Press forward with faith

The Donkey and the Cart

2011-02-03T11:34:00.000-08:00

I found this picture somewhere in my browsing travels and realized that it is a perfect metaphor for how I am feeling about this healing journey that I am on. I am the donkey and the Cart is my life. I had some items in my Cart, but I was pulling the weight okay and thought that things were going along pretty good. Then one by one more and more items got stacked on, i.e., low red blood platelets, bone marrow biopsy, two separate lymph node biopsy surgeries, the final diagnosis, the treatment protocol, being quarantined, and so on. Now, here I am hardly able to get/keep my feet on the ground.

What keeps me going is that I know that one by one the weight will be taken off, i.e., I have one treatment in the series of eight treatments done. A little weight is gone, and I have faith that the weight will continue to be whittled down, until I am no longer feeling challenged to the limit of my endurance.

Gloria

Today Is Good

2011-02-02T07:17:00.000-08:00

On the whole, I am getting along very well. Oh, I have moments of feeling quite like me, some moments of feeling like heck, moments of sheer weakness, moments of questioning whether what is going on with me is normal or what, moments when I think I won't live through this six months of treatment, and lots of moments when I'm sure that I will survive this six months of treatment. It is more or less a rough, bumpy, roller coaster ride and I am hanging on.

Today I saw the sweetest YouTube presentation. If I can I want to add it for your enjoyment. It made me laugh and gave me hope:

Gloria

Non-Hodgkins Follicular Lymphoma

2011-01-26T12:56:00.000-08:00

That is the diagnosis that I finally received on January 13, 2011. Treatment began on January 21, 2011. I have been told that it is very treatable. I am calm, for I know that it is all in the hands of my Heavenly Father. He is watching over me, and for that I am so very grateful.

My journey began when I received a call from my doctor on August 4, 2010. He said my red blood platelets (that facilitate clotting after being injured) were very low. He said they stood at 29,000 when the lowest of the normal range is 150,000, and he wanted me to see a Hematologist. I was feeling well, and had none of the symptoms they asked me about, such as fevers, unexplained weight loss, night sweats, low energy, etc.

After a CT scan they wanted to do a bone marrow biopsy and an axillary (lymph node under the arm) biopsy, but they showed nothing, and the rule-out diagnosis became ITP (Idiopathic Thrombocytopenic Purpura). I thought I had been snatched from Chemotherapy Hell and I was ridiculously happy.

However, as time went on and I went back in for follow-up checkups, it was evident that something was going on. The lymph nodes in my neck were swollen; when I looked in the mirrow I could see them. I was concerned and the doctors were concerned. So the next step was a PET/CT Scan (that is a story all by itself). The results called for another lymph node biopsy, this time from the groin area.

I was just praying to know the truth. So when I got the word, I was grateful. Now we all knew just who (or what) the enemy was and we could proceed to do something about it.

I have to tell you this about myself: I don't like drugs and I don't take them; well, I didn't take them until now. The day of my first treatment, my daughter observed that I probably had been given more drugs that I had taken in the last forty years. My family were surprised that I allowed myself to do chemotherapy; fact is, I have been quite surprised myself. I prayed long and hard about my options, and I feel that this is the way the Lord wants me to go. I have received many confirmations that this is so.

We never know what is around the corner. We never know just what unexpected event is going to change the course of our life. Just know that the unexpected is inevitable, and as my blog title says: Press forward with faith.

I hope to give a little running update on how things are going with me on this blog. I'm not sure it will be all that scintillating, since I am to keep myself in a mostly-quaranteed state, since I have little or no immune system and it is winter. I am receiving shots of antibodies every day for ten days after each cycle to build up my immune system, but it is winter and the bugs and yes, even the super bugs are on the loose. That is probably going to be my greatest challenge. It is my hope that I can yet remain useful during this quiet, contemplative time of my life.

Gloria

Confessions of a Delinquent Blogger

2010-11-20T15:55:00.000-08:00

I knew it had been a long while since I have posted, but was surprised to see it has been almost a year. So much has happened in that year's time. I went on a cruise to Alaska the last of May 2010. I also experienced a health crisis journey, which was humbling. I want to tell these stories because there were miracles that happened and they need to be recorded. May I just express my deep and abiding gratitude for the miracles that happen daily in my life.

I am thinking that it would be good if I could blog at least weekly and talk about what happened during the week--sort of a journal type of thing.

Right now, I am interested in preserving for myself and anyone else who might be interested a video made by the Lion House (Salt Lake City) about how to make pie crust. Right now I have four commercially made pie crusts in my freezer in preparation for Thanksgiving. I quit making my own crust because no one seemed to eat it. My family loves the banana cream and/or coconut cream pies I make with my microwave version of my Mom's Standard cream filling. But, who knows, I may try this Lion House recipe along with implementing the preparation tips for our Christmas celebration.

Here's the video (if it works):

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

Gloria

It's About Time

2009-11-25T13:49:00.000-08:00

I have been delinquent from posting to my blog for far too long. Summer has passed into the history books and fall is swiftly passing away as well. I am having a hard time accepting the fact that November is waning and that December is on the horizon.

I get upset with the way the government is being run these days. I am embarrassed that the president of our great country bows and scrapes to leaders of other nations. Not only that, he apologizes to them for our country being a success. However, he is trying to change all that by destroying everything that has made this country great. He is circumventing the Constitution every chance he gets. The change he promised is not one that I embrace.

I wanted this blog to be positive and so I have felt no incentive to come here and write. But I realize that there is still much to write about that is positive in this country. So, I will once again strive to find that which is good and of worth to discuss on this blog.

I will begin by enumerating some of the things for which I would like to express my gratitude. Mind you, this is only a partial list and everytime I actively think about the blessings that we have been granted my list grows. These are some of the things for which I am so very grateful:

1. My Life and the joy that is mine
2. The Gospel and my testimony of its truthfulness
3. The Scriptures and what we can learn from them
4. The privilege of being able to commune with the Lord
5. The joy of having prayers answered
6. A living prophet and all the brethren who serve with him
7. The freedom we have in this country
8. My husband, Wally
9. Our children and their good circumstances and the love we have for them
10. Our grandchildren and the love that is between us
11. Our home, neighborhood, good friends, and the beauty that surrounds us
12. The love and harmony we have in our home
13. Our comfortable financial circumstances
14. Opportunities to serve
15. Our health and strength
16. The ability to do things to increase our health

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

Gloria

Farewell to our Tree

2009-06-06T15:29:00.000-07:00

Forty three years ago we moved into our home, not realizing it was not only our starter home but was to be our final destination. About ten years ago some neighbors and friends who live closeby decided to sell their home. They put it up for sale, it sold, and they went out house hunting. After a few days of that, they changed their minds and cancelled the sale of their home. They felt they were money ahead staying put and remodeling their current home insteading of starting over. But I digress, this is, after all, a post about our tree.

When we moved in, our tree was just a sapling, there was no lawn in the back yard, and no fence. The tree grew through the years. Our children loved that tree because they loved to climb it, or sit in it, and we loved the shade it provided.

But then it started dying. Several times during the last few years, we have had arborists come in and trim off the dead branches. We hoped it would help, but sadly it didn't. Every time the wind would blow, our yard would be littered with branches from the tree, large and small.

Now my dear husband is a practical man. He got a little weary, maybe even a lot weary of picking up those branches every time he had to mow the lawn, which is weekly in the summer. So he felt the time had come this year to take the tree out.

So I took pictures of the before, during and after. I didn't realize how sad I would feel to see this tree come down. Our tree was a landmark and I miss it.

I wish we had just had all the branches trimmed and just left it there. I took a picture of a home where they did that very thing, hanging interesting little bird houses from it. You know what they say about hindsight. It seems to be pretty perfect vision, after it is too late.

This is a sad sight to see

I wish I had thought of doing this before the tree came down

This is a great example to apply to our lives. It seems that many of us have this distorted idea of perfection. If something isn't perfect, then out it goes. Our negative opinions about ourselves keep us blind to the good in ourselves and in others around us. We look in the mirror and think (and yes even say) naughty things to ourselves. The more we do this to ourselves and even to those around us (especially the ones we love the most), the more unhappy we are.

We need to take the gifts the Lord has given us and make them shine, instead of hiding behind the lack of perfection we see around us. Folks, not one of us is perfect, so we need to get over it.

We must accept ourselves as we are and make the best of what we can be, instead of turning our backs and trying to forget about the whole process. For example, we can't remove extra pounds just by calling someone and having them lopped off, so we mentally "put ourselves down." Why can't we just accept ourselves, like the tree that was changed to hold the bird feeders. Yes, it takes time to make changes in ourselves, but we can make small changes. If we can't ever be a beautiful, thin model-type person, we can lose a few pounds and feel more comfortable.

The tree stump is my touch stone. When I see it, I'm going to work harder at accepting who I am and what I can accomplish while I am here in this life. That is what is the most important thing to remember.

Maybe I'm not making sense to you and maybe I'm not articulating it quite correctly, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Gloria

Feeling Better

2009-06-02T11:58:00.001-07:00

I've had bronchitis for the last week. Half of that time I thought I was going to win over it. I was taking some GSE drops several times a day and just kept going. Well, last Thursday it sneaked up on me and body slammed me. I knew I was in over my head and that I had to see a doctor.

Now I knew if I saw a doctor, he would prescribe antibiotics. I hate to take antibiotics because they mess with my digestive system, but there comes a time when you have to assist the body and so you do it. I had kept telling my husband that I would go to the doctor Monday if I wasn't better. However, Friday I was so miserable, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could not put it off. Of course, my family doctor was all booked up so I took myself into Insta Care.

And just as I predicted, I got the prescription for antibiotics and cough syrup. Sunday night, after listening to me cough my sox off, my husband commented that I would never have made it to Monday before seeing a doctor. He was right. I probably was heading toward pneumonia and would have arrived soon enough without intervention. Bronchitis is bad enough. I hate the wheezing.

I'm feeling better now, although if I talk much I start coughing my sox off. So for now I guess I need to be quiet and let my fingers do the talking.

Gloria

Bird Watching Made Easy

2009-05-18T10:06:00.000-07:00

I "borrowed" this link from here and have enjoyed watching the live cam as well as the archived files that show the adult Peregrin (I guess it's the father) feed the little hatchling some food. Watch it--it's delightful.

http://www2.fiberpipe.net/falconcam/live.asp

Gloria

Sunday Thoughts

2009-05-17T16:12:00.000-07:00

Principles are anchors of safety. They are like the steel anchors a mountaineer uses to conquer otherwise impossible cliffs. They will help you have confidence in new and unfamiliar circumstances. They will provide you protection in life’s storms of adversity . . . The productive power of correct principles can make your life a joyous, satisfying experience.

~ Elder Richard G. Scott ~

We are navigating through times in our Country the likes of which we have never seen before. We have politicians who twist the truth into something unrecognizable. They say one thing to placate the masses and then do another to please themselves and/or to further their “careers.” The one thing we can do in these turbulent times is to hold to correct principles. The important thing is to stay close to the Lord and follow His path, striving with all the energy of our hearts to be like Him. If we do this we will triumph.

Consider This Quote

2009-05-16T17:00:00.000-07:00

"You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich.

You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong.

You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift.

You cannot lift the wage earner up by pulling the wage payer down.

You cannot further the brotherhood of man by inciting class hatred.

You cannot build character and courage by taking away people's initiative and independence.

You cannot help people permanently by doing for them, what they could and should do for themselves."

~ William J. H. Boetcker ~

(This is a quote made famous by Abraham Lincoln)

I found this quote here and felt it was something that we should consider as we look around at the chaos our beloved Country is experiencing. I feel that we must let our representatives know how we feel and be consistent in that contact with them.

Gloria

The Amazing Tomato Plant

2009-05-15T08:09:00.000-07:00

Last fall our neighbor's soon-to-be daughter-in-law discovered a little seedling bravely growing in the drain of the bathroom sink. The family speculated on how it came to be there, and decided that it must have been deposited there in the drain by someone as they were brushing their teeth. They didn't even know what kind of a seedling it was, but on a lark their son carefully fished it out of the drain and planted it in its own pot. He placed the pot in a window with a southern exposure, watered that brave little seedling and waited.

It soon became evident that it was a tomato plant. Well, that brave little tomato plant liked that pot and that new home and it began to grow. Well, actually it thrived. Eventually, it set out blossoms, which the family fertilized with a gentle squeeze of each little blossom. Soon those blossoms dropped off to reveal tiny little tomatoes.

Along about the first part of April they picked and consumed the first two full grown, ripe tomatoes. Now the third is beginning to turn a lighter green. So, the contest of who in this neck of the woods will eat the first, ripe tomato of the 2009 growing season has already been won.

The tomato plant has now been given a new home out in the garden. It's not as warm and cozy there, and at times it has been downright cold (read almost freezing). The wind blows and so the plant has had to endure some buffetings. At first it suffered a little shock and it looked a little bleak for this plant. In fact, it looked like it might just give up and die.

But no, that plant rallied, took hold, and now it continues to thrive and grow. All season long, I'm sure it will provide those luscious red, ripe tomatoes that we all love to eat.

This just proves that no matter where we are planted, we can grow and achieve the measure of our creation. In the beginning, I suppose that little seed could have just gone "with the flow" (pun intended) and just wash down the drain into oblivion, but it didn't. We need to be like that little seed and seedling. No matter what is happening around us, we can keep having faith in our Heavenly Father and in ourselves and keep on striving.

Just like the plant, when our life suddenly changes and we find ourselves suddenly "transplanted" into some hardships and trials, we can again be like the tomato plant and just dig in and adapt and continue to grow. In the end we can be winners, just like the tomato plant--growing, serving, and striving to be the best we can be.

Gloria

Remembering

2009-05-14T21:50:00.000-07:00

Some years ago, while I was still employed as a secretary, I came down with a very bad cold. The cold progressed and settled in and around my vocal cords--otherwise known as laryngitis. It was awful. It was probably about the worse case of laryngitis I had ever had for I could make no sound--only whisper.

Of course, I stayed home from work to nurse my cold and take care of my throat. During the course of the day, the telephone rang and forgetting that I couldn't talk, I picked up the phone. Then I realized I had to "say" something, so I whispered as loudly as I could "hello!" The masculine voice on the other end asked for someone I did not know. Again I whispered, "I'm sorry, you have a wrong number."

Then came the question that warmed my heart. He queried, "Are you all right?" I'm not certain what he conjured up in his imagination. Was I whispering because I was hiding and didn't want to give myself away, or because I was in trouble of some kind, or .... well, use your imagination. I explained in my best whisper that I had lost my voice. He wished me well and apologized for bothering me.

That memory came up yesterday as my sister was telling me about her bout of laryngitis. I will always remember the concern of a stranger on the telephone. There are many good and caring people in the world.

Gloria

A New Leaf

2009-05-13T11:12:00.000-07:00

I don't know just why I put off updating my blog. I have great ideas. I take the pictures and upload them to my computer. And that's where it ends.

I can't figure out why I have such a resistance. I love to write. I want to keep a journal, and this is the best way in the world to do it. The only thing I have been able to come up with is that I want each post to be perfect. That means, I write it in Word and check it over and revise it a time or two, and then look it over again to make sure, then at last I feel I can post it. All that doing takes time and so the days slide by and nothing gets added.

