Sisters

My mom & her dog


My mom and Mr. W.'s mom had only brothers
in their immediate families.
I think both had that inner yearning for a sister
who they could laugh with and cry with,
who they could discuss teething or testimonies,
someone who could look in to their eyes and hearts
and know instinctively what they needed.

They found those sisters in Relief Society.

I do not think it is accidental
that we are asked to refer to each other as 'sister'.
It defines a relationship that transcends age,
address or accomplishment.
It is a relationship that denotes eternal ties
that reach beyond the grave.
It is love, it is acceptance and it is the ability
to put another woman's interests before
your own in her time of need.
A sister is a bit like a mother - a human lie detector -
who can see past our words and in to our hearts.
She is someone who follows promptings on our behalf.
She loves our children, tolerates our dog/cat
(even the anxiety-ridden, hair-pulling variety)
and is even willing to give us a 'kick in the pants' if necessary.
She is love with understanding.
She comes in to our lives with an open heart
and her eyes half-closed to our faults and short-comings.
She takes us 'as is' and loves us for it.
She understands her earthly opportunity to help another woman
through this mortal experience.

It is no wonder that we are called 'sisters in Zion'.
As Sister Hinckley remarked, "Oh, how we need each other."

I count myself blessed that at a time in my life
where one sister is physically remote
and my other sister is emotionally remote,
I have sisters next door, around the corner and down the block,
who love me and pray for me.

Sisters are one of God's greatest gifts to women.
I thank God every day that he has blessed
me with so many.

Priceless

Dress - $159

Shoes - $28

Necklace & Earrings - $12

Headband - $12

Stylist - Free babysitting

A daughter who knows that

'modest is hottest'. (her words)

PRICELESS! 

A mom who knows her daughter

lives the Young Women values -

Grateful!

New Year's Resolutions

 1. Seek Him more earnestly.

Every year at the Bezzant Christmas party, I pull out my box of 'Nativity dress ups'  - the authentic kind that includes silky pj's (wise men), bathrobes (Joseph & shepherds), mu mus (Mary), white nightgowns (angels), scarves, ties, 'bling' (wisemen's gifts/angels' accessories), my homemade stick horse (donkey), stuffed lambs and snow white baby blankets - and, while my Dad reads the sacred account from the New Testament, the children act out that blessed night's events.

For several years we were short on boys so we had to resort to 'wise women' (who had the sense to not ride in on camels - difficult in their slippery finery) and sweet baby girls in the manger.  Enough time has passed that our children are having children and the ranks are filled again with enough children to fill all the roles.  This year we had five girls playing the role of angels and Joseph (my little grandson, Aidan) trying to climb up on the chair without dismounting the donkey.  As always, it was tender and entertaining as we watched these dear children portray this sacred event as my Dad read from the scriptures.

One thing in particular from that night has stayed with me and caused me to ponder.  As I placed Baby Jesus (one of our twin grandsons) in the manger, the two shepherds (our grandson, Asher, and my nephew's daughter, Stella) immediately took notice.  They were determined to get to Baby Jesus, be near Him, touch Him - no matter what!  For the safety of Jensen, the shepherds mothers were cautiously watching their little ones to make sure that neither one injured the baby in their attempts to love him.  The draw was unmistakable and there was only one thought in those shepherds' minds - Get to Baby Jesus!

I have since wondered about just how focused I am in my desire to get near to Christ.  In their sweet innocence that night, the shepherds taught me that my love of Jesus can clarify my thoughts and actions as I live each day.  I'm not sure that I have always had the same pure love and intense interest  to be near my Savior as those sweet shepherds had that night.  A gentle reminder as I entered the Christmas season and a new year.

That's it - one all-encompassing, refining, perfecting resolution.  All else will fall in place.

Wishing you a Happy New Year!  Hopes it's fancy! 

Oh Come All Ye Faithful!

Seek Him always.

God's Gift

The greatest story
ever told.

As a mother,
my job is to
take care of what
is possible and
trust God
with the impossible.
 - Ruth Bell Graham -

Give thanks for . . .

the restored gospel.

Before we leave


What are
you thankful for?

A little inspiration
as we head in to
the Christmas season.

Give thanks for . . .

