Good Enough vs. Best

A little while ago I got a call from a sweet sister in my ward asking if I'd prepare a ten-minute message for a Thursday night Relief Society meeting based on Elder Oaks' conference talk Good, Better, Best. I told her she must have been desperate to ask me, but I said I would do it if she needed me.

What follows was definitely out-of-bounds for the 10-ish minutes I'd been asked to take up. But I really felt like I had learned something important and I only had time to share a small slice of it. And also, many of my friends and fellow RS sisters weren't able to attend that night.

I'm not sharing this because my words are important. At all. Most of the following are NOT my words. What I learned helped put some things in my life into perspective, and I hope others beyond myself will benefit from the thoughts I gleaned. 

For your consideration...

That time when Amy was asked to prepare a ten-minute message for a Relief Society weeknight activity:

I have an insatiable hunger for books. I always have. When I was a little kid living near St. Louis, Missouri, the local library was within walking distance from my house, and it was my favorite place to be. In junior high, my parents generously bought me books through the Scholastic book orders I brought home from school, and a beloved collection filled my bookshelves. I’m certain at various points in my life, being able to disappear into books saved my sanity. And now in this blessed digital age, I can carry countless books in my pocket and listen to endless audio books through my phone. In my car, while I mow the lawn, at work--anywhere I go, I have my stories with me.

We all have a passion for something, right? That thing we are drawn to and maybe get a little obsessive about? Something that defines us. Reading was always my something.

But I have to confess that in recent weeks, and perhaps months, I’ve felt a little niggling in the back of my head. It sounded something like, “Amy, you might be enjoying your books a little too much. Is there balance in your life right now?” Followed by echoes of, when was the last time you thought about going to the temple? have you looked at your primary lesson yet this week? did you really study your scriptures today or did you just get through them without taking away something important? These kinds of niggling thoughts.

I have been witnessing Alayna writing in her journal frequently lately. I’ve thought, huh, I used to do that a lot, and I enjoyed it. I know it’s still something I should still be doing, so why haven’t I written anything down in months? Years?

Well golly, I answer myself, I’m just short of time! That’s my go-to, knee-jerk reaction: time. I work days and have kid duty every night while the hubs is working swing shift. When do I have time to write in a journal?

But how much time do I have to listen to my books? My convenient, fit-in-my-pocket, entertaining books.

Then again, how much time do I need to write in a journal?? How time-consuming would it be to open up the Gospel Library app and spend a few minutes recounting some thoughts, reflections, or recent events? On a phone or tablet I can even use voice-to-text to record my memories. Seriously, it couldn’t be any simpler.

My ward recently had a fifth Sunday lesson about indexing. Indexing is another thing I used to enjoy doing, but years ago the software started acting persnickety on my laptop, and the program wouldn’t work for me anymore. But now we’ve been taught about the new indexing website, and it’s so easy! The batches are small, and once you get the hang of it, indexing a few images really doesn’t consume too much time.

I told you about the little niggling thoughts in my head. I started paying closer attention to how I spent my time. Like looking at myself in the mirror to evaluate my appearance, I started examining how I prioritized and spent my twenty-four daily hours.

Through this, my prayers began to change.

Heavenly Father, what do you want me to be doing with my time? Am I living my life the way you intend for me? Am I walking on the path you designed for me?

And often, the answer was no, not so much.

Listening to my books wasn’t the only thing that was absorbing so much of my time like a sponge sucking up water, but it was a big one. In case you were merely skimming through my intro, I LOVE books and good stories. In a few years I plan on returning to school so I can study writing. Reading is an important way writers can improve their skills, and I think subconsciously I justified the sheer quantity of time I spent listening to books as preparation for my future writing endeavors.

But I realized that in many ways, my life was out of balance between the good things I could be doing with my time and the best things.

Ten years ago, Elder Oaks delivered his conference address Good, Better, Best. I’m fairly certain most of us are familiar with the teachings from this talk. Our lives are filled to bursting with boundless opportunities. 

Elder Oaks taught, “Most of us have more things expected of us than we can possibly do.” 

Isn’t that the truth? I think I can speak for most of us when I say life can be overwhelming with all the choices we encounter every day. Agency is a gift from our Heavenly Father, one that we must use wisely. Having so many choices and opportunities can be a blessing as well as a curse for us.

I read and listened to Elder Oaks’ address several times as I prepared to talk to you tonight. The principle of Good, Better, Best is relatively straight-forward and simple. Elder Oaks shared with us an excellent rule of thumb to help us decide which endeavors are the best when he said the best things help us “develop faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and strengthen our families.”

We are blessed with limited time as we journey to return to our Father in Heaven. How then, with the tremendous abundance of good things that surround us, do we decide which are the best and truly worth our time?

