On Walls, People Who Moved to California, and Things We Miss at Christmas

A friend who recently lost her dear mother has been posting memorials lately, lots of pictures of her sweet mama, and memes that express the truth about loss, grief, healing, and how all those emotions are intensified during the holiday season. One particular meme struck me. It said, "Still one more thing to wrap...your arm around someone grieving a loss this Christmas." Losing our loved ones is never easy, even if we believe in life eternal and that mortal death is only a step in an eternity of progression. It's still hard. Because we're still here, to carry on our mortal journey, without those people we loved so much and whose influence will be so deeply missed. So Rebecca, and others who grieve a loss this day, my virtual arm is stretched out to you.

I am not grieving a recent loss this season, but there are still things I miss today.

I miss having a president whom I can respect to lead my country.Yes, I'm especially fond of President Obama, and yes, I miss him terribly, but this day I miss others as well. I miss all who selflessly served in one of the most difficult and trying jobs there is, as best they could, with all their limitations, to lead this nation. Thank you Presidents Obama, George W. Bush, Clinton, George H.W. Bush, Reagan, and Carter. I miss you. I miss all of you. As our current president spends the Christmas season trying to build a wall, may we speculate on what Jesus might do instead? Might He welcome the hungry; the violated; the refugee; the war-torn mother with babe in arms; the father fleeing violence, who would risk everything to protect his family? After all, the One whose birth we celebrate this day is the One who tore down walls, walls of hatred, bigotry, intolerance, fear, and exclusion. He came for all, and He welcomed all. On this day when we look to Him and His message of love, may we stand and tell this president that we are better than his stupid wall. This is not who we are.

Just this afternoon, I went to a kids' movie. I really hate kids' movies, every last one of them, and I didn't like this one any better, but I did love its message: Embrace one another. Our differences need not divide us. Break down walls of fear and exclusion. The movie is called Smallfoot, and you should probably go see it, Mr. President.

On a much smaller and more personal note, I miss my friends who are now members of the Union Park 4th ward. Last Sunday afternoon, I had a brief text conversation with our former bishop, Steve Kinghorn  (who is one of the very few of us who were moved to the Union Park 3rd ward). I had spoken in church that morning, and he texted me to tell me he enjoyed my talk (because he is just nice like that). Our conversation somehow shifted to the recent change in ward boundaries. He said, "I feel like they all moved to California." Yep! It's so weird. They didn't move at all. They are right where they always were, in some cases, just barely across the street from us. But they feel far away.

That said, a couple weeks ago, I hosted my annual Christmas cookie exchange. It's always a well-attended party because it's the one event husbands nearly push their wives out their front doors to attend. That's because they return with plates overflowing with a variety of delicious Christmas cookies. Win/win! This year, though, I changed the rules just slightly; I made attendance mandatory. I missed everyone so much that I said everyone had to come. And they believed me! Only one person was unable to make it. Even those who had other stuff to do that evening, stopped by afterward. It was just lovely. I miss you, my friends.

Finally, on an even smaller and more intimate note, I miss my baby today. So much. As Shulamith and I shopped for all the gifts this season, she remarked, "It's just not as much fun when we're not buying presents for Seth." Truth. I sent Seth a small package last month, so no, we didn't get to shop for him. But the most perfect Christmas gift for me arrived today at noon. It was all I wanted for Christmas, and it was everything I hoped for.

Everyone was here to talk to him, all gathered around the computer. He spoke Spanish to us; that was the weirdest and most wonderful thing. My baby can speak Spanish! Here's a glimpse of our time with him:

Somehow, I missed getting a pic of Shulamith, but rest assured, big sister was right here talking to him.

I didn't cry until the end, so I thought that was pretty good. When he said, "We'll talk again in five months," I broke just a little. Then he held up his tag so proudly, and told me he ordered one in Guarani, the indigenous language many people speak in Paraguay. And that was it.

My tears were happy ones, as I see the growth he has experienced in just four months. He's still our Seth for sure, funny and adorable...yet different. More mature. More confident.

May we tear down walls this day, love our friends (even those who seem like they're in California), and pray for our missionaries everywhere. And us missionary mamas too. Pray for us. Cuz this missionary mom gig is not an easy one.

Merry Christmas!

"Wait, you were in Mexico with me." "Oh yeah, I have fond memories of that trip."

Once several years ago, I left my two little kids with my mom and traveled with Gerald and another couple to Mexico. It was a good trip in many ways, but one unfortunate part was that early on, though we tried to be so careful, we all ate something bad and found ourselves with the infamous Montezuma's Revenge. It was awful.

Fortunately, modern medicine exists to counter those crappy (pun intended) symptoms, and make people feel at least moderately better if not fully well. My traveling companions took full advantage of that wonderful medicine. Me? Nope. I was just a few weeks pregnant with Baby #3, and all that good medicine was contraindicated in pregnancy.

So while Gerald and John and Becky were climbing pyramids, I was still feeling terrible and mostly stuck back at the casa. Thanks, Isaiah.

Fast forward to now. As many of you know, Isaiah is a world traveler, having visited 15 countries and at least as many U.S. cities in the past four years, in his position as an On-site Tech Specialist with Cvent, Inc. With all that travel, though, his only Mexican destination was Cancun; he had never been to Mexico City or Puerto Vallarta, the two places I went on my trip.

So this month, with so much PTO accumulated that he barely needed to work at all, he decided to head south to warmer weather for the week prior to Christmas. Using a tiny fraction of his gazillion flight miles, he booked a flight to Guadalajara, with plans to ride a bus to Puerto Vallarta and fly to Mexico City.

I was so excited for him to have an actual vacation (rather than intense work trips), and as we talked about his plans, I suddenly remembered that he had actually been to both Mexico City and Puerto Vallarta before:

"Wait, you were in Mexico with me. I was just a few weeks pregnant with you when I was there."

"Oh yeah, I have fond memories of that trip."

"Me too. I was so sick! But I didn't take any medicine that might risk your perfect development. So you're welcome!"

We laughed. And planned some more. "You have to go see the Shrine of Guadalupe. It's seriously the coolest to see hundreds of faithful people, walking on their knees on the hard ground, in reverence as they approach the Shrine."

He said he'd go there.

He left a week ago Saturday, and began posting beautiful pics to Instagram, but since he posted only to "stories," most have disappeared. I only just now thought to grab a screenshot of his most recent post:

So things were going swimmingly for Isaiah until Friday night, when I got this text: "I'm really sick."

