"From the Heart" Touched My Heart

I know I have zero objectivity when it comes to my children. And I know you know that too. So I won't blame you if you don't believe me when I tell you that the fireside I attended Sunday evening, a choir performance by "From the Heart," a community choir in Rexburg, was BEYOND amazing.

But it was.

So I'm going to tell you, even if you don't believe me.

Saturday morning, we drove through McDonald's, and with yummy (Read: fattening) sausage biscuit sandwiches and large Diet Cokes in hand, Gerald, Seth, and I were on the road to Rexburg. It would be a quick trip. "From the Heart" presents firesides every Sunday evening on the BYU-Idaho campus. I teach English every Monday morning on the LDS Business College campus. In order to attend both things, I would need to drive between Rexburg and Salt Lake City very late Sunday night. Lucky for me, Gerald volunteered to drive instead. I am grateful.

We arrived in Rexburg around 1:00 Saturday afternoon and immediately picked up Eli at his apartment near campus. Following lunch at the Pie Cafe, we spent the afternoon visiting Lindsey and her family. Eli's choice to attend BYU-I has many merits: gospel-centered education, smallish classes, low cost, to name just a few. But selfishly, for me, trumping all those things is the fact that Lindsey lives in Rexburg.

After dinner, we dropped Eli and Seth back at Eli's apartment. Yes, Seth got to stay overnight with Eli and live the college life for one day. Eli's roommates even let Seth show them magic tricks. How cool is that? Gerald and I stayed with Lindsey and David, where we all stayed up way too late visiting, but it was worth every lost second of sleep just to have that time with them. Kids are growing way too fast just as all kids do, and Baby Olivia doesn't know me at all (sigh).

Sunday, we attended church in their ward, while Seth went to the singles' ward with Eli and watched him teach Gospel Doctrine. Delicious chili and corn bread (Lindsey is a crazy good cook) with the Mechams, and finally, it was time for the principal purpose for our trip, the "From the Heart" choir fireside.

We entered the Gordon B. Hinckley building to find 40 or so choir members scurrying to prepare for their performance. For the next 75 minutes, we were mesmerized, totally captivated by a combination of gorgeous voices and the spirit that shone forth from radiant faces. Through song and word, they taught of Jesus, of his love, of his grace, and of his atoning sacrifice. Some of their songs were standards, including "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty," "Amazing Grace," and "Beautiful Savior." Others I didn't know, but now I want to know them. My little Eli sang the sweetest solo at the very end. You don't even know how proud I was.

We took a quick photo (above), hugged goodbye, and left. Gerald brought us safely home while Seth and I slept in the car.

If you get a chance to experience this choir, you should take it. If you are in Rexburg on any Sunday evening, you should go. If you are in Billings, Montana when they tour there the second weekend in December, you should go.

I know I have zero objectivity when it comes to my children. And I know you know that too. So I won't blame you if you don't believe me when I tell you that the fireside I attended Sunday evening, a choir performance by "From the Heart," a community choir in Rexburg, was BEYOND amazing.

But it was.

So I'm going to tell you, even if you don't believe me.

Do you skip, cut, or sluff?

We have already established that Utahns have some vernacular that is foreign to us outsiders. For example, in Utah, they "tend" children. We tend sheep, but never children. In Utah, they drink "soda." We drink "pop." They go "out" to church, while we simply go to church. I am learning.

But last Friday, I discovered a new one. When I picked Seth up from school, he mentioned that because it was the last day of the term, lots of kids decided to "sluff." Or maybe it's spelled "slough"? I don't know. This is a new one to me. Apparently, it means to deliberately not attend school.

Where I'm from, we call that "skipping." Or sometimes "cutting."

"I was tired, so I skipped math today" or "No one noticed that I cut the last half of the school day."

But I guess here in Utah, kids "sluff."

Why does this interest me? Um, because I'm a language nerd. So this isn't much of a blog post, but I am curious, so I'm posting anyway.

Inquiring minds want to know.

Do you skip, cut, or sluff? 

Comin' Down, Baby, and Laughter is the Best Cure!

