I never have (get?) to do this again.

This afternoon I stood outside in a long line of missionary parents, all holding packages of wrapped Christmas gifts to be sent to South America through the courier service LDSXpress. It occurred to me that maybe I have it all wrong. As most of you know, this missionary mom gig has been challenging for me. On more than one occasion, I've uttered the words, "I never have to do this again."

But this morning, those words felt empty. Sad, even. Because you see, even with the pain of the two-year separation and the thick longing with which I miss my baby, there's just a crap load of joy that comes alongside this experience.

I have grieved every single "last" with Seth. Every. Single. One. Last choir concert. Last piano recital. Last high school musical. Last parent-teacher conference. Last trip through the parent pickup line. Last homecoming dance. Last prom. It goes on. Truth is I hardly know how to define myself outside my role as a parent of kids and teenagers. I'm not sure what comes next or what's left for me.

With Seth's mission thus far, I've mostly just wished the time away, counting the days until these two years could be over and he would come home. Now, though, as I find myself on the downside of this whole deal, I sense a change. With just nine months to go, I'm beginning to grieve the "last missionary." Never again will I nurse a kid through wisdom teeth removal, schedule medical appointments, assist with application forms, or wait so impatiently for that call to arrive in the mailbox. (Seth's was one of the last ones to come by snail mail.)

Never again will I wait anxiously for Monday, P-day, wondering if technology in Paraguay will be our friend today, or if we'll have to settle for a text chat. Never again will I see the pure joy on the face of a young elder as he tells me about someone he has come to know and love, someone he has taught and who has taught him, someone whom he now considers a friend, someone who has made the choice to follow Christ into the waters of baptism.

And never again will I put together a missionary Christmas package, packed full with so much hope and love and pride. This past week, Shulamith and I shopped for just the right things: his favorite gummy candies, the shiny green tie he requested, a watch, solid sunscreen sticks, G2 pens, more candy, and the most anticipated item: a 20 oz. bottle of Mtn. Dew Code Red. As I tracked down Dad and all the local sibs to sign the Christmas card, it hit me: This is yet another "last."

I might have cried.

Motherhood is not for the weak.

Join me if you will, with crossed fingers for this little package. May it travel all the way to Paraguay intact, with no soda bottle leaks or explosions, and into the hands and heart of my brave, faithful missionary.

Meanwhile, my rhetoric has shifted. "I never have to do this again" has been replaced with "I never get to do this again."

...which is far more accurate.

I like humans best!

I also really like dogs. Dogs are fiercely loyal, and loyalty is the most important characteristic in a creature, if you ask me. Loyalty is my personal "love language," even though it's not technically one of the five. Indeed, dogs are wonderful, but this past week, I had some experiences with humans, and my faith in humanity has been restored. Humans are funny and kind, and (sometimes) even genuine.

First, there's this octogenarian (maybe he's even 90?) gentleman in our ward. I don't know his name, but the other day he and I were waiting outside the clerk's office for our temple recommend interviews. His wife was inside meeting with a bishopric counselor, and he and I were chatting. He noticed that I was carrying my quad (a large book of scriptures). In an effort to help me out, he asked me if I was aware that I could get the scriptures on my phone with an app called "Gospel Library." Bahahaha! Yep, I actually have that app as a matter of fact. It's just that on the Sundays I teach Gospel Doctrine, I prefer to use my physical scriptures that have years of annotations. This whole encounter made me laugh, but seriously, what a nice guy.

Second, there is my lovely family. Missing Luke and Seth, the rest of us gathered this past Sunday to celebrate my birthday. Well, just look how cute my kids are:

These four people standing next to me are not only adorable on the outside; they are equally wonderful on the inside. They are generous and loving. I've been assembling items for Seth's Christmas package, and yesterday, I put everything together and weighed the thing. I was expecting it to be maybe 3 lbs. so was woefully disheartened when the scale said 5.5 lbs. and I hadn't even added the 20 oz bottle of Mtn. Dew Code Red! It costs around $20/pound to ship with the courier I'm using. I began to consider what I might leave out, but the heavier items are the candy, which Seth really, really wants. (Apparently, they have no decent candy in Paraguay.)

