Little Lessons Everywhere

One day I was sitting in my friend Julie's kitchen, watching her four-year-old through the window. Lauren was playing on the sidewalk when the sprinklers suddenly went on—she shrieked! Arms thrashing, feet slipping, she twisted blindly and howled for help.

"Just walk forward," her mom called through the window. We could see that she was only a few feet from relief, but her predicament was too overwhelming, and her wailing was too loud for her to hear. "Lauren! It's OK! Just walk!" Tears mixed with drops of water and ran down her cheeks while her older brother dashed outside to rescue her. He took her arm and steered her out of the spray.

She wiped her eyes and smiled up at her mom before she started skipping down the sidewalk. The whole traumatic episode had only taken a minute or two, and was forgotten immediately.

I can look back at times when I've been surprised by what seemed like a deluge. I've howled for help with such a racket that I've drowned out the quiet response, "It's OK, Marty, just walk forward." That's usually when someone shows up to walk with me a little way, and suddenly my tears are gone, and my path seems clear.

I love it when that happens.

Have you had a life lesson lately? Write it down!

A Grand Kid Day

Lucy, Jessi and Chloë make their Grand Entrance

Nothing is more fun than a day with grandkids! (I've had quite a few lately, and I know my stuff.) I took this trio to the Grand America in downtown Salt Lake City for the Grand Tour.

We started with brunch.

Pancakes with strawberries and cream cheese,

crepes with bananas and nutella ...

Hot chocolate with fluffy mounds of whipped cream ... "Can we go to La Bonne Vie after this?" they asked. The French bakery outside the Garden Cafe was filled with pastel macaroons and chocolate truffles and had caught their imaginations on the way in. "You don't have dessert after breakfast," I explained.

"But this is brunch!"

"Prepare for the bathroom of your life," Chloë told the others.

"We get our own little rooms, with chandeliers."

(It's a grand thing when toilets make such a splash.)

"Look at these old fashioned phones!" Jess exclaimed.

"Are they from the '90s?"

Cords, buttons, and even a dial—

"Where's the caller ID?"

The Grand Finale was a visit to Jou Jou,

a toy boutique in the hotel for grand kids.

"This is the ultimate doll house," Lucy said. It was standing next to a giant robot that told knock-knock jokes in a monotone robot voice, after it greeted us with:

"I-can't-give-a-high-five-but-I-can-say-hi-five-times ...

hi-hi-hi-hi-hi."

A grand piano was on the floor in front of organ pipes filled with brightly colored bubble gums. When the girls stepped on the keys the music started and so did the dance moves.

Making memories in grand proportions

There's nobody quite like grandkids. They love completely with no expectation except receiving love back. It's a forgiving, tolerant, accepting kind of love. They aren't trying to improve us, or change us. We're good enough. Who else loves us that way? They aren't embarrassed by us, and actually expect us to be a little eccentric, which gives us confidence to just be ourselves. All in all, it's just grand!

"And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children,

and the heart of the children to their fathers . . ."

—Malachi 4:6

Pondering Joy

An incredible experience began for me in February 2012 when I was called as Relief Society president. I thought I knew what to expect because I'd been a counselor in RS five times, but I was clueless. It's like becoming a mother—there's much more work than I ever imagined, much more time, but much more joy. I'm exhausted with joy.

I can't count the whispers of inspiration that fill my mind as I think about the women I'm responsible for. Early in the morning, when my normal self would be sound asleep, ideas wake me up. They don't drift through my thoughts like vanishing dreams, they come with details, gently but firmly, with enough time to write them down. Solutions come for problems I won't know about until later, impressions of who I should contact settle in my heart, and a sense of peace restores me: it's lovely.

I'm brimming over. In my old estrogen-filled days, tears relieved the pressure of abundant emotion, but I don't cry as easily as I used to. Instead I gush, brag and rhapsodize about my ward, my neighborhood, my presidency, my bishop. I am totally overwhelmed with love for the people around me. I want to always feel this way. A primary song keeps running through my head:

I feel my Savior's love in all the world around me,

His spirit whispers peace in everything I see.

