved in the details of our lives. 

Something Hard. Check.

It would be very accurate to say, I am not a water person. The single "most traumatic" experience of my childhood was being baptized a member of the LDS church when I was 8 years old. That is a story in and of itself, but suffice it to say that was the first (and second!) time I ever put my head completely under the water.

Although I did learn to swim as a child, I have never to this day jumped into a pool or body of water that isn't more than 3 feet deep. I have never passed on my fear of water to my children, they just understand it to be that I don't really "enjoy water."

This year on our cruise, in talking to one of the couples in our large group they brought to our attention one of the "shore excursions" they were going to go on at the end of the week. Immediately, I wanted to do it. Mike looked at me like I had just said we were going to jump off the ship and swim home. He couldn't believe I wanted to do something that used words to describe it like: "snorkeling in the ocean", "kayaking", "strenuous", etc.

For some reason, I had a tight grip on the idea, and Mike stood encouragingly by me a couple of days later as I signed us up for the, "Kayak, Snorkel, Hike" excursion.

 Mike never said a word to discourage me, in fact I think he was rendered absolutely speechless by me suggesting and signing us up for the whole thing!  (He also knows me well enough to know, I'm somewhat frugal, and so if I'd just paid that amount of money for it, he knew I wouldn't cancel or bail.)

Granted. I knew I had  signed up for something completely out of my comfort zone, but I was still surprised the night before our 8am meeting time when I couldn't sleep well. It wasn't just the stress of which shoes to wear first and which ones to pack (both flip flops and tennis shoes suggested) that was keeping me awake, it was the excitement/nervousness/apprehension/surprise/anxiety about the whole adventure I was about to embark on.

Really, one could think I am making far too big of a deal about a simple excursion. But I know me well, Mike knows me well, so do my children. So this was a big flippin' deal that I was doing this! And I can't let it not be recorded into my family history files.

As we boarded our truck/wagon/would be 100% illegal and unsafe in the USA vehicle that transported us to our destination, I knew the experience was going to be one of two things:

a. A complete flop in which either Mike or I, or both would be completely embarrassed of my fears and the potential outburst I could have at either him or anyone else, and we would return to our cruise ship deflated and at odds.

b. Or, it was going to be one of the proudest days of my life. A day which I accomplished something fearful, difficult and hard. And not only lived to tell the tale, but had a smile on my face for days because of it.

The latter occurred.

It was one of the most fabulous things Mike and I have ever done together. I loved it. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the smoothest few hours. I did speak a little harshly to Mike on the initial kayak ride that he needed to quit moving because it was going to tip us. And I did initially chicken out about swimming out to the 12 foot deep waters to snorkel, and instead told Mike to go on without me. (Mike should have been born a fish,  he loves the opportunity to be in any body of water. Especially, the beautiful clear waters of the Caribbean. I didn't want him to miss out on this experience.)

(I wish I had a photo of the look on my children's faces, when I told them, "Dad and I rode kayaks in the ocean, and went snorkeling together." Their jaws hit the ground and the comments were, "No way!" "Seriously? You?" "I don't believe it. We need proof.")

(I spent the first little while with a death-grip on Mike.)

Mike refused to leave me behind, and in a firm, yet kind way encouraged me to come further. And before I knew it--I was snorkeling in water that was well above any depth of water I've ever been in before, and having the time of my life.

(Me posting this photo, is almost as brave as actually being in the water!)

 (There's a sting-ray down there if you know what you're looking for.)

 .
There were so many emotions, and life-lessons for me personally from doing something so out of my comfort zone. I know it is a seemingly easy experience for most, but it wasn't for me, and I felt pure pride and satisfaction from doing something so hard.

The world is a beautiful place, and I'm so glad I got to see parts of it I've never seen before.

Being Still

Last year on January 1st, 2013 Mike and I had made grand plans for our year. Not necessarily a big long list of goals and resolutions, but a few changes we hoped to implement with our children. We sat them down the evening of January 1st and talked them all through with them. It didn't quite go as planned, and 5 children tired and ornery from staying up too late the previous evening didn't quite co-operate as we had hoped.

