​August 2015- Like a family of fatigued ducklings, we followed my husband down the hill, rolling our suitcases down the single-width, round edged sidewalk, past the road sign for Ahornstrasse.  Excitement to see our new home helped push back the vibrating, ear ringing, exhausted buzz that had been dogging me for hours.  At least the kids had passed out on the ICE Train from Frankfurt to Stuttgart.  We’d left Seattle more than twenty-four hours ago, and Idaho a couple of weeks before that.  I was grateful my husband knew where we were going.  He had arrived in Germany ten days before us, being deployed there for the US Navy. 
 
“The most eventful month of my life”
October 1918 France- Albert John Carpenter, age 19 enlisted in the 36th Division of the 142nd Infantry with men from the Texas and Oklahoma National Guard during WWI. [i]
 
June 2016- We left from our home in Steinbach Am Glan, Germany.  From above, it looks like a Tetris board of yellow rapeseed fields and hayfields in the valleys, and forests on the upper hillsides and hilltops.  Half-timbered homes and barns are common.  Most villages are several hundred years old, some thousands, dating to the Middle Ages or Antiquity.[ii] 
 
October 1, 1918-     Tuesday – Heavy artillery fire on front all night and most of the day.  Continual roaring.i
 
When we walked the paths, on the Beech forested hills above our home, copper color metal plates on large moss-covered stones announced Celtic Chieftain burial mounds (Keltisches Hugelgrab, um 450 v. Chr.) from 450 BC.  In contrast, our bright new house was built of modern sand and limestone brick masonry.  It had a red tile roof, radiant floor heating, and high efficiency tilt and turn windows. 
 
Wednesday 2-     Signal school in a.m. and wrote letter home and did not send it.  War news looks very good, watch the lights on the front after dark.  One German plane bombed the town at 10 p.m.i
 
In a valley to the north of us, an old grandfather was missing three fingers.  He showed me his hand, and told me his story when we were looking for a home to rent.  He still lived in the home he was born in.  When he was a very small boy during WWII, an American plane flew over.  Bullets were fired through the ceiling into his bedroom.  He kept his life but lost three fingers.
 
Thursday 3-     Signal School all day.i
 
It’s hard to picture war planes flying over these peaceful hills and valleys.  Yet, this is a community that used to be one third Jewish.  Three Hundred years of Jewish history in this village, and the only trace remaining is the Jewish Cemetery.  The lucky ones, that didn’t die at Auschwitz.
 
Friday 4-    School in a.m.  Quick notice to pack up In the evening and after dark.  Tools, trucks from Champignuel to Somme Suippes.  Some cold ride.  Went through ruined Chardous(sp).  Billeted at 4 p.m.i
 
With his metal detector, our American neighbor had found a Roman coin from 400 AD and unexploded WWII munitions buried in our area.  He excitedly showed us the hand pressed gold coin, and told us there was an ancient Roman summer home in the hills nearby.  He said that we lived on a major Celtic migration trail, and that there had been two witches that lived in Brucken, the next town west of us.  They had watched the traveling celts go through, waited for the stragglers, and caught then beheaded them.
 
Saturday 5-    Got up late made a little coffee.  Watched the war activities and cannon roaring at the front.  Saw 2000 wounded French soldiers go through in ambulances.  Last good night sleep.i
 
Here, two blond heads, one American and one German, often huddled together over the rainwater rippling in the gutter between our two homes, racing floating sticks.  Some days they lounged on our doorstep, trading words for things they saw and making up a mixed language they both understood, or jumped scooters or bikes off the sidewalk, shouting to egg each other on to bigger tricks.
 
Sunday 6-     Up early.  Marched from Somme Suippe, now just inside of Hindenburg line.  3 p.m. in Champagne and Verdun sector.  See much war ruin and lots of dead Boche and French.  Marched to front lines with light packs and 220 round of am.i
 
On long summer days, the German boy’s grandma (Oma) could be heard through the open windows, squawking in frustration, “Geh mit David spielen!”  (Go play with David!).  Luka and David, as playmates, gave Luka’s Oma much needed breaks from his seemingly endless pestering and energy.  His Oma watched him while his mother worked, and summer days without the structure of school, were hard on her.
 
Monday 7-      4 a.m. went in support for the Marines.  Dug a little hole 10 inches deep and slept 2 hours.  Light shelling all day, two men of platoon killed and two wounded.i
 
Loading our family into our rusting Toyota Sienna, we took the Autobahn to Paris, on our way to Normandy, to find the sites of Major Winters, and the 101st Airborne from Band of Brothers.  To see Utah and Omaha Beaches and the cemeteries.  To learn more about D-Day and WWII.
 
Tuesday 8-     Will “go over the top” in 10 minutes.  Later.  a heavy artillery barrage.  Many Boche prisoners taken and machine guns also and also many Americans killed.  A German counterattack 4 p.m.  unsuccessful.  142nd lost heavy.i
 
There is one straight shot on the map from Landstuhl to Paris which we take.  It should take less than five hours.  Over the French border, we passed corn fields and power lines.  Judging from the view, we could have been crossing Nebraska, but on a smaller scale.
 
Wednesday 9-     The battle continues.  Boche burning many towns back of lines.  Boche lay artillery barrage on relay station, a shell just went over my head and killed Lt. Lowery.  St. Etienne under heavy fire all day.i
 
We passed a sign for Verdun.  I know it’s a WWI battlefield.  But I don’t know anything about it.  Maybe we can stop on the way home.  We are trying to beat evening commuter traffic in Paris.
 
Thursday 10-     Battle Still rages.  Marines go to the rear for a rest.  Panthers hold sector along more towns burning behind lines.i
 
We discover why we should take a circuitous route on the way home.  Moped madness.  Motorcycle mayhem.  Impossible Paris traffic.  Bedlam, chaos, pandemonium.
 
Friday 11-     142nd casualtys (sp) still enlarging.  Am very weak only two good meals since on front.  12 a.m. a gas shell came over.  Did not get my gas mask on quick enough.  Sent to field hospital.  Taken about 20 pills and sent back to lines at 10 p.m.i
 
The fearless, helmetless, Parisians, straddling motor bikes in their professional clothing and scarves, swarm the roadways, slamming into cars.  Regardless of traffic lanes, or the damage the greatly outnumbered automobiles might do them, they throw themselves in their way.
 
Saturday 12-     My lungs are very soar (sp) and throughing(sp) up blood.  Took charge of telephone at 2 p.m. on duty till 12 p.m.  144th infantry goes over the top.  Drives Boche back.  First hot meal since on front.i
 
We find peace past Paris, in a riot of climbing roses on crumbling, several-hundred-year-old stone farmhouse walls.  Pink, red, and white blooms dot the vines.  Red poppies and yellow yarrow grow in the grass.  Flynn the Belgian Shepherd meets us with his friendly tail, and Moby Dick, the ginger tabby, prowls into the bushes.  Hilary, our host, greets us in tall rubber boots.  Chickens peck in the farmyard.  We stay in a converted barn, with its whitewashed, one-foot-thick stone walls, now a modern apartment inside.  This is one of several similar farms in sleepy Saint Pierre du Mont, which found itself in the Omaha sector in 1944.
 
Sunday 13-     It has rained all day.  Boche retreated 25 kilometers.  Still sick from gas.  Marched from St. Etienne to Vaux Champagne.  Very, very tired.i
 
When we walk along the hedgerows to the end of the road, we can climb down a ladder on a cliff, to the seashore, but need to pay careful attention to the violent tides so as not to get quickly overtaken.  Later, we discover the Boulangerie and Patisserie in Grandcamp Maisy, ten minutes away.  My husband and kids rave about the bread and pastries.  I can’t eat them, but they smell divine.
 
Monday 14-     My Company digs in and prepares for another Battle.  Boche have good positions on Aisne River.   Very dark now and then Boche shells would come near.  Still raining, sleep in open all night, nearly froze.  an awful headache.  French artillery close to my hole.i
 
The Normandy American Cemetery seems to commercialize D-Day and death.  It is overrun with interested Americans, getting over a million visitors a year.  The German Cemetery is all bleak dark grey stone and empty.  I know these were once boys like Luka.  They had parents who grieved for them, families who missed them, many with no stake in Hitler’s agenda, and no choice as to whether they served.
 
Tuesday 15-     Rested all day Thank God.  Boche seem to be resting easy also.  Nothing but artillery fire.i
 
In the British Cemetery, gravestones bear personal epitaphs from their families.  I read: PRIVATE T.J. WHEELER, THE DURHAM LIGHT INFANTRY, 20TH AUGUST 1944 AGE 18, HE LEFT A HAPPY MEMORY, HAD YOU KNOWN THIS BOY OF OURS, YOU WOULD HAVE LOVED HIM TOO,[iii] and GUNNER, J.A. BALL, ROYAL ARTILLERY, 19TH AUGUST 1944 AGE 33, TREASURED MEMORIES OF A DEAR HUSBAND & DADDY, GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN THAN THIS.”  I’m glad it’s drizzling.  It could be my husband, my sons.
 
Wednesday 16-     Received letter from Mother.i
 
D- Day, June 6, 1944, 18,000 paratroopers dropped in full moon light, easy targets for the surprised, sleepy Germans who fired on them.  Their saving grace being that they were not expected.[iv]  
 
Thursday 17-     Boche shelling all day.  Went to sleep in a house just vacated by the Boche.  Had to move on account of shelling the town.  Two artillery men killed and several wounded.i
 
In Sainte-Mere-Eglise, a village of 2400, a fake life size paratrooper dangles from the steeple of the church by his parachute.  It represents Private John M. Steele of the 82nd Airborne who got caught and dangled there for two hours on D-Day, before the German’s captured him.[v]
 
Friday 18-     Taken a shave, bath and picked codies (sp) (cooties) for two hours off from clothes.  Not much doing on front outside of snipping  (sp) and patrols.i
 
The church windows, blown out by Allied bombing, have been replaced with stained glass scenes of dropping paratroopers surrounding Mary holding the Christ child, with planes circling her head.
 
