Life Under the Sink

For weeks now I've had a big vase sitting in the cupboard under the bottom of my disposal.  It's been catching all the drips I just couldn't make myself acknowledge were there.  There were only a few drops every time I turned on the tap.  It would keep.

Yesterday, I noticed one of the spots that the water was coming out of was where the power cord connects.  It was running down the cord.  Scary.  I made sure the cord had a deep dip in it and the water couldn't follow all the way to the outlet.  Then I went to Home Depot.  I got some good advice about what we needed and went back with Keith today.  We had to buy all new locks for the house too--that's a whole other post. 

When we got home, we saw the deadbolt we bought now makes the door handle look horrible.  That's the way it goes, right?  Keith got all 5 new locks done much faster than I thought he would and started on the disposal.  It was a good thing we got good advice both yesterday and today because it well fairly smooth.

Then the moment of truth came.  We turned on the water.  No leak.  We turned on the disposal.  No leak.  I got the detergent in the dishwasher and was ready to turn it on when I heard one lone drip.  I looked all over under there and finally found the water--a couple drops on the copper piping.  I couldn't figure it out.  How could the disposal leak clear over there?  Then I looked all the way up and saw where the piping started.  It was the faucet.  So now that I have a new disposal and it was a job that went smoothly and the holes I was worried about are gone, there's a new hole.  I guess not new--just not the one I knew about.

Isn't that life?  It is mine.  When I think I've accomplished something, overcome something, conquered something;  there's always something else lurking around the corner to challenge me.  It isn't just now with grief.  It's with sin.  It's with motherhood.  It's with everything. 

There's always something to show me I'm not there yet.  Where ever there is.

Singing Along

I decided today to get some CDs and put them in the car so maybe I could listen to music and enjoy riding a little more.  I had to go to Home Depot and the kids hate that place, so I was going alone.  Music would be good--finally.  I haven't synced or charged my ipod in nearly 9 months.  Anyway I grabbed the case that holds 10 or 12 CDs and added a few to what was in there.  One being Phil Collins Testify.  I love Phil Collins.  Keith does too--drummer you know. 

Well, first I  put in one that wasn't labeled.  It was Kenny G.  No, not a Kenny G day.  I slid in Phil Collins.  I skipped through to what I thought would be a great song--had always made me happy before.  When it started, I immediately recognized the intro and smiled. 

I bought that CD while Keith was living out here in CA without us.  That was a long 6 months waiting to sell the house.  The song was  "Can't Stop Loving You".  The kids and I listened to it in the van a lot, especially on the rides to the airport every other weekend as we got excited to pick up Dad.  When Ian really liked a song, wow, would he ever sing.  He got so into the things he liked. Sometimes he really couldn't contain his enthusiasm.  It bubbled out everywhere.  That's how it was with this song.  He would sing so loud and move his head back and forth.  We would roll down the windows and it would be quite a party.

It didn't make me happy today.   Here are the lyrics:


So you leavin'
in the mornin'
on the early train.

Well I could say
everything's all right
and I could pretend
and say goodbye

Got your ticket
got your suitcase
got your leaving smile

Oh I could say that's the way it goes
and I could pretend you won't know
That I was lying...

Cuz I can't stop loving you
No I can't stop loving you
No I won't stop loving you
Why should I?

We took a taxi
to the station
not a word was said
and I saw you walk across the road
for maybe the last time, I don't know

Feeling humble
heard a rumble on the railway track
and when I hear the whistle blow
I'll walk away and you won't know
that I'll be crying...

Cuz I can't stop loving you
No I can't stop loving you
No I won't stop loving you
Why should I
Even try?

I'll always be here by your side.
Why, why, why?
I never wanted to say goodbye,
Why even try?
I'm always here, if you change,
change your mind.

So you're leavin'
in the mornin'
on the early train

Well, I could say everything's alright
and I could pretend and say goodbye
But that would be lying...

Cuz I can't stop loving you
No I can't stop loving you
No I won't stop loving you
Why should I?

