The Yuma Years

I think I have tried in every way to not write about this chapter of our life in Arizona.  I'm not sure if I don't have the right answers, don't want to admit to myself that I know the answers, or am afraid I know the answers and don't want to act on what I learned.  So, for the most part I have just let myself semi drift for the best part of a year, keeping my thoughts at a distance. Unfortunately the thoughts keep returning home, and so I will let Chapter 1 begin with what we affectionately refer to as, Our Yuma Years.

Leaving Utah so many years ago was a mess of emotions. Not having lived anywhere else for 40 something years, I was convinced of a few realities: #1 Utah was pretty much the center of the universe and everyone was either trying, or at least wanting, to get there. #2 Everyone outside of Utah was a heathen sinner that didn't have a clue who God is, or how to communicate and listen to him.  #3 I would bring further light and knowledge to all those lost souls searching for the spiritual path home, and were just waiting for me to speak truth to them.
This new adventure would also have another side to it.  In addition to the confidence I outwardly felt, there was a quiet inner desperation and foreboding.  Personal feelings and impressions were pushing me to go, but under the surface there was this growing feeling that it was ME who was supposed to learn something from this undertaking.  I was confused and perplexed regarding these two divergent paths.  To lead? or to learn?  I would start out with the vision of what I felt I should do, but whomever it is that helps encourage us along life's journey, they would soon gently but clearly let me know I had a lifetime of learning to cram into the next few years. Buckle up, hold on tight, it was going to be quite a ride!

The first, and perhaps essential stop on this journey was the dusty southwestern town of Yuma Arizona.  Uniquely situated at the confluence of Arizona, Mexico, and California where the lazy Colorado river slips it's last miles thru the sponge absorbing sands of the desert and it's final resting place in the Gulf of California.  Heat is a badge of honor for the locals.  Coping efforts become legendary tales for visitors and new residents.  Where else do you only drive in the summer while wearing hot pads from the kitchen to protect your hands from the sizzling heat of the steering wheel.  Where else can you take a hot shower in the summer by only using the "cold" water tap?  Where else you do you only use the pool in the summer if you take a block of ice with you to float on.  It became a customary ritual to check the thermometer when we were in the car to see if it was hot enough to make a worthy picture of the dashboard thermometer to send to family and friends so they would know of our fearlessness in enduring this hellish environment. The monsoon season, which occasionally brought hot drenching rains, and the worst part....a steady flow of soaking humidity to mix with the oppressive heat, making simple breathing a labored and unfulfilled routine.  This next adventure of ours had certainly chosen an isolated and grueling location which would keep us focused on the essential thing in life, surviving!

It may seem a bit ironic, but Yuma Arizona is actually closer (as the bird flys) to San Diego California and the idyllic weather there, rather than the desert cities of Phoenix and Tucson.  Our first of many trips into Yuma required us to fly into San Diego and drive eastward up through the coastal mountains which eventually drop into the Imperial Valley  and onward into the desert and sands of Yuma.  San Diego would become a second home and escape for us.  But home would be found among those hardy souls and creatures who are able to make the best of their environment and find personal advantages in their surroundings. 

As any pioneer heading into a new land well knows, if you carry pride and comfort in your abilities and strengths, feeling that you can make it on your own, knee bending humility will not be far behind.  In my earlier years I should have paid more attention to the stories about Moses and his Hebrew followers wandering through the desert. Here I thought I was being saved (a new and future career opportunity), but I had some serious humbling to go through and vital spiritual lessons to learn before reaching the promised land. 

Lesson #1: Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
Gonzalo Castillo is a man born south of the border, raised in small and poor towns of western Mexico. In the struggles and poverty of the region, he was raised by parents who instilled in him a love and respect of God, and teachings of the bible.  At a young age, Gonzalo was required to work to help support the family.  No conveniences of life were enjoyed,  but love, appreciation, and gratitude were values instilled in him from his youth.  From the humility of his early life, he gained an understanding of how best to love and provide to others what they so often needed.