Nooooo! Could history be repeating itself. Indeed. Isaiah, who is not super careful about food, wound up in the same situation I was in on my vacation years ago, when he was but a tiny one inside me, just starting to grow. Only he was all alone. When he texted, "Sucks being sick and alone in another country," I kinda lost it. I'm just not good at having my kids far away and sick, with no way to help them. Seth in Paraguay with woefully limited communication, and now Isaiah sick in Mexico pretty much put my anxiety over the top. Poor Shulamith and Eli were left to deal with a crazy mom:

"I forgot to tell him to pack Imodium. What if he dies of dehydration in Mexico with no one to help him?"

"He won't die, Mom. He'll be fine"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"100%? I need it to be 100% sure."

"Yes, 100%. He'll be fine."

And he was, of course. We texted back and forth, as he lay in bed in his hostel, eating crackers and drinking 7-Up, watching the Jazz crush the Blazers. Well at least there was that.

He was mostly better by the next day and able to continue sightseeing, and he'll come home TOMORROW, in time to talk to Seth on Tuesday! Oh, and Christmas (a very distant second behind the excitement of talking to Seth).

"Wait, you were in Mexico with me."

"Oh yeah, I have fond memories of that trip."

Gingerbread, Jazz, and Happy Birthday, Matt!

December is now half over, and Christmas just 10 days away! The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity, all good things, but so many, one right after the other. With no time to blog them individually, here is my random post of miscellaneous madness:

1. Gingerbread houses. Yes, we decided to make them, and yes, I'm aware this type of activity is far beyond my capability, but we decided to try anyway. It was pretty much a disaster until Amanda demonstrated how to construct a house that would not immediately cave in. Hers was lovely:

Then there's mine:

Okay, not so lovely, but it's sort of a house, so yeah.

Shulamith and her kids and Eli all worked hard as well, with limited success. Regardless, I'm told they tasted very good, which is all that really matters. (I didn't get even a bite because I'm doing this intermittent fasting deal, and my eating hours were long past by the time we made these.)

2. Jazz game. A few of us (read: Isaiah, Shulamith, and I) happen to be crazy Jazz fans. It's all Isaiah's fault. We would never have started watching if not for him. Our boys have had a bit of a bipolar start this season, losing miserably one night, and then turning around and winning a blowout game the very next night. Over and over. They don't even look like the same team, one night to the next! Fortunately, the game Shulamith picked for us to attend in person turned out to be one of their blowout nights. Pure joy to sit in the arena and watch Donovan and Ricky and Joe and Rudy demolish the San Antonio Spurs 139-105. It was awesome!

3. Ward Christmas party. The next weekend, Gerald, Eli, and I attended our ward's Christmas breakfast. Keep in mind, we are in a brand new ward and still trying to find our places there. It's not easy, but the more we participate, the better it is. Eli even volunteered to arrive at 7:15 that morning to cook pancakes. What a guy!

4. Matt's birthday. When was his birthday, you might be asking? May 19th. Yes, I'm aware that was seven months ago, but time sorta got away from me. We didn't celebrate his birthday in May at all. We didn't buy him presents. We didn't eat cake. We didn't sing "Happy Birthday." We didn't do anything. Mind you, Matt doesn't care in the least. But I do. And I couldn't get it out of my mind. I'd wake up in the night and think, "We STILL haven't celebrated Matt's birthday. That's terrible!" Then more days would go by. And more weeks. And months.

When Shulamith and I began to plot out Christmas presents for this year, that was the final straw for me. No way we could buy Matt Christmas presents when we still hadn't celebrated his birthday. Absolutely not. So I thought to myself, "I know what I'll do. I'll make him a pie." Okay, I know you're all thinking the same thing:  pie-making and Terrianne in the same sentence is a recipe (pun intended) for disaster, but remember when I did it once before? See!

And he really liked it that first time, so I decided to try it again. And it worked again. Unbelievable.

Now we can shop for Matt's Christmas presents in peace, and when I'm up worrying in the middle of the night, it will be about something other than Matt's missed birthday celebration.

With just 10 days to go, I hope to slow down a little. I hope you can too. Perhaps with much of the rush and bustle of the season behind us, we can all slow down this coming week, pause, take a much needed breath.

May the remainder of this glorious season be ever so merry for you, my dear friends and readers, and for all of us.

It is sent with more love than you can even imagine. Do you think he'll like it?

It's been three months now since that August morning when we all loaded into our old minivan and drove to the Salt Lake City Airport. It was a quiet ride, sort of like the proverbial elephant in the room (elephant in the van?). We all knew what that ride to the airport meant, and no one knew quite what to say. We were sending our Seth off, the baby of the family, to serve the people of Paraguay. We would not see him for two years.

My anxiety was in full gear. So many conflicting emotions pulsed through my tired body. I'd barely slept the night before. I was so proud of this kid, yet so sad. I was so grateful for his choices that brought him to this point, yet so heartbroken for the separation to come. I was so excited for the incredible experiences that awaited him, yet so fearful of all the unknown. I wonder how normal, non-anxious moms handle missionary goodbyes? Probably better than I do, but well, I can only be who I am, and I did my very best.

Since that morning, week by week, I've come to adjust to what will be our "new normal" for the next two years, Seth in Paraguay, the rest of us here. And I'm doing pretty well. I live for Monday, P-day, and those emails  that get me through another week. They make me laugh. They make me cry. They make me cringe (sometimes) as his English syntax deteriorates right before my eyes, the obvious product of his intense focus on Spanish. But mostly, his emails fill me with joy because I "hear" his voice in every single line. His tone, diction, sentence structure are all uniquely Seth. He has never been one to mince words; he'll never tell you what he thinks you want to hear. It's always the truth, raw and real.

And the truth is that he is happy. He is happy to be in Paraguay. It was absolutely the right mission for him. This past week, more so than in the past, I sensed that he was truly finding his rhythm. Everything didn't seem so new, so unexpected. There was a sense of confidence I hadn't felt before. I guess he's finding his "new normal" right along with me. I will ever be thankful to his mission presidents, the senior couple serving in Paraguay, and most especially, Elder Guerrero, his trainer and first companion. Elder Guerrero doesn't speak English, and up until three months ago, Seth didn't speak Spanish. Yet upon meeting, Seth said he felt overwhelming love from this young, Bolivian elder, who has taught Seth, guided him, and helped him adjust to the ins and outs of missionary service. Bless you, Elder Guerrero!

