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.