He knows I will follow Him,

Give all my life to Him,

I feel my Savior's love, the love he freely gives me.

I can't begin to express my gratitude for this blessed time in my life. It is pure joy.

Little Lessons Everywhere

The other day I was sitting in my friend Julie's kitchen, watching her four-year-old through the window. Lauren was playing on the sidewalk when the sprinklers suddenly went on—she shrieked! Arms thrashing, feet slipping, she twisted blindly and howled for help.

"Just walk forward," her mom called through the window. We could see that she was only a few feet from relief, but her predicament was too overwhelming, and her wailing was too loud for her to hear. "Lauren! It's OK! Just walk!" Tears mixed with drops of water and ran down her cheeks while her older brother dashed outside to rescue her. He took her arm and steered her out of the spray.

She wiped her eyes and smiled up at her mom before she started skipping down the sidewalk. The whole traumatic episode had only taken a minute or two, and was forgotten immediately.

I can look back at times when I've been surprised by what seemed like a deluge (a year ago today.) I've howled for help with such a racket that I've drowned out the quiet response, "It's OK, Marty, just walk forward." That's usually when someone shows up to walk with me a little way, and suddenly my tears are gone, and my path seems clear.

I love it when that happens.

Have you had a life lesson lately? Write it down!

What Was She Thinking?

We become what we think about.

Fifty years from now our faces will reveal our secrets.

Heartache,

Heartbreak,

Delight,

Humor,

Kindness,

Imagination.

What do you think about? Sheri Dew (a woman with great wisdom) wrote, "Ultimately we become what we give our hearts to. We are shaped by what we desire and seek after. Fifty years from now we shouldn't be too surprised at what we have become. Our desires are what motivate us and we become what we set our hearts on. Our face will reflect who we are."

What do you want to look like when you're old?
Think about it.

Mitt is Impressive: Part Two

I was kind of relieved Mitt didn't mention me by name tonight when he thanked his team. It would have been overwhelming to have all those reporters calling, and intimidating to have all those new readers. Still, I'm glad the voters in Florida had my input.

Just in case the folks in the upcoming caucus states need more convincing, I have additional opining to do.

Mitt may be a gazillionaire, but he's not out of touch with regular life. In fact he may know more of the nitty-gritty than most of us.

His father, George, was born in Mexico, raised in humble circumstances and never graduated from college. He apprenticed as a lath and plaster carpenter and sold aluminum paint before beginning a career that brought him to the head of American Motors and then the governorship of Michigan. A self-made man, by the time Mitt was a teenager George was able to give his family the best of everything.

Mitt grew up in a ritzy neighborhood and attended private schools. When he got married at age 22, he didn't worry about getting a student loan or paying the pediatrician—but he knew and served people who did.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has a lay ministry. That means that everyone in the congregation has a responsibility to serve as a teacher, a youth leader, Relief Society president (our women's charitable organization) organist, blood drive coordinator, whatever.

The Bishop of the ward (congregation) prayerfully chooses people to serve in various capacities for a period of time (usually a couple of years) and calls (asks) them. I've been rotated through dozens of callings, from luncheon chairman, to nursery leader, to girl's camp director to newsletter editor. We get advice from people who have had the calling before us, study the church handbooks, pray for divine help, and learn on the job. It's a fabulous opportunity to build skills and confidence.

From the time they were married, Mitt and Ann Romney served in their ward like everyone else. When Mitt was thirty-four, the father of five young sons and just starting a highly demanding career, he was asked to be Mormon bishop. The fact that he was called speaks of his character and devotion to God. A bishop must be dependable, honest, trustworthy, true to his wife and generous with his time. He also needs a conviction that Jesus Christ is the son of God, and be willing to follow His teachings.

Being a bishop is a full-time job, without pay. Bishops visit and attend to the needs of single moms, widows, the poor, sick and elderly, and administer the church's social welfare program. They listen to problems and counsel members on everything imaginable: marriage, divorce, abortion, adoption, addiction, unemployment and even business disputes. The bishop directs staffing of ward organizations, supervises youth programs, attends activities, oversees finances, records, and building maintenance, teaches, conducts meetings, and trains others in their duties. Plus, he is the spiritual leader, the confessor and confidant, helping his flock change their ways and live Christ-like lives. A bishop does all this, but still keeps his full-time job and tries to be a devoted husband and father. It's tough, and totally impressive.