And it's a good thing Isaiah has taught Seth to be 100% adventurous about food. There is nothing the two of them won't try. Here's a picture from last week in Paraguay:

He said it's some kind of meat (he's not sure what), with rice topped with tuna and a fried egg on the side!

Now we find ourselves in the midst of our first holiday season without Seth. I think of him every time we celebrate one of our many family traditions. From decorating the house to trying to get my stupid tree set up, Seth was always a central figure. When we carved the Thanksgiving turkey last week, I looked at its giant leg and smiled. Seth likes to take the entire turkey leg and eat the meat right off the bone. Next came Black Friday shopping. Now Seth was never a direct participant in that. The Webster women shopping warriors do Black Friday alone, as we seek to conquer everyone else's Christmas list. But as we mapped out our game plan, it wasn't nearly as urgent this year. Without Seth's list of video game consoles, games, etc. we weren't nearly as frantic. Even so, it was still our favorite day of the entire year. Well, just look at us mid-shopping and afterward as we finally sat down for a Diet Coke and Blizzard break.

Seth's Christmas presents were sent nearly a month ago. It's a bit of a process to get stuff to Paraguay, and it was challenging to know what to do and when. Seth's mission president has requested that parents limit the number of packages they send. It's difficult on their end when hundreds of packages arrive at the mission office, and they are tasked with delivering them all over Paraguay. Also, not all missionaries receive big packages from home, so there is that to consider. The mission president even suggested perhaps not sending a Christmas package, but instead adding some extra money to our missionary's bank account.

I struggled to know what was best. Ultimately, I needed to send something. I couldn't stand the thought of Seth not having anything to open on Christmas. I also tried to be conservative, in order to respect the wishes of the mission president, who obviously knows best what's going on there. I put together a small package, just a few items that fit into a gallon-sized zip lock bag. Then I took this bag to a pickup point for LDSXPRESS, a company that delivers packages to missionaries throughout South America. I expected to find a few parents in line, but this is what I found when I arrived:

Goodness, look at all those people, some with two and three giant bags of presents! Suddenly, I felt woefully inadequate, holding my little bag. It costs $20/lb plus a delivery fee to send this stuff; these people are spending a fortune. All my insecurities surfaced. What if Seth is expecting a bag like one of these? What if he doesn't like the small things I sent? What if he has a bad Christmas, his first one away from home in a foreign country? What if? What if? What if?

Time to readjust. Seriously. This was spinning in an awful direction.

Seth's focus this year is serving others, not what he will receive for Christmas. His best gift (like mine!) will be when we get to talk that day, just 24 days from today. And he will love my little package because he will know that I chose each item carefully, just for him. Would you like to see it??

There is a small Greg Olsen calendar with beautiful pictures of the savior, a pop-up nativity, a little ornament with Mary, Joseph, and the Christ child, Skittles, a book of gummy Life Savers, a missionary tie tack, breath mints, lip balm, and a pair of Christmas socks. Missing in this picture, but included in the package, are a "dope tie" (his only request) and some personalized socks with Waffles' picture all over them.

Here is the package all put together. It first went on a big truck, then on a plane, then (hopefully) to the Paraguay Asuncion Mission office, and then out to Seth before Dec. 25th.

It is sent with more love than you can even imagine. Do you think he'll like it?

We were 7 of the 22 votes

When I was a college student in Salem, Oregon, I drove the 45 miles to my home in Portland in order to cast my vote in a school bond election. It was that important. I had recently been a student in the public school system myself, and my brother, who is two years younger than me, still was. Even if that hadn't been the case, I would have come home to vote in that election. Education matters. What could we possibly use our money for that would yield a better return?

That school levy passed. By three votes: my mom, my dad, and me. I'm sure others who supported the levy felt the same, that it was their votes that put it over the top. But no, it was definitely our family.

I have never forgotten that election, and when I hear people say their votes don't matter, I tell this story. It's easy to feel powerless in a system that seems so big, so complex, and (sadly) sometimes so corrupt.

But that kind of apathy never effected change. I grew up in a political family and was taught from infancy by my grandfather the importance of my vote. As a female, I'm especially aware. Suffragettes fought for that right for me not terribly far in the past; I honor their sacrifice by voting always.

And yes, the Parkrose School District in Portland, Oregon secured the funding it needed to serve children, and teachers in that district had salary increases, because my mom and my dad and I went to the polls that day and voted yes!

Recently, another close race occurred right here in Utah. Democrat Ben McAdams defeated incumbent Republican Mia Love for her seat in the U.S. House of Representatives, by just 694 votes! Had it been just 22 votes closer, she could have requested a recount. I am proud to report that seven of those 22 votes were from my immediate family. Again, I'm sure all McAdams supporters are thrilled to be part of those 22 votes, but the Erichsen-Websters are claiming seven of them.

The week prior to the election, McAdams' campaign workers were out in earnest. Literally every day, one of them knocked on my door to make sure I was planning to vote. Yes, I will vote. More importantly, I will vote for Ben! After the fifth day of this, I said to the campaign worker (whose shoes I've been in many times): "You guys really don't need to come here every day. I promise you that every qualified voter in this family is registered. And every one of us will vote for Ben McAdams. No one here will vote for Mia Love."

Still, they came back the following day. Just to be sure.

They knew they had a fight, and they fought it. They knew voter turnout would make the difference.

In the end, they were right.

I couldn't be more delighted to welcome Ben McAdams to the U.S. House of Representatives from the State of Utah. I'm excited to see what a difference in policy his presence there will make.

My vote mattered years ago in that school bond election in Portland, and it mattered again last week right here. It always matters.

We were 7 of the 22.

The Christmas tree that hates Christmas!

In case you've forgotten about my creepy Christmas tree, let me refresh your memory right here. It's seriously possessed! Last year, as we disassembled the thing, I promised myself I would not deal with this stupid tree one more year.

But look! Here we are trying to figure it out again.

This time....... without Seth.

But lest I start getting all wimpy weepy about that, enter Eli and Amanda to the rescue. They are so smart. And helpful. It's a dang good thing they moved in here a month before Seth left on his mission, or things could be really bad.

We decided to pull out the tree extra early to see if a pre-Christmas miracle might occur and the thing could behave like a normal, non-possessed Christmas tree.

But the thing about miracles is they don't happen all the time; that's part of what makes them so miraculous, after all. And so it was with this haunted tree. The second we set it up, random loose branches began to fall on top of each other, just like last year. Luckily, Amanda had this brilliant idea to use zip ties to hold the loose branches in place. Okay, admittedly, I didn't even know what zip ties were (remember how I was napping in Heaven during the distribution of talents?), but she and Eli were sure this would work.