I went into my bedroom feeling discouraged, while Mike wrestled the children into bed at the other end of the hall. As I laid down on my bed, I heard in my mind, clear as day the scripture passage from Psalms 46:10 which reads, "Be still and know that I am God." I have no doubt in my mind that it was a personal message sent to me from a loving God who knew my heart and desires.

I decided to make that simple phrase my personal mantra for 2013. One of the ways I incorporated being still more into my life was making sure I spent 15 minutes DAILY sitting on the couch doing nothing more than being still. I didn't nap, read, or do anything other than sit quietly alone with no distractions. (Which was what I had been talking about on my KSL radio interview last spring, but it got edited to say, "I make sure and sit on the couch every day.")

I did it faithfully for several months, but then the days muddled together and even the necklace I had made and wore frequently around my neck, didn't help remind me, or rather didn't help me prioritize making the time to "be still."

This year, (yesterday) on January 1st, Mike and I didn't sit down with our children to discuss any grandiose plans. Guess our non-communicated decision to not do it was two-fold...

1. We didn't quite master all our suggestions from last year, so we figured we could keep trying on those ones.
2. Having 4 children stay up until midnight the previous night, and 1 child get woken up at midnight made for some pretty tired and ornery children come New Years Day. Mike and I didn't have it in us to do much more than referee the occasional argument. (The others we left for the children to figure out on their own.)

I didn't receive any personal inspiration January 1st, 2014 as I did the previous year. Not that I was seeking for it, or even desired it. I believe that some of the best inspiration comes when we least expect it, which was why last year's "Be still" experience touched me so deeply. I decided to approach my own personal 2014 mantra, much the same way Mike and I have approached our family's "goals."

I didn't master being still quite like I wanted to in 2013, so I'll give it a try again for 2014. I need to remember in the chaos that so often reigns supreme in my life, that God is God and it is in the quiet, still moments I feel his guiding hand the most.

Happy New Year!

A Beautiful Reminder

This miniature rosebush is my absolute favorite thing in my flower gardens. It was planted in my home in American Fork and when we moved, I never thought to bring it with us. Two years after we moved, while visiting with the neighbors across the street from our old home, I realized I had to have that rosebush. A replacement one wouldn't suffice. I needed that particular one.

The kind homeowners (not the ones we sold the home to) allowed me to dig it up one hot June Sunday afternoon. After transplanting, I babied the rosebush throughout the hot summer until it acclimated to its new home. I wanted it desperately to survive.

I've had bits and pieces of this story of mine in various blog post drafts over the years, but until now, I've never felt like sharing it. A few months ago, I read a heart-wrenching blog post from a friend who suffered a miscarriage. I felt inspired to send her an email sharing my own experience more than a decade ago. As I shared my experience, it felt so good to get it all written down and recorded (even though it was a mumbo-jumbo, disjointed email). Though I wrote a little in my personal journal 15 years ago, I didn't write much. It's probably time to share.

First of all I must say that I completely recognize the difference between early-term miscarriages and later pregnancy still-births. However, until a woman has had an early-term miscarriage, they have no idea of the grieving that does (and probably has to) take place. I believe the second a mother finds out they are pregnant, their mother bear instincts kick in, and they fight for that baby to survive physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Unfortunately, there are times we don't win the fight.

In early December of 1997, I found out I was pregnant. I announced it to Mike with a baby bottle sitting on our bathroom counter. On January 1st, we decided to announce it to our parents. I was 9 weeks pregnant. Within hours of announcing it to my family, I began to realize something could be wrong. Although the symptoms were mild, upon arriving home to American Fork, we opted to go to the hospital. The ER doctor performed an ultrasound and there on the screen Mike and I saw a little baby's heartbeat. We of course were relieved, and the doctor told us that usually the baby dies first and then spotting/bleeding begins, not the other way around. He assured us all was well and sent us home with instructions to take it easy for a few days. (He also told me his wife spotted monthly throughout her pregnancy.)

