Life As I Know It

I'm one of those people that always thinks the best of others.  I trust. I hope. I believe. This isn't always good.

But, in spite of my inclination to be positive, there are days when it's not as easy as it should be. I've had a few of those recently, and splattered throughout my life; dotted between the highs of children and grandchildren - births, weddings, graduations, missions, performances, or even those rare family vacations or amazing road trips, or when immersed in a good book or soul-touching music or conversations with good friends.

If it wasn't for the highs of faith, friends and family, those dark splotches of disappointment would have blotted my life to a dull shade of gray. And yet, it's so easy to take them for granted. The highs are often underestimated and undercelebrated.

How grateful I am for simple faith, family time, leisurely strolls and honest talk. We spend our lives racing around on the fast track , walking and talking at a rapid pace, and making time for family and faith only when it's convenient.

But then, there comes a moment of clarity as we mature. It's painful. It's hard to accept. But it's real, and it comes...trust me. And in the moment we realize, with a remorse beyond description, that somewhere along the line our focus shifted, our life spun out of control, the darkness took over and we missed the point. We let our life race by, or run over us, or drag us along. We didn't live our life, it lived us. We suddenly realize how much time we wasted.

I've done this. I am guilty. And I am sorry. Sorrier than anyone could ever know, except someone who has experienced this sudden awakening, this reality that there isn't a second chance.

Early in life, you have the opportunity to marry the right person, you have one chance to raise your children, and you have one shot to start early and build a life of  financial responsibility. Once that "one" time has past, all is not lost, but you can never go back and redo what was done, or not done.

I don't think kids realize this. I know I didn't. It was something that I just didn't think about. If anyone had asked, I would have told them that at 56 I would be happily putting my last kid through college, looking for a place to retire, and enjoying time with my grandkids. But life didn't turn out that way, and part of the fault is mine - maybe all of it - because I didn't have a real plan. I could have answered the question, but I didn't have a plan.

I do now. It's too late to go back and redo. It's too late to be less trusting and more cautious. It's too late to enjoy curling my fingers through Kurt's blond curls again, or snuggle in bed with Kollin, or make it to Kelly's parade, or spend more time reading with Kyle, or be home more for Karynn, or listen more carefully to Kalen. It's too late.

It's too late to look at the kid's Dad and say "This isn't about us, it's about the kids. We're a family, let's do this."

It's too late to not rush into a rebound marriage. It's too late. It's done. But as I told my daughter, I can only hope that my kids have learned how NOT to do things because of my mistakes, as much as they may have learned how TO act when I've made correct decisions. It's the only silver lining in this mess of a once-only life that I know. I pray that they learn from my mistakes.

But I refuse to let remorse or sorrow darken the days I have left on earth. I refuse to let disappointment in people whom I trusted send me spiraling into depression or despair. And I refuse to waste even another minute of my life on someone else's dishonesty or immorality or disloyalty.

I still believe in people. I still wake up positive and ready for a new day. I still refuse to let the dark splotches of disappointment and negativity and betrayal and failure - in others and in myself - define who I am.

Because I am happy, I am excited, and I am about to begin the next chapter in my life! And this is the life that I know and love. My life. And I claim it, I own it, I take responsibility for it - the good and the bad. And I have a plan this time, so watch out. I'm going to take charge, but I am going to hold others accountable too.

We all have a moral responsibility to be cognizant of how our lives weave into the lives of others, and to be careful, and respectful, and responsible when dealing with friends, family, coworkers, partners, colleagues, those we pass on the street, employees and employers. And those who don't realize this and live by it, will not succeed. Those who do, are not promised a smooth ride, but at least they can bounce over the bumps with head held high.

It's a new day. And my chin's up.  Bring it on.

Me and My Reading Partner

Sometimes, when you least expect it, life wraps its arms around you and gives you a big hug.

Who would have thought that today would be, not only a hug day, but a banner day?

I woke up this morning feeling about 70% of my normal state-of-being as a result of two weeks of linking arms with an antibiotic to fight off THE sinus infection from hell.

We (the antibiotic and I) are slowly winning the battles, but the germ warfare has been tough. So this morning, I was due for a break.

The point of this blog entry, however, is not to talk about my health. It’s to talk about my good fortune, or luck, or destiny, or happenstance, or serendipity, or an answer to prayer. Take your pick, because they all apply.

