The Wrong Side of the Door OR Making New Halloween Traditions

This was the second year I have not taken a child trick-or-treating. Last year, Seth asked if he could go with his friends. He was 12 and in the 7th grade. It was time. So dressed as a fairy in a pink tutu and looking every bit as ridiculous as that sounds, off he went with a group of his friends from church. I waved goodbye, longingly, the words "Be safe; watch for cars!" on my lips. For 25 years in a row, I had taken one or more of my children trick-or-treating. How could it be over?

One year later, I'm still not fond of this whole deal. It doesn't feel right. But instead of whining any further, I decided to take control of the situation and make some new Halloween traditions. I am moving forward. Halloween can still be fun, right? Who am I trying to convince? Yep, myself.

First tradition, breakfast at Einstein's to start the day. With a blueberry bagel in one hand and a nana in the other, Swen was momentarily distracted from the garbage can. He prefers garbage cans to just about anything else in the world.

Next stop was Target to do some early Christmas shopping. Oooh, I am so excited! I know, I know. Lots of people don't even want to hear the word "Christmas" this early, but for me, the season cannot come fast enough. The music, the decorations, the lights, the presents---I love everything! Wait. Okay, yes. It's still October. The spotlight is Halloween and new traditions. Stay focused, Terrianne. We headed home to get Swen down for his nap. Once he was sound asleep with Gerald upstairs to listen for him, we were off to our next new Halloween tradition: massages. Ahhhhhhh!

How relaxed and refreshed do we look, even with oily hair (mine, that is; Shulamith was smart enough to tie hers back) and wearing workout clothes? If I were wealthy, massage is a luxury I would indulge in regularly. I am not. Instead, we do it maybe twice a year, and from now on, Halloween will be one of those times.

We ate lunch and arrived home barely in time for me to go teach one lesson with the sisters before the next new tradition: trick-or-treating at the mall. This was my only chance to be with Seth for just a bit before he left for a night of intense candy retrieval and consumption. He looks in pretty bad shape here. His "back story" is how he was hit by a car and thrown 30 feel into the air. I think this is a tribute to the time back in December when he actually was hit by a car, though he escaped that incident virtually unscathed.

All too soon we were home again, Seth was gone, and tiny goblins of all varieties were ringing my doorbell, one after the other. It was so weird. Each time I answered, I thought, "I'm on the wrong side of the door. I'm supposed to be out there on the sidewalk watching my kids trick-or-treat. This is all just very wrong."

Forward. New Halloween traditions. I can do this.

It is now 9:30. The doorbell has ceased ringing. I sit in a way too quiet home, my lighted witch glowing in the window, my depleted bowl of candy on the coffee table. I await Seth's safe return, anxious to hear his Halloween tales, every last one. Seth. My baby. My very last child. My brand new teenager, who no longer needs his mom to take him trick-or-treating.

Knocking with conviction OR "This is what being on a mission is all about!"

Many of you are probably thinking, "Why is she writing about missionary work yet again?" It's true, three of my five posts so far in October have related to missions. I wasn't intending to post this today, or to post anything at all for that matter. But then I received Eli's weekly p-day email.

As you know, I've been helping out our sister missionaries a lot lately; almost every day I go out and do something with them. Though I always had some idea what missionaries do, never until now did I fully recognize the entirety of their commitment, the endless hours walking up and down the same streets, riding bikes, knocking on doors, talking to people with a boldness that I, myself, lack. Last night we were out fairly late (for them), around 8:30. We went to the door of a lady we talked to last week. She was sweet and receptive, but her daughter, who lives with her, told us the following day that Pat wasn't interested in the Church. The sisters would like to hear that from Pat directly, so back we went last night. I might have been a bit hesitant after the conversation we had with the daughter. I might have knocked lightly. But not Sister Gonzales. She walked right up to the door and knocked with conviction. When no one answered, she did it again. No fear. Only the purest desire that all may have the invitation to come unto Christ.