In Mitt's Boston ward he confronted anti-Mormon sentiment and worked to soothe relations in the community. He directed an outreach program to Hispanic, Portuguese and Southeast Asian converts, including Cambodian and Laotian refugees whose teenagers were joining the church in droves. “I had no idea people lived this way,” he told a counselor, after visiting poverty-stricken immigrants. When kids from his ward became involved with gangs, he went into those neighborhoods regularly, offering support and friendship. Parents came to him for advice.

He was highly motivated and “hands-on,” said a member of his ward. "If somebody’s roof leaked, Bishop Romney would show up with a ladder to fix it. I remember him picking butternut squash and yanking weeds on the church’s communal farm." He distributed that food to ward members in need. The LDS church has an employment program, and Mitt coordinated training and job interviews for people wanting to hire and be hired.

After a few years as bishop he was called as Boston's Stake President overseeing a region similar to a Roman Catholic diocese. That meant he was the clergyman, organization man and defender of the faith over several wards during a period of rapid growth.

Service on school boards or city councils, through charities or churches, benefits the whole community. Time spent with troubled kids (or keeping good kids from getting in trouble,) advising out-of-work parents, helping a couple adopt a baby—these qualify as civic contributions. Mitt Romney has been involved in public service his whole life.

Thirteen years of church leadership gave him vast experience with social, economic and moral dilemmas. He is sometimes seen as a flip-flopper because he doesn't express his beliefs in unequivocal soundbites. A person of compassion might have thoughtful reasons to see both sides of an issue. Here are three situations I know Mitt Romney faced:

• A young girl close to his family had an illegal abortion, and died because of it.
  
• A pregnant woman in his congregation had a life-threatening blood clot and was advised by one doctor to abort the baby to save her life. Another doctor said she didn't need the abortion, that both mother and baby could be saved.
• A married man he served with in the church confided that he was gay.

"A man who views the world at fifty the same way he did at twenty

has wasted thirty years of his life."
—Muhammad Ali

Mitt and Ann have raised five sons who carry on the Romney tradition. Having money does not guarantee character. (Think of the ultra-rich kids we see on TV and in the tabloids, the drug-addicted kids who are infamous for their bad behavior, adultery, broken families, and prison sentences.) Obviously the Romney's gave their children more than money could buy. It's short-sighted to look at money as their only inheritance.

Like every family, the Romneys have faced hardship: Ann was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1998, and more recently fought a battle with breast cancer. She credits her husband’s unwavering care and devotion in helping her through these ordeals.

I'm convinced that Mitt Romney is, and always has been a great man. He has balanced his life well, with generous service to God, family and community. I'm impressed.

There's even more to come ...

Mitt Romney Is Impressive

Mitt Romney

I am a life-long Democrat and a fan of President Obama, but I'd vote for Mitt Romney in a heartbeat. My respect for him supersedes party politics.

Politics is my sport—I listen to every debate, watch every pundit, read every stat. Over the years I've heard Mitt slammed for idiotic things, like perfect hair, ironed levis and stiff posture. "His sons are lined up behind him like they came from central casting," Chris Matthews says sarcastically. (Handsome, supportive sons are a reason we shouldn't vote for the guy?) "He's a flip-flopper," they say, and "He's too rich to identify with the rest of us." The Demos, the Repubs, they're all taking swings. I wish everybody knew what I know about Mitt Romney. This week I'm going to highlight some reasons I'm impressed.

He started well.

Lots of people are embarrassed by their youthful indiscretions. Fraternity parties, DUIs, free love, "I didn't inhale." It was the 60s—everybody was doing it. Well, not everybody. In 1966, at age nineteen, Mitt Romney chose to set aside his education and social life to be a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (the Mormons) for three years, at his own expense.

