What Happens in the Closet

Tonight, I had a chance to sit and talk with our Bishop for a bit. He's a great guy! As I spoke with him, I suddenly remembered something that had happened awhile back that was somewhat miraculous. I didn't share that story with him, but as it came into my mind, I thought, "Oh, I hope I wrote that down somewhere." But, I don't think I did. DARN!

Now that I'm home, I can't even remember what it was.

Just after that experience came into my mind, there was another that I remembered as something I hadn't written down. I've had the chance to share it with my family, and I think I shared it with the Primary kids in my ward, but I don't think, like the other experience, that I ever wrote it down anywhere, so tonight's the night. Here we go.....


Let me preface this with some details....This took place in what I recall was January of this year. #1 had been in a bit of a fender bender. It was enough of a fender bender that our beloved Suburban was going to be totaled. We had to pay a $500 deductible because of the accident. I think we were taking it easy on her because she was preparing for a mission, but because #1 was involved, we felt that she should pay at least half of that deductible.

Here was the snag, though. #1 was nearly ready to turn her mission papers in. We had figured that all the money she had earned, to this point, was dedicated to her mission, and she still had a bit more to earn to reach the amount she needed to cover the entire 18 months. If she had to pay that deductible, she would have to work longer. The concern: Would she have time?

Okay, now onto the story....

One morning that January, dark and early, I got up and got in the shower. When I was done showering, I threw on some clothes and then went to comb my hair, but....there was no comb to be found.

I considered turning on some lights and looking around for a brush or comb, but then thought better of it. Plus, the scriptures were waiting, and knowing myself as I do, I knew if I allowed myself to be sidetracked, that time would be gone for the day, and it wouldn't happen. I wondered what Heavenly Father would want me to do. I didn't have to think on that long to know the answer.

I grabbed my laptop and found a spot on my bedroom floor. I sat there with the laptop on my lap and opened the Internet to the scriptures. As I read, I came across this verse in 3 Nephi:


"But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father who is in secret; and thy Father, who seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly" (3 Nephi 13:6).


My mind got stuck on this verse. I couldn't leave it without doing something about it, so I went just a few feet away and climbed into my closet. Now, I don't have a fancy walk-in closet. I have one that's roughly 2 1/2 feet deep and about seven feet wide. It has two sliding doors. It's a bit snug in there with all the clothes hanging down and the shelves, but it's not terrible. I shut the doors, and nobody knows where I am. It's pretty sweet. No one would imagine that I would go in there.

While there, I knelt and prayed. I prayed about a bunch of stuff. It was all very important to me at the time.

After I finished praying, I felt that I should jot down some of the things I'd felt. I needed a pen and paper, so I quietly opened the closet door and headed toward my bedside table on the far side of the room. As I headed toward the bed, I felt that I should grab my computer bag that was sitting there, but then talked myself out of it because I felt sure that there was a greater chance that the things I needed would be on the table.

It ended up that they were not, so here I was again in the quandary about turning on lights.

I rounded the side of the bed again, and again, felt that I should grab that computer bag....What did I have to lose?

I snagged it and sat down on the floor. I opened the flap and slipped my hand inside. The first thing I felt was a plastic package. I pulled the package out and there, to my surprise, was a bag full of combs. Combs of all sizes. What?! Combs in my computer bag? Why? Had I put those there? If so, when? Very strange.

I grabbed a comb out and ran it through my then partially dried hair. As I did so, I realized that a comb had been just what I'd needed that morning. I had sacrificed orderly hair without snags for doing what I felt God wanted me to do.

Sound silly to anyone else? I kind of chuckled to myself when I realized what had really just happened, but said a little silent prayer of thanks as I worked to detangle my hair.

How strange that He knew such a simple need and then provided it. The location of those combs made it that much more significant. I mean, I may do some pretty bizarre things, but I just can't figure out where those combs would have come from or how they got there.

I reached further into the bag and pulled out a small pile of random papers. I thumbed through them. About three or four pages in, I found something that again, gave me reason to pause and consider.

Amongst those papers was a check. The check was dated March 22, 2011. Weird. Certainly, I'd been through this bag since that time, but maybe not. My purse was stolen on March 21st that year, so I must have placed it in there because I had no purse to place it in, and I wanted to make absolutely certain that that check was put in a safe place.

Here's the extra strange thing....The check was for $225, and it was made out to....#1!

#1 was all signed up to run track that year but because of an injury, shortly after the season started, she had to bow out. That check was her reimbursement from the school. It would be what she would need to give her an enormous leg up on paying off the insurance deductible.

Again, a prayer of thanks and a great understanding that even though those weren't things I had prayed for that morning, just the little bit of obedience of climbing in that closet to pray brought about things that were needed most.

Let me just tell you, prayer works.


"But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father who is in secret; and thy Father, who seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly" (3 Nephi 13:6).