His birth

and wise men
and women
who still
seek Him.

Giving Guilt the Boot

Miami - October 2009

It seems that I'm packed and ready at any given moment for a guilt trip. My mother was a master at using guilt to elicit obedience. I found guilt to be a short term motivator - kind of like having the teacher in the room. If, when the teacher steps out and the class is not motivated by something deeper than guilt, chaos quickly takes over.

Over the years I have felt guilt over missing a birthday, not exercising, being abrupt with a child, saying no, saying yes, buying the nylon velvet hide-a-bed, taking a nap, not being perfect, etc., etc., etc. A lot of years - a lot of guilt.

Then, one day while driving I was listening to Dr. Laura on the radio. A woman called in and expressed guilt for not wanting to interact with her alcoholic mother who had created a very toxic relationship with her daughter. She felt pulled between the obligation to her mother and the need to be sane and healthy.

Dr. Laura stopped her as she expressed her overwhelming guilt with this situation. Dr. Laura pointed out that there are only two times where guilt is the appropriate response - One, if you have done something legally wrong or, two, if you've done something morally wrong. She told the woman that she could feel sad, angry, disappointed, exhausted or any other emotion in response to her mother's dysfunction BUT, because she was doing nothing morally or legally wrong, she needed to unload the burden of guilt.

As women, I think our tendency is to strap guilt to our backs and lug it around for years. I think sometimes we feel guilty just for being human. I now challenge my 'guilt trips' to see if they meet the legal/moral definition and I'm getting better at recognizing my limits and not feeling guilty in doing that.

All in all, I'm ready to give guilt the boot.

*Need inspired perspective, read this.

Blessed with . . .

(The view out my front door)

a loving husband,
kind children,
thoughtful in-laws,
beautiful grandchildren,
loving parents,
restored gospel,
dear friends,
comforts of home.

Life
at
the end
of the
rainbow
is blessed.

(Look closely & you'll see
the double rainbow.)

Remembering

I attended the funeral for my cousin's daughter, Kristan Lusvardi. Her life was short - just 19 years - but the message today was one of hope, faith, the sealing powers of the temple, comfort found only in the eternal perspective the gospel gives us, eternal families and love - most of all love.

As the dedication of the grave concluded, the heavens opened their gates and the rain poured down. A symbol of tears shed over this untimely death but also a reminder of the cleansing power of the Atonement and baptism. That One before us has suffered for us so that we, in our desperate hours, can pray for strength and help in carrying a burden already familiar to Him. Our names are truly graven upon His hand through the Atonement, crucifixion and resurrection. He has chosen to preserve this witness on His palms as a reminder to us of the price He has already paid for our sins, our grief, our loneliness and our pain.

I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me.

Log Cabins and Temples

I have always been amazed and humbled by the lives of pioneer women. You would think that the hard work that was required to meet basic needs would leave no time or energy for these women to create and beautify.

But somewhere deep inside a woman's heart is the need to make any house, even a crude shelter dug into the side of a hill or a blanket spread under a handcart, a home. I can not imagine that after doing all of the necessary tasks to clothe, feed, protect and provide for a family; sitting down with needle, thimble and fabric in hand and carefully piecing a quilt. But then, I can imagine it because I have that innate need inside of me. That after the work is done (and sometimes even when it isn't), to create something tangible that is still there tomorrow after the meal is eaten, the clean clothes are worn and returned to the dirty clothes hamper and more crumbs appear on the kitchen floor.

So it is possible to understand why women with their families uprooted, their hands calloused by hard work and their hearts broken from burying children in shallow graves in the middle of the prairie, would want to take scraps and create something beautiful that would represent warmth and love. Quilts - a metaphor for taking the pieces that God has handed us, carefully fitting them together, adding love for warmth, the strong backing of the gospel, intricate quilting of faithful living and the binding of eternal sealings in the temples of our God.


Last night it was with a humble heart that I recognized the Log Cabin quilt block pattern in the stained glass windows of the Draper Utah Temple. The middle square represents the hearth or heart of the home with the other pieces framing it with strength and protection. Nothing fancy, just straight and true. A tribute to the pioneer women who settled these valleys because they loved the Lord and they followed the prophet.