Saturday 19-     Has started to rain again.  The river Aisne and Canal Du Nord seem to have made a good strong (hold) for the Boche.  We are nearly flanked on the right by the Boches.  The French are unable to advance on our right.  We may be taken prisoners at any minute.  May have to through (sp) my diary away destroy it.i
 
Our guide shows us a picture of a dark haired five-year-old girl in a fur coat.  She was killed by a stray bomber bullet, as she stood in the church square with other celebrating French citizens.  We learn our guide’s grandparents had lived in Caen.  A German stronghold, it was bombed mercilessly for months.  “They were free, but their lives were ruined.” she said.
 
Sunday 20-     Same activites as before.  (French still unable to come up on our right.)  Many killed.i
 
My kids, tired of listening to our French Guide, just want to dig in the sand and swim at Omaha beach.  Their favorite memory is later swimming there, even though it ended abruptly with a frigid bulleting rain.
 
Monday 21-     Still raining.  Our holes getting very mudy (sp) and cold.  On a detail to dig dugout for Col. N. French layed down an artillery barrage which made smoke for miles but still unable to advance.i
 
At Point du Hoc, my son David, a skinny, blonde boy in blue, flies from a vine covered square of cement, three times his size.  It’s lying at an odd angle on top of another massive square of cement, edges rough from the bomb that ripped the thick-walled bunker into raw pieces and tossed them.  They are surrounded by long and short [vi]grasses, like some kind of delightful destruction garden.  Hitting the ground running, he takes a path down a bomb crater, across the middle and up the other side.  He passes a collapsed pile of crumbled cement with crooked, rusted rebar sticking out in all directions.  Hairy tangles of barbed wire cover the large gun emplacement of a mostly intact bunker, that he skips down cement steps to explore.  David plays here for hours, like it’s his very own parkour course.  US Army rangers, exposed, climbed the cliffs here with German soldiers shooting at them from above, in the early hours of June 6, 1944. 
 
Tuesday 22-     Just received orders must trade sectors with the French on our right.  (got a good hot meal before starting.)  (Having worked all night on front line).  Telephone out of order cause of much worry.i
 
We drive home the circuitous way, avoiding Paris and its army of attack scooters.  We see an American WWI Cemetery sign and take the exit thinking it may be Verdun.
 
Wednesday 23-     Now on French sector that they were unable to take.  We must drive Boche back.  2nd Battalion on front with 200 hundred men instead of 800.  Had to go back about to a town named Leffencourt to get some signal equipment.  I wrote a short letter to Mother.  (Have lost my riffle(sp) pack and half of my clothes)  Got a riffle off a dead comrade of mine.i
 
Driving lost, through the deserted green countryside, we stumbled on the classical columns of the Pennsylvania State Monument dedicated to their soldiers lost there.  We walk the pillared lawn, and drive on.
 
Thursday 24-     Am now on front line with telephone and a buzzer.  Getting ready to go over the top.  142nd Still losing in strength.i
 
And find the stately, symmetrical Stone gate houses and wide tree lined avenues, of the carefully architected and exquisitely landscaped Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery, with miles, and miles, and miles of marching American white crosses from WWI.  It is not Verdun.  There could be no American Cemetery for Verdun.  We did not fight there.  Why did I not know?
 
Friday 25-     Our eats have run out, but still trying to keep up good spirits.  Have my phone in a shallow hole behind a rock wall.  Boche throwing 88’s and machine gun shells on us.i
 
Stunned, overwhelmed, awed, we wander.  1.2 million American men fought here.  All I can think is:  all of these American boys, fighting and dying out here, so far from home, and I’ve never even heard of it!  Who remembers them?  (Meuse-Argonne is the deadliest battle in American History with over 120,000 total casualties.[vii])  Chills run down my spine.  So many crosses!  A staggering, shattering, devastating number of crosses.
 
Saturday 26-   Preparing for the last battle.  Many French and American artillery batteries set for action.  About 40 machine guns several French mortars.  No sleep, no eats, blue and very home sick.i
 
Rather than swarming with visitors like Normandy, it is deserted.  Hushed, tranquil, undisturbed, stunning.  Wind in the trees, birds, worms, are these soldiers’ only companions this day.  And us.  Obsessively reading the names on the white crosses, names of boys and men from familiar states.  States I’ve lived in, or visited.  I think:  I see you!  I feel like I need to read as many as possible, knowing it’s only a tiny drop.  Knowing they don’t care anymore.  But I feel like someone should!
 
Sunday 27-      At 4 p.m. will go over the top in 30 minutes.  (Everything very, very, still.  Not a word was hardly spoken between men.  At 6 p.m. they have gone over the top.  All o.k. Objective reached.  We have lost 2 men so far.)  A big shell lights within a few feet of my head.  Have taken 130 prisoners and several guns.  142nd won more praise from French General.i
 
There is no playing here, not even the desire.  The kids cry as they read the Wall of the Missing, 3724 names.  The cemetery’s architecture seems to exceed the Capitol Mall to me.  Here, in nowhere France.  It’s stunning, appropriate, isolated, forsaken.
 
Monday 28-    Our relief has finally arrived, a division of French.  Will relieve front lines at 10 p.m.  (Boche shell us but mostly with duds.)i
 
Geoffrey Wawro, (Time), writes; The American role in the First World War is one of the greatest stories of the American Century, and yet it has largely vanished from view…It must be baldly stated:  Germany would have won World War I had the U.S. Army not intervened in France in 1918…The American battle in Meuse – Argonne, from September 26 to November 11, 1918, pierced the most redoubtable section of the Hindenburg Line…The American offensive was, a British war correspondent concluded, “the matador’s thrust in the bull-fight.”  It cut the German throat.[viii]
 
Tuesday 29-    We are out at last!!!! (Left Boche at 3 a.m. and hiked to Michault by 12:30 p.m.)  Ate everything we could find.  (Took trucks at 3 p.m. and rode to Somme Sippe by 11 p.m.) (All in)i
 
In an article entitled, On Hallowed Ground, a Place of Painful Beauty, David Laskin, (New York Times), writes; As exquisite as any French park or chateau grounds, the cemetery is a formal garden of perfectly clipped trees, immaculate lawns, fountains and roses and long white rows of grave markers. Given its beauty, it's also strange how empty the place is — and stranger still since this is the largest American military cemetery in Europe… When we Americans think of travel inspired by world war, Normandy is what springs to mind…Yet the countryside north and east of Paris is rich in memories — and monuments — of United States involvement in the other world war. Twenty-six years before D-Day, more than two million American soldiers were in France… What's astonishing when you travel to these battlegrounds is how much remains on, or just below, the surface and how few people there are looking for it.   
 
Wednesday 30-     Hiked from Somme Sippe to Vallmy.
 
Laskin continues; “…an invisible gardener ran a mower; a child's voice drifted up. The rest was silence. In all these 130 acres, there was but a single family strolling between the perfect rows of square-pruned lindens that divide the graves into eight equal quadrants.[ix]
 
Thursday 31-     We are on march by daybreak hike from Vallmy to Donnmarton 16 kilometers.
 
As we near the border of Germany, we pass through French villages that have traditional German architecture.  Even long before two world wars, these border lands have traded hands so many times, they look unsure of their origin.  We’ve seen Rome, yet the most complete Roman ruins we’ve seen are in Trier, Germany, Constantine’s capitol.  As we reach our German village, with it’s green, yellow and tan tartan fields, and history laden hills, I know I don’t begin to understand all the history here.  It’s like a French pastry called Mille-freulle, meaning 1000 layers. 
 
What did Meuse -Argonne teach me?  I read a lot of history.  I have read hundreds of books on WWII, and watched documentaries and movies.  Not because I’m hyper focused on WWII, but because there are many, and they came to my attention.  I did read one series on WWI, but I don’t remember anything from it.  I don’t believe our American consciousness, includes WWI to a large extent.  I’m with Laskin.  Meuse-Argone feels like Hallowed Ground, and I want to learn more.
 
...................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Definition:  Boche- Websters:  1.  A German Soldier.  2.  Any German.i
 
[i] Library of Congress, Albert John Carpenter Collection, collected 2018, Image 1 of Diary transcription, accessed 4/11/23, [https://www.loc.gov/collections/veterans-history-project-collection/serving-our-voices/world-war-i/world-war-i-rememebered-100-years-later/wwi-remembered-diaries-and-memoirs/item/afc2001001.00225]

[ii] Wikipedia, List of towns and cities in Germany by historical population, last edited on 19 January 2023, accessed 2 May 2023, [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_towns_and_cities_in_Germany_by_historical_population#Antiquity]

[iii] Information taken from personal photographs, taken 26 JUN 2016, Bayeux Commonwealth War Graves Commission, 1945 boulevard Fabian Ware, 14400 Bayeux,

[iv] The Normandy American Heroes blog, Rudy Passera, 16 MAR 2017, [The Story of John Steele, the Sainte-Mère-Eglise Paratrooper (normandyamericanheroes.com]

[v] US ARMY, Sgt. Fay Conroy, June 2, 2009, Church tower, windows pay tribute to paratroopers who jumped into first town liberated during WWII, accessed 11 APR 2023, [ https://www.army.mil/article/22006 ]

[vi] Army Historical Foundation,  Megan Johnson, accessed 3 May 2023, [https://armyhistory.org/rudders-rangers-and-the-boys-of-pointe-du-hoc-the-u-s-army-rangers-mission-in-the-early-morning-hours-of-6-june-1944/]
 

[vii] National Archives, Military Records, The Meuse-Argonne Offensive, last reviewed 4 Apr 2023, accessed 11 Apr 2023, [ The Meuse-Argonne Offensive | National Archives ]

[viii] Time, Everyhing You Know About How World War I Ended Is Wrong, Geoffrey Wawro, Accessed 3 May 2023, [https://time.com/5406235/everything-you-know-about-how-world-war-i-ended-is-wrong/]

[ix] The New York Times, On Hallowed Ground, a Place of Painful Beauty, David Laskin, 30 September 2007, accessed 3 May 2023, [https://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/30/travel/30footsteps.html]

Guest post by Sarah Hanna
Her experience with the book Unshattered

The book Unshattered came to me in a very dark time.  Because of health issues I was basically bedridden, and every task required for living resulted in some form of increased pain and discomfort.  

