...he was 80% sure my baby was a girl.

Tomorrow is Isaiah's birthday.

Like many of us, he is currently working from home and his at-home "office" is my comfy recliner in the family room, so most days I get to listen in on his morning team meeting. Yesterday at the meeting, someone from the team announced, "And Wednesday is Isaiah's birthday!" to which Isaiah replied, "Oh yeah. I guess it is." He had totally forgotten. No surprise. Isaiah has always been low key. He's also the definition of a minimalist, which makes shopping for him nearly impossible. He's probably the smartest person I know, and more importantly, his values are sound. He understands what matters in life and what doesn't.

Because of his quiet, personality, I don't write about him often, but if you'd like to know him better (which I highly recommend!),  here and here and here are some articles about him.

But now let's get on with that birth story, the second in the calendar year 2020, as I continue to tell each of my children's birth story, in the month of his or her birth.

Our first two kids were born way close together, so we needed a little break before #3. By the time Isaiah was born, Luke and Shulamith were 6 and 5, respectively. They were self sufficient in so many ways that bringing a new baby home was ridiculously easy. We were living in The Dalles, a small town 80 miles east of Portland along the Columbia River Gorge.

As I mentioned in Eli's birth story, all my babies come a week late, so though Isaiah's due date was April 9th, I knew he wouldn't show up until mid-April, and sure enough, the morning of April 14th, those contractions I'd been having for two weeks began to regulate and intensify. He was on his way!

By afternoon, I called my doctor, who said to head to the hospital and he would be in touch with staff there and join us when needed. "Let's do this!" I told Gerald, and we packed up Luke and Shulamith and dropped them at my friend Diane's house, on our way. But when we arrived at the hospital, we found the Labor and Delivery ward closed up tight. As in no one was there. Turns out Mid-Columbia Medical Center opens its maternity area only when there are women and babies there, which makes perfect sense, but in that moment was a bit disconcerting.

We walked around to another area of the hospital, stopping periodically so I could breathe through a contraction, and found someone to help us. "Oh, you need Labor and Delivery? Let me make a phone call."

"Awesome, thanks."

Very soon, two nurses arrived, and the Labor and Delivery unit came to life. Just for us! Just for our new little baby. At that time, routine ultrasonography was new, at least in small towns like The Dalles. My doctor had only recently gotten a machine in his office was still learning to use it, so at my 20-week checkup, he tried it out and told me he was 80% sure my baby was a girl. Those sounded like pretty good odds, so I went to the hospital that afternoon, expecting to give birth to Faith Webster Erichsen (in our rotation, the Erichsen last name came next).

I called my mom in Portland and told her it was "go time," so she hopped in her car and headed east. She had no need to rush, though, because it would still be hours, ohhhh so many hours, before our baby BOY made his entrance at 3:50 a.m. the following day. We were so surprised but so thrilled to meet him, our perfect Isaiah Webster Erichsen! At 9 lbs. 1 oz., he would be our second largest baby.

Immediately, everyone present began to comment about his beautiful eyes. Most babies don't have visible eyelashes, but his were long and thick and black, complementing his big blue eyes. Throughout our 2-day stay, various hospital personnel who had no reason to visit me, would knock, peek their heads into the room and say, "I keep hearing about the baby in this room with the beautiful eyes. Can I see him?"

Of course! Post-delivery euphoria hit hard, and I was elated to show everyone my beautiful little boy. Nurses kept telling me I should try to get some sleep. No way! All I wanted to do was hold him. I was once again, for the third time, in awe of the miracle that partners women with God to bring these precious spirits to earth. It's an honor beyond which words can describe.

By morning, my friends started to come by. We had lived in The Dalles for nearly six years, so we had many, many friends. It was a parade of people most of the day, all rejoicing with us. One nurse tried to tell me I'd had too many visitors, but I didn't care. There are few occasions when you get to be totally selfish and do things exactly the way you want to, regardless of what anyone else thinks, and having a baby is one of those times.

We brought Isaiah home to two doting siblings. Luke was delighted he turned out to be a boy, and Shulamith was ready to take on the role of 2nd mommy without so much as a second thought. It was a blissfully happy time for our family.

