Remembering our wedding day

I’m definitely not the sentimental type; I’m much more matter-of-fact and practical, resisting clutter even if the pieces do have a story, I don’t make much of birthdays, and I’m especially not worried about my own, even those major decade ones.  But even I recognize a milestone like a 20 year anniversary.

I wasn’t looking to get married, I’d made other plans for my immediate future as a young adult.  But at the same time, I’d been planning my marriage for years.  Not the wedding or festivities, that kind of stuff is like a 3 to me.  But the marriage, the kind of guy I wanted, what I expected and hoped our relationship would be, that kind of thing I’d taken notes on over the years.

Just a few days ago, I dusted off an old journal from 1994 to remember what it felt like on the eve of our wedding.  Like most memories, it seems like a million moons ago, it’s hard to even recall what life was like before, what it was like to be just me in the world.  And at the same time I can conjure up the details without even furrowing my brow, it’s all just so accessible.  A little surreal to be sending our son to the same place we met; we can’t help but wonder if he’ll also meet his future spouse his first semester of college.  We certainly didn’t plan to.  We were simply friends who stuck together; how do you analyze falling in love?

We’d become friends over cafeteria food, we met for nearly every meal that first year.  Then we dated.  By the time he’d spent two years in Norway and we had piles of accumulated letters, we realized what we’d known all along.  We were now seasoned 22 year-olds with six more years of schooling ahead.  But we felt nothing but peace and calm about each other and our decision to face it all together.

As anxious as we were to get married after dating and writing for over three years, we still had to wait nine months after he returned from Norway to find an available date on the calendar.  We had to wait for our siblings to get out of school for the summer, for Todd’s brothers to attend scout camp, and for his family to make the trek to San Diego from Chicago.  We eagerly anticipated the wedding and our new life as husband and wife, yet we did our best to stay focused and be patient.  

Unlike most any girl I’ve ever known, I never really gave my wedding that much thought.  I knew it’d be in the temple, but I didn’t care about the dress or reception at all.  I just wanted a simple and inexpensive gathering, classy but basic.  It just didn’t matter that much to me.  I remember going home during a school break in April and going to the temple for the first time with Todd and my family, which I loved.  But I also endured tireless errands like choosing a cake.  Maybe we did flowers too; I have no idea.  I knew I didn’t want bridesmaids.  I didn’t want to make anyone stand in a line or buy a dress she’d never wear again.  I simply told our four sisters to wear any kind of navy church dress they could find and that they’d get some use from down the road.  Even my dress didn’t concern me too much.  I just wanted simple and easy.  No train, just straight.  True to 90s fashion, it did have puffed sleeves and a huge bow.  Good grief.  I had it made to save money; I never even went to a bridal shop.  I remember the material costing $60.  Now it lives in the dress-up box downstairs.  I shortened it a few years back so the girls could wear it.  I can’t imagine a more comfortable resting spot for it.

So while I was having my dress made in Utah between that break in April and July, my mom and her friends made reception plans.  The only input I cared about was that it be navy, my all-time favorite color even now.  The reception was in our friends’ beautiful yard surrounding a lake.  I loved that my mom’s friends made real food themselves, that we didn’t waste money having it catered and that it was low-key, like us.  As I read my journal entries from the days before and after my wedding, repeated are sentiments about being so grateful for everyone’s hard work on my behalf.  All the set up, clean up, prep, meals.  So nice.  I just couldn’t do any of it.  I was in Utah, we were working and finishing up the term.  I don’t know if I ever thanked them all properly and individually.  To be honest, I still kind of worry about that and hope somehow I did and that they knew how much it all meant.  It still kind of overwhelms me that so many people would spend their time decorating and cooking and cleaning on our behalf.  I’m so grateful, even twenty years later.

Todd and I flew to San Diego from Utah Thursday with the wedding Saturday.  We took Todd’s family to the beach.  I got my first and only manicure.  We returned to the temple Friday for a 7 a.m. session.  Had delivered pizzas and homemade cake on paper plates for our pre-wedding dinner.  So perfect.  So casual.  So us.

Saturday morning I woke up early (5:52) because of cat allergies and because I was sharing a bed with my friend, a sleepless night.  It never, ever, ever occurred to me to have my hair done or have someone help me with my makeup.  The last thing in the universe I would’ve agreed to.  Getting my nails done was a stretch.  So I just got ready like every other day of my life.  And so did everyone else.

I remember the ladies in the temple commenting how calm I was.  I didn’t know to be any other way.  I knew I was with the right person, in the right place, and even though we were only 22, I knew it was good, I had no reason to be anything but calm.

Two days after we married I recorded in my journal, “We got to the temple at 8:45.  It was weird before [and] during the morning because I was so calm.  It was as if it was a normal day, like we were just going to the temple like the day before.  Nothing fazed me,  it was perfectly normal for all of us to be going to the temple it seemed.  They took such good care of us!  They whisked away all my bags and let me relax.  We changed [clothes] and then we were able to sit in the Celestial Room all alone—to reflect and think about it all.  Beautiful room, groom, and time.  It was wonderful.  Then before we knew it, the sealer [the one who would be performing the ceremony] came to get us and into the [sealing room] we went.  It was a beautiful room and all our loved ones were there.  He talked to us specifically but so everyone could hear.  He counseled and advised us.  I was cool as a cucumber.  But after he told me we were married, the tears began.  I was so happy that all I could do was cry.  I was so happy to be able to be married there to my best friend whom I love more than anything.  It was an incredible feeling.  It is peaceful and joyful and good and right.  We were told to kiss, and it was the most beautiful and romantic and pure kiss ever.  I can’t think of any kiss meaning and conveying as much.  It was perfect!

“After kissing over the altar he told us to look in one mirror—symbolizing our our past, the altar was the present, and the other [mirror] was our future.  It was beautiful symbolism and it overwhelmed me to know I am sealed to Todd forever.  It feels so peaceful now.  As much as I couldn’t bear to lose him, it would be ok if we were separated now by death.  We are sealed for time and eternity.  We are bound together.  Everything will be ok. What a beautiful ceremony!  I wish I could’ve stayed in that room for a long, long time.  We exchanged rings.  We were told they were symbolic of our eternal love and that we should always wear them.  Then we stood in a “hugging line” so everyone could hug us.  It was so nice, I felt so loved.  It was wonderful!”