I love the outdoors, and used to do everything I could in them.  Gymnastics, swimming, and just plain running, biking, or walking are some of my greatly enjoyed pastimes.  Violin, singing, dancing, acting, writing, drawing, studying, reading, sunlight, and listening to music were things I thought I couldn't live without.  Depression and anxiety were some large problems I was finally learning to combat. College and independence were things I thought would be at hand, no matter how much I feared them.

At first, after getting sick, I had still been able to write, draw, or read to distract, and give myself purpose.  Gradually all three most often became physically impossible. My voice weakened and simply singing to myself would make vocalizing painful for weeks afterwards.  Light, sound, and movement resulted in agony. I was reduced to merely existing until the next blessed stretch of sleeping unconsciousness, during which, pain still somehow tortured a fraction of my otherwise dormant mind.  

My means of creative communication were ripped from me, I could no longer influence the world around me, my purpose for living was unreachable.  My depression which originally had no solid reason for being, had a feast of validated hopelessness and desperation to pray on.  

My will to continue living wilted, I only entertained the idea of holding onto life, because I knew my absence would spread more problems upon the ones I love, and I did not wish to cause them pain.  I also didn't have the ability to end myself, a frustrating plight in and of itself. I had no desire to die, I merely could not see the point of continuing to live. Amidst this stagnant existence, I gave in to my mother's loving prodding, and began to read Unshattered.

As I read the book, I enjoyed the little things in the happy beginning, and they carried me through until I found challenges with which I could relate.  The magnitude of the protagonists trials were humbling, and with little to no motivation to read, and a multitude of understandable reasons to stop, the fact that she continued, gave me the courage to dismiss my excuses.  

I had an example of how much worse things could be, and found genuine things to be grateful for.  The fact that I was at home with my family, the beauty around me, being able to talk, having occasional good days. At the same time, throughout the book, I had to repeatedly learn not to compare miseries, and stop belittling my own.  Everyone's challenges deserve to be acknowledged, no matter the size.

Later I was able to attend a Skype meeting with the author of Unshattered, and the woman that the book is about.  I really wanted to be able to give them something, because they had given me the tools to see the value in continuing to live.  Before the gathering, I hurriedly wrote a poem I hoped would convey my feelings, and despite my fears of its inadequacy, braved the effort it took to attend the meeting.  

Speaking with and seeing them was like being reunited with old friends.  I managed to succeed in reading the poem to them, (I had nearly chickened out at the last moment), and was surprised and delighted to see that it touched them.

I was blessed to learn that my efforts would be sufficient in the end, and see that I could still create, maybe not all the time, but when it came down to it, I still had my mind.  Since then I have had some improvements for which I am very grateful. I am still physically miserable, and find it hard to consider days in which I have done nothing more than continue living, a success, but I know I can be happy amidst pain, and that I always have a purpose.


Here is the poem I wrote:

Kin in battle, united in pain, 
your monsters you shared,
to help others their own fiends to slay.  
My valleys are not the same, 
but the darkness I know well.  
Between light and endless fall, 
your story reached me, showing that I can do it all.  
Fear can be conquered, despair shed, inability can improve, 
or I can find another way.

My life need not be failure, 
my existence beyond tomorrow more than curse.  
I am allowed to keep living, 
able to strive.  
What was may have been stolen, 
but I can choose to fight for a future not yet dead.  
My experiences, my life, my stories, the beauty I see, can all be shared, 
though insignificant I fear they will be.

I am not destined to fail, 
I can be what I am meant to, 
see what I choose.  
A victim I am allowed to be, 
but that is not where happiness lies for me.  
I can still dream of dancing, skating on ice, 
I can make it outside someday, without paying such a miserable price.

You have encouraged me to climb the mountain I dread to face.  
I will write my stories, draw my world's, 
and hope to one day help somebody as you have me.  
Sharing is laying ones soul open, raw, then letting all scrutinize.  
Thank you for sacrificing comfort in the hopes of helping just one. 
I needed it, 
and now feel I have a sister with which to enter the fray.  
Someone beyond my family, 
who actually understands my pain.

On a Sunday, late last year, I found myself tuning into announcements in Relief Society part way through an invitation.  It was something about a special guest, who had grown up in Palestine, coming to talk at the church building the following Tuesday.  It caught my interest, so I showed up on Tuesday evening, still not really knowing who it was or what it was about.

Sahar Qumsiyeh spoke.  She had dark hair, was slight of build, and had a great smile.  She spoke very humbly.  She spoke of what life was like growing up as a Palestinian.  She started with showing a progression of maps, which was a good thing. 

Honestly, I wasn’t even clear on where or what Palestine is.  I mean, I knew it was in the middle east.  I had heard of the Palestinian Liberation Organization.  Wasn’t it right next to Israel?  But could I point to it on a map?
 
It turns out there is a good reason for my confusion, and I am not alone.  Her story was fascinating, horrifying, eye opening and inspiring.  It made me really think; challenged my perspectives.

I was intrigued by her story.  I wanted to know more.  She had written a book (Peace for a Palestinian
by Sahar Qumsiyeh).  I downloaded it and read it.  I also read another book she recommended (Blood Brothers: The Dramatic Story of a Palestinian Christian Working for Peace in Israel by Elias Chacour).

I loved both books!  I felt like they filled in pieces of understanding to my knowledge of the world, making it more complete, like adding missing color pieces to a kaleidoscope.  

They allowed me to be more compassionate of people I had known very little about.  As far as I am concerned, anything that brings more compassion and understanding into this world is a good thing.  

I also love hearing people’s stories.  Particularly if they are about good people that find ways to do good things for others, even in difficult circumstances.  But there was something more than that too.
 
These books filled me with an excitement about learning something new.  They inspired me.  They lighted a fire for more learning.  I don’t even know if that’s all of what the feeling was, but it is at least some parts I can identify.

I overheard some of the ladies who had invited Sahar Qumsiyeh to speak, talking about another book they were reading for their book club.  I went home and ordered that one too and read it.  It was Unshattered: Overcoming Tragedy and Choosing a Beautiful Life by Carol Decker; Stacey L. Nash.

I used a whole box of Kleenex during the first half of the book.  Motherhood, illness, no control over some circumstances in your life.  It hits a tender spot.
 
I ended the book feeling so incredibly inspired!  Her example made me feel like I could do anything important  in my life regardless of the difficulties.  It left me feeling like I have no excuses! 

It may be part of the reason I’m trying to do this blog/website.  It’s not the easiest thing for a total introvert with significant social anxiety to do.  But I do love to write, and I have a genuine desire to help other people.  Here’s hoping I can figure out how to do that!

These stories also got me thinking again about how much I love people’s real-life inspirational stories.  It doesn’t need to be someone whose done out of the ordinary things.  I like average people’s stories.  I especially love stories of faith and overcoming difficulties.  We all have them.  I really like it when they are real and not idealized.  I have been thinking a lot about how to collect more of these.

I have been reading a book by Jane Kirkpatrick call A Name of Her Own.  It is historical fiction about the first mother to cross the Rocky Mountains and remain in the Northwest.  The person is real, but the thoughts are those the author attributes to her.

In her thoughts, she often blames herself, sells herself short, and does not recognize her worth and value or the good things she is accomplishing.  Maybe one reason these thoughts are believable is that they are familiar.
 
I think we all do this at times.  They ring true because we struggle with similar thoughts and feelings.  It’s funny, hearing someone else think like that, I want to shout, “No! Don’t believe it!”  Why is it so much harder to recognize similar things in my own thoughts?

Since I have been forging forward mostly successfully with some new goals this year (like writing twice a week), I have gone from feeling excited about successfully completing things I would like to on a regular basis, to sometimes feeling discouraged even though I am completing them.  Why would that be?

I’m not sure, but I know I need to keep pressing forward despite it.  So, I’m writing to myself today.  Trying to find some truth to help with perspective.  I’ve been looking for quotes (scripture and other) and I’ll share them here.