I am fortunate never to have had an addiction to drugs or alcohol. Of course, it probably helps that I don't use drugs or alcohol, but yeah. Closest I come is my ongoing love affair with Diet Coke. But I could really stop that any time I wanted. Really.

Seriously, though, since addictions run in my family, I am grateful not to have struggled personally; nevertheless, I do suffer from another debilitating condition that causes plenty of trouble and turmoil without any substance abuse, and I wonder if the "coming down" process feels anything like when people overcome addictions.

Anxiety.

Now THAT'S something with which I am all too familiar. Indeed, I am the queen of anxiety, and it is a position I'd gladly abdicate, given the choice. But since I've written about it before, here and here, I won't repeat. I'll just say that these past two weeks, I've suffered a crazy bad bout of it, worst one in years, certainly since we've been here in Utah. And now that I'm finally "coming down," I thought I'd write a bit about how that process feels.

It is profound relief.

Unbelievable.

It's like my whole body, which has been filled with so much tension for so long that every muscle aches, begins to recover. When I suddenly realize that I actually don't have a fatal disease (yes, my anxiety objectifies itself to paralyzing fear of dying), it's like the thick, dark cloud of pressure I've been navigating for so many long days, and even longer nights, finally begins to fade. Recovery isn't instant. I'm still exhausted. Because functioning at that level of hyper alert for such an extended period of time is, well, exhausting.

And not only for me. Poor Shulamith and Gerald bear the brunt of it because they are with me all the time, Shulamith during the day and Gerald during the night. Gerald is even patient with me. Haha, just kidding, Shulamith. Sorta.

Some might ask why I would choose to talk about it or write about it so publicly. Simple. It is my experience that talking freely about such things takes some of their power away. That is a good thing. Very good. Also, the ability to laugh at the irrational nature of anxiety speeds the recovery. In fact, laughter of any kind helps.

So I thought I'd share a couple things that happened in my classes during these past couple of difficult weeks, things that made me laugh ever so briefly, but long enough to forget my fear for a second or two.

Because I have a lot of students divided into four different sections of the same course, it's a challenge to learn all their names. To expedite this process, I give them all 3X5 index cards and ask them to print their first names on them and then display these cards on their computers where they are easily visible. I even color-code the different classes by using different colored markers for each: red, green, black, and blue.

So in one class recently, I was in the middle of doing too many things at once. I teach that multi-tasking is impossible, yet I try it all the time. Students were supposed to bring me their essay drafts and their name cards and put them into two separate piles on my desk, but since my students listen to me about as well as my children do, in most cases they forgot one item or the other. As one young woman came forward with her essay, I asked, "Do you have your green card?" meaning her name card printed in the color green.

We are blessed with much diversity at LDS Business College. We have students of all different races and nationalities, from all over the world, who speak all different languages. I can't even tell you how much I love this because how boring would it be if everyone just spoke English all the time? But I digress.

So of course the sweet young lady whose "green card" I requested was from Latin America, and she looked at me, frozen, for just a sec before she realized what I was truly asking. By that point the entire class was rolling in laughter, and now the standing joke in that class is, "Sister Webster...I have my green card!"

Then only about a week later, THIS! I sometimes forget which class I'm in and which color name cards the students have. I need to know, so I know which ones to pass out for roll. Again, trying to do too many things at once while shuffling through my four piles of name cards, I said, "Are you guys black?" And of course sitting right there in front of me, yep front row and center, was a handsome African-American student. The kid next to him replied, pointing to him, "Well, he is!" And now the joke: "We're not all black, Sister Webster, but Ben is." Ahhhhhh!

I am grateful for laughter. For students who can laugh. For a family that loves me despite my nutty anxiety disorder. And for the fact that I now see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

I am calm. I am not worrying. I am ALIVE! I can sleep again. I am...

Comin' Down, Baby!

Sometimes All You Need is a Really Cute Pair of Shoes

True story.

But what is even better than a really cute pair of shoes? EIGHT really cute pairs of shoes. And what is even better than eight really cute pairs of shoes? Eight really cute pairs of shoes that together cost just $40.

