Twenty-One Years

Other than a few traumatic, life-altering moves, I had a normal first twenty-one years of life.  I was a happy child, a depressed teenager, and a mildly wild young adult. I am grateful for the influence, the care, and the love of my parents and eight siblings during those years.  The things I experienced and learned continue to affect my life on a daily basis.  They always will.

As of today, I've been married for as many years as I was single-- for exactly half my life. Nothing from my youth can compare to the joys or the pains I've experienced in the last twenty-one years.  

Roger and I were married in the Salt Lake City, Utah Temple, the same place both our parents were married.  There were times when I wondered, did we do the right thing?  Did we know enough to make the right decision when we got married?  For years I joked that we were both insane at the time.  In a way, we probably were.  We married quickly-- just three months after we met.  We were together for twelve days, and then apart for as long as we'd known each other.  He left for three months of Air Force training.  I went back to my old room, my old job, my old life.  My old boyfriend came back and asked me to run away with him.  Of course I didn't.  It was awful. 

Three months of being alone later, I packed up Roger's little red Honda Civic with all my worldly belongings-- a few clothes, a few wedding presents, a few books, and the only possession I really cared about-- my guitar.  My mom and I drove from Utah, stopping in Dallas to pick up my dad from a business trip, then on to Biloxi, Mississippi. 

They left me there with the stranger I'd married.  Gone was my home, my job, my friends, and my family.  Those were lonely days before e-mail-- I've never been a phone person-- the letters were few and made me cry.  I was isolated in a land of mossy trees, strong spices, and humidity.  While he studied too much and did his military duties, I spent hours and hours on the beach.  I made a few friends.  I waited for him in our hot apartment by the train tracks that crossed our asphalt front yard.  The walls shook when trains passed.  I was homesick and then sick pregnant.  He discovered my faults.  I discovered his.  It wasn't an easy first year.  Without temple covenants, it might not have lasted.

I was six months pregnant with Sarah when his training ended and we found out he'd be stationed at RAF Bentwaters in England.  It was while we were living in Leiston, England that we healed, grew up, and truly learned to love each other.  England is a beautiful, romantic place. For three years, we lived by the North Sea and its cliffs, near an old ruined Abbey, by fields of red poppies, purple heather, and yellow gorse.  We traveled around the country, up into Scotland and Wales, staying in bed and breakfasts and camping by wild horses and on windy hills.  We went rowing with swans in Thorpeness.  In Aldeburgh, we ate fresh codfish and chips wrapped in paper and drenched in brown malt vinegar.  We toured castles and butterfly farms.  We took a hop to Germany.  Sarah and Hannah were both born in Ipswich, in an English hospital.  Our friends became our family.  I'll never forget those years. 

Then we moved to Tacoma, Washington for a little over a year.  We fell in love with the Puget Sound and its islands, Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium with its beluga whales and walrus, and the rhododendron gardens with their bright pink and purple blooms.  Alena was born in Fort Lewis.  Hannah learned to talk.  Sarah went to preschool.

Then it was out of the military and eleven years in Salt Lake City.  Roger finished his degree, we bought our first home, Mariel and Owen were born.  We spent many hours in the mountains and with our families.  Though I struggled with Utah, one year before we left, I realized I'd learned to love it, that it finally felt like home.  Sometimes I miss the desert and the stars.  I miss Antelope Island and Wheeler Farm.  I miss the lake, still as a mirror reflecting mountains and clear blue skies.  I miss my gardens, my lilac bush, and the quaking aspen trees we planted that are now grown up and gorgeous.  It was hard to leave our families.  Even so, I don't think we'll live there again. 

We were led to New York.  We've been here for nearly five years, more in love with each other than ever before.  We have learned to enjoy the apples, the trees, the lakes, the festivals, and the people.  He has flown small planes.  I have flown a bicycle.  We lost a baby.  Our children here are growing up and leaving home.  I don't know how long we'll live here.  It doesn't really matter where we go or if we stay.  He is my home and my heart.

I wonder what will happen in the next twenty-one years.

Snow Fun

We like to shovel the driveway before anybody walks or drives on it, even when we don't get much snow.  That way, everything melts and the smashed snow doesn't freeze into solid, slippery ice.  The kids had a half day today, so I went out to shovel right before their bus came.  The temperature outside was just right, so the snow was slowly melting.  

I get bored shoveling in straight lines.  Sometimes I make squares.  The last square left looked like a canvas.  I meant to spell out the word "love," but I messed it up.  So I shoveled it away.  Mariel helped me make a heart.  Then she helped me decorate the whole thing.  Fun!  I think we'll be doing this again.  I've decided I like the asphalt driveway.

Yep, two posts from me in one day.  Tomorrow is a special day, so I decided not to save this one.

If...Then...

I started reading on May 22nd of last year.  Today, I finished reading the Book of Mormon for the fifth or sixth time, reading from cover to cover. 