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General Conference Thoughts: My Mom's Journey

 It's been 183 years since the Church was restored--in 1830. There were six members. There are now 15 million.

 Last year at this time, there were 58,500 full-time missionaries. Today, there are 80,333. It's astounding to think that last year, it wasn't even a thought in our home that we'd have our own missionary out in the world, but here we are, a year later, and she's been gone for some time now. Someday soon, I'll share the miracle that that is.

"Go ye therefore and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost" (Matthew 28:19).

"After all that's been said, the greatest and most important duty is to preach the gospel." --Joseph Smith

 It is to fulfill these words that missionaries are out, all over the world, searching for those who are seeking the truth.

I got to thinking yesterday about my family's history in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It was not a "family tradition" to be a member of the Church. I do not have many pioneer ancestors who joined the Church back in or around 1830. I have one--the Riddle (my paternal grandmother's maternal) family. My paternal grandmother's father joined the Church later on as did my paternal grandfather and my mother.

Specifically, I got to thinking about my mom yesterday. And even more specifically, her search for truth. I got to thinking about the remarkable person she was (and is).

I have shared this before, but my mom's mom died when my mom was six. It was 1934. This has always been an astounding fact to me. The world was at war. The Great Depression was on. A very unsure time in our world, and a little girl loses her mom to cancer. In my mind, a great tragedy.

I have often wondered what it must have been like for her. Yesterday, my mind retraced these thoughts but from a different angle. What was it that made her so wonderful?

I had concluded, a long time ago, that these experiences from her childhood, played a huge role in that. But, yesterday, I thought of her journey....of her faith.

When she was a teenager, she attended a Lutheran summer camp with a friend. While there, she stood at the meeting when the pastor announced, "If you desire to follow your Savior, Jesus Christ, please stand." Before the end of the camp, she became Lutheran. She became very active in the youth activities of the Lutheran church. I find it ironic that most of my dearest friends are practicing Lutherans. She continued to attend Lutheran services throughout her teenage years.

I don't think it was until she met my dad that she even knew what the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was. Her dad, when he found out that she was dating a "Mormon," was very unhappy. He got so he wouldn't let my dad step foot in his house.

When they married, to appease her father, they did so in my dad's parents' home. It was NOT to happen in an LDS meetinghouse.

In 1959, my mom joined the Church. When I asked her why, she shared with me that it was because my dad and she wanted to be able to answer my sister's questions as they knew she would have them as she grew. They wanted to be united in their answers. They felt that they were to be had in the faith of my dad's family--the LDS faith.

I never knew my mom as a new member of the Church, but I know people who did. I have met people who loved and helped her as she "got her feet wet" in her new faith. I am grateful to those people. It's been so fun to cross paths with them and learn a little about what it was like for her back then.

My mother was a very happy person. She was solid in her faith as long as I knew her.

The Church provided her with answers she sought for herself and for her family. She found that she could be bound to her family through the ordinances in the temple. I believe those are the things she searched for more than anything else--to be tied to her family eternally.

As I look back on these things, I have to chuckle when I reminisce on the fact that, just prior to his death, my mom's dad was listening to the missionaries. He passed away, before he could have baptized himself, but my, how his heart had softened. He saw the good it did in my mom's life and the great things it did for our family. He wanted that for himself as well.

I am grateful for the faith of my mom, and I'm so thankful for those who taught her. I am so pleased to watch my daughter change lives and give back a little of what our family has been given through this wonderful church.

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The Hazard of Hess - part 2

Naming babies can be so fun. My husband has a very unique name. I was one of five Julie's in my Kindergarten class. So, when the time came to choose names for our children, we decided to stick with names that not every kid in the class was going to have.

One tricky thing about unusual names is that once you've named two children, you are then committed. You HAVE to name them all something different.

We have one child with a very common name. I have to admit I really dislike the idea of taking a normal name, and giving it a wacky spelling in order to make it unique. I don't like it, but I'm guilty of it. Our #5 has always had at least one other boy in his class with the same name, but we have yet to find one spelled the same way.

The truth is, though, that I'm very glad he has the name he has and not the one the Warden tried to get away with.

Here's the story.....

Back when I was pregnant with #5, we were plumb out of names. We had struggled even with a name for #3, and knowing this was a boy and we already had two boys, we were really working hard to find just the right moniker for this little one.

At that time, the Warden included the teachers at the school where he was working to help come up with a name. For some reason, this became a really fun thing....once someone figured out all you could do with the name "Hess."

Unlike Michael Jackson, we could never use the name "Prince" for even one of our boys because he would quickly be feminized--Prince Hess (Princess), you get it, right?

Oh, after this, they had a BALL!

Some of my favorites were "obsequi," "carol,""dungeon,""blamel." You get the idea. Add "Hess" to the end of any one of these, and this child takes on a whole new meaning. The Warden's favorite was always "X." Although, his mother had always threatened that she would have twins and name them "Melluva" and "Meckuva." 'Nuf said.