Desperate, I sent out a text on our family thread, asking if anyone would like to donate to help get this stuff shipped to Paraguay, so our favorite missionary would have a great package without breaking my Christmas budget. Within seconds, I had replies from everyone. Gerald texted, "I'll send you cash via Venmo tomorrow." Amanda (on behalf of her and Eli): "We are definitely in!" Next, Shulamith: "I'll Venmo you on Tuesday when we get paid. Seth needs candy. And soda!" And then, Isaiah: "Take whatever you need from my account."

Have I mentioned how much I love these people?

Finally, after reading what feels like hundreds of boring narrative essays, on occasion a student actually gives you some genuine voice:

"So there I was, foot in a boot and ass in a wheelchair, on a cocktail of drugs sufficient to put a small elephant to sleep."

Okay, possible you need to be a writing instructor to appreciate the joy of honest voice, but trust me; it made my day. Do ya feel me, John, Chris, Jay, Lizzie (who is no longer with us, but I know she's reading from heaven because she always read my blog)?

Anyway, dogs are the coolest.

But after this past week, I like humans best.

A Moment with Emma

I have written about the town of Rexburg, Idaho before. Probably several times, so I won't bore you with more of the same, but right here is the best account, so feel free to click, open, and read. I actually love that post.

Now, I rarely go to Rexburg. Eli and Amanda have both graduated and moved home with us. Only Lindsey and her family are still there. I had been missing her a lot, like really a lot, so this fall I decided too long had passed since we were together. Her life mirrors mine from 19 years ago, with four children ages 15 down to 7 (except I also had a newborn baby). I know just how much time she spends in her car: driving, waiting, more driving. Now I long to be back there. I long to be waiting in the parent drop-off line at the high school. I miss such things with a longing I can barely describe. My hope is that at least some of this angst, this absolute terror over moving forward to a life with no kids at home, is because I miss Seth so much. I can only hope.

Anyway, it's far more problematic (read: nearly impossible) for Lindsey to break away from her many responsibilities of mom to four busy kids and come to me. So I decided to go to her, to return to Rexburg, a little town in Southern Idaho with such big memories. And that I did last weekend.

So many "moments" occurred in the 43 hours I was there. Lindsey and I sat in McDonald's with no kids. Why would two grown women go to McDonald's with no kids? I could say it's nostalgia, and that would be absolutely true, but honestly, we both really like the food there. So yeah.

We also went to Idaho Falls for an evening of dinner, shopping, and a movie. Hanna's birthday was the 17th, so we shopped for 11-year-old girl presents, including a Squishmallow plush turtle, a mermaid blanket, earrings from Claire's, and other things that just announce: Hanna! It was pure delight, only paralleled later by the sights and sounds of Downton Abbey.

Both nights, I knelt in family prayer, with Lindsey and David and their four precious babies (none of whom is technically a baby anymore). Both nights, as Emma, then Jase, offered the prayer, they expressed gratitude that I could be with them. Because they remember. They remember a time years ago when we lived across the street from one another and saw each other nearly every day. I first met Jase when he was a baby in his mommy's arms, sitting in a Gospel Doctrine class in our beloved Metra Ward in Billings, Montana. My "baby" was already six, so when I looked back with such obvious empty arms at Lindsey in the row behind me, she graciously handed me her little Jase. And that was that. We were bonded.

Sunday morning, I watched a way too grown-up Hanna prepare scrambled eggs for breakfast, as David made blueberry muffins. While Lindsey got ready for church, I enjoyed a lovely visit with David about all things politics and all things religion, and the interesting combination of the two. David is smart and kind, intuitive and funny, and one of my favorite conversationalists.

But the best moment of the whole 43 hours was when I sat on the couch in the living room with Emma, her head on my shoulder, and my arm around hers. Dang, this girl is incredible. The night before, I watched her dance with her partner, in what (I learned) is called "Cabaret Ballroom." She is a beautiful dancer, and when her very tall partner lifts her way up overhead, well, it's breathtaking. Still, the very best moment was the next day sitting on the couch, no words, just feelings. A moment with Emma.

Then, all too soon yet not soon enough, I was on the road back home. I would love to be there longer (Why is it we can't live across the street from each other anymore???), but I also missed my family. And here it is a week later and back to life as usual...

