Celebrating a Life Well Lived

I spent this weekend in Hartsville, South Carolina, honoring the life of my paternal grandmother. When I told someone today that that's where I was yesterday, she said in surprise that I hadn't mentioned that my grandma died. And that's true. I hadn't told many people because it was hard for me to explain my calmness about her death. Believe me, I know what it is to feel grief at the death of a loved one. My mother died when she was 57 and I was 31. That was devastating. My grandfather died several years ago. That was sad because, although physically he had been declining for several years, I knew how much my grandma would miss him. But this weekend had none of those feelings. It was a celebration of a good life that ended gently and calmly--just what we all would want.

As I listened to my dad, his sister and brothers talk about their mother at the funeral I was struck again by how blessed my life has been. My grandmother was born to a very poor family in rural South Carolina in 1917. When she was a teenager her father died, and before she was 16 she married my grandfather, who was equally poor and 21. Neither of my grandparents went to high school. Both came from families that were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and I am grateful that for whatever reason they made the gospel of Jesus Christ the center of their lives. I can't imagine how hard they worked during their lives to get from where they started to where they ended.


One of the things I learned this weekend was that their house on their farm--the original four rooms, anyway--were built entirely from salvaged materials. My grandpa and three of his friends bid on an industrial building that wasn't in use anymore, and they took it entirely apart so that they could use the materials themselves. My grandfather worked as a machinist at a local factory and farmed his land in his "spare" time.

My aunt told at the funeral of how hard my grandma worked to take care of her 7 children. She told of clothes made from flour sacks and of picking cotton in the fields. My grandma may not have had much education herself, but she encouraged her children to get as much education as they could. One of her sons went on to get a PhD and three to be chiropractors.

My grandma left behind quite a legacy. Seven children, fourty-five grandchildren, most of them active in the church and raising families of their own. What an accomplishment; one that young 15 year old girl could not have imagined.

Way to go, Grandma.

A Small Miracle

In the February 1985 Ensign was a short article by my uncle, Charles Watson. It told the story of my father's family going to the temple for the first time to be sealed. My uncle used this story in his talk at Grandma's funeral on Saturday, and I wanted to share it here. I love to hear stories of the miracles that happen in the lives of ordinary people, and I love that this miracle helped make me who I am today.

One of Those Small Miracles

“What a blessing to have the Washington Temple so near,” my mother wrote in a 1976 letter. “A day up and one to return home is all it takes for us to enjoy a temple session.” Her words stirred my memory of that time long ago when we made our first trip to the temple.

It was 1950, and the postwar prosperity had finally reached our family. That must have been what enabled Dad to trade off the ’38 Pontiac for the ’50 Nash. Things had never seemed very prosperous on our South Carolina farm, and we’d heard Mom and Dad talk many times about how much they wanted to have the family sealed to them in the temple, but how far off Salt Lake City was and how fearful they were that the Pontiac would never make it. But when Dad showed up one day with the new Nash, we knew he’d bought it so we could go to the temple. Why, the seats even folded down into a double bed, which meant we could save on motel expenses by letting the “big boys” sleep in the car.

So plans were made. We’d go in the fall, when all the crops were in. Of course, we would have to have a good harvest to be able to afford the trip. In fact, the field of cotton right behind the house was a very important part of our temple plans. Dad had told Mom that if she and us kids could pick a bale of cotton, we'd use the money from it's sale to finance the trip. Even with the postwar boom, Dad’s job at the mill, and the produce from the farm, it all seemed barely enough to provide the necessities for our growing family. One of my most vivid memories of preparation for this trip was coming home from school and finding Mom in the cotton field, dragging a burlap sack filled with cotton, with 6 week old Mark laying on a blanket at the end of the row. We'd join her and pick until dark, and again on Saturdays. She was determined that we'd make this trip.

When a snag would appear, Mom’s faith and optimism would push us along. “Callis,” she’d say, “if you don’t take me to the temple and something should happen to you, I’ll find someone who will.”

We suspected that she really wouldn’t have, but it was her way of letting it be known that she planned to get to the temple that fall. Mom and Dad and all the older children knew how close Dad had come to being killed only four years before. He’d been terribly hurt in a motorcycle accident, so when she told him “if anything happens to you” we all knew what she was talking about.

As fall approached there was much activity around our home. Arrangements had to be made for taking us out of school for a couple of weeks; someone had to make sure the animals were fed and watered; and the crops all had to be gathered in. There was an air of excitement as September turned into October—then finally the day of departure arrived. We’d planned to leave between 10:00 p.m. and midnight; that way we’d get in a day and a half of driving before we had to stop for a motel. But as last-minute chores were being done, a cry cut through the stillness of the autumn afternoon: “The pump house is on fire!”