Mitt Romney and his father George

An LDS mission is not a gap year experience, or a semester abroad. Missionaries are not tourists. They live in humble apartments, can't own cars, date or go out with friends. They get up early, exercise, study for a couple of hours and are out the door by nine a.m. to discover what good they can do.

Although I didn't go on a mission myself, I know many hundreds of people who have, including my brother, my husband, four of my kids, all four of my sons-in-law, aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, dozens of friends, neighbors and church associates. I admire them all—it's an accomplishment.

Not just any member of our church can serve a mission. As a young man Mitt Romney had to qualify by living a certain way: no premarital sex, no drugs, alcohol or tobacco. He would have paid 10% of his income in tithing (from his allowance and part-time jobs) from early childhood.

LDS Tithing Slip

Members of the LDS church fast for 24 hours on the first Sunday of every month, and donate the money saved from those meals as a fast offering, which the Bishop of the ward (congregation) then distributes to needy families. Mitt would have paid this extra money, along with his tithing, throughout his teenage years, even though his parents would be paying it, too. We're taught from age three that charity is "the pure love of God," a quality we want to develop, and even little kids take satisfaction in contributing their nickels and dimes.

To be eligible for a mission, a person must attend church regularly. In addition to Priesthood Meeting, Sunday School and Sacrament Meeting on Sunday, Mitt attended weekly scout meetings and youth service activities. His father was the governor of Michigan, and Mitt attended private school, but he was treated like every kid in his ward. Church assignments included shoveling walks, raking leaves, cleaning the church, painting park benches, collecting clothing for charity, delivering food to the poor, helping people move, mowing lawns and lots more. I know this because it's the way every active Mormon grows up, and I was one. Many LDS kids think it's a privilege to serve as a missionary, and live to be worthy of the opportunity.

Elder Romney and his companion

Mitt went to France. In those days foreign speaking missions were three years and they learned the language on the job. The mission president (a mature man, responsible for about 100 missionaries) assigned him a companion—another young man who had been in France a few months longer—and the two of them knocked on doors and tried to convince French people to give up wine. They didn't have much success, and it was discouraging work.

LDS missionaries are sent primarily to teach people about Jesus Christ, and they do all sorts of things to exemplify Christ-like service. Because of their early training, they are comfortable helping folks with whatever needs to be done, whether it's cleaning a basement after a flood, or rebuilding a house after a tsunami. Missionaries develop tolerance and compassion for many different kinds of people of every religion, and Mitt served exceptionally. He learned to speak French fluently and developed a lifelong love of France and its culture, which enhanced his appreciation for other countries, and especially his own. He often defended the United States' involvement in Viet Nam and stood up for America.

A devastating accident changed his life while he was in France. Mitt was a passenger in a car with the mission president and his wife when their car was hit; the wife was killed. The mission president took a leave of absence to take her body home to the USA, have the funeral and grieve with his family, leaving 21-year-old Mitt and his companion in charge of the mission for an extended period.

During that time, Mitt was responsible for missionaries arriving, going home, and transferring within the mission; training new missionaries; motivating old ones; handling the daily problems of a hundred young men and women living in a foreign country. Humbled by his near-death experience, Mitt prayed to be equal to the challenge. He discovered innate leadership and organization skills, and developed great confidence in his abilities.

Mr. and Mrs. Mitt Romney

While Mitt was on his mission, Ann, his high-school girlfriend, joined the LDS church. She was attending BYU when he returned home to Michigan, so he followed her to Utah. They decided to get married ten days later, but waited three months to appease their parents. At age 22, Mitt Romney had the experience and courage to take on adult responsibilities. They got married March 21, 1969 and moved into a basement apartment.

Mitt Romney, young family Man

When Mitt graduated from BYU in 1971, they were already expecting their second son. In 1975 Mitt graduated cum laude from Harvard (in the top third of his class) with a joint law degree and MBA. By then they had three kids and Ann received her undergraduate degree that year, as well. I don't care how much money you have—you don't get four degrees and three kids in six years without a ton of hard work.

(They had two more sons by 1981.)