...until next time I decide I need some Lindsey time and return to the little town in Southern Idaho with such big memories.

Becoming Holy; Finding Joy! Post-General Conference Musings

"Arriba Juntos!" sang a group of 30ish former full-time missionaries, all who served in the Paraguay Asuncion Mission, under President and Sister Hansen. They gathered Friday evening of Conference weekend at a church building in Orem, and I once again felt the spirit unique to mission reunions. It reminded me of the last one I attended back in July of 2014, four months after Eli returned from his mission to Arkansas/Tennessee. When missionaries gather, especially those who served side by side, well, There's just a lot of love goin' on here!

I was privileged to attend this reunion even though Seth is still in the field, because it was hosted by a missionary couple, who recently returned from Paraguay, Elder Kevin and Sister Linda Westover. Linda graciously invited everyone associated with the mission, even us parents with kids still there. Thank you, Linda! So many smiles, so many hugs, so much good food, but nothing compares to the sound of angelic voices raised in song and praise: "Vamos! Arriba Juntos!" (tune of "Called to Serve"). What a glorious start to Conference weekend!

Saturday and Sunday were equally lovely, despite this twisted ankle. I was at Harmon's Saturday morning buying General Conference snacks and lost track of time. Racing home so I wouldn't miss even one second of the first session, I stepped off the curb awkwardly, twisted my ankle, and fell right down. Fortunately, I was able to get up and continue, arriving home just as the choir was singing the opening hymn, but my poor ankle! That said, if it's going to happen, what better weekend than one in which I'm planning to sit in a chair and watch 10 hours of TV. That I did, foot iced and elevated.

When I heard Jefferey R. Holland announced as the first speaker, my heart and mind were instantly engaged. He is always my favorite and definitely my hero and role model when I'm drafting my own talks. This one did not disappoint. He totally crushed it with a brilliant rhetorical masterpiece. His eloquent diction and perfectly arranged ideas, combined with heartfelt delivery, left me cheering "Amen!" He taught me that if I direct my inquires of faith to those who have faith, I will find the healing Christ promised. If I look past the commotion, I can eliminate the confusion and darkness of the world and  find the love of Heavenly Parents. Indeed, I was inspired. And after the :"amens," when he looked right at me and said "Welcome to General Conference!" I felt truly welcomed, and so grateful to be a member of this church.

I felt that same welcome and gratitude at many other times during Conference weekend. I felt it when Elder L. Todd Budge of the Seventy taught me that if I surrender to God, I can find peace to my soul and when I give up control and trust in the Lord, adversity changes to joy, and faith deepens. I felt it when Sister Reyna I. Aburto spoke so directly and honestly about mental illness and those who suffer from various types including anxiety: "When it comes to healing, don't we all need Him desperately. Are we not all beggars?" Not surprisingly, I felt it again when Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf invited me to set aside my comfort and go on an adventure with Jesus Christ, reminding me that discipleship is not about doing things perfectly; it's about doing things intentionally.

Usually when Conference is over, I feel a little sad, a little let down. I anticipate it for so long, and then it goes by so quickly. This time, though I definitely felt some of that, I was also so excited to be able to say "Three down; one to go!" You see, I am counting General Conferences, as I wait for Seth to come home from Paraguay. Just 10 more months and ONE more General Conference.

Following a long-standing tradition, we decorated for Halloween between sessions on Saturday, but since I was resting my ankle, I mostly directed others as they decorated. Here is a small sample of that undertaking:

It was such a nice weekend in every way, and my favorite season is now in full swing with one good thing after another: General Conference, my birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Black Friday, and yes, you know the rest of this awesome story.

Happy Fall, Everyone!

Going the Wrong Direction: Pre-General Conference Musings

I am directionally challenged. Most of the time I have little idea where I am in relationship to other places, even places I've been multiple times. This deficiency has presented itself in brand new ways since I've been using the UTA Trax and Frontrunner systems. First, let me just say how much I love these trains. Like way too much. I get so excited whenever I get to ride one; it never gets old. Of course it feels good to do even a tiny bit to reduce greenhouse gases and slow global warming, but mostly, riding the Trax/Frontrunner is just so much fun.