The family came running from nine different directions, and in moments the source of the billowing smoke was found and extinguished. Some days before, one of us had set a gallon jug of gasoline in the pump house, and behind the jug, just under the pump motor, were some burlap bags. The rays of the afternoon sun had magnified through the jug onto the bags, creating a smoldering heat which burned out the pump motor.

It couldn’t have happened at a worse time! It would take days to find and install a replacement motor. Our travel time had to coincide with Dad’s vacation, and our schedule was already tight for what we thought of as our once-in-a-lifetime trip.

I can never forget the scene that followed. After surveying the damage, Dad slowly turned and with drooping head moved toward the house some thirty yards distant. Raising both hands and dropping them several times, shaking his head slowly back and forth, he spoke only half aloud: “How can I leave with no water for the animals? There’s no way we can go.”

Never, before or since, have I seen such great discouragement. Excitement over the anticipated trip suddenly turned to gloom for all of us. We weren’t going after all.

Just then, without our looking for it, came one of those small miracles that happen in our lives in such a matter-of-fact way that we sometimes fail to recognize that they are miracles. Down our driveway came my Uncle Heber.

Heber was Dad’s brother and had taken his family to the temple some ten years earlier. Like all of our relatives there in the Hartsville Ward, he knew of the hopes and anticipations of my parents concerning this trip. The family was close that way. Heber took in the whole situation in a single glance, and for what he did next we’ll all be forever grateful.

“Callis,” he said, “get your family in the car and go. I’ll have water here by nightfall tomorrow.” And we knew he would.

Nearly a quarter of a century has passed since that time. Uncle Heber, dad, and mom are gone; all the children have grown up and married, and there are grandkids galore. Temples now dot the earth and are far more accessible than in the 1950's. Still, I reflect with a grateful heart on that first trip. So many things conspired to keep us away, but always it seemed that when an obstacle appeared, the way was prepared. I suppose the only obstacle the Lord might not have helped us overcome would have been our own lack of desire. I’m convinced that he wanted our family sealed to each other, and the blessings we received on that first trip to the temple will be with us for generations to come.

Our $100,000 Raise

I've been reading a book called "What Happy Women Know," by the author of a book I loved called "What Happy People Know." The third chapter is titled Wanton Wanting: The Myths and Burdens of Affluence." This chapter explores the reasons that we believe more money will bring us more happiness, and shows why they are not true.

The most interesting part of the chapter told of a research study carried out in 2004 inn the US and England. 50,000 people were interviewed for this study, the purpose of which was to work out the financial value of a good sex life. The authors of the study went on to show that it would take $55,000/year to bring people as much happiness as a regular sex life. And then also calculated that a loving marriage makes people as happy as an extra $100,000 a year.

Now I am just as stressed about the current economic situation as the next person. I am praying that people will keep buying cell phones so that my husband can keep his job. But as I read that my brain shifted from the "worried about money" mindset to the "how incredibly blessed am I" mindset.

Good job + loving marriage = Wealth beyond description!

Life's Perplexing Questions

Russ and I watched a movie from the library the other night, and I forgot to take the dvd out of the tv and put it back in the case before I returned the case to the library. They were nice enough to call me yesterday and ask for their dvd back (so smart that they check these things!) and so I set it on the stack of library books beside the microwave so that Jason would take them to the library on his way to swim practice.

Cindy Lynn called around lunch time. "Mom," she said, "I have a strange question for you. What do you do with a dead cat?"

This was one of those moments when I wonder why my children seem to think that I know everything. I don't mind when they ask me reasonable questions, but when my kids ask me strange questions that I can't possibly know the answer to I have to wonder what they're thinking.

"I have no idea what you should do with a dead cat," I replied. "Why? Do you have one?"

She explained that some residents of the apartment complex that she and Mahon manage had just reported the presence of a Very Dead Cat in the complex parking lot. And she had thought that I might know what they should do with it.

"Well," I said, "You could always put it in the dumpster."

She sounded a bit dubious. "Do you think that's legal? Don't you have to call someone when there's a dead animal?"

Just then Jason decided that it was time to leave for swimming, and came into the kitchen to gather the keys and cell phone. He saw the stack of library books by the microwave and picked those up too. Not noticing (not caring?) that I was on the phone, he called over to me, "Mom, am I supposed to take the dvd to the library too?"

I am a Very Conscientious Library Patron and was concerned about the safety of the now caseless dvd. And so I moved the phone away from my mouth a little and said to Jason, "I think it would be better if you put it in a sandwich baggie."

Apparently not far enough from my mouth, because Cindy Lynn's shriek came loud and clear through the telephone:

"You want me to put a dead cat into a sandwich baggie???"