My reason for moving to Yuma was to take a position at the Hospital (the only major medical center between Phoenix and San Diego) overseeing some of the facility services.  Gonzalo was a manager who reported to me as he oversaw more than 70 employees at the hospital.  I had begun working in Yuma 5 months before my family would be able to move there, returning on weekends to visit them.  During the week, my life consisted of work, and returning to a condo in the evening by myself.  One day a couple of weeks after starting, Gonzalo asked me if I would like to go to dinner with him.  I was thrilled at the opportunity to break up my evening boredom and get a good meal for a change.  We headed to a local Mexican restaurant and shared a great meal and evening.  To my shock, he grabbed the check for the meal before I could get it.  This was against all protocol, and I protested, but to no avail.  Though I appreciated his kindness, my mind was wondering if he was trying to take advantage of our relationship.  A few days later he repeated the request to do dinner.  Thinking I could even the playing field and pay, I accepted. 
Another local Mexican restaurant (I was finding that Mexican food here was nothing like I had ever had in Utah!).  As we and talked, I asked him where his wife and family were. I assumed they must be busy and the reason he was having dinner with me.  I was a bit shocked to hear him tell me that they were at home having dinner.  I retorted back asking him why in the world was he with me!  He commented that he knew I was alone, and his family would be fine.  He had given up being with his own family to be with me.  This was not a behavior I was used to.  I gave him some grief that he should be with his wife, not me.  Once again, he beat me to the check for the meal and paid it.  Hmmm, he is really trying hard to take advantage.
The next day he brought us homemade tamales and other assorted Mexican food for lunch, and insisted I eat with him.  His wife had made it for us.  Of course, he paid for drinks.  After telling him his wife was a great cook, he asked if I would like to have dinner with them.  So that night, I was treated as a special guest in his home with his wife and daughter serving us.  I had never been treated like this in anyone's home...ever.  There was something different about this man.  As the weeks went on, I would turn down additional offers of dinner (I wanted him to spend his time with his family, not me), Gonzo would then bring dishes and packages of food to my condo, most of it homemade.  He was concerned that I have enough food to eat.  This behavior went on for the next few years we lived in Yuma.  It was not just a brief ploy to get my appreciation of him as my manager, but even continued after we left Yuma. No manna from the wilderness ever tasted this good.  I was humbled to accept the gifts of a man who wanted no more than to help me endure the life of my new home in the desert.
I soon learned that I was not the only "special" person Gonzalo did things for.  Almost weekly he was involved in some event or another that would raise money for various needs either among his staff, or others whom he had become aware were suffering. 
A story typical of his love and empathy for those struggling would leave me wondering who this man really was.  We had decided to put on a hospital barbecue for our staff.  Barbecue in Yuma usually means Carne Asada tacos.  We needed about 3,000 tortillas and so Gonzo decided to get fresh ones from a little tortilla factory across the border in Mexico.  "Fresh  tortillas" I learned was really a way of helping the struggling families in Mexico by supported the factory.  On a particular Saturday, Gonzo headed over to Mexico to put in the order.  San Luis Rio Mexico is typical of small border towns.  The first few blocks have paved streets, but quickly they turn to dirt roads and humble homes.  He had warned me several times not to wander too far from the main roads.  As he drove looking for the factory, he became lost and stopped at a home to ask directions. 
Now home to us is not necessarily the same thing as home in some parts of Mexico.  So many of these good people live in homes we might more refer to as sheds, cabins, or a menagerie of materials put together to keep the heat at bay, and rain off their heads.  It never ceased to amaze me how a line on a map, becomes a border between blessings and struggles.  The Mexican people have a strong spirit, a deep sense of love for family, and carry a respect for God.  However due to political and governmental differences, one group literally struggles to survive while the other doesn't even know how blessed they are.
Gonzallo knocked on the door of the home and a lady answered.  They stood at the doorway speaking about the location of the tortilla factory, when Gonzo noticed a young girl around eight years old sitting in a corner on the ground in the home.  The home had some wood floors, but half of it was dirt.  He inquired about the girl and the lady told him the girl was paralyzed from the waist down.  Gonzo thanked the lady for the directions and said good bye.  He then turned his truck around and headed toward the border crossing.  It takes at least 2 hours to cross back into the United States due to the border checks, but Gonzalo waited it out.  After finally crossing over, he headed up to the hospitals Home Health location.  Dashing inside before they closed, he was able to purchase a wheelchair for $150.  He put it in the back of his truck and headed back for the border crossing again.  When entering Mexico with a vehicle, you have to watch the traffic light monitor.  If it's green when you cross, you don't have to stop.  However if it is red, you must pull over for an inspection.  As Gonzo crossed, it turned red and he pulled into the inspection area. 
The Mexican border officers told Gonzo that he was bringing in a medical device and would have to pay them a tariff or fee.  Gonzo protested that it was for a person that lived in the small town.  However, the border officers were not going to be softened by his story and demanded payment.  Gonzo handed them $150 cash, knowing it was only going into the officers pocket, and off he headed back to the humble house he had left hours before.  He pulled up to the now familiar home and knocked.  When the lady opened the door and saw the wheelchair she was overcome and couldn't speak.  Gonzalo pushed past her and went in a lifted the young girl still sitting in the dirt, and placed her in the wheelchair.  As he went to stand up, the young girl wrapped her arms around his neck to thank him.  The lady apologized that she had no money to pay him.  He told her he would bring back food from time to time to help out, and gave her his phone number in case she needed anything.  Then climbing back into his truck, he was off.  A man who takes literal the call to Love One Another. 
Not all know this, but Gonzalo is a very wealthy man who could live in the biggest home in town, and drive the most expensive car. Yet he lives in a very modest home, and drives a used truck.  Most would be surprised to find out he owns businesses, condominiums, property, and homes.  He received a very large sum of money from a claim in a accident where his son was injured, but the money remains in a trust to take care of his son when Gonzalo is gone.  If anyone ever needed anything, Gonzalo was there to help, never worrying if he would be repaid or reimbursed. 
I thought I knew what being a Christian was all about, and indeed felt like I could help bring this knowledge to the people of Yuma.  However, this man of the Catholic faith, this humble man of the desert, did more to teach me about being a Christian, than I had ever known before.  It wasn't that he could explain it to me so I could understand, it was that he SHOWED me each day by how he lived his life.  I tried for much of the time I was in Yuma to bring Gonzalo to a better understanding of who God was and to persuade him to join my religion.  By the time I left Yuma, I knew that I could offer nothing to him that would make him a better person.  He lived the gospel far better than I ever had.  Organized religion had not saved Gonzalo Castillo, but his pure love of God and his deep desire to live the  teachings of Jesus Christ.  He attended Mass each week, but he had gained salvation thru his faith and good works. I might have been able to offer him a clearer understanding of his relationship to God, but nothing I could offer would make him a better person.  The answers I looked for as to why we came to Yuma may not have not been clearly visible early on, but clearly they came.  I have worked with or been around good men and women much of my life.  But true Charity I discovered in the quiet and rugged character of a man from Yuma Arizona.  Who's abundant strength was the gentle care he offered to others at their time of greatest need.  Perhaps the Good Samaritan still lives and breaths among us.   I will always be grateful for the days that I ever knew Gonzalo Castillo.