That was a few years ago, though it doesn't really seem like so many. Isaiah grew up to be one of my best friends. I couldn't be any prouder. Here we are together, just over a month ago, excited to vote for Bernie in Utah's primary election.

That was before the world turned upside down. Tomorrow we will celebrate Isaiah's birthday at home, in quarantine, with just our family.

And for him, that will be perfectly fine.

Unique and Glorious!

Six months ago, President Russell M. Nelson asked the membership of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to prepare for a "unique" experience at the April 2020 General Conference. Back then, I don't think any of us, including President Nelson, imagined what that would mean, but unique it was!

Unique and glorious.

Instead of holding the sessions in the Conference Center, filled to the brim with members from around the world, it was broadcast from a much smaller auditorium, and only those speaking attended. President Nelson presided over and attended all five sessions, but others attended only if they were speaking. Those few in attendance were seated six feet apart, following the guidelines for social distancing.

The music consisted of former recordings of the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square, singing in past General Conferences. One of those recordings was from way back in October of 2000.

Seth: "October, 2000?! That's the year I was born. Did you watch that session, Mom?"
Me: "Of course! I've watched every session of General Conference for as long as I can remember."

Then I thought more about that particular recording from October 2000. Seth would have been just four months old. And it hit me! We lived in Mt. Vernon, Washington, and in those days (at least outside Utah), Conference wasn't available on TV. We had to get dressed up and go to the stake center to watch the satellite broadcast, which we did for every session.

I remember sitting in the mothers' room, nursing Seth, during that exact General Conference in October 2000. A small, cube-style TV was set up across from the rocking chairs, so mothers could watch conference while nursing their babies. Of course I can't be sure which specific session it was, or if it was the same session that included the song that was played yesterday, but it was definitely the same General Conference, because Seth was still tiny.

Today, that tiny baby is a 19-year-old returned missionary (How many can say that?), who watched General Conference with me this weekend, all five sessions. Had they not used pre-recorded music from TABCATS' past General Conference performances, I would not have experienced this sweet memory.

Unique and glorious.

As I mentioned in a previous blog post, Seth's sudden and early return from his mission has been challenging for me. I've cursed this dumb virus for turning the world upside down, and particularly for forcing Seth to leave his mission abruptly five months early and come home to a 14-day quarantine. "It's just not right!" I've murmured. And yet, faith requires me to accept what happened and to remember that "...all things work together for good for them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28). Seth loves God and was called according to his purpose. It's all good.

Seth's early return meant he was with me this past Conference weekend. Of course watching Conference with Seth is not, in itself, unique. Up until he left on his mission in August of 2018, he and I watched Conference together every six months for years. Conference is an "event" in our home, and I do all sorts of things to bribe...um..."encourage" kids to watch. But this time was different.

Seth's mission grew his testimony in so many ways, while still leaving his adorable, funny, engaging personality intact. Through the 19 months he served, his depth of gospel understanding and commitment to it increased exponentially. He may have been even more excited for General Conference than I was! Fully engaged in every talk, he had much to offer as we discussed the counsel from the speakers, how it applies to the Church in general and to us, personally. Yep, the experience was indeed unique.

Unique and glorious.

Our favorite talks? No surprises. Just when I thought Elder Holland couldn't possibly give a better talk than he did last time, he crushes it right out of the park! Oh. My. Goodness. If you didn't get the chance to hear it, stop whatever you're doing right now (even though it's reading my blog), go right here, and listen. Really. His message of hope, so timely yet so universal, was precisely what so many desperately needed in this scary and uncertain time, myself included.

Then there was Elder Uchtdorf. In October of 2013, then-President Uchtdorf gave a talk in General Conference titled "Come, Join with Us." In it is the line, "There is room for you in this church." This doctrine of inclusivity inspired my second blog: thereisroomforyou.blogspot.com. Though not nearly as prolific as itslegs.blogspot.com, it addresses my experiences as a convert with the doctrine and culture of my church. Elder Uchtdorf's talk yesterday in the afternoon session reminded me so much of his earlier talk from 2013. Always, he emphasizes the importance of welcoming all into the fellowship of the Saints, regardless of, well, anything.

