We are so very human. As such, we love our opinions. We love them, and even more, we love to express them. My students were complaining today that I don't let them write persuasive essays, you know, the ones where they get to rant and rave about their own opinions and then (hopefully) back up what they say with scholarly academic research? Nope, I sure don't include those in my curricula. Why not? Mostly because those types of essays are too easy. The cognitive requirement of such assignments is mediocre at best. Higher-level thinking skills are better developed through assignments that challenge students to analyze and synthesize the ideas of others and then reflect on those ideas in the context of what they, themselves, know or believe.
But I digress.
I was thinking about how much our beloved opinions relate to our feelings about agency, or the gift of free choice. Let me first say that I understand the critical importance of agency in our journey here on earth. Without the ability to choose, we could never learn what we need to learn or progress intellectually beyond the mentality of a young child. Part of our "schooling" here is to practice making choices and then to experience the consequences of those choices, positive or negative. I get it. I do. As a mom, though, there have been times when I've questioned it. "Is this agency deal all it's cracked up to be?" Or "Maybe these kids could wait to receive the gift of free agency when they're about 25 and have full cognitive maturity." It's true. The human brain doesn't reach full maturity until the mid-20s. Yikes! Just imagine all the life-altering decisions most of us make long before then. Many of us choose our education paths and careers. Often, we choose a partner and marry. Some of us even have children of our own. I did. I did all those things before I even had full use of my brain!
But again, I digress. There is a point here. I promise.
It occurs to me just how much our cherished personal opinions govern how much free agency we want everyone to enjoy. Because face it: All laws limit agency. That's what laws do. Even minor traffic laws limit my agency, dictating how fast I may drive, when and where I must stop, and even what I must do in order to register my vehicle. Still, I think most would agree that laws are necessary to protect people and to give society some sort of sane structure. Without them, anarchy would almost certainly result. We are, after all, so very human.
What I've found most intriguing is the way our opinions affect our feelings about agency. We are more than happy to limit someone's agency through a law, if doing so coincides with our own personal view on the issue. But if it doesn't, we rise up and shout "Don't take away my free agency!" We are so very human. For the record, I use the pronoun "we" intentionally. I am perhaps the most opinionated person I know. And my views on what should be law and what shouldn't (i.e. where we should limit agency and where we shouldn't) lie squarely and poignantly in my own personal and dearly beloved opinions.
Indeed, we are so very human. Thankfully, we are so very human together. We have the strength of each other, differing opinions and all, as we travel through this earthly probation. And fortunately for us, the One who gave us the amazing gift of agency also provided us with a back-up plan for those times when that very agency would be our downfall. As we celebrate His infinite atonement and resurrection this weekend, may we be ever mindful of that glorious gift and the growth it allows us.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
"Hit It Again," and Don't Eat After 5:00 p.m.
"Hit it again," Lisa says in her strong British (Australian?) accent. And we do. Though we are already lying on the floor in puddles, we get up and do the workout once again. And then again. For the past two weeks, Shulamith and I have been doing a program called the Daily HIIT (High Intensity Interval Training), which we learned about last summer from our friend Tia. Tia and Shulamith were best friends in Mt. Vernon pretty much the whole time we lived there. Now Tia lives in California with her husband Tod, and we got to see them last summer during our Disney vacation. Tia is way fit. Like amazing. So we asked her about her workout routine, and she told us about the Daily HIIT. It took us this long to actually try it, but now that we have, we really really like it.
This program has two excellent advantages: variety and brevity. Three or so years ago, I did a workout program called P90X. It was the year before Shulamith's wedding, and I was determined to tone up, in order to wear a sweet little black dress (modest, yes but not mother-of-the-bride-ish).... right?! P90X is a series of videos, in which trainer Tony Horton leads participants through rigorous workouts, each day focusing on a different muscle group. It's a good program, and it's effective, but each workout takes a full hour (yoga, 90 minutes!), and once you go through the week-long cycle a few times, it can get fairly tedious. I had all Tony's lame jokes memorized. Yeah, yeah, Dreya is gorgeous and Pam the Blam is hot and Adam tumbles on the push-up side reaches.