(FYI-this wasn't "my" doctor)

I'm not going to give specific details here, but "the details" led my doctor to believe, nothing was serious and to continue to rest for a few days. It was during my first day of rest that 'somebody' (it's not my story to tell) stopped by my house with 'necessary purchases.' (We'd been married less than a year, Mike was not willing to go to the store for 'such necessities.') This dear woman, beyond child bearing years, confided to me that her last pregnancy had ended in an miscarriage. She shared her feelings of sadness having wished for a baby to be close to her youngest child. Fifteen years later, I feel as though this person was the only one who really understood my fear that I really was miscarrying.

After 2 days, all my symptoms stopped. Based on the mildness of them, my doctor assured me all was surely fine and to keep my scheduled appointment for 6 weeks later. (I was naive and didn't know to ask for anything different at the time.)

Six weeks later was February 13th. I was "supposedly" 14 weeks pregnant, and was going to hear the heartbeat for the first time. (Obviously, I'd already seen it.) Now, I realize how stupid of me to even think I hadn't really miscarried those first few days of January...

Of course the doctor couldn't hear the heartbeat and ordered an ultrasound for later that afternoon. I went home, drank a billion ounces of fluid and returned a few hours later with Mike. Fortunately, my uncomfortable ultrasound with the nurse didn't have to last long, before the doctor came in and said, "I guess you really did miscarry last month after all. I'm sorry."

I was devastated.
DEVASTATED.

I went home and sobbed and cried on the top of my bed. Mike sat in the office next to our bedroom working and didn't say or do anything to comfort me. Of course that added to my heartbreak, but I guess being our first, and not even a year into our marriage, he didn't "get it". (He since realizes his mistake.)

It took me several years to forgive him of that major faux pas.

After sobbing for several hours, I got up and decided to go to the store. I went to Fred Meyer's in American Fork and bought myself a potted plant and Mike a CD for Valentine's Day. The plant had no significance, but I thought it was pretty, and being the day before Valentine's Day there were plenty to choose from.

That potted plant is the rosebush that is now in my front yard. This is the time of year it is in full bloom. I smile every time I look at it, and occasionally shed a tear. Of course I went on to have 5 healthy pregnancies, but I have never ever forgotten the heartache of that miscarriage. I will mention, I spotted during my last pregnancy (Drew). I sobbed all that day as my mother bear instincts fought full force for him to make it. Obviously I didn't miscarry, but my fears were very real.

I know it doesn't take a math wiz to become confused when knowing that on February 13th, 1998 I was told there was no baby inside me, yet on October 12, 1998, Megan was born. The details surrounding that whole part of the story are really quite detailed and very personal. I'll leave out the specifics and summarize it this way...

About 10 days after my February 13th ultrasound, I began to feel really sick and had an awful pain in my upper stomach area. On February 25th, my doctor thinking perhaps I had a gallstone, had me return for an ultrasound. I'll never forget the ultrasound tech saying, "Your gallbladder looks fine, and so does the 6 week old fetus."

WHHHHAAATTTT????

The doctor soon came in, and with tears in his eyes said, "Guess you were really meant to have this baby!" Then with tears still in his eyes, and his hand clasping mine he said, "Congratulations, you are pregnant."

(So, technically I was pregnant on that February 13th ultrasound, but with Megan, not the "original baby" and until 6 weeks, a fetus isn't always seen. There are a few more specific special and to me, sacred details of the whole event, but none that I'd share publicly.

For all intents and purposes my experience with a miscarriage was a fairly minor trial compared to many people, but it is an experience that I hold dear to my heart. I love that I have my rosebush as a tangible reminder. It is in full bloom right now, and as it does every year, it reminds me life is good. Difficult things get better and life moves on.

Love is a Wonderful Thing

(Lily, August 2012)

Yesterday I wrote a total of 4 1/2 pages in my personal journal throughout the course of the day. I thought that a lot of what I wrote would eventually be turned into a blog post, but I have decided instead to leave most of my most tender feelings and thoughts in my personal journal alone.

However, there are a few things I would love to share. Namely, how wonderful the act of loving is. As I said to Ellie yesterday, "I think that our ability to love others is one of the greatest gifts we have been given in this life."

I will not start by giving the heart-wrenching and traumatic events that my dear son, Luke went though yesterday, but instead begin with the fact that Lily, Luke's beloved goat spent much of yesterday morning and afternoon laying on our family room floor. From the first events that occurred and even still today, I have been overwhelmed with thoughts of one word and the definition of that word I have seen displayed over and over in the last 36 hours.
Love

(Luke and Lily, January 2013)

Love
Luke spent hours yesterday lovingly by Lily's side, covering her with warm blankets, feeding her water, rubbing her body and legs, changing out towels, never leaving her side.

Love
Ellie's tears as she walked into the school, concerned about the condition of a goat. Not that it is the goat Ellie has such a fondness for, but the love she felt towards her big brother was obvious.

Love
The love of a parent that was so tender and real, that I felt emulate from Mike on the phone when he burst into tears and said, "I feel so bad for Luke." Immediately I began to cry too, and Mike told me he no longer thought Lily would recover.

Love
Walking into the house minutes after that phone call and seeing Luke laying on the family room floor. Nose to nose with Lily, his arm around her head sobbing. It is a picture I declined to take with the camera, but most certainly took in my mind.

Love
Mike and I sitting nearby on the couch, crying too, each taking turns to periodically lay down next to Luke to comfort Luke as he comforted Lily.

Love
Mike quietly, and almost reverently, every few minutes checking Lily's heartbeat.

Love
The heart-wrenching cries that came from Luke when Mike, while kneeling close to Lily and Luke whispered, "She's gone now."

Love
Me sitting on the couch holding Luke close to me, both of us quietly crying while Mike lovingly, silently and reverently wrapped Lily in a purple and white bed sheet.

Love
Within minutes of Luke answering his dear friend, Paul's question of, "How is Lily?", Mike, Luke and I see Paul in the very cold (not even teen temperatures), and of course through 15+ inches of snow, silently digging a burial spot for Luke's beloved Lily. Within moments, Mike joined Paul in the field and began digging too. (Bless Luke's heart, he picked up a shovel to begin digging too, until I whispered to him that he didn't have to help.) Tears streamed down my cheeks as Luke and I stood nearby watching two men who dearly, dearly love Luke perform an act of service in his behalf.

Love
Watching Paul help Mike as he gently carried Lily,  still wrapped carefully in the sheet to her burial spot. Paul took Lily from Mike and climbed into the hole to place her. After looking at Luke for his approval, Mike and Paul silently began covering the hole in with frozen dirt.

Love
Seeing Megan break down in tears as Mike told her of Lily's death. Listening to Megan tearfully say, "I'm just so so sad for Luke.

Love
The subdued atmosphere in our home Monday evening as everyone seemed to treat each other a little more kindly and a little more gently.

Love
Mike and I taking it in turns to lay next to Luke in bed as he cried himself to sleep.

Love
Mike and I coming to a new understanding of the depths of love for our son, and our deep desire to carry his pain entirely ourselves if we could.

Love
The fact that me, a once complete non-animal lover, has a soft spot in my heart for the animals my son so dearly loves.

One of the many prayers offered yesterday said, by I think Drew, was: "Thank you we can love Lily."

I think we always will.

My Step Back in Time Alone

During our visit to St. George last week, I took myself on a self-guided walking tour of the St. George historical sites while the boys hiked and the girls stayed with Kristin,

I've had my eye on this tour since May when I discovered it was an option, all neatly mapped out on a glossy brochure. My real dream of doing the tour was to do it dressed in my red pioneer dress my sister-in-law Cindy, made for me four years ago. I didn't quite have the guts to dress in period costume, but I did wear a dress. (I declined Kristin's offer of loaning me her pioneer bonnet, which incidentally I think was offered to me in a slightly mocking tone.)

As for my shoes?
They worked out just fine despite the lady in the Visitor's Center who when handing me my brochure clucked her tongue while looking at my shoes and told me, "You will be walking miles and miles. These miles here aren't your typical miles." Not sure what she meant, but I knew I would be walking a lot and planned my shoes accordingly.

This little self-guided tour was the highlight of my trip. By that, I mean no offense to the people I spent the weekend with, but I quite enjoyed the two hours alone walking the streets of downtown St. George.

I loved walking and observing at my own pace. No one whined about how far it was, no one got bored and nobody made me look at things I didn't want to look at.

I fooled myself into thinking that for some reason I was now cultured and entered an art museum. None of the pictures appealed to me in the least, and we had a slight hic-cup when the Art Museum man asked me which print I liked the most and why? Again, I say that none of the prints hanging on the walls interested me at all and for a brief second, it brought up my suppressed memory of being at the National Museum of Art and History with Luke last year in Washington DC. I momentarily felt trapped that this Art Museum man would discover my non-love of art, and I made a quick escape. (After first politely declining his offer to get me in for free to a special display of art at another museum across the street.)

I did however, absolutely LOVE Michael Bedard's Art Gallery. Being already familiar with a few of his paintings, I was anxious to go to his gallery. One day I will have a print of his hanging in my home. I'm not quite sure the poor luck of my art gallery experiences... In this gallery, the artist paid little to no attention to me, especially compared to the other gallery person. I would have quite liked to discuss Michael's paintings and would have loved to have pointed out my favorite one to him.

Instead I left his gallery wondering if there is some sort of Art Gallery communication system and he had already been tipped off by the first Art Museum man "To pay little attention to the woman alone who may enter your gallery soon. She is an imposter."

I visited the old Tabernacle (again declining the tour). My experience in that beautiful, historic building could have been better if Mike hadn't have chosen that particular time to call me four times in a row, despite me declining his call each time. I was trying so hard to act interested and cultured while listening to the sweet sister missionary give me some brief details of the building, but the constant interrupting of Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe" ringtone was a slight distraction.

(the clock on top is from London)

I loved the Pioneer Museum (have I told you before I would have loved to be born in a different era?), I declined the tour of the Brigham Young House. I don't do guided tours, I get bored. (There comes the non-cultured side of me again...), 

I saw and read historical markers, and I loved looking at old buildings.

Anytime I read this phrase in any of its varied forms, I tear up. I have walked the streets of Salt Lake City, I have (now) walked the streets of St. George. Of course so different than what anyone would have envisioned 150+ years ago. These cities (and many others) stand as a testament to the faith, dedication and foresight of the early Mormon Pioneers.  I feel honored to be a part of their vision.

Of course my absolute favorite was my visit to Judd's General Store. I purchased myself a cold bottle of cream soda there and sat outside drinking it while also enjoying a Hostess Cupcake given to me by my brother James upon my arrival at his home the previous night. (He's pretty swell to have bought me a box of those delicious, processed, calorie-laden, treats.) I was feeling a little too embarrassed to ask someone to take my photo during my cupcake/cream soda/Judd's experience. Not so much that I was embarrassed then, but I knew as soon as either of my two younger brothers knew I had done that, they would be embarrassed for me.

I opted instead to put my camera on self-timer, but then some people came walking by and I felt a little silly taking a photo of myself drinking cream soda and eating a processed cupcake. So I quickly jumped up from my seat to retrieve my camera. Only to have it take the picture right as the passers-by were inches from me. I've never thought a camera click was loud until that moment. It was a little awkward.

One day I want to stay at this Bed and Breakfast. Although I likely will have to alone. Mike is not a fan of Bed and Breakfast's, but I won't tell you why here.

Avoiding anymore potentially embarrassing camera episodes, I not only refrained from asking anyone to take my picture alongside this statue of Brigham Young I didn't try the self-timer either.

 What a solitudinous and glorious way to spend an afternoon. I will surely do it again one day.

Yes, Megan

Eleven years ago Megan, with her almost 3 year old faith prayed, "Please bless the broken buildings and the people that cried and died."


The days and weeks that followed, flags were flying at many places. Each time Megan would see a flag she would ask, "Do we think about the broken buildings today?"

Today we do.

 (Originally posted September 11, 2009)

A First For Tiffany

I was awake at 5:45am eager and excited that today is Election Day. As I was getting dressed, I suddenly had the urge to dress up for this special occasion. (I can already hear some of you laughing as you stare at a computer screen!) I decided against it and began to put on some jeans, but I turned to Mike and said, "I can not bring myself to wear jeans for such an occasion." He laughed and I knew EXACTLY what he was going to say, and so I hurried and responded, "or sweats either." To which Mike replied, "Wow, this must be a special occasion." (To those that know me WELL-especially Casey and Cindy--you know that my sweatsuits (yes plural) are my ALL TIME favorite outfits of choice.)

So, not caring what anyone said, or what anyone may have thought, I dressed up in one of my best outfits, and at 6:45am, showered, dressed (in my best)and saying goodbye to Mike, I left to cast my vote for all elected officials, but more importantly this election, a vote for a President of the United States of America!

I was honored and proud to wait my turn in line. And thought it appropriate that a lady behind me in line, (I believe unaware that this was my first election ever), tapped me on the shoulder and said,

"Isn't this a wonderful feeling?"

Indeed it is. I placed my votes and with a tear in my eye took the "I Voted" sticker from the waiting volunteer.

Happy Election Day! It is a day of celebration at our house. Complete with red, white and blue balloons and hot dogs/hamburgers for dinner. After all, this is the great land of America-whether people like the candidates or not!

P.S. I am back in a comfy sweat outfit, despite Megan's pleas of, "Stay dressed like that, you look so nice." To which I replied, "It's snowing/raining and cold and I have nowhere to go-sweats it must be!"

Not A Coincidence

Yesterday afternoon, I am (somewhat ashamed) to admit I had a little pity party for myself. And though no prayer was uttered aloud, I know the Lord knew my thoughts. And as is usually the case, the Lord uses other people to answer our prayers. As we were going inside for the evening, and beginning the "putting everyone to bed routine" I still felt discouraged and ornery (I know, I know, 'ornery' is normal for me), when Luke came running up to me carrying a gift someone had dropped by. I thought it had been left on the doorstep, until Luke said, "She's downstairs." I rushed down, and my sweet friend Heather was standing in my garage. I could have burst into tears right then, because I KNEW this was no coincidence. I know she was prompted to bring me what she did, WHEN she did. Any other time or even day, may not have had the same effect. Another lesson to me, of following the spirit. We never know who's prayers we may be answering. Thank you Heather for being thoughtful, kind and most of all, in tune with the spirit.

Answered Prayers

As I drove to the ER to meet Mike almost two weeks ago, all I could (selfishly) think about was, "We have to go on Pioneer Trek!" (Pioneer Trek is a re-enactment of the Mormon pioneers who trekked 1300 miles across America in the 1840's for their religious freedoms/beliefs.) We were thrilled and excited when we were asked to be a Ma and Pa back in November. Since November, Mike and I have spent a lot of time physically, temporally and spiritually preparing for this trek. The day of his injury was hard in many ways, but the thought of missing the trek experience tugged deep in my heart and I shed many, many tears. However, there was a part of me that somehow, somewhere deep down, found a faith unlike I've never felt before. Though a lot of friends and family around me thought I was CRAZY, I knew somehow we were still needed on Trek. To make a very long story short. We just returned from three days on Pioneer Trek. Our good friend and neighbor Paul, joined us as a "grandpa." Paul brought his horse, and for three days Paul led the horse with Mike on top, following behind the handcart. It was not easy. It was difficult to take care of 12 teenagers, have a crippled husband, (our family name-named by "our kids" was 'The Crips') have a wheel of our handcart BREAK along the way, and endure all the other physical challenges that come with a pioneer trek. But, it was worth it! There are few words to describe the experience. I have a new found appreciation for the Pioneers and their faith and dedication to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They did hard things. They did challenging things. They looked past their fears and their doubts and they had faith that somehow all would be well. I feel blessed to have participated and felt a small part of their struggles and joys. I know that Mike and I were meant to go on Pioneer Trek, and though it was a different experience than what I had anticipated for seven months, I know the Lord heard my heartfelt prayers 12 days ago, and as I was promised in a priesthood blessing that same day, I did indeed receive "the desires of my heart."

A BIG THANKS!
I have to give a big shout out to my parents! They babysat our four children for three days so Mike and I could go on Pioneer Trek. Of course there was no communication available (cell-phones etc.) and they dealt with such things as, a trip to the doctor with an ear infection, diarrhea, a child needing to be in a parade, a burping child (NOT allowed at their house!), and all kinds of other things! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! We are truly blessed!

Also-A big shout out to my sister-in-law Cindy, who patiently spent hours and hours, sewing my pioneer dress and apron. Being in the pioneer clothing enhances the trek experience, and I loved having such a beautiful dress. (There is no wonder why, when my brother Casey, called me while I was at the ER that I cried to him and said, "How will I ever face Cindy after she spent all those hours making my dress that I won't be able to wear....!) But I did wear it! And I loved it! THANK YOU!

I am blessed to have family members in my life who love me and are willing to spend so many hours serving me and my family.

Want a laugh????

So after I finished my shift at the temple Saturday morning, I walked from the dressing room to the front of the temple to exit.(approx. 100 ft) Just as I approached the front desk two dear sisters stopped me and said, "Sister, back up against the wall and fix your dress." The back (right-half)of my dress was tucked up into my dress tie in the back!!!!!!! Of course I was wearing no slip!!
My blessing from my service in the temple yesterday morning? Humiliation. The 10 or so people in the foyer's blessing from being in the temple yesterday morning? A good laugh as I exposed my underwear to them!
But I'll have you all know, I walked out the front doors, with my head held high, laughing all the way to the car....
P.S. As soon as I got home I did a "demonstration" for Mike and Megan, as I began, Mike started to laugh-assuming I was telling something I OBSERVED. I had to repeat two times, "NO-IT HAPPENED TO ME!" The look on Mike's face: sheer mortification! It was priceless!

My Dad's Proud To Be An American

(These pictures aren't the greatest, it was dark in the room and my camera battery was dying!)

On Wednesday, April 16th, MY DAD became a United States Citizen. I was fortunate to be able to attend the ceremony. There were 198 citizens from 51 countries being naturalized. Some of the countries represented were Afghanistan, Iraq, Ethiopia, China, Yugoslavia, Guatemala, Uraguay and of course . . . ENGLAND! After the oath, a few of the new citizens were given an opportunity to express their feelings. It was humbling to listen to some of their situations. A lady from China talked about how 20 years ago after hearing an American answer a question that yes they liked their US president, it made her want to live in a country where she could express her opinions freely. A man from Ethiopia stood up and expressed how glad he is to be here finally, as he spoke, I couldn't help but picture the images of starving children in Ethiopia and think how blessed he is to be here in the USA. A lady from Iraq, now an American citizen sat directly in front of me. She held a little baby girl (probably no older than 2-3 months), and my eyes filled with tears as I thought of the opportunities that she and her daughter now have; freedoms they would never have in Iraq.
And, of course I was proud of my dad. Now after living in the USA for 20 years he is an American citizen. However, what a blessing that he has always lived in a free land. His becoming an American citizen isn't as life changing as it was for some in that ceremony, but what an honor and a privilege to be a citizen of this great land.
(Guess I better get my paperwork going . . .)