President Nelson concluded the April 2020 General Conference by reviewing the new and exciting announcements: a new symbol for the church, spotlighting the risen Lord; a bicentennial  proclamation, spotlighting the restoration of the gospel in the fullness of times; and eight new temples, including one in Dubai and one in Shanghai. What?? So cool.

I get cranky when people misuse the word "unique," but I love it used correctly. Six months ago, President Nelson asked us to prepare for a unique General Conference experience. It did not disappoint. Unique it was, indeed.

Unique and glorious.

Like trekking through mud, we made it to April!

We did it.

It's finally April. It's not even an April Fool's joke.

I'm not sure why that feels like such an accomplishment, but it does. Maybe the fact that we made it to a new month gives us hope, hope that we will continue to trek through the mud of this crazy existence, day by day, week by week, month by month, for as long as it takes.

As we stay home to protect both ourselves and the weakest among us, it's important to keep watch on our mental health right along with our physical health. When our stake president released Seth from has mission, he told Seth that, though quarantined, he should get out of the house daily and go for walk, as one way to protect his mental health. I agree! As someone who struggles enough with mental health when there isn't a global pandemic (stupid anxiety/panic attacks), I take this seriously. I've upped my walking regimen these past two weeks, and I can feel the positive effect.

Emily has even been able to go with me a couple times, with Evelyn and Baby Jeffrey in the double stroller. Then Seth and I take a 4,000-step walk each afternoon. This is when I hear the best mission stories. You'd be jealous. Really, there's something about the medium of walking that moves conversation along organically, and one by one, I hear all about Seth's experiences in Paraguay. What a privilege it was for him to be there.

Staying reasonably productive is another way to relieve the stress of quarantine. Just before Seth came home, Shulamith and I painted his room, steam cleaned the carpets, ordered new bedding, and cleaned everywhere. The days passed quickly; we were energized by our accomplishments. Now that's over, and we have to seek out ways to be productive. Today we played with the two dogs in the back yard sunshine. It was good for both them and us. Watching Woofie try to removed Waffles' collar was hilarious, and laughter is perfect for healing the mind.

Focusing on something non-COVID-19 related is also helpful. Because this virus has changed our lives so dramatically, seemingly overnight, it's challenging to find other places to focus our attention. But it's also so important to do just that. I am currently between books, but I need to see what's available on my Kindle queue and jump into another time and place. In addition, Seth and I have been watching a Book of Mormon video each night just before bed. Immersed in scriptures, we forget about coronavirus, even if just for 20 minutes, making solid, restorative sleep way more likely.

And then, there's always food! Anyone else obsessed with the next meal or snack? It's like I don't get to go anywhere, and I don't get face-to-face interaction with anyone outside my family, so dang it, I deserve to eat! I've joked that the "19" in COVID-19 represents the number of pounds, on average, people will gain during this quarantine, except I'm only half joking. Be careful. I've been keeping with my intermittent fasting plan and, as mentioned above, walking lots. But during my eating  hours, around 11:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m., all I want is sugar and fat, and every yummy combination of those. Eeeeek!

Like trekking through mud, we made it to April. And we will make it to May. And June. And however long this thing goes on. We will follow the guidelines set up by those who understand it better than we do. We will not be in church by Easter. We will not return to business-as-usual the day after. We're smarter than that. We will stay home. We will do it, no matter how hard it is, because at this moment, it is absolutely our most selfless act of love.

Like trekking through mud, we made it to April.

"This isn't what you wanted, is it? How are you handling the unexpected change?"

When we found out just over a week ago that the Church was releasing all missionaries in South America and Seth would be coming home four months early, every emotion flooded over me. So much pathos all at once. When I announced it on social media, all sorts of people commented on how happy they were for me, assuming I would be overjoyed. This made perfect sense. More than once, I'd expressed my angst over Seth's mission. That first year felt like the longest in the history of ever. I missed him so much; I can't even put words to it. So wouldn't it make sense that I'd be thrilled for this slightly early homecoming?

A few of my closest friends, those who know me best, knew better. "This isn't what you wanted, is it?" "How are you handling the unexpected change?"