• “God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone, but also on trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars.” —Martin Luther
• “Though our feelings come and go, God’s love for us does not.” —C. S. Lewis
• "God loves each of us as if there were only one of us." —St. Augustine
•  “What you are doing I cannot do, what I’m doing you cannot do, but together we are doing something beautiful for God, and this is the greatness of God’s love for us—To give us the opportunity to become holy through the works of love that we do because holiness is not the luxury of the few.” —Mother Teresa

 

• John 3:16 “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
• 1 John 4:8–9 “He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love. In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him.”
• Romans 5:5 “And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.”
• Romans 8:37–39 “Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
• Proverbs 8:17 “I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me.”
• Zephaniah 3:17 “The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing.”
• Psalm 86:15 “But thou, O Lord, art a God full of compassion, and gracious, longsuffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth.”
• Isaiah 41:10 “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

 

• Thomas S. Monson- “Your Heavenly Father loves you—each of you. That love never changes. It is not influenced by your appearance, by your possessions, or by the amount of money you have in your bank account. It is not changed by your talents and abilities. … God’s love is there for you whether or not you feel you deserve love. It is simply always there” (“We Never Walk Alone,” Ensign, Nov. 2013, 123–24). 
• Dieter F. Uchtdorf- “…the most powerful Being in the universe is the Father of your spirit. He knows you. He loves you with a perfect love.
• God sees you not only as a mortal being on a small planet who lives for a brief season—He sees you as His child. He sees you as the being you are capable and designed to become. He wants you to know that you matter to Him.”
• Dieter F. Uchtdorf- “Though we are incomplete, God loves us completely. Though we are imperfect, He loves us perfectly. Though we may feel lost and without compass, God’s love encompasses us completely. … He loves every one of us, even those who are flawed, rejected, awkward, sorrowful, or broken”
• Ezra Taft Benson- “God, our Father; Jesus, our Elder Brother and our Redeemer; and the Holy Ghost, the Testator, are perfect. They know us best and love us most and will not leave one thing undone for our eternal welfare.”
• Gordon B. Hinkley- “Our Eternal Father lives. He stands as the great God of the universe, ruling in majesty and power. And yet He is my Father, to whom I may go in prayer with the assurance that He will hear, listen, and answer.”
• John Groberg- The more we obey God, the more we desire to help others. The more we help others, the more we love God and on and on. Conversely, the more we disobey God and the more selfish we are, the less love we feel. 
• Trying to find lasting love without obeying God is like trying to quench thirst by drinking from an empty cup—you can go through the motions, but the thirst remains. Similarly, trying to find love without helping and sacrificing for others is like trying to live without eating—it is against the laws of nature and cannot succeed. We cannot fake love. It must become part of us.
  

 

Just shy of two years after my husband and I were married, we welcomed our first son into our family.  He was born at Swedish Hospital in Downtown Seattle.    The same hospital my husband grandmother had worked at as a nurse for many years.  He was late, big, and breech, and had to be taken by C-Section.

We had moved from renting an apartment in West Seattle, to manage an apartment a little further south (White Center), so we could afford to have me quit work and be home with the baby.

James worked full time and was taking classes at South Seattle Community College trying to complete his associate’s degree.  He had completed one year before we were married, and it had taken some time for us to get established with work and supporting ourselves in Seattle, before he was able to get back to school.
   
His dad, an instructor at a community college, was a big proponent of getting your associates at a community college, and said it transferred into any university in Washington state with a guaranteed two years applied towards your degree, at a great deal less expense.

It didn’t prove to be true, but that is the path we were on.  Full time work and school were tough!  Even with James being the smartest, most energetic guy I knew (and I’m serious about that!).  It wore on him.

In searching for ways to realistically be able to complete college, with a family, and let me stay at home with the little one, he enlisted in the Navy.  His test scores were stellar, and he was admitted to the Nuclear Program.

He was told that if he was in the top one percent of his Nuclear Power School Class, that he would get picked up for the Nuclear Enlisted Commissioning Program.  Then he would be sent to a college of his choice, his school would be paid for, and he would continue to receive a Navy paycheck.

We made big lists of pros and cons.  We talked to both of our families.  His dad said he didn’t think the military was the right thing for him.  I don’t remember what my parents said.  We prayed about it, felt good about it being the way for him to be able to complete college, and signed enlistment papers.

He headed to basic training in Orlando Florida, and I headed to my parents with a 10-month-old baby.  We were told that the Navy would not pay to move us down to Florida.  We sold enough stuff to get down to 1500 pounds of household goods.  My brother-in-law, who owned a moving company, was kind enough to give us a great deal, and add our things to a long haul he was already taking to the Orlando area.

James missed Nathan’s first birthday, and we didn’t get to attend his graduation from boot camp.  We occasionally got to talk on the phone.   His voice was always hoarse while he was in basic training.  Then he moved on to a Navy technical school in Orlando.
 
I took an English class at the community college.  Nathan developed croup a couple of times that winter.  I spent two particularly bad nights in the Emergency room with him, and a number of nights up with him struggling significantly to breathe.  It was recurrent.  It terrified me.
 
The doctor said to use a humidifier.  It seemed to make his breathing worse.  They said leave a window open to the cold air.  I made a special heavy quilted sleeper suit to put over his jammies to try and keep him warm with the window open in the winter.  It still didn’t seem to help.

I’ve had friends say that with their kids, taking them out in the cold air with croup, calmed their breathing right down.  But it didn’t for Nathan.  However, he did seem to do some better if we drove in the car.  Being upright, seemed to help some.
  
After James graduated from boot camp, and had secured an apartment, we flew down to Orlando to join him.  I had worked hard in the months he was in basic training to lose the baby weight that I had gained during pregnancy, to surprise him.  He met us at the airport in Navy dungarees, with a buzz cut.  It was wonderful to have our family together again.

We lived in an upstairs, two-bedroom apartment, in Winter Park Florida, not too far off base.  James had made a friend that had a wife and a baby about the same age, who lived in the same apartment complex.  Chris, Katie and Nicholas Kaiser from Pennsylvania.

I got good at ironing perfect creases in uniforms and sewing on insignia patches.  James rode a bike to the base for Nuclear Power School.  I rode a bike, with Nathan strapped in a baby seat on the back, to the grocery store. (We had sold our cars, and other belongings, to help pay for the move).   I could only handle a few bags on the bike handlebars and still be able to steer.  A kind young couple picked us up for church on Sundays.

I discovered that our area was not very bike friendly.  There were no sidewalks between our apartment complex and a close grocery store (or much of anything close).  The road was busy and not very bike safe, and the grass on the side of the road was tough to ride on.

Several months later, I rode that bike, what seemed like a long way, to my first OB/GYN appointment there.  We were expecting again.
 
Soon thereafter, we bought an old yellow Chevy Citation on a credit card for $1500.  It was a huge relief to have easier transportation.  Over the years, family named it “the banana car”.  It was a lemon.   I think James replaced most things twice on that car to keep it running.  It was his bane through those early years.  But it got us around and he faithfully kept fixing it.  Thank heavens his grandpa taught him how to work on cars and he had a knack for it.

Someone at church said they were giving away food storage wheat in buckets.  We took it.  Our mattress sat up on food storage buckets.  I ground the wheat and made bread.  It made funny, kind of tough bread.  It didn’t seem to raise right.

Growing up, we had eaten cooked whole wheat for breakfast sometimes.  I tried soaking and cooking it.  It had odd things in it when it was soaked.  I didn’t try soaking it again.  It looked entirely normal when dry.
 
I was proud of myself for making our own bread for free.  Money was tight.  At times, Katie Kaiser and I would pack lunches, pack up the babies, and go meet the guys for lunch.  I’d pack sandwiches made on that homemade bread.  We’d eat at a picnic table by the lake on base.
 
James took his goal to be in the top 1% of his Nuclear Power School Class Seriously.  Sometimes he’d study until midnight.  Often he’d come home late, after studying, with a big stack of note cards.  He’d have me drill him on the information on the cards until he went to sleep.  He didn’t feel like he could even take much time to chat and catch up or visit.  He was always preparing for the next quiz or test.
 
It was a shared goal though, getting the into the NECP program so he could finish school.  It was for all of us.  I was supportive.  In the middle of the night sometimes, he’d sit straight up in bed from a dead sleep and be mumbling facts I’d been quizzing him on for the upcoming test.  I’d try talking to him, but learned he wasn’t really awake.  I prayed hard for him that he’d be in the top one percent of his class and get picked up for the college program.

During this time, Nathan was often sick.  First it was struggles with multiple ear infections with high fevers.  Then added breathing problems, especially any time he was ill.  It wasn’t diagnosed as asthma until he was three, but I remember clearly, him laying limp, skin sucking in around his ribs, and pulling into a hollow in the middle of his chest, every time he tried to breath, as a one year old.  It would last for several days at a time and then slowly clear up.
 
I thought maybe one of the reasons the Lord had guided us to the Navy was so that we would have the medical care needed during these years.  So many trips to the pediatrician with yet another high fever, ear infection, and breathing problems.  The lines were long at the Naval Hospital pharmacy, but needed medications were free.
 
We had a scare in the second trimester of the pregnancy.  I had the alpha-fetoprotein test taken at a regular well baby check appointment to check for chromosomal abnormalities.  They said they’d call if there was a problem with it.
 
At my next appointment a month later, the doctor came in said (as if I knew already), so your test results were high for the AFP test.  We should talk about the possibility of an abortion.  I was horrified!  Abortion was not an option for me!  I already cherished this life that was coming to our family whether it was perfect or not.

They tried sending me for a repeat test to confirm the results, but they had waited too long.  It was past the point that a result would be accurate.

It took me two days of voluminous crying with worry for this new little one, to come to peace with the idea that this baby was absolutely wanted and treasured, regardless of whether it had chromosomal abnormalities or not.
 
It’s not that I would have considered an abortion for even a second.  It just took me a little time to wrap my mind around the idea that this little one might have a lifetime of greater difficulty ahead of it than I previously had anticipated.  I worried about whether I’d be up to the challenges too.

I came out of those days with a very firm resolve.  I felt like I was standing tall, had my shoulders back and my chin stuck out in defiance, and was marching forward.  I was ready to fight for this baby and do whatever was needed.  He was part of our family already.  I was offended by a world that would value a human being less because it wasn’t perfect.