So I decided that I would just write something each day, or at least a few times a week. I decided I would just write like I was updating a good friend or family member on what's going on in our lives. If I make a mistake, well, so be it.

Anyway, that's the plan. Wish me luck, won't you?

Gloria

I'm Ready for Spring

2009-04-05T16:21:00.001-07:00

It's still cold here, but I find it is easier to find things to be grateful for instead of ranting and railing about the weather. I am grateful for a warm home, a good car (with a heater), for coats and sweaters, and the blue skies I can see today. The water picture is getting better and better and the cool weather helps. I am just hoping it gradually warms up, rather than going from cold to hot a in a couple of days.

I have always been a summer person. Yes, I get hot in the summer, but I seem to endure the heat better than I do the cold.

I am anxious to enlarge our garden. Our garden occupies a small corner of our yard and the grass keeps encroaching upon it. Each year the garden has gotten smaller and smaller. We spent a year and a half in Brazil and so there was no garden for those three years--the year we left, the year we were there, and the year after our return. The grass took advantage of us, so we need a plow--our tiller is just too wimpy to cut through the grass efficiently.

I love spring and watching the growing things come back to life.

Gloria

Global Warming? I Don’t Think So!

2009-03-09T20:51:00.000-07:00

This is our backyard and it was clear full of snow. Since this is the north side of our home, we still had a good portion of snow left from the huge 17 Feb snowstorm.

I don’t know how the weather is in your neck of the woods, but it has been quite a winter here. As I have noted in the news, there are many parts of this world that are experiencing some unusually cold, ferocious, wet weather.

I googled on the internet to see what information I could find about weather patterns. I found an interesting article from The American Thinker Website. Here are some excerpts from that article about the lack of sunspots and its effect on our weather:

Author: Thomas Lifson

“There is some serious evidence accumulating that we may be on the brink of not just global cooling, but an ice age. Sunspots are historically correlated with temperature on earth. During the Dalton Minimum, beginning in 1790, the number of sunspots was low, as the earth's climate turned cold for a few decades. At http://www.spaceweather.com/ you can see live images of the sun taken from the Solar and Heliospheric Observatory in space. Right now there is but one tiny sunspot. (My note: When I checked there were NO sunspots.)

Phil Chapman, geophysicist and astronautical engineer who lives in San Francisco, writes in The Australian about the frightening prospect that this year's ferocious winter and decline in average temperature is the herald of serious cooling. . . .

We need to watch the sunspot activity, and keep our fingers crossed that the world is not entering a new ‘little ice age’ . . . .

If we are entering a period of low sunspot activity and global cooling, then the changes demanded by Warmists, especially the conversion of crops to fuel use, would be catastrophic.”

About three weeks ago, we got out of bed and looked out the window to see mounds of snow on the ground and the snow just kept coming the whole day—we ended up with about 18 inches of the white stuff. It finally stopped snowing late that night. The 18 inches was added to the foot or so of snow that was already gracing the ground. It was quite a day. We just stayed home and watched the spectacle. Oh, we could have, perhaps, made our way out of here, but I fear we would never have made it back up our hill for most of the day.

The first edge of the storm was either rain that turned to ice, or heavy, wet snow. It coated the power, cable and telephone lines leading into our home. The wind managed to finally blow the snow off the power and cable lines, but the snow hung tenaciously onto our telephone line, making me fear that it would collapse under the weight of the heavy, wet snow. We had already lost power for about two hours that day and the Direct TV was a bust for the entire day until about 8:30 that night.

I encouraged my husband to shovel a path in the back yard out to where he could reach up with the shovel and jostle the line enough to knock most of the “snow sleeve” off the telephone line. I should have taken a picture of the whole line hanging low, but I did take a picture of the part that just hung on “like Velcro.”

This is the path my husband shoveled in order to get out in all that carpet of snow to reach the telephone cable with the shovel and knock most of the snow off.

If you click on this picture and enlarge it, you can see the portion of the "snow sleeve" that hung on. Just remember that most of the whole line was covered in this sleeve and it was hanging verrry low.

Now three weeks later the snow was almost melted from our front yard, but we have had another full snow day. It hasn’t been as bad as the one three weeks ago, but we’ve got about 4-5 inches out there again.

I never did believe in man-caused global warming, and now there are more and more scientists who doubt it as well:

NEW YORK CITY - Speakers at a conference on climate change are making the case that the alarmism behind the global-warming bandwagon is politically motivated, has nothing to do with science, and could affect the sovereignty of the U.S.

The second annual International Conference on Climate Change hosted by The Heartland Institute is well under way in New York City. More than 700 registrants have gathered in the Big Apple to hear more than 70 scientists -- representing the views of tens of thousands of their colleagues -- make the argument that media and environmental advocacy groups have it all wrong, that global warming is not a crisis.

So there you have the story of our big snow storm and my opinion on global warming. Lest you think I am not interested in our planet, I am. I have been recycling before it was the "thing" to do. I even recycled when we were in Brazil once I found out that people were sifting through our garbage looking for usable stuff. I just saved all the cardboard boxes, plastic bottles, etc., and set it out separately.

Gloria

The Feira in Brazil -- How I miss it

2009-02-17T12:14:00.000-08:00

While we were in Brazil we learned to love the feira (fay – tuh) that came to our street every Thursday. Early Thursday mornings we would awaken to the various sounds of the feira being set up—trucks parking, the pounding of the stands being put together, and boxes of produce being moved from truck to stand. It was such a delight to buy fresh produce from the stands that lined the street. They also had other venders who sold all kinds of goods from CDs to clothing to trinkets and what-have-you. They also had some kind of machine that pressed the juice out of the sugar cane--that was very popular with the people. They also sold fresh fish, pork products, and beef, but we never bought anything like that.

We bought a little shopping cart that rolled along on two wheels and made it very easy for us. We would load it up with such fresh vegetables as green beans, broccoli, radishes, cauliflower, and fresh fruit, like bananas and pineapple. I think I miss the feira the most of anything that we encountered in Brazil.

The feiras are very popular in Sao Paulo, Brazil, where we lived. During the week they would visit different areas of the city, bringing the fresh produce and goods to the people. Along about 1 or 2 o'clock, or sometimes earlier if a vendor sold all out, they would pack up and leave. The street would be littered with all kinds of detritus from the fruits and vegetables. However, when we came home along about 5 o'clock in the afternoon, it was all cleaned away and you would never know they had even been there.

The stand above was maintained by a couple (their picture is just below) who we grew to love. We didn't speak Portuguese with much fluency, but it was enough to let them know we thought a lot of them. One day I found her in tears and learned that her little dog had died that day. I gave her a hug and let her know that I understood that losing a pet is cause for grief. I have lost pets in my lifetime and I know just how heart-wrenching it can be.

This man was always at the feira, sitting on his little box in which he collected donations. He would sometimes play his harmonica. I always gave him a Brazilian dollar, one real. One day as I was walking to the office one day, when a huge truck started backing up. It was moving toward him and I thought that they could see him and would soon stop. However, the truck kept moving, and since he was blind, he had no idea he was in danger. In that moment of extreme anxiety, I shouted at the top of my lungs: "STOP!" Even though it wasn't in Portuguese, I guess the distress in my voice alerted them and they stopped. I don't think he ever realized he was just about to be squashed.

I Wish I had Written this Letter

2009-01-29T09:47:00.000-08:00

My friend sent me a copy of a letter written by a University Professor and sent to the editor of the Wall Street Journal this past week. This letter so eloquently put into words the thoughts that I carry in my heart and mind about abortion. I recently emailed my own thoughts to President Obama about lifting the ban on paying for international abortions and about the danger of signing FOCA (Freedom of Choice Act) into law. Every protective law that now exists will be effectively eliminated and the family will suffer. My words to him were not so exquisitely expressed. I want to publish this letter here so that I can share them with any who might read my blog:

Dear Mr. Pollock:

One of the last orders that George W. Bush signed as President was the January 2009 National Sanctity of Human Life Day Proclamation. His pro-life record includes the Born-Alive Infants Protection Act, the ban on partial-birth abortion, the Unborn Victims of Violence Act, and the block of Federal funding for overseas “family planning” abortion programs.

One of the first orders that Barack H. Obama has signed as President is a reversal of the ban on taxpayer-funded international abortions. He also plans to expand the power to kill innocent lives via the Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA). We cannot print enough worthless monopoly money to solve our national and global economic crisis, but we still have plenty of hard cash in the budget for killing babies at home and abroad?

On the 36th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, Dr. Alveda King, niece of Martin Luther King, challenged Mr. Obama to include unborn children in his vision of life, liberty, and justice for all. Maybe he will be strong enough to abolish chattel abortion, just as President Lincoln abolished chattel slavery. If not, someday a great President will end the lucrative business of elective abortion. Someday the record will show who really cared about human rights. The rhetoric will end, and the record will stand.

Someday great reporters will have the stomach to expose the practices and profits of the elective abortion industry and the sale of baby body parts. The taboo on reporting prenatal violence will be lifted by men and women of conscience, who know that the blood of the littlest human beings should not be used to pay for the unprincipled behavior of adults who refuse to take responsibility for the consequences of sexual activity.

Someday the violence of abortion methods will be as abhorrent as any other assault or physical abuse. The paradox of those who oppose the death penalty but promote abortion will end. Pacifists will oppose elective abortion when they realize that more babies have died from abortion in the last 36 years than all of the soldiers and civilians who died from all of the modern military wars combined.

Someday elective abortion, the ultimate example of age discrimination, will be unthinkable. Those who said that women were not legal persons could not prevail. Those who said that slaves were not legal persons had to fail. Someday the tiny human beings who are not yet born will have protection as legal persons. Medical and technological advances will continue to roll back the frontiers of inner space in defining the genesis of human life. Hands that grasp and hearts that beat will be more eloquent than the most self-indulgent right-to-choose, right-to-kill, right-to-privacy speech.

“Little Lamb, who made thee?” asked the poet William Blake in “The Lamb,” his most delicate song of innocence. He mourned the fate of chimney sweeps caught in narrow Victorian infernos. Someday a poet may write a parallel piece:

Little Life, who saved thee?
Dost thou know who saved thee?
Little Life, I’ll tell thee.
They are called by thy name,
For they call themselves humane.

Someday great poets will grieve for the grisly piles of fetal bodies incinerated daily in the land of the free. Someday great writers will grieve for broken lives of unwed undone mothers-not-to-be in the land of the brave.

Who will be the abolitionists? Who will participate in the Underground Railroad? Who will be the new Harriet Tubman? Who will be the new Mother Teresa? Will there be a Horton who discovers the “Who” of unborn personhood in universes of discourse more lovely than we can imagine? Let it be so. Let it be now. Let it be me. When future generations look back on our 3.5 decades of slaughtering innocents, when they recoil at the hypocrisy of our polite exterminations, when they rebuke publicly-funded genocide, when they condemn the press for its cowardly cover-up, when they wonder why nobody said anything, let them find my poor name in a pile of old newspapers, as one who said “To waste the flower of our love and to kill the fruit of our loins is wrong.”

CH

This is my effort to let everyone know that I stand immovable and steadfast in my love for my Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. It is my desire to be like my Savior as much as it is in my power to do so.

Gloria

Pennies from Heaven

2009-01-02T21:10:00.000-08:00

I must tell my story about pennies and my Mom. This story began a long time ago and over a period of time. Whenever my Mom and I would be together when we were visiting her or she was here with us, we liked to go for long walks. Whenever we’d see a penny, she would stop and pick it up. Now me, I never used to pick up pennies thinking them to be of no consequence.

After she passed away and I would see a penny, I began to pick them up because they reminded me of her and I loved thinking about her and replaying some of my memories of her. I can’t remember how or why I started this little game with myself, but I would playfully announce to anyone that was with me that Mom must be nearby because I had found a penny. I began to pick those pennies up and save them. It soon became a way for me to fill a need for her to be part of my everyday life.

When we went to Brazil, we had left our home in the warmth of summer and arrived to be greeted by Brazil’s winter season. Being a person who is miserable when cold, that first week there was one of great adjustment. I was cold and coming down with a cold, homesick, beginning what was tantamount to a new job working in the mission office and learning all the duties associated with that, couldn’t speak the Portuguese language, getting used to a different money system, and dealing with all sorts of stress. President U (the mission President) had invited us to go to Jacarei to attend a Rodeo with him and his wife. I told about this experience here.

As we wandered around the rodeo grounds, I looked down and sitting there in the dirt was an American penny. I was astounded. Here we were in Brazil, where the money is so far different than ours, and I find a penny; it made me feel that my Mother was really nearby and making sure that I knew it.

There was another amazing time in Brazil that I was at a major low point. We had just experienced having our apartment robbed of our laptop computer and various other goods. It would have been worse but we came home (although it was a little later than our usual time) and they didn’t have time to finish their raid (this is a whole story in and of itself). Shortly after that, we were walking from our apartment to the mission office and found a myriad of American pennies on the sidewalk. We picked them up and again I wondered if it was because my Mom was offering what comfort she could.

Since that time I continue to pick pennies up when I spot them. However, it seems like there are not so many pennies lying around on the ground these days. People are either hanging onto their pennies and/or picking pennies up where they used to pass them by like I used to do. We were shopping last Tuesday and as I walked out of the grocery store and moved toward our car, the thought went through my mind that it had been quite a while since I had found an errant penny lying on the ground. I finished that thought by thinking that perhaps I didn’t need my Mom to be so close any more. I no sooner than finished that thought, when I looked down on the parking lot and there was a bright, shiny penny winking up at me. As I picked the penny up, I marveled. I will leave it up to you to draw your own conclusions, but I hug my conclusions to me in love and gratitude.

Gloria

Christmas Cheer

2008-12-25T21:05:00.000-08:00

Partial view of our backyard

Today is Christmas and it’s snowing outside. Here in our community we are really having a White Christmas. It snowed for five or six hours Monday, then it snowed for nearly that same amount of time on Tuesday, and now today we have that same amount being predicted. It makes for a truly winter, wonderland outside.

We followed our tradition of going to my son’s home for Christmas breakfast of orange juice, sourdough hotcakes and waffles, eggs, bacon, and little smokies. We love to gather together with as many of the family that can come to enjoy breakfast together and see what the kids are all excited about. Today was a little sparse mostly because of the weather. We have followed this tradition since their oldest child was a little tike—now she is married and the other four are growing up. It is still fun to be together on Christmas morning.

Down our street -- the wind was blowing and it was snowing but the pix doesn't show that

When we were serving our mission to Brazil, we decided to bring our traditional breakfast to the Elders who were serving in our area—there were about 8 of them. I had taken my sourdough start with me to Brazil by drying it into little chips. I mixed equal parts of milk and flour and added the chips and waited overnight then, voila! we had our sourdough starter with which to make the batter. We bought about 3 dozen eggs, got a ham which we sliced and warmed in the oven, and made the orange juice. Even though it was a hot summer day in Brazil, we had an enjoyable time together and I had no time to feel homesick. We have fond memories of that wonderful day in Brazil.

I pray that your day was as peaceful and full of joy as mine has been.

Gloria

Stupor of Thought--or What?

2008-11-25T15:45:00.000-08:00

I have had ideas that I wanted to post, but somehow I just couldn't sit down and do it. And then I realized that the last time I posted was election day. That was the day I cried when it became certain who our new president was going to be.