So—nothing humiliating, nothing disgraceful, nothing to cover up 43 years later. This is the story of how Mitt Romney spent the first ten years of his adulthood, from age 18 to 28. He definitely started well. And I think it's totally impressive.

(More of my impressions to come ... )

Is Blogging Dead?

Am I at a party that's turned into a wake?

Recently I've heard about blogging's demise ("Facebook and Twitter have taken over," they say. "Blog posts are too long to hold people's interest," they say.) So, I've been re-evaluating my blogging career. Are all the good blogging gigs being shipped overseas? Do I need to post in Mandarin?

I've come to a conclusion: Blogging as a fad is dead, blogging isn't. Here's why: A blog is a place to write, like a notebook or a billboard or a magazine or a postcard. It's also a virtual office, with file cabinets, display shelves, writing tools and folders for research. It's a creative space, like a photography workshop, a painting studio or a practice cubicle.

My mom had a big closet she turned into her sewing room. Pictures of the latest fashions hung on the walls, fabric was piled in colorful stacks, threads and bobbins perched on pegs. An ironing board leaned against a file cabinet stuffed with patterns and all sorts of sewing paraphernalia: measuring tapes, cutting wheels, rick-rack and bias tape. Mom was an organized and gifted seamstress, but this room would not have been featured in an issue of Where Women Create. Hers was a workshop. Pajama sleeves were in progress, along with mending projects and home-ec assignments. I'm sure Mom saw some spacious sewing rooms and compared them to hers. Maybe she envied new equipment, commissions for wedding gowns, time spent sitting at a Pfaff, accolades for talent. (I know for a fact her oldest daughter didn't give her the appreciation she deserved.) But shutting down her sewing room was not an option. It's where she did her sewing, where she stashed her sewing stuff. It was her creative space.

I visit other blogs, see how imaginative they are, how artistic and witty, count the advertisers who trust their skill, read comments by the dozen. What's the point of my daily meandering in this blogosphere of expertise? Who's reading it? Should readers even be the reason I write? I understand why bloggers are shutting down: their blog feels like a closet at the back of the house, and nobody cares what they're doing back there.

Thinking about blogs woke up my gratitude for this little place I've created. Stuffed in my blog are organized piles of my life's paraphernalia:

• Accounts of who I am, where I've been, where I'm going.
• Facts I'd tell a new friend.
• Facts old friends already know.
• How I've felt from day to day about my experiences.
• What I've learned from them.
• What I want to remember.
• Talents I'm discovering and plans for using them.
• Advice I can't share any other way.
• What I'd tell my psychiatrist.
• Hidden jewels from my childhood.
• A written record of our family.
• My knowledge of truths about God.
• A collection of my anecdotes.
• Stories about my ancestors.
• Trip diaries.
• Lists of goals.

I could go on and on, (and if you check my archives, you'll see I have.) These are the Brass Plates of Oma: my anthology is available to my posterity forevermore. It's already an organized resource for pioneer stories, family factoids, photos, vacation memories, tips, dates, names and lesson materials. Sure, it's rambling, boring, full of too much information, but so is every library. Workshops have dust and wood chips laying around, but does that make the furniture any less valuable? My blog—your blog—is a treasure house.

Oma's Blog Boosters

1. Don't compare my blog to others. I'm unique and so are they.
2. Don't judge the success of my blog by the numbers.
3. Tour my blog occasionally to see what gems I've collected.
4. Take a break from writing when I need to. (Who cares, really??) It'll still be there when I come back.
5. When my blog feels like a nag, set it aside, but don't question it's value.

My blog is a place where I gather, assemble, evaluate, ponder, wonder, brag, whine, remember, worry, chat, work, organize, practice and learn. It's mine.

As a blogger, I boldly declare: Blogging is Not Dead. Blogging is a living, breathing, vital pursuit, dedicated to enlightening the past, energizing the present, and enriching the future.

Set Your Own Pace!

"Is there really a human race? Is it going on now, all over the place?"

—Jamie Lee Curtis

At twenty I started out at my own steady pace.

At thirty I ran faster. I was losing face.

At forty I stumbled late in the day.

At fifty the finish line seemed further away.

At sixty I wonder:
How long is this race, anyway?