It's a known fact that we Webster women are excellent bargain shoppers, but this has to be one of our finest moments in bargain shopping history. Right up there with the time we got dresses at Down East for $7 each. Or last Christmas when we found $70 designer dress pants for Gerald for $5.99. Yeah, we are really good at this, and today was no exception.

Back story, yesterday, one of Shulamith's Facebook friends "liked" an ad for a sale to occur today in the RC Willey parking lot in Murray. A company called "Cents of Style" would sell shoes, jewelery, scarves, and more for $5 apiece. Everything would be $5. But really, how could they have anything good for just $5? Would it even be worth our time to go? Probably not.

But what if it was?

So first thing this morning, we loaded Shulamith's two babies into the car and headed to RC Willey. And this is what we found:

Boxes and boxes of shoes piled high. Dozens of shopping-crazed women rummaging through box after box, frantically seeking the right sizes and styles. It was such a rush. Oh my goodness! Shulamith had Kennedy asleep in the front carrier and couldn't effectively search, so I left her, along with Swen in the stroller, and went in for the kill. Rather than taking the time to look at the shoes, I just picked up every box I could find in our two sizes and ran back and forth piling them up next to Shulamith.

Once I was satisfied that I had looked at every last box, it was time to open them and try them on. Ooooh, it felt like Christmas! Systematically, we make one pile for yes, one for no, and one for maybe. In the end, we settled on eight adorable pairs of shoes, five for me and three for Shulamith. We got in line to pay.

A very, very long line.

I'd say we were in line for about an hour. Keep in mind we had one toddler and one infant in tow. Had we known what to expect, pretty sure we would have left said toddler at home, but you wouldn't believe how easy it was. Kennedy obviously understood what was happening. Though only three months old, somewhere deep down in her little girl brain, she "gets" the importance of shoes. But Swen? Swen is a guy. Through and through. His world revolves around cars, tractors, water, and garbage cans. But mostly cars. Shoes, especially girl shoes, don't even begin to make the list. Nevertheless, he cooperated perfectly through this ordeal, which lasted a full two hours beginning to end.

So there you have it. When life becomes a bit overwhelming, as it does for all of us at one time or another, keep in mind that sometimes all you need is a really cute pair of shoes.

Or eight really cute pairs. Especially if you can get all eight for $40.

Siblings: The Longest Relationships

Typically, we have our parents for the first two-thirds of our lives, our spouses and children for the second two-thirds. The sibling relationship is the longest. Barring unexpected tragedy, we have our brothers and sisters throughout our mortal journey. When you think of it that way, the relationship claims greater significance. I have only one sibling, my brother Tom. He lives in our native Portland, Oregon, where I have not lived since I left for college at 17. I moved to Eastern Oregon, then California, then Washington, then Montana, and now Utah. He remained in Portland. No, I don't see him often, not nearly often enough. He has a career, three lovely daughters, and a giant Boxer, who makes our Kitty look like a Chihuahua. He is busy. So am I. But on the rare occasions that we do get together, it is always a pleasure. I love him. I appreciate his constancy, his humor, his dedication to doing right. I wish I could see him more.

I was blessed with five children of my own. Not only do I rejoice in that for myself, but for them. Each of them has four siblings with whom to share life. How wonderful! This weekend four of the five were here at home at least part of the time. Shulamith and Seth, of course, live here full time (hooray!). Isaiah was here Thursday and Friday nights, and Eli came Friday until today. Can I just say that I am seriously groovin' on all this family time?

Thursday night was the midnight release of Nintendo's latest cash grab, Super Smash Bros for the 3DS. I've explained before my feelings about video-games, but regardless of my opinion, with sons who love them, they are part of my life. Isaiah pre-ordered this game weeks ago, while poor Seth stood by with hopeless longing. A $40 price tag for Seth may as well be $40,000. Christmas is three months away. How would he ever wait that long? Little did he know that when Isaiah pre-ordered his own copy of Smash, he also ordered one for Seth. Yes, Isaiah is that nice.