I can't stop loving Ian.  I won't.  Why should I even try?  Can't say everything's alright and I could pretend and say goodbye, but that would be lying.

I should have picked some other CD.  I must have one that won't have a memory attached, right?

Miracles

"There are only two ways to live your life.
One is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as though everything is a miracle."
--Albert Einstein

"Not every miracle has a happy ending."

--Michelle Gleason

3 Hours Well-spent

Last week I decided I couldn't stand it one more day, just couldn't go on.  There was only one thing to do.  Only when I tried to find the one  person that could help, she had disappeared.  I was desperate.  I mean really desperate.  I considered trying to handle it on my own.  Then I found a business card with a phone number on it and gave it one last ditch effort.  Ha!  Found her. 

I got my hair cut and colored yesterday.  I look several years younger.  I feel better.  I have to say though, I'm not sure which was better, the cut or the conversation.  We were at her house, so it was just the two of us.  The first thing she said to me was, "So, how are the kids?"  She cried with me when I told her why I had let my appearance go.  The news was fresh to her so she didn't think I should be over it by now.  She told me that Ian would want me to look better.  She said it would be good for Keith to have me look better.  She told me I should tell all the people who say stupid things to me to Go to Hell.  I think one of these days I might. 

We were together over 3 hours.  We talked about religion mostly.  She's an Arab named Amal;  a devout Muslim who emigrated from Jerusalem by way of Kuwait in her early twenties.  She was as amazed as I was to find that the stories of Mohammad and Joseph Smith had so many similarities.  We have more beliefs in common than we knew.  Muslims don't drink alcohol.  They believe homosexuality is wrong--wrong wrong.  They think the family is the most important thing.  The list went on.  She was as appalled as I am that a new translation of the Bible is changing the word "virgin" to young woman.  I didn't know Muslims even acknowledged Mary, let alone believed in her. 

It was nice to really talk.  Maybe she could be my new friend.  Couldn't be any more diverse, could I?  It  gave me a good perspective.  Not that I haven't chatted with her before but...  wouldn't it be great to actually get to know a person from each group of stereotyped people?  I've always hated hearing about the "awful, heartless Chinese", or the "Utah Mormons", or the "cold New Englanders".  I wish I was better at not forming opinions about people based on how they look or talk or about 50 other things that don't matter.  I wish everyone was better at it.  

Having said that,  I'm glad I look better.  I just hope nobody does what I'm expecting:  "Wow, Michelle, I guess you are feeling better and  are finally ready for a fresh start."  I might have to  use Amal's phrase.

Fathers and Sons

Easter was a good day.  As it should be.  There should be no better day.  There is no day with more meaning.  I've been thinking about this post for a while.  I'm not sure if I can say what I want.  I'm not sure it won't sound blasphemous.  God knows my heart and knows my capacity for comparison is limited so I'll try to put it into words.

Heavenly Father gave us his Son.  He could have saved him from the agony and the death.  He had the power.  He let it happen.  It was part of a plan.

Keith has God's power on earth--the priesthood.  He could have healed Ian.  He had done it before.  It wasn't beyond possibility.  In what would be his final words to his son, he bent his will to what the Spirit whispered and told Ian to go.  He gave God his son.  It was also part of a plan.

I thought I could say more and record those events with more detail.  I'm not ready.

My Parable



Ian 5 1/2  Lucy 3  Easter Morning



It's been 12 years since my most profound Easter.  Spring 1999.  Ian had been waiting for a new heart for only a couple of months.  I was still coming to terms with it.  I was especially frustrated seeing young moms speeding down the freeway with children obviously not fastened in their car seats.  I wanted to pull them over and tell them I didn't want it to be their carelessness--their child to give up a heart for mine.

I don't know if it was Easter morning or a day or two before.  Keith wasn't  home.  I was in the shower--away from Ian and Lucy--thinking and crying about the idea that somebody--some child,  would have to die to save my son.    There's guilt in that somehow.  Like we'd be stealing some other family's happiness.