That is, if I manage to board the correct train. Going the right direction. Oh my goodness, this is hard! It takes all the concentration I can muster to figure out which way to go. Here's what I have to do: First, I stand up at the UTA station and face the big mountains. I've been told that the big mountains are to the east. Next, I visualize the assembly room from my days as a Rainbow Girl, in order to tell which way is north and which way is south. I literally stand there, head in hands, and think, "Okay, big mountains are east. Facing east, Hope (Rainbow officer) is to the south, and Charity (Rainbow officer) is to the north. Orem is south, so I want go toward Hope."

This works most of the time, but not always. I can't tell you the number of times I've boarded the wrong train, going the wrong direction. When Shulamith drops me off at a UTA station, she literally points her finger the way I need to go: "Go THIS way," she instructs, pointing her finger. I nod in compliance. And it helps too, quite often! Still, there are times when I have to text her and admit, "Yeah, I kinda got on the wrong train. Going the wrong direction."

All this is obviously hilarious, a grown woman unable to tell which way is north and which way is south, but it recently caused me to think about the gospel, about the Savior, and about our Heavenly Parents, especially in light of our church's upcoming semiannual General Conference next weekend. You know, we all get on the wrong train sometimes, the one going the wrong direction. It's so easy to do. If we're even a little bit distracted or if we lose our focus for just a second, we can suddenly find ourselves on the wrong train.

But here's the good news. No, here's the excellent news! Here's the most awesome news ever to influence and affect humankind. We can always change trains. For real. Whenever I text Shulamith to confess that I'm headed to Salt Lake City when I'm supposed to be going to Sandy, she shakes her head (okay, I don't actually see her shake her head, but I assume she does), and texts back, "Really? Are you kidding me? I told you the right way to go. I pointed in the right direction!" Yep, she did. But I managed to board the wrong train anyway.

I always reassure her that I'm okay and that all will be well. Now that I've recognized my mistake, all I have to do is get right off at the next stop and then wait to board the correct train, the one going the right direction. And that's exactly what I do. One time I went all the way to Draper before I noticed my error; I was distracted by my phone and failed to listen to the warnings over the loudspeaker telling me I was headed south. Nevertheless, once I got off, a new train came right away, one headed north, and I hopped right on.

It's the same with life. The scriptures point us in the right direction. The road map is clear, even for someone directionally challenged like me. The Holy Ghost whispers through the loudspeaker in our heads, which direction we're headed and whether or not it's the right one. For those times when we still get lost, the Savior always provides a new train, and His always travels in the right direction, toward a glorious reunion with our Heavenly Parents.

Next weekend, we'll be blessed with yet another opportunity to sharpen our skills in determining which train to ride. Humble servants of the Lord, regular folks called to a divine purpose, will speak to us and provide inspired counsel about how to stay on the right train. None of these speakers will be perfect. Every one of them will have at one time in his or her life boarded the wrong train. Elder Holland's words come to mind: "So be kind regarding human frailty--your own as well as that of those who serve with you in a Church led by volunteer, mortal men and women. Except in the case of His only perfect Begotten Son, imperfect people are all God has ever had to work with."

And yet, here they are, sacrificing their time, effort, and energy on our behalf. Volunteer, mortal men and women? Yes. Divinely appointed and inspired to provide heavenly counsel unique to our time. Without a doubt. You won't want to miss it!

Most of us will view General Conference either on TV or through the Internet. However, here's a tip: If you happen to be here in Sandy, Utah next weekend and have tickets to attend one of the five sessions, you want to go north. North! On the Blue Line train toward Salt Lake City. That means if you face the big mountains to the east, you want to go left.

You're welcome.

And Happy General Conference Weekend, Everyone!

Broken Clouds Give Rain

A popular Kenneth Cope song "Broken" came to mind this past weekend as I visited my family in Oregon. My favorite line from the song titles this post: "Broken clouds give rain." Most of you regular readers already know how I feel about rain. In my three days in Portland, I got only a little; it rained briefly Thursday night and then again Sunday morning before I left for the airport. I think I embarrassed my friend Lorrie when I twirled around in the Shari's parking lot, arms extended, celebrating those beautiful broken clouds, as we exited the restaurant. Good thing I've known Lorrie since I was 13, and she loves me regardless.