I bought a double stroller and tucked it, folded, under Nathan’s crib.  Somehow it gave me a concrete seat for this coming baby and demonstrated my desire for this little one to be in our family, exactly as it was.  Then I started praying hard for the baby.

We were able to have an ultrasound in the third trimester that indicated normal limb growth and length which we were told meant increased chances of a healthy baby so that eased fears some.

Since we lived 3000 miles from home, I was really worried about who I would have to watch Nathan when it was time for the baby to come.  I never have been one that could just drop my kids with anyone.  It’s an anxiety issue for me.  I need to KNOW….and I mean really know…..they are well cared for.
 
As it got closer to time, James’s mom wanted to buy airplane tickets ahead of time to come when he was born.   She needed to work around her work schedule.  Nathan had been born late.  I knew that she might not even hit the right window for when he came with having to just pick dates ahead.

I prayed hard, that the timing would work out.  I had been praying about it for months.  That I would have someone I was comfortable with be able to watch Nathan.
   
After she bought tickets, I prayed that the baby would come while she was there, and that she would be there to watch Nathan while I was in the hospital, and that she would also get to spend time with the new baby.  I knew that James would not get any time off.

I went into labor in the afternoon, walking through k-mart, two days before James’s mom was due to arrive.  We went into the hospital the night before she came, but things were not progressing quickly.  I was sent back home.
 
It was a miserable night and next day.  The contractions were strong and kept coming.  I might doze between contractions but couldn’t get comfortable.  A friend in the apartment complex offered to watch Nathan until James’s mom got in.
   
James’s mom was due in late at the airport.  James got home from studying about 10pm.  Then he went directly to the airport to pick her up.

While they were gone, I was having terrible back pain.  The only way I could get any comfort was to get into a warm shower, with the hot water on my back, or heat an O-Henry in the microwave and put that on my back.

They got home from the airport about 11:30 PM and we went straight to Naval Hospital Orlando.  Things went very quickly from there.  There wasn’t even time to have the anesthesiologist come in, so it was an “au natural” delivery whether I wanted it or not.

Having a normal delivery was a blessing in and of itself.  Nathan had been born c-section.  There were risks to trying for a normal delivery after a c-section.  That was one more thing I had prayed hard for.  I didn’t want my number of children to be limited because of having to have all c-sections.  It was important to me to have this baby normally if it could be safely done.  Another prayer answered.

We had a beautiful new 6 lb., 10 oz baby boy!  His first Apgar score was a 9.  He was perfect!  He was handed off to a medical corpsman to clean him up.  After several minutes of working on me, the doctor glanced over at the corpsman.  She said with panic in her voice, “Corpsman, why is that baby blue?”  Then she rushed over to try to revive our now unresponsive baby boy.
 
In the sleepy Navy hospital, they had to call “code blue” multiple times over the hospital loudspeaker system and had to add “this is not a drill!  Repeat, this is not a drill!” as well, before they were able to get an emergency team on their way.
 
This was so much different than Swedish Hospital had been with our first son.  They had to put a tube in to get him breathing, but they were all set up and ready for it.  They made it look easy.  It was done so quickly; it was almost as if there was no problem.  I was told by the nurses though, that we were very lucky to have been in that hospital, with the doctor we had, for the very quick and accurate response.

Not so with the Navy Hospital.  They had a tough time getting an emergency response team there to help, and our new baby boy revived, but they did it.  The incident seemed to rattle them seriously.  I was asked all kinds of questions.  They didn’t understand what had gone wrong.
 
All I could tell them is that Nathan had had a thick mucus plug that required a tube to be inserted for him to start breathing.  This new little one had been breathing well.  I had no idea if it was something similar or not.

The baby was whisked off to the nursery to be watched carefully.  I was pushed off to the side behind a curtain.  James was in his final weeks of power school.  The big final test was almost upon him.  He was headed back to school by shortly after 5:00 AM.  He didn’t have a choice.  He was required to be in classes that day.

It seemed like forever before they let me hold our new baby.  I believe it was after noon.  I would ask anytime someone would peek in.  They would say they would check.  And nothing would happen.  It was a relief when I finally got that baby in my arms!  It was also a relief to see that he seemed healthy!

Grandma Hanna took good care of Nathan while we were in the hospital, which was a such a blessing to me!  She had gotten there in time.  In fact, could Heavenly Father have answered my prayers with any more perfect timing?  I knew he had heard me!  I was so grateful!

James would stop by the hospital late at night, when he was done studying for the day.  He would leave lists of possible names that he liked at the nurse’s station.  They all sounded like New York Bankers to me.  Winston Bartholomew…. things like that.  I didn’t get to see him again during the few days we were in the hospital since I was sleeping when he was able to come by late at night.
 
At one point, I called his Power School advisor and told him I really needed to talk to my husband so we could pick a name for the new baby.  I didn’t want to do it without his input.  His advisor let me speak to him.  We named him Jonathan Kendrick.  Jonathan meant gift of God and Kendrick meant son of Henry.  James’s middle name was Henry.

James graduated Power school number one in his class.  He shouldn’t have had a problem getting picked up for the NECP college program.  However, when it came time to apply, they found that he was two months beyond the cut off age for the program.  His advisor even double checked to make sure they weren’t getting it wrong and confirmed he couldn’t even apply for the program.

We were devastated.  The Nuclear program carried a six-year service commitment with it.  We had been sacrificing and working so hard, to give him an opportunity to finish college that was financially feasible with a family.  Now it looked like he was locked in to complete his commitment and wouldn’t be able to make any progress on college for six years.

I’m embarrassed about it now, but I remember passing a young officer in uniform in the commissary, and thinking to myself, that I KNEW he wasn’t smarter than James!  It felt like the universe was conspiring against us being able to complete this goal of his graduation from college.
  
We discovered there was one possibility that might allow him to attend college before finishing his six-year commitment.  It would be to apply for a NROTC (Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps) scholarship.  If he were to receive it, he would have permission to put a hold on his six years of service while he attended college.
 
It would offer a small scholarship amount but would not cover all school expenses and would not give us any money to live on.  It turns out he could have applied for this without even joining the Navy.  Since it was the only open possibility for attending school at this point, he applied.

In the meantime, we headed off to Navy Prototype training in Idaho in January with a two-month-old baby and a two year old.  Shifting from Seventy-Five degree days in Orlando, to a week of below zero temperatures our first week in Idaho.
 
We had to get a block heater for the “Banana Car” so it would start in the cold temperatures.  Our housing allowance covered a single wide trailer in a reasonably nice trailer park.  I was thrilled that it had a small square of lawn to the side, and a shared playground in the middle of the trailer park.

James went to work on getting qualified.  He would stay out at the site (an hour out into the desert) for several days at a time, working on getting his qualifications.  He often slept in a bunk room out there, to save commute time.  He would come home when he ran out of food.

I would make big batches of food and put it in single serving size containers in the freezer.  He would come home, sleep for several hours, fill his sea bag up with frozen food, and catch the bus back out to work again.  He qualified first in his class.

We had gotten rid of the food storage wheat.  It really hadn’t seemed right.  I couldn’t rid myself of the fear that the weird things I saw in it when I soaked it were bug eggs.  Money was still very tight.  I read that beans and grain together make a complete protein.  Meat is expensive.  I made lots of bean dishes and homemade breads (relieved to be using better flours).  James carried sweet and sour beans in containers out to work with him.  I did in home daycare to stretch pennies as well.

He was notified that he received an NROTC scholarship and he was also admitted to the University of Washington for the coming fall.  We had no idea how we were possibly going to make this work.  We kept taking steps forward that were open to us.  I was praying my heart out that by some miracle he’d be able to successfully attend, and complete college and our family would be sustained as well.
 
We packed up our things into storage, went home to my parent’s house and James started completing the things he needed to begin school at the University of Washington in the fall.  The first big revelation was that the second year of his associate’s degree, that he had fought so hard for, was not going to do him any good.  It didn’t fulfill any of the requirements for a mechanical engineering degree at the UW.  It was going to take him three years to complete.

We didn’t have any idea where we would live, how we would afford to live, the stress at this point was almost overwhelming.  I just kept praying for a miracle and trying to turn away fear (not always successfully).
 
One day I received a call at my parent’s house from a friend that had been in a ward (church) with us when we had previously lived in Seattle.  They had had their first son shortly after we had Nathan, and a daughter shortly after we had Jon.  We had kept in touch, and they had come down to visit us in Orlando while we were there, to see Disney World, Epcot, and Seaworld.

Doug and Heather Kersh are two amazing people!  Heather told me that they had just bought a home in Kent.  She had felt impressed to call me.  They invited us to live in their basement, which consisted of a very large family room, a large bathroom and a bedroom.

We spent a year living in the Kersh’s basement.  They didn’t charge us rent.  We helped a bit with utilities.  I still can’t believe their kindness to us!  Once again, Heavenly Father had provided a way.

Jonathan Kersh and Nathan played “Hot Lava” and “aigators” together, jumping from couch to couch to stay safe.  Kara Kersh and Jon (he became “Jon” so as to avoid confusion with Jonathan Kersh) stole each other’s cheerios and played in the same spaces together.  They weren’t old enough to really care about playing with each other yet.

James commuted by city bus from Kent to the University of Washington and took a part time job at UPS while going to school full time.

Jon had his first birthday and Nathan his third while we lived in the Kersh’s basement.  Jon’s first birthday present was a scrubbed up, blown up, used tire tube I had gotten free from a tire store.  He loved climbing through and over it.

We had no money to speak of.  We had to buy books for James for his classes, bus fares, and of course groceries.  Bean loaf was a frequent favorite born during this time.  It was actually pretty good.  We laugh about that now.