Our time in Yuma lasted about three and half years (or as Michele puts it, 4 summers), and then it was time to move on.  We had discovered good friends and neighbors, and uncovered where the real beauty of this desert lives, in it's people.  The feelings of loneliness that the desert can sometimes bring were forgotten as our neighbors filled our life and home with friendship and love (and one of their sons that we think is still in the kitchen somewhere).  Finally, we sold our home, and headed off to Phoenix to continue on that ever upward tilting career path.  New adventures would lay ahead, and more life lessons would be learned.  Similar to those nomadic Hebrews, we still had some desert wandering to do, lessons to learn, and humbling to understand.  Appreciatively, we were on good footing because of the rich blessings provided in Yuma Arizona.  Chapter 2, The Phoenix Years to follow soon.

Mountains or Microwaves

Our plane begins to descend into the quiet Seattle morning.  Daylight is just beginning to brush across the landscape and a new day is getting started.  My usual visits here are typically greeted by ever gloomy skies, rain, and on occasion....snow.  The meteorologists this past winter were in a particularly humerous mood, as I spent 3 days drudging between airport and hotel enduring a never ending snowstorm that the airport was obviously ill prepared to deal with.

However as the wheels skidded onto the runway, I gave my cursory lift to the window covering to peek outside. Instantly I was blinded (as was my unfortunate seat neighbor) by the streaming sunlight coming from just above the horizon.  This would not be my typical Seattle visit.

For someone who comes from the desert, driving from Seattle over to Tacoma is therapy treatment for the eyes. Tall strands of deep green forests give way to our intrusive highway, and like ants on a mission, we all make our way in one direction or the other...busy on our business to support the colony. 

This particular morning I rounded the bend heading into Tacoma where the trees thin to make way for the Puyallup river cutting through the valley.  Glancing off to my left at the Ansel Adams scene, I was startled by the view of a massive volcanic shaped mountain I had never seen before on my travels through this spot.  Something that big I certainly would have seen before......wouldn't I have? 