And they were right! Here's Amanda strategically tying up all the lose branches, one at a time. Zip ties for the win!

Could it be this easy? Could our troubles be over? Of course not! Next began the saga of the lights. I always thought a pre-lit Christmas tree would be so easy. You set the thing up, fluff out the branches, plug in the cord, and voila! From top to bottom, the glorious tree lights up, shining forth in the darkness. The symbolism of Christ bringing light to a dark, desperate world warms your soul yet again. It's the magic of Christmas!

Except this tree doesn't seem to understand its role in all of this.

"It's the Christmas tree that hates Christmas," Amanda remarked, and she and Eli spent hours searching up and down, inside and out, over and under branches in attempt to connect the cords in the right order and bring forth light.

"Oooh, I think I found it right here. Now I just need the other one."

"You need a male or a female?"

"A male."

"Dang, I only see a female."

"Try switching these two."

"Hooray, we have the bottom half lit up! Halfway there."

"Okay, now try plugging that one into this one here."

"No! now the bottom lights are off again."

On and on it went, the painstaking process of lighting this stupid tree. I suggested multiple times that they give up. Really, this isn't fun. Go do something fun. They persisted.

In the end, we could never get the entire tree lit at the same time, and I'll likely need to buy a short string of lights to go in the middle, but whatever. It's fine.

I'm just happy to be dealing with it now, not late in the season (you know, like the night before my annual cookie exchange party, or worse (!) Christmas Eve). We'll get it all worked out and have a lovely tree.

For now, we have this:

Cuz I'm an adult. And I can.

My friend Lindsey and I both have memories of our young adult years, when we'd get fast food almost every day, because we were finally adults, and we could. No longer were we stuck eating at home because our parents decided so. Those memories are long in the past (longer for me than for her), but sometimes I still feel empowered by my adulthood, free to exercise my agency. Cuz I'm an adult. And I can.

Such an experience occurred on Saturday. I left early in the morning with my computer and school bag and landed in my favorite booth at my place of personal refuge when I need to get school work done: Corner Bakery at Fashion Place Mall. Free from the distractions of family and fortified with a never-ending supply of Diet Coke on tap, I can pound out work faster there than anywhere else.

And pound it out I did. Lots and lots of work. I barely noticed the hours passing until Shulamith came to visit me at nearly 2:00 p.m.! We ate a pumpkin muffin (her) and a lemon/blueberry hand pie (me), and talked about the mundane things of life as we do every day, along with more interesting topics like my trip to Thailand (or Japan? I'm not sure yet) to visit Isaiah when he's traveling in Asia next summer.

She left, and I considered what I would do next work-wise, when I happened to open my Fitbit app.

Eight hundred ninety-two steps! I'm not even kidding. It was the middle of the afternoon, and I had spent six hours sitting in a booth, not moving. I had wasted the better part of a beautiful fall day reading Request for Adjustment and Negative Reply letters, millions of them it felt like, and taken just 892 steps! Well, I closed my laptop right that second, gathered my stuff, and went home.

As I quickly changed into running shoes, grabbed my headphones and headed out the door for a long power walk, the thought came to me, "I'll listen to Christmas music. That's what I'll do. Cuz I'm an adult. And I can."

Granted it was still four days before Halloween, my self-imposed earliest day for holiday music, but whatever. I needed a boost. Not only had I just worked for six hours on a Saturday doing my "part time job," but tomorrow was Sunday, and I'd need to go to church in the new ward. Friends, this still isn't easy. It's only been a little over a month, so the growing pains of change are still very real. It won't always feel like this. One day it will feel like it's really our ward. One day we won't feel like visitors. One day we'll all have callings and fit right in. Oooh...this: One day (soon? maybe? hoping?) I'll get to speak in Sacrament Meeting!

One day. But not yet. It's a surreal experience. We meet in our very own building, so familiar. But then we sit in the chapel and look across the aisle, and instead of seeing Amy and Kevin and kids, or a few rows up, Kayla and Spencer and kids, or Kara or Katie or Caitlin or Emily B. or Nichole and their families, there's a giant sea of unfamiliar faces, a room full of strangers. They are all so nice and are trying so hard to welcome us, but what can they really do? There are so many of them and only just a few of us sprinkled among them. It is what it is.

So yeah, I needed a boost to mentally prepare for the next day, to get my "positive" on and focus on the Savior and why I go to church in the first place, rather than thinking about how much I would miss my ward family. The answer to that? Christmas music! Just like that, without even the slightest guilt, I switched my Spotify to my Christmas station, put on my headphones, and did five miles. Woo!

It was lovely. And honestly, church the next day was good too. In Relief Society, they played Family Feud, and they let the four of us from 6th Ward be one team, and oooh, it felt nice to participate. Emily L. and I joined the ward choir, Emily because she sings like an angel, I because I'm desperate to make some sort of connection. The choir is preparing for the Christmas program, so yay, more Christmas music.

When I was a young adult, I got fast food nearly every day; I still eat out a lot, certainly more than I cook at home. And Saturday, I started listening to Christmas music four days early.

Cuz I'm an adult. And I can.

Drive 'em Till They Smoke!

There are a couple of idioms, both involving straws, that point to fairly insignificant events all by themselves, but when added on top of a bunch of other events, are enough to push us over the edge. "It was the last straw," we say in desperation, or "It was the straw that broke the camel's back." I'm not sure why it's always straws.

Regardless, that happened to me two days ago. Here I was, minding my own business on a crisp, October morning. I jumped in my van to head to the Trax station to ride downtown and teach my one Friday class, but before I even got out onto 80th, my front right tire went totally flat, as in I was completely down on the wheel. I barely made it over to the side of Angel St. Shulamith was planning to meet me at Trax to collect her child, so I called her and told her to pick us up first.

And that little event right there turned out to be the proverbial last straw.

To backtrack, we are known for driving our cars until they smoke. Sometimes literally. If I'm gonna pay interest on something, I'm gonna get my money's worth. We once had a Volkswagen Fox, a tiny car with just four seats. As I drove out of the parking lot of Luke's kindergarten one day, a huge cloud of black smoke arose from the front hood. Yep, the car was toast. I happened to be pregnant with Isaiah at the time, and this little car with four seats would not accommodate a family of five anyway, so that very day, we bought our first minivan.

It is with pride that I tell you how that very minivan is the car Isaiah used when he was 15 and took driver's ed. It didn't actually ever smoke, but near the end of its life, I had to carry gallon milk jugs filled with water and stop every few hundred yards to add that water to keep the engine from overheating. As the frigid Billings winter approached, we decided it was time to cave and replace our perfect van, which we owned for 15 years.