I remember telling myself during this time, “the decision is simple.  You can’t afford it.  Period.”  I remember dressing the kids in new clothes at JC Penny (tuckin in the tags), getting their picture taken, then hanging the clothing back on the rack.  I’d had a great coupon deal for the JC Penny photo studio.  As I look back now, I wonder that I even thought it was OK to spend money on pictures, even with a coupon.  Or to use the clothes for a few minutes without purchasing them for that matter.
 
By the end of fall semester, we were in dire straits financially, even with the Kersh’s amazing kindness in offering us a place to live.  My parents once met us at the top of Snoqualmie pass and brought us a bunch of their garden bounty.  We ate a lot of sautéed zucchini and tomatoes over rice.  Honestly, it was delicious.

Christmas brought great kindness from others.  The young women from church brought us a Christmas tree and decorated it with homemade ornaments.  It made me cry.
 
An anonymous person sent an envelope with $50 in it for us.  That seemed like great bounty!  We were able to get a small bike with training wheels for Nathan and something small for Jon.  I don’t remember what.  At his age, he didn’t really care.

The new year brought the decision that we could not afford to continue the path we were on.  James told his advisor that he was going to have to drop out of the NROTC program.

His advisor asked him to apply for a hardship Enlisted Commissioning Program.  He did and was accepted.  This program offered him his enlisted pay, while going to school.  It covered his tuition.  We still had to pay for his books.  It also allowed him two more full years to complete his degree.  (which he needed in order to complete his mechanical engineering requirements).

What an amazing blessing!  We had no idea such a program even existed!  It put us in a better position than the NECP program would have for completing his degree because it gave us two more full years.

Once again, I was overwhelmed with feeling the love and care of my Heavenly Father.  I knew he had heard my prayers.  He knew about things we did not and had blessed us with a way that in the end, worked better than the one we had been praying for.

The path was hard.  It required us taking multiple steps out into the dark without know how things could possibly work out.  But he had been with us each step of the way.  He had made things possible!
 

I think I need to count my blessings today. 

Last week I wrote a post about some things I had noticed about Lehi and Nephi in the Book of Mormon.  I finished writing it, but just didn’t feel entirely good about it, so I didn’t post it.  I had mentioned specific references where I had noticed that they each mention great heartaches and hardships in their lives.
 
I think I was trying to point out that even prophets verbally acknowledge the hardships and trials they have.  It’s not unhealthy to do so.  We think we need to avoid labeling negative emotions because it may strengthen them.  But actually, when we don't recognize them, they grow stronger.
   
Chris Voss, former lead international hostage negotiator for the FBI, notes in his book Never Split the Difference:  Negotiating as if your life depended upon it.   “Labeling negatives diffuses them; labeling positives reinforces them.”  He also says, “…labeling an emotion--applying rational words to fear--disrupts it’s raw intensity”. 

Labeling emotions is actually a very powerful and effective tool that is used in extremely tense hostage negotiation situations to help diffuse them.  It is also something that is helpful for each of us in daily life.
      
So how does that apply to challenges or negative experiences in our lives?  Isn’t it the emotions those experiences cause in us, that give us the greatest difficulty?  It’s how we feel about the situation, not the situation itself that’s most problematic.

Back to Lehi and Nephi.  I pondered for several days over why something in the article I’d written hadn’t felt right to me.  I realized that although they do mention their trials and their difficulties, nowhere do I see them making long lists of them, or developing that theme into something huge.  They just recognize their existence.

Instead, they both list their blessing during trials at length.  They recognize their negative experiences, recognize the Lord’s hand in helping them through those experiences, and frequently list the Lord’s blessings in their lives.

If labeling negative emotions can diffuse them, and labeling positive emotions can strengthen them, then how powerful is labeling your blessings from the Lord?  I don’t know about you, but I am filled with gratitude when I recognize the Lord’s blessings in my life.  It is a very positive feeling.

One small example of this pops into my mind.  Another Germany story, but hopefully a quick one.
 
I struggled with severe vertigo for a time after we first got to Germany.  I had never driven on the infamous “autobahn” and was extremely nervous about it.  Although we lived in an outlying town, Stuttgart is a big city and has the 5th worst traffic in Europe.
 
I had finally had a few days without vertigo so I was able to make a doctor’s appointment and was praying all would go well with getting to it.  I had theorized that maybe protein consumption had something to do with the dizziness and had a few good days with watching protein intake.  I loaded up on protein before trying to drive.  I had to drive from South of Stuttgart, to North of the city to get to the appointment.

I got out on the autobahn, surrounded by traffic, terribly nervous for my first time driving there, and about midway there, passed an area where dappled sunlight was coming through the trees.  My whole world started spinning.
 
Unlike American freeways, there are not shoulders all the way along the autobahn there.  There are places to pull off at times, but more often no space to pull off.  I was surrounded by cars; the world was spinning, and I couldn’t tell where I was in relationship to anything. 

I started yelling out loud, “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO” like maybe my voice could reorient my vision and balance, make the world stand still, but it did not.

I started praying out loud, and somehow gradually made my way over to the side and pulled off.  Still dizzy, but aware that by law I had to put out a warning triangle to warn other drivers of a pulled off car, I got out and got the triangle from my trunk.  I kept my hand on the car to keep my balance.

I tried to walk past the car to plant the triangle but ended up having to crawl part of the 100 meters and back, because I was just too dizzy to be able to stay upright.

It wasn’t long before a German police car pulled off behind me.  Two young officers got out.  I was trying to indicate that I had called my husband and he was on his way to pick me up (no easy task to have completed when I was in fight or flight mode and didn’t understand well how to complete phone calls in Germany yet).
 
They were shaking their heads and saying I couldn’t stay there, and they were going to call an ambulance.  Or at least that’s what I was told afterwards.  I didn’t understand most of the German they were speaking, but it was obvious they were not OK with me waiting there.

A car pulled off the autobahn behind us.  A woman and her husband got out.  She said that they had passed me on the autobahn after I had pulled off.  I had never met them before, but she and her husband lived in Holzgerlingen just down the street from us.  She walked by our house to walk her kids to school.
 
She had been in a running club with the wife of the officer that James had replaced (the ones whose house we had moved into after they left).  She had noticed us move in, noticed the old gold Toyota Sienna parked in front of the house, and seen me taking walks around town.

When they passed my van pulled off the side of the road, she recognized it, and recognized me out trying to put out the warning triangle.  She told her husband I needed help and asked him to pull off at the next off ramp and come back.  They had to pass me going south, take another exit, and then get back on the autobahn going north again to get back to me.

She was German and had married an American military officer.  She spoke fluent German.  She spoke to the very animated young police officers and calmed them down.  She managed to convince them that I didn’t need an ambulance and told them that they would take care of me.  She said her husband could drive my car and she would follow, and we would get the car off the side of the autobahn more quickly.

Her husband drove me to Kelly Barracks where my medical appointment was, and she followed.  They had appropriate military ID so they were able to drive me on base.  They got me parked and I told them my husband would be there shortly since he’d been dispatched to pick me up (from Kelly Barracks oddly enough).  I sat at a picnic table and waited.

I was very rattled by this whole experience!  I felt like we’d been hit with one challenge after another since arriving in Germany and was feeling entirely overwhelmed.

Late that night, I was able to talk to my best friend back in the States.  I needed to unload just a bit.  While I was telling her the specifics of what had happened that day, it hit me so clearly!

As my husband had driven me home, I had realized that there were very few places with space to pull off along that stretch of autobahn.  Somehow, that whole experience had happened such that I ended up getting over without hitting anyone (absolute miracle) and then was in a place with space to pull off the road entirely.  Not just for me, but space also for a police car and a helpful neighbor.

Someone I had never met, had passed by just then, had recognized me, and was kind enough to interrupt her plans and come back to help me.  I never would have known if they just passed by.

It just so happened that she was German so spoke fluent German, and spoke excellent English as well.  So both the police officers and I could understand her easily.

I was flooded with the understanding that my Heavenly Father had absolutely watched out for me that day!  It took recounting it out loud, for me to see it. 

Feelings of being a victim to difficult circumstances were replaced with an overwhelming sense that I was loved and had been watched over.  I was so grateful!

Why do I need to count my blessings today?
 
Inability to help a mentally ill sibling in any way that would actually help them, has me feeling blue.  Sprinkled in the mix is a significant dose of panic about the disorienting craziness of interacting with this individual whose reality is vastly different than mine, and a possible upcoming need.  Also, a whole lot of guilt about all of it, with seemingly no good answers.

A few of my blessings:

1. The gospel of Jesus Christ.
2. A husband who loves me and I him.
   
3. Five children whom I love.
4. My children are all living.
5. A grand baby who brings me joy.
6. Wonderful parents.
7. My siblings.
8. A warm home.
9. A comfortable bed.
10. Warm showers.
11. Memories of beautiful places on this earth and beautiful scenes.
12. Having the experience of living many different places.
13.  Being able to call Unites States of America home.
14. A couple of wonderful friends who listen and care.
15. Music; all kinds.
16. The Lord has been with me in my challenges.
17. Faith in God.
18. A dependable AWD vehicle.
19. A husband who keeps it running well.
20. Drives through beautiful country.
21. Hugs from people I love.
22. Having space around me where I live.
23. Travel.
24. Winter sunshine.
25. A gas fireplace on a cold winter day.
26. My sister being willing to talk on the phone with me for long enough this morning for my stomach to unknot.

There!  I really do feel more peaceful.