"No, it isn't, and not that well, actually."

I'm a planner. I like to know what to expect, and I don't like surprises. This is absolutely not what I expected. May I just have a moment here to contrast my expectations with reality? Thanks.

Had things gone as planned, I would have had four months still to prepare for Seth's homecoming. I would have given careful thought to choosing all the right items for his "Welcome Home" basket. On August 6th, our family would have loaded into my car and driven to the airport with banners and balloons. No doubt many of Seth's friends would have joined us there, all waiting expectantly at the bottom of the escalator. He would arrive to shouts of joy: "Welcome home, Elder Erichsen." I would get the first hug. I would run to him, arms wide open and hold him just as long as I wanted, before giving others a turn.

Next, we would drive to the stake center and meet with the stake president, who would formally release Seth from his mission. From there we would head to Seth's favorite takeout, Panda Express for lunch. In the afternoon, he would reconnect with friends, and that night we would go out for a family dinner wherever he chose.

The following Sunday, Seth would report to the High Council. I think you either have to serve a mission yourself or send a missionary kid to understand the spirit present at that meeting. When your son stands in that room, with the stake presidency and all 12 High Councilmen, and bears testimony of the savior and the restoration of his gospel, well, I don't know. You really have to be there. It might be my favorite part of whole process.

Then Seth would give his mission report in Sacrament Meeting, to a room full of strangers. Haha, one sad event was the shift in ward boundaries a month after Seth left, placing us in a new and completely unfamiliar ward. However, the following Sunday or sometime soon after, he would also get to speak in the 4th Ward, where we have many friends, including lots of Seth's former Young Men's leaders. Gavin even said I might get to speak with him, so that would have been awesome. Following Seth's report in our current ward, I would host a celebration lunch at our house for everyone who wanted to come welcome him home.

Pretty much none of that is reality.

Instead, we had about a week's notice of his return and only 24 hours when we knew the exact day and time. Shulamith and I went into uber drive and did all we could to prepare. We cleaned out Seth's room, shampooed the carpets, painted the walls, and bought new bedding. We did a pickup order from Walmart with his favorite treats and soda, along with some toiletries. We ordered him an iPhone X. I drove to Provo to pick up a "Welcome Home" banner.

Gerald is social distancing as much as possible from everyone in the family because he is the only one of us who still has to physically go to work, so he chose to stay home, when Shulamith and I drove to the airport late last night. I had tracked the charter flight all day, along with three of my missionary mom friends, and the four of us kept each other sane (mostly) as we waited. All missionary parents were directed to park in Garage #2, which was labeled row by row, according to the missionaries' last names. We found the E - G row, and parked.

Their flight landed at 10:53, and about 15 minutes later, we saw him, this tall, cool elder in a dark gray suit, pulling his bags and walking toward us. It took every ounce of discipline I possess to follow the rules. President Hansen had been crystal clear in his email to all his missionary parents, in uppercase letters, even: "DO NOT GET OUT OF YOUR CAR AT THE AIRPORT. DO NOT HUG YOUR MISSIONARY. DO NOT TOUCH YOUR MISSIONARY." Ahhhh! But I decided the day before, and I recommitted last night, to follow the rules. The way I figure, Seth has done his absolute best to be obedient for the past 20 months; I can be obedient for one evening. Even if it's so hard.

So we watched him quickly load his luggage and jump in the car, and we were out of there. He was starving, so we drove through the only thing open, Beto's, and got him a giant burrito. The family was here to greet him when we got home, from a 6 ft. distance, so no hugging. Possibly the sweetest reunion of all was with his dog (whom he could actually touch). Waffles was so shocked to see him and so happy. We visited until the wee hours of the morning (When was the last time I was up at 2:00 a.m.?). Finally, Seth went upstairs and sprawled across his bed: "Oh my goodness, this bed is so comfortable!" Then he took off his shoes and sunk his feet into the carpet, a luxury nonexistent in Paraguay.