I think, for the most part, we know which decisions are best for us and our families. We all know the standard Primary and Sunday School answers.

The question that kept sticking in my mind was this: if I know what is right and what is best, why am I not doing it? What is holding me back?

For me, this was the crux of all that niggling.

I came up with a little acronym to organize what I felt were the things that got in the way of me choosing the best:

H.E.E.D. To heed is to listen to or pay attention to something. My HEED is different. It stands for Habits, Excuses, Easiness, and Distractions.

H is for HABITS:

Elder Carlos E. Asay shared the following story at a BYU devotional in 1982. He said:

When I taught at this institution [BYU], I worked with students who fitted, floated, or failed. Those who fitted came with purpose, high resolve, and good work habits. Those who floated appeared on the scene for a semester or two and faded away to something less challenging when their grades finally caught up with them. Those who failed lacked the commitment and discipline required of a person in an institution of higher learning.

It seemed to me that most of the failures were shackled by poor habits. Some were not in the habit of attending class regularly; some were not in the habit of reading required texts; some were habitually late in submitting assignments; some were not in the habit of budgeting time and energies; and some were not even conditioned to work. In all too many cases, so it seemed to me, one weakness seemed to breed upon another, and what appeared at first to be a flaxen habit proved to be a strong inhibiting cord.

A Spanish proverb reads: “Habits are at first cobwebs, then cables.” I suspect that most students come here [to BYU]  with pure intent. They register, select their courses of study, and attend their classes with high hopes of attaining declared goals. But, when one becomes careless, when one permits resolve to sag, slouchy habits appear, and academic anemia sets in. This malady comes web by web until learning and growing are choked off by the cables of intellectual inactivity.

Do we let poor or careless habits get in the way of choosing the best for ourselves and our families? Sometimes we become so comfortable with our favorite habits, we may not see that we’re settling for good enough instead of attaining the best.

What are some habits that keep us mired in the land of good enough?

Elder Oaks said, “Of course is it good to view wholesome entertainment or obtain interesting information. But not everything of that sort is worth the portion of our life we give to obtain it.”

If we reflect on our habits and casual routines, we may find that there are activities we indulge in simply because we have done so for so long. They’ve become second nature, a definition of what it means to be us. Perhaps we should get down on our knees and ask Heavenly Father if there are any indulgent habits that prevent us from getting closer to Him and building faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

To flush out the good enough habits, we need to overpower them with the best habits. What habits are keeping us from increasing our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and from strengthening our families? What best habits can we develop to offset the good enough?

E is for EXCUSES

We all have two versions of us battling a war inside our souls: the natural-man us and the CTR us. The natural-man version likes to make excuses on why it’s not more like the CTR version of us. Our natural man loves to rationalize and justify everything.

The Parable of the Great Supper is a superb example of our tendency to make excuses why we’re not choosing the best. This was not one of Jesus’s teachings I was most familiar with.

In Luke chapter 14, we can read the following verses:

16 Then said he unto him, A certain man made a great supper, and bade many:
    17 And sent his servant at supper time to say to them that were bidden, Come; for all things are now ready.
    18 And they all with one consent began to make excuse. The first said unto him, I have bought a piece of ground, and I must needs go and see it: I pray thee have me excused.
    19 And another said, I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to prove them: I pray thee have me excused.
    20 And another said, I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.
    21 So that servant came, and shewed his lord these things. Then the master of the house being angry said to his servant, Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind.
    22 And the servant said, Lord, it is done as thou hast commanded, and yet there is room.
    23 And the lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled.
    24 For I say unto you, That none of those men which were bidden shall taste of my supper.

I borrowed the following from a blog called Sierra’s View, from the author’s own church talk based on Elder Oaks’ Good, Better, Best:

“Feasting on spiritual things requires accepting and attending the invitation to the feast. It is not enough to [give] the master promises, but to actually attend.

“[We] permit worldly cares to overshadow our attention to needed spiritual nourishment. Like the guests who declined the invitation to a great supper, we lose the blessings of the feast when worldly cares smother our own best commitments.

“The Savior wants us to succeed, and He will guide us in making wise decisions.”

What excuses do we allow to justify our good enough choices that keep us from developing our faith and strengthening our families?

The second E is for EASINESS:

In the April 2016 General Conference, President Monson gave his address called Choices. From that talk, he said, “May we ever choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong.” Or if I may be bold, “May we ever choose the best instead of the good enough.”

President Monson continued, “It has been said that the door of history turns on small hinges, and so do people’s lives. The choices we make determine our destiny.”