Other broken things this weekend were not so worthy of celebration. Gracious!

The trip seemed ill fated from the very start. Amanda dropped me off at the airport, and I quickly passed through security (TSA pre-check this time, so I must not look like a terrorist). Walking to my gate, I decided to grab a quick hot chocolate because, you know, I was on vacation, so calories didn't count. Only about two delicious sips in, I spilled the entire cup on the floor of the airport. Lovely. Almost my whole cup of hot chocolate...broken.

Next, I boarded the plane and ASAP, ordered a Diet Coke because what else would I do? And you guessed it; I promptly spilled that cup of perfection right on my feet. At that point, my anxiety was spiraling out of control, and if we weren't already over 30,000 feet in the air, I might have gotten right off that airplane and come back home.

Life improved markedly when I sat at Sayer's Old Country Kitchen with my mom; my brother, Tom; his daughter, Leslie; her husband, Silas; their daughter, Sydney; and a different niece's son, Finn. You can read about this place in the above link, but suffice it to say, I rolled right outta there like a beach ball, and didn't regret one bite.

The following day I awoke to a broken laptop. Yep, it fried and died. Overnight. I have no idea what happened, but it was dunzo. Cope's song asks, "Could it be that God loves broken things?" Well, maybe, but not this one. Dang. That PC was under two years old, and I NEED it! Seriously, I can't go even one day without a computer; both my college jobs require one, not to mention my little online side job with VIPKID. I borrowed my mom's computer to respond to student email (Remember the days when students had to wait until class to ask questions? Yeah, me too), and to review essay drafts. Thanks, Mom!

Friday my mom and I spent at the ocean, in the town of Seaside. Dozens of memories surround that place, way too many to share. My favorite might be when Tom and I were children, maybe around eight and ten, and we were left at the top of an amusement park ride, the octopus, because the ride attendant forgot we were up there when he closed the ride. I can't remember how this story ended; it was late at night, and somehow someone found us, I guess? Perhaps our parents?

Anyway, the ocean was so pretty. It's hard for me to live in a landlocked state with so little rain. I ran right down and touched the water! Here's the selfie; it's a horrible picture, but my only one of the ocean, so I'm sucking it up and posting.

Next, we discovered my niece, Katie, and her boyfriend, Josh. I wish we had remembered to take a picture because they are the cutest! We played Fascination, browsed gift shops, and admired Christmas decorations that were way too expensive but so beautiful. We ate yummy food, including a veggie egg scramble, and then brought back fresh clam chowder for dinner. I don't think anything broke on Friday.

Saturday, while my mom cooked dinner for the family, Tom and I went computer shopping at Best Buy. I went in thinking I'd get another PC, similar to the one that died prematurely, but I left with a new MacBook Air. How'd that happen? Um, not sure? We looked at PCs, but I'm really tired of their quirkiness, flipping around all over the place without warning, updating at the most inconvenient times, and (of course) dying out of the blue at less than two years old. Tom switched to Apple years ago and says he's "never looked back," so in the end, that's what I did. So far, I'm super groovin' on this sweet, ultra thin, rose gold Mac.

That evening, as we ate a delicious dinner of fried chicken and smashed potatoes (Eli's name for them), Leslie's daughter Sydney noticed a large bird out on my mom's deck. We thought it was a statue because she likes decorations like that, but then it moved! A live bird was right out there on the deck, obviously hurt and unable to fly, at least not very far. A broken bird. We all felt bad for him, all except Grandma, who wanted him OFF her deck, so Leslie wrapped him in a towel and brought him to the front yard. He was gone by the following day, but Tom noticed a smear on his living room window, where the poor bird had apparently crashed and fallen onto the deck below. I know God loves broken things, and I really hope he loves this poor bird and is keeping it safe somehow.

The evening, and my visit, ended with S'More's around the fire pit.