This we did with my 2004 Oldsmobile Silhouette, the car that got the flat tire two days ago. I've had it 14 years. It's been lots and lots of places. Shulamith and I drove it from Billings to Portland at least twice. Gerald drove it to Dallas, so Isaiah and his friends could attend QuakeCon, a giant computer LAN party. I've delivered kids to school, to piano lessons, to friends' houses, and Eli used it to pick up all his friends in the wee hours of weekday mornings for seminary. 

Oh how we have loved our van, but with over 180,000 miles, one by one, things malfunctioned. For several years, the automatic windows haven't worked, so I just don't use them. Ever. The most annoying part of this is driving through food places (which I do literally every day) and having to drive way forward past the window and then open my whole door to both pay and get the food. The sliding doors stick, so it takes two hands and a hefty tug to open them. The rear turn signals haven't worked forever, making me terrified when I drive at night that someone is going to rear end me. Recently the speedometer quit working; it shows me doing 110 mph pretty much all the time.

So that flat tire Friday morning was very much the last straw, in a series of straws, that ultimately broke the poor camel's back.

Not that I would have been brave enough to go buy a car on my own. Keep in mind I don't do this often. I find it terrifying! But Shulamith (aka Olivia Pope) was on it. She looked online and found a car she knew I would love, a crossover between a minivan and a small SUV. It's important to me to have a car that, if needed, would seat the seven Erichsen-Websters, even though it isn't often we have all seven of us in a car together. It had to be the easiest sale this cute 21-year-old saleskid ever had. I looked at the car Shulamith found, drove it up and down the street, told him what payment I wanted, and within 20 minutes, was signing papers.

Hoping to drive it till it smokes.

The Evolution of Missionary Momhood

As most of you know, Seth is my third child to serve a full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I've heard some one-time-only missionary moms say things like, "It was great, but I'm glad I only had to do it once. Once was fantastic, but once was enough!" Well, okay, but you see, I didn't get to decide how many of my kids would choose to serve missions. Turns out my number is three!

The experience of being a missionary mom has evolved over the years. I did not serve a mission myself, but if I had, my parents would have had to wait each week for a snail mail letter, never certain if or when it would arrive. And pictures? Uh, probably few if any. Honestly, how did missionary moms do it in those days?

When I sent my first in 2006-2008, we at least had email. I could be reasonably certain I'd hear from Luke on P-day (Monday), unless it was a legal holiday when libraries were closed, and then I had to wait another week. He sent very few pictures. Occasionally, a dear member in Portland would email me a picture. Oh the joy! With no social media to connect missionary families, this incredibly generous lady named Betty organized email groups for parents of kids serving in the same mission. I joined the OPM (Oregon Portland Mission) email group right away and was able to connect with several moms of Luke's companions. Thank you, Betty!

By the time Eli served in 2012-2014, we not only had regular P-day email, but with the advent of social media, we had Facebook! Oh yes indeed, the Facebook page for the ARLM (Arkansas Little Rock Mission) families became my rock. I could go there with questions for parents of kids who had been serving longer than Eli. I could chat with moms of his companions. I could even connect with members in the mission who were taking such good care of him. Those of us living here in the valley would gather occasionally, either at restaurants or at someone's home, to share experiences, concerns, and mutual understanding. It's just impossible to understand missionary momhood until you are one. Eli has been home over four years now, and I still hang out with friends formed from that group (Hello Diana, Carlene, Janeen, Lisa)!

And here's my cute Elder Webster with a little boy he baptized:

So things changed a lot for moms between my first and second missionaries, but guys, it's nothing compared to the changes in the last four years. Now I have Seth in Paraguay, way farther away than either of my other two, and yet, I have more information than I ever had with them. Yes, we still have weekly email, only Seth has the technology to send pictures every week.

Like this one today:

And yes, there's a Facebook group, two actually, one for families of missionaries serving in the Paraguay Asuncion Mission and one for the mission itself, administrated by President and Sister Hansen. Both provide tons of information, and missionary moms hunger for information with an insatiable voracity.

Beyond Facebook, we also have the Westovers, a missionary couple currently serving in the mission, who happen to have a blog. Well heck yeah! Cuz I just happen to love people who blog. Sister Westover provides weekly updates about their experiences in the mission, and she writes with such genuine voice! I love reading it. And she also posts pictures. For example, this one right here:

I would never have seen this picture of Seth on his way to his first area, were it not for Sister Westover's blog.

I get kinda mad at technology sometimes. Especially when it doesn't work. But I wouldn't go back to earlier times for all the asaditos (sp?) in Paraguay! (These are asaditos, by the way.)

I can't even imagine no connection beyond a letter that may or may not arrive in the mailbox. Yikes! Heavenly Father knew I needed to be a missionary mom now, and not 20 years ago.

Even though it's hard sometimes, I'm so grateful for the opportunity I've had to be a missionary mom three times.

I hadn't cried since the airport...

Okay, maybe I teared up a couple times when I walked into his room and saw the Paraguay flag hanging on the wall, his clothes hanging in his closet, clothes he won't wear for two whole years. Maybe I shed a tiny tear when I drove by Mr. Mac and remembered the night I took him there to be fitted for his mission suit. But no, I hadn't down dirty ugly cried since the airport.

Until this morning.

I got up early to get our beloved egg casserole in the oven, so it would be ready for everyone by the start of conference. If you ever want to be eternally grateful to me for sharing the most delicious food you will ever eat, then open this link right here. You're welcome.

Then I began to clean. Why? Because even though I spent much of last evening working to get my house what I call "General Conference clean," there were still tasks left to do. As I knelt on hands and knees in the bathroom, scrubbing out the tub and floor, it hit me. All at once. Out of nowhere. My Seth would not be with me to watch General Conference. "Well, duh," you are probably thinking. "He's in Mexico, preparing to fly to Paraguay Monday." I know that. I do. But the pathos attached to it didn't all come together for me until I was kneeling over that bathtub, struggling to scrub the dirt out of the those stupid grout-filled tiles.

You see, for the past several years, Seth has been my General Conference buddy. Everyone else seems to come and go. Gerald usually has to work during at least one session on Saturday. The older kids do crazy things like go away to college, serve missions, even get married! Sometimes they're here; sometimes they're not. Seth is the one constant. He's always here. I can count on him to set his bungee chair in front of the TV, wrap himself in a blanket, get his spiral out to take notes for seminary, and begin asking for food (treats he requested earlier in the week).