President Uchtdorf shared similar sentiments from his April 2008 conference message A Matter of a Few Degrees. He explains how an airplane, starting its journey a few small degrees off course, will never arrive at the intended destination.

President Monson, from Choices: “Most of you are familiar with Alice in Lewis Carroll’s classic novel Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. You will remember that she comes to a crossroads with two paths before her, each stretching onward but in opposite directions. As she contemplates which way to turn, she is confronted by the Cheshire Cat, of whom Alice asks, ‘Which path shall I follow?’

“The cat answers, ‘That depends where you want to go. If you do not know where you want to go, it doesn’t matter which path you take.’

“Unlike Alice, we know where we want to go, and it does matter which way we go, for the path we follow in this life leads to our destination in the next life.

“As we contemplate the decisions we make in our lives each day--whether to make this choice or that choice--if we choose Christ, we will have make the correct choice.”

Maybe the hardest decision is resolving to use our time and energy in selecting and staying on the path, especially when it’s uphill and bumpy. When it is not easy.

Building faith in the Lord and strengthening our families requires us to choose the paths that aren’t always the easiest, but in the pursuit of following our Savior, they will always be the best.

D is for DISTRACTIONS.

Elder Quentin L. Cook shared the following in a 1996 conference address titled Rejoice!

“We are often unaware of the distractions which push us in a material direction and keep us from a Christ-centered focus. In essence we let celestial goals get sidetracked by telestial distractions. In our family we call these telestial distractions ‘Saturday Morning Cartoons.’ Let me explain.

“When our son, Larry, was five years old, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said he wanted to be a doctor like his Uncle Joe. Larry had experienced a serious operation and had acquired great respect for doctors, especially his Uncle Joe. I proceeded to tell Larry how all the worthwhile things he was doing would help prepare him to be a doctor.

“Several months later, I asked him again what he would like to be. This time he said he wanted to be an airline pilot. Changing the goal was fine, so I proceeded to explain how his various activities would help him achieve this goal. Almost as an afterthought I said, ‘Larry, last time we talked you wanted to be a doctor. What has changed your mind?’ He answered, ‘I still like the idea of being a doctor, but I have noticed that Uncle Joe works on Saturday mornings, and I wouldn’t want to miss Saturday Morning Cartoons.’

“Since that time our family has labeled a distraction from a worthwhile goal as a Saturday Morning Cartoon.

“What are some of the Saturday Morning Cartoons that distract us from attaining the joy that we desire? Some want to be married in the temple but only date those who do not qualify for a recommend. Others want to be a good home teacher or visiting teacher but are distracted by the constant parade of TV programs, catalogs, and other material maintenance and don’t find time to minister to those they are assigned to teach. Still others want to have family prayer but allow little matters to build into discord that make it harder for the family to kneel together. If we examine the reasons we don’t do what we ought to do, we find that the list of Saturday Morning Cartoons is almost endless.

“The greatest gift to all mankind is the Atonement of Jesus Christ. If we are to rejoice in this gift, we need to avoid the Saturday Morning Cartoons of life which distract our focus from the Savior and the celestial goal for which we strive.”

What good enough distractions (or Saturday Morning Cartoons) keep us from developing faith in Jesus Christ and strengthening our families?

CONCLUSION:

Elder Oaks taught us that the best things help us “develop faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and strengthen our families.”

So, let us often ask ourselves, who or what do we HEED? Which Habits, Excuses, Easiness, and Distractions do we allow to keep us from choosing the best?

If we heed the Spirit in seeking, knowing, and making the best choices, we will be able to avoid the HEED to settle for the good enough choices in our lives.

I love my Savior. He performed the Atonement and died so my sins, pains, and imperfections could be washed away, so I could be made whole. I want to show my gratitude by making the best choices, so my faith in Him will ever increase and that my family will be forever strengthened through His sacrifice and eternal plan of happiness.

With My Hand in Thine

My nine-year-old daughter recently had a cavity filled. This wasn't her first time getting her teeth fixed at the dentist's office. On this day she put up no fuss, no resistance. She came willingly to the appointment, settling herself in the chair with confidence. She had just one request for me--to hold her hand throughout the procedure.

Which I did, happily. I scooted my chair closer to her and took her little hand. She was a champ from beginning to end.

As I held her hand while she reclined in the dental chair, I remembered that during this dear girl's toddlerhood she would outright refuse to hold my hand when we crossed the street or traversed a parking lot. She was itty bitty and virtually invisible amongst the cars, but this didn't matter to her. She was independent and headstrong and driven (still is, heaven help me). I would try to prevent her from becoming squashed like a pancake before I could safely let her go. As I recall, I often employed a death grip around her little fist while she tugged and cried to be released.