This morning at 11:00, President McIllece called to release Seth from his mission by phone. They spoke for 30 minutes, and Seth put it on speaker, so I could eavesdrop. President McIllece offered Seth sound advice on a variety of topics, along with asking Seth to share some mission experiences and giving him ample opportunity to ask questions. I would have loved to sit in the stake president's office and have this discussion face to face, but truly, President McIllece made it as good as it could be under the circumstances. At the end of the phone call, Seth removed his mission plaque (name tag), and handed it to me: "I never get to wear this again, until my future wife and I serve a senior mission together."

Later in the day, Eli and Amanda came upstairs, and Seth blessed the Sacrament in Spanish, so all of us could partake. It was a quiet, but lovely experience. To hear him use that language so fluidly and effortlessly is remarkable.  As a newly-released missionary, Seth spent the remainder of the day FaceTiming his friends, listening to music, and playing video games with Isaiah. Oh how I've missed the sound of their laughter!

One day, if the world ever turns right side up again, we will have that traditional homecoming. We will take him out for dinner. He will speak in church, hopefully in both wards, and we will host a big celebration luncheon. One day.

For now, he is home. And despite all my anxiety over things not going as planned, I delight in the joy he brings to our house. Waffles may be happy to have him here, but I am even happier.

His first taste of Terere, a traditional drink in Paraguayan culture. Seth really wanted to like it, but unfortunately, he thought it was terrible.

I put my 2-year-old and my 1-day-old in their carseats, got into my car, and headed north.

Several months ago when Emily and I were out for our morning walk, the conversation drifted to pregnancy. Was this because Emily was pregnant with her sweet little Jeffrey, who is now a month old? Maybe. Or was it just because moms love to talk about pregnancy and share birth stories? Either way, at one point, she asked me if I ever had to move to a new house during pregnancy.

"Oh, I not only moved to a new house during pregnancy. I moved to a new town during delivery!" And I proceeded to tell her Eli's birth story. About halfway though, I realized that this story should really be in my blog; Emily agreed. Later, I decided that throughout 2020, in the month of each of my five children's birthdays, I would write their birth stories.

Now I know we all feel like we're living in The Twilight Zone, and that March may never actually end, but in case we're wrong about that and we really do see April, I figured I'd better tell Eli's story while it's still the month of his birth.

We were living in northern California, in a town called Rohnert Park, near Santa Rosa. We'd been there a year, and though we very much enjoyed the area, wages were no higher than anywhere else, while the cost of living was in the stratosphere! We would never be able to afford a house of our own there, so when the lease on our townhome expired, we didn't renew it. We decided I would move up to Snohomish, Washington with my three kids and stay with Gerald's mom, and Gerald would continue to work in California and seek employment somewhere in the Pacific Northwest.

So in November, I packed up our kids, ages 7, 6, and 2, and moved up to Washington. I was due to give birth to Child #4 in mid-March. Gerald's mom graciously took us in, our presence creating a decided change of pace in her formerly quiet home, where she lived by herself. She never complained. As my baby's due date grew nearer, and Gerald was still working in California with no job prospects in Washington or Oregon, I grew more and more panicked. Too bad I suck at having faith in situations like this. However, about two weeks before my baby's due date, Gerald was offered a job at the Skagit Valley Herald in Mt. Vernon, Washington, a lovely little town about 60 miles north of Seattle. We were overjoyed.

But then there was the small issue of getting my baby born. You see, our insurance in California, Kaiser, only provided coverage as far north as Longview, Washington, 190 miles south of Mt. Vernon. If we didn't want to pay for this birth ourselves, I would need to deliver in Longview. Despite my woeful lack of faith, grace remained present in our circumstances. My only living grandparent at the time happened to live in a little retirement community called Ryderwood, just 28 miles from Longview. So a week before my baby's due date, Gerald's mom kept our two big kids, Gerald went up to Mt. Vernon to begin his new job, and 2-year-old Isaiah and I took up temporarily residence with my grandma in Ryderwood. We were a family divided, and I didn't love it, but desperate times and all.

All my babies come a week late. They really like Heaven, and they never want to leave. And so it was with Baby #4. For two weeks, Isaiah and I stayed in Ryderwood. We took walks with my grandma. She cooked us good food. We watched TV with her and played with her dog. And on March 13th, we went to the hospital in Longview to induce delivery. I'm not usually a fan of induction. I really prefer to wait and let labor begin naturally, but I was a week overdue, and my family was scattered everywhere, and once again, desperate times.