I got such an overwhelming feeling standing there naked.  Praying.  It was almost as if things were being explained to my mind.  What Ian was going through was a tangible, mortal example of the need for the atonement.  He needed someone to give him his life.  Just like we all needed  for someone to die so we could live--physically and spiritually.  

It was such a huge experience.  It should take up more space in words.  It should take longer to read than this.  It was so eye-opening, so moving for me--like my own personal parable.  I've thought of it every Easter since then.  I've tried to explain it to various people.  I don't think I ever explained it to Ian.  He taught me so much.  His life taught me so much.  His struggles and his triumphs taught me so much.  He wasn't perfect, but everything about him had meaning and message and substance.  If I got to meet the Savior, I'm sure that's how I would see him.  Reading and believing is great.  Knowing in your heart is great, but I look forward to seeing.

Standing on the Beach

They say that grief hits you in waves.  I think that's a pretty good description.  For the last 5 or so days my head has been under water and the salt has really stung the inside of my nose and mouth.  (Puffed up my eyes a little too.)  Today, however, I'm determined to look at the majesty of the great sea and run up further on the sand when I see the breakers.  It might get my toes, or even my ankles, but for this one day at least, I'm going to stay warm and dry.

Today is Good Friday.  I guess it's pretty ironic that today is the day I decide that death isn't going to engulf me.  Of course, if I think of Christ's death and why he submitted to it, there's a reason to be happy.  I was practicing a song this morning that I'm singing in church Sunday--hope I get through it.  It's called He Came for Us.  I think it's the most beautiful Easter song I've ever heard, so beautiful in fact, I volunteered to sing it.  Here are the words:

When Jesus Christ was on the earth so many years ago,
He taught our Heav'n-ly Father's plan for children here below.
He came for us;  He died for us--All to fulfill our Father's plan.
On Calvary, Gethsemane.  He sacrificed that we might live again.

Through parables, with simple words, He said,  "come, follow me,"
That we might now have joy on earth and live eternally.
He came for us;  He died for us--All to fulfill our Father's plan.
On Calvary, Gethsemane.  He sacrificed that we might live again.

That Easter morn, disciples ran to see where Jesus lay;
And there they saw a miracle:  The stone was rolled away!
He came for us;  He died for us--All to fulfill our Father's plan.
On Calvary, Gethsemane.  He sacrificed that we might live again.

The melody is gorgeous  so here's a link.  If I can play it, anybody can.

I will be with Ian again, because of Christ.  Keith and I will get to see what we have to believe right now--that he's touching as many people where he is as he did here.  That it was part a plan for him to leave us and that it's also part of that plan for us to go on.

There's Tobasco on My Heart

Okay, today is the real deal.  No pretending.  It's been bubbling up for days and it's time to let it out.  I didn't keep a journal for many years because I didn't want Ian to ever read it and know what was going on with me while all was going on with him.  I didn't ever want him to know the deepness of my despair or level of frustration when it was so minute compared to what he was faced with.  Now I'm writing on this blog and decided today not to hide it even if someday Lucy reads this post and is hurt by it.  I'll just say, up front, that I love her and everything I wrote about her yesterday is true, but...

I had such a horrible day yesterday.  Having to celebrate, even for my precious daughter, was painful beyond what I want to bear.  Everywhere we went, everything we did, everything I am is ruined because Ian isn't here.  I just want to wither away somewhere and move on to where he is.  No, I don't want to die and be away from Keith and Lucy and Mikey, but I don't want to pretend that this is living either.  I couldn't even pray to have fun yesterday or that we could all be happy because I don't want to move on--away from my son.  Lucy's day was just like a day at the temple--it's supposed to be better and more joyful than other days and it's worse.

We went to San Francisco by way of our favorite donut shop in Oakland.  Ian loved apple fritters.  Keith and Lucy both got one.  I'm sure, partly as a tribute to Ian.  I took one bite of one and got sad.  We drove through the Haight-Ashbury District with all the thrift stores and vintage shops and all I could think about was how much time Ian and I could spend going in and out of every store and finding the greatest stuff.  We went to Pier 39 and into a chocolate store.  They had Tabasco chocolates and I took a picture of them because it reminded me of when Ian was in charge of the combined activity at mutual and he did the Iron Chef.  The secret ingredient was Tabasco.  It was a great activity and he was so  proud of it.

We saw a poster of an old beat up VW bus and I thought of him driving.  Keith and I were sad to see the left-handed store was gone and I said,  "We don't  have a reason to go in it now anyway."  As we were coming home, we saw somebody in a Jason Varitek jersey headed for the BART station to go to Oakland for the A's/Red Sox game.  I cried in the car.  I lied when Lucy asked, but I was crying for my son.  She deserves a mom that's whole and I'm never going to be whole again.  I don't want to have Easter or my birthday or Mother's Day.  I never want to celebrate again.  And worse, I don't want that to change.  I don't want  it to get easier.  I don't want a callous to grow over the broken part of my heart.  That's the Ian part.  It's raw and inflamed and as long as I don't need to use it for anything--like feeling, I okay.

I still have a better life than most.  I know that.   I just know what it could be and isn't.

Lulu-Belle

Primping and Taking a Self-portrait

It's here. 4-19.  The day this house counts down for 364 days a year.  Happy 14 Lucy.  You're an amazing girl.  I love you.  I'm so thankful I get to be with you every day.  I get to see you learn and grow and make choices and figure things out. 

Please always be smart and safe and know that I want the best for you in a very long interesting life.  I wish we always saw eye to eye, but we'd probably find out that it would be boring.  I'm glad you have your own opinions.  Just know that mine are always right.

I have huge dreams for you Lucy.  I can see you studying and thriving in high school and college.  I can see you with my grandchildren.  I see you growing into the strong testimony that you have but are too cool to project.  I see you with your dad having special talks and a bond that will last forever.  I love you.
"Your Mom"--No, that isn't an insult phrase to your friends!

Keeping Valuables Safe

I don't have all the coolest new gadgets.  I'm lucky.  I don't even want most of them.  If my house was on fire and I only had 60 seconds to grab the things that were important to me, I wouldn't have to think very hard.  All I have of Ian is my memories.  I would grab photos and mementos that could remind me of every experience we ever had together.

That makes me think I should start writing down all the crazy, quirky, happy things we did together now.  That way, fire or no fire, I'll have lots of things to smile about when I don't feel much like smiling.

This photo was taken in May or June 1997.  This is Southwick's Zoo in Massachusetts.  Ian was not quite 3.  This giraffe reached right over and licked either Keith or Ian--I can't remember which.  It had the longest, blackest tongue ever.  This was the first  outing we took Lucy on.  I was so nervous and awkward even considering nursing her somewhere other than home.  Ian and I rode on an elephant. 

He couldn't say Lucy.  I can still hear him saying Doot-Seet.  Two distinct disconnected syllables.  These pictures make me smile.  They're more valuable than anything I've bought with money. 

Just Me

I don't know who I am.  I've been marinating on the idea for weeks now.  I thought about who or what other people think I am.  I thought about who I used to be.  I thought about who I want to be.  I even asked someone and they said, "You are a child of God."  I don't think she liked my response much.  I said, "How does that differentiate me from any other person on the planet?"

I told Keith, "I'm above average at nearly everything, but not outstanding at anything."  I'm stuck by that proverb that says something like Your true character is how you act when nobody is looking.  Well, when nobody is looking I can be lazy, sloppy, ornery, selfish, and a whole host of other things.  Truth is, I wonder who I would be if nobody ever looked.

Does everyone lose themselves in their forties?  Do they think whatever beauty they had is gone?  Do they realize  they've already forgotten half of what made them smart?  Do they wonder if they will ever amount to anything?  Probably.