As she rested in the dentist's chair with her clammy hand in mine (has she always had sweaty palms? I'll have to pay more attention...), I was reminded of a recent "ah-hah" moment.

My family went to Utah to see my niece give her mission farewell talk a few months ago. She's going to make a fabulous missionary, and she gave a meaningful address. When she quoted lines from the chorus of the hymn I'll Go Where You Want Me to Go, a lightbulb flashed in my head.

"I'll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine: I'll go where you want me to go."

The imagery of placing my hand in the grasp of the Lord's was vivid. I knew in my heart that once I give the Lord my hand and accede to follow His will, He never would let me go.

He will never let us go. He will always be beside us.

Sometimes the paths we're asked to tread are rugged and frightening, but He will never let us go.

At times the field in which we're laboring to harvest seems sparse and fruitless, but He will labor ceaselessly along side us.

Often the seas we sail are stormy and the mountains reach high, but He will be our unfailing guide through it all.

The Lord is constant. His love is pure.

Why then, at my lowest times, might it feel like I'm going it alone?

I realized if the connection between the sinner and the Savior ever becomes severed, it is because I let Him go.

I relinquish the companionship of my Guide when I release His hand and seek my own paths. If the trail seems too hard, I cannot seek another without facing unknown perils, which may not be apparent at once. As surely as I sojourn without my Guide leading me by the hand, I will slip, I will fall, and I will be lost.

Just as I would never let go of my little daughter's hand to cross a street or dangerous parking lot, He will never let me go.

I smiled as my girl bravely gripped my hand while the dentist drilled and mended her teeth. Because she knew if I was there with her, she would be okay.

With every new day, let us resolve to place our hands in His unwavering grip. If we go where He asks us to, our hand in His, He will never let us go.

Rain, Umbrellas, and Faith

Fact: life is challenging. And some days, "challenging" is an understatement! You fight just to keep your proverbial head above the water every minute of the day. Yeah, I know that feeling. I bet you do, too.

So life is challenging. I can easily lose sight of what it's all about. Have you asked yourself that question recently? "What is it all about?!"

It's all about the faith we have in our Savior, Jesus Christ, and our Heavenly Father. Faith that Heavenly Father has a plan for us. And not just the all-encompassing plan he has for all His spirit children (pre-mortal life, earthly probation, etc.). I'm talking about the plan He has for you. Yes, you! Reading this right now. You are His child and He has a beautiful plan custom-made just for you. Do you believe that? Do you believe you can strive to understand that plan a little bit better every day?

I confess, the plan can be mysterious. You can be going on your merry way, pretty confident that you're headed in the right direction, doing the things you're meant to be doing. Then something comes out of nowhere and knocks you off your tracks. These obstacles and trials are sometimes a thing we do to ourselves through our misguided, short-sighted choices. And other times it's just life throwing you a curve ball. Or it's a stumbling block in our path that's been designed to refine us. Sometimes it's hard to tell which is which.

This is where faith comes into play. Prayer takes a tremendous amount of faith! You make yourself totally vulnerable when you supplicate your God for divine help in your life. It's not always easy to do that; we like to hold onto our pride for some reason (think umbrella--it'll make sense later). We tell ourselves we can fix something on our own and hold onto our pride stubbornly like some kind of OCD security blanket. 

You can pray to your Father for the trial to be lifted from your shoulders. Sometimes He'll remove the burden, and sometimes He won't. You can pray for patience until the trial is over. He may make you stronger to carry the burden. Or He'll help you develop new skills and gifts to help you deal with your challenges. This process can often be painful. 

(I think of it as a rock-tumbler...did you ever have one of those in your classroom? Basically, you toss a bunch of rocks into this tumbler, and it goes 'round and 'round and 'round, bashing the rocks into each other. It's loud. Eventually all the rocks have lost their sharp edges and rough surfaces in the tumultuous tumbler as they've bashed and smashed against each other for hours. And in the end you have beautiful, smooth, polished stones.)

Sometimes we think, "Heavenly Father, this trial is making me really unhappy. If you love me so much, why do I have to go through this?" People are usually mistaken in the belief that a loving God doesn't ask His children to go through hard things, or asks us to do things that don't make sense in our realm of understanding. If you're a parent, you might have a better understanding of why this belief is false. On a daily basis I have to help my children understand why we do and do not do certain things. 

This very morning my 4-year-old found a pair of crocks in her closet (d'oh, I thought I removed all the summer clothes!). She wanted to wear them to school. Here's a little update for everyone who doesn't live in my corner of the universe: it's COLD in southwestern Idaho right now. We had record snowfalls last week, and we're not supposed to get above freezing temperatures for days. So I told my daughter she needed to wear boots today, or at least sneakers. But the crocks were a no-go. And of course she didn't like that answer. She's 4 and she can be stubborn and I had to gently explain again and again why she couldn't have what she wanted. She needs to trust that I don't want her little toesies to freeze off and that's the force behind my guidance. 