I think I got stuck because of my fears. I decided that I must have faith, because perfect faith casteth off all fear. So, since the election I have been praying for myself, that I could accept the new president of our country. I have also been praying for him to accept guidance and direction from the Lord to do what is right for our country.

I have also been dismayed about the backlash from California's Proposition 8. I do not understand how "No on Prop 8'ers" could say we are hateful, meaning those who want to have marriage defined as the union of a husband and a wife, when it is they who are behaving in such a hateful manner. Everything is all backwards.

It is all in the name: marriage. The way I see it, the term "marriage" was copywrited long ago by God. If I created a new drink and wanted to call it "coca cola" I'd be hauled into court straight away. If I created a new shoe and decided to call it "nike" the same thing would happen. So, why can't they who want to live in a different style relationship create their own name? I fully understand their desire to have the rights extended to married couples, but they have been granted these rights in many states. I could see them fight to be granted these rights in all states without usurping the name “marriage” and changing the laws which would have far reaching consequences. Some of these consequences we know, but many that we would come face to face with if we are forced to go down that road.

We who are followers of the Lord and His Son, Jesus Christ; we who read the scriptures and desire to pattern our lives after righteous principles; we who are striving to live the commandments; we must all stand together and be united in the cause of righteousness. If we don't stand together, we will fall separately, one by one. No one wants that to happen, except maybe our enemies.

Gloria

A November Memory

2008-11-04T19:29:00.000-08:00

On this day, November 4th, some years ago, I potty trained my youngest child, A. I had purchased the book, “Training your child in Less than a Day.” Her second birthday was to be on November 8th, and I selected this day because it would be a day when I had no outside duties or obligations, a day when it was just the two of us here at home (until the other five kiddos came home from school). I read, no I studied the book and wrote down the pertinent steps and information I needed to make it happen.

My goal was to just train her for the daytime, as I felt that would be wonderful to have her out of daytime diapers. I had no expectations of her being able to control her bowel movements and figured that we would work on that as necessary. I found a doll that wet at a local thrift store, so I could demonstrate to her what was expected when she sat on the potty. As it turned out, I could have used a doll she already had, because instead of putting water into the doll, I just held a saturated piece of paper towel, which I surreptitiously squeezed to produce a little puddle in the potty.

I purchased the treats, especially lots of her favorite juices. You see, the idea is to give them plenty of liquid so they have to urinate often. I purchased the large, oversized (more easy to push down and pull up), thick (for absorption) training pants. There was to be no phone calls, no TV, no radio, no reading—just myself and my child interacting all day, especially focused on learning to use the potty.

I started as soon as the older kiddos were out the door to go to school. We started out in the kitchen, as the book suggested. I did the demonstration with the doll to show her what was expected of her. I repeated to her the steps she was expected to learn and so we began.

However, as the day progressed, I realized I had to be flexible and adapt to my child in order to be successful. She roamed about the house, and so I roamed with her. She loved every minute of it. At one point, she went into one of the bedrooms and patted the floor as an invitation for me to sit with her—and I did.

She began to use the potty. In the beginning I would put my hands over her little hands to guide them as she pulled down the oversized training pants. She was so proud to “perform” and even happier still when she began to pull up her pants by herself. She emptied the contents of the potty into the toilet and proudly flushed the toilet. She loved the treats and the drinks that came afterward.

When there were “accidents” we would practice. Oh, she really didn’t like that part. The book suggested that we go to various points in the house and I went through the dialog that consisted of the steps she was learning. I would say, when you need to go potty, you go to the bathroom (and we would be rushing to the bathroom), then you push down your pants, then you sit on your potty, then you pull up your pants (again, with my help), empty the potty, and flush the toilet. Then we would go to another part of the house and go through the “practice session” again. Yes, she bawled her head off while we were doing this, but I ignored that. I was gentle and loving, never talked in a loud or offensive voice to her, just very firm but pleasant. I was with her every step of the way, with my hands on her hands to perform each step so she got the idea. I modified this part too, since the book suggested many more times than I ever actually did. I think the most I ever did was two “practice” sessions for every “accident.”

During this time, I was so tempted to quit. It was the day after the elections that year, and I was curious as to the election results. I missed talking on the phone. I missed being able to listen to the radio. However, I would ask myself if I wanted to change diapers for another year, and that would spur me on. Now this also was in the days when disposable diapers were a new thing, and I could not justify the expense of buying disposables for anything but trips and other limited occasions. I was dealing with washing, drying, and folding diapers, so I was very motivated.

Other than the “practice” sessions, A was just as happy as a lark to have her mother’s focused attention and she loved that I was so happy with her progress. Because, trust me, I was so proud of her and the quick way she was learning. She felt my genuine feelings of love and joy and pride in what she was accomplishing. It was a day of total bonding for the two of us.

After working at this for four hours, with no let up, we were both exhausted and ready for a nap. We both slept deeply that afternoon. After we both awakened, we continued on. By the time the kiddos returned home, she was well on her way to being completely trained. I do mean completely. Other than a few accidents here and there during the next few days, she was capable of going to the bathroom on her own, including emptying the potty and flushing the toilet. From that day forward, she never woke up wet in the morning. She was also trained with her bowel movements as well.

She knew that she had accomplished something monumental and she knew that I knew that her accomplishment was incredible. In addition, we two had developed a strong bond. It was so worth the effort. Oh yes, I wondered if I would be required to provide treats forever. However, that part of it just seemed to take care of itself. In the days following the “big day” she would ask for a treat every once in a while. If she asked, she got it. But the asking dwindled and disappeared altogether within a day or two and that was the end of that.

I have to share this anecdote in connection with this significant event. A little background: A has a cousin, T, whose birthday is three days later than her own. T walked when she was 7 months old. Now I realize that it was just a difference in their developmental progress, but when A didn’t walk until she was past 14 months old, it created a little bit of a pang when we would travel home for visits. So a few weeks later, when the family was all together for Thanksgiving dinner, just barely two-year-old A announced to me that she needed to use the bathroom. I stayed in my seat and told her to go ahead, which she did. She had graduated to pretty little panties by this time and she performed flawlessly. My brother-in-law immediately turned to my sister and said something to the effect that T needed to be trained. Shame on me, but my heart swelled with joy at my little girl’s new-found independence.

I got tagged

2008-11-03T16:08:00.000-08:00

Hmm! I just about forgot that I had been tagged. So here goes.

8 TV Shows I like to watch:I don’t watch a whole lot of TV, even though I have a lot of stuff recorded on the DVR. When I watch this is what I like:

1. Monk
2. Medium
3. Color Splash
4. Myles of Style
5. Reba Re-runs
6. Star Trek Voyager re-runs
7. Biggest Loser
8. Design Star
9. Matlock re-runs
10. Murder She Wrote re-runs

8 restaurants I like to eat at:

1. Sizzler
2. Chuck-a-Rama
3. Outback
4. The Greenery
5. Maddox
6. Olive Garden
7. The Cheesecake Factory
8. El Matador

8 things that happened today:

1. Followed my morning ritual of lemon water, then vitamins and yogurt.
2. Bounced on the mini-trampoline for 20 minutes.
3. Indexed one batch of California 1920 Census on computer.
4. Received a weight vest in the mail – good to develop strong bones by wearing one hour every day, five days a week.
5. Drank my energy drink for lunch
6. Drove to Roy for some line dancing
7. Spent a good bit of time on the phone helping a friend
8. Started reading blogs and remembered I had been tagged by my dear daughter-in-law.

8 things I'm looking forward to:

1. Having this election over.
2. Continued freedoms and liberties, which I’m concerned might be yanked away from us.
3. To be able to continue to live within our means, meaning not having the cost of living go through the roof.
4. Becoming more comfortable with my new stake job of coordinating the stake indexers.
5. Thanksgiving tradition of pie night and finger foods with my family
6. Enjoying more common, ordinary days like we have taken for granted all our lives.
7. Making it a habit to jump on the mini-tramp.
8. Sharing more Brazil memories on my blog.

8 people I tag:

If you are reading this blog, consider yourself tagged unless that is you have already done it.

Gloria

Sunday Thoughts

2008-10-26T20:02:00.000-07:00

And God Said “No”

I asked God to take away my pride,
And God said, “No.”
He said it was not for Him to take away,
But for me to give up.
I asked God to make my handicapped child whole,
And God said, “No.”
He said her spirit is whole,
Her body is only temporary.
I asked God to grant me patience,
And God said, “No.”
He said that patience is a by-product of tribulation.
It isn’t granted, it’s earned.

I asked God to give me happiness,
And God said, “No.”
He said He gives us blessings;
Happiness is up to me.
I asked God to spare me pain,
And God said, “No.”
He said suffering draws you apart from worldly cares
And brings you closer to me.
I asked God to make my spirit grow,
And God said, “No.”
He said I must grow on my own,
But He will prune me to make me fruitful.

I asked God if He loves me,
And God said, “Yes.”
He gave me His only Son who died for me,
And I will be in Heaven someday because I believe.
I asked God to help me love others
As much as He loves me.

And God said,
“Ah, finally you have the idea.”

Author: Anonymous (to me)

I was going through some of my papers and found this poem and decided it was perfect for a Sunday post. I must say that I agree with the philosophy underlying the words of the poem. Struggles with adversity are never easy, but it is when I have been struggling that I have grown closer to my Heavenly Father. As much as I dislike adversity I would never give up the truths I have learned while dealing with it in my life.

***************

Today we traveled to Syracuse (Utah) to participate in the ordaining of my grandson, E, to the Aaronic Priesthood. He is 12 years old now, and this is surely a milestone in his life. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining and leaves gently falling from the trees. We took a few moments to take pictures and afterwards the children took advantage of all the crisp, newly fallen leaves. The children threw the leaves around with great gusto. They took such sheer joy in the pleasantness of the day and the opportunity to abandon themselves to the task of being free spirits for the moment. It was a joy to watch them and hard for me not to want to participate myself. I must admit I did enjoy kicking through the leaves as we walked to our car.

Congratulations, E, we are proud of you for the fine person that you are.

Gloria

More Memories of Brazil

2008-10-24T20:14:00.000-07:00

Traffic in Brazil is crazy. I was very happy that we were on foot most of the time, walking to and from the Mission Office, to the grocery store, and to Church services. When we wanted to go to the Mall, we walked three or four blocks to the Metro. Sometimes we would hop on the bus to bring us home from the grocery store, since they allowed the seniors in Brazil to ride free.

I’ll never forget the day we got on one of the buses, sure that it was headed over the bridge to take us close to our apartment. At the last minute the bus made a left turn instead of going straight. We got out of our seats and stood next to the bus driver, but he just kept right on going. I was trying to count the blocks and keep track so we could find our way back. All the while I was chattering excitedly to my dear husband. Of course, it was in English and the bus driver had no idea what we were talking about, but if I were a gambler I would take bets that he knew exactly what the problem was and that we wanted off.

I was really distressed when he made a right turn and I was losing track of where we were. When he finally stopped to let us off, I thought we were hopelessly lost. We got off the bus and I turned to go back the way we had come. However, my dear husband turned to go in the opposite direction. It seems once we got off that he recognized where he was. As part of his job in taking care of the mission finances, he had to walk to various banks to take care of financial transactions. We had actually ended up at another entrance to the Metro station. We just didn’t save ourselves many footsteps that day, as it was probably about the same distance as if we had walked home from the grocery store in the first place.

The streets in Sao Paulo are not quite laid out in nice, square blocks. The city is about 450 years old, and the streets just take off here and there and meander all over the place, many times with no rhyme or reason and made me think they might have begun as cow trails.

Left turns are not allowed according to the law, but the drivers here take all kinds of crazy chances. They’ll create a third lane, where there is no third lane if it suits them. They’ll motion to you that they are going to pull in front of you and then they do it and boy, you better back off. The motorcyclists in Sao Paulo are everywhere and they are a protected species. They take full advantage of that fact—they buzz between cars, whipping around here and there. You better not hit one, because even if it isn’t your fault, it’s your fault. Their motorcycles are much smaller than the huge ones you find in this country.

Brazilian drivers are very gutsy and don’t obey the law much at all. The police here don’t really pick people up, they just take pictures of someone speeding or doing some other whacky thing and send you a ticket in the mail. There are so many people on the roads that they don’t think they are ever going to get caught. President U was a very confident driver. In order to drive in Brazil, you have to be somewhat aggressive and confident. I assure you that President U didn’t ever break the law. He didn’t have a depth perception problem like I do, and many times I had to close my eyes, almost expecting to hear the crunch of our fender, but it never happened. The Lord surely watched over him and us. Except for a little showing of white knuckles, I got along well as a passenger.

We lived close to an intersection and many times I would see a car race up to the stop sign, toot the horn and race on through. They expected that little horn honk to let you know that they intended to race through the intersection and the clear message was stay. the. heck. out. of. the. way. I saw drivers go through red lights in much the same way.

Though many, many people have cars in Sao Paulo (it is a HUGE city), there are also many families who don’t own a vehicle at all and use their feet or the public transportation system to get around. Imagine that, teenagers, no car of your own in Brazil. We are very fortunate and somewhat spoiled here in the USA.

Gloria

Family Fun Continued

2008-10-21T11:08:00.000-07:00

I promised I would write more about our fun family and our beloved grandchildren. I'm wondering if I should give all 19 of them pseudo-names to ensure their privacy. Well, I guess I can make them up as I go along. If I just call them by their initial for now, you'll understand that I can't just call them any old thing.

You may recall from yesterday that most of us were gathered together enjoying each other's company on Sunday, celebrating E's birthday.

We laughed at the antics of the kids, especially A, who shall hereafter be called Yodina (her parents use Yoda, but I just have to feminize it for her in my blog and to distinguish between her and her brother, A). She had just learned a new thing that very day. Whenever we would say honk honk, she would reply with beep beep. She holds her mouth in the cutest little way when she says it, and it just tickles me to see it.

E, the birthday boy, showed us his football posters. He loves football, but is also very good at baseball as a catcher. His cousin, R, who had his birthday cake and ice cream get together last Sunday, is great at football as well. He is on his Junior High Football team and does a bang up job. He is on the field a majority of the time when they play. When the team is on the offense, he is a running back. When they are playing defense, he is a linebacker. They have one more game to play on October 30th and then they’ll go into playoffs.

I love to see my grandchildren enjoying each other’s company. Yodina loves to go from cousin to cousin—she loves them all. Yodina’s brother, “A”, who I shall call Yoda, loves the boys and was enjoying the freedom of playing outside in my daughters fenced-in yard. Yoda is mildly autistic and did not want his time outside to end, even when it was so dark he couldn’t see where he was going. They soon had to leave for home, as he was protesting with a “melt down.”

E’s sister, C, let me read her Patriarchal Blessing—it was so right on in describing her as a sweet, loving daughter of God. She has the sweetest spirit and is always so helpful and kind.

My oldest granddaughter and her new husband were there, and we loved visiting with them. He just got a great job working with the Frontrunner and Trax. He loves it and they really like him. His prior job required him to drive long distances and travel at a moment’s notice, so this is great for him, especially with gas prices so high.