In contrast, The Daily HIIT is different every day. Literally. Lisa and her associates make up a new workout every single day and upload each one fresh. I love this! I'm never bored because I never know what is coming next. Even better, each workout cycle is usually between 4 and 8 minutes long, and you repeat it 3 times, so the longest this whole thing ever takes is 25 minutes, and often it's shorter. Today, for example, the workout was 6 minutes, so we did three cycles and in 18 minutes we were done. Well, if you don't count the time we lay on the floor afterward unable to move, that is. It is intense, and it gets intense fast. Heart rate increases almost immediately as the intervals always include plenty of cardio alternating with weight training.
We like this. With P90X, I used to dread it all day, right up until I did it. I think that was mostly because it took so long. With this, I actually look forward to doing it although I generally start whining by the second or third exercise. They are hard. Most of them we cannot do exactly the way Lisa does. We have to modify somewhat. But I can tell already that I'm getting stronger.
Along with this new workout plan, I've been trying a slightly new eating routine. I was complaining about not losing weight, etc., blah, blah, blah, and Mathew suggested that I switch up my diet since I've been doing the same old thing (low fat) for so long. He said I should eat a big breakfast, a medium lunch, and a small dinner, and then not eat anything after 5:00 p.m. That is not easy. Both Gerald and I prefer to eat a later dinner, say around 7:30. Still, I decided it was worth a try. This is the second week. Ahhh, it's not that fun. Five o'clock is so early. I am pretty hungry by 9:00 or 10:00 p.m.; I often wake in the middle of the night, my stomach begging for food; and by morning? Can you say "STARVING!" I actually get up earlier than I would ordinarily just so I can eat. I'm determined, though, to follow through with this for two full weeks right up until Easter and see if there is a good result. Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, if you want a good workout program that is new each day and only takes around 20 minutes, turn on your computer, go to dailyhiit.com, and "Hit it again!"
This program has two excellent advantages: variety and brevity. Three or so years ago, I did a workout program called P90X. It was the year before Shulamith's wedding, and I was determined to tone up, in order to wear a sweet little black dress (modest, yes but not mother-of-the-bride-ish).... right?! P90X is a series of videos, in which trainer Tony Horton leads participants through rigorous workouts, each day focusing on a different muscle group. It's a good program, and it's effective, but each workout takes a full hour (yoga, 90 minutes!), and once you go through the week-long cycle a few times, it can get fairly tedious. I had all Tony's lame jokes memorized. Yeah, yeah, Dreya is gorgeous and Pam the Blam is hot and Adam tumbles on the push-up side reaches.
In contrast, The Daily HIIT is different every day. Literally. Lisa and her associates make up a new workout every single day and upload each one fresh. I love this! I'm never bored because I never know what is coming next. Even better, each workout cycle is usually between 4 and 8 minutes long, and you repeat it 3 times, so the longest this whole thing ever takes is 25 minutes, and often it's shorter. Today, for example, the workout was 6 minutes, so we did three cycles and in 18 minutes we were done. Well, if you don't count the time we lay on the floor afterward unable to move, that is. It is intense, and it gets intense fast. Heart rate increases almost immediately as the intervals always include plenty of cardio alternating with weight training.
We like this. With P90X, I used to dread it all day, right up until I did it. I think that was mostly because it took so long. With this, I actually look forward to doing it although I generally start whining by the second or third exercise. They are hard. Most of them we cannot do exactly the way Lisa does. We have to modify somewhat. But I can tell already that I'm getting stronger.
Along with this new workout plan, I've been trying a slightly new eating routine. I was complaining about not losing weight, etc., blah, blah, blah, and Mathew suggested that I switch up my diet since I've been doing the same old thing (low fat) for so long. He said I should eat a big breakfast, a medium lunch, and a small dinner, and then not eat anything after 5:00 p.m. That is not easy. Both Gerald and I prefer to eat a later dinner, say around 7:30. Still, I decided it was worth a try. This is the second week. Ahhh, it's not that fun. Five o'clock is so early. I am pretty hungry by 9:00 or 10:00 p.m.; I often wake in the middle of the night, my stomach begging for food; and by morning? Can you say "STARVING!" I actually get up earlier than I would ordinarily just so I can eat. I'm determined, though, to follow through with this for two full weeks right up until Easter and see if there is a good result. Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, if you want a good workout program that is new each day and only takes around 20 minutes, turn on your computer, go to dailyhiit.com, and "Hit it again!"