It's the second time that I've written in a scripture journal after every time I read.  The first time, I chose a verse or two that I liked, that meant something to me, copied it into a notebook and then wrote my feelings.  This time, I focused on principles because, as it says in the Introduction to the Book of Mormon, quoting Joseph Smith, "'A man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.'" 

A precept is pretty much the same as a principle.  It often follows the "If...Then.." pattern-- if I do this then I will receive that blessing or this consequence.  Sometimes I read one chapter.  Sometimes I had to read several before I found a principle.  Sometimes I found so many wonderful principles in a chapter that it was hard to choose one, so I wrote about several.  I love the Book of Mormon.  It's clear to me, that it is full of true principles.

For the final precept today, I chose this verse Moroni 10:32.  I know that if we come unto Christ, repent, and love God with everything we've got, then through Jesus Christ and His grace, we will be perfected and have the power of God in our lives.

Tomorrow, I'll start again.  Thanks to a missionary's testimony on Sunday, I've decided to choose verses about Jesus Christ for  my scripture journal.  Copying the verses and writing my feelings about them helps me focus.  It's also very interesting to go back and read what I've written about a particular chapter or verse last time.  It helps me remember.

Choices

Stereotypes are useful teaching tools.  Last night in family home evening, we used these puppets to talk about Mr. Wickedness and Mr. Happiness.  We described the choices that both of these guys make and the effects on their lives.  Then we read Alma 41:10-11 and Mosiah 2:41 which illustrate things about wickedness and happiness.  It's true, wickedness never was happiness.  Sometimes we might feel tired of or inconvenienced by the things we need to do to maintain and strengthen our spirituality.  Lasting happiness and peace are worth it.

About the felt puppets:  They were made a long time ago.  We've made many over the years.  They are easy and fun to make.  Sarah made the face of the green-haired one for a school project.  It was Medusa.  I helped sew the pipe-cleaners into the seam for the hair.  It felt experimental at the time, but it worked fabulously.  The outfit Sarah made was not #5.  Medusa wore a dress.  I made #5 for a different puppet.  I also made the other puppet and his clothes.  The eyebrows, mustache, and soul patch were added later, probably by Sarah.  He was turned into a pirate, again, probably for a school project.  Originally, he was a daddy.  To me, they both look happy and wicked in different ways, so I won't tell you who represented who in our fhe.

The Real Proposal

“How did Daddy propose?” asked my eighteen-year-old daughter a couple of weeks ago.

My husband smiled at me and answered, “We were on our way up Little Cottonwood Canyon when I said I’d be willing to take you…”

“No, no,” I interrupted. “You’re thinking of that other time. That wasn’t the proposal. You proposed in front of the fireplace at your mom’s house. It wasn’t even a real proposal,” I explained to my daughter. “He just said, ‘What would you say if I asked you to marry me?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’”

The time in front of the fireplace happened two weeks after our drive up the canyon and one month after we met. It was nice, but it wasn’t as meaningful, powerful, or romantic. I never let the canyon experience count because at the time I was in a very serious relationship with someone else. Roger and I started going out during one of the times I tried to break up with the other guy.

My memory is faulty and my perceptions are often worse. After our conversation, I kept thinking about the fireplace proposal versus the canyon experience. I dug through old journals. Eventually, I decided he’s right. It was on the way up Little Cottonwood Canyon, on a clear, starry night that Roger proposed.

On December 12th, 1988, Roger and I had dinner together at my parents’ house and then watched a movie at his. After the date, I wasn’t ready to go home. I knew I needed to be open and honest about my feelings, so I suggested we drive up Little Cottonwood Canyon and see the stars. As the car wound up the twists and turns of the canyon, I unwound my relationship with the other guy. I explained some of our problems. Roger impressed me by the way he listened.

“My mom said she’s okay with him as long as he is willing to take me to the Celestial Kingdom,” I told him. I’d made it clear it was doubtful that would ever happen.

Quietly, Roger said, “I’d be willing to take you there.”

I went silent. I felt tingly and overwhelmed with surprise. I’d been chatting away about this other guy, all the while failing to realize the level of Roger’s feelings for me. For a long time, I said nothing. Eventually, I told him how much I was beginning to like him.

The other guy evaporated. Time disappeared. We’d driven as far as we could go, up to where the gate was locked, the road blocked because of snow. We got out of the car and walked into the cold, clear night and gazed at the stars for a long time. We hugged to stay warm. We played the game where whoever sees the most falling stars wins. He won. Then, he drove me home.

When I got out of the car, I felt light and happy. I leapt across the irrigation ditch in front of my parents’ home. As I crunched across the snowy front lawn, I felt like I was surrounded by little angels crowding in to hug me. I felt they were my future children, rejoicing.

Six days later, I found the courage to permanently break up with the boyfriend. Two weeks later, Roger “proposed” in front of his mom’s fireplace. Less than two months later, we were married. It all began with that timeless moment on our way up Little Cottonwood Canyon.

Worth Emulating

Wonder and awe. 
I love them.

Every Day

Day after day after gray day

Missing warmer days:

Biking to the lake,

Riding through wildflowers.

Those days will come again.

And thankful for every day

I spend with you.