I also have a six-year-old who is learning to read. I love listening to her read to herself and sounding out words she sees all around her. But she only has a first-grade understanding of language. Sometimes she'll encounter a new word and sound it out, and it will be wrong. Let's take the word comb. There's that silly silent b hanging out at the end of the word. My first-grader may pronounce the b, even argue with me that she must say the b because it's there! I'm not intelligent enough to explain why there's a b when we don't say the b, but I know it's silent! She also needs to learn to trust that I have more experience in reading and that I know the right way to say the word.

Unlike my skills as a mother, Heavenly Father does know the purpose behind all things. When the situation is appropriate, I let my kids learn their lessons the hard way, and Heavenly Father lets us do this, too. In fact, He will always let us learn things the hard way if we choose. After scraping our knees a few times, we remember about faith and prayer and we get down on our bleeding, scabby knees and say, "Father, thy will be done and the glory be thine forever."

This post is becoming much longer than I intended, but bear with me. There is a culminating point to all this. I have been thinking about faith and prayer a lot lately. There's something I've been praying for for a long time now--years, even. And several times something has happened where I think, "Yes! The prayer is answered! This is what I wanted! Thank you, Father!"  Just to have it, a short while later, taken away again. More prayers ensued, more supplication. Another blessing came our way, and I said, "Yes! Thank you, Father! I understand I needed to learn more patience, that that first path wasn't right for us. Thank you! What a blessing!" Then that, too, was taken away. Another short-lived blessing. It seems this cycle has been endless. I have found myself asking, Does He really listen? Does He really care? Because this is really hard right now and I don't think I deserve this and I'm kind of over carrying this burden.

He hasn't taken it away yet. Why? I honestly don't know. But there's one thing I cannot deny as I strive to endure through it:

HE LOVES ME.

Just as an earthly parent has to deny some of their children's desires, so does my Father in Heaven. BUT HE LOVES ME! I know this through the subtle whisperings of the Holy Ghost. It fills me to the point where I almost can't contain my joy, and it often slips out through my eyes. There are tender mercies (love notes, I like to call 'em) every day where I see just how much love He's trying to rain down on me (remember that umbrella). We really tend to disparage parents who grant their children's every whim; what kind of God would my Father be if He did the same for me?

Can I share two personal things that tell me He loves me? The other day I was driving and a Christmas tune came on the radio. And I started thinking about the birth and life of my Savior. Oh, how can you not feel the Savior's love for us this time of year?? And that love filled me. It was whispered into my heart and my mind, I love you.

The second happened yesterday when a neighbor of mine asked if I wanted to look through some boxes of little girl clothes she was getting rid of. They were just the right sizes for my two youngest girls. Which has been on my mind a lot lately in this cold weather: having good, warm clothes, but especially pants for my youngest. Everything my little girls needed were in those boxes, and then some. This neighbor couldn't have known I wanted good pants for my little girl to wear. I hadn't mentioned it to my husband or anyone, except on my knees in prayer. I had whispered, Father, you know what we need. I don't know how you'll do it, but I know you'll take care of us.

So, the big thing I've been praying years for is far from coming to pass. I know He can, but I don't think Heavenly Father is going to rectify that one any time soon. There is a light at the end of the tunnel; I just have to be exceedingly patient for it. But because of this challenging time, how much more faith have I exercised in my Father? How many small love notes and acts of mercy have been showered upon me because my prayers haven't been fulfilled about "the big one"? I could let myself be consumed with this one dilemma, but how much more would I be missing?

He loves me. And He loves YOU as His own unique, beloved child. 

So, life is challenging. Don't let those challenges block you from receiving His divine blessings.

Fifty Cent Love Note

And when I say "love notes," I mean tender mercies from Heavenly Father exhibited in my day-to-day life that show He's looking over me and just trying to express His love in ways that can sink into my mortality-limited, thick-skulled brain.

I took my kids to the library today for the first time in weeks! At the checkout (with a few dozen books on the counter, blocking eye contact between the bewildered checkout gal and myself) the clerk said I had a fifty cent fine. My library will NOT let you check out books if you have any kind of fine, fifty cents or fifty bucks. I had zero cash or change on me, so I started whipping out my checkbook from my purse (silly, I know, but I was desperate). The clerk peeked around the book mountain and said they don't take checks for less than a dollar. 

(Hmmmm, I'm PRETTY sure I've been in the same boat before and I'm PRETTY sure I've written checks for less than a buck before...because I'm lame like that. Must be a new policy, maybe?) 