LDS women, past and present, are not so different after all. We love our families and we love the Lord. It is why, in these beautiful temples dedicated to the Lord as His House, we make sacred covenants in order to be sealed eternally.


On this snowy March morning, wrapped in a quilt with my dishwasher humming in the background, I pay tribute to those pioneer women who worked so hard to create beauty out of hardship and testimony out of trials.

Love

This quote is from a beautiful conference address given by President Harold B. Lee at the April 1973 LDS General Conference.

I seemed to have heard the voice of
President David O. McKay say,
"If you want to love God,
you have to learn to love and serve the people.
That is the way you show your love for God."

Lessons from My Garden (2008)

This spring we planted a garden. After buying some left over 'turkey dirt' from our neighbor (that's a whole other post!), tilling it in to our clay/rock soil, picking out bed springs, twine and other assorted 'stuff' (like I said, that's a whole other post!), we were ready to plant!

I discussed the idea of grow boxes and 'square foot gardening' with my attorney, Mr. W. I really wanted to give this 'new-fangled' gardening a try. Mr. W was raised on a fruit farm (like me) and still thinks in terms of furrows and rows. We ended up planting rows (I haven't given up on my Garden Squared - next year).

We carefully hoed our rows, planted our seeds, tucked in our tomato plants, put cages around the tender plants and gave the garden a big drink. We were off to a great start.

At the beginning of the summer, I tried to weed the garden at least once a week and tried to water it before it dried out (I'm working on Mr. W to adopt the soaker hose approach - in the meantime, we are watering by hand). We saw seeds sprout, vegetables start to form and all in all things were looking promising for some fresh produce throughout the summer.


Well, life got busy (busier) and the watering became a little more erratic. We meant well but we just didn't do it consistently. As the tomatoes started to ripen, I noticed that about half of them had a weird brown 'bottom' to them. Suspecting bugs, I consulted my garden expert, Bonnie. I was shocked when she told me that it wasn't a bug that had caused my garden failure, it was my inconsistent watering. My tomatoes had a case of Blossom Rot! No amount of 'catch-up' watering could repair my earlier neglect. All I could do was recommit to consistent watering, throw away the bad tomatoes and wait to harvest healthy ones.

Having grown up on a fruit farm, the lessons and parables in the scriptures that related to planting, sowing, thinning, harvesting and pruning all made perfect sense to me. Every year I witnessed the 'Law of the Harvest' as the literal fruits of the orchard were gathered in.

But this year my little garden reminded me once more -
You can't fake obedience!

No amount of regret or 'double-duty' watering could alter the condition of the tomatoes already formed. I had today and the next day and the remainder of the summer to do better but the fruits of my inconsistency hung rotten on the vines.

The power that comes from daily obedience is real.
It gives us faith not fear, hope not helplessness.
That is what my little garden taught me this year.

Where's Susie? ? ?

Untapped talent

Our oldest three children were born in the space of four years. Every six months as LDS General Conference rolled around, I tried to think of ways to foster an active 'Watch, Listen and Learn' attitude in our children as we turned on the TV to receive counsel from our prophet.
My attempts include but are not exclusive to:
* bribery (in the form of candy that could only be consumed during conference),
* BYOB&P (bring your own blankie and pillow which ended up encouraging napping - not my intent),
* threats (always helpful when trying to invite a spirit of peace and calm into your home),
* Smartie Bingo (you know - put a Smartie on your card when that General Authority gives a talk - which only works if everyone refrains from eating their Smarties halfway through the first session),
* turning on every TV and radio in the house so that even a sleeping teenager will have 'The Good Word' permeate his soul,
* putting up a card (Uno of course) table and choosing a gospel-centered puzzle (sounds odd but there are those kinds of puzzles available) to work on . . . this was an attempt to keep the hands busy so that they would not be used to torment siblings,
BUT my all-time favorite and the one I have used every General Conference for the last 20 years is . . .

WHERE'S SUSIE? ? ? (like where's Waldo?)

When I was growing up in the little farming town of Pleasant Grove, it was BIG NEWS to KNOW someone personally who sang in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. You had your 'good' singers (and sometimes not so good) who sang in the ward choir. Then you had your 'better' singers who might solo in sacrament meeting or be asked to sing solos or duets at funerals. But then there were the 'great, practically professional' singers who auditioned and were chosen to sing in the Tabernacle Choir! Those singers were rare indeed.

About 20 years ago (sorry Susie, I don't know your 'official' starting date), my friend, Susie, auditioned for and was chosen as an alto member of the choir. It was then that every conference when the choir was singing, I asked my children "Where's Susie?" in a good faith attempt to get them to either 1) wake up and look at the TV or 2) stop fighting long enough to look for Susie.

Our search was made a little easier because, beginning in kindergarten, the universal rule was always 'Tall ones to the back'. It's easy to spot me, Susie, Jeanne and Mary Ann (all tall since birth) in our school class pictures (or any picture for that matter) because we're ALWAYS either on the BACK row or seated in chairs on the front row. It seems to me that the choir has held fast to this rule because we generally find Susie on the very back row or very close to it (refer to picture from last conference). And, for a reason unknown to me, she seems to be placed close to the women/men boundary of the choir.

I admit - I always feel a little 'reflected glory' when I spot Susie in the choir and shout out "There's Susie!" It's still a big deal to me to know someone in the choir.

After years of looking for Susie, one conference one of my children turned to me after I asked "Where's Susie?" and said, "Mom, you realize it doesn't really mean anything to us when we find Susie (or when you ask for the millioneth time where she is). You're the one that has the connection to her. We don't."

It's true. As much as we might wish to, we can't 'transplant' relationships, memories, emotions or even testimonies on others. Life's experiences are ours to have, to learn and to remember. We can share them in an attempt to pass along the experience but in the end they belong to us. My children will have their own life experiences. I can only hope that as adults they continue to watch General Conference not to look for my childhood friend, Susie, but to listen (and then follow) a prophet's voice.

By the way, I found Susie last week and she sounded GREAT!

Bee-attitudes

Please Don't Judge My Shoes

We cannot know what life will bring. We imagine how we would respond to this challenge or that challenge but until we face it, we really never know. It is easy to be an 'arm chair' observer, quietly taking notice of a misstep or stumble, as we watch others feel their way through life. The temptation is to think to ourselves, "I wouldn't have done that, said that, thought that. Surely, I would have show strength, courage and optimism."

And then we are faced with our own unique challenge - custom made to challenge the status quo and give us opportunity to grow or grumble. Our response may not be perfect because, after all, we are not yet perfect but we will develop an empathy that is only earned by one who goes through that experience. We can learn patience as we are refined and feel strength beyond our own capacities.

Between child #3 and child #4, I experienced an eleven year lesson in infertility and miscarriages. Unfortunately, as my heart ached for another child there were people around me that assumed I had chosen to limit or delay my family in exchange for 'stuff'. A judgment was made that I had purposefully chosen the 'shoes' I was asked to wear at the time. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

In this refining I learned that, until I know a person's heart, I cannot truly understand the shoes they wear. I really only know how I have met my own challenges. I can share what I have learned but I cannot share how I have grown. That is mine. That doesn't mean that I can't cheer others on as they wobble in their shoes and reach out in love to steady them as they walk. That in remembering my own lessons gained in my own shoes, I can show charity as others learn theirs.

Angels Don't Have Wings!

First, a sincere apology to Susie for using this picture. We were 'late bloomers' (a bit of an understatement!).

Susie was my best friend growing up. All of my important dolls were named Susie or Susan and I absolutely planned on naming my first daughter (and possibly more) Susan. *Second apology - my daughters are named Elizabeth and Vanessa - sorry Susie.*

One day Susie gave a talk in Primary or Junior Sunday School (I can't remember which one). Her mom, Mrs. Fugal, was highly organized (especially for a mother of 12) and so, of course, Susie had a gospel picture for a visual aid. As I looked closely at the picture I was horrified to find that someone had neatly scribbled with BLUE MAGIC MARKER (I still love the smell of Magic Markers) all over the angel's wings until they were completely covered. I couldn't believe that this had happened on Mrs. Fugal's watch! I must say, that whoever had had hold of the marker had done a really nice job of covering all of the wings and even tried to blend them into the night sky.


Surely Susie wasn't going to use this damaged and altered picture in her talk. She even seemed proud of her picture. Finally, when I could stand it no longer I said, "Susie, you can't use that picture. It's been scribbled on."

Susie turned to me and with a very 'teacher-like' voice (and with some exasperation and 'I can't believe you don't know this') said . . .

"ANGELS DON'T HAVE WINGS!"

Mrs. Fugal had colored in the angels wings so that the angel would be 'up to gospel code'. Who knew? I surely didn't at that ripe young Primary age. So there you have it . . . angels don't have wings BUT in my life's experience I have learned that they do have . . .

willing hearts to take in and love a sister's family as she heals in a hospital,
listening ears that patiently listen to a broken heart and a mother's grief,
gentle hands to hold a fussy baby so that a young mother can try to remember what it feels like to not have someone attached to them 24/7,
steady feet to rush to the aid of a neighbor as the sirens get closer and closer,
wisdom to share that gives much needed perspective when you're so close to glass you have no idea if anything is in it, let alone if it's half empty/half full,
hearty laughter that brings tears to your eyes as you share the quirks that make up this life,
peace,
advice grounded in the gospel of Jesus Christ that reminds us why we're really here,
hope that 'this too will pass',
tears as they share your burden and comfort your soul,
food when you just can't think of being responsible for 'one more thing'!,
time (the most precious and fleeting of all gifts) to spend on you,
inspiration to know just when you need that call or that hug or that note and when to speak and when to just listen
and so many other things.

You're right, Mrs. Fugal, angels don't have wings - they don't need them!

Lessons from the Raspberry Patch

I grew up on a fruit farm in Utah. Along with peaches, pears, apples and cherries, we had a raspberry patch in the middle of the orchard. While the boys picked cherries, the girls picked raspberries - my dad quickly found out that a mixed work force on any one crop accomplished a lot less picking and a lot more goofing around than a segregated group assigned to different crops. And so it was my lot to pick raspberries every other morning starting at 5 a.m.

My dad would get up every morning, wake up very grumpy and uncooperative children, work in the orchard until about 7:30 a.m., shower, go to work at Geneva Steel for eight hours, return home and eat dinner, go back out to the orchard until dark (unless he had church meetings to attend to), get ready for bed and prepare to start all over again the next day. My dad and mom worked very hard to provide a safe and secure life for the seven children in my family. Of course, as a child all you can see is that you are 'burdened' with the task of picking raspberries.

Picking raspberries is a labor intensive job that requires you to search out only the ripe berries, carefully pick them without smushing them and then place them carefully in your bucket. Sometimes you had to flick off a stink bug or grasshopper before you placed the berry in your bucket. Your job was to search high and low for those perfectly ripe berries - not a easy task early in the morning when you would rather be in bed. Our buckets were used, empty paint cans with old men's ties attached to the handles so we could tie them around our waists. It seemed to take thousands of berries to make a case - a case that we were paid $1 for picking.

One morning my dad stopped to see how we were doing before he headed inside to get ready for his 'second' job. He started at the bottom of my raspberry row and, as he walked, he quietly picked the berries that I had missed and placed them in MY bucket. He did not scold me for missing those berries, he did not make me re-pick the row to 'teach me a lesson', he did not put them in a separate bucket. He just quietly added them to my bucket as he asked me how I was doing. And in doing so he taught me the greatest lesson of all.

I was AMAZED that my dad put HIS berries in MY bucket. I remember thinking "I wouldn't do that if I was the dad. I would put them in MY bucket!" I was awed by his generosity and his complete lack of reprimand.

There in lies the lesson. Often, my Heavenly Father follows quietly behind me noticing my shortcomings and mistakes but, without reprimanding, He makes up the difference. He adds to my 'bucket' blessings and second chances, repentance and renewed commitment, reminders of my covenants and earthly angels who attend to me, prayer and inspiration, a Savior who redeems me through the power of the Atonement.

My dad did not know that early one morning in the raspberry patch he gave me an understanding of the love an earthly father and Heavenly Father have for me. He helped me feel unconditional love and acceptance. He let me know that I'm never alone in the 'patch' and that when I've done my best, a loving father will come along and make up the difference.