J’s daughter, N, has bony growths on the outside of her feet (located about where the widest part of the foot is). This makes wearing shoes somewhat problematic. She does well in flip flops, but we are about to enter cooler, non-flip flop weather. I hope there are some shoes designed so that she won’t have too much problem this winter. She loves to play soccer, but that causes pressure on both sides of her feet and results in pain for her. However, she is not ready to give up soccer. I’m praying that by next year the extra bony tissue will be dissolved and that it will be a non-issue.

As I said before, Families are Wonderful!

Gloria

Fun with the Family

2008-10-20T19:04:00.000-07:00

We were all together yesterday, celebrating E's 12th birthday. It's such fun to have most of the family around, especially when we get to reminiscing about the good old days. My son, J, made the remark that his neighbor had alarms on his house to keep his kids “in.” In the course of the conversation about how unusual that was, J remarked how easy it was to get out of his room at night. We have two finished bedrooms downstairs and when he’d want to go on an adventure with his friends, he’d pop the window out, make his escape and be free as a bird. All the while I’m thinking that he is safe and sound at home.

Sighhhhhh! I really tried my best. One night I remembered a question I wanted to ask him. He had just retired for the night, or so I thought. I knocked on his door and got no answer. So I knocked a little louder. Still no answer. Hmmmm! So I loudly spoke his name as I knocked even louder. You guessed it—there was still no answer and I began to get very suspicious. I tried the door, but he had it locked. So I dug out my trusty nail and unlocked the door (so easy to do with the kind of locks we had). Sure enough, the room was empty and the window was sitting on the floor awaiting his return. I made myself comfortable and waited until he came home.

He told me that he knew he was busted when he saw the light on. Well, he came in sheepishly and endured my lecture. From what he said last night, there were other times, when I didn’t happen to catch him at it.

Luckily he was and is loving and respectful. He loves to tease as his three little daughters and his wife can testify to. He is also very good at debate, though he never took a class in it. He just has made debating into an art.

Families are wonderful. I'll post more tomorrow about my family.

Gloria

Our Neighborhood in Brazil

2008-10-01T13:50:00.000-07:00

My dear husband standing in front of our apartment building. At the top, you can see the roof. The two windows to his left were our front room and bedroom (green shutters) windows. Notice the grafiti on our building. It was there when we arrived, still there when we left with more red graffiti added to it. Grafiti is a problem in Brazil.

Notice the small business to the right of my dear husband. In Brazil there are many small businesses located in and among homes. Thank goodness for the zoning restrictions we have here in the USA, we found there was a reason for them.

Most people in Sao Paulo have bars on their windows and doors. They also have gated garages or front yards. For example, the door to our building was always locked and barred. We had a little telephone-type connection in the kitchen where we could ask who was at the door and if we recognized who it was we could push a little button that would release the barred outer door and allow them access into the building. However, we spent most of our time in the living room and it just seemed easier to look out the window or open our apartment door and look to see who wanted in. Running into the kitchen seemed illogical most of the time, so I only used it if I happened to be in the kitchen when it rang.

Many times we would have peddlers who rang all the apartment bells, hoping to be let by one of the tenants into the building. What peddlers, you ask? Well, most people depend on propane to fuel their gas ranges (the tanks are like the ones here in the USA so popular for outdoor barbecues). We also bought drinking water, since Brazil’s water is not treated and cannot be used for drinking purposes (unless you wanted to be a daredevil and risk illness from ingesting parasites and what have you). So, quite often people would come by and want to know if anyone in the building wanted to purchase gas or water, or even cleaning supplies. Sometimes it would be the postman with a package for someone. He couldn't leave it unless the door was opened for him, since it wouldn't fit through the mail slot.

We lived in Apartment #1 on the first floor; on the second floor was Apartments 2, 3, and 4, with #4 being directly above us; on the third floor was Apartments 5, 6, and 7, with #7 being directly above #4 and was where the Elders had an apartment. There was a roof above the third floor, where we could hang clothes to dry.

Sao Paulo has very polluted air which would always leave a layer of black, greasy grime on all exposed surfaces. This made constant cleaning necessary. I would clean our floors nearly every evening to keep ahead of the grime. It was also necessary to clean the stairs of our apartment building every two weeks. Right after we moved in we participated in a meeting with the “Apartment Manager” (we later found out that he was not, in fact, the Apartment Manager, but was merely acting as a liaison between the owner and the renters).

It seemed that each apartment was supposed to take a turn at cleaning the stairs, but there wasn’t a firm schedule, so no one was taking responsibility. We knew nothing about the need for us to do this cleaning until this meeting. The bottom line was that the stairs weren’t getting cleaned on a regular basis. Someone suggested each apartment paying a prorated amount and hire someone to come in and clean it. Elder Davie, representing their apartment, was not interested in that option. The Elders are given a monthly allowance that was barely enough to cover groceries, bus and metro fare, and personal expenses, so they were loathe to spend any of it for someone to do work that they could handle themselves. He suggested that each apartment be assigned a specific time to take a turn. He said that then we would each be committed to accomplish the task rather than just expecting someone else to do it. They liked his suggestion and decided to try it out.

Some of the other tenants wondered about us taking a turn because of our age, but we indicated that we would be glad to take our turn. After the meeting, they asked if anyone had anything to add. I asked Elder Davie to translate for me to tell them that we liked our neighbors and our apartment and that we wanted to do our part to keep the stairs clean. Some of the discussion had been a little bit testy and I think this helped to smooth feelings since they were all smiling after this comment.

After the meeting ended, one of the tenants, a nice lady named Cida who lived directly above us, gave me a hug and said something. Elder Davie interpreted for her and told me she said that she liked having us for neighbors. She was a delightful neighbor and we enjoyed her friendship and hated to see her move out mid-way during our mission.

Cleaning the stairs was quite a process as we were to find out. Right outside our apartment door, in a compartment in the very small foyer was a great, big, looong hose. We would unwind this hose and carry it up the stairs all the way to the roof. We would sweep and scrub the floor of the roof and then rinse it with the hose and squeegie it dry, pushing the excess water into the drains provided for that purpose. Then we would do the same to each tier of stairs, scrubbing, rinsing, squeegieing (is that a word?) and then wiping the stairs with dry cloths (that at the bottom would be quite wet) as we worked our way down each tier. I usually did the drying part, since that seemed to be the easiest for me as we worked our way down. Then we would scrub and rinse the sidewalk outside the front of the apartment building, scooting the water to the curb to be carried away. Afterwards, we would drain the very long hose and wind it up and store it back it its compartment once again.

We were always teamed up with the Elders, and that made it easier for us. Our turn came around about once every month-and-a half or so, so it wasn’t too much of a burden. About the last couple of months of our mission, it was decided by someone (no meeting this time, just a decision handed down) that a person would be hired to do this work and that each tenant would have an additional small amount added to the utilities bill that we all shared (for the common areas of the building). In a way it was nice to have someone else just do the work and not have to worry about it anymore.

More to come about our neighborhood in Brazil at a later time.

Gloria

Our Delightful Saturday

2008-09-29T11:51:00.000-07:00

My first daughter’s birthday was yesterday, 28 September. We celebrated the occasion by going to Salt Lake City’s new Cheesecake Factory to enjoy Lunch/Dinner together. There were seven of us, including myself, both my daughters, the birthday girl’s mother-in-law and sister-in-law, and her two friends. Since we were planning to attend the Women’s session of General Conference afterwards, I asked her why she had chosen a restaurant so far away from the Conference Center’s North Temple location. She answered that she just really wanted to eat there. After we had selected our food and was served, I knew why. They have such a variety of food and it was all.out.of.this.world.good.

After we had finished enjoying our repast, we headed out for the Conference Center. We found parking and quickly began our four-block trek. What a sight it was to see women of all kinds and shapes and sizes converging upon that beautiful building from every direction. We passed a burley but bewildered guy walking against the tide of womanity (I think I just coined a new word) who asked us where all the women were going. We enlightened him quickly and continued on our way.

My birthday daughter and her friend went on ahead, while daughter #2 and I were plodding along a little more slowly, since I have knees that I have to baby so that I can continue my addiction of line dancing. Actually we got behind early on as we had to negotiate three tiers of stairs.

Now here is my version of what happened during our four-block sprint (don’t I wish it was a sprint). We stopped at crosswalk and waited for the light to change, when it did, the first two lanes of cars stopped; the third lane was empty. I took one step toward the crosswalk when a car suddenly appeared in the third lane going for broke. In the next instant, three things took place simultaneously: 1) I perceived the movement of the car and stopped on a dime; 2) the car’s breaks squealed to a stop; and 3) my daughter threw out her arm to stop my forward movement. She was sure that I was only seconds away from disaster and that she had saved my life. At no time was I in danger, but I couldn’t convince her of that. My heart wasn’t even beating faster because it really wasn’t a near miss. If you read her blog you may read a much different scenario. But this is my story and I’m sticking to it (since it is the truth). Except that I admit my heart WAS probably beating a bit faster than normal, but only due to the “sprinting.”

She really got ticked off at me when I joked that if I got wiped out I wouldn’t haven’t to endure the stupidity of our Nation’s plan for this ridiculous economic bailout which I am totally against. There are just so many other better alternatives. But I digress.

We made it to the Conference Center in one piece, took our seats and enjoyed being part of the spirit of that wonderful occasion. What a joy it is to have all my six children live in this area so that we can enjoy getting together occasionally for events like this. Family is forever, and I am so grateful for the love that I have for mine and that they love each other and us.

Gloria

Sunday Thoughts

2008-09-28T21:51:00.000-07:00

Today the Primary children presented our Sacrament Meeting Program. Tears sprang into my eyes as I listened to our Primary President begin the program. Almost three months ago on 7 July 2008, she was in a very serious bicycle-truck accident. She was riding her bike to work when she was hit with a truck making a left turn. It is a miracle that she lived. It is also a miracle that she had no head (helmets do make a difference, thank you very much) or internal injuries—but she did sustain many broken bones. She suffered compound fractures of her left leg and right arm, a crushed left hip socket, broken bones in her left hand and fingers, two crushed vertebra, and a broken nose. She looked pretty bad in the beginning and was told that she would not be able to stand for three months, in order for the crushed hip socket to mend, and that the whole process would take a year.

The worst blow was that the driver of the truck had just cancelled his insurance. Not only was she called upon to endure many surgeries, spend time in the hospital and rehabilitation center, face the fact that she would never run marathons again, and be away from her work as a beautician, but she also had to face the financial hardships this all would bring.

She has my admiration. I know she had times when she struggled with her emotions, but she has surmounted all the hardships and she is healing so rapidly. She sets healing goals now instead of marathon goals, and she is making those goals. The community has had several fund raisers to alleviate some of the financial burden for the family. One family opened their one-level home so she could leave the Rehabilitation Center on 19 August 2008. This brightened her life in two ways: it alleviated the financial burden but it also brightened her days to be staying in a bright cheerful home that was across the street from her own home. She has since been able to return to her own split-level home, drive a car, and is out of a wheelchair and onto crutches.

Tears came as well, when the nursery class sang the first song: “I am a Child of God.” These little ones are all under the age of three and they sang it well. They knew the words and they carried the tune and it was wonderful to watch them. That was the beginning of a very spiritual experience for the congregation, as we watched and listened to class after class give their thoughts about Jesus and His love for us.

It has been a wonderful Sunday. Tomorrow I will tell you all about yesterday.

Gloria

My Name is Gloria, and I’m Addicted to Line Dancing

2008-09-20T20:59:00.000-07:00

My sister, J, got me started line dancing about ten years ago. My husband and I had travelled to visit my widowed mother and my sister and brother-in-law, who were snowbirds in a community where the temperatures are much milder. So, during six months of the year, while we were struggling with cold temperatures, and ice, and snow, they were digging in their yards and taking care of their flowers and generally enjoying all that goes along with mild temperatures.

My sister had started line dancing in order to do the exercising that she was admonished to do. She loved it and at some point the teacher had to quit, and J took over as the leader rather than abandon the line dancing that she had learned to love. My mother was always telling me about how J loved the line dancing and how fun it was for her, so I wanted to go watch her group do their dances.

I was just getting over a bad case of plantar faciitis ([pronounced fashee - eye – tiss] and I do hope you don’t ever have to know what that is, because it is a very painful foot problem). When I first arrived at the Senior Center where they were dancing, she invited me to dance with them. “Oh no,” I said, “I’ll just sit here and watch.”

Famous last words, as the cliché goes. I watched them dance and listened to the beat of the lively music, but not for long. I could not bear to just sit there watching, so I got up and started dancing with them (the heck with the sore feet). I found that I was having so much fun, that I didn’t even notice the feet. Luckily I caught on to the steps quite easily and really enjoyed moving in time with the beat of the music.

When we left to return home, J told me to look up the Senior Center near me to see if they offered Line Dancing. So I called the nearest center in my area, and found out that they did not have line dancing, so I checked out the next closest Senior Center and they did. I showed up one day to begin my line dancing adventure and that has changed my life forever.

I learned the steps to many dances and gained many new friends in the process. I did so well that my sister kept saying, “You could teach.” Well, I didn’t think that was possible at all. In the meantime, I’d occasionally check our local Senior Center to see if they had ever started a line dancing class and the answer was always “no.”

I had the idea that maybe I could convince someone from the group I was dancing with to come out and instruct a class locally. So I called to make my inquiry and when I got the customary “No”, I asked if they would start a class if there was a teacher available to lead it. The Center Director jumped to the conclusion that I was talking about myself and began to talk in that direction. She seemed very amenable to starting a class and began to discuss a possible time. At that moment, my sister’s words rang in my head that I could teach and so in a moment of weakness I agreed to lead a class. Thus it was that we settled on having a Thursday night class after the once-a-week dinner and entertainment.

I was nervous and scared and wondered what in the world had I gotten myself in to. I began our little line dancing class, and every Thursday night for weeks and, yes, even months, I would think that maybe no one would come. Sometimes I would be so nervous that I would even pray for no one to be there. However, there was always a loyal group there. Once we started dancing, we would all have such a good time that I would wonder why I was so nervous.

Soon, class participants began asking for more classes and so the classes expanded to Tuesday and Wednesday mornings and Thursday evening. Somewhere along the way I lost my nervousness and realized that we had all become very good friends and we just had a good time together.

I was still traveling to attend line dancing classes at nearby Senior Centers on the days that I wasn’t leading a class locally. About six years ago, one of the instructors at a nearby Senior Center decided it would be fun for all the Centers to get together for an annual Line Dancing Jamboree. That is just what we did. The various groups would perform original line dances that none of the other clubs knew and the rest of us were the audience. Also at various times, the whole group of dancers would get up all together and do dances we all knew. It was fun, it was exhilarating, and we were exposed to some fun dances that we wanted to learn.

When I left with my husband to serve an 18-month mission to Sao Paulo, Brazil, one of my friends from one of the other centers agreed to come and lead our group until my sister arrived in the area for her summer sojourn. J had been line dancing with her granddaughter, S, with whom she lived during the summer. They would get out in S’s garage and would line dance for their exercise. After J started leading the classes, she encouraged her daughter, SE, to come and start dancing with them. By the time I returned from our mission, J, and S, and SE, were leading the various classes.

J has since become a permanent resident in this area and is no longer a snowbird. I am leader of just one of the classes (it is so much more relaxing to just dance than lead) and J and S and SE lead the other classes here and in nearby Senior Centers.