     27.   Peace replacing turmoil.

In September 2015, we moved from Blackfoot, Idaho, established in 1885 (130 years old), to Holzgerlingen, Germany, established in 1007 AD (1008 years old). 

At least 1007 is the first time the Holzgerlingen was mentioned in writing.  The town’s castle was first mentioned in writing in 1003 and there is evidence that it started as a settlement established by Celts somewhere between 550-50 BC and was conquered by the Romans in 100AD.  Both Blackfoot and Holzgerlingen have a population of around 12,000.

We left two grown children in the States, and took with us a son (9), a daughter (15), and a 26-year-old son who had been sick for a number of years and was not self-sustaining.

We had been able to secure a home before we got there by taking over a lease from the Navy Commander that James was replacing.  This also allowed us to have phone service and internet already on when we arrived which was a huge plus (as we discovered later).   

We were also able to buy his family’s used furniture as they were headed back to the States, so our house had the basics.  James also purchased their 20-year-old BMW so we had one vehicle too.  All of this was a huge blessing!  It was also very costly, when added up.
 
We discovered our home was around the corner from a terrific, modern park with sports fields, bike/skateboard park, zip lines, slides, swings, climbing walls, and even a stream to play in.

From the park there was a path up to the oldest part of the village.  It passed multiple garden plots with small gardening houses, flower gardens, vegetable gardens, huge wood piles, apple trees, and even a row of huge, ornately painted, wooden owl statues that had been commissioned for the celebration of the villages 1000 year anniversary.  We discovered several other delightful little parks throughout the town.

The oldest part of the village was dominated by a 500 year old church with a tower that dates back to the 11th century, and the moated castle (Castle Kalteneck) mentioned above.  The kids enjoyed watching ducks in the moat.  I loved hearing the church bells ringing on Sunday mornings.    On Fridays there was a weekly outdoor market in the town square.  There was a Gelato shop across from the church and a Bakery just above it.  There were also many small shops in town.

Any direction you went from the village, there were paved bike trails that would lead through beautiful countryside to the next village.  There were also unpaved paths through the woods that you could use to get from village to village.  I always thought it was fun to see signs for the next town along these paths in the woods.

It filled my happy bucket to explore the town, the paths, the forest trails and the surrounding villages.  It was also a great jumping off point for exploring further afield.  Our two boys who remained in the States both came to visit for about a month in December and we were able to visit Switzerland and Austria as well as revisit our favorite places closer to home with us.
 
One thing that is impossible to fully prepare for is just how difficult it is to jump into an entirely different culture where you don’t understand the language.  My personal ambient level of stress went up by much more than I would have expected.  In talking to others who came from the US, it is one thing we all agreed on.  I absolutely loved it and was significantly stressed by it at the same time.

We also had some personal challenges during our first few months there.  I started having problems with severe vertigo at times.  We were not able to get an exception for illness for my 27-year-old son and were facing him having to leave the country three months from our arrival.
 
We put our two kids in German school into what was supposed to be a very good program for learning the language, and ended up having our kids yelled at, sworn at, insulted, told they were stupid, lazy, hit and beat up at recess, and you name it.  Skateboards jumping over desks in the classroom, girls shoved up against the chalk board with their heads repeatedly banged on the board.  Either crazy out of control yelling classes with kind teachers, or classes that were well controlled by a teacher that seriously bullied the children.
 
I do not for a moment believe this is normal for German schools in general, but it is what we experienced in a program for immigrant children that was run by Herr Voice in Holzgerlingen.  He was the abusive bully.  It’s bad enough to be getting it from the kids at recess without any adult intervention, but what are the kids supposed to think when the worst abuse comes from the adult in charge.

On top of the stress of trying to adjust to a new home, culture and language, they started talking about having to move my husband’s command to a different location.  The details were ever uncertain and constantly changing.
 
I prayed and prayed that we’d get to stay.  There were some people that they wouldn’t be taking with them.  I just knew it was more than I could handle to try to secure a new home and move.  Moving seems to bundle all of the areas I struggle together, and there are some parts of it that seem darn near impossible for me even when movers are doing the bulk of it, which would not be in this case.  It would have been helpful if the move was an organized effort with secure details, however it was anything but.  Dates, housing, everything was uncertain.

In time it became apparent that the move would be necessary, although how specifically it was going to work, was anyone’s guess.  Sorting, organizing, cleaning, are all things I have a difficult time with.  I don’t know what auto immune stuff I have, but it involves significant pain when I overdo it.  In regular life, I get by at a doable level with being super careful with my diet, and managing physical output, but pain can ratchet up to a level that scares me pretty quickly with extra stress and increased physical demand.

James found out he was going to have to have hernia surgery, so we ended up moving ahead of most of his command to facilitate having surgery at Landstuhl Army Hospital which was close to the area we were moving.

We went house hunting in the areas surrounding Baumholder, Landstuhl, Ramstein, and Kaiserslatern.  Renting homes to American service members is big business there.  Although real estate agents are not allowed to ask how long you will be stationed in an area, just hedging on the answer to that, instead of having the desired “three years” answer, was enough to turn most off from renting to us.  We were only going to be there around six months.

We turned in several applications for houses.  We only got a positive response from one.  The funny thing was the real estate agent on this one had shaken his head and told us the landlord wouldn’t want to rent to us because we weren’t going to be there for a full tour of duty.  We almost didn’t even turn in the application on that house because we thought it would be useless.  But I Loved the house.
 
It was brand newly built.  The yard wasn’t in yet.  It was on the top of a hill overlooking the small village of Steinbach am Glan with beautiful countryside all around and several paths into the surrounding hills and forests starting right in the area where the house was built.

The home was three stories.  Living room, kitchen, laundry room, bathroom, on the first floor, with three big bedrooms and a large bathroom on each of the remaining floors.  And WINDOWS….we loved our home in Holzgerlingen but it was really dark.  This home had full length windows all over the bottom floor (many of which were doors and could be opened for airflow) and great windows in the halls, bedrooms and bathrooms of the remaining two floors as well.  Lots of great views from the upper story windows.

I didn’t think we had a prayer of getting this house, but I think the realtor confused who we were.  Anyway, they offered us the house and we were thrilled!

There was a wonderful missionary couple in our ward (church) in Stuttgart.  They were Elder and Sister Boss from Star Valley, Wyoming.  Our very first Sunday in Stuttgart, when my head was still reeling and I had no idea who I would call if we needed help, Elder boss handed me a business card with their phone number on it and said they were willing to help with anything.  They were kind enough to take me to a doctor’s appointment when I couldn’t drive because of vertigo.  They stopped regularly to help a mom in our town with several young kids, a new baby, and a deployed husband.  As far as I could see, they were always helping where needed.

We rented a truck.  Ward members helped us pack and load.  Bless Elder and Sister Boss and wonderful ward members!  The Boss’s spent two days helping us pack, load, clean.  Several people offered to come help clean and did at various times, and Sister Boss brought the younger sister missionaries and took charge and directed and got the house spick and span once all the furniture was out.
 
My mind turns sluggish under stress and she just made sure things were whipped into shape.  It was exactly what I needed, and I was so appreciative!  There’s a special kind of appreciation for those who help with things you know you never could have accomplished on your own.

We scored a room on base for the night and planned to drive the truck up to our new home the next day.  We stumbled our exhausted bodies into the Panzer Kaserne food court that evening for food.  It turned out to be a tough night.  James got food poisoning from what he had eaten at the food court, and I was hurting so badly (over did it physically) medication couldn’t touch it.  Needless to say, I wasn’t sleeping either.

James left with the truck early.  When he arrived, still not feeling at all well, he fell asleep in the truck in the driveway.  Before he knew it, a group of Kaiserslautern ward young men and Elders descended, and the truck was unloaded in no time.  We didn’t know if he would have any help, and he was feeling too sick to be able to do much.  Once again, we were so incredibly grateful!!

Germany is dark in the winter.  Stuttgart gets more rain than Seattle.  Some people refer to winter as “the cloud”.  Like “the cloud” rolls in and it’s overcast and rainy all winter.  We did get a little snow too.
The challenges the kids faced in school, brought on anxiety and depression.  I learned to dread overcast days because they would-be tear-filled days.  It became very clear to me that light seriously affects my daughter.  Me too, although I wasn’t struggling emotionally like she was.
 
Even on overcast days, in our new house, with all the tall windows, it felt like there was still plenty of light.  It was really a “Happy” house for us.

Steinbach am Glan had a population of 902.  It was nestled in a valley that had two different villages progressively lower down from it.  Just gorgeous!  There were large hills on either side of the valley, and they were teeming with trails and paths. 

On the hill on one side of town, there were Celtic Burial Mounds that dated to 400BC.  The hill on our side had fields and woods and those trails just beckoned us out.

Jon had been struggling with severe chronic fatigue for eight years.  He never got refreshing sleep.  He actually didn’t get any slow wave sleep at all, but no one could tell us why or how to fix it.  Those hills even called him out.  Sensory overload to light and all.  That is a great “blessing” story for another day, but before long, he had the kids out biking through those hills.

The countryside around us literally brought tears to my eyes it was so beautiful.  We would trek off on trips to beautiful places, but there were very few places that were as beautiful as where we lived.  We loved exploring the countryside.  But we especially loved the hills and forests around us.  I loved looking out my window in the early morning and watching the mists in the valleys below fade to the morning sunshine.  I don’t know how describe how nourishing for my soul the beauty in this area was.

My Heavenly Father knows me!  He knows me better than I know myself.  He was trying to bless me with something wonderful with that move.  Life changing.  Amazing.  Something that brought so much joy!  Memories of beauty I will always cherish.  Here I was begging him not to make me do something I knew I couldn’t do.  Something I was sure would make me miserable.  And it was, kind of.  But through the service of wonderful, Christlike people, it WAS doable.  And the blessings were so great for me.  For the kids as well.