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Advice from a Cop: "Try to Avoid Cops!"
I have mentioned before that I'm not too fond of cops. I realize how that sounds, and if there's anyone reading whose career is law enforcement, I do apologize. But my limited experience with police officers has not been good. There was this time. And this time. However, I may need to rethink my stereotype just a bit after yesterday. Clearly, stereotypes are unfair and judgmental.
To backtrack, for the past few weeks, I've been driving around in our mini-van with expired tabs. Why, you may ask, would I do this? Well you see, here in Utah, in order to register a vehicle, one must first go though a process called "emissions and inspection." They test cars to insure that they are both environmentally friendly and safe. This is a good thing. It is. However, our van has a couple of issues that would most certainly cause it to fail the inspection part of the test: a large crack across the windshield and a malfunctioning tail light (maybe two?). So yeah, all this stuff is expensive, not to mention the cost of the emissions and inspection test itself and then the actual fee to register the car. I don't just happen to have an extra $500 sitting around to do all this, so I've been driving around with expired tabs. Yes, I have. Guilty.
Up until yesterday, that was working just fine, but alas, my luck ran out. As Seth and I sat at a light on 80th, just a couple blocks from our house, in my rear view mirror, I saw him. A cop! Immediately, I felt my natural bias against cops surface, and sure enough, as soon as I turned the corner, I saw his lights behind me. I pulled over and waited. I never do anything for these people until they ask. I don't scurry around pulling out my license or searching the glove box for the registration or proof of insurance. That's how passive/aggressive I am.
I sat quietly and made him ask for what he wanted. Then I took my time retrieving it. No way would I let him fluster me. No way would I let him think he was causing me even the slightest stress. But this particular cop didn't seem interested in any of that. His mission, surprisingly, was not to make me feel uncomfortable or to exert his authority in order to intimidate me. Not at all. This one was different. He quietly explained that my tabs were expired, and he wondered when I might be able to register my car. I told him about my broken windshield and tail lights and the cost of getting all this stuff fixed, and I said I hoped to register the van very soon (which is the truth).
And then our conversation went from polite to ridiculous and from ridiculous to absurd. He began to explain that I should probably try to avoid cops.
"Wait, you are a cop telling me to avoid cops?" I asked.
"Well, if you're gonna drive around with expired tabs and an outdated insurance card, yes, you should definitely try to avoid them." he replied. "Because if you don't, one of them might give you a ticket."
By this point, I felt like I was in "The Twilight Zone." He went on to suggest ways to avoid cops, like keeping my eyes open and then quickly turning down side streets if I happen to see one. Okay, by now I'm laughing hysterically because I truly can't figure this guy out. Was this a set-up? Were there hidden cameras somewhere? Would I be on TV?
Nope. It was real. He told me to "Have a great evening," and he left.
Seth spoke first: "That was the coolest cop ever!"
Seriously.
I will never allow stereotypes to inform my judgment again. Not ever.
To backtrack, for the past few weeks, I've been driving around in our mini-van with expired tabs. Why, you may ask, would I do this? Well you see, here in Utah, in order to register a vehicle, one must first go though a process called "emissions and inspection." They test cars to insure that they are both environmentally friendly and safe. This is a good thing. It is. However, our van has a couple of issues that would most certainly cause it to fail the inspection part of the test: a large crack across the windshield and a malfunctioning tail light (maybe two?). So yeah, all this stuff is expensive, not to mention the cost of the emissions and inspection test itself and then the actual fee to register the car. I don't just happen to have an extra $500 sitting around to do all this, so I've been driving around with expired tabs. Yes, I have. Guilty.
Up until yesterday, that was working just fine, but alas, my luck ran out. As Seth and I sat at a light on 80th, just a couple blocks from our house, in my rear view mirror, I saw him. A cop! Immediately, I felt my natural bias against cops surface, and sure enough, as soon as I turned the corner, I saw his lights behind me. I pulled over and waited. I never do anything for these people until they ask. I don't scurry around pulling out my license or searching the glove box for the registration or proof of insurance. That's how passive/aggressive I am.