We just held our sixth annual Jamboree last Wednesday. We had six groups from nearby Senior Centers participating. Since September 17th was Constitution Day, we felt it would be fitting to dress in combinations of red, white, and blue in honor of our great country. The local newspaper came to take pictures, and, of course, we were all taking pictures of each other.

Line dancing is good exercise not only for the body, but also the mind. Some of the dances can be quite intricate and require quick thinking. I like to think that it is just another way to avoid some of the fuzzy thinking that passes for "Senior Moments." Not that I don't have senior moments, good grief I had them long before I became a senior. I like to think that I don't have nearly as many as I would without an active mind.

I just realized I should have taken a picture of the food. We had an array of finger foods that would tempt the palate of even the most discriminate gourmet. I have never been gung ho about taking pictures in the past, but now I’m beginning to take a great interest in it, so I can share them in my blog. But I’m just getting the hang of picture taking, so unfortunately the only picture of the food I have is in my memory. I’ll do better next time.

Pictured below are three line dancing buddies from our group:

More good line dancing friends:

Even more of the good friends I have made since discovering the line dancing world. E on the left front in the red shirt and white tie, took over the three classes I was leading before we left on our mission to Brazil. I will be forever thankful to her for keeping the group going so that it did not die.

One of the groups doing one of their "original" dances (original meaning a dance not familiar to the other groups):

This is our group of teachers--I am the second from the right in the back row. I assure you I was wearing a blue and white striped shirt with red embroidered on the front. I was disappointed that it looks quite gray in the picture. My sister is also wearing a blue and white striped top and is sitting in the front row, first on the left. I apologize that the picture is a little fuzzy, but it was the one someone took for me using my camera.

In Honor of My Mom

2008-09-16T10:58:00.000-07:00

This is the sixth anniversary of the day my Mother left this life at the age of 89. I will always miss her. To this day, there are times when I’m trying to remember things that she would know that my first thought is to ask her. My second thought is that she is no longer here to ask and I sigh. She loved to learn though she was compelled to drop out of school after the eighth grade. My Grandfather didn’t believe in education, especially for girls. I sometimes wonder what my Mother could have achieved had she had the opportunity to go on with her formal education. I always admired her zest for life, her curiosity, her willingness to stand up for what was right, and for all that she taught me.

She loved to write and express herself. In honor of her considerable talent, I am going to post her writings about the day the thrashers came. I enjoyed it and I hope you do as well.

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The Day the Thrashers Came

My father had a fair sized wheat field that he planted each year. In due time the heads of wheat filled, out waving to and fro in the warm summer sun. Then at last the time came when it was mature, then Dad would cut it and it would be bound by the binding machine into sheaves. These sheaves were then placed two or three together, with the wheat heads on top and resting on their cut ends.

The sheaves were left a few days like this. Dad would then hitch up his beloved horses, May and Doll, to the wagon, and he and my brothers would drive to the field. The sheaves were loaded, and hauled to the barn yard. It took many trips before all was gathered. There was a real art to the building of the stack. The sheaves had to be placed just so to build a good, even pile. Some men developed a real knack for this and were well known for this ability. I guess my dad was pretty good at every phase of the operation, for he had been doing work like this all his life. His father had taught him as a young lad to work at his side.

Other farmers in Pleasant View had wheat also, as did men in Lake View, Orem, and Grand View. Each had to get his order in, well in advance, for the thrasher. Dad would be assigned a certain date, so we all knew well ahead of time when the great day would be.

Dad's neighbors would come to help, and my dad would go help them when it was their turn. Mother would start her food preparation, days ahead, for it was customary for the women to serve a huge dinner to the men who worked on the threshing of the wheat. This dinner always seemed even better than Christmas, for the men worked hard and needed plenty of good food. There was also a bit of friendly competition among the wives concerning these dinners. There would be huge plates of meat, mounds of mashed potatoes, all kinds of pickles, preserves, and vegetables; then there were pies piled high with whipped cream, and delicious cakes! And don't forget the biscuits with sweet yellow butter. We children could hardly wait, for sugar was a scarce item at our home and we didn't often get desserts.

But, oh! The wonder of the operation of the huge machine! It would be drawn into our yard fairly early on the big day; the men would tighten a big wide belt, and make other mysterious and necessary adjustments and connections. There was always a contingent of young people, (and some older!) who showed up from round about, to watch the fascinating procedure. My little sister, Zora, and I would hang on the fence, wondering if they ever would get started. Then there would be a great roaring; the engine had been started! A chugging, grinding sound would fill the air and the huge belt would start to move. From a wheel at the engine, the belt made its trip to connect somewhere in the body of the giant, then back again to the engine. It made a huge loop that was continuous, though it crossed at the center for a reason unknown to us, but no doubt was necessary.

Up near the top and at the front of the wondrous machine, some sharp pointed spikes moved. Now a man on the top of our stack of wheat would spear a sheaf of wheat on the tines of a pitch fork. He would throw the bundle onto a wide canvas that moved continuously on a slant upwards to where the spikes were. They caught the sheaves and they were drawn inexorably into the maw of the voracious machine.

photo by Violet Christenson c1949, copyright Elroy Christenson 1999

Somewhere inside the body of this marvelous monster, a process of chewing and separation took place. A pipe-like appendage stuck out low from one side, where a man standing on the ground could reach it. A burlap gunny sack was attached to its mouth. The golden kernels of wheat poured in a stream into the sack.

photo by Violet Christenson c1949, copyright Elroy Christenson 1999

When it was almost full, the sack was removed by a worker who immediately attached another sack to the spout. The full one was then tied firmly with twine, then set in a growing pile of other sacks each bearing its precious burden.

photo by Violet Christenson c1949, copyright Elroy Christenson 1999

As this process went on here at the side, another part of the machine's digestion was being taken care of from the top and back. Another pipe, larger by far, grew out of about the center top. It curved and extended some distance rearward; it was hinged in some fashion so as to be swung back and forth, enabling the man tending this part of the operation to control the stream of chaff spewing from it. A wind mill effect was somehow achieved from inside, blowing the straw with considerable force. The huge pipe swung in a manner that allowed the man operating it, to build a uniform stack of straw, which slowly grew higher and higher. Particles of chaff filled the air, laying a clean, fragrant dusting over everything and everyone in the vicinity.

What a thrill for two wide eyed little girls, who kept well out of the way because of a healthy fear, but would run to watch in turn each fascinating operation of the marvelous monster.

At last, about noon the engine was shut off. The belt stopped moving and the roaring noise came to a stop. The men wiped their dusty faces and washed up where mother had provided a pan and lots of warm water, soap, and towels. Several neighbor women came to help set the plates, silver, and cups on the table, which consisted of long boards, supported by saw horses and covered with table cloths, sheets, or whatever would serve. The seats were devised by propping more boards on stumps or boxes. We children ate in a separate place but we got our share of the good food.

After lunch the men would go back to the job. The noise would start, the blowing chaff commenced and continued until the stack of wheat was gone, being replaced with more sacks of grain and another high pile of shiny straw. The women cleared away all the food and did the dishes. I suppose my mother was glad when it was over, but we children could hardly wait for the next time the thrashers would come. Dean Ekins, Harry Zobell, and Sylven Zobell operated this fabulous machine.

One of the rewards of the day, was when our mattress ticks were filled with the fragrant, new straw. For awhile we almost needed a ladder to climb into bed, but as the days and weeks went by they became flatter and flatter. We were quite ready for the new straw by the following year.

No more do we see the huge machine or hear the roaring noise. Gone are the sights and sounds and smells that made such a memorable experience. But as long as we do have our memories, we can resurrect if only faintly, the wonders and glories of the marvelous thrashing machine.

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I am grateful that my Mother took the time to write these precious memories down, so that we can visualize the industry, the unity, and the productivity of bygone days. I also feel a flavor of the camaraderie and love these people seemed to have for each other and for their lives. I want to give my thanks to Elroy Christensen who gave me permission to use his family’s pictures of the thrashers. Though the year these pictures were taken was 1949, it seems to be about the same type of operation that my Mom describes of the thrasher’s operation of the 1920’s.

A Sc - Hairy Tale

2008-09-15T17:18:00.000-07:00

Before we left on our mission to Brazil, I knew I had to make a decision about my hair. Let me tell you the sad story about my hair.

My whole life my hair has been fine and thin—I call it skinny hair. It seems like I have been one of those people who have bad hair days almost every day. I know, I know! It probably hasn’t been nearly as bad as all that, but honestly I just never have had the knack of fixing my own hair.

When I was very young, my Mom used to put my hair into braids and sometimes even ringlets and she could make it look good. However, when I reached the age when I took over the management of my hair, it all went downhill. Why couldn’t I have had the innate, natural-born instinct of creating wonderful hair styles like my granddaughter?

The only time I felt really good about my hair was during the years when I could afford to go to a salon and have it done professionally. Oh, that was great. All I had to do was to preserve the style until the following week, when it would be done again. But styles change and the French Twist became yesterday’s style, and more casual hairstyles became the norm and somehow in the shuffle I went back to bad hair days. I would spend an enormous amount of time washing it, drying it, putting it up in rollers, or using a curling iron and it looked pretty mediocre to me. Why is it that I can lose hair so easily but not pounds? Is there no justice?

So here we were, making preparations to go to Brazil to serve a mission. I knew that my days would be very full and that I would not have oodles of time to spend doing my own hair, nor would I have the luxury of taking the time to go to a salon to have it done.

My solution was to buy a hairpiece. It was great—I loved it. I would put my own hair in a little pony tail and clip it up. Then all I had to do was curl my bangs, slip the hair piece into place and it looked good with relative ease. The color was a good match, and it made me look like I had lots of nice HAIR--life was good.

About midway through our mission, I realized that there was less and less hair to curl for my bangs and it was bad hair days all over again. I was comforting myself one day, thinking that it was only my bangs that were growing so sparse. To bolster my flagging spirits over my hair, I used the mirror and took a good look at the back of my head, expecting to see……….of all things, hair! What I saw really freaked me out—I could see my hair had greatly thinned back there as well.

This picture is of me wearing the wig (which should have been the second picture--see explanation at the end):

Only those who have experienced this can really understand the total dismay (read PANIC) that I felt. It is somehow okay for a man to be bald, but not a woman. I’m sure some of you fellers may totally disagree with that statement, but you have to admit that baldness in men is much more tolerated than in women.

I pondered and stewed and in the end I ordered two identical wigs with a short, curly hair style. When they came and I started wearing them, I received so many compliments. I felt certain that people had to accurately guess my secret, though I told only President U. and the Elders who worked in the office with us. I never told them not to “tell” and I don’t know whether they did or not, but I never spoke of it again. I just wore my wig and went on with the work.

Having two facilitated keeping them clean. At night I kept my wig on a wig form and the last thing I did before leaving for the office was put it on my head. There were times when I would be walking out the door without it, but my dear husband would remind me. The minute we came home after being at the office all day, the wig came off. Oh, it felt so good to be free of it!

Wearing a wig is not for the timid. If anyone came to the door unexpectedly, I automatically ran to put it on before opening the door. Once, someone rang the doorbell in the middle of the night. Still half asleep, I jumped out of bed and flew to the wig. There I was, standing before the mirror IN THE DARK, wildly trying to slap it on my head, and I just couldn’t get it on straight for the life of me. I’m sure I had the thing sideways or backwards. I don’t know how long I would have gone on struggling to get the wig into place if my husband hadn’t awakened at my commotion to ask me what I thought I was doing. He hadn’t heard the bell, but he certainly heard me huffing and muttering as I twisted and strained trying to get that thing on my head just so. The sound of his voice woke me up enough to realize that it didn’t matter who rang the darn bell, for not on your life would I be answering it in the dead of the night. (It was much like one of those V8 moments.) I’m sure it was some kids on a lark, ringing the bells as they went by just to create havoc.

I wore the wig for the entire last six months of our mission, but after arriving home from Brazil, I took the wig off and left it off except for wearing it to Church a couple of times. But, I had had it! I was finished! done! kaput! I felt smothered and I couldn’t even scratch when my head itched—and it was itchy a lot. I’d get it on just so, but it would start slipping a little here and there as I moved around and it seemed as though it might slip right off my head at any moment. There just had to be a better, more comfortable way.

My aforementioned-granddaughter was in training to become a professional stylist, so I went to her and she cut my hair. I remember her reaction when I pulled the wig off my head; she was steeled for the worst. It wasn’t nearly as bad to her as she had been visualizing. I was ready for acceptance of the hairy situation, grateful for the hair that I had, and grateful that a little of it grew back.

From then on, I started wearing it curled under. I liked it, but I couldn’t tolerate the blah gray. So I started having it colored. All my life I’ve been blonde, but I was told it would look better to go brunette. So, now I’m a brunette with a very casual hairstyle. I look quite a bit different than the “me” I have always been, and I’ve had even close friends not recognize me. That is quite startling! Oh well, I’m comfortable and I look decent when I see myself in the mirror. I have to keep a reign on my thoughts when I find extra hair in my brush and/or comb, for I don’t have hair to spare. But I decided I’m not going to stress about it. I’m just going to do the best I can and leave the rest up to the tender mercies of the Lord.

This picture is of me with the hairpiece, just before I got the wigs (which should have been the first picture.

Well, I got the pictures I wanted in here, except they are in the wrong order. I have been wrestling around with it and I give up. I also cropped both pictures, but the original picture of one of them came in instead (I know not why) and I haven't learned how to delete pictures yet. I just learned how to add them. There's always something new to learn.