We eventually made our way outside to the temple grounds and, like most families and couples, had our pictures taken.  I wish I could change this part of the day.  I was grumpy and irritable.  I HATE getting my picture taken.  I hated being the center of it all.  It was all so awkward, such a waste of everyone’s time, I felt.  And yet, I wish I had gotten copies.  I have a few proofs, but I never ended up ordering any pictures.  After spending so much money on even such a simple wedding reception, I didn’t want to spend a dime more.  And so I put it off.  Indefinitely. I wish that I had been nicer to the photographer.  And gotten at least an 8x10.  I also never did a bridal picture session before our wedding.  I had no idea about that.  And it wouldn’t have mattered.  Could there possibly be anything worse than to be photographed repeatedly being the main subject?  And then having it displayed at a reception?  A bit later my aunt insisted I get some, even though it was after we’d been married.  So I brought my dress to work at BYU and she brought her young photographer.  We got some outside shots, and I do still have them.  I don’t love them, but I’m grateful she went to that effort for me.  Such a kind thing for her to do.

But back on our wedding day it seemed to take at least an hour to pose in all different configurations.  We even had to do that weird hand picture.  How young our hands look!  Finally we’d exhausted his roll of film and were permitted to meet up with my family and friends at our friend’s house for a delicious and beautiful lasagna lunch.  The weather was perfect, the day was just right for an outdoor reception.  It was July 16th in San Diego, which could’ve made for a sweltering evening, but it couldn’t have been a more beautiful day.

Everyone was buzzing around that afternoon, I felt out of sorts.  I like to be helping, to feel useful.  But I had to sit this one out.  I do remember getting ready for the reception, changing back into my wedding dress and fixing my hair.  But it wouldn’t do a thing because it was so humid.  I curled and curled, sprayed, used all my go-to tactics.  But I’d forgotten how limp the humidity can make straight hair, and I dismayed but figured, oh well, what do you do?

More pictures.  And this was truly another picturesque setting, with lush green grass, a wooden bridge, a lake.  It really was so pretty.  But I got grumpy all over again, hating this part of getting married.  I felt ugly and restless and hated being the main subject in so many photographs.  And maybe that’s partly why I never revisited the picture idea.

The reception turned out so nice, my mom had worked so hard with her friends to keep it simple but lovely.  The cake was so beautiful, accented with burgundy flowers.  The tables were white with navy ribbons.  Our sisters and mothers found perfect dresses they could wear again.  It was just right.  I loved seeing people I had missed over the years, but I was happiest when the line finally disbanded and I could just sit with my friends and eat.  Out of the spotlight.

Time came for us to change back into regular clothes and to head out on our own.  I hated to leave my family and friends with all that work, and yet I knew there could be no other way.  At least tonight.  I would take my turn over the years, but culture dictates that we leave quickly and ceremoniously into the night.  Married best friends.

Occasionally I’ve wondered what I would’ve changed about the day, you know, when the topic comes up in casual conversation with girlfriends.  I wish I could’ve helped more, taken some of the load from my family.  It was a lot of work with my mom working full-time and with a limited budget, so I wish I could’ve done it all cheaper.  I wish I would’ve been nicer to the the photographer and not been such a brat.  I wish I would’ve cared about my dress more.  Because I never felt that great in it.  I don’t think we had music.  I think I would put that in.  Because music is such a big part of our relationship; we’d rather have background music than a tv in our house, so I think that would’ve been really nice.  But not a dance.  (Even though I love to dance.  It just wasn’t ever on the idea list, thank goodness.)  Maybe had the reception earlier so everyone didn’t have such a long day.  And I wish I would’ve purchased pictures.  But other than those few minor tweaks, it was just perfect for us.  I loved the flowers, the pretty cake, the simple but thoughtful decorations, the setting, the people, having my family and friends with us.  It was a special way to begin our life, a beautiful send-off.  And I think most weddings are beautiful affairs, whatever that looks like to the bride and groom.  Our day reflected what was important to us, and I’m grateful for the careful touches, the time and effort of loved ones.  I felt pampered and loved and peaceful.  I knew what we were doing felt right.  I didn’t know how the rest of our days would turn out, what the years ahead would look like, but we became a team this day, a partnership that would last forever, and it’s those promises that comfort me and give me security in an uncertain world.  Regardless of what happens, I know we are bound to each other.  We were young by most standards, I know, but we knew what we were doing.  We felt confident we could make it.

We spent several years as students, moved across the country and back.  We’re raising five kids together.  Which is a huge blessing.  You just don’t know what kinds of trials will test your marriage over the years.  We’ve had a few bumps.  But every couple who’s honest about it does.  It’s the promises we made to each other on that warm July morning that stick with us, that comfort us and give us security.  We know this is the most important relationship in our lives, next to how we feel about God.  And so we’re careful with it.  We’re not the best, I especially have so much to work on.  But I’m grateful for all we’ve learned over the past twenty years, for marriage that is the the foundation of a family.  I’m so grateful to be blessed with a husband.  Not everyone finds someone to marry.  Sometimes things don’t work out.  Promises are broken.  Life changes us.   And our marriages.   Some say there are no guarantees.  And so I’m grateful for twenty good years.  How many more we’ll have, we have no idea.  But we know our time on earth is short.  And if we’re separated by death, the other would be on the other side waiting.  Our sealer in the temple reminded us of that, and it made me cry that day in the temple.  Because I knew it was true.  That’s why I never cared much about the reception and the flowers.  All I really cared about was getting the marriage part right.  And just like our reception, where I would’ve made a few minor changes, I would also do things better in our marriage if I could have a do-over.  But we move forward, grateful for another day together, for twenty years of living as best friends and spouses, for the institution of marriage, for the deep love that grows from everyday living, and the promise that our love can be eternal.

We were married in the San Diego temple (pictured) on a day just like this. To see what temples look like inside, click here.