So late Thursday night, the two of them headed off to Game Stop, Seth believing he was just along for the ride, there to watch Isaiah pick up his game. Imagine his surprise when there was a copy waiting for him too! I wish I'd been there, okay not enough to go out at midnight, mind you, but a little. They came home and played non-stop into the wee hours of the morning. Fortunately, Seth had Friday off from school; Isaiah still had to get up and go to work. 

Friday night, Isaiah came back. Eli was on his way driving down from Rexburg with his friend, the former Elder Bradley Bell. The two of them would attend the first Petersen mission reunion in Farr West, for missionaries who served in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission under the leadership of President Steven Petersen. That was apparently a huge success. Most of Eli's former companions are still in the field, but he enjoyed reuniting with the Petersens and those missionaries who are home. He arrived here around 9:00 Friday night, in time to spend a bit of time with Isaiah and try out the new video-game. First thing Saturday morning, Gerald drove Isaiah to the airport, where he flew to Orlando. He will be there a week, then home overnight, then off to Nashville for a week, followed by a week in San Francisco.

Shulamith and I are just a little jealous of all this travel. We are living vicariously through Isaiah. This week, the client has paid for the Lanyon team to spend one evening in Disney World and another at Universal Studios at the Harry Potter exhibit. Okay, now we're not just a little jealous; we're full on covetous! A job requiring this much travel would not be ideal for everyone, but for a single, 23-year-old, with zero responsibilities at home, it's just about perfect. We're grateful Isaiah has this opportunity.

At last came Saturday morning, which began one of my two favorite weekends of the year: General Conference, the semiannual worldwide meeting of our church. We all love it! Well, Gerald, Shulamith, Eli, and I love it; Seth has to be bribed just a bit. This time, because he's now in seminary, he had an assignment to watch all five sessions and take notes, but he still asked me if I'd be buying the usual General Conference treats. I get all his favorite things and then bring them out periodically throughout the sessions. I won't go into detail, but let's just say Pringles, chocolate, Twinkies, and red vines are involved.

As I write, it is 1:30 p.m. Sunday. Eli and Elder Bell just left for the return trip to Rexburg. They will listen to the final session of Conference in the car radio while we watch here at home. The sessions yesterday and this morning have been excellent. I could point to so many inspiring talks, but Elder Jeffrey R. Holland seriously rocked the Conference Center yesterday afternoon. His understanding of and concern for the poor among us is truly prophetic, his heartfelt plea for us to care for our fellow beings, the truest example of Christlike love. With tears in his eyes: "We may not be our brother's keeper, but we are our brother's brother."

The weekend is winding down. I'm trying hard not to be sad. It was so good to have Isaiah here and to see Eli after nearly three weeks away at college. Have I mentioned before that I'm not all that impressed with this idea of kids growing up and leaving home? It will be seven weeks before Eli is back for Thanksgiving. I'm pretty sure a trip up to Rexburg between now and then is in my future. Meanwhile, I'm ever so grateful for technology that keeps us all connected in ways we'd never thought possible even 15 years ago. The final session of Conference just began. The choir is singing. Seth just commented, "It's just you, Dad, and me. Just the three of us. It's weird." Indeed. Shulamith is downstairs napping her babies. Eli is on the road. Ahhh!

Before Eli left, I had begun writing this blog, and I posted the picture above of Isaiah holding Shulamith's baby, Kennedy. Eli looked over my shoulder and remarked, "Isaiah doesn't get to make the blog. It's a General Conference blogpost, and he's not watching General Conference." Haha, you gotta love siblings.

I love my brother, Tom, and I'm grateful for him. And I'm grateful my children have each other. Siblings: The Longest Relationships we have.

Positively To Die For

Yesterday was a rough day. I fell into the trap of trying to please others and then feeling "less than" when I couldn't do it. We all do this sometimes, don't we? It creates a vicious, downward spiral when we make pleasing others the test of our own worth. Our worth comes not from what others think of us, but from our divine heritage, unrelated to anyone else. It is far more important whose we are than who we are.

And I am His.

I forgot that for a second yesterday. And that second turned into minutes, then hours. Circumstances caused me to forget that supremely important truth. The tears flowed. Tears of anguish for what could have been, but isn't. Tears of sadness that the past can't be altered. Tears of uncertainty over what to do next. Tears of pure exhaustion from way too little sleep. It all caught up with me. All at once. And I let myself forget.

My beloved President Gordon B. Hinckley once taught:

"Many of you think you are failures. You feel you cannot do well, that with all of your effort, it is not sufficient...You are doing the best you can, and that best results in good to yourself and to others. Do not nag yourself with a sense of failure. Get on your knees and ask for the blessings of the Lord; then stand on your feet and do what you are asked to do. Then leave the matter in the hands of the Lord."

Good advice. I'm sure gonna try.

As General Conference weekend approaches, I look forward to sitting at the feet of prophets. Seth's seminary teacher promised his students that if they will come prayerfully and humbly to Conference, bringing their cares and questions and concerns, that they will receive answers according to the desires of their hearts. Indeed, I think this is true, true for the seminary students, true for me, and true for all of us.

I am a child of God. I was put here to love others and to serve others, but not necessarily always to please others. And yes, there is a difference.

In the end, it really doesn't matter too much what others think of me, because I am beloved of the One who thinks I'm positively to die for.

Today It Rained. And I Remembered.

There is a name for people like me. It's Pluviophile. It means "a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days."

Ten years have passed since I lived in the Pacific Northwest. I enjoyed our seven years in Montana, and Utah is okay too, but home for me will always be the lovely Northwest, whether Washington or Oregon. And I think that's mostly because of the rain.

I often wonder if I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, only mine is opposite of most people's. The cloudier it is, the happier I am! Nothing improves my mood more than waking to the drizzle of rain with an overcast sky. Problem is, that barely ever happens here.

But today it did. Today it rained. And I remembered.

I awoke in the middle of last night, startled by lightening bright in my bedroom, followed by crashing thunder and then pouring rain. Over and over my room lit up. It went on for a long time, until finally, I woke Gerald; I wanted someone to be awake with me. He was the only one I could think of who wouldn't mind that it was 3:00 a.m.

Today it rained. And I remembered.

I remembered as a little girl, perhaps seven or eight, walking home from Lloyd Center in the rain with my mom. It was a long walk, and I have no memory of why we did it, but if I close my eyes, I can still feel it. We walked and talked, from Lloyd Center all the way to our house on 121st and Halsey. It wasn't exactly pouring, but rather the constant drizzle of tiny, moist raindrops fell softly on our skin. We arrived home drenched, yet I would have been happy to walk forever.

Today it rained. And I remembered.

I remembered my dad picking me up from the dance studio in the rainy evenings. I'd dash out of the studio and run to his car, the smell and touch of rain all around me, then jump in next to him and listen to the rain on the windshield all the way home. I'd crack the window to allow some of it to spray on my face. We'd drive by The Little Chapel of the Chimes Mortuary, and he'd make dumb jokes (that I thought were funny) like "That is a place people are just dying to get into."

Today it rained. And I remembered.

I remembered week after week the dripping wet soccer games. Shulamith played for six years, and in all that time, I'm pretty sure there were only about two dry games. Most times, it rained. I had my two tinies with me, Isaiah and Eli, bundled up in heavy coats and rain slickers, and still I struggled to know how long to keep them out in the rain and when to escape to the car, where I could watch the game only from a distance. Gerald and I took turns sitting in the car with the boys and watching Shulamith play. While I can't honestly say that I miss soccer games (sports are not my favorite), the rain was glorious.

Today it rained. And I remembered.

I remembered because it happens so rarely here. Even with the storm last night, I figured it would be dry by morning. I figured wrong. When I woke up at 7:30, I could still hear it. On the metal carport adjacent to our house. Rain! Was it for real? Was it really still raining? Though tired from being awake so much in the night, I couldn't risk missing the opportunity. This is Utah. It will stop soon. I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes, grabbed my umbrella, and left. I walked for a long time. It felt like home. And I remembered.

Today it rained. And I remembered.