My fourth grade public school classroom was in a local Baptist church. The area of east Whittier where we lived was being developed and occupied so fast that the schools could not keep up with the influx of new students, thus the unusual setting. In an effort to teach us about the benefits and challenges of a representative democracy, our teacher arranged for us to have monthly elections during which we would choose our class officers. We had a president, vice president, secretary, and students assigned to every possible classroom task, flag monitor, recess leader, homework collector, trash collector, etc. Early in the year I set a goal to run for every office. Reporting my goal to my Dad we had a long talk about what it would take to influence the voters. Using his considerable literary talents and my knowledge of 4th graders in general and my friends in particular, we crafted campaign speeches, usually in rhyme, that resulted in me winning every election I entered that year. With my Dad's skill behind my words I gave those speeches with such confidence that no one could help but vote for me.

Tomorrow morning at 7:30 I will address my mission devotional and by assignment introduce myself and bear testimony before hundreds of my fellow missionaries. Wish my Daddy were here to help me.

Fog

Funny how the mind works.

We've been surrounded by the trappings of Christmas for over a month now. Lights, music, trees, decorations, and lots of snow. But it didn't really feel like Christmas until two nights ago. We've had a week of warmer weather. Others have been fretting about the possibility of a brown Christmas. Oh no! No snow! As I was diving about Friday night, a fog rolled in and gave the night that funny hazy glow that only a thick fog can achieve. Suddenly I was transported back in time, driving to a Christmas program in Whittier California, circa 1968. The rest of the family was sick and not able to go, but I really wanted to hear the choir and feel the spirit of Christmas. I was a new driver so I crept along the familiar route to the church, inching through pea soup fog. I remember thinking that it was such perfect Christmas weather.

"Then one foggy Christmas Eve," is more than a line from a song to me. It is the weather of the Christmases of my youth.

In sickness and in health

About a week ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with a little oven next to me. David was clinging to me, crying, and burning with fever. Since he had appeared perfectly healthy a few hours earlier, I knew this was no little cold. David is usually pretty strong and healthy except when he is not. Come wintry morning we went off to a nearby medical office to seek help. The building looked a little familiar to me as we drove up. The interior was even more familiar. Then I remembered, this was the office of the Doctor I went to when expecting my first child, while Sheldon and I were students. The elder Doctor Heath was retired, but his son now worked in this same clinic. In due time the doctor saw David, checking him thoroughly, prescribing antibiotics, moist air and a week away from mission service. A whole week? By evening David was truly miserable with a raging fever and achy body and racking cough. He asked me to get his sweet cousin to give him a blessing. Dear man was getting ready for bed but dropped everything and came to David's bedside and gave him a sweet blessing of peace, comfort and health. The fever immediately dropped and David had a peaceful night. It took a few days, but he is all better now and gets to return to work tomorrow.

Because of David's illness I didn't work for a few days myself. I made myself useful, and kept David entertained and medicated, but Friday, when I thought he was well enough to be alone, I went back to the Family History library. It was amazing how much I had missed it. Such a lovely spirit there. A fellow missionary brought in her harp and played Christmas music off and on all day. Things are pretty slow this time of year, but still we have some patrons come in who need help. Early afternoon two ladies came in together, in Salt Lake on business from the nation's capital. One knew exactly what she wanted to find out and where to look. The other said, "You won't be able to help me. I don't know anything about my family." I convinced her that we could at least give it a try. With very little effort we were able to find her grandfather, his family, her grandmother and her family 2 or three generations back. With each record we uncovered she sat and wept, apologizing for the display of emotion, but so moved by the discovery of family. Through her tears she thanked me over and over again for my help. As she left the library she took some great information and the address of the family history center in Washington DC to continue her search.

Her experience got me thinking about my wonderful family here and the family members who preceded me and have gone on to bigger and better things. I have been born of goodly parents, who were themselves born of goodly parents. I have ancestors who gave up everything, including their lives, to follow the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. My life is so blessed because of them and the difficult choices they made so long ago. My dear husband and I are blessed with six beautiful children who have all grown into wonderful adults in spite of my often flawed parenting. I have (almost) twelve of the cutest grandkids on the planet. I have brothers and sisters, more nieces and nephews and cousins than I can count. I am grateful for them all. More than that, I have the hope of these relationships enduring beyond this life. Christmas time is wonderful in so many ways, but I'm most touched by the gift of life and Eternal life, including Eternal Families, brought into the world by our Savior, whose birth we celebrate now.

Beauty is as beauty does

I recently posed for a snapshot with a group of my fellow missionaries in front of a beautifully decorated tree in the family history library. The photo was printed and passed around for us to see. I was shocked by the picture. Not because I had spinach in my teeth but because I, in my missionary flats, stood a head taller than all the others in the picture. How had I failed to notice how short all these people are?! I looked closer at the picture and saw such an ordinary bunch of people. These can't be the same people I work with! The people I work with are beautiful, radiant, brilliant (and even tall). It got me to thinking about what makes them beautiful. The picture confirmed to me that physically they don't stand out. It has to be their spirits. Here is a group of people who are united in their desire and commitment to serve, not only God, but each other and the rest of humanity. They seem to me to be completely without selfishness, competitiveness, greed, laziness or any of the other vices so common in the world. What's left is truly beautiful.