A week in the North Woods

Todd pointed out, “You know it’s early when you can still taste your toothpaste (from brushing before bed).” We have the routine down.  We’ve been doing it once, twice, even three times a summer for as long as we can remember.  We set the alarm for 3:30,  but you know what it’s like the night before a trip.  A million last minute additions, regardless of how organized you think you are this time.  We stayed out with our friends later than we should’ve the night before.  And I can’t help but check the clock throughout the night.  Wondering if we got it all.  Hoping, but never really sure till we get there.  Inevitably I wake up before the alarm, forfeiting my last few minutes of sleep, surrendering to the dark morning when no one ought to be up for more than a bathroom break.  But I shower and summon Todd that it’s his turn.  I wake up the older boys so they can shower as well.  A 13-hour summer road trip requires this kind of preparation.  Even the little kids know the drill and dress for the day through mere slits of their heavy eyes, carrying their pillows and blankets to the blackened van, a small cave of familiar comfort enveloped in a sea of stars and silent night sky.  We pack the cooler with grapes, lunch makings, lettuce from the garden, water bottles, and yogurts.  A last walk-through to ascertain that toilets are flushed and lights are off.  We’ve been known to leave the glue gun plugged in for a day, and we’ve made a last-minute return for a forgotten item only to notice the front door wide open.  So we carefully lock up, hoping our house will remain intact for the week.  As we settle in for the drive ahead, intent as can be expected at 4 on a weekend morning, we petition Heavenly Father to watch over us on our journey.  

The town we know so well looks eerily different at such an early hour, and we can’t help but wonder where our fellow drivers are off to.  Before we even reach the highway, all is calm in our van and most of the kids have surrendered.  Occasionally they’ll stay awake and chat for awhile, but not for long.  I, too, succumb for an hour or two.  By 6:30 Todd needs a snack, maybe a Dr. Pepper if it was a late night.  Even pregnant, I’ve climbed all over the van, my yoga for the day, collecting various snack and comfort items for family members.  By 7 or so we need gas.  Everyone stretches, and I hand out breakfast as we carry on:  yogurt, cereal, muffins, fruit.  I take a turn for an hour or so while Todd rests uncomfortably and shallowly.  The kids continue their oblivious slumber for several hours, allowing me time to listen to my own cds, heavenly to be on nearly deserted roads alone with my thoughts.  As the day wears on we stop for sandwiches and gas.  The kids talk with us, we listen to music and audio books.  We make our way through several Dr. Peppers, handfuls of trail mix and sunflower seeds, cookies and sticks of beef jerky.  Some fruit, though never enough in my opinion.  Todd spoils the kids with gas-station sodas and treats.  I sometimes take a turn in the back seats and let one of the kids play co-pilot.  Avery, our 13 year-old daughter, dreads these road trips and the accompanying concoction of sweaty sandals, Funyons, beef jerky, and Zac Brown band.  But we laugh, knowing this is the fodder of fond memories she’ll one day treasure.

Somewhere along the road we lose an hour, but after 13-14 hours we pull off a dirt road and onto Todd’s parents’ driveway, a little piece of paradise, a cabin on a lake.  They’ve put so much work into their home and land, flowers welcome us from every angle, and their garden is in full bloom.  It’s a welcome sight, we are thrilled with the change of venue for the week and enthusiastically embrace the parents we haven’t seen in nine months or so.  It’s a toss up as to what we are more thankful for: to be out of the van or for a homemade hot dinner waiting for us.  We chatter happily, catching up on one another’s lives, easing back into the family dynamic.  The boys and dads effortlessly talk fishing and continue the tradition of playing games late into the evening with popcorn and Dr. Peppers; any other dad/uncle/aunt/cousin who’s around joins in.  The womenfolk might watch a girly movie or read, basking in a free evening void of real-life obligations.  It soaks in.  We’re finally on vacation.

The week unfolds in a predictable but unstructured rhythm.  We all sleep in much later than normal, what with the vacation mood, fresh air, time change, and late gaming.  But Todd and I sneak out each morning for a 3 mile walk to the lake down the dirt road, plastered with bug spray to abate the tenacious mosquitoes and larger-than-life biting flies.  We slowly make our way on the sparsely traveled sandy road, noting the occasional deer or snake accompanied by the cacophony of birds and insects in the background.  We’re home by 9 and wake up our contented sleepers, indulgently basking in their new vacation schedule.

After a late breakfast of blueberry pancakes topped with fresh peaches, we get to to work splitting and stacking wood or weeding the garden.  If it starts to rain we come in and play games or watch movies.  We have lunch meat sandwiches or leftovers and do more of the same all afternoon.  Maybe a small group will fish on a nearby lake.  They might kayak or canoe.  The girls worked on fairy houses all week.  Even the older boys amuse themselves with Legos from their dad’s childhood, unconsciously grateful for a grandma with foresight.  Last summer the kids created a treehouse teepee.  Someone’s always up for a game.  A puzzle patiently waits in the four-season porch if one of us  needs a little quiet solitude.  Nearly everyone is in the middle of a book, and we almost all end up snoozing at some point during the day.  Our kids were fascinated by The Price is Right this past trip, the first time they’d ever seen anything like it.  They think this is the answer they’ve been waiting for, all their financial woes abated.  The news was also new to them.  The girls and grandma and I went to “town” one day (population around 7,000; about 45 minutes away) to do some shopping and to check out library books and to spoil ourselves with lunch out.  Todd, Avery, and I found some buys at garage sales and antique stands and stocked Andrew up on old dishes and kitchenware for college.  He’s less thrilled than we were with the finds.  We picked wild blueberries on the side of the road as a family.  We went hiking and wading at a state park.  We lounged and talked about the past.  We contemplated the future over dinner.  Grandparents can ask the hard questions while providing insightful bits of wisdom from pages of their personal histories.

Some parts of our week in Minnesota remind me of camping.  Sand follows us everywhere.  Instead of pretty-smelling lotions and straightening irons, our beauty routine simply consists of pony tails, braids, and bug repellant.  We rarely feel squeaky clean except for after our evening shower; it’s just so humid and moist otherwise.  We count on a combination of engine oil, campfire smoke, citronella and incense to mask the sweaty smells.

A large family group reminds grandma what it was like to cook for six kids and she itches to try her latest recipe finds on us.  Vacation life revolves around meals, our only barometer of time.  An early dinner allows maximum time on the lake for evening fishing.  Remaining family members might gather around the small campfire with S’mores.  Whoever’s left might watch the news or Weather Channel documentary or an old movie.  Life is good.