Gerald and I always said that we would never force a kid out on a mission. Missions are difficult enough even when you want to go. The days are long, and there is much rejection. But the blessings are exponential! We were thrilled when Luke decided to serve, but we for sure waited until it was completely his idea. Eli has always desired to serve a mission. From the time he was a little boy, this was his goal, his plan, his expectation. So just days after his 19th birthday, he entered the MTC. That was 19 months ago, and it has been everything and more than he hoped for. The love he has for the work, the gospel, the people of Tennessee, his companions, his mission president, his family at home, and the Savior, grows with each passing day. It radiates through his weekly emails. On Saturday he had the privilege to attend the Memphis, Tennessee Temple with two people he taught and baptized over a year ago, when he served in Blytheville, Arkansas. I would like to share with you his thoughts about that:

"The temple was AMAZING! Words cannot even describe how I felt there. Getting to see two friends experience the blessings of the temple; there's nothing better. There were 5 people there going through for their own endowment. A couple who got sealed right after the session, a young man preparing to go on a mission, and Phyllis and John. I will attach pictures to this email of them. This is what being on a mission is all about. Sharing with people the joy that I have felt from this gospel by helping them make sacred covenants. I don't know how else to describe it except amazing! Wonderful! I did not see Sister Lowe there, but I saw lots of other people from the Blytheville Ward there to support Phyllis and John. Something else that's awesome is that Phyllis's brother James, who I baptized, will hopefully be sustained and receive the Melchizedek Priesthood at Stake Conference next month and is preparing to go through the temple shortly after. So Stake Conference is November 10th, and they are planning on having him go sometime in November. Transfers are on the 20th of November, so if he goes through the temple before then, or if I stay in Arlington or get transferred somewhere somewhat near the temple, I'll get to go with him!! That was a mouthful, hopefully that all makes sense.  

So the best part about the temple was after the session, Phyllis came up to me in the Celestial Room with tears in her eyes and said, "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." I got tears in my eyes too. I'm so glad I am on a mission right now! I wouldn't rather be anywhere else! It's like that plaque you have says something like, "A missionary is someone who leaves his family for 2 years so that others can be together with their families for eternity." Hopefully someday Phyllis will be sealed to her daughters and her deceased husband. There's a bunch of family history work that she can do now too so that her ancestors can receive saving ordinances as well. The church is true!!"

I wonder if some of my missionary mom friends have tears in their eyes just as I do. 

And I promise, next post will be on a different topic than missionary work. Thanks for hangin' in there with me.  :-)

Why are there so many rules?

A couple days ago I was out with our sweet sister missionaries. It was Sister Faumuina's last night with us; she would transfer to Murray the following day. If you click on the above link, you can see a picture of her, the sister on the left. We spent much of the evening dropping by various homes, so she could say goodbye to investigators and friends. One investigator in particular was curious about where she was going and why. He had many questions:

• Can you come back and visit? (Not unless I happen to be called back to this area.)
• Can I call you on the phone? (No, but you can call Sis. Gonzales and her new companion.)
• But you'll still be coming to this same church building on Sundays, right? (No. I'll be attending a ward in Murray.)
• Can I at least give you a hug goodbye? (No, just a handshake.)
• WHY ARE THERE SO MANY RULES?!

I smiled to myself when I heard him ask this question. I am a person who doesn't much like being told what to do. I'm very thankful for the gift of free agency, and I very much like using mine. Let me elaborate. I dislike being told what to do so much that if I'm at a stoplight and someone honks at me, I proceed to drive just as slowly as I can (yep, about 5 mph) for as long as that car is stuck behind me. I know, right? Incredibly mature.

Why are there so many rules, he wanted to know? I went home that evening and began to ponder. Why are mission rules, in particular, so rigid? Why can I only talk to my son twice a year? Why does he have to keep his hair so short and wear a white shirt and tie every day? Why does he have to get up at 6:30 a.m.? I could go on and on. I decided that, while many if not all of these rules surely have a genuine and worthy reason, and if I thought hard enough, I could maybe even figure out what it is, perhaps the most compelling reason for all the rules is the principle of obedience.