I texted Shulamith:

Me: I can't stop crying. Seth isn't here to watch Conference with me.

Shulamith: That must be so hard. But remember, if he had decided not to serve a mission, that would be even harder.

Me: Yes, of course you're right. But I just really miss him today. And I can't stop crying.

Shulamith: Start walking to Chevron. I'll meet your there. We'll get Diet Cokes and go home and watch together.

Girl, you have always been, and will always be, my best friend.

Some have told me I can't have it both ways. I can't encourage him his entire life to serve a mission and then be sad when he does. I disagree. I can absolutely have it both ways. Yes, I taught him to prepare himself to serve the Lord on a full-time mission. Yes, I helped him with every step of the process. And yes, I wanted this for him more than anything. Nothing he could possibly do would make me any prouder.

But yes, I still feel sad sometimes, and today was one of those times. The memories flooded over me. Early in his childhood, when watching a full two hours of Conference was unreasonable for a little kid, I would encourage him to listen when prophet spoke. And he did. I remember him sitting on my bed in our house in Billings. He got really quiet when President Hinckley spoke. It was as if he could sense that he was sitting at the feet of a prophet of the Lord.

Then I thought about Conference just one year ago. In the Saturday afternoon session, Seth and I didn't watch together. I watched the session live in the Conference Center, and Seth watched it from the choir loft, where he sang with a group of youth from our area. I was right down on the plaza floor, with a perfect view of Seth.

When the session ended, we weren't sure how we'd find each other since they didn't let the kids keep their phones (because, you know, teenagers would never pull out their phones while singing in a choir at General Conference). But I walked outside the door and within only a few minutes, there he was:

Today, Seth did not watch Conference here with me. He watched with around 800 other missionaries in the Mexico CCM. I hope it was so wonderful for him. I hope his testimony was fueled by Elder Soares, who invited him to reach out to people of other cultures (like Paraguay!) and welcome them into the church, and by President Uchtdorf, who reminded him that God's love is transformative and powerful, sufficient to overcome the "Weltschmerz" that, at times, plagues all of us. 

Between sessions today at the CCM, they served fresh, hot churros with toppings of chocolate sauce and fruit and whipped cream. Seth loves churros! I hope he ate two. Maybe he even gained another pound. 

I hadn't cried since the airport. But today. Well, today was a day. Perhaps I had to get it all out of my system before Monday, when I might get to talk to him (yes, actually hear his voice). Missionaries are allowed to call home from the airport when they leave the MTC (CCM) and before they fly off to wherever they're serving. But giving international phone cards to Gen Z kids, who have never in their lives not had cell phones, and telling them to use these cards in a pay phone at the airport to call home, well let's just say it's pretty much a crap shoot, whether or not they'll figure out how to do that. Seth has literally never used a pay phone or, until now, seen a calling card.

Elder Frost's mom and I are praying hard one of them figures it out in time for both of them to call. 

You pray too! Thanks!

He gained two pounds!

Okay, that probably doesn't mean anything you, but let me explain. Anyone who knows me, knows about my dumb anxiety. I've written about it lots:  here, here, and here, if you'd like some examples.

Blah!

Anyway, this past week, I began to believe that Seth was not eating enough in the Mexico CCM and losing weight. He is as skinny as a rail and has no excess weight to lose, so this whole fear took on a life of its own (as anxiety tends to do) to the point that I was physically ill this morning, knowing he'd email today, and fearing he'd tell me he has lost a bunch of weight, making him too sick to travel to Paraguay on Monday.

Yep, I believed all this. Or at least my body did. It all started when I played "Where's Waldo" with the 100s of pictures the lovely people at the CCM post to their Facebook page. After searching helplessly for a glimpse of Seth, I finally found three pictures of his district. Yahoo! Except then, in one of the pictures, it seemed to me that Seth looked unusually thin. Touchdown, anxiety! And we're off to the races once again.

Just so you can see what triggered this, here's the picture from the CCM:

So there is Seth's district. Seth is in the tan pants on the left side of the photo. See how skinny he looks? I immediately texted Shulamith:

Me: Look at this picture. I think Seth is losing weight from not eating. Just look at him!
Shulamith: He looks exactly the same. He's always been thin.
Me: No!!!! How can you say that? He looks much thinner than when he left.

Next, I emailed poor Elder Frost's mom. Elder Frost is Seth's companion, and they're both pretty skinny, so I wanted to gauge my worries against a normal, non-anxious mom. She was so sweet to reply without judgment. She said she was a little concerned about them eating enough, but not terribly so. She reminded me that when we see pictures of the missionaries in Paraguay, they all look healthy and happy. Thank you, Jen.

Today was P-day, and I tried to remain sane as I waited for that email, but I mostly failed. It arrived about 10 minutes later than usual, so poor Shulamith was the recipient of my frantic text messages: "It's always here by now! Where is he? What's going on?" Then, just like that, the email arrived. And just like that, relief flooded my body, so fully and so perfectly that I nearly cried. Here is a copy/paste of the section of the email that addressed this issue:

"I still think it's funny how you're STILL worrying about me eating even though I'm in the CCM lol. I'll have you know that I have gained 2 pounds since I've been here and eat plenty every day. The food is all mediocre but it's all edible."

HE GAINED TWO POUNDS! Did you read that? He's not wasting away. He's not sick. He's great, so so great. He's super excited to fly to Paraguay on Monday. Everything is wonderful.

Just look at these P-day pictures:

I should sleep well tonight, but to quote Amanda, "It's gonna be a long two years."

The New Ward: Part 2

Just over seven years ago, we moved here after seven years living in Montana. I wrote this about my first experiences in the Union Park 6th Ward. Now, seven years later, here we are again in a brand new ward, only this time we didn't move. Boundary changes took almost all the former 6th ward members and moved them to the 4th ward. A tiny handful of us are going to the 3rd ward. Well right here is what I wrote about that just last week when the changes were announced.

Today was our first Sunday in the new ward. How was it, you might be asking? Scary. Okay, maybe that's overreacting. Intimidating. No, not really that. Unsettling. Yeah, let's go with that. It is a much larger ward than the former 6th ward, and with the five-ish new families, it's even bigger. There were people all the way back in the overflow. I sat behind Labrums and Metcalfs, and I could see Kinghorns. Other than that, I felt entirely surrounded by strangers. So many of them!

Of course all the normal anxiety questions filtered through my mind. Will I ever find my place here? Will I ever get to serve? Will my calling be anything I actually want to do? Will I get to speak quarterly like I do in my current ward? Will anyone like me? Will I ever recognize these 200 people and know their names? Okay, calm down, Terrianne. This isn't helping.

The couple who spoke in sacrament meeting told us we didn't need to learn their names because they will be leaving the ward in a month. Excellent. That's two I don't have to worry about. The best hour was definitely Gospel Essentials class. Gospel Doctrine meets in the chapel, and that's way too big a room to have a productive, meaningful discussion, so Emily and Trent and I went to Gospel Essentials. Keep in mind that I recently spent five years in that class (in the same room even!), so yeah, it felt pretty comfortable. It was a small group of eight people, including Emily, Trent, and me, and the teacher facilitated a decent discussion on missionary work. Score!

The third hour was a joint Relief Society/Priesthood meeting for the fifth Sunday. The bishop taught, and he tried to demonstrate how he knows the names of all the new people, except he definitely doesn't know ours, but at least he tried. The lesson was about how to prepare for General Conference, and he brought forth several ideas, and others had some good thoughts to add. He didn't mention stocking up on Twinkies, Pringles, Red Vines, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Oreos, and other essential Conference food; he probably just forgot.

After the block, they hosted a "linger longer" (you know, those things they have in singles' wards to get people to figure out if they want to date each other). Well, this was equally awkward, except without the dating component. They served cookies and water, and everyone walked around trying to decide whom to talk to, while feeling awkwardly conspicuous. For the record, I'm sure it wasn't any less awkward for the regular members than for us newbies.

Two things worth noting came out of the linger longer. I met the mother of one of Seth's friends, who is serving his mission in the Marshall Islands, so we were able to speak "mission mom," a language understood only by missionary mothers. Then Gerald met a girl who served in the Paraguay Asuncion Mission about 10 years ago. I didn't meet her, but Gerald says she's very interested in connecting on social media so she can follow Seth's mission.

The New Ward: Part 2. How was it, you might be wondering? It was okay. It could have been so much worse. And now we won't go back for two weeks because of General Conference next weekend.

Did you hear that? IT'S NEXT WEEKEND!!!!! I'm just a little excited. Along with the opportunity to sit at the feet of prophets, once again when they announce the number of full-time missionaries serving around the world, I will get to jump up and down and announce for all to hear: "ONE OF THEM IS MINE!"

I kinda love doing that.

"Your ward is being obliterated; resistance is futile."

Those words were spoken in January of 2009 by a friend of mine and bishop of our ward, a tiny ward in Billings, Montana called "Metra," one that would come to be remembered by many as the best ward in the entire church...ever! We were asked to attend a special stake meeting where we would learn about restructuring of ward boundaries in the stake. So we came, unsure what to expect, and hoping for the best.

The meeting began with the stake president informing us that one ward in the stake would be dissolved entirely and members dispersed to various other wards, while remaining wards would experience some change though not as dramatic. Which ward would be dissolved? Yes, our beloved Metra Ward. My friend and bishop was asked to speak briefly at that meeting, and that is when he shared his interpretation of what the stake president had told him: "Your ward is being obliterated; resistance is futile." He and I worked closely together, as I was the relief society president at the time. It was such a sad day...

...and not just for me. Eli also experienced the pain of change, as the young men were also scattered to and fro. His best friend, Jake, would no longer be in our ward. This was a transitional point for 16-year-old Eli, but teenagers are resilient. Eli bounced back much more quickly than I did and went on to lead the young men of the Skyview (new ward) Ward in many different ways.

Me? I struggled at first, but then I was called to be the primary chorister in the new ward, which is such a fun calling that, well, it's hard not to have fun.

Fast forward nine years. Last week we were informed that our regular block of meetings would be canceled this week, and we should all go to the stake center at 10:00 for a special stake meeting. No further details were given. Let the speculating begin! Was the stake president moving? Was an apostle coming to visit? The most likely situation? A change in ward boundaries.

I got up early and arrived a full hour before the meeting was to begin. I knew that everyone and his dog would show up to find out what was happening, and I was determined to sit in a soft, padded pew in the chapel, rather than in those back-breaking folding chairs in the cultural hall. Turns out there weren't even enough of those! For later arrivals, it was standing room only.

When the counselor announced that one ward would be dissolved, with others experiencing some sort of change though not as dramatic, I immediately texted Eli (who was sitting in the back on one of those folding chairs): "No way this could happen twice in one lifetime, reorganization of ward boundaries and only one ward being dissolved, and it's our ward. No way this could happen twice, right?"

Wrong.

Sure enough, it is our ward being dissolved. History has a tricky way of repeating itself. The tough part this time around is that almost everyone else is moving to the 4th ward together, and only a small handful of families will be going with us to the 3rd ward. I love so many that I'm losing. Ironically, for several years I hoped for boundary restructuring. I wanted some young men in the ward for Seth. Too often he was the only young man at the sacrament table, surrounded by adults.

But now he's off serving his mission, and after five years stuck in a corner (both literally and figuratively) teaching Gospel Essentials, I was finally released and called into my favorite auxiliary: Young Women! I've only been there 2.5 months. I've only taught four lessons. After a fabulous youth conference, we were just starting to talk about Young Women in Excellence (which a former friend used to lovingly call "Young Women in Mediocrity" but that's a whole other story). Second only to the people I will miss so much, this is the hardest part of this change. Can I say for the record that I love serving in Young Women. Really, I do. It's kinda breaking my heart.

"Your ward is being obliterated; resistance is futile." So we move forward. We face the unknown. The scary parts. We start over. We struggle to embrace faith and reject fear. In his talk this morning, President McIllese quoted the final line from the hymn Now Let Us Rejoice: "And Christ and his people will ever be one." May we hold tight to that truth in these coming days and weeks.

Not the same river and not the same man

One of my favorite quotes comes from a Greek philosopher born in 544 b.c. Yep, they were pretty smart back then. Heraclitus' famous quote reads, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”

I've thought about these words often through the course of this past summer, a season filled with both angst and joy; experiences not to be replicated, ever; hopes unrealized; fears both rational and irrational, and way too much self doubt. I think Heraclitus was thinking of me as he wrote.

