I wish I'd known when I was your age that...

...my husband would never be my girlfriend.  He would never sit, listen to me for hours, and always tell me that I was right.  His world would be different than mine.  He would see what was good for me and I would not always agree.  What did I want when I got married?  I have learned that whatever it was I thought I wanted, I got a man.  Every day I am fascinated by our differences and the wonder of it all.

I read recently that you cannot really know a person until you write their story.  Well, I have never done that, but I did do something that made me really see him.  Our last Christmas as full-time missionaries is the only one where I can remember every gift I received from my husband.  We gave each other only one.  If you are wondering what to give your husband for Father's Day - he will remember this one.

Early in December 2006, Jerry and I agreed on our gifts.  It was to be a letter entitled, "How do I know you love me?"  We worked on them for weeks, thinking, writing, and a little crying on my part.  Then we put two envelopes on our little Christmas tree.  I am going to share with you my letter to him.

How do I know you love me?  Let me count the ways...

1. On the day we married you committed to me for eternity, and every day since then you've shown me and our children and grandchildren, that you meant it.
2. Every morning you hugged and kissed me good-bye, went to work, and never complained.
3. You share with me (and everyone else) the wonders of nature.
4. You love our children and grandchildren.
5. You are always very kind to my family.
6. You always look for the best in people.
7. You always honor your priesthood.
8. You have given me countless inspired blessings.
9. You go to Coto (Argentine grocery store) for me even though you hate shopping.
10. You are my "body guard" when I want to go clothes shopping in Buenos Aires.
11. You always hold my hand when we cross streets.
12. You compliment me in public.
13. For 40 years you have thanked me for every meal.
14. You dry the dishes for me.
15. You tell me that you're sorry.
16. You think that am beautiful.
17. Every bird, every flower, every interesting, and beautiful thing, you want to share with me.
18. To you, everything is "we".
19. When my feet are cold, you let me put them between your legs to warm them up.
20. You believe that I can do anything.
21. You make me laugh at myself.
22. You are my best critic and cheerleader at the same time.
23. You built us a house - a beautiful home that means more than lumber and nails to us.
24. You showed me the wonder of lying in a hammock.
25. You water all of the plants that I forget about.
26. You will squirt me with the hose on a summer day.
27. You bring me the first ripe boysenberry.
28. You suprise me with flowers.
29. You let me shave my legs with your electric razor.
30. You let me take up most of the room in the closet.
31. In a hotel, if we get one good pillow and one lumpy one, you insist I take the good one.
32. Every morning you give me the choice of first or second shower.
33. You always put my bus money in the slot for me.
34. You always carry my stuff in your backpack - including the rocks that I pick up.
35. When we walk you make sure I'm walking in the shade.
36. You let me help you put in the last 5 pieces of the 500 piece puzzel you've been working on.
37. At the fruit and vegetable stands, you ask me what I want, and then you pick out the very best for us.
38. Every spring you show me nests with eggs, have me smell the apple blossoms, show me the tiny fruit on the trees, and take me to see the wildflowers.
39. You called me every day from work.
40. I know you love me because you love the Lord.
41. I know that you love me because you are still here.  Every night I go to bed and you are here.  Every morning I wake up, you are here.
42. Everything you do reflects your care of me, my comfort, my safety, my happiness.
43. You have bound me to you with countless golden threads of love wound around and around us.  It is now impossible for me to tell where I end and you begin, you are so much a part me.  You have taught me what "we" means.

Men are hard-wired to provide and protect.  Girl friends are not.

It's funny.  I forgot to write that every day he says, "I love you."

Roller coasters, comets, and rootbeer...

Family is, as the air I breathe,

A roller coaster I paid a lot to ride,

a child playing with a new toy,

A comet ride, destination unknown,

only knowing I won't let go.

It's the bubbles in my rootbeer,

light and fun,

not wanting rootbeer without it,

and sometimes

it makes me burp.

Can eggs fly?

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird:

it would be a jolly sight harder

for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg.

We are like eggs at present.

And you cannot go on indefinitely

being just an ordinary, decent egg.

We must be hatched or go bad.

C.S. Lewis

I think that hatching begins with saying yes.  Yes to the uncomfortable things. 

I remember as a young mother, with a houseful of very young children, being asked to give some compassionate service.  A sister in our ward had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.  Her husband had asked if women could please come stay with his wife while he was at work. 

In the quiet of her house,  I waited, wondering what I could do or say to comfort her.  I knew her children, had been in YM/YWs with her oldest son.  Her youngest was in college, unmarried.  So much this mother was going to miss.

I heard her wake up and went to her.  She smiled, thanked me for coming,

and wanted to know about my family.  Then she asked, "Would you please bring me my make-up case.  I want to look nice for my husband." 

I only spent four hours with her, but she taught me how to die.  It was a hatching moment. 

What if I had said no.

When the wrong color is right

Needing a utensil holder I went to Goodwill with my thrift-shop-queen daughter and looked through the shelves of housewares.  I knew exactly what I wanted, but everything I saw was ugly.  Carrie came along behind me and picked up a metal, wrought iron container.  "Mom, what about this one?"  I looked at it and announced the obvious, "It's red." She said, "All it needs is spray paint."  

 

Has life ever handed you red when you wanted a different color? 

I was in college and desperately needed a job.  The one thing I could do well was to type.  But, to qualify for a secretarial job at BYU I had to be able to type 60 words a minute with no mistakes.  I knew to pass the typing test I would have to practice using an electric typewriter.  I would not be using my comfortable manual typewriter. 

I know, I'm ancient.

I went to the typing lab, and sat down, not knowing what I should practice.  Next to the typewriter someone had left a typing manual.  I randomly opened the book  and started typing.  I decided to type just this one practice page until I could hit the target speed.  I went straight from the library to the typing test.  The instructor told us to open the book to page such and such.  I turned to the page and there staring back at me was my page from the library!   I knew the Lord's hand was in this.  I knew that I would get the job I needed.  At the job interview I was told that there was one job and it would only last for four weeks.  Did I want it?  (I needed a job for the whole year.  This was all wrong.  All I could see was ugly red.)  I said yes, but was bummed. 

The afternoon of my last day, the secretary next door came to deliver some mail that had been misdelivered.  She moaned that her assistant secretary had just quit.  Our office secretary said,  "Jeanie is a typist and this is her last day."  Norma, who would be my boss for the next two years (and gave me a full time job when I needed it), said, "You're hired.  Come next door on Monday."  

I see now that all along 

the Lord is spray painting my life

the colors it needs to be, 

and even more beautifully

than what I hope for.

A child, a hymnbook, and me

It is not unusual to have an "aha" moment in church.  However, mine did not come from the pulpit, it came from the small grandson sitting next to me.  It was one of the greatest learning moments of my life.


Nate, wanted his own hymnbook, even though he cannot read.  I watched as he traced his little finger carefully along the stanzas. 

When a new verse began, he was right there, at the top, in the right place.  He never lost his concentration.  At the end of the song he proudly told me that he had been able to trace all the words plus the title and the page number!


What was so unusual or "aha" about a child and a hymnbook?  I found the answer to a decades-old question I have had.  How can I keep the commandment "Be ye therefore perfect"?  Why did the Savior ask us to do something, command us to do something He knew we could not do?  Why?  I know. I know.  It was a long-range goal for us.  For me, though, it was downright frustrating.  But, here was little Nate intent, focused, and still not able to read a word.  Was he reading?  Not by my standards, but in his time and place he was reading perfectly.  I had been confusing perfection and performance.


I have a new favorite word, thanks to Nate.  The word is "willing."  The scriptures are full of the Lord pleading with us to be "willing."  He understands willingness.  In the Garden of Gethsemane he prayed, "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."  Feeling weak was not imperfection.  His willingness was a hallmark of his perfection.  The Lord can help willing hearts.  He can make them better, more, and eventually...perfect.


Nate started to squirm so I handed him a pencil and paper.  He wrote very carefully and asked, "Grandma, do you know what this says?" 

  "What does it say, Natey?"

he grinned, "Nate is GREAT!"

Yes, he is. 

He wrote it perfectly.

Shining

A mother is most needed

as a lamp in the dark.

Not a carriage to take them,

not a prod from behind.

Just a lamp in the night,

always there

always bright.

The Greatest Mother's Day Gift

What was I to do?  On Friday my kindergarten teacher had taught us about Mother's Day.  This was 1953, before children made gifts in school, so, I was in charge,  I was six years old, and I had 35 cents.  There were the three of us, Momma, me, and 4 year old Robbie.  What could Robbie and I give her?  Taking his hand we walked to the little shopping center next to our housing development.  Shocked?  It was 1953.  Kids could do that.  I had decided on the perfect gift.  Sweet peas.  I was going to buy her a big bouquet of flowers.  Her favorite kind.  I could see the surprise and excitment on her face as she held them and smelled them - I could see it all. 

We pushed open the big door of the florist shop.  I was so shy but filled with confidence at that moment, "Do you have any sweet peas?"  I blurted out.  "No," was all the woman said. 

We wandered around the stores, Robbie's hand hot in my one hand, the thirty-five cents hot in the other.  In Woolworth's 5&10 I settled on a seed packet.  The picture of sweet peas was beautiful.  Just what I had imagined.

At home I wrapped it.  The more I wrapped, the worse it looked, it was more wrap than gift.  Looking at it I felt as small and disappointing as it was. 

Mother's Day morning in San Diego, California was bright and sunny.  I brought out the gift.  Momma sat down and lifted me onto her lap.  I felt her warm arms around me as she opened her only gift.  She told me how beautiful it looked, commented on my great taping job, and carefully opened it.  "Oh, Jeanie, you remembered that I love sweet peas!  Let's plant them now!"

They knelt in the dirt, planting side by side, two itty- bitty kids and a mother giving them her greatest gift.