P.S. In case you're wondering, Animal Control in Rexburg reports that they only need to be called for animals weighing more than 10 pounds. Smaller animals may be disposed of in whatever manner you please. (Good thing it's winter!)

Calling All Lurkers

Recently I had an e-mail from someone at church whom I admire very much. In it, she said "Here are some of my thoughts on your blog post about Mark 10 that I was too chicken to post there..."

I was really surprised. First, because it's always interesting to find out who reads my blog. But also because it never occurred to me that anyone would feel uncomfortable commenting on a blog. I comment often on people's blogs. Russ almost never comments on blogs. The sociologist in me is fascinated by this disparity and my inquiring mind wants to know more.

I know that I am at a disadvantage in trying to understand why people read a blog and never comment. As an very extroverted person, I am interested in what people have to say and assume that they are equally interested in hearing what I have to say. It is also relatively easy for me to think through things on my feet (or fingers!), so to speak, which my more introverted friends assure me is not the case with them.

I want to know--if you are a lurker and not a commenter (on this or any other blog), why? I've put a poll on the right hand side of my blog and I'm asking you to at least answer the poll. If you have more to say about why you do or do not comment, feel free to leave a comment on this post!

Connecting the Dots

As I look back over 2008 I can see that once again, it's a good thing that the Lord was in charge instead of me, and that sometimes things that seem unbearable prove in the end to have been absolutely vital. I've learned that it's very important for me to remember and record these kind of awarenesses--both to remember that I have seen the hand of the Lord in my life (or the life of my children) and to help me have faith in His plan during future trials.

In February of 2008 Cindy Lynn went into the hospital for what we would consider a "routine CF tune-up." She needed IV antibiotics and it was a convenient time to do it. It seemed a pretty uncomplicated decision.

Instead it was a week of misery. Because she wanted conscious sedation for the insertion of her PIC line (like an IV line, only much deeper, and trust me, you would want sedation too!) she couldn't eat anything before the procedure. They didn't decide until after 3 that first day that they weren't going to be able to install the PIC, and then they finally let her eat. The same thing happened again on day 2, except that at 3 they decided that they would be able to install the PIC line, which they did not do until 5. After which she was allowed too eat. And despite the sedation it was a miserably painful procedure.

In addition to the misery that Cindy Lynn suffered the hospitalization made my life difficult. All of the kids wanted to go and spend time with her, but it was overwhelming to take them all at the same time. And she didn't want to be alone in the evening either. So I did a lot of driving back and forth from the hospital. The day she was supposed to be discharged I took the three little kids with me. At one point, after we had already been there an hour, the nurse in charge suggested that she would not be ready to discharge for as long as three more hours. I was not a very nice person at that point, I probably offered to let her babysit 3 seven year olds in a 60 square foot room for the next three hours!

After the hospital discharge there were 2 more weeks of IV antibiotics at home, which was more convenient than the hospital but still mean less sleep for Russ and me. We were glad when the whole experience was over. We were Done and now she would be Healthy again.

Until she contracted influenza just one week after the antibiotics were over. Yes, she'd had her flu shot, but the flu shots last year were only 50% effective. And Cindy Lynn was lucky enough to come into contact with the right germs. Now I am not a fan of flu shots--I have never had one myself, and don't intend to have one. (Because I am not a cow. But that is a topic for another time.) Regardless of my feelings about flu shots, Cindy Lynn has to have them. A lot of people think flu shots are for the nasty throw-up illnesses that go around, but they're not. They're give some protection against nasty in your lungs illnesses that could be really deadly for people like Cindy Lynn. So to realize that she had influenza was scary. And to make it even worse, she was scheduled to go back out to Idaho for the summer semester of college just three weeks later. This meant there wasn't even time to wait and see if her body could fight off the virus on it's own--and so back into the hospital she went.

Hospitalization #2 had it's own set of problems. Including more days without food, another agonizing PIC line placement (even with the extra help from an ultrasound), and a doctor who did not want to release her from the hospital to finish the IV's at home. It was an emotionally exhausting week, and I will be forever grateful to her friend Ben who hung out with her a lot and provided company and emotional support. Then we got to do 2 more weeks of IV's in the middle of the night. We were tired.

After the second round of IV's was done we had a little moment of revelation. The PIC line placements had all been difficult and painful, even with the use of sedation and the guidance of the ultrasound. And we were pretty sure that not only was her insurance deductible met, but quite possibly her out-of-pocket maximum as well. It seemed like an auspicious time to investigate a surgical procedure to get a device called a port installed, which would bypass the need for a PIC line in the future. The surgery went off without a hitch and we thought that all of the medical drama was over.