Yep, simple obedience. When we learn to be obedient, especially when doing so involves sacrifice, we become more like the Savior, who in pure obedience sacrificed his very life for each of us. Tonight, Sister Gonzales and her new companion and I visited again with this same investigator. He is an awesome guy, and the sisters would very much like him to commit to a baptism date. He explained that his unwillingness to commit is largely because of his issue with green tea. "Why can't I drink green tea? It's good for me!" This man lives a healthy lifestyle, eats well, exercises regularly, and truly cares for his body. And he's convinced that green tea is healthy.

In all honesty, I can't tell you whether it's healthy or not. I've never researched it. I know it's against the Word of Wisdom, our church's law of health. And I choose to obey. For me, following this part of the law requires little sacrifice because I've never actually tasted green tea, so I have no idea if it's good. But I hope I would choose to obey regardless. When we choose to obey, and particularly when that act of obedience requires sacrifice, we strengthen our resistance to temptation, we fortify ourselves spiritually, and we grow to be more like Christ. That's plenty enough reason for me.

Nope, I don't like to be told what to do. I never have, and I likely never will. But I'm willing to obey, even when that sometimes means making a sacrifice, because the blessings of obedience are worth it. I hope and pray that this particular investigator, whom I have come to truly care about, will soon decide that the blessings of baptism are well worth any sacrifice, including living the Word of Wisdom, even when he doesn't fully understand the reason for every part of it.

That said, I still don't recommend honking at me at a stoplight.

Like Brother, Like Brother

On this cool, October morning, Seth awoke at 7:30 a.m., showered, dressed, and waited patiently until I got up at 8:00. I don't think I've seen him awake before noon on a Saturday in at least a year. Why this day? This day was the release Pokemon X, a 3DS game Seth pre-ordered using his precious babysitting cash. I took him to breakfast at Kneader's, then on to GameStop, where I waited in my warm car while he waited in a cold line for the store to open at 9:00.

He comes from a long tradition of video-gamers. I remember Christmas of 1999. It was the first year a video-game system found its way into our home, in this case the Nintendo Game Boy Color. Eight-year-old Isaiah had wished for it with a child's desperate longing, never imagining one could ever really be his. But I was on a mission, and it took exactly that to get one of these things; they were extremely popular that year! I had visited several stores, and the story was the same: when a shipment of the hand-held Game Boy Color consoles comes in, every one of them is sold in less than an hour. What was a Christmas mom like me to do? And a pregnant one, at that! Yep, Seth was with me on this endeavor, though he knew it not. I was about three months' pregnant at the time.

After searching countless stores with zero success, I finally appealed to the mercy of a kind salesman at GameStop in the mall in Burlington. "My eight-year-old really wants one of these. And he has no idea he might get one. And it will be the best surprise ever. Is there any way you can help me?" He took pity and offered to take my name and phone number. As soon as a shipment came in, he would call me. If I could get over there before they were gone, one would be mine. I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday when that phone call came. They received three units: one pink, one yellow, and one teal blue. "I'm on my way. Be there in 10 minutes. PLEASE save me either the yellow or the teal. I don't think he wants pink."

I was in my car and on the road in a matter of seconds. Ten minutes later, I held in my hands what would be the best surprise of Christmas morning: a shiny, teal blue, Game Boy Color. It would be the last gift Isaiah opened. I wouldn't even put it under the tree ahead of time. He would think he had opened everything, and then I'd bring out this one last gift. It went flawlessly. The surprise was everything and more than I anticipated. Isaiah looked at me with those giant, ocean-blue eyes with thick, dark eyelashes, his mouth wide open, and once he could speak, said in astonishment, "A GAME BOY COLOR! YOU GOT ME A GAME BOY COLOR?"

For the next three months, he played, but never by himself. Sprawled over him constantly was six-year-old Eli, straining every muscle he had to see the screen in Isaiah's hands. Isaiah was so patient. He never told Eli he couldn't watch. He never pushed him away. He never complained. March 13th was Eli's seventh birthday. He had a face full of chicken pox and had been home from school all day, miserable and itchy, a sad way to spend a birthday. But you should have witnessed the attitude transformation when he opened his only present, a bright yellow Game Boy Color. Let the gaming begin!

That was 13 years ago. Since then, Isaiah and Eli have bought, sold, and traded a wide array of gaming systems, along with countless games. I can't begin to remember all their names, but one stands out in particular. On November 19, 2006, Nintendo released its latest and greatest game system: the Wii! It was anxiously anticipated by gamers everywhere, including my two teenage sons, then 15 and 13. In order to get one on that very day, you had to pre-order it and then go to the store, take a number, and wait in line all day until midnight when it was released. Yep, Isaiah and Eli did just that. Walmart, my least favorite store on the planet, had set up an entire room in the back just for these people who would be squatting there all day. I stopped by several times, bringing sustenance to my waiting children in the form of candy, soda, and a McDonald's dinner. By midnight, I was home in bed, but even then it took the boys three more hours to get their game system because they had to wait for their number to be called. Eventually, they made it home, but of course they couldn't just put the thing away and go to bed. No way!

Seth was born into this world. Wait, actually he was part of this gaming world even before he was born, as he unknowingly accompanied me in my quest for that elusive Game Boy Color for my Isaiah-pie all those years ago. No surprise, Seth joined right in just as soon as he was old enough to hold a controller. He can play with the best of them and does so regularly. This new game he bought yesterday is played on the hand-held Nintendo 3DS, a few generations past Isaiah's first Game Boy Color.

I'll say straight up that, personally, I don't love video-games. In truth, I've never played one but I don't think I'd like them. I don't like animated-type stuff, and I really hate violence. Plus, I'm painfully awful at games of any kind; from board games to card games to electronic word games, I totally suck! When I play games, I lose so badly that I often wonder if I am mentally challenged but no one has had the nerve to tell me? So it's not likely I'd excel playing video-games, and in addition, they are crazy addictive. That said, video-games have created a bond among Isaiah, Eli, and Seth, which has now extended to Mathew. Though spread out 14 years from oldest to youngest, they are connected. For that, I am thankful. Admittedly, I get frustrated with the constant gaming, but even so, I do not regret going to the store on that cold day in 1999 and begging that nice GameStop salesman to save me a Game Boy Color.

Like brother, like brother.

What Eli says...

So this is really just an addendum to my post from yesterday about missionaries, but when I received Elder Webster's email this afternoon, I couldn't resist blogging one paragraph in his own words. Lots of missionary moms create entire blogs just for their missionaries, where they post all their letters, along with pictures, etc. I don't do that; I just have this one blog, which Gerald calls a "mommy blog" although I don't always only post about my children, right? Anyway, even if I tried, I could not replicate the "voice" in Eli's letter today. He cracks us up:

 "Halloween is an awesome holiday, but at the same time it sucks. Because once Halloween hits, then boom! It's November already, then Thanksgiving, then all of a sudden it's Christmas season! Then it's Christmas, then bam!! 2013 is over. And then Elder Webster is sad, because not long into 2014 he goes home. It just seems that once Halloween hits, then the rest of the year just zooms by. It's crazy."

 

What is the deal, Elder? You NEVER want to come home? Shouldn't he be at least a little bit homesick by now? It's been 18 1/2 months! We miss him. Anyway, I thought you might enjoy Eli's perception of Halloween and why it's an awesome holiday but also sucks.

Gettin' My "Missionary" On!

Several years ago, around 2009-ish (?), we were living in Billings, Montana and members of the Skyview Ward. Back then, there weren't as many sister missionaries as there are now, so it was super exciting when two special young ladies came to serve our ward, Sisters Engstrom and Buchanan. Because they were female, they needed sisters from the ward to drive them places, go on exchanges, fellowship investigators, etc. Hooray! I happen to just love this sort of thing. They were both awesome missionaries, but Sis. Engstrom finished her mission and went home shortly after coming to our ward, while Sis. Buchanan was brand new, so we got to keep her a bit longer. I had the opportunity to get to know her family a bit (through Facebook), and just recently, I was able to attend her wedding reception.

Fast forward four years. With the change in age requirements for missionaries, the number of sisters serving missions is increasing dramatically! Pictured above are two amazing sisters, now serving our ward here in Utah, Sisters Faumuina and Gonzales. How cute are they!? And once again, sisters from the ward are needed to help them. Lucky for me, I'm available almost all the time! They invite me to go with them often, and it's always the best part of my day. Today we visited an awesome guy, who is working to get approval from the city council for his very large home to be used to house troubled teenage boys. What a worthy pursuit! I pray he is successful. Tomorrow evening, we get to meet once again with a family across the street from my house, a mom and dad and their 14-month-old little girl. Missionary work is the best!

Of course I'm not a real missionary. I don't have a name tag. I don't have a bike. I don't get up at 6:30 a.m. (thank heavens!). I can watch TV and use the Internet and go to movies and have a job. But in case you haven't heard, we do have a real missionary in our family, serving in Arkansas/Tennessee. I haven't written too much about him lately, and it's high time I did. Elder Webster has been out just over 18 months. In his words: "I'm at my 18-month point. That means I only have six months left. Which sucks." Yep, he really likes his mission, and he doesn't want it to end. He and I aren't exactly on the same page there; I, personally, CANNOT WAIT for it to be March.

Yesterday we received an actual snail mail letter from Elder Webster. Rarely does that happen; usually, we just get our weekly p-day email. He took the time to hand write us a letter this week because something wonderful happened that he wanted to share. Four individuals, whom he was involved in teaching and baptizing early in his mission, are now preparing to go to the temple next month. He asked the mission president if he might be allowed to attend with them, and President said yes! Elder Webster is beyond thrilled. How incredible for him to see firsthand the fruits of his labor. We are overjoyed for him and so proud.

Meanwhile, I keep trying to do my part right here. I love to help our sisters, and it means even more to me knowing there are kind members in Tennessee doing the same for Eli.

I Believe That Too, Seth.

I'd like to tell you a story of the faith of a child. Okay, he is 13 and would tell you he's no longer a child, but he is and always will be my child and my "baby" even. A little over a year ago, he began his first year of middle school, a 7th grader, wanting to be so brave, but anxious nonetheless about going to such a big school with so many classrooms, so many teachers, and so many kids. Not surprising, though, he jumped right in and was perfectly comfortable after the first day. He loved it! "This is 100 times better than elementary school," he declared. Whew! He was off to a great start, and this mom was grateful.

His enthusiasm continued through the year, with only really one exception: P.E. I should explain, if I haven't already, something about our family. We don't raise athletes. We just don't. It isn't in their genetic makeup to excel at sports or P.E. or anything requiring physical coordination and strength. At least not for the most part. Shulamith, like me, loved to dance, and her extensive dance training helped make her an excellent cheerleader in high school. Eli loved all sports and played most of them, but a star athlete he would never be. The other three boys struggled more. Every physical skill was a challenge. We encouraged them to try their best and leave the rest because what else could they do? We reminded them that some kids struggle to read or do math or understand science, but those kids still have to try. Giving up wasn't an option, but neither was feeling worthless because of the things they simply could not do.

Seth's 7th grade P.E. class was rough from the start. Children in public schools today are well educated about bullying. They know how to recognize it and call it out for what it is. This is a good thing. So when Seth told us he was being bullied in P.E. class, we took him seriously. Truthfully, I don't feel anyone was to blame. Twelve-year-old boys are by nature immature. They are ruthlessly competitive, and they don't have a great handle on empathy or diplomacy. As for the teacher, I'm sure he wouldn't knowingly allow bullying in his class, but it's not humanly possible for one man to control every word that comes out of the mouths of 50+ rambunctious boys during the course of an hour.

One thing I do wish he would change is the way he goes about dividing up teams for in-class sports. He uses the age-old method of selecting two team captains and then allowing those two kids to alternate choosing teammates, one after another. Day after day after day after day, Seth was the very last kid chosen. It was humiliating. But the reality was that if winning was the only objective, and with 7th-grade boys it definitely was, then Seth would not be an asset to any team. I would like P.E. teachers to rethink this method of team division.

As the weeks went on, we hoped the situation would improve. It didn't. We tried to empower Seth with positive coping strategies. "Tell these kids it hurts your feelings when they make rude comments about you." Or. "Simply walk away and remember that what they say about you has no bearing on reality; it takes nothing away from your true nature, a divine son of Heavenly Parents." When nothing worked and Seth began to dread P.E. class, all the while loving all his other classes, I decided to talk to the teacher. He was friendly and really quite nice, but his response was less than satisfying: "Yeah, you really have to have thick skin to be in a 7th-grade boys' P.E. class." Perhaps. A little. Actually, no. It's a required class, one he has no choice but to attend. He should not have to endure constant, daily bullying.

About three weeks before the end of the semester, I received a text message from Seth immediately following his P.E. class: "It was just awful today. I'm trying not to cry." Okay, enough. ENOUGH. I made an appointment that afternoon to speak with the assistant principal. Some of you might be thinking, "Why did you wait that long?" I've asked myself that same question. I think I kept hoping the situation would remedy itself, especially because he was so happy in all his other classes and with school in general. I probably should have intervened sooner. I'll never know.

Regardless, the assistant principal was fabulous. Rarely have I been so impressed with an educator as I was that day. She listened to me. She was understanding. She genuinely seemed to care about Seth. She told me that he had endured this long enough, and she offered me a couple different solutions and asked if either would be acceptable. We decided Seth would be immediately rescheduled into a student aid position for the remainder of the semester during the period he had P.E. I've never seen a kid more relieved. He hugged me tight and thanked me for caring about him enough to make this change happen. Fortunately, P.E. was only one semester, so we were free from worry for the time being.

Until this past fall. The start of 8th grade. As summer came rapidly to a close, I began to worry knowing Seth would be right back in P.E. class when school began. I talked about it with him; he was concerned too but less so than I was. Kids forget so quickly. I do not. A mother is only ever as happy as her saddest child. He was excited to start 8th grade. He was excited for his classes, especially technology (shocking, huh?). As the first few days passed, I asked about each class by name, and with trepidation, I asked the burning question, "How's P.E. going?"

"Great!" he replied. "I love P.E."  Seriously? I didn't probe right then; I wondered if it was just the "honeymoon" period? Surely it couldn't be that different from last year. Yes, it was a different teacher this time, but it was the kids, not the teacher, who were the problem. What had changed so drastically? His affinity for P.E. class didn't end. Finally, I asked more directly what was so different this year. He told me it was two things. First, this teacher doesn't do the team selection process. Instead, he just assigns teams, and the teams stay the same throughout the semester. And second, Seth loves his team. Apparently, they are terrific kids, who are all more interested in having fun than winning. What are they playing right now? Football. FOOTBALL! Seth, my Seth, is enjoying playing football. Hallelujah!

And then he added one more thing, the most important thing of all. He told me he believes this P.E. class and his particular team are the answer to prayer:

"I prayed that P.E. would be okay this year. I never thought it could be this good, but I just prayed it would be okay. And I believe this was a gift...like from God. I really believe it was an answer to my prayer."

I believe that too, Seth. I believe that too.