On This Day

Today we buried my brother-in-law. Two and a half weeks ago his oldest daughter found him when she woke to get ready for work. He had suffered a stroke. The doctor used the word "catastrophic" to describe what happened to him. We, the family, collectively held our breath. First, there was the uncertainty of how extensive the damage was. He could not speak or care for himself. He did have a few lucid moments when he seemed to know what was going on and could respond to questions. As it became clear that Michael was not going to recover, we waited for the inevitable. His daughters, my mother and father-in-law, Kermit and other family kept vigil. Two weeks after his stroke, he died. And today he was laid to rest next to his wife and son.

This is the third family funeral that I have attended in two years time. Last September Michael's wife, Janet, lost her battle with breast cancer. The year before that my own dear grandmother passed on into eternity.

Passed on. Passed away. Such interesting expressions. Our loved ones are not lost to us. They've just taken the next step. Maybe this knowledge is the reason why I half expected to see my brother-in-law sitting up and smiling at us when we came in for the funeral. It is the same for me when I call Grandpa John. Sometimes I really think that Gramma will answer.

How very grateful I am for the Gospel. How very grateful I am for the wonderful Plan of Happiness. I know that we can be reunited with our loved ones. Families were meant to be eternal. How I love my family. I will miss those that have moved on. But what a joyful reunion.

Til we meet again.

Girls Camp 2014

We (Hannah and I) are home from another fabulous year at camp. I have been going as an adult leader since Hannah's first year. I love, love, love camp. Camp has been at Beaver's Bend State Park in Oklahoma for a lot of years now. It is a beautiful place. Every year I think that I should get the entire family there. It would be a perfect place for a little vacation.

My responsibilities changed this year. I was a leader over the 4th year campers. Fourth year is a little bit special. This is Indian Princess year. The girls participate in what is called Legend Night. They spend several months before camp learning an Indian sign language to The Lord's Prayer. They are also given a bit of muslin to make a dress. There are a few specifications on constructing the dress, as far as shape and length go. However, the decorating is up to their imaginations. It is amazing what they come up with. Lots of fringe and beading, but not always. One of the more creative dresses I saw was without fringe or beading. The young lady used Sharpies to draw some rather elaborate scrolls and flowers. It was lovely. Hannah choose to use ties on the side, fringe and beading on the sleeves, and then a bit of decorative ribbons. She got a lot of compliments on her dress.

The program starts with a story. This story was written by a sister that had been in our stake about 19 years ago. It was based on a family story. It tells of a pioneer couple that spent a winter with a tribe of Indians. They shared the gospel during this time. The Young Women values (faith, divine nature, individual worth, knowledge, choice and accountability, good works, integrity and virtue) were included in the program after they became part of Personal Progress. The parents write a paragraph about which value their daughter exemplifies. Each girl is spotlighted as the paragraph about her is read. Then they perform the Lord's Prayer.

I'm not sure that I can adequately describe how beautiful it is to watch these girls. This year there were 25 girls performing the Lord's Prayer in unison. The entire program is very moving. It is a lot of work. The first part of camp is all practice. Not much free time until after the presentation. Then they get to spend a day on the lake. Unless Oklahoma weather doesn't cooperate. Like this year. We ended up taking them to a movie.

It is a week we stay up too late. There are bugs. There is heat and crazy Oklahoma weather. The girls giggle and laugh and have a good time together. The adults remember that they were once girls and they giggle and laugh and have a good time. Canoes, hiking, horseback riding, archery are all included. But more than that there a particularly good spirit about this camp. The leaders try to create an environment where the girls can feel closer to God. It helps immensely that we are in a beautiful wooded area. Beyond that the leaders all bring a strong testimony of the Gospel. A reverence for His creations. A pure and sincere love of these young women. We want them to have fun, but we also want them to be in places where they can feel the Spirit. Places they can learn how the Holy Ghost speaks to them.

I know that I can't go to camp forever, but I just might try.

Cultivating Gratitude

The past few years have been hard. The grand majority of the difficulties for our little family are directly related to finances (or lack of finances). Loss of business. Look for job. Loose job. Look for another job. Job doesn't pay enough. Car repossessed. Another car wrecked. Utilities always paid late. On and on and on. I'm not going to lie. I have whined. I have complained bitterly. It's not been fun.

There is a sunny side. There are more blessings that come in trials than at any other times. Today is a perfect example.

We have one vehicle for our large and busy family. Kermit needs it to get to work. This morning I had an early morning meeting for seminary teachers. Kermit would drop me on his way to work. My friend Carrie Folsom, who also had to be at the meeting, generously agreed to bring me home. Our home is very much out of her way. How very grateful I am for good people like Carrie Folsom. At the conclusion of our meeting my phone rings. It is the kids. The kids who have overslept and missed the bus. Not only do I not have a car, I am at least a half hour away from home. A couple of quick phone calls and I found rides for all of the kids. Lana Whitely and Lisa Leach (who I woke up. Sorry, Lisa!) agreed to help. They all made it.

The first blessing in not having a car, I got to spend a little extra time with a friend. We both have busy lives and we don't spend a lot of time together. I genuinely enjoy talking to her. Carrie is remarkable in many ways. She is gentle and compassionate and I appreciate her insights.

The second blessing of not having a car, our family had the opportunity to be served by our neighbors. I did not have the ability to cure this minor crisis. Our had the opportunity to be served by others. My children see that they are part of a community. Hopefully, they learn some compassion and gain a desire to serve others to the best of their ability.

Compassion and a desire to serve are two things that have been increased in myself. I did not lack compassion before, but my ability to empathize has broadened and deepened.  I understand at a different level. I've always had the inclination to help those around me, but now I have a greater understanding of how to go about it. I cannot quite declare as Paul did when he said he was "exceedingly joyful in our tribulation." But I think I am getting there. 

It's Great to Be 8. Part 2. (The Important Stuff)

My youngest daughter is 8. What is so important about 8? She could get baptized. Yesterday was the party. Today was the baptism. It was wonderful.

Her oldest brother performed the baptism. Grandma and Grandpa Monzingo gave talks. Kermit confirmed her. It was perfect. Well, almost. I think more family, more extended family would have made it perfect. But it was wonderful anyway. There were a significant number of ward members in attendance.

"Why are all these people here?" she asked.

"Because they love you." I said.

It's Great to Be 8!

One of the best ideas I ever had was applying chalkboard paint to the cabinet doors. I've used the treated sections to post the menu for our nightly meals. (I seriously get tired of hearing "What's for dinner?" multiple times every day.) Sometimes it is the message center. It has been mostly been used for the kids to play. Today it was the artist canvas for Elizabeth to create a message for her sister.

My youngest daugter is 8. Her birthday was last Tuesday. Today was her party. A birthday party I think was her idea of ultimate happiness. Two friends came over. That was a bit disappointing for her. According to Sarah, three friends needed to be here to be considered a party. It was fun for her anyway. Kermit grilled burgers and hot dogs. We decorated cupcakes. Sang some karaoke. Surprisingly, Joseph was the one most into the karaoke. Most of Sarah's collection is pop songs. It was somewhat amusing to listen to Joseph putting a heavy metal spin on those songs.

The best part of the day may have been the trip to the pet store with her daddy. She has been asking for a gerbil incessantly for nearly a year.  Two pet stores later, she settled on two hamsters. The gerbil bit. The dwarf robo hamsters bit. She got two very cute hamsters. They have been named Oreo and Cinnamon. We don't know if they are boy or girl hamsters. I suppose if we have baby hamsters we will know.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day my little Sarah will be baptized. Her brother, Daniel, will be the one to baptize her. When we asked who she wanted to do the honors she looked sideways at Daniel and said, "He needs the practice."

One Year Later

"You know what tomorrow is right?", my sister asked at the end of our phone conversation.
"It's Friday," I answered knowing full well what she meant.
"Brandi. It's been a year since..."
"I know."
"Oh. OK."

What I didn't let her finish saying was that it has been a year since our grandmother passed away. It has been a sometimes good, sometimes bad year. We were busy. We were broke. The kids kept growing. We kept on living. But I didn't have Gramma.

I wish that I could fully convey how much Gramma Ellene was loved by us and how much she loved us in return. Part of it was in her actions. I remember being very small and "helping" in one of her gardens. Helping usually meant that she tended to the garden and I dug in the dirt and played with worms. One time we were outside working for so long that she was just too tired to cook. So she opened one of her jars (as in she canned it herself) of corn and we ate that. Actually, I was too tired to even feed myself so she did it. She taught us to like vegetables. A penny a bite for anything we hadn't tried before and 5 pennies if we cleaned our plate. She kept a box of clothes that she collected from garage sales for us to play dress-up. She kept a toy room for the grandchildren, nieces, nephews and then the great grandchildren, great nieces and nephews. She took the time to teach me to crochet and sew and cook and make clocks. She read to us. She made us clothes. Before my mother went into rehab for alcohol addiction, she was my stability. As I recall, she was instrumental in getting Mom into the treatment center.

Even more than that (and all that is just a tiny bit) I knew that she not only loved me she accepted me as I was. I did not have to be anything special or prove that I was worthy of her love. I just was. I could make mistakes. I could make decisions that she didn't like. It didn't matter. She accepted who I was. That is not to say she wouldn't voice her disapproval, but she kept on loving you.

I loved my Gramma. I miss her terribly. I wish she was still here. But I've been grieving all year. I've had all year to wish I could share the quilt I finished with her. Or to tell her about her great grandson being selected for the honors classes after struggling to learn to read because of his dyslexia. I want to tell her how her great granddaughter that I named for her did in her track meet and that she is now taller than me. I want to tell her about all the little things that my kids are doing. I want to talk to her about my chickens. I especially want to hear her laugh and to hold her wrinkly hand and to smell the rose lotion she would sometimes wear.  I want to hear her say "I love you, Brandi-girl."

We buried my sister-in-law last week. It occurred to me that I am at an age where funerals would become more frequent. Dying is the easy part. It's living on without the person you love that is tricky. So, I will do just that. I live in a way that Gramma would be proud. I will see her again. And Pa-paw. And Aunt Beverly. And Granny Ruth and Granddad Dink. And all those that will move on until it is my turn.

Can That Rule Not Apply to Me?

"Go to bed." I say to my oldest.
"But I'm not tired," he replies.
"The rules are stay in bed and be quiet. Being tired is not a concern" I counter.
"Can that rule not apply to me?"

This is the conversation I had with my 16-year-old. It is almost the conversation I've had with all my children only the younger ones haven't verbalized it in quite that way (or at all). Usually they just get up a bazillion times. Stay in bed and be quiet. That's all we need to know. Short, simple and sweet. You don't have to sleep. You can keep a light on unless it disturbs someone else in the room. You can read a book or play quietly, just stay in your bed.

Actually what struck me this time was not yet another attempt to stay up past bedtime. It was that last comment. "Can that rule not apply to me?"

I've thought about that. We (people) do that. We understand the rules be they are physical, social or spiritual in nature. We accept the rules. We even accept that some rules are good. When you have to live with other human beings certain rules make that easier. But we often want the rule to not apply to us. Or more accurately we don't want the consequences to apply to us. I want to eat that bucket of chicken, that entire chocolate cake or whatever is the preferred food indulgence without the extra weight gain or heart attack. We want the police to ignore us as we drive 10, 15, 20 miles over the speed limit. We expect blessings but we don't want to keep the Sabbath or pay a full tithing or whatever.

My middle son is often telling me that he can do whatever he wants. It's a free country. He can make his own choices. I tell him that he is right. He can choose his own direction. He can make his own choices. However, he does not get to pick the consequences. The consequences good, bad or indifferent come despite what we think or feel about them. I can choose to eat a plate of warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies. They will taste divine and I will love them and afterwards I will feel like warmed over blah. That is the rule. Eat LOTS of cookies and feel like poo.

So. The answer to my 16-yr-old is the rule applies to you. Someday you will get to make your own bedtime rule. But that day is not today, my son.