Gloria

Sunday Thoughts

2008-09-14T20:36:00.000-07:00

The Lord's commandments are not restrictions or obstacles, but a flight plan for life that offers a safe and direct path to Heavenly Father.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf

~~~~~

I love this thought for I believe it to be true. Long ago I heard it said that the commandments are not hurtful just because they are commandments, they are given to us by the Lord because those things are all hurtful if we break them. As we strive to discipline ourselves to follow the commandments, our lives improve.

Our very thoughts begin this process of discipline. If we live by the commandments to the best of our ability we will be happy in this life and in the life to come. Furthermore, as we strive to live them, our ability to do so will increase.

Gloria

Plumbing Adventures in Brazil

2008-09-13T21:31:00.000-07:00

Brazil’s sewer system cannot handle paper of any kind. I probably plugged it up the day we arrived at the airport as I didn’t know then what the practice is there. I carefully used one of those disposable covers that you carry in your purse and blissfully unaware of the “rules”, flushed it all away. I have no idea whether or not there were warning signs posted as to this observance, since they would have been written in Portuguese.

So I soon learned that after toilet use in Brazil, the (ahem) used toilet tissue is placed in a little covered container lined with a plastic grocery bag (what did the world do before the invention of the plastic grocery bag?). Notice that I did mention that this container is COVERED. Thankfully, the garbage was picked up three times a week.

Our apartment was quite comfortable, though like most homes and apartments in that country, we had no furnace nor hot water. Whenever we needed hot water, we heated it on the propane stove. We did have a device that was installed in the shower that heats the water, for which we were so grateful.

However, our shower did not work properly for us in the beginning of our sojourn in Brazil. It would take as long as 15 minutes before we could get the water pressure up to the point where it would activate the little device that heated the water. The Elders were our Guardian Angels in so many ways, so they tried their hand at making it work without success. They finally decided that they would have to follow President U’s advice and call a plumber.

They looked in the telephone directory and got hold of a plumber that night. Even though it was a Friday night, the “plumber” promised to come at 9AM the next morning. Arrangements were made for the Elders to be on hand when the plumber came, to translate and to make sure they didn’t take advantage of us.

The plumber and his helper (I think it was his son) came about 10AM. The Elders (there were three Elders in this particular companionship and from hereon I will refer to them as the three amigos) came downstairs from their apartment as we let the “plumbers” in. The “plumber” went into the bathroom and just stared at the shower then he started a very long dialog with the three amigos in Portuguese. I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t just start fixing the problem.

After some discussion, Elder D. told us that the plumber was explaining that he would have to break into the ceramic-tiled cement walls and replace the whole piping system and that it would cost $R580 reais (pronounced hay-eyes). I told Elder D. to tell him that we couldn’t do that without getting permission from the owner of the building and the Mission President’s okay. When Elder D. started explaining that to him, he started talking some more and the translation was that he would look at it and probably fix it for “a little less” than what he had just quoted. So then he asked for a kitchen knife (to use as a screw driver). Elder D. got a one of our sharp knives and one of our little table knifes (the kitchen utensils are much smaller and flimsier than the American variety).

The (ahem) “plumber” attempted to remove the screw with the sharp knife and promptly abandoned it and turned to the little table knife. When he tried to turn the screw, the tip end of the table knife promptly broke. How's that for creating confidence in one's ability? He didn't even apologize for our broken knife. The “plumber” then went out to his car and brought in a couple of tools. I was wondering why he hadn’t brought them in with him from the beginning since he was a “plumber”, but I digress.

He finally was able to disassemble the problem faucet assembly with the appropriate tools. He then said he could fix it for $R150 reais. I was not impressed at all and after a little conversation in English, we ended up paying him $R10 reais for his trouble and Elder D. told him we would get back to him after we made a decision (read “don’t call us, we’ll call you”).

Elder D. had watched closely what Mr. Plumber was doing and figured that the three amigos could pick up the part themselves at a hardware store after they shopped for groceries, then they would fix it themselves. However, as fate would have it, the hardware store was closed when the three amigos arrived there. So we found out in one fell swoop that there is one thing worse than no hot water for a shower and that is no water at all.

At that point, my dear missionary husband and Elder D. (missionaries always go in twosomes, or occasionally a threesome) went after drinking water, as we were nearly out of that as well. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that we were advised not to drink the tap water in Brazil, as they don’t treat it at all. There are little businesses every few blocks that sell nothing but drinking water in big blue containers.

They paid for the water and arranged to have it delivered, then went over to the mission office to take care of some business. They ran into one of the Elders who used to live in this apartment before we arrived. He still happened to have part of the faucet assembly that they had replaced when it broke on them. The happy end of this saga is that the three amigos were able to reinstall the assembly and get the water turned back on. When we turned the shower faucet on, we instantly had wonderful, warm water. We gratefully enjoyed warm showers later that night.

Our joy was to be short lived, though. It soon became apparent to us that it still was not working properly. The water started coming out a little too hot or it wouldn’t heat at all. For a time, we got along by working the knob ever so carefully, and at last we would get it just right. My dear husband had a knack for it, and he would get it working, take his shower, then he’d leave it running for me and I’d hop in for my shower. However, it came to a point where we had two choices—cold or blistering hot. My dear husband preferred the cold, but I have always preferred a nice, steamy hot shower, but not quite that hot. I would stand to the side, lather up, and swiftly dance into and out of the water as fast as I could in order to rinse off. No small feat in that tiny shower stall.

The opportunity to get the shower fixed finally arrived unexpectedly. We were talking in the mission office during our weekly meeting, and I thought to bring up the subject of our fickle shower. President U. said that there was a plumber in the building at that moment and that he'd see if he would go over to our apartment and take a look at it. And that is what happened. They found the important working part was not fitting properly and was broken to boot. They replaced the part and voila! the shower worked perfectly. The cost: $R10 reais for the part.

How grateful we were for that tender mercy from the Lord.

Gloria

Cake Adventures

2008-09-10T21:41:00.000-07:00

Last week I was asked to make a cake for a neighbor. No big deal, you ask? The answer is it turned out to be a very big deal for me. You see, I haven’t done any baking like that for a lot of years. I can hear you wondering why. Well, I’ll tell you why.

My husband has Type II Diabetes, which he controls quite easily with diet and a small amount of Glucophage. I don’t eat sweets either because of other health issues, so neither of us needs the temptation of having sweet things in the house.

I had almost forgotten my commitment and when I remembered I was at home without transportation, without a cake mix in the house, without powdered sugar for frosting, and furthermore I couldn’t find the recipe my Mother-in-law had given me years ago for a quick, easy and moist chocolate cake. First thing I did was call my daughter to confirm the recipe from my memory. Check.

Luckily I found that I had all the ingredients and I easily whomped up the cake and put it in the oven to bake. Next problem to deal with was the frosting. In looking for the cake recipe, I had discovered a frosting recipe that I had in my book which my Mother-in-law had also shared with me many years ago. I had never used the recipe, but I had the ingredients for it: 1 cup white sugar, ½ cup brown sugar, a cube plus two Tbsp of real butter, and ¼ cup milk. I had no choice, so I placed all the ingredients into my pan, brought it to a full boil and boiled it for a minute per the instructions. Next it said to beat the mixture until it thickened, so I did. It took about seven minutes and it thickened right up just like it should. I was feeling pretty good about how it was turning out. But…my celebrating was a little premature.

Just as I finished the frosting, the cake came out of the oven and it looked beautiful. Oh, I chortled to myself, things are going so well. I decided to let the cake cool for a while before I attempted frosting it. Sounds reasonable, right? Wrong!

After just a very short time I came back to find that the frosting was more on the solid side than just thickened. Since the cake was still warm, I thought I would just push ahead and I put three blobs of frosting on my beautiful cake and attempted to spread it. I quickly could see that it would destroy the cake to proceed with that effort. So I lifted two of the blobs off, along with a fair amount of crumbs from the cake.

I was in trouble, but there was nothing for me to do but keep pressing forward. I gingerly smoothed the first small blob as best as I could do it without ripping up the cake. I then proceeded to roll out small amounts of the frosting into thin layers and began placing them on the cake like some jigsaw puzzle. It was looking pretty bad because I could not control the shape of each rolled section. I looked at the clock and realized that I had one hour to be finished with this project—I couldn’t just start all over again. I said a fervent prayer for help and continued on. I rolled and placed those rolled-out pieces on my cake until it was all covered.

It didn’t look very good even when all the disjointed “pieces” were in place, for it resembled something like a road map. Now if this had been for the family, I could have gotten away with the looks of it. But this was not for the family and so more had to be done. I pondered for a moment then the thought came to me to heat a large stainless steel serving spoon on the top burner of the stove. I moved the hot spoon over small sections of the frosted cake, which helped to weld the jigsaw pieces of frosting together—this took four or five times of heating and smoothing. It helped a whole lot toward having a more cohesive look, but I wasn’t totally satisfied.

I remembered that I had some chocolate chips in the freezer and so I placed those little hummers here and there on the cake at the most strategic spots until it looked like it was supposed to be that way. It was acceptable to me, and I was so grateful for an answered prayer. I had been in a very bad spot and I had been delivered out of it.

I wanted so badly to taste the frosting to make sure it was good, but I have an allergy to cane sugar and I knew it was everywhere present in this creation. However, my neighbor told me later that it was good. She said that the frosting tasted like the old-fashioned homemade candy we used to make called Penuche.

It was a matter of honoring the recipient of the cake—I wanted it to be my best. It mattered only to me in the whole scheme of things, yet the Lord heard and answered my prayer. It confirmed to me that the Lord watches over us and blesses us individually according to our faith. A miracle is a miracle and I knew this was a small, but important miracle for me. I’m grateful that the tender mercies of the Lord are real.

Gloria

Sunday Thoughts

2008-09-08T08:20:00.000-07:00

“Fear not, I am with thee, Oh be not dismayed,
For I am thy God, and will still give thee aid.
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
Upheld by my righteous, Omnipotent hand.”

3rd verse from Hymn “How Firm a Foundation”

~ ~ ~ ~

Our Sunday School teacher had us sing this hymn today and it brought back a sacred memory that I would like to share with you:

We were about 2-1/2 months away from finishing our mission when I first started having episodes of extreme arrhythmia. The first incident occurred during a little trip to Ilha Bela (Ill-yuh Bell-uh), Brazil (which I will write about at a later time). We stayed overnight at Campos Do Jordao, which reminded me of Park City, Utah. I awakened during the night with my heart pounding hard, with a skipped beat every third beat. I got up and prayed, then paced a little, got a drink of water, did some deep breathing, waited a bit while praying some more and it finally resolved. I crawled back into bed, scared and exhausted. I was fine the next morning and so I said nothing to the others, not even my husband, who had slept through the whole thing.

We continued on to Ilha Bela and though I had a little cloud of concern hanging over me, we had a great time there with no more incidents with my heart. We spent several days and returned home, happy and tired.

Over the next few weeks, the episodes showed up intermittently and for longer periods of time. I finally had to let my husband know of the problem and we made an appointment with a Brazilian doctor who spoke English (I will also have to write about that visit and subsequent tests). He prescribed an extremely toxic medication for me. My Spirit was screaming inside at me not to take this drug into my body, BUT I was in Brazil, I was scared, my husband was scared, and my children were scared (though I didn’t share with them the whole picture). So I took the medication.

The episodes would often begin the minute I laid my head on the pillow to go to sleep. So, I discovered that I could control them to a large degree by singing Church Hymns in my mind until I would go to sleep. I felt pretty good about my progress, especially since I was being able to sleep quite peacefully through the night. The doctor had sent me to a lab for some tests, one of which was to wear the Holter Monitor for 24 hours. This monitor records your heart beat non-stop during that time. I took the results of all the tests with me when we went in for a follow-up visit.

The doctor reviewed the tests, and after pointing out a couple of “runs” he told me how bad that was, and let me know in no uncertain terms that it could be fatal. He explained that during the episodes, the top of my heart was not beating in sync with the bottom portion—termed Atrial Fibrillation. A couple of runs compared to several hours of runs seemed quite an improvement to me, however, from that time on, the hymn singing in my mind ceased to be helpful. Night after night the arrhythmia would go on and on with the length of time of the episodes increasing as time went on. I would have to get up and pace the floor or sit in the living room trying to read to distract myself. Oftentimes my dear husband would get up with me and just hold me while I suffered through the exhausting and continual “runs”.

After I had taken the medication for about a month, we fasted and prayed and both came to the conclusion that the medication was not only NOT helping me, but was exacerbating the original symptoms and so I quit taking it. However, it was in my system. This drug is not like most drugs, in that once you quit they wash out. This drug is meant to build up in the tissues and stay there (it’s all a bit technical and I still don’t understand it, except it took me a very long time to detoxify from it). NOTE: Just for the record, the cardiologist that I consulted in the United States after we returned, said that that particular medication is highly toxic and one that they use when they have exhausted ALL other avenues. He agreed that our decision to quit taking it was correct.

I really thought that I might die before we left Brazil. I made my husband promise me that if that happened, he would get my body out of the country immediately. When someone dies in Brazil they bury them the next day because they do not do any embalming. I was afraid that I would die and they would force my dear husband to bury me there.

One night as I sat by myself, trying to overcome my anxiety and fear, I said a fervent prayer to my Father in Heaven. I specifically asked Him for help to cope and assurance that I would be able live to return home to my family. As I ended my prayer, the words of the third verse of “How Firm a Foundation” played in my mind. I knew that it was a direct answer to my prayer. I was not sure at the time of the name of the hymn, I just knew it was one of the hymns. When I figured out the name of the hymn I realized that it was not even one of my favorite hymns, but the words were in my subconscious and the Lord used them to send me a wonderful message of hope and comfort.

Since returning home I have recovered from these debilitating episodes, but "How Firm a Foundation" remains a very beloved and dear hymn to me now.

More Adventures with Portuguese

2008-09-05T11:45:00.000-07:00

After we had been in Brazil for four or five months, Bishop Nigri’s son, Daniel, started begging to have us teach him English, which meant me. Finally we decided that maybe we could give up part of our P-day (Saturday) and “teach” him English. He had purchased some sort of program so that he could learn English and so I used that—it wasn’t very helpful to me, but I blundered through the best I could. The first couple of Saturdays it was just Daniel, but as it was noised around what we were doing, the class grew. I realized I had to have a better kind of lesson plan, so I took the Portuguese Lessons we had been given at the MTC, and retyped them into a Portuguese to English format. I also worked a lot on English pronunciation. My dear husband was such a support in this and helped with everything but actually teaching the Saturday lessons.

There we were, two English-speaking missionaries teaching English to these dear Portuguese-speaking Brazilians. We couldn’t understand them and they couldn’t understand us, but we forged ahead with our English lessons each Saturday. I always thought that they might get tired and quit coming, but they never gave up on us. Some were members of the ward, but there were also non-members who had found out about the English lessons and participated as well.

Before leaving the MTC in Provo, I had been drawn to a Portuguese-to-English picture dictionary book that I thought could help us learn the Portuguese language. Little did I know how valuable it would be to us in teaching our little class. However, I did get myself into a fix several times trying to explain complex stuff, like the dictionary page containing all things relating to cars. Just try explaining windshield wipers, ice, heaters, and de-foggers. Many Brazilians do not even own cars in the first place, and while Brazil gets cold in the winter, they never get snow or ice. I’m not certain they ever fully understood my efforts to explain ice and snow and scraping ice off the windshields. I drew many pictures on the blackboard that day and we all laughed a lot. I was laughing at myself and the hole I was digging and couldn’t seem to get out of. They were probably laughing at my corny antics and my silly laugh.

We loved every one of those who attended our little English class and still have fond memories of them. When it came time for us to leave Brazil, they threw us a party, bringing gifts and food for us. They practiced and learned to sing one of the hymns in English and serenaded us. We were very touched at this outpouring of their love for us.

Gloria

Adventures in Learning Portuguese Language

2008-09-04T14:59:00.000-07:00

Our efforts at learning Portuguese were interesting. We had been tutored over the phone a couple of days a week for a couple of months prior to leaving for Brazil. President U. arranged for Claudia, an English-speaking Brazilian to tutor me, my husband and his wife. We had all the lessons in a book and a computer program as well. But since our brains are older they are not quite as pliable as they used to be, and the learning came slow for us—especially for my dear husband. I caught on to the pronunciation of the language, however, and could read it quite well. I didn’t know the meaning of the words, but I could read it.

I remember the Sunday the first month we were there, someone handed me a scripture to read for the class—I was excited because I could do that. So when it came time, I read the scripture from my Portuguese scriptures quite competently. Oh the Relief Society sisters got so excited, they exclaimed to the Elders that they could easily communicate with me by writing notes. They were so disappointed when the Elders had to explain that it wouldn’t help.

I finally learned enough Portuguese to communicate in a limited way in the mission office. When the Elders were gone, if my husband answered the phone and the person at the other end of the line spoke in Portuguese, he’d thrust the phone at me. I could convey to the caller that the Elders were out and tell them when they’d be back. I could take their name and number if they would take the time to give it to me. Because the office elders spoke both languages, my dear husband was able to complete his office assignments without learning the language.

I'll write more as we had many adventures with the language in Brazil.

Gloria

Our Rodeo Adventure in Brazil

2008-09-01T21:29:00.000-07:00

One of the most interesting days was spent on our first Preparation Day after reaching Brazil. We arrived in Brazil on Tuesday, being able to rest after a short visit to the mission office. We stayed with the Mission President and his wife until our apartment was available. On Wednesday, we started right in training in the office procedures and we were ready for some rest and relaxation. This is the highlights of that day:

We went to a Rodeo in Jacarei with the Mission President and his wife on 17 July 2004, the first Saturday that we were in Brazil. You need to know that when it is summer here it is winter in Brazil. They don’t have snow or freezing temperatures during their winter, but it can get very cold--I suppose because of the humidity. The day was sunny and temperatures were mild. As we traveled to Jacarei, we passed areas with green rolling hills and fields laid out in rows of growing vegetables—it reminded me of Iowa. I was especially amazed at the huge anthills that dotted the sides of the highway--some must have been nearly as tall as I am. I was curious to see the size of ants they contained, but we didn’t stop to investigate.

We entered the Rodeo grounds and found that they had vendors selling everything you can think of—food, western clothing (lots of leather coats and sweaters, but their sizes are smaller than U.S. sizes), crafts, embroidery work, etc. We had fun looking at the various shops and their goods. They had one vender there who did carving—he had done one of The Last Supper that was just beautiful, about 15” X 40” that would cost about $125 American dollars. He was carving on one that was huge, maybe 7 or 8 feet long and 2 to 3 feet wide. The Mission President had him do a carving for him (about 12” X 4”) with his name. We watched him in fascination to see him do such magnificent work so quickly. It took about 30 minutes plus a little longer to polish it up and put the stain and shellac on it.

Truth be told, I was ready to leave about 5PM, but the Mission President is a rodeo fan and the rodeo wasn’t slated to start until 8PM, so we stayed. As soon as the sun went down it got very cold and it was a very long evening for us as we waited. Because I wasn’t familiar with Brazilian temperatures and I didn’t realize we would be staying all evening, I had worn just a light jacket. It was no match for the very cold wind that was constantly blowing.

We finally discovered an auction of horses going on and went inside that sheltered area. It was much warmer in there and furthermore they served free drinks (hard, soft, and plain water), plus free snacks. I was so comfortable in there and it was fun to listen to the auctioneer as he auctioned off the horses. I suppose we didn’t really belong in there, but it was such a relief to be out of the cold night air. I’m sure they give the free stuff to those who are bidding on the horses as an incentive to stay and buy. I hated to leave there, since I would have to go back to paying 1 real (pronounced hay-all and is like a Brazilian dollar) for bottled water, and I hated to go back out into the cold. But it was getting close to 8PM, so we left the warmth and shelter of the auction tent to find the rodeo arena.

We found the stands and selected our seats; we could have sat anywhere at that time because there were so many empty seats. And then we waited and waited, sitting on those hard, cold seats with the constant wind as our companion. We ended up waiting for more than an hour because the rodeo didn’t start until about 9PM. As we waited more and more people straggled in, finally filling most of the seats.

It was the weirdest rodeo I have ever attended. The cowboys came marching out on foot and the announcer introduced each one. Then he gave a very, very long prayer—in Portuguese, of course. I actually wasn’t positive that it was a prayer for sure until the Mission President (who spoke fluent Portuguese) verified that it was. How nice that Brazilians aren’t afraid to begin a Rodeo with prayer.

Then the announcer worked on the crowds. He had the people sitting on each side competing with one another to see who could shout the loudest—in Portuguese, of course. That went on for a while and then finally they started the actual rodeo. A cowboy would come out of the chute on a bull, and we would watch for 4 to 8 seconds while the bull bucked him around until he was bucked off. Then we would have a very long wait until they finally got the next cowboy out on his bull. We finally left at 10PM. I was like a block of ice and was so glad to leave. I think the Mission President was as disappointed in the rodeo as I was—it was nothing like the Rodeos we have here in the USA. I actually think they only had a few bulls to work with.

Unfortunately, we found out the following Monday that the Mission President's spare tire had been stolen during the time we were at the rodeo, probably by the guys who parked his car. He had left his keys with them and so they had free access to the tool required to take it off. When we came back to get the car the guy maneuvered him so that he did not see the back of the vehicle (the tire mounts underneath). He finally noticed that it was missing when he got home. Unfortunately, there is a lot of theft in Brazil.

It was quite an adventure and I really did enjoy the day with the exception of the cold. I did get a lot smarter about layering clothes so that I could stay warm on outings.

Gloria

Souvenirs from Brazil

2008-08-27T20:29:00.000-07:00

I ran across this message written for the benefit of our loved ones just before we left Brazil. I thought it might be well to share it here. I truly feel that our mission to Brazil was a time of much growth for me. I know that it was a time of sacrifice for our children as well and we became more aware of their love for us. We are grateful that Families are Forever and we are especially grateful for our family. Here, then, is our “gift” to them from Brazil:

~~~

We thought and wondered and prayed about bringing souvenirs and gifts home for all of our family. We really didn’t know what you would like and didn’t want to fill up our bags with meaningless trinkets. So we are following President Hinckley’s ten suggestions for gifts to take back home--these are the things that we have learned while serving here in Brazil:

* We bring to you a greater knowledge and love of God, our Eternal Father, and His son, the Lord Jesus Christ. We have a firm testimony that they know and love us individually and bless us according to our individual needs.

* We have developed an even deeper knowledge and love for the scriptures, the word of the Lord. Personal messages of inspiration, hope, and love are embedded in the scriptures for each one of us. They have inspired us and they will continue to inspire and direct our lives because we will never stop reading and searching the scriptures. We especially love the Book of Mormon which is another testament of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. We love reading the Book of Mormon and will be finished reading it by the end of this year as our Prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, has asked us to do. We have been reading it verse by verse, first in English, then in Portuguese.

* We have an increased love for our children and grandchildren. We have been humbled at the love and service and support that has been provided us. We are so grateful for this blessing in our lives of a wonderful family.

* We grew to love the people in Brazil, and to appreciate their culture. We discovered that they are warm, caring, and wonderful people—both in our Belém Ward and the neighbors who greeted us each day as we walked to and from the Mission Office. We learned much from them, especially that our Heavenly Father loves all His children no matter what part of the world they come from. We learned that even without becoming fluent in their language, they loved us and made us feel welcome and needed. We also loved associating with the Elders and Sisters who qualified themselves to serve our Heavenly Father by laboring in the mission field. We watched their diligent efforts as they planned and worked to bring the gospel to those who are searching for the truth. We especially appreciated the Elders who helped us so much both in the office and with personal endeavors. They helped make calls to arrange for services and appointments that we have needed and could not accomplish on our own because we didn’t have enough language skills. We learned that the happiest missionaries are those who work hard and put forth every effort to be successful. They love and enjoy what they are doing and enjoy their associations with one another. It was such a treat to see their joy as they interacted during conferences, transfers, and other occasions when they were together.

* We have gained an appreciation for hard work and the rewards of serving our Heavenly Father. As President Hinckley has said, “Nothing happens unless we work.” When we first arrived, I wanted to turn around and go back home. I am grateful that we stayed for we learned much and grew from sacrificing for the Lord and His children. We have especially gained a greater appreciation for our great country and what it offers us. In spite of the difficulties and struggles that the United States of America may have, it still is the greatest country in the land.

* We have received the assurance that the inspiration of the Holy Spirit is always available to us. We have discovered that sometimes it is necessary to be still and listen to that quiet, still small voice. We have appreciated the guidance and direction we have received, especially in the quiet hours of the night when fear was making its stand. We want each one of you to know how important it is to live so that we can have the Holy Spirit as our companion. The comfort and peace that came through this association made all the difference in the world to us (especially me) all during our mission.

* The next gift is the blessing of teamwork. We worked as a team both at home and at the office which brought us peace and contentment and deepened our love for one another. What joy it is to know that we are united in our desire to love and serve the Lord.

* We have learned the value of personal virtue. We have always known that we can, to a large extent, control the thoughts that occupy center stage in our minds. There is much comfort in that knowledge, in addition to a great sense of empowerment. Agency, or the right to choose, was God’s gift to us from the beginning. That agency begins with the thoughts we choose. Therefore, choosing to surround ourselves with an environment filled with wholesome reading material, sights, sounds or conversation provides us with a firm foundation on which to build integrity and virtue.

* The faith to act. Faith begins with hope and ends with charity, or the pure love of God. Real faith leads us to righteous action. We discovered that it is so much more satisfying to act in righteous ways, rather than to re-act to negative consequences occuring at times as a result of our choices and at other times because of outside circumstances.

* The humility to pray. We have power available to us that is greater than we can ever imagine. The Lord is there for us. We know that He guides us. He magnifies us. He protects us always if we let Him. He has always been there for us our whole lives, but He has especially blessed our lives during our mission. We will never stop praying for we know it is our very lifeline.