My quick, but heartfelt prayer of this morning was a sincere but silent cry for help as I faced the beginning of what promised to be a day requiring focus and energy and cheerfulness – three attributes I was greatly lacking in the early hours of the day.

I also asked for something extraordinary. A sign, if you must. An indicator of sorts. Something special (even though, I was quick to add, I didn't necessarily deserve it.)

Who would have thought that my prayer would be answered at all, I mean, who asks for something extraordinary with the caveat that they really don't deserve it? Only me, I imagine.

And who would have thought that my whispered plea would be - not only answered - but answered in the form, the HUMAN form to be exact, of Stephen Baldwin, the actor?

Yep, you read that right, there's no need to rub your eyes. I said it - Stephen Baldwin, the actor.

You see, Steve Baldwin and I are now airplane buds. We are reading partners. We sat next to each other (4C and 4D) in a very narrow puddle jumper for the approximately 2 hour flight between the Land of Enchantment and the Land of Saints.

I would like to tell you that I took one look at Steve and knew exactly who he was, but I can’t. I am just not that good at lying (or placing people out of context).

The reality is that I took one look at him and thought, “I should know this guy.”

I had watched him board the plane. He was the last passenger on the flight. Most of us had been boarded and in our seats for a little over 5 minutes when this guy - wearing headphones, camo jacket and baseball cap, and carrying half a dozen miscellaneous articles - clamored on board.

There were lots of empty seats so the chance of him sitting next to me were pretty slim, besides in an effort to deter anyone from sitting there, I had spread out my stuff pretty well, placing magazines on his seat and bags under both seats in front of me .

But as I watched him remove the layers: glasses, ear phones, cell phone and Bluetooth, huge camo jacket, and hat...I knew there was something familiar about this guy.

So, when he finally settled into the seat next to me, after giving him a moment to catch his breath and hang up his phone call(s), I tilted my head and whispered, “Should I know you? Are you a famous actor?”

His response, “I don’t know, do I owe you money?” I laughed as I looked into those famous baby blues and then asked his name.

“Steve,” was the answer, so I – still in some sort of stupor - had to ask, “and your last name?”

“Baldwin.”

Steve Baldwin. Of course. (Those were my actual words.)

"Well, Steve, I am Jean, it’s nice to meet you." And we shook hands.

And that was the beginning of our friendship. After that we shared some laughs, perused a People magazine together – the Oscar issue, so his older brother Alec was in a great photo with Steve Martin (we thought it looked like they were holding hands in the picture, but they weren’t – another lost opportunity to have some fun and maybe even make some moolah - you know how brothers can be) and we critiqued fashion, hair and even posture as we looked at the pictures of some very famous peeps.

And speaking of moolah, I don’t know what business deal Steve was working on when he boarded the plane, but his conversation was pretty impressive. This wasn’t an idle conversation by someone who was uninformed, or ‘just an actor’. It was the conversation of a very intelligent, savvy and aware businessman.

It made me realize that so much of our (“our” being the public in general) opinion of actors is based on the silly antics of a few who make headlines through their bad behavior, and that really isn’t fair.

Which goes along with what Steve said when I asked him if he hated "this kind of magazine" (and then also promised to not believe anything they said about him from hence forth in" this kind of magazine"). His response was that they are typically 80% accurate, but the other 20% is where the disconnect happens, and of course, the attention focuses.

It’s not that I didn’t know that there are a lot of people in the entertainment industry (or any industry for that matter) who are not only nice, but also very smart with a knack for business, it’s just that I hadn’t experienced it personally before. And I would imagine that is true for most of the ‘general public.’ It's much easier to focus on that 20%.

Finally, after flipping EVERY single page of PEOPLE mag together, Steve took a nap and I drafted this blog entry. It was a peaceful flight for both of us. And a memorable one for me.

So, I am here to tell you that it happens. Fate sometimes jumps into your life when you least expect it. Serendipity is real and prayers are answered, often  in a way you least expect.

Steve Baldwin would probably not consider himself an answer to my prayer, but I know better. Fate is more than coinkidink. And he was definitely extraordinary.

And not only do I know better, but now I know Steve too. And he’s forever a part of my life, because this serendipitous meeting is 2 hours that I won’t forget. It's a memory that will bring a smile to my face every time it surfaces. Not necessarily life-changing, but certainly memorable.