My focus on driving along the freeway took a back seat to gawking out the window. I was trying to let my eyes convince my mind that what I was looking at was real.  The rush hour traffic soon brought me back to the task at hand, and I received more than a few looks from locals who were trying to figure out what was wrong with the idiot in the black rental car weaving and slowing down to stare out his window.

For a few minutes I considered the growing urge to forget about work for the day and drive over to experience this bulwark.  I wonder if this feeling is what makes so many climbers risk life and limb to spend time exploring and conquering these massive monuments.  Unfortunately, my work rarely allows for my inner explorer to be fulfilled, and my approaching exit reminded me that my life's adventure is more often performed in suits and ties, rather than comfort fitting REI outdoor gear and boots. 

When did my life take this left turn into chasing the corporate dream?  Isn't there supposed to be some golden goal ahead that the corporate road leads me to so that I can jump off and pull on my Levi's, tee shirt, and spend the remainder of my life being John Muir? 

As I went through my work day sitting in meeting rooms with large windows that bring the outside inside,  I couldn't help but talk about my morning mountain experience to those I met.  Now clearly they all know the corporate purpose of my visit is to cut costs and expenses. Yet my constant babbling about the scenery, and that mountain, were making them a bit restless and uneasy.  In their head they know the knife is out there somewhere waiting to do it's evil deed, but the crazy man is acting more like a Jack Nicholson character who rambles on in a bizarre rage about nature. 

As the drone of meetings finally came to an end, I turned the car back towards Seattle to catch my flight out.  Driving past that little spot heading out of town,  I gave my new mountain friend a final glance goodbye.  I thought about those few rugged and fit human specimans who spend so much of their individual lives training, conditioning, and preparing to make an assault on it's glaciers and peaks.  In some small way I think I felt a yearning of what drives them to put in such great efforts toward reaching their goals. 

As our plane lifted off, heading back homeward to the real life I too often leave behind, I was caught up thinking about the effort I put in at reaching my own goals.  The airline had graciously upgraded my seat, but gave me a window instead of my coveted isle.  Gazing out, I was silently surprised to see my new friend approaching again from just ahead of us. The relatively smooth and gently rolling landscape of the lowlands suddenly slopes upward into the sky and Mount Rainier's massive formation fills your vision.  It is the King of this territory, and even planes skirt around it as they make their way.  As we passed by at such a close distance you could make out individual features across it's face.  Making their way up one of the west facing glaciers was a team of climbers headed toward their long planned for goal. 

As I watched the scene drift by outside my window, I was taken by the irony of the moment.  The climbers and I, at this exact moment, each had a quite similar view of the landscape around us.  Perhaps years of training and conditioning had purchased them this reward and satisfaction in their life.  What I thought was perhaps a shared experience of the expansive vistas around us, really wasn't a shared experience at all.  I knew nothing of what they knew other than what my own vision could take in. 

Life is unique and interesting to say the least.  Instead of climbing mountains, I have microwave moments.  I don't have the time, energy, or ability to devote to something that I might really want to do, so instead I resort to microwaving my experiences into something less than a complete and full encounter. I convince myself that it gives me a quick and short enough engagement to make me think I know what it would be like, without putting in the effort.  From twenty thousand feet, and the comfort of a deep leather chair I see what others see, but only by hiking in their boots will I ever know what they know and feel what they feel.

Today was not really about mountains, or microwave experiences.  The real key to what I was learning happened a bit earlier on the way back to the airport.  I had stopped at an intersection on my drive where a man and woman held out a sign asking for assistance.  I ignored them for the most part, but watched as a car behind me rolled down their window to offer them something.  For a few moments, I wondered what had brought these two people to this intersection? What had they experienced in their life that left them here?   The light turned green and I pulled away with a bit of an empty feeling that I hadn't done something to help.  Perhaps it was because I felt they were to blame for their condition that I didn't offer help, I'm really not sure.  Down the road I pulled in to get gas, and couldn't let go of how inconsiderate I had been.  Who was I to judge them, or why they were there.  Sometimes God allows redemption.  Before I could finish pumping gas, a young man walked up to me asking if I had spare change.  He appeared to be a young man around 24 years old.  My first quick thought was why does this kid need to ask for money, he should have a job and taking care of himself.  But just as quickly, my mind came back to the couple at the intersection.  I would not make the same mistake twice.  I handed the young man what cash I had in my wallet, as a smile came across his face.  I returned to finish pumping my gas, when I saw him turn to a car parked against the curb and raise the small amount of money in his hand.  In the car, was a woman and in the backseat was a baby in a car seat.  As he reached the car, he turned back to me and said thanks, they had an appointment for the baby, but didn't have enough gas to get to where they were going.  He now had enough to make it there and back. 