These are special gifts that we would like to pass on to each member of our family, for they will last for eternity. We are still continuing to work on them every day and are grateful for the joy and success that we have had. We are grateful for the success and joy that we see in your lives. May each one of us commit daily to live these gifts to the fullest, so that we can endure to the end in righteousness.

~~~

It was nice to review these thoughts that were recorded while we were yet on Brazilian soil. Our mission changed us in ways that yet endure. We learned things about ourselves that we could have discovered in no other way.

Sunday Thoughts

2008-08-24T21:14:00.000-07:00

"To have faith in Jesus Christ means to have such trust in Him that we obey whatever He commands. There is no faith where there is no obedience."

~Elder L. Whitney Clayton, October 2001 General Conference

***

I had an experience this past week that scared the beejeebers out of me. Our eyes are a most precious commodity, and I cannot tell you how important they are to me. I was driving my granddaughters home after a pleasant time going to a movie and enjoying dinner at The Olive Garden afterwards. I noticed a light flashing in the corner of my right eye whenever I turned my head to check traffic.

At first I told myself that it was merely a reflection from the lights on my glasses. But as time went on during that trip home, the flashes occurred more and more frequently. By the time I dropped them off, I had a very hollow feeling inside. To be quite certain, I took my glasses off before I resumed my journey home, and quickly turned my head from side to side. My worst fears were confirmed.

Upon my arrival at home, I shared this unsettling news with my dear husband. Together we decided that we should call our eye doctor first thing in the morning about the matter. How grateful I am for the Priesthood he holds and I asked him for a comfort blessing, which he gave to me. I was comforted immediately and was able to sleep peacefully through the night.

The next morning we called the doctor only to find that he was out of town. They called another doctor and arranged for me to see him. This doctor was an opthalmologist who specializes in surgery and diseases of the retina. It was comforting and disconcerting all at once to be seeing a specialist.

He examined my eyes very carefully after fully dialating them. Miracle of miracles, he said that what had happened to me was a normal part of aging. Some of the vitreous gel that fills the inside our eyes may thicken or shrink and pull away from the back wall of the eye causing floaters. The flashing is caused by the vitreous gel rubbing or pulling on the retina.

Right now I am okay. However, it is a time to be very watchful of lightning bolt flashes or severe and extended flashing or myriads of new floaters. He will follow up with me next month.

It is a time for increased faith and trust that all will be well with my eyes. He has not limited any of my activities and has suggested that there are no vitamins that will cause the floaters to disappear. So, I pray that nothing else will go wrong, that the flashes will diminish and leave entirely, and that there will be no more new floaters.

It is also a time for gratitude for all the blessings that are evident in my life.

Gloria

Cancer of the Lawn—Wild Morning Glory

2008-08-22T16:16:00.000-07:00

I have been waging a small war on the wild morning glory that is rampant in our little garden plot and is threatening to take over the lawn. I remember one morning looking out at the little white/pink flowers dotting about ¼ of our back lawn thinking that it would take two of us about an hour to get rid of it. What. a. laugh. We worked for 2 ½ hours and we cleared about half of it. The problem is that it sneaks along the ground down under the taller grass or will crawl up fences or tomato plants or other taller plants. The twisting taproot can extend down as far as 15 feet so it can survive the winter very nicely.

I found out that its real name is Convolvulus arvensis or field bindweed. I was listening to a garden talk-show on the radio where people can call in with their gardening questions. The listener asked about the best way to get rid of the bindweed in their yard. The one-word answer to this question was to MOVE.

The second option for getting rid of it was to “discourage” it. This means keep getting rid as much of the plant on top of the ground as you can. The objective is to make the vine draw on the nutrients from the taproot until it has dissipated all its energy. Oh, yes, and don’t forget that you can’t just throw these weeds to the side of the garden. Oh no, you don’t want to do that because they will just take root again—this is a very hardy, opportunistic weed. I can go out and gather half a plastic bagful of weed in about five-minutes time—and not move from the spot I’m working on. My knees don’t take kindly to kneeling much anymore, so I have to bend over or for more extended lengths of time I have to just sit on the lawn to do my weeding. It is a very daunting task for one person, so I just do what I can.

I don’t know if it is my imagination or not, but I have noticed more and more lawns and yards sporting this particularly vicious weed. Our community had a parade as part of the Fourth of July celebration. I couldn’t help noticing that the lawn where we were stationed to view the parade was almost totally taken over by the bindweed. It had smothered most of the lawn which is now almost totally bindweed.

Hmmmmm! Maybe we ought to let Convolvulus arvensis take over, then we wouldn’t have to mow or water or worry and we would still have some sort of ground cover. This is just a thought. The old “if you can’t lick ‘em, join ‘em” philosophy.

Continued Story of our Flight to Brazil

2008-08-19T19:50:00.000-07:00

I wanted to continue the story of our flight to Brazil. It was long and it was stressful and I thought it would never end.

How grateful I was that my dear husband was in the seat beside me during the 13-hour flight from Atlanta to Brazil. Try as I might, I could not sleep. The Brazilian teenagers were constantly on the move milling around in the plane and loudly talking, talking, talking—in Portuguese. We had been tutored in Portuguese for several months prior to our leaving, but our command of the language was seriously lacking. So, while listening to their conversations might have been somewhat entertaining under the circumstances, not understanding the language turned it into distressing noise. I realized that my feelings of isolation would have been total if I had not had my husband to consult and converse with.

They did quiet down and sleep for several hours when they turned the lights of the plane down. However, that did not help me—blessed, comforting sleep still eluded me, except for short snatches measured in minutes. It was some of the longest 13 hours I have ever had to endure. How grateful I was when we finally touched down.

When we left the plane, the Brazilian pilot said some very kindly words to us as we passed by him to move down the stairs to the tarmac. We realized we were going to board a shuttle to take us to the Guarulhos Airport building. I can’t remember how far away the building was, but I remember it taking several minutes to travel there.

When we entered, we could see a very long line of passengers, weaving back and forth in the controlling dividers; all waiting to go through customs. A family from the U.S. in front of us was very concerned because they only had about an hour before they were to board their connecting flight to continue on to Manaus, Brazil, where they were going to pick up their son who had completed his two-year mission. What a pleasure it was to actually be able to talk to someone in English.

We were at the end of the line and accepted the fact that it would take quite awhile to complete this process. I knew this was our “hold-the-breath” part of entering Brazil since we could be singled out to have our luggage searched. When a Brazilian Airport employee came up to us, asked to see our passports and then motioned us to follow him, my only thought was that the worst was about to happen—a luggage search. We dutifully and reluctantly followed him, and what gratitude filled my heart when we realized he was ushering us to.the.front.of.the.line. I only felt a little guilty about our “crowding in” and we subsequently sailed through customs. It seems that Brazilians have great respect for those who have lived on this planet for a quite a while—you know, those of us who are older. Never have I been quite so glad that I was “older” than at that wonderful moment when our passports were stamped and we walked on through to begin our sojourn on Brazil soil.

Gloria

A Small Miracle

2008-08-18T10:34:00.000-07:00

Our mission for our Church to Brazil was in 2004-2005. One of the first things we did in preparation was to purchase a digital camera so we could record some of the memories we created there. However, after nine months into our mission, our apartment was entered and among the things that were stolen from us was our laptop computer, our flash drive with all the backups from that computer, and the memory card containing all the pictures we had taken during those first months. The police were ineffective and so our things were lost and gone forever (a story in and of itself).

Thank goodness I had the camera with me, so we didn't lose it. We began to take pictures once again. I have to admit I was not as persistent as I had been in the first months, but the ones I took were very important to us.

At the end of my mission I became ill and struggled through the last two months to the end. I did manage to save our pictures to a disk to bring home with us. Unfortunately, when we arrived home, I realized I had not labeled the CD with the pictures. As I put all the disks into the computer one by one, the message was that each was unreadable. I had given an empty CD to one of the missionary elders, and I became convinced that I had inadvertently given the CD with my pictures on it to him. So, again, I thought I had lost all these pictures.

I recently got a brand new computer and was upgraded in the process from Windows 2000 to Vista. I started having a little thought keep nagging at me to go through those "empty" CDs again. I began to wonder about the possibility about an incompatibility between Windows 2000 and the XP version that was on the mission office's computer. That was one of the reasons I got a new computer in the first place, because I was working with a program that was no longer compatible with Windows 2000.

I said a fervent prayer and asked to find those pictures on one of the still "empty" CDs. I put the first one in, but no pictures were there. The second one came up and I shed tears of joy as I saw my pictures pop into view.

It was a small miracle of great proportions to us and we are so very grateful.

Gloria

Sunday Thoughts

2008-08-17T20:38:00.000-07:00

"Kind words not only lift our spirits in the moment they are given, but they can linger with us over the years. . . .Kindness is the essence of greatness and the fundamental characteristic of the noblest men and women I have known. Kindness is a passport that opens doors and fashions friends. It softens hearts and molds relationships that can last lifetimes. . . Kindness is the essence of a celestial life. Kindness is how a Christlike person treats others. Kindness should permeate all of our words and actions at work, at school, at church, and especially in our homes."

Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin

***

As I have contemplated establishing a blog, I thought I wanted to write about everyday occurrences and my thoughts about them. However, all that seems to come into my mind to post about has to do with the experiences we had on our mission to Brazil. So, I decided that that will be the point of my blog—at least for now. Also, because it is my blog, if I happen to want to vent about discuss current affairs or pertinent happenings in my life, I’ll do that too.
I remember flying out of Salt Lake City, Utah, feeling a little sad to be leaving home. But my dear husband was by my side and we were having this adventure together, so the sadness left and excitement took its place.

We had packed half of the vitamin supplements and medication that we would need for the 18 months that we would be gone. I was a little concerned that we would have our suitcases checked by customs upon our entry into Brazil, but we needed those supplements for our well being. So we pressed on with much faith that our needs would be taken care of (more about this later).

I can’t remember much about the stopover in Atlanta, Georgia, so it must have been pretty ordinary. Ordinary, that is, until we boarded the flight for Brazil. By then, it was evening. Our seat assignments were very strange in that we were separated by about 8 rows; I was concerned about that but not overly concerned as it looked like there were going to be plenty of extra seats on the plane. I just figured that when we got on our way, my husband could come back to where I was sitting.

That is, I thought that until the last minute, when the plane was taken over boarded by a large group of Brazilian teenagers—my estimate would be about 30-35 of high-energy kids. The empty seats were filling up fast and I was filled with dismay bordering on terror at the thought of a 13-hour noisy, nighttime flight without my husband by my side. There was one empty seat to the side of me and I began praying in earnest that it would remain empty. My prayers were answered, for as we prepared to lift off the seat was still empty. I staggered walked forward until I caught my husband’s eye, and motioned him to come back to me. It was the beginning of 18 months of the Lord’s tender mercies for His children.

***

I'm feeling good about deciding to chronicle our experiences and adventures in Brazil. It was certainly a life-altering time for us and the growth that we experienced continues to ripple forward. It is one of those cases of not knowing where the alternate road would have taken us had we made different choices. We only know that our lives have been greatly enriched through our mission to Brazil and we are forever grateful.

Gloria

Looking Back

2008-08-11T18:21:00.000-07:00

Three years ago this month we were counting down to the end of our mission to Brazil. From time to time I will be sharing experiences from our time there. In a way it seems like a dream, but having some of these thoughts and happenings written down help to bring all those memories back.

You may not believe me when I say that when people talked about cockroaches, I thought they were talking about little nuisance bugs (with the emphasis on little). Part of the education I received in Brazil was an introduction to the real deal--The Cockroach. Arrrgh!

Now when people talk about cockroaches, I can nod my head and sympathize completely. Here I share my major encounters with this big (emphasis on big) pest:

I met a cockroach for the first time at the mission office. I always thought cockroaches were little nuisance bugs that got in your cupboards and generally made life miserable. Well, I saw for myself firsthand that cockroaches are pretty big and quite ugly and very fast. This cockroach scuttled out from behind one of the desks, but as soon as he knew someone was after him, he took off. President Urry finally found his hiding place, chased him out and dispatched him.

If I hadn’t seen that first cockroach, I wouldn’t have realized that the big, ugly thing that I spotted in our courtyard was a cockroach. I quickly found a rolled up newspaper and though he was fast, I caught up with him and smacked him until I was sure he wasn’t going anywhere. I noticed a couple of other dead cockroaches at the same time.

Finding them in the courtyard was bad enough, but then I met one in our apartment (shudder). I got up in the night to make a trip to the bathroom. In the pale glow of the nightlight, I could see a fairly large dark object on the floor in front of the bathroom sink. I wondered if Elder Gross had inadvertently dropped something, but I felt a need to be very cautious. I stood in the doorway trying to decide what it was and what I was going to do. I finally turned the hall light on and could see the ugly thing just sitting there. Three times the thought came to me to just stomp on it, but three times everything inside me said an emphatic “no!” I hated to let it out of my sight, but finally bolted down the hall to the kitchen and found the can of RAID. When I got back to the bathroom, I was grateful to see that it had not moved. However, the minute I sprayed it, Mr. Cockroach took off like lightening disappearing behind the door and I squealed in shock and surprise.

I quickly turned the bathroom light on and gingerly swung the door back to reveal that he had climbed halfway up the corner of the wall, so I sprayed him again and again. My, they are fast, but he was suffering the effects of the spray and did not go far before he was on his back. And where was Elder Gross, you might ask—well, he slept through the whole ordeal.

The next day was P-day for us so we purchased a package of six RAID traps. We put several out in the courtyard, one in the storage room just off the courtyard, one in the bathroom and one in the kitchen. The cockroach is supposed to be drawn to this trap, walk through it and pick up the poison, then carry it back to infect the nest. They last for three months, and since we put them out, we have discovered only one dead cockroach in the courtyard. Hopefully he carried the stuff back to the nest before he expired.

My next encounter with a cockroach was at the office on Transfer Day. There were missionaries all around and the energy was high. I was busy working with the files. I noticed that someone had left a cookie crumb behind, balanced precariously on the papers of one file (I wonder which Elder it was who did that). I got rid of the evidence and proceeded to take the papers out of the file folder. I was shuffling the papers to straighten them, when something hit my hand and then hit the floor. To my absolute horror, I saw that it was a cockroach. The papers landed on the floor, I had a little squealing attack, and the Elders who were in the office had a good laugh. Then they tried to find it and destroy it, but alas it got away. One Elder made me feel better when he said he had “injured” it. Therefore, I could picture it laying somewhere on its back and thus be able to work without feeling too buggy. A few days later, we walked into the empty, silent office and spotted one lurking in the corner. We were able to get rid of it; whether it was the same one or his buddy I’ll never know.

When we first arrived in Brazil, President Urry warned us not to leave any food out, EVER. He even told us that he wouldn’t use a drinking glass left out from the night before. He explained that bugs (especially cockroaches) carry disease and can sicken someone if they crawl around on your food, or toothbrush, or glass, etc. All I could think of was that it had landed momentarily in my hand on its way to the floor. Ewwwwww!!!

*****

The funniest picture that I have of cockroaches is one I never actually witnessed--just heard about. Some of the Elders related to me that one of the more adventurous Elders applied glue to the backs of two cockroaches and then turned them loose. They would each battle to put their feet to the floor to make their getaway. So first one cockroach, and then the other would overcome to be the runner. I can't even imagine how he could manage to apply the glue except to actually touch them. I've also wondered whatever happened to the two hapless cockroaches, but it still strikes me funny to imagine how they looked in their mad dash.

Gloria

Sunday Musings

2008-08-10T13:53:00.000-07:00

If you live for the next world, you get this one in the deal;

but if you live only for this world, you lose them both.

C. S. Lewis

****

We watched several of the Americans who won medals in the on-going Olympics last night. We were tremendously happy and proud of their accomplishments, not only for their personal achievements, but as representatives of our country.

I am, however, very sad that so few of our athletes seem to know the words to our National Anthem. Over the years this has been the norm. In past Olympics, some have attempted to sing the lyrics, but gave up in the process. I realize they have just won a medal and they are supremely excited, but in my estimation, it would add to their honor if they could sing along as the Anthem is being played. But perhaps I am asking too much.

My husband and I served a Church Mission to Brazil several years ago. While we were attending a stake conference meeting there, the leaders decided at the last minute to substitute the National Anthem of Brasil for one of the hymns they were planning to sing since it was their Independence Day. I was in awe as I listened and watched the wonderful Brazilian people sing with gusto their national anthem--young children included. You could feel their love for their country as they sang. I especially watched in amazement those young children around us in the congregation, keeping up with the warmly spirited, quite complicated lyrics and never missing a beat. I told my husband, I wish Brazil would win just one gold medal so the World could see them sing their national anthem--for I am certain they could sing along.

Nevertheless, I am proud of the accomplishments our athletes achieve and have achieved through the years. They sacrifice much in order to take part in the Olympics and I admire their grit and determination.

Gloria

Ode to a Normal Day

2008-08-08T21:12:00.000-07:00

When I decided I wanted to enter the blogging world, I thought I would like to begin by posting some thoughts written by someone who is anonymous to me. I received it long ago during a lesson being given at Church. It struck me as rather a profound way to look at life, during those days that are so ordinary they may seem a little monotonous, but especially those days that my path through life gets a little rocky.

Yesterday, when my daughter was here she got on the computer and before I knew it she had helped me set up this blog. I posted some thoughts that I had recently written because with two little kids "helping" us, I didn't have time to compose my thoughts.

So, without further ado, here is what was going to be my first post:

"It was a routine day--mostly washing, ironing, a trip to the store, meals, and dishes. It was pleasant here and there--a letter from an old friend, my husband's phone call for no particular reason, a half-hour with a good book, some loud laughs with my children at dinner time.

It was irritating now and then--a sticky ocean of spilled syrup, the crying of the tired children, the bathtub that ran over and the snub of a neighbor. It was frightening in some ways--Mom's waning health and increasing discouragement, the big blowup after dinner about homework and learning to accept responsibility, and the guilt that followed my hasty words.

It was blessed with love, in a pig-shaped breadboard made and presented to me by my son, in the wave of tenderness as I watched my cherubs sleeping in soft moonlight, long lashes shadowing their cheeks; in an hour alone at the end of the day with my husband.

Just a normal day!

A normal day! It is a jewel! In time of war, in peril of death, people have dug their hands and faces into the earth and remembered this. In time of sickness and pain, people have buried their faces in pillows and wept for this. In time of loneliness and separation, people have stretched themselves taut and waited for this. In time of hunger, homelessness, and want, people have raised bony hands to the skies and stayed alive for this.

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me not pass you by in a quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it will not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want more than all the world--your return."

It is my hope that I will always savor every common, ordinary, normal, maybe even a little boring, day.

Gloria

What's important?

2008-08-07T10:08:00.000-07:00

When I was a child, Santa was so real to me. When my brothers trumpeted the information that he wasn’t real, I was crushed. It was like Santa had died—indeed, it was the death of an illusion and it was very painful to me.
When we married and our family started arriving, we did the Santa thing. However, we never made too big a deal about it—perhaps because of my distressing experience. At that time, it wasn’t “the thing” to get your children’s picture sitting on Santa’s lap. In fact, I don’t really remember making it a point to take my children to see Santa so they could ask him for stuff. I didn’t think it was all that important.
There came a time, however, when my fourth child was getting to the age where children begin to figure things out. Somehow, I knew I needed to make a decision about what I would say about Santa if he should ask me about it. As I pondered my dilemma, I realized that there are many myths we carry on in the world today—the main ones are Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the tooth fairy. If we make a big deal out of these myths and sometimes even lie to our children when they ask, what happens to our teachings about God and our Savior? I wanted my children to learn to love our Heavenly Father and our Savior, who are very real, though they cannot be seen. I wanted my children’s hearts to be touched whenever I bore my testimony about their reality. I wanted them to gain testimonies of their reality for themselves.
If we tell them Santa Claus is real, and he is not; if we tell them the Easter Bunny is real, and he is not; if we tell them the Tooth Fairy is real and she is not; then we tell them Heavenly Father and the Savior are real--and they are--I ask you, what are they to think? What conclusion can they draw? I didn’t want to take any chances in leading my children away from the truth, even a little bit.
I decided if I were to be asked point blank, I would tell the story about St. Nicolas in Holland—how it was the custom for the children to leave their wooden shoes on the doorstep of their homes whenever they entered. On Christmas Eve, good old St. Nicolas loved the children and would go around and leave little gifts in their shoes to surprise them. When the old man died, the parents carried this fun annual tradition forward.
It wasn’t long before my son asked me the big question—is Santa Claus real? Because of my ponderings, I was prepared with my answer. I wondered if I had been prompted by the Spirit. I answered his question with my story and he accepted it and went on his way. I thought that was the end of it—but no, it wasn’t.
Shortly afterward, he had lost something—I think it was some money, but I’m not certain. I remember suggesting to him that we pray to Heavenly Father and ask His help in finding his lost item. He shocked me when he answered, “You’re Heavenly Father!” How grateful I was when I could honestly reply to his astonishing statement, telling him that I relied also on Heavenly Father myself when I needed help. So, we prayed together. When we were finished, I headed for my bedroom and got down on my knees and begged the Lord to answer his prayer. It was a testimony to me and to my son, that he immediately found what he had been looking for.
We continued to do the Santa thing, but as before it wasn’t greatly stressed. I don’t think my children have been deprived in any way. The most important thing to me is to teach the truth about Heavenly Father, the Savior, and about the gospel that has been restored anew to the world. It may not be “politically correct”, but that is my sacred duty.