No matter how late it gets, we can never fully fall asleep until the fishermen return to tell their tales and to show their wares.  One night this trip we were incredulous as they related their story of the truck brakes giving out while backing down the boat ramp.  Our 17-year-old son who had been directing his dad from the tailgate jumped off to the side right under the truck’s tracks as Todd swerved in order to stop the truck.  We couldn’t believe his close call and are still overcome thinking about what could’ve happened.  The rest of the week they only had the canoe to use, but I secretly liked having everyone around more instead of being a fisherman’s widow.  

As the last of the daylight fades, there’s usually time for one more late-night game after they’ve cleaned their fish.  We might drift off to the sound of grandpa’s late night news report, or maybe the kids will stay up late watching a movie or listening to the tales of the night.  I almost always spend the last part of the day reading contentedly in the basement bedroom with the windows open to the crickets and frogs and loons.  I never get better sleep than in Minnesota, cocooned in soft, clean sheets listening to nature’s lullabies, somehow completely exhausted from doing not much of anything, playing kid again, leaving the adult matters in the hands of someone else for a week.

Before we know it, we’ve spent our allotted days and always wonder why we don’t just plan two weeks instead of one.  We finally get into a sort of rhythm, a routine of sorts, and it’s time to pack up for the trek home.  Inevitable, yet regrettable.  Because now we have to be the adults again and get back to our lives.  Even the intermittent labor of splitting wood during a vacation hardly seems like work, everything is a bit more fun when it’s not your own house or yard or wood stack. But we know we can’t live in the North Woods of Minnesota forever; we’ve made our life here in Montana and a vacation, by definition, is temporary.  But we restock the van with sandwich makings and rhubarb muffins and chocolate chip cookies for the ride home.  We’ve picked up some wild rice, some cool burls for future knife handles (huge tree trunk segments that take up more than their share of the storage area), and of course we’ve got to make sure the cardboard and popsicle stick fairy houses remain intact.  It’s easier to pack this time, we just collect everything that looks like it belongs to someone who lives at our house and squeeze it in.  We’ll do the laundry when we get home, the kids will vacuum their rows of the van, the parents will call with a list of forgotten items.  The light in our cool basement bedroom wakes us before our alarm clock, and as if on cue, the kids know what to do.  We gather for family prayer with the parents, everyone still groggy from another late night, and climb into the capable van that has carried us across thousands of miles.  I don’t sleep much this time, it’s already light and I’ve adjusted to the Minnesota time clock. I’m content to be with Todd, who I normally don’t see much during the week.  We catch up on emails and messages as we regain cell service.  We gradually start to remember what it is we do, we slowly feel our normal life return.  And to be honest, we’d both be happy to put it on hold for just one more week.  We already can’t wait for next summer.  The drive might seem long to some, but it’s a road worth taking.

Behind the scenes of an LDS family

This one is for those of you don’t go to the same church as me.  And who can handle long-winded writings.  Don’t stop here and don’t worry, no doctrine, no silly stuff, I’m not trying to convert you.  I’m good with our differences.  This isn’t about our doctrine, it’s just to give you a behind-the-scenes glimpse into what we’re doing when we aren’t at a school board meeting or running the kids to art lessons.  And why maybe it seems like our heads are in a million places at once.  We are committed; you can depend on us when we say we’ll be there.  But there are reasons we can’t say yes to everything we’d like to or that we’re only able to play a small part.  We’re like you—we have a lot going on and we’re all just figuring out what we can handle, what will work, and how to juggle the rest. I just thought you might find it interesting to see what a week in the life of our LDS family might look like.

We have three teens and two elementary school aged kids at the moment, so life has evolved over the years, providing us a wide range of experiences.  Obviously every family has different needs and makes unique contributions, that all varies with the stages of the family.  In all we do, the church programs are to support the family, and so sometimes we choose to forgo something the church is doing because we need to be with our families.  But here’s a rough idea of what we’re currently doing in a typical week, at least as far as the church stuff goes.  And keep in mind, every family is different.  There’s no such thing as typical!

So starting with Mondays, we have Family Home Evening.  No other meetings or activities are scheduled on Monday nights.  It’s a time to gather as families in the home and talk about doctrine, do service, teach principles, work on home projects like the garden or landscaping an area, visit people, or have other families over.  So many demands pull at our families these days that this is a valuable opportunity to set aside one night a week to just enjoy one another’s company.  If we have sports or other conflicts, we’ll sometimes do a lesson on Sunday night and do an activity on Monday night.  It doesn’t have to be formal, it is completely up to the parents to decide what the family needs.  But we generally sing hymns, read from the scriptures, talk about some principle like honesty or prayer (the kids also take turns teaching the lesson as well as doing the other parts), end with a treat (in the summer sometimes we’ll go out for ice cream or have S’mores or a picnic) and play a board or card game or watch a short video (maybe comedy or something uplifting).  Even if religion doesn’t play into the night, it just feels nice to spend time together.  Any family could benefit from something like this.

Usually once a month the women of the church gather on a Tuesday or Thursday night for additional instruction and practical application of principles.   Any women are welcome.  During this time we get to visit informally and learn hands-on skills like maybe bread or pie making, self-defense, or car repair.  We’ve discussed depression and health issues that affect women.  We’ve practiced sewing and making hats and quilts.  We provide service.  We’ve exercised and cooked together.  We’ve learned about computer programs and family history and how to organize our homes better.  We learn to be better mothers and wives and how to strengthen our families.   These are optional, of course, but so much of what I learned as a young mother I picked up from meetings like these.

Once every other month the youth in our town are able to attend the temple on a Tuesday night, an activity few miss.   Several leaders attend with them.  My 9 year old daughter also has Activity Days twice a month on a Tuesday afternoon with other girls her age, where she has done sports, visited a retirement home, learned to crochet and lead music, for instance.

Wednesday evenings my husband and the older kids go to what is recognized as youth group by most churches.  The kids might play games, do service, learn skills, or go on hikes, just a variety of activities.

Thursday nights our 10 year old son has scouts.  Once a month there’s a pack meeting the family attends, same as in all the other packs in the Boy Scout program.  I just got back from spending three full days at Day Camp with 13 Webelos, including an over-nighter.  And Todd heads to Scout Camp for a week in July.  Just worked out that it’s our turn this year; the kids have a great time and we love seeing them outdoors enjoying nature and honing their skills.