And who knows, we may meet again. After all, we exchanged business cards and are working for common, conservative, Christian values and issues...one just never knows, as today has shown.

We should always remember that everything we do can make a difference in the life of someone else, even when we don’t know it and least expect it.

Steve could have been indifferent and I could have been star-struck and silly on the airplane today and everything could have turned out very differently. But we didn't and it didn't.

It’s been a great day: life hugged me, and I am hugging it back.

PS Steve took the pic with my iPhone. :)


PSS I am not typically one to be affected by fame or fortune, I have met and talked and negotiated and laughed with the best (and the worst) of them. But I have to admit that a silly, star-struck moment hit right after saying good-bye to Steve. Suddenly I was walking down the terminal in SLC and the thought came to my mind: "I just read People magazine with Stephen Baldwin!" 


Now how many people can say that?! Woooohooooo! And hugs to all.

Revelation

It comes without warning. The thought can slide through your mind so quickly that if you aren't paying attention you might miss it. It leaves no mark or reminder that it was there and you find yourself wondering if it was real.

Sometimes life takes strange turns that force strategic maneuvering and a reassessment of your intended direction, a need to listen carefully for clues, for hints, for that gut feeling you have always been able to trust,  for revelation.

Sometimes you make a choice based on a fear that you will never have the opportunity to revisit that moment of reality again and you want to hold onto it; sometimes you make a choice based on a fear that you will have the opportunity to repeat or revisit or rekindle something, and you are afraid to take that chance again. It's a choice of heading in the right direction that might turn your life around, or heading in an exactly opposite direction and just repeating things you would rather forget.

Revelation comes in handy at these forks in the road - choosing to go one way because you want to experience a place or person or emotion again, or choosing to go the other way because you DON'T want to repeat that experience again, or anything similar to it.

But revelation takes preparation. You have to spend time mulling things over, sorting through your thoughts, defining your choices. Then, you have to listen. And finally, you have to pay attention, because just listening isn't enough. Jumping to conclusions, making knee-jerk decisions and hasty judgments does not allow time for this critical time of contemplation, clarification and then direction.

And what comes next? The character-defining moment. Which fork do you take? Which direction do you follow, your own instant gratification based choice, a new and untested path in another direction, or the direction pointed out in that fleeting moment?

Character can be built over a lifetime and lost in a moment. We need to listen carefully and choose well.

As for me, I am still studying the road map. In silence. So I can listen.

Smokey Robinson and the Miracles "A Fork in the Road"

NSF: Insufficient Faith

It's been an ongoing battle in my life. Yes, I have had way too many NSF (insufficient funds) charges in my banking career, but I am talking about the OTHER NSF - insufficient faith.

Like many believers, I have had moments of true inspiration, even moments of revelation. And like a lot of people, I have had periods of insufficient faith as well. But just like in a bank account, new infusions of account-building or faith-building experiences can take care of the insufficient status and make us whole again. Sometimes we simply need to pay more attention, go through the checks and balances, and replenish.

I remember being about 7 months pregnant with my second child, healthy, happy, mucho preggo and taking a much-needed warm bath at the end of an exhausting day with a 16 month-old. It is a memory that is seared in my soul -one of the clearest thoughts of my life. It shot through my mind and body like a lightning bolt; the words couldn't have been clearer if someone had been looking me in the eye and speaking audibly: "You will survive if your baby dies."

What?

The thought lasted about as long as it just took me to type it, but it's effect was more lasting than paragraphs telling me the same thing might have been. It was so quick that it shook me to the core and made its undeniable mark, yet left me without any lingering fear or concern. A fleeting, yet undeniable flash of truth, a spark of eternity that didn't register at the conscious level, but touched my spirit indelibly.

Six weeks later, after three normal doctor visits with my favorite (and only) OB-GYN - Dr. C. A. Anderson - I went in for what was expected to be my last office visit before delivering my baby in early August. Dr. Anderson probed and prodded, his nurses had weighed me and taken my temperature; this was routine to me by now. I was ready to head off shopping as soon as the wonderful doc squeezed my shoulder and winked, saying, "See you in the hospital in a few days."

But shopping didn't happen that day, or for weeks to come. The doctor, about the time he should have been squeezing my shoulder, was calling for his nurse. He had spent a lot of time on my very large stomach with his stethoscope and now was asking her to schedule an amniocentesis and ultrasound. STAT.

I looked at him, knowing immediately what was going on. He had asked me how long it had been since I had felt the baby move. It had been about 24 hours - which in the last weeks of pregnancy is not normal. I had already had some concerns over the past day, concerns that I buried deep down inside of me along with the flash of truth and spark of eternity.

There was no heartbeat. He confirmed it when I asked. He was sending me to the hospital where I was supposed to deliver a healthy baby in less than two weeks, but I was not going there that day to deliver a baby. He was sending me for testing to see if the baby was alive, if possibly he had missed the heartbeat. Unfortunately, as I had been prepared for six weeks earlier, his diagnosis was correct. There was no heartbeat. The cloudy amniotic fluid  which I saw in the long needle as it was withdrawn from my huge stomach proved it. No one needed to tell me a thing that day, I had been told six weeks earlier.

Two weeks later I delivered Katrina Leanne Avarell, a perfectly formed baby girl who never took a breath. Two weeks of waiting, daily blood tests to make certain the toxicity building inside of me was not to levels that would threaten my life, hourly prayers that labor would start on its own...and finally, on the day Dr. A. had determined he would induce me, my body let go.

As difficult as it was for me to carry my baby for two weeks, knowing there was no life inside of me, I believe it was more difficult for my family and friends. They didn't know what to say. They didn't know how to react. I still looked healthy and very pregnant.

People would say things to me if I went out in public, which wasn't something I wanted to do but I did have to visit the doctor every day: "When are you due? You look like you are ready to pop! Is this your first?" etc. How could I answer them? Often I didn't, but more often rather than make them uncomfortable, I gave a quick response as if all was well and moved on quickly. Needless to say, those two weeks were mostly spent out of the public eye, in fact, I was at my parent's home in Fontana - off the mountain - to protect my privacy and also to keep me within a reasonable distance of my doctor who was in Redlands, CA.

My Dad was my strength during this time. He took me to every doctor's appointment. He was the most tender I can ever remember him being. He was a big part of why I survived. He had been wallpapering the nursery when I was at the hospital for testing. He was wallpapering when I called with the news. My Mom was there too, babysitting Karynn who was 16 months old at the time. They didn't know what to say, what to do. My Dad finished the wallpaper. My Mom cuddled Karynn. And then they drove down the mountain with Karynn to meet me at their house, where I spent the next two weeks.

You might think that this would bring a couple closer together, and there is no doubt that my children's father was as sad as I was, but I have no memory of a shared grief, no lingering emotion of two people brought closer together through a shared tragedy. As I have come to recognize more and more about most things in my past life, this was a burden that wasn't shared. But I was able to do it because of my faith in God, in myself, and in the goodness of people who genuinely cared about me and my family. I wasn't ever really alone.

My faith was stronger during that devastating time than almost any other time in my life.

Disappointment, betrayal, dishonesty, deception, and cowardly behavior, by others and by me, have been the causes for moments of insufficient faith at other times in my life, but on August 2, 1978 faith prevailed. And I survived the loss of a daughter before she was even born, just as I was told I could six weeks earlier while soaking in a bathtub and enjoying the miracle of carrying one of God's children.

I delivered Katrina while wide awake. I experienced the full spectrum of labor, but at the end there was no baby to hold. I don't know what she looked like. I was told she was dark-haired, petite and perfect. I have no doubt.

A blood clot had formed in the umbilical cord sometime in the 24 hours prior to my last doctor's appointment two weeks earlier. No reason for the blood clot was ever determined. No reason needed to be.

Dr. Anderson walked into my room on the GYN floor of the hospital a few hours after he delivered Katrina (they had been sensitive enough to not keep me on the maternity floor). I will never forget the look in his eyes. He didn't say even one word, he just squeezed my shoulder and with tears in his eyes leaned down and kissed my forehead. Then he left. But as he left I heard him say in a gruff voice to the nursing staff outside my room, "Take damn good care of my OB patient."

I shared 5 more pregnancies and delivered 4 more healthy babies with Dr. Anderson. He had also delivered Karynn in 1977. Kalen, my last, decided in her now-well-known stubborn-style to do things her way and to come early and by emergency C-section, so unfortunately Dr. A. did not deliver her. But we had many laughs together after Katrina's heart wrenching delivery as Kurt, Kollin, Kyle, Kelly and Kalen grew inside of me and then entered the world.

Katrina is buried in Redlands, CA. Her Dad dedicated the marked grave. The LDS Church is not definitive on whether Katrina's spirit ever entered her body, but any birth mother will tell you that those tiny spirits are kicking ribs long before birth. Katrina's name is in our family Bible, as we were told it should be. She is part of an eternal unit. She is one of us. She is my daughter.

Insufficient faith may have threatened my foundation at many levels through the years, but it has never touched my belief in the absolute goodness, patient tolerance and unconditional love of a heavenly Father for all of his children.

And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Familes can be Together Forever - Piano

Sunday Rumblings (as opposed to ramblings)

I dusted off my silver-edged scriptures this morning and gave them the start of a good run through (at least the first 20 pages or so). It's amazing how life can bring you full circle if you let it. Even when we are a little off course, there are signs and indicators all along the path showing us the way back to where we should be, to say nothing of the persistent whispers in the back of our heads.

Without becoming preachy or pretending to be a theologian, and while also admitting to a current life of self-described spirituality and faith but not overly active at any church...I simply want to say that I admire folks who are devout within their own beliefs and tolerant of others who see things differently. I am not suggesting that I want anyone to be tolerant of me; I am more hoping that we will all be more tolerant of everyone.

As I was reading earlier today, it dawned on me that there are many parallels between the trek to a new world and the many treks I have taken in my life.

More often than I want to admit, when others were looking at me as if I was completely nuts, I would pull up roots and head off to a new experience; causing upheaval to my children and inflicting all kinds of extra expenses on my already limited budget. I am still playing catch up today for all the moves and those related expenses that were incurred each time we pulled up stakes.

These moves were not something I planned, anymore than I ever planned to be a single mother of six, but they happened as a result of circumstances and choices (some which were mine, some which were not) and the reality of a life as a single mother with six children and very limited resources in time, money, support and energy. In fact, the people I thought I could count on the most, never bothered, but many that had no responsibility for me or my family whatsoever became my emotional support. It's because of them that I am here today.

As the years went by, I didn't always know why I was moving, but when I made a move it was always because I knew that I should. As I look back now, I can see turning points in my children's lives with each move, although tainted by the hardship of being the new kids (again) and wondering where we were ever going to land permanently, more often than not our moves pulled at least one of my children from harm's way.

And the few times that I did not follow those whispered promptings (when fatigue ruled and Evil won), and did not take necessary steps to change circumstances in our lives (it wasn't always a move that was needed), my children were sometimes hurt as a result.

Those are the moments I will cry over eternally, not the other moments in my life that may have been painful or downright wrong, but those times when my children were affected negatively because I simply ran out of time or energy are the moments that still keep me awake some nights. Those are the moments I have to answer for, not the petty mistakes, the uninformed decisions, the moments, days or weeks that I lacked clarity or made innocent mistakes.

I am eternally grateful for that someone who is so much greater than me (and you), who picked up my hurting child(ren)when I had failed to protect them fully, dusted them off and headed them back in the right direction; quietly, without pomp and circumstance, but with love and faith in who they were and who I was. He is the reason we are all here today.

So, in retrospect, I know that each move that I chose to make was for a reason. Only two moves in my entire life were moves I didn't want to make and would not have made had I not been overwhelmed by a threatening environment and unwarranted personal attacks. Those two moves are probably the two that were the hardest for me and for my children; in fact I believe the actions by others that lead up to those two moves affected us in ways that altered our lives not only in the short term, but for years to come and even still today and possibly eternally.

Every other move that we made was prompted by something I couldn't always identify or understand, but I knew it was real and it was important that I acted on those feelings and so I did; I followed the promptings and headed out again - with kids in tow.

And so we wandered into new territories, set up our home for as long as we were supposed to be there.There were risks, there were dangers; it was exhausting. There were those who whispered behind my back, there were those who outright denounced me, there were even those who predicted a dire future for me and my children based on my actions...but in the end, when all is said and done, my children, my life and my following of those whispered directions have prevailed.

I didn't follow the hidden whispers of men, I followed the quiet whispers of the spirit; I am extremely grateful for those whispers and moments of clarity (reached after much consideration and prayer), even if others didn't understand.

It takes a quiet faith to head off to uncharted waters against conventional wisdom and the whispered gossip of family and friends. Maybe it was because of those many, many "callings" in my young married life and the leadership positions that have always found me, that I was expected to be something I have never been, I don't know. I only know who I am and I can't be anything or anyone else.

What I also know is that I am not someone who is anxious to climb to the top of a tower and proclaim their beliefs loudly for all to hear. I will share them and whisper them, and try to live as an example of them, but I won't shout my beliefs, or force them, or deprive, degrade and denounce those who don't believe as I do. What I know too, is that a mother's intuition, and even a woman's intuition, is often spot on; and those flashes of intuition are also not typically something you shout from the rooftops.

I have never had a loud faith, mine has always been quiet; it was others who put me in the limelight and gave me responsibilities that would thrust me into the public eye. It was others who expected me to shout from a tower or share personal revelations or explain my actions to them and oddly, it was typically those who never called who had those expectations.

I don't criticize and I am not intolerant of others who believe differently than I do, I love them and accept them for who they are. Unless they present a certain threat to me or my family or the innocent's of this world, who am I to judge them? And more often than not, they are great people.But if they treat my children unfairly, or exercise unrighteous dominion, or act as if they and theirs are better - than watch out.

I have no tolerance for egos, self-righteousness, or judgmental gossip and when it affects me or my children you WILL see me climb up the tower if that's what's necessary to right a wrong. I am not excited when and if that happens, I don't enjoy it and I don't wish for it, but I can climb and shout if called upon.

I am happy in my quiet faith. I have trusted it my entire life and I still do.

There are many who have taken advantage of me over the years, many who feel they know what I am all about in spite of the fact that they never bothered to really get to know me, never even called to see how we were doing. I love them anyway and wish them the best; although there are wistful moments when I find myself wishing that they did know (and care) who I really was and am.

I am grateful to my handful of friends and family who have paused long enough and cared enough and had the patience to see beyond the rumors, the gossip, the assumptions, the judgments and taken the time to see the real me. These are the people who I can trust; these are the people who know me.

As I read the scriptures, I am reminded that the trek is not over - I have a long way to go, but at least I am on the right path. And "thus far" (as it says in the scriptures) I am obedient to those laws and principles which are eternal and universal, either by obedience or through forgiveness.

I am not perfect, there are a lot of things I can do better, or not do at all, which would help me to be more like I want to be, but I am a work in progress. And as long as I am progressing, I am heading in the right direction and I am excited about that.

And I am excited about my children. They are grown now, and they are the most amazing people I know, filled with love, compassion, tolerance, tenacity, ethics, honesty and kindness. And they are wonderful examples to me, I couldn't be more proud of them, every one of them - I don't think of one as better or less than another because of beliefs, employment, parenthood, companions, etc. - they are incredible human beings, singularly and collectively. I enjoy one-on-one time with each of them, but I love to see them together just as much - after all, they are just grown up little kids - my little kids.

At this point in my life, I am happy to say that I have no regrets except for any pain that my choices or actions may have caused for someone else.

My heart is full and as long as I am able, I plan to dance through life with joy in my heart and a smile on my face, and anyone that has the same desire is welcome to come along.

May the rumblings be with you...

Paul McCartney & WINGS "Live and Let Die"

Two by Two

They are everywhere, those white shirted 19 - 21 year olds. At least, they have been ever-present in my life. I even raised 2 of them - hey, "two by two" again!

Two has significance. In religion, two witnesses. In philosophy, two opposites: good and evil. In science (physics, to be exact), two is the first magic number. In relationships, partners, husband and wife - we aren't supposed to be alone. Two by two. In math, it's the first and smallest prime number, AND the only even one. It's often referred to as "the oddest prime".

Odd = Peculiar; Prime = 19 - 21 (for a young man!)

Those two white shirted young men could be considered an oddest prime. Not only because of the loose logic shown above, but because they are they proud to be peculiar, and because it might be considered odd by some that these young men in their prime are called Elders. And they are primed and ready to go!

The Elders. Two by two.

White shirts. Bikes. Young. Determined. These are the Mormon missionaries, representatives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. And they are "on a mission" for two years.

Two by Two for Two.

I saw them tonight on my walk. They were biking home at precisely 9 PM.

I found them in the shared waiting room of my OB/GYN when I discovered that my 2nd baby was unborn at term, but without a heartbeat.

They found me in San Bernardino, CA, after months of waiting; I was their "golden referral", my name found on a crumpled piece of paper at the bottom of a waste basket when they transferred into a new apartment - the former missionaries leaving it only partially cleaned.

I learned from them as I curled up in my bean bag chair in my little apartment in San Bernardino with my children's father, long before we were married.

I watched them leave from my home as I sent one of my sons to spanish-speaking Honduras and the other to Florida on an ASL mission.

My daughter found them in Brazil while she was on Rotary Exchange, and now one has found her again in Utah.

We saw them in Guatemala, Honduras, Roatan, El Salvador, Mexico; we saw them in Tahiti, and Hawaii. We have seen them in New York, Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Arizona, Nevada, Washington DC, Virginia, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Texas, Louisiana, West Virginia, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and now in New Mexico.

They are everywhere. They really are! It's not just coincidence or happenstance.

There are over 53,000 LDS missionaries serving in 348 missions throughout the world. That's a lot of young men who could be playing ball, dating, going to college, working on the farm...but they are not. They are serving missions all over the world.

They ARE everywhere!

I love these young men. I will stop what I am doing to say hello. I will flag them down when I see them walking by. I will honk a tinny hello when I drive by a pair on bikes. They are great. They are humble. They are sincere. They are tireless. They are fearless. They are selfless. They are working their tails off. They are homesick. They are green or they are trunky. They are missionaries.

And they are hungry. Almost always.

I have had a magnet cartoon on my refrigerator for over 30 years, it has a picture of two elders in a huge pot: "Have the missionaries for dinner."

I have always loved to feed the missionaries. There is nothing better than inviting a young man who is far from home and far from home-cooking to sit at your table in your home and share a meal.

Two by two. Young men with a purpose. Two by two (or four). Lumber with a purpose.

The light touch. The heavy touch. In my life, they have each had their time and their season.

I love missionaries and will continue to smile when I see a pair wandering the streets looking for their "Golden Contact". I love them for their serendipitous presence in the past 35 years of my life, for the transformation I saw in my sons when they returned from their missions and because of an expected future army of missionary grandchildren. These elders (and sisters) are discovering themselves and seeing the reality of the human experience in ways many of us never will. There is no question that this time of service changes them forever; how it changes them is a personal experience for each individual missionary and I respect that miracle of growth and maturity and self-discovery - wherever it takes them, just as I expect and hope for their respect in my evolution as a person of faith and principle and authenticity. "For everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heavens." (Bible: Eccl. 3:1)

And now, in the fall of my life, I think it's just about my time....and I am savoring every minute of getting to know me, I am laughing more, learning daily and finally beginning to understand where I fit in the huge crazy puzzle of this life on earth.

The Byrds Turn! Turn! Turn!

Burnt Eggs and Lemonade

"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade"...so goes the age-old saying. (my Mom made the best lemonade I have ever had - from scratch, with just the right amount of sugar - I can still remember how it tasted. Mmmmm).

"There's nothing worse than burnt eggs"....so goes a favorite quote from my Mom. She probably never imagined that her daughter might someday burn hard boiled eggs. I think she was thinking more along the lines of scrambled or fried eggs. But I managed to burn hardboiled eggs last week.

Yes, that's what I said. I burned hardboiled eggs. It's taken me a week to hone in on the fact that I really did burn hardboiled eggs and just as long to own up to it.

It takes talent to burn hardboiled eggs. Not a lot of focus, however.

I seem to have a knack for letting things simmer too long. I draw things out long beyond their natural, healthy lifetime.

Diets come to mind. I have been on a diet for 17 years, and look where it's gotten me. Nowhere. It's not that hard, when you think about it. Eat less, move more. Turn on healthy foods, turn off unhealthy foods.

Relationships are another thought. I seem to be able to nurse a bad relationship along for much longer than is healthy, for all involved. I can hang in there, I can give second chances, I can recreate myself, I can comply, I can rebel, I can turn things on, I can settle. So, what is it that prevents me from turning things off? This could be a question for the eternities. Longsuffering? Patience? Bullheadedness? The inability to admit failure? A refusal to change? The fact that I am a redhead? Never giving up? Carelessness? Enduring to the end? A combination of all of the forementioned?

Oh. Wait.