I sat quietly and made him ask for what he wanted. Then I took my time retrieving it. No way would I let him fluster me. No way would I let him think he was causing me even the slightest stress. But this particular cop didn't seem interested in any of that. His mission, surprisingly, was not to make me feel uncomfortable or to exert his authority in order to intimidate me. Not at all. This one was different. He quietly explained that my tabs were expired, and he wondered when I might be able to register my car. I told him about my broken windshield and tail lights and the cost of getting all this stuff fixed, and I said I hoped to register the van very soon (which is the truth).
And then our conversation went from polite to ridiculous and from ridiculous to absurd. He began to explain that I should probably try to avoid cops.
"Wait, you are a cop telling me to avoid cops?" I asked.
"Well, if you're gonna drive around with expired tabs and an outdated insurance card, yes, you should definitely try to avoid them." he replied. "Because if you don't, one of them might give you a ticket."
By this point, I felt like I was in "The Twilight Zone." He went on to suggest ways to avoid cops, like keeping my eyes open and then quickly turning down side streets if I happen to see one. Okay, by now I'm laughing hysterically because I truly can't figure this guy out. Was this a set-up? Were there hidden cameras somewhere? Would I be on TV?
Nope. It was real. He told me to "Have a great evening," and he left.
Seth spoke first: "That was the coolest cop ever!"
Seriously.
I will never allow stereotypes to inform my judgment again. Not ever.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Terrific Teens
On December 4, 1997, the Erichsen-Webster Family had its first teenager. I had heard many scary stories about parenting teens, so when Luke turned 13 on that day back in 1997, I was slightly anxious. Teenagers have a generally bad reputation. I had heard them compared to tantruming toddlers. I had heard them compared to hormonal, menopausal women. I had even heard them compared to bipolar personality disordered folks. Sheesh! Really? I had also heard it was worse with girls, so a year and a half later on April 30, 1999 when Shulamith turned 13, I was really frightened. What was in store for us? Would these beautiful, perfect children turn into people we didn't recognize?
I am pleased to report none of that turned out to be true, at least not for us. Luke and Shulamith were delightful teenagers in every way. They only became more fun as they grew, right through the teen years. So on April 15, 2004 and on March 13, 2006 when Isaiah and Eli, respectively, became teenagers, I wasn't even worried. I knew they would be just fine. And they were.
Eli turned 20 today. It is the first time in 16 years that we don't have a teenager. Thank heavens it won't last long. I would be so sad. Fortunately, this "sans teen" situation will be only three months. On June 14th, Seth will turn 13. We are super excited for all the new experiences his teen years will bring. He is such a great kid; I know he will be an awesome teenager.
As for the bad rap teens get, I really don't understand. I'm sure some teenagers are challenging for their parents; I don't doubt that. But like any other stereotype, there are far too many exceptions to lump them altogether and label them unfavorably. I have to say that I have loved being a mom to teens. I have thoroughly enjoyed them, their friends, and their lives.
Happy birthday to Eli. As you bid farewell to the teen years, may you go forth into adulthood with all the joy you deserve. And Seth...the amazing teen years lie just before you. The fun is only beginning.
I am pleased to report none of that turned out to be true, at least not for us. Luke and Shulamith were delightful teenagers in every way. They only became more fun as they grew, right through the teen years. So on April 15, 2004 and on March 13, 2006 when Isaiah and Eli, respectively, became teenagers, I wasn't even worried. I knew they would be just fine. And they were.
Eli turned 20 today. It is the first time in 16 years that we don't have a teenager. Thank heavens it won't last long. I would be so sad. Fortunately, this "sans teen" situation will be only three months. On June 14th, Seth will turn 13. We are super excited for all the new experiences his teen years will bring. He is such a great kid; I know he will be an awesome teenager.
As for the bad rap teens get, I really don't understand. I'm sure some teenagers are challenging for their parents; I don't doubt that. But like any other stereotype, there are far too many exceptions to lump them altogether and label them unfavorably. I have to say that I have loved being a mom to teens. I have thoroughly enjoyed them, their friends, and their lives.
Happy birthday to Eli. As you bid farewell to the teen years, may you go forth into adulthood with all the joy you deserve. And Seth...the amazing teen years lie just before you. The fun is only beginning.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Just Say "Ga"
Swen is an expert using the word. Yes, he occasionally babbles a few other syllables here or there: "ba, da, ma." But 99% of the time, he is fully able to meet all his communication needs using only this one, amazing word. Just say "Ga." So here is some excellent advice, based on personal experience, from a nine-month-old named Swen Webster-Monson.
When you are super excited because you are in the bath tub and you have just discovered you can stand up in there, smile big and just say "Ga!"
When you are seriously frustrated because you so desperately want to chew on an electrical cord, but no one will let you do that, make a very angry face and just say "Ga!"
When you are mesmerized by a new object that you have never seen before, hold it in your hand, twirl it around in front of your eyes, and with the sigh of appreciation for all things new and wonderful in the world, just say "Ga."
When someone has just put something new and yucky in your mouth (because for the most part you would really prefer just to breastfeed rather than eat gross food), make a terribly sad face, spit out the food, and with utter disgust, just say "Ga."
When you don't want to go to sleep, though you are so tired, and someone is carrying you around singing "Ba, ba, ba means I love you," and try though you may, you can't fight it one second longer, lay your head down on her shoulder, and with a whisper of resignation, just say "Ga."
When you have your very first fever, and you don't feel good at all, and you don't understand why, and you wish someone would fix it, and life basically sucks, using your whiniest voice, just say "Ga."
When you first wake from a nap, calm and rested, and you are so happy and filled with pure love for whomever is holding you close, look up into his or her eyes, and just say "Ga."
Yep, I'm pretty sure Swen has figured out something great here. Next time I'm feeling excited, frustrated, mesmerized, disgusted, exhausted, sick, or totally at peace, I'm not going to waste time dreaming up eloquent rhetoric to express myself. Absolutely not.
I will just say "Ga."
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
One Year More
March. The promise of spring. The unvoiced hope that a relentless winter will not be forever. Some glorious rain instead of snow. A bit of sweet sunshine mixed in. Longer days. And one year more.
One year more.
Indeed, March marks the halfway point in Eli's two-year mission. Now I know some of you are saying to yourselves, "What? Really? He's been out a whole year? It feels like he just left." And I believe you. As I've said before, other people's kids' missions go by fast. Our own kids, not as much. I miss him. Very little defines the word "bittersweet" quite as well as sending one's kid off on a mission. I miss him lots. I cry sometimes because I miss him so, yet I wouldn't have him anywhere else. I'm so proud of him, so very proud. One year more.
One year more of waiting anxiously on Monday for those amazing p-day emails. Mine usually comes in the morning, around 10:00. I teach on Mondays at 11:00, so many times it comes just as I'm getting ready to go. I stop. Regardless of where I am in the process of dressing, applying make-up, styling hair, or gathering my stuff, I stop right where I am and read my email. Sometimes it comes while I'm in transit. This is not good. I hear the sound, informing me that an email has arrived, and I know EXACTLY who it's from, but I can't read it on the freeway. I can't risk having an accident, so I have to just keep on driving, knowing my email is right there on my phone. It's torture! When I finally arrive at school, I quickly find a place to park, and then sit right there in the parking lot and read my letter. Occasionally, it doesn't arrive until after I'm in my classroom. Since I teach at LDS Business College, all my students are well familiar with my situation. Many are returned missionaries themselves; others are preparing to go. They wait patiently for me to read my missionary's letter. One year more.
One year more of making sure I get a snail mail note sent off each week. I need to have it in the mail by Tuesday at 4:00, in order to be certain Eli receives it by Friday. For some reason (keep in mind I'm pretty OCD about some things), I've decided he needs to have the letter by Friday. I write it either Monday night or Tuesday morning, but then come the complications of getting it printed out, into an envelope, and off to Arkansas (or Tennessee, currently). Our printer seems never to have ink when I need it. Then I can't find a memory stick, so I'm stuck hauling my overly-large sized laptop to Office Depot. Almost always, Shulamith and Swen are with me, and often Swen is not at his happiest by the time we're doing all this, so Shulamith circles the parking lot while I run inside to print the letter. Then we need a mailbox. We know where most of those are by now, but for some reason, they are never in convenient places on Tuesdays in the late afternoon when I'm desperately trying to get my letter mailed by 4:00. Ask Shulamith how much she loves this part of our week. Wait...no...don't even ask. One year more.
One year more of our nightly prayers for our missionary. Yes, Seth and I pray for each member of our family, by name, every night. Still, there's something unique about how earnestly and anxiously we pray for Eli in the mission field. May he be safe. May he be strong. May he stay warm and dry. May he have the Spirit by his side constantly. May he never give in to discouragement, which will no doubt hover around him at times as he treks forward, step after step, door after door. May he be guided to those individuals who are seeking after truth. May he serve and love as the Savior did. Oh there is so much to pray for when you have a missionary. One year more.
One year more of his absence on holidays. Christmas and Mother's Day are the hardest, but also the best, because we get to Skype. With Luke in 2006-2008, it was only a phone call. One year more of putting together packages of various treats and surprises and then paying more for shipping than we did for the contents of the box but not caring in the least. For Valentine's Day last month, we sent granola, rice crispy treats, and caramel corn. Eli was sure the granola must have been made by Mathew's mom; certainly Shulamith and I couldn't have made anything that yummy, but we were pleased to inform him that we did, indeed, make it ourselves. One year more.
One year more of the blessings of having a missionary serving. One year more of hearing the incredible stories of mission miracles. One year more of seeing pictures of newly baptized members, their faces glowing with the joy that only the Gospel brings. Eli has participated in eight convert baptisms so far, six in Blytheville and two in Memphis, and has been privileged to perform four of those baptisms himself. Would you like to see some of those pictures?
March. The promise of spring. The unvoiced hope that a relentless winter will not be forever. A bit of glorious rain instead of snow. A bit of sweet sunshine mixed in. Longer days. And one year more.
One year more.
Indeed, March marks the halfway point in Eli's two-year mission. Now I know some of you are saying to yourselves, "What? Really? He's been out a whole year? It feels like he just left." And I believe you. As I've said before, other people's kids' missions go by fast. Our own kids, not as much. I miss him. Very little defines the word "bittersweet" quite as well as sending one's kid off on a mission. I miss him lots. I cry sometimes because I miss him so, yet I wouldn't have him anywhere else. I'm so proud of him, so very proud. One year more.
One year more of waiting anxiously on Monday for those amazing p-day emails. Mine usually comes in the morning, around 10:00. I teach on Mondays at 11:00, so many times it comes just as I'm getting ready to go. I stop. Regardless of where I am in the process of dressing, applying make-up, styling hair, or gathering my stuff, I stop right where I am and read my email. Sometimes it comes while I'm in transit. This is not good. I hear the sound, informing me that an email has arrived, and I know EXACTLY who it's from, but I can't read it on the freeway. I can't risk having an accident, so I have to just keep on driving, knowing my email is right there on my phone. It's torture! When I finally arrive at school, I quickly find a place to park, and then sit right there in the parking lot and read my letter. Occasionally, it doesn't arrive until after I'm in my classroom. Since I teach at LDS Business College, all my students are well familiar with my situation. Many are returned missionaries themselves; others are preparing to go. They wait patiently for me to read my missionary's letter. One year more.
One year more of making sure I get a snail mail note sent off each week. I need to have it in the mail by Tuesday at 4:00, in order to be certain Eli receives it by Friday. For some reason (keep in mind I'm pretty OCD about some things), I've decided he needs to have the letter by Friday. I write it either Monday night or Tuesday morning, but then come the complications of getting it printed out, into an envelope, and off to Arkansas (or Tennessee, currently). Our printer seems never to have ink when I need it. Then I can't find a memory stick, so I'm stuck hauling my overly-large sized laptop to Office Depot. Almost always, Shulamith and Swen are with me, and often Swen is not at his happiest by the time we're doing all this, so Shulamith circles the parking lot while I run inside to print the letter. Then we need a mailbox. We know where most of those are by now, but for some reason, they are never in convenient places on Tuesdays in the late afternoon when I'm desperately trying to get my letter mailed by 4:00. Ask Shulamith how much she loves this part of our week. Wait...no...don't even ask. One year more.