So much can be gleaned from this talk of a river. On the surface, it speaks of missed opportunities. Once past, most opportunities are lost. That doesn't mean new ones won't come about; they will, but not likely the same ones. I'm reminded of my decision not to study abroad my junior year of college. Already approved for the program, which would place me in Munich, Germany for two semesters, I was crushed by my father's sudden death, just three months before I was to leave. My love affair with the German language began and ended there. I didn't go. I should have. I have had numerous amazing opportunities in my life since then. I've traveled to London and to Central and South America. I've seen Neil Diamond in concert three times. I got to be a mother to five of the most amazing humans ever born! But no, the opportunity to live in Germany for two semesters will not likely present itself again. It's not the same river. I'm not the same [wo]man.

Heraclitus' words also speak to the challenge (and usually the failure) to recreate past experiences. Have you ever tried to replicate a perfect date, vacation, party, celebration? You go back to the exact same place, invite the same people, even get the same food and wear the same clothes. But it never feels quite the same. It might still be wonderful, but no, not the same. That dang river again. And you. Circumstances at my job this summer have created a bit of a stressful "river," and most definitely a different one: not the same river and not the same me. I'm a little frightened to return, truth be told. Hoping I can surreptitiously make my way up the stairs and then slide unnoticed into my classroom, where I am always happy because of a bunch of cool kids who are my students, but who teach me every day.

Then there's this whole mission deal. Close friends have remarked, "It seems like you're struggling way more this time around." Yep. And Luke and Eli, if you're reading this, that is not because I love Seth more, and you know that, so don't even go there. It's just not the same river this time. You were 21 and 19, respectively. You had both lived away from home and attended college out of state. You seemed so much older than Seth. I had adjusted to that separation, gradually, with frequent phone calls, text messages, and visits. When Luke left, I had a 20-year-old, a 15-year-old, a 13-year-old, and a 6-year-old, and I was relief society president! Also, you two served in the states, where I knew you were relatively safe. You had access to first-rate medical care, so even when Sister Smith called to tell me you (Eli) were in the emergency room after being bit by a Brown Recluse Spider, I knew you were safe and in excellent care in a hospital in Arkansas.

This is not the same river at all. Remember how I sent you guys letters in envelopes every week and made sure they arrived exactly on Friday, between p-day emails? I can't do that this time because letters take about seven weeks to get to Paraguay, if they get there at all, which they usually don't. I have to settle for emailing once a week. It's so hard.

And I am not the same [wo]man. Going through all those "lasts" with my very last baby this past year has changed me. Of course it has! I'm not quite sure what to do with myself from here, but as I stood in Seth's bedroom this morning, staring at the giant Paraguay flag hanging on the wall, I prayed for him, for his safety, for his faith, for his overall well-being, because that was the only thing I could think of to do. The song says "Sacrifice brings forth the blessings from Heaven." I found that to be absolutely true with my two other missionaries, so even though it's not the same river this time, I have faith that will be true once again.

Some moms count Fast Sundays

I've heard that some missionary moms count Fast Sundays. So there are 24 Fast Sundays in a 2-year mission. If I'm counting Fast Sundays, I'm one down, 23 to go. If I'm counting weeks, I'm one down, 103 to go. If I'm counting days....nope, not doing that. Too many. I think I'll count Fast Sundays. Yes, that's what I'll do.

One week in, I'm actually doing pretty well. Today, that is. Yesterday, was another story. I knew I'd get email yesterday, and I was a hot mess. Really, people, I need to get a handle on this because my body can't do this every week for the next two years. I was physically ill. Yep, so anxious that my body reacted, as it often does, with stomach illness. Blah!

I had just returned home from a six-day party with my family in Portland. My goal was to distract myself this first week of the mission, and it worked for the most part. So thank you, Mom, Tom, Leslie, Carley, Katie, Sydney, Finn, Jacqueline, Silas, Jason, did I miss anyone? Thank you for all the laughter, the food, the total fun. I love you and can't wait to come back. Which I can do sooner than later, thanks to the $300 in Delta flight credit I earned for moving my flight back just 90 minutes. Totally worth it! Here are some highlights:

Left to right in back: Leslie, Katie, me, Mom, Carley

In front: Silas and Tom

The beautiful Oregon coast

 Playing fascination!

Okay, I totally HATE selfies, but this day must be documented. I got up, walked outside my mom's condo, and what was falling from the sky? Yep, glorious rain! Oh the joy!

Another thing I did while in Oregon was attend a reunion of my Rainbow assembly. Rainbow is a little hard to explain to those unfamiliar with it (I've tried with my kids, and they just laugh at me), but here's a link from last year that explains it best I can. This time we met at Dorene's home and spent three hours in her lovely backyard, catching up, reminiscing, loving each other. I do love these girls. They are forever friends and "sisters." Thanks for gathering while I was in town.

But back to yesterday. Oh. My. Goodness. I had to wait until 12:45 p.m. for Seth's email to come in. That was 6 3/4 hours after I awoke to teach a Chinese kid. Can you spell A-N-X-I-E-T-Y? The good news, no the best ever news, is the incredible relief that came at 12:45, when those emails finally arrived, one just to me, and one to Seth's giant email group. His genuine voice, tone, and personal writing style shined through each line. Guys, he is so happy to be at the CCM (MTC). Says it's hard as heck, really the hardest thing he's ever done, but he is so grateful for this opportunity and is learning and growing daily from teachers he loves with a district he loves and with a companion who has already become a friend.

Today, I started a blog for his emails and pictures. I probably won't post those to Facebook, but feel free to copy the address and check it out any time you like:

Title: Far and Wide His Love Proclaim: Elder Erichsen's Emails
Blog address: eerichseninparaguay.blogspot.com

Meanwhile, here are some pics from yesterday:

Seth's district in the Mexico CCM

Elders Erichsen and Frost, companions at the CCM.

...and let me tell you a little story of grace related to that. Elder Frost's mom, Jenn, joined the "Families of Paraguay Asuncion (not north) Mission" Facebook group about the same time I did, after both our sons received their mission calls. She's from Phoenix, but both Seth and her Caleb would report to the Mexico CCM August 28th, and then travel on to Paraguay six weeks later. Jenn and I started communicating right away, discussing everything from their travel documents to their farewells to the question burning in both our hearts: How are we going to send our precious babies to South America? We became friends. And what do you know? Our sons became CCM companions. Coincidence? I think not.

Some moms count Fast Sundays. I am now one of those moms. Because look at him! Cutest missionary ever. Okay, tied with Luke and Eli.

But look at our baby! I wish him joy, strength, health, and happiness. I wish him faith to overcome the many challenges of missionary life. May he love the people. May he find those who are searching. May he pray always. May his testimony of his Savior grow. May he smile often.

Some moms count Fast Sundays. One down, 23 to go!