I began digging through my purse hoping for a miraculously hidden quarter or two--which I knew wouldn't be in there because I cleaned my purse out last week, plus my kids bum change off me all the time--wondering if I'm going to have to drive all the way home to dig up fifty cents so I can borrow these books for my kids. School's officially out for summer as of today, I need my kids to have these books!

I turned when I heard a familiar voice behind me saying, "Are you in trouble, Amy?" I looked and it was an older sister from church. My kids call her Grandma H_____ (because her son and daughter-in-law to go our church, too, so there are technically two Sis. H_____s, so they call her Grandma H______ to avoid confusion). She gave me the fifty cents to pay my fine. I pledged I would repay her as soon as I could. She smiled, shook her head, and told me to pay it forward next time I saw someone fumbling for change at the library counter. 

What a relief! What a rescue! And for what? Something she had ample of that I was lacking. What does it cost us to show a little bit of love for our fellow man? How many times do we see others in need around us, whether great or small, and we turn our eyes because we're either embarrassed to acknowledge what we saw or we're afraid of doing something wrong in trying to help? We should never be afraid to do what is right. 

Thank you, Grandma H_____, for your kindness and helping me remember this principle of the golden rule, of loving my brothers and sisters. 

Numbers

I've had the tendency to be a big Debbie Downer as of late, so I'm trying to focus on the things in life that I'm grateful for to counterbalance the things that make me fret. So today I'm sharing the following story with you. I fondly have titled it, "Numbers."

A few weeks ago, during a pleasant spring afternoon, I was sitting in my favorite reading/writing spot in my front room. From this chair I can see out the window that overlooks my front porch and driveway. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a little car pull up to my curb and stop. I wasn't a car I recognized, and I told myself that although he parked in front of my house, he was probably visiting one of my neighbors. I watched him get out of the car--for the briefest moment I thought it was my dad, even though the car was all wrong. From the back, they have the same hair cut. But this man turned around and I could see he was older than my father, and I was disappointed. And a little exasperated with myself that I would believe for a nanosecond that my dad would show up out of the blue unannounced. First off, Dad lives out of state, and second, most of the time he visits me he's on his Harley. But I digress. 

The old gentleman made his way up my driveway at a slow gate. I was confused--I told myself he'd reexamine my house number and realize he was at the wrong place and turn back to his car. But he kept approaching at his snail's pace. Finally the knock came to the door, and my preschooler, who always gets excited when a visitor comes, ran into the room and danced and sang, "Who is it?! Who is it?!" I know she imagined it was one of her little friends wanting to play.

I opened the door and smiled at the old man. He had papers in his hands, which he held out to me. It was when I saw what was on the papers that I started having one of those out-of-body type experiences. Like time slowed way down, like someone else was standing in front of my open door, not me. You know when you watch the news and it talks about a court case, then an image of the court documents shows up on the screen listing the plaintiffs and defendants? That's what I was holding in my hand, a court document listing my husband as a defendant in a small-claims case over an undisclosed amount of debt. 

I had worn a friendly smile when I opened the door to the strange man, but now the blood drained from my face. I looked at him blankly. He said this was the second notice of the summons, and it's for Derek Beck only, not for me. That didn't make me feel any better at all. He said he had to record who he delivered the court summons to, so he asked my first name. I answered, and he walked away. 

I sat back down in my favorite chair and looked at the court documents. I was so confused. How on earth could someone accuse Derek of owing them money? That's not to say we don't have any debt, but we are always on top of our payments and we had never received collections calls. Had I forgotten some account I should be making payments to? My head was spinning. I am entirely unfamiliar with legal cases, and the language in the papers made my head spin more. I called Derek.

He was just as baffled as I was. "There must be some mistake," he said. I sure hoped he was right, but I didn't know what to do. I was afraid to call the attorney's number at the top of the page...should I have my own legal representation before I make a move? I really didn't know what to do. I wanted to call my dad, as he has been involved in a handful of lawsuits, both as the plaintiff and as the defendant. Derek told me to just call the number. When we got more information, then we would decide if we needed my dad's advice or not. 

It was a little after lunchtime, so I wasn't surprised when my call went to the attorney's voice mail, though I was disappointed. I started to Google words in the papers that were unfamiliar to me, but their meanings didn't shed any light on why this was happening. How could we owe anyone money? I was certain we didn't, but how could anyone claim we did? I didn't recognize the plaintiff's names nor the name of the other defendant. I looked at all the types of documentation the summons said he needed to bring to court on the date: 3 years of tax returns, titles to our vehicles, months and months worth of pay stubs, and the list went on. I wanted to cry.