Unfortunately, she still wasn't back to normal--what we call baseline, and so in June she went in for yet another round of IV's. This time it was relatively uneventful. Due to the newly installed port they were able to start the IV's immediately and easily. And this time we negotiated a release date in advance, so there were no unpleasant surprises there.

At the same time that all of the hospital dramas were taking place, other interesting things were happening. In January she and Mahon got engaged, and in the spring we started gathering information about what would happen with her insurance once she was married. There was no happy news there. The worst part was learning that BYU-I had no prescription coverage whatsoever! In order to soften that blow they have a pharmacy on campus that provides prescription medicines at a fairly reasonable cost, but for someone with a $35,000/year prescription medicine habit, fairly reasonable doesn't cut it. The only possible way we could see for her to get medical coverage was to qualify for SSI, which would then qualify her for medicaid. We were told by a lawyer specializing in SSI that she would need to have been hospitalized 3 times in the last 12 months in order to have any chance of getting approved for SSI, and that it was still a long shot. She said that the SSI approval process typically took as long as 6 months, and that if her application was denied it would take another 6+ months to appeal that decision. And, of course, she could not officially apply for SSI until after she was married. After lots of prayer and fasting we felt like things would work out ok, but it was still frightening to not know exactly how that was going to happen.

The week that Cindy Lynn got married she found out that she had won a scholarship from one of the pharmaceutical companies that provides medications for people with CF. It paid for most of the tuition for this year, but more importantly, it provided a year's worth of her most expensive medication for free! She later found out that the company that makes her other really really expensive medication has a compassionate care program so that people without insurance could still get the medicine. This left her with about $250/month of medicines that she would need to pay for--which is a lot, but a whole lot better than $3000/month! I could finally see a way that Heavenly Father could provide what Cindy Lynn needed while she waited for SSI, even if it took a long time.

Cindy Lynn found out right before Christmas that she has been approved for SSI. I was so excited--she didn't even get denied! She doesn't even have to appeal! It actually happened! Now we are just waiting for the medicaid paperwork, which I think we can do more calmly.

The year in retrospect looks much different than it felt while we were living it. Having to have that second hospitalization, with a second painful PIC line placement, seemed like too much to bear. In hindsight, that hospitalization provided both the incentive to get the port, and the medical history necessary to qualify for SSI and medicaid. Without that hospitalization--if she had had a regular health year with only one round of IV antibiotics, neither would have been a possibility.

It is amazing to me to look back and connect the dots of the Lord's plan over the last year. I am forever grateful that the Lord doesn't withhold blessings because of my impatience or lack of faith; that he continues to tutor me patiently. And I look forward to the day when I will be able,even in the midst of a trial, to trust in the Lord and his plan.

Goodbye 2008

I am not very good at traditions. Once I read a book in which the authors talked about the many, many traditions their family had. Including having to find a body of water every year to float one child's birthday cake on. I was so overwhelmed I couldn't even go on reading.

One of the traditions I have been successful in implementing, though, is our New Year's tradition. Every year we make a best/worst of the old year list. We put down newsprint on the table and bring out the markers and read through the calendar from the last year to help us remember what actually happened. Then we all write down our own lists, and usually compile a family best/worst list. Some years this happens on New Year's Day, sometimes not. This year we were busy watching Aragorn and Legolas on New Year's Day, so we did it for Family Night this week.

Here you can see that while the fabulous tripod I got for Christmas (and having finally figured out how to use the timer on my camera) makes it possible for me to be in the picture too, it does not guarantee that every child will be looking at the camera.

Here are some of the highlights of this year's lists.

Jenna was obviously very affected by the frequent (and expen$ive) visits of the squirrel man.

Jared celebrated the Father & Sons outing, getting baptized, and the presidential election. (I thought you could use a little translation help--it took me a few minutes to figure those out!) In his "Bad" list he lamented the fact that "Nin (Cindy Lynn) left us" and that our tree smashed our neighbor's car.

Jason had the typical 16 year old boy's list--complete with friends, girls, dating, and driving.

Rachel didn't produce much of a list. She spent most of her time writing her name with different colors and trying to persuade people to play tic-tac-toe with her. But her bad list did include Cindy Lynn getting married. As you can probably tell, while we are all happy that Cindy Lynn is happily married, we miss her a lot!

Josh was in a fairly non-compliant mood during our activity. He spent most of his time drawing "political cartoons" on every free bit of newsprint and making up a list of good things that he wished would happen to him, and bad things that we are glad haven't happened to him.

Russ's list and my list are not nearly as entertaining as the others, but we both enjoy making them. It's always such a good feeling to me to make a list of the events of the previous year and see how many good things have happened and how blessed we truly are.

And lastly, just in case you wondered: