A Cruise, An Elevator, and a Cold

To celebrate our 28th wedding anniversary in September, Brent and I went on our very first cruise. We visited the Mayan ruins in Cancun, Mexico and went SNUBA diving (a cross between scuba and snorkeling) in Key West. It was short--just 5 nights.4 days--but we had a really nice time getting to know each other again. We splurged and had one of the professional photographers do some portraits--this one is my favorite. Twenty eight years. If you get a chance, ask Brent about the acupuncture . . . good stuff.

I was in the elevator yesterday and a fellow got on with me. He was about my height, dark complexioned, and very compact and strong (muscular in a way that made me think that he probably worked in a job that required strength and agility). I noticed that he had a gold necklace on and I couldn't make out what the pendant was. I asked and he held it up for me to see. He proudly told me that his wife had bought it for him after he'd shot his first 8-point deer. It struck me as a very kind and thoughtful thing for her to do. While I didn't think that his shooting a deer (although he did look like the kind of fellow who actually ate the animals he killed) was all that fantastic, it was wonderful to see the result of her thoughtfulness. As he mentioned his wife, his whole being lit up with excitement and obvious love for her. He got off the elevator a floor before me and told me that he thought she'd probably get him another pendant of a boar after he shot his first wild pig!

After the conversations I’ve had with Nathan lately, centered on how evil and self-centered people in powerful places tend to become (if they were not already)--it was charming and reassuring to be in the presence of someone who loved the things he did and who openly cherished his wife.

It is easy to get hung up on the bad stuff that happens to you. People in broadcasting and other news reporting fields have learned that crisis sells--everyone slows to see a car wreck on the highway. It is more difficult to seek out the compassionate and generous things that happen--I think mostly because they happen in small ways in quiet places. These actions are not inspired by a desire to be acknowledged, thus there are no cameramen/women hired to document the event as it happens. Unfortunately, it is also difficult for someone who has been blessed in a specific moment by the charity of others to remember the act. The majority of times when I have received help I recall only feelings of relief and reassurance and gratitude to my Heavenly Father--and warmth and tenderness for such good friends.

Most of the occasions that I have influenced someone for good came about in the course of my everyday living. Small nudges of the Spirit cause me to do something a little out of the ordinary--and it just happens to be a thing that helps someone to feel better about themselves, their lives, and the Lord. Most of the time I only learn that I have been of help when I hear the report during a testimony in Sacrament Meeting. Other times people have been moved to vocalize gratitude that that they have kept quiet in their hearts during the last days before we moved to another state. I suppose that our leaving has "forced the moment to its crisis" (The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot).

That's not exactly the concept I want to express--but you get the idea. I have most often recounted charity extended to me during conversations with others--rather than going to the person and thanking them directly. I am learning to change that, though. I've begun to report what a good job someone has done for me by writing notes and sending them to the place where the person works: public "thank you" that is also heard by the individual. I thank the cashier at the grocery store for working so late when I have gone in to buy bread and eggs at 9:00 pm. When we eat out and the waiter or waitress has gone out of their way to make the meal a pleasant experience, I try to tell them or leave a note on the receipt saying thank you for their taking such good care of us.

Most importantly, I have gotten into the good habit of telling Megan, Lauren and (especially, lately) Nathan (since he is still living here with Brent and me) that I appreciate the kind things they do for me, that I am proud of them, that I am grateful for their example of gracious living, that I really enjoy being with them, and that I am glad that they are my children.

Perhaps this is why the genuine satisfaction of the hunter on the elevator in sharing his testimony of how much he was loved by his wife keeps coming into my thoughts. Most of all, I have always tried to express to Brent my love for him and for the wonderful life that he makes possible. While our children were growing up, I repeatedly told them that I felt lucky to have met married such an extraordinary man--how generous, how handsome, and how thoughtful he was. Every night as we pray together, I hear him thank Heavenly Father "for my wife". When I say the prayer, thanks for Brent as my husband and companion are always the first things I express.

I am so lucky to have Brent. I think that in the pre-existence that when Heavenly Father was asking who wanted to fly through the air, experience the most joy (and its opposite, the most despair), to climb trees, to sing out loud, and to comprehend through mortal experience every extreme emotion, that I was sitting on the edge of my seat, raising and waving my arm and saying loudly "Oh, oh, yes! Pick me! Pick me!” And when the Lord decided to grant my desires, He looked around the heavens and found Brent.

Then, He asked Brent if he would take on the duty to take care of me and protect me because I really didn't know what I was asking for. At that point, as at every other time the Lord requested his service, Brent humbly accepted the calling. I think that he began, then, to practice loving me and keeping me out of trouble because he slipped quietly into that role the moment that we met.

His calm, moderate emotions balance mine. He has always been present to pick me up off of the ground, agonize over the falls I've taken, and then, because I wanted it so much, to pay for the horses that were involved in the accidents. He has, literally, saved my mortal life more than once.

He is the reason that I am still thankful for my body even when it is in painful pieces that must be sewn back together. He is the reason that I have fought every time to return from my blackest, coldest, most hopeless place. Even when I knew that Heavenly Father lived and that Christ sacrificed His life for my sins--but didn't care--I knew I could believe and trust Brent. During those times, he reminded me of that trust and that he knew that all of that mattered--so he would believe for the both of us until I could believe again on my own.

This essay actually began as a letter to Brent, but I want to share it with all of you now, too. I think it is important that we remind each other that there is good in the world--and that there is a reason for this world: we are that reason. I can reassure Nathan that even with all of the horrible things that are happening on the earth right now, for some unfathomable reason, the Lord has put us in a place where we can know the complete truth of the Gospel of Christ. He has given us resources that enable us to be healthy in both mind and body. He has allowed the five of us to be a family--and now to become the best of friends.

At this moment, I am laying in bed with the beginnings of a cold washing over me. I have an injured left shoulder that has made it necessary for me to drop the ceramics class I've been taking with Nate at the local college. Yesterday my orthopedic surgeon gave me a cortisone shot in my should so my left art feels like one be achy bruise. There is nerve damage on my upper left foot that makes walking a misery. I'm also hungry because I feel too gross to get up and fix something to eat--and Nathan is at class so he can't hover over me and keep me fed. Brent has been away in Washington DC on business all week and won't be home until Sunday night.

It has occurred to me as I have been writing, that I have the right to complain loudly to the walls that I hurt and that I miss Brent and that I am not happy. Weirdly enough though, I feel supremely at peace, grateful for the time and the place to rest and let my body repair itself. General Conference is this weekend and so I get to hear the Lord's living Prophet talk to me about how much Heavenly Father loves me and about what He needs me to be doing right now.

I especially want my family to know that I love the Lord and I am so grateful for the opportunity to be sealed to Him with Brent in an eternal union. I love the knowledge that God is part of the incredible relationship I have with Brent.

People that work with Brent are often surprised to find out that he has no real hobby except for me. His whole concern is that I am happy and feel loved. When others, envious, tell me that I have a really good life, I agree. I tell them of the promise that Brent made to me when he and the Lord decided that he needed to attend law school. He said that if I would support him through school, he would support me for the rest of my life. He has kept that promise. An especially choice friend of mine heard me say that, and then taught me something I had never considered before: that many husbands make that same promise--but do not keep it.

Thank you, Brent, for keeping all of your promises to me.

Inspiration from Facebook

This is the photo I just uploaded on Nat Geo's web site. Cool place. Even cooler picture.

A very wonderful person named Ellen found me through Facebook and regaled me with compliments and a sweet review of our shared past. It was as if we never left for BYU or got married--or that I was pregnant or in Iowa. I just successfully posted one of my photographs on the National Geo web site. I have been taking a photography class--but they make you start with a black and white SLR camera. On the bright side, I have learned to develop my own film here at home. Brent has suggested that we get the materials for me to go from negative to photograph. I don't know that I want to invest in the stuff I'd need. One of the fellows in the class has a father who already has a dark room for printing up photos. Maybe a bunch of us could get together and all put in for the chemicals. Anyway.

Back to Ellen--as she has done, I have also home schooled. I began with Nathan after his break down in 5th grade. Extreme bullying by a classmate and even more egregious idiocy by his teacher and the school administration pushed him over the edge. His efforts to forgive others and defend others and not to get in trouble for disrupting class just quashed his spirit and his heart. It took him years to heal. He will always bear the scars of that cruelty.

He is taking classes at the local college--preparing to graduate in Engineering. Now he's in chemistry classes that will help him decide what field of Engineering he'll pursue. He has Asperger's and panic attacks and . . . and so he won't be able to go on a full time mission. The Bishop and Stake President are working with the Stake Genealogy program to see if he can serve on a full-time-part-time basis; called to be a full-time missionary for at least 6 months.