Early Sunday morning, I met Lorrie at Shari's for breakfast on my way to the airport. We talked too long (and not nearly long enough), so I worried I wouldn't make my flight. She offered to follow me to my rental car place and then drive me to the airport to save time. We were literally "racing in the rain" though there was no dog involved. When the rental car guy told me to "Just go! I'll email you if we need anything," I replied "I love you!" as I ran to Lorrie's car, once again embarrassing my poor friend. "Did you just tell that guy you loved him?" "Yep, because right now, I do."

I left my Portland family and returned to my SLC family. Wish it didn't have to be one or the other, but that is life.

Broken clouds give rain. Thank goodness.

Farewell, Sir Elton John - Thank you, Ruth Ann and Isaiah

When I was 13, I joined a girls' service organization called The International Order of Rainbow for Girls. This organization has many officers, but the five top ones progress through what is called "the line," and once a girl starts through that "line" holding the office of "Faith," she continues through, holding the offices of "Hope," "Charity," "Worthy Associate Adviser," consecutively, and ultimately becomes the "Worthy Adviser," who leads the assembly for four months.

Our assembly, Kellogg #92 was brand new, so they had to find all five line officers at the same time, rather than just electing a "Faith," and letting her progress through. From the same high school, they found the top four, all girls who were between their junior and senior years. But I guess they couldn't find a fifth, so eventually, they asked me to be "Faith." I was headed to 8th grade and ridiculously excited about Rainbow, but if that wasn't enough, getting to hang out with these four "older" and incredibly cool girls was almost more than I could handle. They were so nice to me.

I became especially close to one of them, Ruth Ann, who held the office of "Charity" in the "line." She was so beautiful! She had perfect hair and makeup and, well, everything! She would come pick me up to do stuff, because she could drive and even had her own car. it was the first time I ever rode around with a teenager. I wanted to be just like her, so when she introduced me to the music of a rock & roll singer named Elton John, I was all in. Looking back now, I can't tell you whether I truly loved Elton John from the start or if I just loved him because Ruth Ann did, but somewhere along the line, that passion became my own.

Fast forward a few years till now, and Sir Elton John remains one of my favorite artists. When he first announced his final tour "Farewell Yellow Brick Road," I immediately thought, "Well this is it. I have to go. If I don't, I'll never get another chance."

Then I checked the price of tickets...

...and quickly convinced myself that it might be okay if I didn't see him.

His performance here in Salt Lake City was two nights ago, and yes, I was there, thanks to my favorite third-born child ever, Isaiah. In many ways, Isaiah and I see life through a similar lens. We're both passionate about politics and social justice. We both love to travel and eat Asian food (he just gets to do it way, way more than I do). He has turned me into an over-the-top Utah Jazz fan.

And we both love Elton John.

So Wednesday, while I was in class at SLCC, he texted me: "If I buy them, will you go? Consider it a combined birthday and Christmas present?"

What???????????????? Of course I'll go!

We rode Trax downtown to the Vivant Smart Home Arena, where we've gone many times to see Jazz games, but this felt so different. I was crazy excited, but not one bit nervous. Usually, my nerves are completely on edge, hoping so desperately for a Jazz win. Instead, I could just relax and enjoy the anticipation with no fear.

I struggle to put into words what we experienced. I've seen Neil Diamond three times, Barry Manilow twice, and other outstanding live concerts, including Celine Dion, Bon Jovi, and Donny & Marie.

But there is no contest. This performance Wednesday night was in a league all its own. For three solid hours, with just two five-minute breaks to change his clothes, Elton John played the piano and sang song after song after song, holding the entire audience in the palm of his unbelievably talented hands. Isaiah and I were squarely centered in one of those palms. We kept looking at each other in awe, as if to say, "Can you even believe this is happening to us?"

With only three songs we didn't recognize, we sang right along. Every time I thought I'd heard every famous hit, he began playing another, and we'd look at each other and mouth, "Oh yeah. I forgot about this one!" We knew he'd close with "Yellow Brick Road," and sure enough, after three hours, that time came. I might have been a little sad to see it end, but when he explained why this would be his final tour, he said,

"I never thought I would have a family of my own. And now I do."

And that's enough for me.

So thank you, Ruth Ann, for introducing me to such talent. Thank you, my dear Isaiah, for a night I will never forget. And thank you, Sir Elton John, for the magic.