Friday nights we might have friends over or attend the temple.  Or go on dates or just hang out as a family.  Watch movies, play games, sometimes go up to the mountains or out for dinner.  Occasionally we’ll have a wedding reception or the ward will have a dinner or a talent show or some other activity, but not too often.

Saturdays are wide open.  We could have an assignment to clean the church building, attend a scout camp or advancement day, take part in a service project, or attend a baptism.  A week not long ago the younger kids had a summer water activity making ice cream and playing water games.  I helped with a dinner for about 50 that evening and had a leadership training that took me from 2 til about 8:30.  Last Saturday we had a breakfast in a nearby park.  But there’s not something every Saturday, it just depends on the week.

Sundays can be pretty full.  We attend worship services and classes (Sunday School) for three hours.  Then there are meetings as presidencies, councils, and committees.  Some can start before 7 a.m.  We might have choir practice.  In the evenings we could have youth discussions or broadcasts or maybe home teaching visits.  My current assignment takes me to the “branches” in Harlowton, Red Lodge, Absarokee, and Belfry, as well as the various congregations in town, training and supporting the ward leaders.  Todd is over the 12 year old boys.  At the moment our Sundays are kind of quiet compared to some years with more intense assignments.

As part of the normal week high school-aged youth also attend seminary each school morning.  Our boys’ class this past year began at 5:50 a.m.  Others start at 6:30 and they all go for about 45 minutes, and they study the scriptures like the Old and New Testaments.  The boys also work on the Boy Scouts of America program and many become Eagle Scouts.  The girls have a similar program which also requires service hours and projects.  They take turns serving in presidencies in their age groups which involves planning meetings and visiting members of their classes or quorums.  The youth may also serve the ward (or congregation) by leading the music or playing the piano (or organ) in the worship service, for instance.  Young boys ages 12 and up prepare and bless and pass the sacrament each Sunday as well.  There are dances, youth conferences, scout and girls’ camps, special week-long Especially for Youth Conferences all over the country, high adventure and monthly campouts, and of course service projects.  They also help clean the church, take the sacrament to those who are homebound, and go home teaching with their dads or other older men monthly.

Nearly every adult member is a home or visiting teacher.  Every family is given two men to watch over them, ideally receiving a home visit each month.  These two companions—beginning at age 12 to 14—help with anything they can within the families they’re assigned to, whether it’s physically with repairs or meals or just emotionally or spiritually buoying them up.  Each companionship takes turns preparing a monthly message—even the young men—and are assigned maybe 3-10 families to visit each month.  The women are organized in the same manner, except they visit and watch over the other women, helping when babies are born or illness strikes or when a loving ear or heart is needed, ideally visiting each woman she’s assigned to in her home and maintaining contact throughout the month.  And each of these families have others assigned to visit them as well, so we’re all taking care of each other, teaching us to both serve and to humbly accept service.

Every part of the church operation takes work—as in all churches, and so nearly every member of the church from age 12 up is extended a “calling” or way to serve for a time.   These callings could involve serving as meeting house librarian, teaching a class, preparing the weekly bulletin, leading the choir, or running the scout or youth program, for instance.  We take turns and gladly accept the opportunities when they come.  We are not professionally trained or paid, but we jump in, follow the handbook and seek revelation and guidance to do what needs to be done.  We work in presidencies and councils, we delegate and serve together. It all works out because we support each other in our learning, acknowledging that we all have different personalities and strengths.

We, like a lot of you, try to keep up in our journals and compile personal histories, study the scriptures and try to find our ancestors.  It’s hard to fit it all in and, to be honest, we rarely get to all of it.  But we do our best to help each other move or with meals when members are sick or have emergencies or new babies or there’s a funeral.   We have a temple in town, and so many of us are able to go frequently.  There are always ways to help: food to make, kids to watch, houses to clean, porches to fix, potlucks, baptisms, Courts of Honor, missionary farewells, etc.  We recognize there are seasons of our lives, and we can't do all of it at the same time.  There's just no way!

I know it sounds crazy to you, but we can’t think of a better way to live.  We support one another as families, we help each other get to where we need to be, we teach classes for one another for vacations or if emergencies arise.  We just do what we can and do our best to maintain a balance, sometimes foregoing a meeting or activity in order to be with our families.  I’ve lived this way for more than forty years, and it has blessed my life and family in countless ways.  I know it might be hard to understand why we do it all, and I know it looks strange.  But I wanted to give you a glimpse into what we’re up to just in case you’ve ever wondered.

I also wanted you to see why we seem wrapped up in our own lives.  That is something I hate and am working on.  As you can see, we have a lot of commitments, but so do you.  Sometimes when we have a break it just feels good to hang out and relax as a family.  It is so easy to relate to other people who are living a similar life.  We have a lot in common, we’re at many of the same activities and spend several hours a week together.  It’s natural to become close to one another and to develop deep friendships.  But it’s so important that we are not exclusionary, and I find myself struggling with this.  I’m a quiet observer by nature.  It’s hard to put myself out there, to invite people over when I’m not sure what our common ground will be. But I try.  And I want to do better.  Maybe we’re all like this in some ways, sticking with our extended family that might live in town or the families in our neighborhood or people that we’re already friends with.   I know we have different ways of looking at life.  Everyone does.  I guess religion is just extra touchy.  And yet, I think we all have a lot more in common than not; most of us are just busy raising our families, worrying about paying for college, trying to fit everything in, hoping our kids are turning out ok.  I know you are busy in your own congregations and families, but over the years we have been so blessed by the friends we’ve made, those of our faith and those of other faiths.  It has been worth it to find the common ground, to spend time together, to let our kids play, and to help each other as neighbors and friends.  So maybe it seems like we’re preoccupied or unfriendly.  I hope not, but just call us on it.  Or better yet, call us and invite yourselves over.  We would love it and are rarely too busy to hang out with a friend.

Temptations

We might be one of the weirdest families around.  At least my kids think so.  We’ve had a couple of conversations about this, not sure how they got started, but part of it was me telling them even if I didn’t have my religion I don’t think I’d smoke, and I doubt I’d be into drinking or drugs; that kind of stuff just never appealed to me.  I might love to drink coffee though (since I love coffee flavored treats and the coffee aisle of the grocery store is intoxicating to me).  In fact, I used to pretend to when I was in jr. high when I’d hold a steamy mug of Postum carefully between long gangly fingers with darkly painted fingernails like my mom.  No, those kinds of things don’t tempt me all that much.  So I wondered, if I didn’t have the guidelines I do, what would get to me.  I admitted if I didn’t have to be as disciplined as I am, I’d probably shop a lot more, buy more, spend more.  On credit.  And online.  But I’d want to buy things for the poor people too.  We decided what I’d really like is to be like Robin Hood.  How’s that for a lame confession?  There have been others.  I’m tempted all the time, who isn’t?  This is a pretty tame list I suspect.  It gives away my identity as a middle-aged conservative mother.  I wish I knew how to make a check box and reply feature so we could compare lists with each other.  I’d venture to say we’ve got some things in common.  I know as soon as it’s posted I’ll think of another.  There may be an addendum.  But for now, here’s the short list.

to read a fluff romance novel every now and then… I know, how embarrassing and what a waste

to go out to dinner every weekend instead of being disciplined

to skip exercising and count my weeding as my workout for the day

to share interesting tidbits and gossip with Todd

to take a really long shower even though we’re on cistern

to give up on people or friendships

to make hasty judgments about people

to buy cheap clothes or shoes because they’re cute and a steal but I don’t really love them and I know they won’t hold up

to stay up late watching Netflix or Downton Abby even though I know I’ll be irritable in the morning

to clean rather than engaging with my kids

to linger on an inappropriate song rather than switching the station immediately (they’re usually the best ones, I rationalize that I’m a grown up and it’s not a big deal; but I really do know better and want to set a good example)

to tell stories about my kids that are embarrassing but so funny (I have to admit, I’m pretty good because I hated it when my mom and her friend would sit at the pool and do this, but some have been just too good not to share.  I’m always sorry but am always laughing too.)

to start a book I think will be good for me but know in my heart it’s over my head

to hide my little bag of See’s candy in my closet

to let my kids watch too much tv and play on the computer longer than their allotted time because it’s so quiet

to make easy but unhealthy meals because I’d get fewer complaints

to do their scouts for them; we would’ve been an Eagle Scout family maybe like 5 years ago

to check things off a list rather than doing them with a genuine heart

to comment more than I already do in church

to let an upsetting comment linger instead of blowing it off

to pretend I don’t know our dogs are running around the neighborhood

to pretend to be asleep sometimes

to offer advice when no one’s asked

to pick up after my kids or do their chores or laundry or dishes for them (because I love to clean and organize and make the house look like a hotel and I get impatient waiting)

to wear shorter skirts than I really should

to finish people’s sentences because I get impatient waiting for them to figure out the words they’re looking for

to steal school supplies (admittedly, it’s been decades since I’ve done this, but the office aisles and supply closets still get to me…)

to skip family scriptures and prayers

to be condescending and short

to let Todd take care of the hard stuff

to agree to something in Todd’s behalf without asking him first (like signing him up to sub for a class at church or to help with a project at school or to look at someone’s dog… I still want to all the time, but I’m learning)

to buy earrings at Kohl’s because they’re so cheap and more note cards that scream Caren even though I already have enough of both

to read something a little lighter and count that as my scripture reading for the day

to take a little siesta during the Sunday afternoon session of Conference

to eat more than 4 cookies in a row

to make excuses for all sorts of things

to give away money without telling Todd

to read gossip magazines in the waiting room

to ask more searching questions than people are comfortable with

to always want to stop and get a malt at that ice cream place

to covet youth and looks and good jeans and cute shoes

to skip the temple and just stay home and clean

to not answer the phone even when it’s BYU calling for their annual donation

to let others deal with the weighty issues in the world

to stick with our easy friends and not invite the new or hard people over

to buy the expensive fruit at Costco

to tell the telemarketer he has the wrong number (if he knew us at all he’d know I’m not really lying)

to sneak into bed around 9 with the house still blazing, letting Todd take care of it all

to send money in to all those organizations that send me return address labels and others that I just hear about

to tell the kid at the door that we already bought their stuff from another kid

to read Dear Abby and skip the heavier stuff

to let other people sign up to bring dinner or clean the temple or babysit

to text during church

to say hell’s bells and maybe damn in a really weak (maddening) moment

to swoon over attractive young male singers (acapella, country, I’m not picky)

to wonder what people are thinking  (I know, it’s none of my business. And it doesn’t matter.  Just being honest.)

I know.  Lame.  I’ve given in to them all.  And I’ll probably succumb in the future to them, as well as others I haven’t even identified yet.  But I know I’ve made some strides because some temptations from the past no longer entice me.  I still have work to do.  Loads.  But I love this counsel because it encourages me to make incremental steps in overcoming past habits.

Each of us can do a little better than we have been doing.  We can be a little more kind.  We can be a little more merciful.  We can be a little more forgiving.  We can put behind us our weaknesses of the past, and go forth with new energy and increased resolution to improve the world about us.  May we go with determination to try a little harder to be a little better.*

* President Hinckley

A week with the girls

I knew I was home when I saw my sister eating a couple of homemade cookies and my mom had a chocolate in her mouth.  Before breakfast.  Sigh.  There’s no place like home.  I’m totally the kind to have dessert after lunch and dinner.  A lot of the time my whole reason for having a healthy meal is so I can have dessert, maybe even a couple.  If the choice is just too hard.  Twisted, wrong, so not in the health books.  So tasty though.  And obviously a habit that runs deep in the family.  Love it.

They are all just as inconsistent as I am because at the same counter as the cookies and caramel brownies were the lunch makings.  We’re all about whole wheat, not so into lunch meat and cheese, preferring salads and loads of fruit.  We nearly exclusively drink water and avoid fast food (except In and Out) and fat (except in our desserts).  We like oatmeal and Wheetabix and whole wheat toast and fruit for breakfast.  We’re just not into waffles and pancakes and white things.  Except if it’s a Costco cake.