My mom drove up from Portland to be with Isaiah, and Gerald drove down from Mt. Vernon to attend the birth. After 10 hours of labor, Eli Erichsen Webster entered the world. His perfect face looked exactly as it does today, with round cheeks and squinty eyes. And once again, for the fourth time, we fell hopelessly in love. It's funny how that works. No matter how many kids you have, the love is always the same.

But then there was the issue of getting my newborn baby, my toddler, and me all the way back up to Mt. Vernon the following day. Gerald had left the night before; he had no time off in his new job. My mom left that morning to return to Portland, and my grandma went back home to Ryderwood. So I put my 2-year-old and my 1-day old in their carseats, got into my car, and headed north on I-5.

I thought I'd be fine. I was so strong, I thought. I could totally do this, no problem. But at some point on the freeway, I glanced back at those two precious little people, for whom I was solely responsible, and I felt woefully vulnerable and inadequate. I was suddenly so scared. Of course raging postpartum hormones played a big part in this, but it was also the practical circumstances I faced. I realized both babies had messy diapers, and I also needed to use the bathroom myself, and the combination of all that while traveling 80 mph on the freeway was just too much. The tears flowed. This was before the cell phone era, so I couldn't even call anyone.

By this point, I was near Tacoma, and I knew there was a mall right off the freeway, so I took the exit and headed there. I took Isaiah by the hand and carried Baby Eli in his carseat, and we walked into the mall to find a bathroom. I was still crying, but actually those tears were exactly the release I needed in order to "woman up" and take the next steps. I found a bathroom in the mall, changed diapers, and got right back on the freeway.

We arrived at our new home in Mt. Vernon that evening. Imagine a U-Haul containing all your possessions, dumped into the living room of a condo, with no organization. That's how it was. My couch was sitting up on end, surrounded by other furniture turned upside down amid boxes everywhere. Gerald asked what I wanted him to do.

"I want my rocking chair set up and my TV connected, so I can sit and nurse my baby. And a path from my chair to the kitchen, so I can get to the sink, with some sort of packaged food available, so I can feed Isaiah."

Gerald did all that for me before he left for work the next morning. I somehow got my two big kids off to school, and that's how we lived for three days, until my angel friend Corrie, my best friend from California, flew in to help. She set up my house, took care of my three older kids, cooked us food, and allowed me to bond with my little Eli, unburdened by much of anything else. This was an act of pure, unselfish love, and I will never forget it.

I don't recommend moving to a new town and having a baby all at the same time. It's awful. I also don't recommend being forced to come home from your mission four months early because of a viral pandemic, but both create marvelous stories to tell later.

...and that will be my next story!

I saw the word "Paraguay" on my caller ID; I might have panicked a little.

Okay, a lot. I panicked a lot.

It wasn't P-day (Monday). And Seth doesn't have a phone that can call the U.S. He has to use a computer and Google Hangouts. This was a phone call. From Paraguay.

I was sure it was President Hansen calling with some sort of catastrophic news.

Is he hurt? Sick? Dead? Does he have the coronavirus?

All these thoughts circled through my mind in the seven seconds it took me to pick up my phone, swipe right, and in a crackled, anxious voice, whisper, "Hello?"

"Sup, Mom! It's me, Seth!" (As if I wouldn't instantly recognize that perfect voice.)

And there it was. That glorious relief that floods over my body each time the focus of my anxiety turns out not to be real.

Seth is happy, healthy, and safe. The mission gave each companionship international calling cards with 20 minutes of time, so missionaries could call their families and check in. I'm so grateful. I talked to Seth for 10 minutes and then said goodbye, so Elder Rodriguez could use the remaining 10 minutes to call his own family.