I don't like some of who I am--mostly the parts that I see reflected back on me from my kids.  All the things they learned from me when I wasn't teaching.  The sarcasm and the disrespect.  That is all me.  The questioning everything.  The fault-finding.  Also me.

There are parts of me I sorta like.  I like that I have a hard time not telling the truth.  I like that I'm okay with taking responsibility when things don't go  perfectly.  I like that I don't give up on things. 

Maybe it's fine to want to be someone else part of the time, as long as I want to be me the other part.  If only I knew which.  Which me and which part of the time.

Surprise Ending

I came to a conclusion today.  This week I've eaten too much; watched too much TV and not gotten nearly enough accomplished.  Wah, wah, wah.  There is a bright side.  I didn't cry myself to sleep--not even once.  My boy will be home tomorrow.  My girl went back to school today.  She apologized for feeling better and needing to leave me alone.  That's pathetic huh?

My other boy is happy.  And while I'm glad he is, he should be happy here!  I expected this week to be an extremely deep valley, but it turned out to be a peak--knock on wood.  It's not over yet.  Thinking about missing Mikey, in a very weird way, eased the grief of missing Ian.  Distraction again.  I'll take what I can get, especially with Easter on the way.  I know, what holiday should make me happier than Easter?  Wait for it.  That will be a hard post to write--ghosts of Easter past.

Right now, as I was typing, right now, the camp just called.  "No emergency," she said,  "but Michael had a collision on the basketball court and got a bad bloody nose.  We iced it and he seems okay, but there's quite a bump.  I'm calling to give you the option of coming to get him and get x-rays."  I spared her the details of what happened the last time I got a call from a camp my son was at.

Keith said if it's broken and needs to be set, it can be set tomorrow.  So much for not crying myself to sleep. 

I Miss Mikey

I hope my baby is having a good time this week.  I've tried really hard to stay positive and be excited for him.  He was so enthusiastic about going to science camp.  I've had to consciously not think about him and hold to the idea that if I haven't heard anything, then he's doing great.  I hope I can keep it up.  I feel that it is a burden being made light for me.  I just can't think about it.

Lucy's been home from school for 3 days.  I haven't been alone at all.  That's probably good--even though I wish she was feeling better.  No real wit or message in this post.  No bit of wisdom.  Just mom missing her son--her sons.

What April Should Bring

It's April.  Spring.  Someone said to me yesterday,  "There's only six more weeks until the end of the school year."  There's yet another punch in the gut.  How could this school year possibly go this fast.  It started 7 days after we buried our child.  He could be almost finished with his sophomore year.

Something--I don't know what--triggered a thought tonight.  Ian should be going to Prom this month.  He should be wearing a tuxedo and patent leather shoes.  He should be matching a corsage to a dress.  I should be finding chores around the house for him to earn the money to pay for everything.  He should be a nervous wreck about how it will all go and I should be reassuring him that any girl that has him for a date is lucky.

There's no question of whether he would go or not.  He's wanted to date since he was five, kissing the girl named Megan in kindergarten.  Who knows, maybe his prom date would've been named Megan too.  I'm sure he would've convinced his best friend to double with him and they would've had the best time and the best laughs and the best memory stories to tell their kids about their prom.  The lucky girls would've been entertained  start to finish.

A couple weeks ago, I told my friend that Keith and I were looking at tombstones--shopping, and she said,  "It couldn't be as hard as shopping for a prom dress."  Although it hurt and gave me insight into how insensitive people can be, I didn't put it together with the idea that Ian would be preparing for prom right now too.  I didn't get to see him as a dating 16 year old.  But tonight, there it was--the loss of one more thing.  No prom.  No prom photos.  No getting him ready to go.  No talk about being a gentleman.  No waiting for him to come home.  No seeing his face as he tells me every detail.  No first kiss--since kindergarten.

Mikey's Room Redo

It's certainly not finished, but is really coming along.  Keith and Mikey hung the maps and the clocks.  That's why they are centered and leveled and straight.  I think they look amazing.  I did the lettering yesterday.  I remembered I had 2 alphabets of vinyl letters under my bed that I bought for another project years ago.  It was good he insisted on just "LA" and "DC". 