I went to Facebook to see if I could find out who this other defendant was. She lived in my area, but I have never met her. I also did a search for Derek Beck, and found there was another Derek who lived in the county. There was nothing on the paper that tied the case to MY Derek, no address, date of birth, etc. I grew more hopeful, but I was desperate for the attorney's office to call me back. They finally did around 3 o'clock, about 2 hours after I left the message. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't talk to you about the case without your husband's permission. Your name isn't involved in the case at all."

"How could you deliver the summons to me, then?"

"We can leave the summons with any adult 18 or older at the residence." Ugh, dumb rules. I was hoping if I could receive the documentation, that they would let me discuss the case over the phone.

Before she could hang up on me, I blurted, "But I don't think you can talk to my husband about this case either, because I believe you have the wrong Derek Beck!" I knew it sounded stupid, because how often do guilty people deny what they are accused of? But I was going to be persistent.

She paused. "One moment, please."  After a short break she said, "Can I have the last 4 digits of your husband's social?" I gave them to her. "Uh huh. And his date of birth?" I prattled off Derek's birth date. "Hmmm," she said, "and has he ever resided in Marsing, Idaho?" I confirmed he had not. 

"We're sorry," she said, "but you're right, there's been a mistake. We're sorry for the inconvenience. You can disregard the summons." She didn't sound sorry. 

I wanted to scream with mixed relief and anger. I wanted to give this lady a thorough tongue-thrashing for her office's horrible mistake, for the hell I had been living during those long two hours. Honestly, every horrible situation passed through my mind. Losing the cars, losing the house, jail time, a broken family. And all because this law office didn't know who on earth was supposed to receive the summons.

Instead I said, "Thank you," and hung up the phone. 

I said a quick prayer of gratitude that the ordeal was over. Then I called Derek and told him the good news. Even though I knew he was innocent of these charges, preparation for the court date would have put an unreasonable amount of pressure on my family. I can't express how grateful I was to be free from that burden. Yeah, it was only two hours. But I consider it a huge tender mercy it wasn't longer.

All because of a few numbers distinguishing my husband from the real accused man. 

Miracles and Guardian Angels

On May 14, 2008 my husband drove our minivan through downtown Boise a little after 2 o'clock in the morning, blaring through red lights and stop signs at roughly 80 miles per hour. I was sitting in the passenger seat, trying to be calm but not succeeding. The baby was coming, and she was coming NOW. My water had broken at home just minutes before, and I was overwhelmed with the surges that rocked my body. I think I remember shouting over and over, "She's coming! She's coming!" About 15 minutes after my water broke I delivered Maren in a single push on a gurney in Labor and Delivery at the hospital. The nurses were in such a rush to make sure the baby and I were healthy that no one had checked the clock for actual time of birth. We decided 2:15 a.m. was close enough.

Yesterday afternoon, a little after 3 o'clock, my husband drove our minivan on the freeway, weaving through cars as fast as after-school traffic would permit. I was sitting in the back seat with Maren under the buckle with me on my lap, wiping the tears from her cheeks and begging her to keep her blue eyes open. We kept asking her questions to check her coherency, trying to piece together what had happened just minutes before we loaded her into the car.

Derek and I had been at home, sitting next to each other on the couch in the family room and updating his resume on the laptop. The children had just gotten out of school and had all gone upstairs to their rooms soon after coming home. A few minutes later I heard Maren crying. It sounded distant and strained, and I told Derek it sounded like the wind had been knocked out of her. I don't run to my kids over every scrape and boo boo, I usually let them come to me. But this time Maren's cries felt urgent. I jogged up the stairs and went to her bedroom, calling her name. Her cries still sounded distant, which was confusing. Shouldn't her voice have gotten clearer, louder as I ran to her? But a quick sweep of her room told me she was not there, and then I saw the open window. The open window with the bent screen dangling outside, like the last fall leaf clinging to a branch. I don't remember moving from the bedroom door to her window, but there I was, sticking my head out the open window, and there I saw my little girl, down on the cement patio, red-faced, gasping for breath, crying.

I screamed.

"DEREK!  She fell out the window!"

I ran.

Derek was quicker than me. He had sprung up off the couch, the laptop landing with a clunk on the floor. He was already at the sliding door before I made it to the bottom of the stairs. We ran to her and she was rolling onto her knees, trying to get up. Her legs were shaking. I registered that she was in shock. She was responding to us, trying to talk through her cries. Derek said we were taking her to the ER. I ran inside and slipped on my shoes.  "Alayna! Isaac! Stay home!" I shouted. Alayna and Isaac were fine to be left at home by themselves. I was grateful Kristen was already playing at a neighbor's house, so I didn't need to worry about her. Derek and I went to the garage, and Derek strapped me in the van with Maren on my lap.