This experience made me think about how this is true in my life in general.  I need to trust His plan for me.  It might not often be as obvious in the short term as this move in Germany was for me, but he wants to bring me joy.  He knows so much better than me what will lead to that. 

There is a song by Laura Story called Blessings that has these words in it:

What if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are your mercies in disguise

Every time I hear it, I feel confirmation that it is true.  That the trials I’ve been given are my greatest blessings.  I may not have the full picture yet, but I believe it! 

I am grateful for the blessing of the move in Germany for giving me an example for this principle.  For helping to cement that message in my heart.  And I'm incredibly grateful for the experiences we had there.  I'm thankful not just for a "Happy House" but the incredible beauty on our doorstep that invited us out to play.

Sarah is fascinated with manga, anime and other Asian type comics.  She has saved 1000’s of these cute family comic images on her Pinterest board.  One of her most prized possessions is a DVD set of Studio Ghibli movies (Japanese animation film studio based in Koganei, Tokyo, Japan. The studio is best known for its anime feature films).  She also loves cheesy Asian romances and is interested in Korean pop music.  She is captivated by many different countries, and has a driving interest in Japanese, Chinese, and Korean cultures. 

In August she and I spent a week at the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, AZ.  She saw a neurologist, Dr. Brent Goodman, who specializes in POTS and had many tests done to try to get to the bottom of what’s causing her POTS.

She was very weak physically and had been doing IV therapy three times a week to increase blood volume.  The days she spent several hours laid back in a zero G chair, running two bags of saline into her blood stream, totally wiped her out.  Just being in a chair for that long was a big challenge.  She spent most of the rest of the day sleeping.

The day after getting IV fluids were usually good days for her.  Her blood pressure and heart rate would be in normal ranges instead of the usual high heart rate and very low blood pressure.  Apparently things work much better when getting enough blood to your heart.

A good day meant being able to be out in the living room in a chair for a couple hours at a time.  Energy to write stories on her tablet and sometimes energy to draw while sitting.  Better stability for walking down the hall to her room or standing up in the kitchen for a few minutes to grab food.

We had been avoiding air travel for any trips she had to take in 2019 because airline regulations require you to be able to sit up, and I could not guarantee she would be able to sit up for the time it would take for the flight.
 
Traveling by car she had the option to lay her seat all the way back or lay down in the back seat when necessary.  We could also take things as slow as we needed to and break it up if we needed to.

We had a family reunion in Washington right before her appointments at the MAYO.  Trying to work out the logistics for getting to Arizona from there, we decided we were going to have to fly.  We signed up for wheelchairs to get her through the airports.

I was really concerned about how the flights were going to go.  The direct flight from Seattle to Phoenix was about 2 hours 45 minutes.  Sitting up for that long, on top of the energy it would take getting to and from the flights, even in a wheelchair, was a big concern.

Things worked well with getting through the airport to the gate in a wheelchair.  That left her tired.  On the plane, we were on the outside two seats of a three-seat section.  Sarah was in the middle.  On the inside seat, sat a friendly, bubbly college student from China who was studying in Arizona.  She and Sarah immediately hit it off.  They had many similar interests. 

She had just come back from a vacation to Japan and had lots of pictures from the trip that she showed.  She had saved her pennies and bought kimonos at a couple of locations and had pictures of herself in the traditional dress at several sites.

Sarah’s eye’s lit up as she interacted with this new friend.  She would literally clap her hands as they chatted animatedly.  At one point, Sarah asked her if she could draw her a picture.  (She loves drawing pictures for people).

The girl asked if Sarah could draw a picture of her with her cat.  She had a cat at college that she loved and told lots of funny stories about.  She showed Sarah pictures of her cat.

She was pleased with the picture Sarah had drawn, and told Sarah she had been working on a kind of drawing as well.  Then she drew her a picture.

I could not have dreamed up a more perfect or distracting seat mate for Sarah for that 2 hours and 45 minutes of sitting.  I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for that tender mercy!  What could have been a great ordeal, had proved to be an amazing gift instead.  It also reminded me of just how well Heavenly Father knows Sarah and loves her!

Last year was a tough year for trying to study scriptures with my thirteen-year-old. I felt like there was no desire to learn, no focus, and no interest on his part. It felt to me like one big eyeball roll, or whine session, when it came to anything I suggested along this line.

Because he’s dyslexic, reading it out loud or to himself took so much effort in decoding the language that he didn’t get any of the meaning out of it.

We had the New Come Follow Me curriculum and I wanted to be diligent in doing my part with my family to be studying it in a meaningful manner. I wanted the lessons of Jesus Christ from the New Testament to be sinking deep into their hearts.

Previously, listening to scriptures out loud and having my son do something with his hands at the same time had been effective. I would ask questions after we were done listening to a chapter, and he would have a pretty good understanding of what he had heard.

Last year when I asked questions after, he would have no idea what it had been about. He hadn’t gotten anything out of it. I did all kinds of searches for helps. What helps were available for dyslexic kids? What helps were available for ADHD kids?

He was too old to be interested in kids coloring pages and projects. I downloaded different Come Follow Me supplements off Etsy. None really helped him at the time. A Facebook post suggested study materials from the Red Headed Hostess.

I purchased, printed, went through, prepared, and tried many different teaching materials with him, trying to find something that would resonate. Nada. I found that I loved the Red Headed Hostess study pages myself, they increased my understandings of the writings of Paul greatly. But even though they are great resources, with many ideas for teaching children of all ages, they didn’t help my son.

I put a lot of prayer into what I should be doing to help. We were three fourths of the way though the year before I felt like I was doing great with my own study, and I still felt like I was failing with him. Were there resources out there I just hadn’t found yet that could help?

In November, I was driving home from Salt Lake by myself. Quiet time. I felt the impression that there weren’t currently materials out there to help him. I felt that if I could figure out things that would help him, it might also help others who were struggling. I felt like the Lord was telling me he wanted me to go to work on the problem.

One thing that was on my mind was the power of stories. Stories have gathered my children in our living room with their listening ears on and their eyes full of interest. Even my teenage children at times.

Reading stories out loud has been something that has been a huge gift for our family over the years. On a regular basis, and also during tough times. I remember years when “the Brothers” (our older three boys), were small, and their dad was out to sea on a submarine. Reading out loud together gathered and calmed my busy boys.

They all brought some quiet activity to the living room. Coloring in Civil War coloring books, building with legos, building with wood blocks, domino rallies, or making patterns out of color tiles. Color tiles were a big favorite.

One lonely summer in Connecticut, when I felt exhausted keeping up with three little boys on my own, and was totally shot by the time evening rolled around, my salvation was stories. I would read and read in the evenings until three little boys fell to sleep. They were happy evenings for all of us.

I believe in good bedtime routines and wouldn’t normally think reading the kids to sleep was a great idea. However, that summer, it was a real blessing.

One of my favorite memories is from right after we had moved from Wisconsin to Idaho. I was pregnant with our youngest and wanted to do everything I could to keep him from coming as early as his sister had. I was sick, had no energy and my blood pressure was running too high. I had a five-year-old, a thirteen-year-old and a sixteen-year-old at home still. We had recently dropped our oldest off at college.

My husband was still in Wisconsin for another month. We had moved the family ahead of him to establish prenatal care before things got too dicey. I was worried we might have another very premature baby and I might get stuck in Wisconsin with a little one in the NICU and my family in Idaho. I can’t imagine doing that on my own without the support of my husband or having to be separated from my kids.

We didn’t have much furniture in our new living room yet. We had a few uncomfortable wooden chairs set out to sit in. We also had one older recliner, so I could lean back to help lower my blood pressure. I started reading a Tale of Two Cities out loud.

The nicest thing happened. My teenage boys got drawn in by the story. I’m not sure how much our five-year-old understood, but she was happy to be with us and listening. Things felt all topsy turvy in life: in a new home, family not all together, mom not feeling good enough to do anything, no new friends yet, different ages and interests. Yet in our largely unfurnished living room, with Tale of Two Cities, we created happy memories as a family. It brought peace during a chaotic time.

Stories have power. Reading together is something that has consistently been positive for our family. It is something I feel like we have done well. When I think about what I remember from gospel discussions or study while I was growing up, it is always the stories. The stories have stuck with me and with them their messages.

I started thinking about what is most important for my young teen to be assimilating right now. What messages are most important to be sinking in? I thought, if I’m breaking it down, I think it is faith in Jesus Christ, the love of Jesus Christ for him personally, and all others, and repentance.

I thought, what if we did “read out loud time” in the evening with stories that covered these topics. If we kept it short, simple, interesting and not preachy (my son hates being lectured), that might just be what would help most right now. If scripture study wasn’t sinking in, maybe stories could. Not that I should abandon the scripture study, but maybe this was a natural, simple, teaching method that could help.

I went looking for stories of faith in Jesus Christ. I looked at stories of the miracles involved with missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints leaving Germany and Czechoslovakia at the start of hostilities during the second world war. I started reading excerpts from them at bedtime.

The holidays were upon us and we transitioned to Christmas focused reading each night. It’s time for me to focus again on stories of faith and repentance. I would like to start gathering and writing them regularly and building a collection.

Thinking about what to read until I've got some stories put together, reminded me of some books we enjoyed with the older kids but I'm not sure my youngest has heard.

The first book I thought of was Here Stands a Man by Blaine and Brenton Yorgason.

The second book I thought of was In the Eye of the Storm by John Groberg

I'm going to go dig through our library and pull those out. I think we'll start with those books while I'm working on gathering more.