And then there are eggs. Hardboiled eggs. It should be fairly simple. Water, pan, raw eggs. Turn on heat, turn off heat. I, however, seem to have forgotten that last critical step.

Somehow diets, relationships and hardboiled eggs will forever be linked in my mind. I can't seem to turn things off in a timely fashion. I linger. I procrastinate. I hope. I wait. I dream.

And then I burn the eggs.

Which brings me to lemonade. The universally liked drink. Refreshing. Full of vitamins. Almost youth-enducing. The drink that makes any day feel like summer and creates a slight breeze effect in your minds eye. I like mine sweet, but not too sweet.

I am so glad that I like lemonade. I can drink it forever. I don't ever have to turn it off. It doesn't burn. It doesn't hurt my feelings. It doesn't make me wonder who I really am. It's just lemonade.

I can drink lemonade to regroup. I can hope and wait and dream....and drink lemonade.

Mom, baseball and apple pie? Well, yeah, that's American red/white/blue jargon, but come on.

Mom, lemonade and a camp chair beneath the huge tree in our backyard on 18th Street - circa 1960. Now we're talkin. Simple, carefree, sunkissed blissful, innocent days...with a slight breeze.

Those are my memories. What a simple and good life that was. Of course, I was 6 and rather unencumbered by relationships, a need to diet or cooking issues. And I still had my Mom - and pancakes with apple sauce and sun-brewed iced tea, and lemonade.

I will probably burn more eggs in my lifetime and drag things out longer than I should (my blog posts are probably a good example of that), but more importantly, I will always make certain to take some time to stop in the middle of life's chaos to sip a tall glass of lemonade, and appreciate my family, my friends and my good decisions.

I love lemonade. I love life. I still love to sit under huge trees. And I will always wait for that slight breeze to renew my faith in humanity and in myself.

Thanks Mom.

Bob Hope "Thanks for the Memories"

Faith, Miracles, A Little Girl and John Wayne

When a woman decides that she wants to get pregnant (and her husband agrees), it's a huge decision.

When a woman decides that she wants to get pregnant for the 5th time (and her husband agrees) after the birth of 3 boys and some not so fun trials along the way, it's a brave decision.

When a woman decides that she wants to get pregnant after 3 boys in a last ditch effort to have a little girl (and her husband agrees), it's a shot in the dark decision.

When a woman decides that she wants to get pregnant, (and her husband agrees) knowing that for the next 9 months she will likely gain back the weight she just spent 2 years losing (and more), also knowing that she will throw up daily (if not hourly) for at least 1/2 of that time, remembering that serious post-partum depression is par for the course with her pregnancies, and keenly aware that her chances of having a girl can't even be measured, it's a leap of faith.

And so, together they took that leap.

As is often the case, faith preceded the miracle and our darling little Kierstyn arrived regaled in pink skin and dark hair..............................but in this case, faith preceded but blood clots followed.

When darling Kierstyn arrived 20+ days early, we were all relieved, surprized and elated.

She was a girl! Pink was now the color of choice! Karynn had a female companion in a house of maleness. Hurray for womankind!

Our combined elation carried us all through the next few weeks until the very scary blood clot caused Karynn's leg to swell to the size of a basketball (her words). After ER trips, meds and watchful family, a final rush to the hospital followed by surgery removed/dissolved the clot and sent Karynn home with a walker.

With the resolve of a Mom who has waited for that little girl since she was my little girl, and the determination of a mother of 3 boys, Karynn walked sooner than expected, leaving the walker behind as soon as she could. She wasn't going to be unable to carry that little girl!

And so, the morals of this story are that miracles happen, faith is powerful, decisions can be risky but can also pay off, dreams come true, little girls can change ornery boys in the blink of a tiny eye and Mom's can pretty much overcome anything if it affects their ability to nurture and take care of their brood.

And that, my friends, is not JUST a story, it's a true story. Maybe even a story worthy of telling to others, certainly a story that merits a country western tune and possibly a great TV movie, but for those who love Karynn and JR and their family of boys and one girl, it was real life and we are very grateful.

John Wayne and Glen Campbell had a fair understanding of True Grit.. but Mom's really get it.

I love my little girl, and her little girl. Pink rules and girls rock!

What beauties! I can't be the only one to see the nearly identical smirks and hand/wrist positions in Mom and Daughter. I love these two girls.

Glen Campbell "True Grit"