Do you ever feel you're running faster than you can?

Years ago a well-meaning teacher set a goal for herself and included the whole class in her challenge. She was going to do a good deed, something extra, outside her normal responsibilities, every day. Each week she passed around a sheet to sign if we'd met the goal, which even included a place to record how many "service hours" we'd given. I was totally caught up in what became a contest to be "the most charitable woman."

Looking back I realize how nutty this was. I had a husband, seven kids and a dog at home who needed to be fed. Bedraggled plants begged for water from their macrame hangers; the dryer beeped endlessly; the closets glared messily, all calling for my attention. Teenagers sat in class every Sunday expecting a lesson, and great-grandmas called, wondering when I was coming to visit. Birthday cakes, haircuts, ear-aches, dance lessons, science projects—none of these counted as good deeds. They were my normal responsibilities.

Although I was running as fast as I could go, I felt like a failure because my to-do list left good deed unchecked more often than not. When the weekly sign-up sheet came around to me, I was embarrassed to pass it on, knowing I looked pretty uncharitable with my meager service hours.

Years later I was in a class on budgeting. The teacher cautioned us about living beyond our means—spending more than we had. Suddenly it dawned on me: I have 24 hours a day. Circumstances already claimed most of them. Setting goals with time I don't have is living beyond my means. One woman's finish line had become my stumbling block.

Misty wrote a cute post about her New Year's Resolutions, reflecting on the baby books she hasn't started since her twins were born. But how many baths has she given? How many late nights and early mornings has she put in? She probably doesn't even have time to count the appointments to the obstetrician, and then the pediatrician, that have kept her kids healthy. Misty's running a different race right now, pushing a triple jogging stroller at full speed.

Don't despair young moms. Someday your course will lead back to your baby books. In the meantime, give yourself a breather, and skip once in a while.

There's no human race. The run itself is the pay.

(Where am I going in such a rush, anyway?)

Be a Star!

Heroes at Reunion, 1983

Have you ever stopped to count the people in your audience? There's lots of admirers watching your performance in life, and you're pleasing a lot of folks. Did you do a bit of good in the world today? Did you cheer someone up? Did you lift someone out of their doldrums for even a minute? The shouts and clapping might be silent to your ears, but they're happening just the same. Look around at YOUR audience. You've got some fans! Give them your best.

Marriage: What Brings Us Together

"Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday.
Mawage, that bwessed awangment,
that dweam wifin a dweam . . .

wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva . . .

So tweasure your wuv."

I love being married. Last week we were talking to a Social Security guy over the phone (Helen and Morty style: both of us on the line) and he asked, "How long have you been married." "Forty-two years," I said. "To the same person???" "Yes," we said together. "Forty-two years!" he gasped. "God bless you!" Then after a pause he continued, "You must be experts at it. What are your secrets?"

I have learned a lot about marriage over these past four decades and I'm going to share some marital secrets.

"Mawage is wot bwings us togeder." Dee and I stick together. Our first hours together were spent walking and talking. That's literally all we did during our courtship. We met as students on a semester abroad in Salzburg, Austria—no money, no car, no TV, no friends, no family, no place to make-out—we just talked. Quickly we became friends, best friends, and we wanted to officially become bff.

That's a secret: talk. After we were back home with a job, a car, TV, friends, and family there was competition for our talking time. And finally we had someplace to make-out, so babies started coming and the din in our tiny trailer made chatting a challenge. But we've kept talking to each other (about anything and everything, all the time) a high priority.

And the bff thing? Another secret. Best friends don't blab about each others faults, frailties, foibles or flaws. They're loyal. I'm certainly not perfect at this but I must be nearly perfect, because lots of folks think Dee is perfect! (I'll leave it at that.) It's not a totally selfless thing to speak highly of my husband: I think it makes me look better to be married to an awesome guy. Why would I tattle on his quirks and make myself look like an idiot to be hooked up with him? When I do talk about his eccentricities, I try to do it with love and humor, because that's the way I decided to feel about them. (I see it as a choice.)