I thought back to a young man some thirty or more years ago, with a young family and each week wondering if we had enough to make it there and back.  I could remember those feelings, aching, and struggles that were such a strenuous experience to go through each day.  Thoughts flooded of those who may have passed down that same highway before, and had offered help to us.

I may never get to climb a mountain, or experience the struggles and thrill associated with that goal.  For now, the microwave experiences may have to quiet my spirit in that regard.  However, there are other mountains that I have climbed, and spent a lifetime gaining experiences on.  If I remember to climb out of the microwave long enough, all around me each day are the most rich and filling experiences this human life can offer.  The mountain peaks offer magnificent vistas, but sometimes it can place you too far above to see clearly where the real beauty lives.  I quietly wished those climbers making their way up the glacier the best of luck as we glided past.

Ferrell

As a note....I am only leaving this post up for a temporary period of time.  A few individuals have asked me about the funeral, and I kind of felt torn about what I should do.  Ferrell was my aunt and I felt it more appropriate to let the incredible Farnsworth family put out information about their mother as they deemed appropriate. However, I also felt bad that there were others who were not able to attend, that might want to know how the funeral was.  As a result, I will temporarily post a few pictures and notes from my perspective. Others who attended probably have a much deeper and clearer view of the events surrounding Ferrell's funeral.  I apologize for the weakness of my words to fully convey the beautiful spirit felt that day.  Touching remarks from the family, and the overall feeling of love that existed cannot be done justice here.  Perhaps one of the Farnsworth family will capture appropriately, all that took place.

 

I had just learned of Ferrell's passing on Wednesday, and that the funeral would be on Saturday in New Mexico.  I flew into SLC late Thursday night, Michele and I packed the truck, and Friday we headed out on what may be the last time we ever visit Fruitland New Mexico.

 

Ferrell's obituary had requested anyone who had sung in a choir with, or under Ferrell's direction, to come an hour early to the church.  A choir practice would be held with those individuals to sing two choir arraignments that Ferrell had loved, "Faith in Every Footstep, & Battle Hymn of the Republic.

Michele and I did not plan to sing, but showed up early to spend a little extra time with those we might know or remember.

As we walked into the Church, it was filled with what sounded like the voices of 2,000 people singing those songs.  We were drawn into the Chapel to see who was there singing.  What had sounded like thousands, was probably closer 40 or 50, with Mori playing the Organ & her daughter on one piano, and another family member on another piano.  I have sat in the Tabernacle dozens of times and listened to the Choir and organ in all their power.  The music made in this Chapel on this day sounded identical.  I had a hard time containing my emotions as they worked their way through the Battle Hymn of the Republic....and this was the rehearsal!  When they finished, the majority of the choir had become emotional and Ren who was directing, commented to them that his mother was there listening and weeping with them.

 

We made our way to the viewing room when Ferrell's body arrived.  The room was packed with family, friends, and people who had all been touched by Ferrell's love in their life.  Ferrell's cousin, Jay Ferrell, had driven down and was trying to greet as many people as possible.  He commented to me SEVERAL times throughout the day that he couldn't understand what a beautiful girl like Michele was doing with a guy like me.  I kind of had to agree with him.  He wisely noted that we (me and him) had both married up in life.  More stories about Jay will come.....he was full of them this day.

 

The casket Ferrell's body now rested in was built by her son Mark.  One of Ferrell's last requests of him before she died was that he would do this.  Mark fully honored his mothers request by creating the most beautiful casket of polished wood.  I spoke with him about it, and he felt like he hadn't had enough time to finish everything on it the way he wanted, but from my perspective NOBODY would know.  It was completed with the most expert craftsmanship and care.  This was a labor of pure love from him and as he expressed it, an honor for him to perform.  Even in her death, Ferrell knew how to get the absolute best from her children.

 

The funeral opened with Mori directing the choir and Ren accompanying the song "Faith in Every Footstep".  It set the tone for what was to come.