Quarantined to their apartment pretty much 24/7, Seth said they are doing just fine. They are allowed to walk to the church and watch church videos, and they have watched A LOT of church videos in the past two days. The quarantine began Thursday morning. Seth and Elder Rodriguez had put on their brand new COLORED shirts, ready to head out for the day. A week earlier, President Hansen had received permission to pilot colored dress shirts in the mission. Elders were given money to buy one colored dress shirt, which they were directed to wear tucked in with their missionary plaque (name tag) and no tie, one day a week on Thursdays. President would then seek feedback on whether the elders felt like they were better received in this slightly more casual dress style than in their traditional white shirts and ties.

So Seth and Elder Rodriguez bought their shirts, Seth's a dark blue with black buttons, and were so excited to wear them on Thursday. But just as they were walking out the door, they got the text directing them to self-quarantine, effective immediately. Dang.

Fortunately, Seth is a kid who has always been able to roll with whatever comes his way. Is it boring in their very small apartment? Of course. But Seth says the apartment is now cleaner than it's ever been, and he's getting really good at chess. He's also learning Portuguese (Elder Rodriguez is from Brazil), getting in lots of good scripture study, and hoping for a time soon when he can put on that dark blue shirt with black buttons and get back out there.

Will that time come? No one knows. Will the Paraguay missionaries be sent home early? I'm sure it's a possibility though Seth hasn't heard anything about that. He really wants to finish his 2-year mission. He told me that. I hope he can, but I also know those in charge are acting under constant guidance and inspiration to keep our kids safe, and the right decisions will prevail.

There is no need to panic. Even if I get a phone call from Paraguay.

"Are you okay, Teacher Terri? Are you safe and well?"

This morning my alarm sounded at 5:50 a.m. I groaned. I hid my head under the pillow and maybe even vocalized my disdain. "Nooooo!" Slowly, I sat up, turned on the light, opened my MacBook and logged into VIPKID, where a couple minutes later, Cindy arrived. Wiping the sleep from my eyes (I know, I'm not supposed to do that, but...habit), I smiled, waved my hand, and said, "Hi Cindy!"

Cindy is one of several Chinese students, with whom I spend 25-minute class periods, teaching all aspects of the English language and culture. She is one of my favorites, an older student, 15, who speaks English nearly as well as I do. She's amazing, both in her command of the language and in her sweet character. She is kind and funny and so eager to learn. Her optimism is contagious, and I draw upon her spirit to wake me up in the wee hours of the morning.

Today, as is often the case with Cindy, we finished all her slides (curriculum) after only 20 minutes. That left us five minutes to fill. All VIP classes are 25-28 minutes long. I asked Cindy if she wanted to play a game or just chat. She said she wanted to talk.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked.

"I'd like to talk about this virus," she replied. "I feel so very sorry that now your country has it. Are you okay, Teacher Terri? Are you safe and well?"

I reassured Cindy that I am just fine, that my family and I are being safe and staying home. I thanked her for her concern.

Then she expressed her sadness and fear: "I love the United States," she explained. "I've never been there, but I hope to visit one day. I love the culture, the music, the movie stars, the fashion. It's so cool! I'm worried everyone in the U.S. now hates my country, that they think the virus is our fault. I worry that you will hate me."

This brought me to tears, right there in our online lesson. This sweet teenage girl is worried that my opinion of her could change because of a virus. Oh Cindy, nothing could be further from the truth.

I wish I could have told her that no one feels this way, that no one is blaming China for a virus. I wish I could have told her that everyone understands we are all one race, the human race, and that with international travel the norm today, viruses spread. They just do. It's no one's fault. Certainly not China's.

I couldn't tell Cindy that. Sadly, there are those whose racist remarks inform her fears. I've heard it. I've felt it. Our president, himself, promotes this stigmatization, this racism. Reports show his briefing notes, where the word "corona" before "virus" is crossed out and replaced with the word "Chinese." How terribly, terribly sad.

But no, he won't define my opinion of humanity. He is just one man. Sadly, he's in a position of tremendous power, a thought that can feel terrifying...because it is terrifying.

Still, he won't crush my faith in the inherent goodness of most people. He won't.

What's the best evidence I have? A teenage girl in China is worried about me. She's worried about me, an adult old enough to be her mother, who lives 10,000 miles away and whom she's never met in person and probably never will.

Thank you, Cindy. You rock, girl.