One year more of our nightly prayers for our missionary. Yes, Seth and I pray for each member of our family, by name, every night. Still, there's something unique about how earnestly and anxiously we pray for Eli in the mission field. May he be safe. May he be strong. May he stay warm and dry. May he have the Spirit by his side constantly. May he never give in to discouragement, which will no doubt hover around him at times as he treks forward, step after step, door after door. May he be guided to those individuals who are seeking after truth. May he serve and love as the Savior did. Oh there is so much to pray for when you have a missionary. One year more.
One year more of his absence on holidays. Christmas and Mother's Day are the hardest, but also the best, because we get to Skype. With Luke in 2006-2008, it was only a phone call. One year more of putting together packages of various treats and surprises and then paying more for shipping than we did for the contents of the box but not caring in the least. For Valentine's Day last month, we sent granola, rice crispy treats, and caramel corn. Eli was sure the granola must have been made by Mathew's mom; certainly Shulamith and I couldn't have made anything that yummy, but we were pleased to inform him that we did, indeed, make it ourselves. One year more.
One year more of the blessings of having a missionary serving. One year more of hearing the incredible stories of mission miracles. One year more of seeing pictures of newly baptized members, their faces glowing with the joy that only the Gospel brings. Eli has participated in eight convert baptisms so far, six in Blytheville and two in Memphis, and has been privileged to perform four of those baptisms himself. Would you like to see some of those pictures?
March. The promise of spring. The unvoiced hope that a relentless winter will not be forever. A bit of glorious rain instead of snow. A bit of sweet sunshine mixed in. Longer days. And one year more.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
A Fairy Tale
Once upon a time, a couple lived in the daylight basement apartment of the wife's parents' home. It was a lovely arrangement in every way. The husband was a full time student and also worked hard at a restaurant, so his life was extremely busy. One day, his wife was feeding their 9-month-old baby, preparing to go "mall walking" with her mom because the February snow prevented them from walking outside. The husband, who had lots of homework, said, "I'm going to wait to do my homework until you and Baby leave, so it will be quiet and I won't be distracted." The wife thought this was an excellent idea.
When it came time for her to leave, the wife said, "Okay, we're leaving. You're going to do your homework, right?"
"Right!" said the husband.
Her mom, upstairs also preparing to leave, questioned her 12-year-old son (the wife's little brother): "You're going to practice the piano while I'm gone, right?"
"Right!" said the son.
As the wife, her baby, and her mom loaded into the car, the wife remembered that she left her phone in the house. "I'd better go get it," she said, "just in case my husband needs me for something."
She ran back into the house and quickly went downstairs to find her phone. "I'm just here getting my phone," she explained, thinking her husband would be there studying. He wasn't. "Is he in the bathroom?" she wondered. Nope. Not there either. Hmmm.
Baffled, she headed back upstairs, where she found her little brother lying on the couch, attempting to act all nonchalant but not really succeeding and certainly not practicing the piano. Still confused, she looked around. It took a beat or two, but finally saw it---a still, human form hidden under a blanket in the rocking chair, covered head to toe.
"Really?" she said. "Really???"
Busted, the husband poked his head out from under the blanket with a sheepish smile.
And the husband, along with the little brother, lived happily ever after playing video-games and avoiding homework and the piano.
When it came time for her to leave, the wife said, "Okay, we're leaving. You're going to do your homework, right?"
"Right!" said the husband.
Her mom, upstairs also preparing to leave, questioned her 12-year-old son (the wife's little brother): "You're going to practice the piano while I'm gone, right?"
"Right!" said the son.
As the wife, her baby, and her mom loaded into the car, the wife remembered that she left her phone in the house. "I'd better go get it," she said, "just in case my husband needs me for something."
She ran back into the house and quickly went downstairs to find her phone. "I'm just here getting my phone," she explained, thinking her husband would be there studying. He wasn't. "Is he in the bathroom?" she wondered. Nope. Not there either. Hmmm.
Baffled, she headed back upstairs, where she found her little brother lying on the couch, attempting to act all nonchalant but not really succeeding and certainly not practicing the piano. Still confused, she looked around. It took a beat or two, but finally saw it---a still, human form hidden under a blanket in the rocking chair, covered head to toe.
"Really?" she said. "Really???"
Busted, the husband poked his head out from under the blanket with a sheepish smile.
And the husband, along with the little brother, lived happily ever after playing video-games and avoiding homework and the piano.
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