I am quietly pleased with the parallel lines that both Ellen and my lives have taken. I cannot help but see our children who are bright and kind and observant and careful of those around them. The music that is an integral part of our children's lives came from our own hearts. In fact, I will be using the "Dear Friends, Dear Friends" song, that Ellen taught me, in a workshop for the Stake Primary Stake Training meeting next month. We're talking about using music in the classroom. Neither the President or the First Counselor have much affinity for music, which is not to say that they do not both sing with much energy! They are dear women with family challenges beyond my keen. I love them and love to be involved with them in providing a resource for the Primary leadership in the Wards and Branches in our Stake. I still use at least 2 toothbrushes. I have also begun to string them throughout the house and leave them in all of the cars. If I am running late, I just put a bit of toothpaste on a toothbrush (a new one if I can't find one of my existing ones) and rush out to the car with keys and bag in one hand, books and notes in the other, and toothbrush firmly held between my jaws. I know that it looks ludicrous--but there have been times when I sucked my thumb as I drove through town doing my errands (bad mental/emotional days)--so a toothbrush doesn't turn either Nathan or Brent's heads. I did feel kind of silly a few months ago when I found myself picking out bread in the bakery--while unconsciously, yet energetically, chewing on the head of a toothbrush. Just as wearing pink bunny slippers beyond the driveway is a vividly ridiculous act; chewing on a toothbrush in the bakery department of the grocery store is a thoughtlessly gross thing to be doing around people who are buying rolls and French bread and bagels--all comestibles out in the open exactly where I have been walking about and fiercely masticating a toothbrush between my teeth. That was an extremely long sentence--which means that I am up past my composition bedtime. I love you. People who are meeting me for the first time ask what I do--I answer that the last time I was paid for my time, I taught College composition and literature classes. Since then, I have jumped horses, roofed houses, watched three children grow from infants into incredibly useful adults, had my right shoulder repaired three times and my lower left thumb joint replaced twice. I propagate plants and swim and play with my three dwarf rabbits . . . and try to look good for Brent when he comes home in the evenings. Right now I am also taking an advanced Algebra class and a photography class. What I need to tell them is that I am someone who loves you.

That would say it all.

Love always, Carolyn

Frustration, teaching, donuts, friends

I can hear the voices of some 2 dozen people behind me. I can smell coffee and burnt toast. I am sitting on a fairly uncomfortable chair. I am in the Palm Beach Community College's cafeteria/student center. There is the ubiquitous cafeteria and a new Dunkin' Donut counter. (Guess where most people buy food?) Nathan treated me to breakfast this morning. I had two cake donuts and a medium hot chocolate (combo 1) and a milk. Nathan bought a coffee roll (a large glazed donut with cinnamon throughout) which he at most of. He also purchased a medium hot chocolate and breakfast egg-and-cheese-and-sausage-on-a-slightly-squashed-croussant. Neither of which he ate. A good lesson to remember next time he has to spend his own money on food. Since living in Argentina, I have ceased to look at how much food cost. There, if you could find something you wanted, you bought all that they had. There was no way to know how many months (or years) would pass before they were able to import more of the same. Foods like cheddar cheese, saltine crackers, cranberry juice, good granola bars (and sometimes even root beer)--I horded all that I could find. I still find myself buying four instead of one--gallons when I need cups--a case when I need a can. I suppose it is like the body's response when it finds itself in starvation mode--save all that you can, expend as little as possible. We are learning about diets and body training right now in Health. Nate needs it for his GE requirements and I'm in there to take notes. The professor is a former college gymnast, coach and personal trainer who is probably my age (about 50) who possesses a singularly dry sense of humor. He names our class his favorite--and the kids are starting to open up in response to his 1/2 teasing 1/2 serious presentations. He is overly careful not to preach about whether people should eat empty calories, take steroids, or get inoculated for the HPV. Especially he wishes that they would stop smoking--but he couches his warnings of the its effects in phrases like "I'm not telling you to stop smoking, BUT those who do reduce their risk of heart attack by 25% (or whatever the number is)." I have come to appreciate his precarious position--official spokesman for PBCC and bound by its policy of "non-interferience" in the lives of his students. But, as a teacher, isn't he suppose to be an influence on them? It seems that this idea is the essence of what it means to teach. All of my life, I have dreamed of changing those around me--even those who never knew me--for the better by the things I do. My children constantly affirm that I have been a good mother and am a good friend--which pleases me in ways I cannot express. I would hope that those who pass through the classes that I teach and who read the things that I write would also come away with more insite into themselves, more curiousity about the world around them, more compassion for those around them. I would always want to be a good teacher.