Instead of reading an obituary, Mori and Ren stood together at the pulpit and took turns telling Ferrell's life history, and filled it with stories from their lifetime full of memories with their mother. 

They reflected on Ferrell's youth, and one story Mori didn't tell at the funeral but told me later.  Ferrell and her cousin Jay were working at Saratoga Springs in Lehi Utah one summer.  At the end of one particular day, Jay went in to an outdoor changing booth to get out of his swimming suit.  Mischievous Ferrell snuck over and grabbed Jay's cloths and took off running with them.  Jay, not to be deterred by a little bare skin, took off after Ferrell...and tackeled her.....while not wearing a stitch of clothing (which was all in Ferrell's now screaming hands).  She ran off yelling, he got his cloths back, and the rest is now a family treasure story to be told for generations to come.

Mori and Ren spoke about her unusual name, and getting her mission call addressed to ELDER Ferrell Madsen.  To arrive and find out she was scheduled to sleep with other Elders.  They spoke of her love for the Mexican people and some personal stories from her mission.  They spoke of when she came home and went to work as a secretary for Mark E Peterson of the 12 Apostles.  One story of Ferrell's dogged determination happened while she was working there.  She was asked by Elder Peterson to not let anyone disturb him the remainder of a particular afternoon, as he was working on a message he was giving in a publication.  Ferrell received a phone call from someone wanting to speak to Elder Peterson, and she informed the caller that Elder Peterson was not taking any calls or interruptions.  When the caller pressed harder, Ferrel pushed back in her own way.  The caller started giving her a hard time about being such a watchdog and that he REALLY needed to talk with Elder Peterson.  Finally she told the caller, it would take someone with a whole lot more authority then he had to get to speak to Elder Peterson, and the caller finally said ok, but would you take a message.  "Please tell Elder Peterson to call President David O McKay when he is done" and hung up the phone.  Ferrell was aghast, and immediately told Elder Peterson that President McKay needed him to call.  Soon Elder Peterson told Ferrell that he had some papers to give to President McKay and that she needed to deliver them personally.  She tried to get another office worker to deliver them, but he said no, she needed to deliver them personally.  Ferrell made her way to the presidents office and hoped to leave them with the secretary.  But when she arrived at the office, the secretary said...."go right on in, he's waiting for you".  As she walked thru his doorway, she heard....."So Your The One".  He got a good laugh, Ferrell had heart failure.

It was to Elder Peterson's office that a young man came one day.  A returned missionary who just so happened to speak Spanish.  Ferrell and this young man managed to strike up a conversation that apparently didn't really ever end.  Two months after meeting him, they were married and Ferrell was soon off to find the place she would call home for the remainder of her life, in New Mexico.

Mori and Ren spoke of what a hard worker Ferrell was on the farm, not letting the fact she was a girl keep her from doing any of he tasks a man could do.

She taught Piano to hundreds of children from around the area, She felt it was her calling to fill this small New Mexico valley with music, and so she did.

At the end of their talk, Ren announced that they would be taking Omer to Utah that afternoon and if anyone from New Mexico wanted to say good bye, they would have to do it quickly.

 

Mark spoke of the love he had for his mother.  He reminded us of the tough taskmaster both of his parents could be, and gave several examples to emphasize this fact.  He noted particularly how tough his father could be, and shared a story from that very morning.  An elderly man that had known Ferrell and Omer most of their time in New Mexico had greeted Omer that morning at the viewing with the reminder to Omer that he was "Damn lucky Ferrell had stayed with him all these years".  And then they both shared a laugh and embraced.  Mark spoke of the true love his mother had for others, and the gifts she gave and shared that most would people would never know about.  He told a story of one evening when his mother was planning to try and put on a talent show in what he called the po-dunk town of Farmington New Mexico.  She was trying to get enough people to participate.  On this particular evening she asked Mark if he would sing at the event.  Now, Mark feels he is NOT the musically talented member of the family and was sure his mother had lost her mind.  He told her no.  She asked again and he told her he didn't want to do it.  In her motherly way she said...."I didn't ask if you wanted to, I asked if you would".  Mark's love of his mother and his desire to honor her request overcame him, and he said he would do it.

As her death approached, she again made two requests of him.  1) To make the casket her body now laid in.  2) that he would sing a song at her funeral.  The casket was completed, and now he would try and honor her 2nd request.  Mark is not someone who goes around singing for others.  I'm sure he wondered if he could even make it through this last request of his mom's.  I didn't, and don't, know the name of the song.  Mark's voice was perhaps a bit husky and wavering as he started.  I could see myself telling my mom to forget it had she asked me the same thing.  But here he was, doing what was actually probably harder than creating the casket.  I didn't pay too much attention at first, it seemed like an old time song about a man loving his wife, her smile, her face.  There are several versus to the song.  It progresses as the man and women of the song grow older, and the love the man still has for his wife as age comes on, and perceived beauty wanes.  The song concludes as they are both in their final years and he sings to her how much he loves her, her thinning smile and wrinkled face.  I don't know how Mark held it together thru the song.  The entire audience was weeping quietly as he finished.  A mothers request honored. 

 

Then came the performance of the Battle Hymn of the Republic as the closing song.  The organ, two piano's, and the voices coming from both earth and heaven, fully overwhelmed the size of the Chapel.  From somewhere beyond, other choirs joined in and honored Ferrell with this final send off.  As the final Amen rang out and the last note sounded, I'm sure a now red headed lady somewhere in the room had to be as Awed as we were.  It was the perfect last note to her life so richly and fully lived.

 

I don't know if the Farnsworth's requested this,or not.  But there was no herse or morticians in any part of this event.  After the funeral finished, the grandsons surrounded the casket and carried it out to the family van where the casket was placed inside.  We all made the short drive from the Church over to the cemetery.  I don't know if the local police do this for everyone, but the main highway running from Shiprock to Farmington was shut down in both directions while we made our way across this highway and over to Ferrell's final resting place.  From the number of cars backed up, I assume that it must have been shut down as soon as the funeral ended.

 

The family van showed up at the cemetery and again the grandsons carried the casket to the burial spot.  Omer, limited to his wheelchair for several years now, dedicated the grave.  It was done in pure Omer fashion.  He got the dedication part taken care of quickly, then prayed us a sermon about how to live our lives and honored Ferrell with his words.  As he finished, the warm New Mexico afternoon gave way to a cooling breeze thru the quiet valley of Fruitland.

 

A nice dinner was provided by the ward after the funeral. Special conversations were shared between cousins regarding the Madsens, and the fun reunion that must surely be taking place.

 

Afterwards, we made our way over to the Farnsworth home.  Mark built a side room onto the main house for Ferrell and Omer.  So now there is a nice courtyard outside where we were able to continue to share stories and feelings with one another.  Ferrell's cousin Jay (is he really 85 years old??) decided to hang out with us "young" cousins and share stories of his own.  He told us how he and his wife were racing down from Utah and somewhere in the middle of the state he was pulled over for speeding.  The officer asked him where he was going in such a hurry...and he told him to a funeral.  The officer commented back, "If you don't slow down, you'll be going to your own funeral"!

 

Ren and his family packed up all of Omer's things and got ready to take him to his new home.  Finally by 9:00pm Michele and  were spiritually and physically exhausted.  We hugged and wished everyone goodbye....until the next time.

 

 

 

After attending each funeral, I always ask myself what my funeral is going to be like.  Have I done anything while chasing the sun around the horizon that matters?  Have I in any way done enough good to make up for all the things I seem to mess up.  Who knows in the end, but on this weekend,  I got to see a brief glimpse of what makes a person's life rich and full.  Ferrell didn't have the great honors that the world might recognize in the way of plaques, awards, recognitions, fortune or fame.  However, it was the personal gifts & talents she shared with others, the time she dedicated to her family, the love given from her heart to everyone she touched.  It is these precious things that will be our legacy, or our regret.  Thank you Ferrell for reminding me to see just what the real important things are in this life.

 

 

Riley Video

Riley

is getting married in two days.  In making this video, it took us back through twenty some years of memories, laughter, tears, and most of all feelings of love. Riley was nicknamed Smiley for good reason.  Nothing too much ever seemed to bother him.  He just rolled with the punches no matter what.  He gave his family endless memories of fun times.  Thanks Riley for all the years spent on baseball diamonds smelling fresh cut grass in cool evenings and listening to the soft thud of aball catching leather or the tin crack of a bat hitting a ball.  Those were precious times spent watching a son do what he loved. 

Best of luck in your new adventures ahead.  It will be thrilling and breathtaking at the same time.  Enjoy the ride.  If you ever need to stop by for a game of catch....the mitts still in the closet.