"Don't move her neck," he said.

By the time we got to the ER, she had settled down quite a bit. One thing I admire about medical professionals is their ability to keep calm when everything around them is chaos. Derek and I were cool and collected when we took her in and got her admitted, but I'm sure panic was in our eyes. I'm grateful the staff didn't act the way I was feeling inside, or else I might not have held up. Everything went smoothly from there. They had me lay her down in a bed and the nurses did some preliminary exams. Maren looked scared and she didn't want to talk to anyone, but she could talk and she could move all her limbs. Derek and I were scared of injuries that we couldn't see. A doctor came and took a look at her himself. Everything was looking fine, but CT scans and x-rays were ordered, as I was anticipating. After those had been conducted we were back in her little room, and by now Maren seemed totally herself again. She got bored with the show on the television, and we started playing I-Spy with her. (Say, "I see something red," in an ER triage room--it'll take the others forever to guess what it is, because everything in there is red.)

She was getting really restless, but Derek and I made her stay on the bed until the doctor came. After the scans and x-rays, it was over an hour before we heard back from the doctor. We weren't worried anymore, but we were very tired and had to talk to each other to keep from dozing off in our chairs. The doctor came, announcing that everything checked out--no internal injuries from the fall. We were so happy, so relieved, so grateful. We speculated about our niece who had fallen off a picnic bench a few summers ago. She had shattered her elbow, which required surgery and pins to piece her joint back together. And here was our daughter, who fell from a 2nd story window, and all she had were a few bruises on her back side and a headache. Not even a bump on her head where she hit the cement.

The day before Maren's fall was Easter Sunday. We had been eating Easter dinner with Derek's family when we got the phone call that his grandmother has just passed away in Seattle. She had been the last living grandparent between Derek and me. And I don't know if it was her, or any of our other beloved grandparents who are already on the other side of the veil. But someone who loves us very much was with Maren yesterday afternoon when she fell out that window. I don't dare to write all the what ifs...it would be too much to bear if I dwelled on what could have happened, although I can tell you it's been festering in some small corner of my mind ever since I saw her down on the concrete below her window. But I do know that my daughter was protected by some divine intervention.

I rocked Maren on my lap last night after the other children had been put to bed. She was eating one of the cookies a thoughtful neighbor had brought by the house after hearing about her accident. Maren told me she really liked chocolate chip cookies. I agreed with her and I held her tighter. I asked her if she knew what a miracle was. She shook her head. I told her stories about Jesus from the Bible. He healed a blind man, He healed broken bodies, He raised the dead. Some things happen that we simply can't explain, although something special in our hearts tells us that God had a hand in it because He loves us. And I told my little girl that the fact I was holding her in my arms at home that night was nothing less than a miracle. We told her what could have happened when she was kneeling on her window sill with nothing more than a flimsy screen between her and gravity. And the fact that the worst of her injuries were just bruises and soreness she'll feel for the next few days baffles me. Humbles me.

It is beyond words to express my joy that she was protected from all the what ifs and could haves yesterday. As well as the outpouring of love from friends and neighbors who rushed to my family's aid when they heard about our crisis. I can't describe how blessed I feel right now, despite the other very real trials my family is coping with. The love our Father in Heaven and Savior have for me, have for each one of us, is incomprehensible. And I feel that love so keenly.

I think we'll have chocolate chip cookies for breakfast today.

Derek and Maren with their matching "bracelets"

Maren's 2nd story bedroom window and where she landed next to (and thankfully not on top of) the grill.

emotional regurgitation

I'm trying hard to be grateful for my blessings. I have so many, I don't know where to begin. But my heart is heavy and my mind wanders to all the things I think are wrong in my life. It's the wrong attitude, I know. I have a weakness (one of many) where I fixate on a problem, thinking that if I just dwell on it to death it will magically be resolved. I need to let it go.  Let go, and let God.  It's something that would look good on a refrigerator magnet, but it's the honest-to-goodness truth. As I get older, I learn more how deeply the Atonement applies to my life. Not just sins and transgressions, but my mortal weaknesses. The fact that I don't have all the answers. That I don't know how to parent my out-of-control 5-year-old. I Need Him EVERY Hour. I don't know why I forget that He is always there, but I get wrapped up in my little fog of discouragement and I grow horribly short-sighted. It's a new day, a new hour, a new minute.  I must choose to stick my head above the fog and see the eternities.  And when I miss the mark, to remember that my Father in Heaven, my perfect Father, does know the eternities. So, I'm picking myself up by my bootstraps, slapping a smile on my face, whispering a prayer, and pushing forward. My world isn't going to end because I have problems.  Never has, never will.