Beauty experts say to focus on the good stuff to take attention away from the bad stuff. If your eyes are pretty, play them up to take attention away from your double chin. If your ears are huge, don't wear huge earrings, and if your hands are expressive wear rings and bracelets. When you're looking for beauty in your spouse, don't focus on the warts! I don't want Dee looking me over with a magnifying glass—"Hmmm, you spilled coke in your car again . . . I still don't have any clean towels . . . you deleted BEAR GRILLS???" I love it when he says, "I'll make my own dinner. Just keep putting stickers on the grandkid packages. That's the important stuff." He compliments me and I compliment him on our tiny, unique attempts to improve the world, and we both feel good about ourselves. Which makes us feel good about each other.

So what are you thinking right this second? Are you thinking, "My husband NEVER does that. If he'd just change, our marriage would be happy." Or are you thinking, "I ought to do that. If I changed, maybe our marriage would be happy." I've learned that I can't change Dee. Trying makes me miserable—it focuses all my energy in a negative direction. The ONLY person in the whole world I can change is myself, and doing that focuses me in a positive direction.

If my marriage needs more empathy, I can provide that empathy—towards him. If my marriage needs more fun, I need to become more fun to be with. If my marriage needs more forgiveness, I can forgive. If my marriage has too much stubbornness, I can eliminate mine and there won't be as much. When my marriage is stagnant, I need to get out of my doldrums and become interested and interesting. It will be at least 50% better when I make a change.

The "bwessed awangment, this dweam wifin a dweam" sometimes becomes a nightmare. Having interests and hobbies in common, dating for years, living together first . . . none of these things can prepare couples for marriage. Marriage is life, and life is unexpected. You can't practice it first—you learn it together. Couples I know have lost jobs, children, houses, health, money, limbs, eyesight, hearing . . . they weren't ready for these nightmares to snuff out their dreams. But every one of the couples I'm thinking of learned how to be happy again. New characteristics were developed individually; they supported each other as they each learned to live with broken hearts, and then learned how to be a couple again. Being willing to learn is the definition of humility. Marriage is a continuing education that demands humility.

Buttercup's pastor said, "wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva . . ." I disagree with this part. Love is not a noun (person, place or thing) that follows you around, whimsically disappears and shows up somewhere else. Love is a verb, an action word; it's something you DO. That's why people say marriage is work. It takes effort, energy, enthusiasm—it's an endeavor. Think of something you're proud of in life: graduating, raising your kids, running a marathon, growing your bangs out, whatever. It took time and patience, you got discouraged, it was the pits, you thought you'd never make it, but you did. The reason you're proud of that accomplishment is because it was hard. A happy marriage is hard—fun and hard—and it's my proudest accomplishment.

"Tweasure your wuv," the wise old man said. Definitions for treasure are: value greatly, prize highly, hold dear, adore, cherish. To be happy in marriage, I've learned to value, prize, adore and cherish not only my husband, but the marriage itself—our couple-ness. When I'm making a decision, I often boil it down to Will this strengthen my marriage or be divisive? Since my marriage is my top priority, the choice is usually clear, even though it involves a sacrifice. (Secret: don't expect gratitude when you make a sacrifice. Most of the time, nobody even notices you made it. Just revel in the fact that you're becoming a wonderful person.)

Like I said before, I love being married. In fact, we've just moved in together full-time! Dee's office is now in the loft above mine and we can hear each other think. It's not a 24/7 situation—we still have places to go and people to see, but it's fun calling up to him with a geography question and have him ask me how to spell something. We're still learning from each other and about each other. That's our secret.

"wuv, twu wuv . . ."

Divine Designs

Heidi and Chelsea play Cat's Cradle 2011 Campout

Life is like Cat's Cradle—predictable and fun for a while, then suddenly everything gets tangled, impossible to figure out. Onlookers stand around saying, "Grab that string," "Take hold of it with your thumb," "Pull it the other way," but it looks like total confusion from your angle. Miraculously, it all shakes out and you can start over fresh.

We started our summer with a familiar design.

Two months later it's way more complicated, but more interesting, too. Have you ever noticed that something can start out as a problem and end up as a solution? We've had it happen several times.

1. A terrifying asthma attack (in a foxhole) put Dee in the hospital for a week, but kept him out of Viet Nam.
   
2. We put money down on a perfect house, then felt compelled to cancel the deal and buy an imperfect house. Three of our daughters met their husbands because we lived there.
3. A miserable assignment a few years ago taught me computer skills I would never have learned otherwise.
4. Job disappointments kept us available and we were able to move to England for a life-changing year.
5. The diagnosis of cancer has twisted our life in an unexpected new direction. Huge new financial concerns convinced us to move (after ten years of saying we'd never move) and new opportunities have opened up.
   

God sets solutions in motion before we are even aware of our problems. Even though I know this, when a new challenge comes along, I get very specific in my requests, certain I know best. "Please bless me this way," I pray. When the answer comes from a different direction, I might not recognize it, and sometimes it looks like a whole new problem.

Looking backwards I know the Lord designs solutions better than I do, so why does my faith falter when I look ahead?

Miraculously I see a pattern emerging, and it looks exciting!


Has life got designs on you?
Share!

Have you had a problem that became a solution?
Share!

Being a Mother

Our family, 1970.

My biggest fear as a little girl was that I'd die before I had kids—I could hardly wait to be a mom. My dream came true July 11, 1970.

Gabi was whisked away to an incubator right after she was born (breach) and I didn't get to see her until she was four hours old. When the nurses wheeled six infants into the hospital ward (babies stayed in the nursery in those days) mine was the only one crying. The other five mothers were skilled at cuddling and nursing, and I imagined their criticism as I tried to quiet my newborn's wails. It was stressful, feeding did not go well, and I was exhausted and relieved when they took her away.

Nowadays new moms jump out of bed and go home hours after delivery, but forty-one years ago we were wimps. We stayed in the hospital three or four days, and a nurse had to walk us to the bathroom or the sitzbath down the hall. Every four hours they brought my hysterical child; I began to dread it. Motherhood was much harder than I'd imagined. Then we had to go home.

On my own, I panicked. I wondered why anyone thought I could be left alone with a baby—I didn't know what to do! Wasn't inexperience a form of child abuse? Gabi cried all the time and so did I. When she was a week old I realized I'd never even said a prayer to be thankful for her, and (I'll admit it now) I wasn't sure I was. The whole thing was so overwhelming, so demanding and so constant.

When I told this story to a friend years later, she asked, "How old were you?" "Twenty," I said. "No wonder," she said. "I felt the same way and I was almost thirty." She went on, "I should have waited a few more years. I just wasn't ready."

I'm so glad I didn't wait until I was ready. How would I get ready anyway? It would be like taking swimming lessons without any water: treading water was just a concept until the day I was in the pool and couldn't touch the bottom. Panic was my first reaction, and I floundered and went under. But then I came back up and discovered I could stay afloat. I learned to relax, and little by little the constant movement of my arms and legs felt natural and routine. That's how motherhood happened for me, too. I needed to be in the experience.

Our family, July 1982

Even as it was happening, I could see that Gabi was teaching me how to be a mother. Now, in retrospect, I am convinced that's the way it was meant to happen. If I'd waited until I was ready, I'd still be waiting. Happily, it didn't occur to me to wait for anybody, in fact I could hardly wait for them to arrive. They were already my life's work.

I chose motherhood as my career. It was never something I fit in around the edges of my life—it was my life. Like with any career, my early days on the job were daunting, and I wondered if I could really do it. Like with any career, there were times when I felt overworked and undervalued. I got tired of the uniform, the cafeteria and the people I worked with. Who doesn't? But thirty years later I retired with competence, experience and full benefits.

Fifteen of our twenty grands, July 2011

This summer has been full of benefits—we've had fun times with all our kids and grandkids, and appreciated them more than ever. This is what I believe—I believe I knew this group in heaven before I was born and had to leave them behind when I came to earth. The yearning I felt to be a mom was because I missed being with them, so I was compelled to get them all here as fast as I could. In that respect, I was totally ready.

I'm offering a prayer of thanksgiving now. I thankful to be a mother.