I moved the "headboard" in and ironed on the laminate trim around the front where we sawed off the former computer desk.  It stained well and nobody would ever know it hadn't always been a headboard.  I love the color of the walls now that we have some of the furniture in and I think the comforter and sheets he picked are perfect.  His telescope finally has the room it needed to look appropriate.

One of the most time consuming things was helping him build the models.  We did the Eiffel Tower, the Space Needle and the Westminster Castle.  They are definitely not for young children.  I wanted to get the Statue of Liberty too, but we'll see.  The other surprise is that we had to stop the clocks.  Even after messing with batteries and making all five tick in sync, it was sooo loud.  They look great though, right?

This is the wall opposite the bed.  The dresser is to the left of here, but it doesn't have knobs or accessories yet.  The is the only Nerf gun rack that I know of in existence.  I'm happy with the way it turned out.  I still need to touch up the black stripe on the moulding frame, but other than that it's done.  Keith mounted it for me on 2 pieces of hardwood 1x into the studs so that it would stick out far enough from the wall to be able to take the hooks in and out when Mikey wants to reconfigure.  My plan was to paint the outlines of the guns on it in black, but then we thought about how that would affect future purchases of new models and decided not to make it permanently labeled.

I took a bunch of photos while we were going along but I'm too lazy to do a real blog tutorial.  It wasn't very complicated.  They cut the  pegboard for me at Home Depot--3x5.  I bought the fake-wood moulding and mitered it and glued it on with liquid nails.  I  was going to use wood  pegs with screws from the back, but the power tool hooks were perfect and $1.99 a  piece, so I went that way.  TaDa.



I asked Mikey if he wanted a framed photo of Ian for his room and he said yes, but not one of them together because he didn't want to be sad every time he was in there.  He isn't anxious to move in.  I hope when he comes back from science camp next week and it's totally finished, he'll be ready.  We'll see.

My Debris Field

My day today was, well...  You know when you're driving on the freeway and you see something happen in front of you--something falls off a truck or there's a piece of tire or other debris--you know you're going to hit it and there's just nothing you can do.  That was my day.  I saw the darkness coming and I couldn't stop it.  I fought all day, but I couldn't avoid it.

I'm trying to prepare for Mikey to be gone to science camp next week. I got out the pair of Ian's hiking shoes he got the first time he went away to heart camp.  They fit perfectly.  I got the prescription filled.  I searched for infamous packing list--notice I didn't say I found it.   I honestly don't know if I can get through it.  I made Keith go get Lucy from a sleepover that went too long a few weeks ago because I couldn't stand not knowing where she was and whether she was okay for even one more second.  Having Mikey out of my care for 5 days has me bawling already.  I can't let him know how I'm feeling.  He's the kind of kid that would stay home for me.  I can't even sniff more that once and he's next to me hugging me asking if I'm okay.

I put the dresser in his room today and the new sheets on the bed last night.  The Nerf gun-rack is up.  It's almost ready.  It looks great.  It hurts.  It's supposed to be Ian's room.  It's not supposed to be new and fresh.  It's supposed to be old and familiar.  It's supposed to have comic books and Red Sox stuff in it.  I'm supposed to have 2 sons with bedrooms; 2 sons becoming more and more independent;  2 sons hugging me.

You know, in Driver's Ed. they try to prepare you and tell you how to handle every situation, even debris on the freeway.  There isn't anyone to prepare you for heartache.  There's no handbook or list of rules or even anyone next to you with an extra brake pedal for when things are really scary.

Mastering a Career

Today was the ordinary day.  I didn't do anything exciting.  I spent the morning putting things back where they belong in my kitchen after Lucy's April Fool pranks.  I didn't fix the leaky garbage disposal or start sanding Mikey's furniture.  I didn't take the car to the garage again for the millionth time or get the dog his rabies shot.  I didn't do any birthday shopping or find out what I need to buy to send to science camp. 
I didn't go to a prestigious office in a business suit or to a hospital in blue scrubs either.  I'm not a professional by the world's standards.  Some days I care about that.  Other days I think, wow, how many moms get to decide the day they find out they are pregnant that they will be home everyday of their child's life?  I am so blessed to have seen every accomplishment and success my son ever had.  I feel like it was such a privilege to be the parent that was "supposed" to be home.  Most of the time I think Keith would have done (still do) a better job at it, but it was given to me on a silver platter--a tarnished one--private joke.  Given to me to struggle with and try to master.  I would've mastered any other job a long time ago.

I don't think I begrudge other women whose path is different than mine.  I do, however begrudge women who think what I'm trying to master isn't enough.  Not long ago, I had an appointment with a doctor who I think is completely smitten with himself and I sat there and thought,  "I'm as smart as you.  I could be where you are if I had chosen it.  Don't talk down to me."  Maybe I have misplaced confidence, but I think that about most professions. 

I know, even in heels,
I wouldn't have the legs.

When I met Keith I had convinced myself it was going to be just me--no man, no kids.  I was going to wear the business suits and carry the calf-skin briefcase.  I was going to work on Madison Ave. in New York City and have an apartment with black lacquer furniture.  After I met him,  there wasn't even a question--husband, and family--way cooler than furniture that shows every fingerprint.

Last week we were in San Jose to visit the Winchester Mystery House and we wandered around a little afterward.  We ended up on the Rodeo Dr. of the Silicon Valley.  We saw career people sipping cocktails after work at the poshest of outdoor restaurants.  I just thought how glad I was not to be one of them.

My work will never be done around this house--inside or out.  I will never get a day without opportunities to screw up being a mom.  I see that with a new appreciation.  I hear things differently now.  I want more days not less.  Not that I didn't always think I had the best job, but there's a difference between believing something and knowing it.

Dips into the Memory Bank

General Conference was outstanding for me this weekend.  There were many things I needed to hear.  One thing that 2 speakers references that made me smile was:  "succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees."--D&C 35:5

Why would this make me smile? 
This is the subject of the talk given the first time I ever sat with Keith in church.  I have a precise recollection of it.  We were meeting in a science lecture hall at BYU.  There was a white board behind the speaker and the rows of chairs went up the stairs from where the podium was.  I wasn't expecting to sit with Keith that day.  We weren't dating or anything--we didn't date!  He was just my carpool buddy who I knew I would marry.  The reason I remember it so vividly is because the girl who gave the talk was someone Keith dated a time or 2 and she was staring at me the entire time.  You know the look.  That, what the heck? Who is that girl?  Why is he sitting there? look.

It also makes me smile because that same girl decided, after I left for Hong Kong, that Keith was destined to be with her and stalked him and his entire family for months and told everyone she was going to marry him.  It's funny that you can access that kind of memory during a general authority's talk, but so entertaining.

All In White



Ian's baptism day was really something.  The anticipation of it all caught up to him that morning and he refused to get dressed.  He was so nervous.  I had to send Keith upstairs to calm him down. 

Both sets of grandparents were in Texas for the big event.  He had chosen the special food for the occasion--roast pig and home-made root beer.  It was a stake baptism.  There were 6 or 8 kids getting baptized.  The font had a leak in it, so they make this big plan to baptize Ian last so the water level would be low enough for him.  He was sooo little.  I think the suit was a size 5. 

It was a hard day for me too.  He was so young for his age. How could he possibly be ready to be accountable?  It was  a dream come true that he made it to that day.  I  had been sure the Spirit had told me that he wouldn't.  Sometimes I think the years following that baptism were a special gift that we weren't supposed to have, but that God couldn't refuse giving it to us and to Ian.

Today was another special day. Keith helped Ian complete more ordinances.  I can only guess that Ian wasn't as scared this time--just excited.  His temple work is done.  After all the things I've wretched up on this blog, I would think I could write anything.  Not this.