Last week David and I went to the festival of trees. This is a huge auditorium full of Christmas trees, wreaths, quilts and other Christmas items, lovingly crafted, decorated, accessorized, and then donated to the festival. They are then sold for outrageous sums and all the proceeds go to the Primary Children's Hospital here in Salt Lake City. I am told they raise over $5 million this way each year. Again, I was in awe of the beauty of these trees. I walked around looking at each one, sure that a Christmas tree had never been so lovely. David was also moved by the spectacle and insisted on buying a tree for our room. After returning home I couldn't help feeling that it had been an almost magical experience. Was it because the trees were really better than any I'd seen elsewhere? I think not. I think it was the combined, selfless efforts of so many people that made this a remarkable night. The love and commitment of so many people, the organizers, the craftsmen, the artists, the purchasers, all working to do something to make the world a better place, filled the event with the true Spirit of Christmas. If Christmas has become too commercial, then this was an event even Christ Himself would applaud.

So I'm learning to see things with my other eyes. The ones that see goodness, not just good looks. The ones that see joy, not just fun. The ones that see purpose beyond the day to day struggle for survival. Merry Christmas to all.

Christmas in November

I am not the person who decorates for each season or holiday of the year. While you may see a flag at my house near Independence day and a jack-o-lantern on Halloween, you won't see holiday specific decor celebrating my love for Valentine's Day, Arbor Day, Easter, or Thanksgiving. I will confess that the reason for this is mostly spatial. If I decorated for each special day I would need an additional 3-car garage to store the stuff in the off season. But Christmas is different. I love Christmas! I love the decorations, I love the music, I love the parties, I love the presents, I love the nativities, and I love the Spirit of Christmas! And so I decorate! I have about 15 large bins of Christmas decor in my garage as I write this. I suppose it will remain there this year, as I am 700 miles away. But I'm not feeling too bad about not having anything to decorate with this year. I'm working on temple square in Salt Lake City which has more twinkle per square foot than Las Vegas. It has beautiful nativities, the story of the first Christmas, and beautiful music, live and recorded throughout the day and night. Daniel and Kathryn came for a visit this week and we went to see the newly turned on lights on temple square. Wow!

38 years ago Dec 17th, my sweetie Sheldon chose this setting to pop the question and give me an engagement ring. It was spectacular then and is even more lovely now. I've been watching men in cherry pickers placing those millions of lights for the past 2 months, but seeing them all on at once, is a real thrill for this Christmas lover.

I'll never be one of those people who complain that Christmas comes earlier and earlier each year. It can't come too soon for me. Our Savior Jesus Christ was born in Bethlehem! If that isn't cause for celebration, nothing is. Put up the lights, deck the hall, sing the songs, for Christmas is here again.

Sacrifice

I was prepared to sacrifice! I was going to grit my teeth and endure 18 months of missionary life because the Lord asked me to. The problem is that I'm having too much fun. I was counting on a little misery so I'd know I was really serving. So far, everything I've been asked to sacrifice is compensated for so greatly that I'm afraid I'm not earning any stars for my crown.

I was prepared to give up my social life. Bruce Willis wasn't answering my calls anyway. While I'm not going to find romance on the mission, I am working with the nicest bunch of people. I've met missionaries from all over the world who regardless of their circumstances (some would make you cry) just want to be of service and be a part of the great Redemptive Work. I meet people everyday who, religious or not, Christian or not, are touched by the Spirit of Elijah as they search out their ancestors.

I was prepared to leave my home. I was blessed to have my son's family be available to take care of my house. I am blessed to be able to live very comfortably in my parent's house, with all the comforts of home.

I was prepared to leave my kids and grandkids. I am blessed to have all the modern conveniences of travel and communication which have shrunk the distance between us. Phone, e-mail, texting, iChats, blogs, etc., keep me close to the ones I love. I also have been called to an area where many loved ones live, even a few cute nieces and nephews to give me my kid fix.

I was prepared to be miserable but I'm happier than I've ever been. The work that I do is a tiny, tiny contribution to the great work of the Church. Maybe less contribution than what I've done in the past, but it is incredibly satisfying. The Campus we occupy is basically the blocks around Temple Square in Salt Lake City. This is sacred ground and it is a thrill to walk these paths and feel the Spirit every day.

I wanted the Lord to be grateful for our service, but I can see He just wanted to bless us. Again!

As always we are destined to be (happily) unprofitable servants.

To Tie A Tie

When David was born the very sensitive pediatrician told us to take him home and love him. He said that David would do everything a normal child would do, only more slowly. Over the years I have learned never to say never where David is concerned. After multiple failed attempts to teach him to swim, we decided that was something he just couldn't do. While visiting family in Kansas, David's cousins taught him to swim. Wow! We wondered if he would ever learn to talk or to read, but again he surprised us.

Now, Sheldon always tied David's tie for him on Sunday morning. After Sheldon died David got his brothers to do it for him. After they married and left home he took his tie to church and asked one of the kind men at church to tie it for him. Now here we are on the mission, living in a house with no other brethren. I tried to do it but my knots were sloppy at best. This morning David came to me with his tie already tied. "Who tied your tie?" I asked him. "I did!" he replied. Thinking he was joking, I asked him to show me. The photo is the finished product. Now I don't know if there is another man in the world who uses this particular knot, but I thought it looked pretty good. A little thing, yes, but a reminder that David is not "done" yet. He is still learning and growing and that should be a lesson to me also.

David's mission job is to work in the Church Office Building cafeteria. It is hard work and a full 8 hour day. He rises each morning enthusiastic about going to work and being a missionary. Even with all his apparent limitations, David's potential is limitless. He is an inspiration to me.

I can do it, I think.

Last week was my first week in the Family Search rotation. Officially. Not in training. Still, there are many seasoned family search experts to call upon, so I'm feeling not quite confident, but not too terrified. I've met some amazing people and I've been able to be of a little help to some of them. There was a delightful couple from Alaska who were so excited about their search for ancestors. He was able to tie into lines that had a lot of work already done, and she was able to find several ancestors using the library resources. After a couple of days in the library, they were telling me how grateful they were for the help and how excited they were to continue the search back home. "This is such a cool place! I can't believe you all are here to help us, and for free!"

I was feeling pretty good about my little part in helping them. I was feeling like I might be able to be of some use here after all. While basking in this positive feedback the floor manager motioned me over to help a new patron. New to me only. She was a seasoned "genealogist" who used to work in the library. "I have a flash drive full of names that are ready for temple work," she explained. "I need to get them to 'temple ready'." I explained that we don't use "temple ready" anymore, but that I could help her with new family search. She turned to me with a look of pitying disdain, and replied, "That's what I hate about this place. They put people out here who don't know anything." Instant humility!

I called an old timer over who told her, "We don't use "temple ready" anymore, but I can show you how to use new family search. I went and licked my wounds.

Ready for a new week.

I never faced a new or difficult situation in my childhood without my Mom reminding me, "The hard is the good." It sounded like hogwash to me. Hard was bad by definition! Easy was good. Familiar was good. Fun was good. Over the years I began to understand what she meant. The best things in life require effort. They often require leaving our comfort zones. The best things sometimes demand an extraordinary sacrifice from us.
Each day as I bask in the incredible Spirt that surrounds the Family History Library, I am reminded that this mission is indeed one of the best things. And yes, it is hard! My brain feels ready to explode with all the things I'm needing to learn. So Mom was right.

Saturday my 91 year old mom went riding with me through a lovely wilderness area. It wasn't easy for her. She hasn't really been a horsewoman for many, many years. But as if to reaffirm her testimony that the hard is often the good, she rode with me, enjoying nature, the rare sunshine and the beauty of God's Earth.

Loss

Returning from school one day in my youth, I found my favorite tropical fish floating in its tank. What followed was a waterworks worthy of a professional mourner. My dear mother, who knew something about real loss, at first was sympathetic, then tiring of the weeping, reminded me that this was a relatively minor loss. "Save some tears for the real tragedies in your life," she gently scolded.
She was right of course. My subsequent 50 years have carried their share of sorrow, but I have learned that I will never become immune to loss of any size. I have lost a sister, a father, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousin, too many close friends, and hardest of all a beloved husband.
Last week one of our horses died. He was one I had spent a lot of time with, on the ground and in the saddle. Still, I have been amazed at how hard this has hit me. I frequently found myself in tears as I was going about my work. Seasoned Family History Missionaries sought me out to console me. "You'll get the hang of this Dear." "We all struggled with it in the beginning." I thanked them for their support, unwilling to admit that such a "minor loss" had me in such a state. Better to let them think that my lack of skill on the computer was breaking my heart.
I have come to learn that mourning our losses is an important part of the Human Experience. Having endured great loss doesn't make the day to day losses any less real. I have learned that mourning our losses, great and small, is not a sign of faithlessness. I have had too many real and beautiful experiences with those beyond this sphere of existence to question the eternal nature of life. Rather I believe that it comes down to feeling. We are built to feel--Joy and pain. My need to react to the pain of loss may be what allows me to feel the great joys of this life. My ability to mourn a fish or a horse may be what gives me the perspective to rejoice in the beauty and gifts of this life.
If it is true that our Creator wants us to know joy, then He also wants us to feel sorrow.

A Day at the Library

Well, it finally happened. I was innocently making copies, minding my own business, and a lady came up to me and said, " Do you work here? Can you help me?" My mind did a quick flash to the things I've been studying and practicing for 3 weeks. I put on my most confident smile and answered, "Yes I do. What can I help you with?" She replied, "The vending machine in the lunch room took my money but didn't give me what I wanted." Yes! I know the solution for that one. "Follow me to the access window (the only place with money) and we'll get you a refund and report the problem." SUCCESS!
Now if only I do as well with questions about family history.