During one of those healthy lunches I polished off some Greek yogurt and went to throw away the container.  My sister immediately called me on it and reprimanded, “You’re going to recycle that, aren’t you?”  Of course!!  I’m home!  They recycle here!  I was joyous that someone was as Nazi as I am about it.  We commiserated that we can hardly bear to look in the garbage away from home because of all the potential that is just tossed.  We both admitted to bringing home items to recycle from large gatherings.  My mom cleans houses and is the exact same.  In fact, when she comes to my house she tosses all sorts of items in the recycling pile that we just don’t have the resources here to take care of.  Kind of throws her off-kilter and I am just as sorry about it as she is.  But I appreciate her vigilance as well as being in the company of fellow greenies.  So much.

We all need 9.5 hours of sleep.  Random, but tested.  Independently.  If I could change five things about myself, that might be #2.  Cheri and I take naps every chance we can, daily if possible.

My mom came into the room I was staying in one morning at 7:15, shaking me awake.  I told her I was just tired, that I was fine, just wanted to sleep a little later.  Her pillows were so fluffy that they puffed all around my head and I was basically lying flat on the bed and she keeps her house so cozy that I just hadn’t gotten great sleep the first couple of nights.  She came in again at 7:30, visibly upset, wondering what was going on.  I was up.  It wasn’t worth it.  I finally realized I’d made her nervous, she was scared that something serious was wrong.  Understandable, since she had been the one to find my dad just a couple of days earlier.  I got it.  But I also had to kind of laugh.  My mom and sister Cheri get up early.  Like 4:30 or 5.  Yikes.  I’m middle-ground, 5:30-6 usually.  But they are happy and cheery from the moment their toe nails hit the carpet.  My other sister (Cheryl) and I take a minute more.  A good long hour more, if we’re honest.  Which is why I avoid everyone and just go exercise.  It’s the only way I know to let myself warm up to the fact that I’m up.  The sister like me stays downstairs and showers and keeps to herself for the same reason.  We’re slow, but we eventually make the transition.  At the other end of the day, the early birds are in pajamas by 7 or 8.  Good grief.  While Cheryl and I are pleased to be sitting down to HGTV for the evening.  So good to be around people who get me.

The reason Cheryl and I like HGTV so much is we don’t get it at our houses.  Are you kidding?  She doesn’t even have wi-fi; we don’t even have a tv that gets channels.  We are the most old-fashioned youngish people I know of.  And my mom’s on our team, as you would expect.   Cheri is high-tech, but we still accept her.  She takes care of the rest of us and provides our kids with all sorts of pads and computers and phones to entertain them in a pinch.  But only for a limited time.  Cheryl and I are sticklers about wanting our kids to play the old-fashioned way.

We love it when our boys come in sweaty and stinky from a hard-day’s play.  But they take showers and wash their hair every single day.  Without exception.  We’re big on keeping nails short and ears cleaned.  I come from a fastidiously clean family.  But I’m the black sheep here.  While I love clean sheets, fresh laundry, and daily showers, I’m not as concerned about germs and dirt as they all are.  I’m good camping, eating a peanut that fell on the floor, or leaving the hand-washing dishes for a day.  Or more.  The others are clean, clean, clean.  And I think I love it.  I just can’t keep up.  But when it comes to organizing, we’re all on the same page.  We cleaned out an entire closet and set of bathroom drawers, lugging away huge bags-full of donations.  Heartily satisfying.

Likewise, I can always count on these girls to be on the same page when it comes to what we read.  We’re all voyeurs in a sense, wanting the inside scoop on anyone’s life or culture or business.  We’ll occasionally read a fluff novel, but they sort of bore us.  We’re nearly exclusively a non-fiction kind of family, and only with them will I offer my wares.  I know we’re weird, but at least I’m in good company.

I also had to laugh because I say hells bells a lot, just so engrained in me from growing up with my mom.  Bronwyn (my 9 year old) has called me on it and has asked me not to say it.  I’m trying.  But being back home, I felt normal.  It came up a lot.  It always has.  Lots of damns and hells.  I know.  Not the best choices, and hells bells is about as far as I take it.  But ahhh.  I felt so at home.  And it made me smile.

Which is so funny.  When you laugh with siblings.  Because you sound exactly the same.  At least my sisters and I do.  We belly laugh.  And we can hardly breathe.  And we get tears streaming down our cheeks.  It might be embarrassing.  But not when we have each other for comfort.  And we laugh all the time when we’re together.    There’s no way around it when we’re dealing with mom or talking about dad.  There’s no better combination to get us going.  We wonder what kind of money we could make if they left hidden cameras rolling, just capturing normal interactions in our parents’ house.  Even in the midst of what probably should’ve been a reverential and somber week as we prepared for my dad’s funeral, we really couldn’t help ourselves.  We laughed at what kind of golden casket he’d want, with puffy tufts and velvet lining, the 21 gun salute, maybe even a parade and fireworks if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.  We laughed when we were thinking of headstones.  Because he would’ve wanted a tall one, with lots of words and maybe roses and a poem.  Or country song he’d written.  We laughed when we came up with a pun he would’ve thought of.  We just couldn’t help ourselves, and I bet you it was cathartic.  I know it felt good.  The whole time we were together.

The whole week was therapeutic, so calming, so nice to be home.  Sometimes I feel like the odd nut, a little off, wondering why I’m so different, why I can’t just stick with a green smoothie like all my health-nut friends and forgo the cookie, why I think it’s my personal crusade to save the world through recycling and turning off the water, why I like to organize and clean on my day off, why I can’t laugh a soft and pretty little laugh without tears, and why I can’t seem to overcome my hells bells habit.  And now I know.  That it’s ok if I don’t.  I just need a trip home every now and then to remind me.

My talk for my dad's funeral

(My dad died very unexpectedly last Saturday evening at home from a heart attack.  My two sisters and I went out as soon as we could and stayed the week with my mom.  The funeral was yesterday and my two sisters and mom spoke.  I just wanted to save my talk here as part of our family record.)

I can think of a lot better ways to get us all together than a funeral, but despite the circumstances that brought us here, I'm so happy to see so many familiar faces and to see a few of you I haven't seen in over 20 years.  What a blessing you've been to our family over the years, just knowing you're there in the background of our lives has been so comforting.

We want to thank you for all you've done for us this week, all the visits and calls, texts, food, meals, flowers, cards, help with our kids, and especially all the prayers.  There's nothing that could've prepared me for the outpouring of kindness we've witnessed.  With every card or phone call or gift my mom has teared up, just overwhelmed with how generous and supportive you've all been.  We have felt so comforted both because of the love you've shown us and because of all the prayers.  I know that is why it has gone so smoothly.

We have a small family and we just hadn't experienced this kind of thing first-hand up until now.  So it's all been new to us.  We haven't known how to proceed or what exactly to expect, but it has been a great, great week in a lot of ways.  It has been especially good to just be with my sisters and mom, to spend lots of time just talking and visiting and even shopping and cleaning, just enjoying everyday activities amid the necessary preparations.

I have no idea what a typical family's mourning time is like, but I'm sure we threw our friend at the mortuary off because we laughed and joked so much.  Probably not very reverent, but we could hardly help ourselves thinking how it would be if dad had been the making his own funeral arrangements.  Throughout the week we've laughed about dad and the way he'd do things, the jokes he'd make, his funny ways.

Obviously, he's been everywhere we've looked this week.  The smell of wood and fabric linger in his newly cleaned garage.  I couldn't help but think the sound of the garage door closing would bring him in to the house to say, "Well, my baby girl, come give your ol' dad a hug."  We handled what might be the world's puffiest coats as we went through his closet.  Cheryl and I even sang a couple of his old country songs he'd written when a friend was over visiting the other night.   It's all just so familiar, and we've felt like maybe he's just been at work.  It's just surreal thinking that he's not coming home.  We can't help but regret the future memories we would've had, the Father's Day cards he didn't get to read, the holidays he won't be around for.  Of course that makes me sad.  I also wish I'd done more to make his life easier, that I would've written and called more, you know how you wonder what more you could've done.  Probably normal to have a few regrets.  But at the same time, I really do feel he knew I loved him, and I never doubted his love for me ever.  He'd squeeze it into me every chance he got, and he never stopped holding my hand.  There isn't much stronger than a dad's love for his kids.  He loved all seven of his kids--so much.  He'd always show us the pictures of our four other siblings, he longed to be reunited with them.  He never ever stopped loving them, and that was probably his biggest heartache: that he couldn't be with them.  Until Cheri helped reunite us all just a few years ago, I can't think of anything that's made him as happy in his later years.

Like all of us, I know he of course had other regrets.  He talked a lot about wanting to take us girls to the zoo or the park so his daughters would have concrete outings to look back on.  But we all know that the best memories and the times we long to go back to are the regular, ordinary days.  We were making memories all along the way without ever giving it much thought.

We spent a lot of time with our dad in his upholstery shop playing office or lying on his workbench sipping soup made from a package when we were sick.  We'd drive up and down the hills of La Mesa dodging flying newspapers as he did his paper route.  We learned to rip down couches, and sometimes we'd even help move them.  He'd make us malts and pancakes and we'd laugh with tears rolling down our cheeks watching sit-coms of the 80s.  He'd serve us ice cream slices after cutting through the carton and made us BLTs every Thursday night with gobs of mayonnaise.  We'd feed him cherries and lay our heads on his chest.

We'd visit our cousins in Utah one week every summer but we'd never be able to leave until he changed the oil and stopped to fill up with gas less than a mile from our house.  He'd always buy a beef jerky and usually new sunglasses.  Most times when he'd be on vacation he'd buy himself a new pair of tennis shoes--a lot of times white--and a new pair of jeans.  Whenever he came to visit he'd take the kids to get tacos, he'd take long naps, watch old MacGyver re-runs with my boys, and lap up all our home cooking, requesting peach cobbler and cinnamon rolls, but happy with anything.  He was easy to please.

He never seemed encumbered by what other people thought.  He spoke to everyone, made small talk with every waitress or salesclerk we ever encountered.  We'd be so embarrassed as kids, and my mom usually kind of walked away.  But I find myself doing the same thing these days and talk to all sorts of people I meet in airports and stores, just like my dad.  It makes the world a little friendlier feeling, a little smaller, a little easier to navigate when we feel connected like that.

Without realizing it he taught us a few things along the road.  Nothing formal; in fact, I don't ever remember having talks or lectures.  But he taught us to work hard because he worked so hard himself.  He taught us to not hold grudges, to be positive, and to be the first to forgive.  I'm not that great at any of that, but I can't ever remember him being condescending or grumpy even though I always seemed to be moody as a teenager and could be so mean.  He never seemed to let it bother him.  He just overlooked my faults and kept loving me.

It's a blessing in a girl's life to have a dad to protect her, to help her feel safe, to encourage her to work hard at school, to tell her she looked nice and to be proud of her.  It has made all the difference that he took us to church, that he was devoted to his family, and that he worked hard to provide for us.  Like all of us, he had some rough edges.  But he didn't dwell on his or anyone else's.  He helped us feel confident even though we had weaknesses.  He accepted us and encouraged us.  I'm forever grateful I had a dad who was committed to his family, through all the ups and downs of life.  Things weren't always easy, but that's life.  He stayed with it and with us.

And so I'm grateful.  For all of life's experiences that stretch us, that teach us and humble us.  We can be grateful during hard times as well as the good times, even death.  The truths I've been taught my whole life are so comforting.  Maybe it's only when we come to a crossroad like this that we put them to the test and see if they hold up.  I can tell you they do.  As we said our family prayer Saturday night, just a couple hours after finding out my dad had died, I gathered with the kids and told them again, "This is why we do everything we do.  This is what the gospel is all about.  So we can live with our families.  Relationships matter.  How we love each other is what it's all about."  I know this is true.  I also know my dad is still alive, happy and at peace.  He's probably making jokes with his family in heaven, even the angels are probably exchanging polite smiles, and I know he's having a great time catching up with everyone.  It makes me happy just thinking about it.  I'm grateful for this perspective, that I had a dad who loved me, and that I will see him and hug him again.

Words to live by:  "May we live in thanksgiving daily--especially during the seemingly unexplainable endings that are part of mortality.  May we allow our souls to expand in thankfulness toward our merciful Heavenly Father.  May we ever and constantly raise our voices and show by word and deed our gratitude to our Father in Heaven and to His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ."*  And so I am grateful even now when I long for more time, just a few more short years or even hours.  I'm grateful for the many years I had with a good dad and for the memories we made when we weren't even watching.  And I'm grateful you were so kind to him and so accepting.  I am grateful to all of you who have made efforts to show your love.  Thank you so much.

* Grateful in Any Circumstances