So, the story continues.....

I was induced with each pregnancy, and although #5 was a special case, it was no different. We drove out to the hospital early in the morning. It was still dark outside. Because we weren't at our local hospital, our doctor had arranged for one of his associates who works closer to the hospital we were delivering at (I say that as if "we" were delivering. Haha! Yah, right!) to be there to begin the induction.

She showed up, and we were off and running. Things went very smoothly, and a few hours later, our doctor arrived to deliver, and we had a healthy, wonderful baby boy.

After the excitement was over, the Warden left to go get something to eat. On his way back up to the room, he happened across the doctor who started the induction. She was already on the elevator and headed up to see her patients....and me.

She asked, "So, do we have a baby?" to which the Warden replied, "Yes, everything went great."

She continued, "Girl or boy?" He told her we'd had a boy.

The next obvious question: "What did you name him?"

The Warden's response: "Sucks."

The doctor, without batting an eye, replied, "Oh, that's a nice name."

REALLY! But, what would you expect her to say. I'm betting she hears all kinds of things in her line of work.

The Warden came in just a few moments after this conversation practically rolling. He was laughing so hard. He couldn't wait to share what had just occurred in the elevator.

Within about five minutes, the doctor walked into my room. We razzed her a bit as I said, "You fell for that?"

She laughed with us for a long time as the Warden explained that we had great hopes for this boy. How could you lose with a name like "Sucks Hess?"

The Hazard of "Hess"

image: it.geol.science.cmu.ac.th

I'm betting you have no idea how versatile a name like "Hess" can be. I know I didn't until a number of years after I actually became one. Here is the first of two illustrations for you. The second will show up in another post. For now, here's story number one.

Years ago, a letter came to my husband in the mail. I grabbed it from the mailbox and got in the car. He and I were heading someplace. I looked through the envelopes to discern what was for me and what was for him. Then....there was an envelope with his first name on it followed by a TERRIBLE typo.

Take a moment and look at your computer keyboard...

image: etechmag.com

It seems that, after typing the "H" and "e," the person who did the data entry mistook the left-hand ring finger for his/her right-hand ring finger.

Go ahead...look at your keyboard. Yup. That's a bit of a problem.

What I Learned from Silent "L"

When I was a child, I remember learning how to read. I recall the word "would" showing up on the page. I was a good reader, but it took me FOREVER to learn that word.

As we read in class, I remember my turn to read would come up. Without fail, as I'd hit that word, someone would blurt it out so that I wouldn't have to struggle with sounding it out and take valuable time stumbling over that silent "l." Over and over this happened.

Then, one day, I was sitting at home reading silently to myself. Suddenly, there was a word that held me up. It wasn't a long word, and I knew every letter in it, but I sat there and struggled. I tried to sound it out. I recall slowly sounding each letter out--W-O-U-L-D. I said it out loud, "Would." What word was that? I had never heard a word like that before. I had to have been reading it wrong.

Finally, I figured out that the words around it might help me figure it out. Sure enough. That word was "would!" Pronounced "wood." Got it! It clicked. From that point on, whenever I saw "W-O-U-L-D," I knew that it was pronounced "wood." I never struggled with it again.

You might ask why this is so significant to me now. Why would I even remember something so simple as this? Here is why.....And yes, my explanation will require another little story....

When #1 was about seven, I signed her up for swimming lessons. As she came out of the locker room and headed to the pool, with panic on her face, she shared that she had forgotten her towel.

My first instinct was to tell her to go ahead and go to her lesson. I'd run home and get her towel. I'd be back just in time for the end of the lesson. Something stopped me...."Would" stopped me.

I thought through the scenario....If I "read over it" for her, would she ever learn to "read" it?

Instead of grabbing my car keys and making a run for the parking lot, I chose otherwise. I told her how sad I was that she'd forgotten it, and I wasn't lying. I really WAS sorry. I went and grabbed my seat in the stands and proudly watched my daughter learn a new skill.

At the end of the lesson, #1 came shivering from the pool. She scurried, because "no running" allowed, to the locker room, showered, and clumsily pulled her clothes onto her wet body. Was I sad for her? You'd better believe it. Did I feel guilty because I could have solved her problem? Oh, yes, but again, "would" stopped me.

Sometimes (dare I say often?), teaching our children is painful. Sometimes, just because we are the grown ups and have been there, done that, and have the means to rescue them and thus relieve them (and ourselves) from any amount of discomfort, we feel that that's our duty. 

I was pretty sure that after that, #1"would" never forget her towel again. She had been allowed to have the full experience of "sounding it out" herself. 

Actually, the next week, as we walked through the door to the pool, #1 smiling, proudly, pulled her towel from her bag: "Look, Mom. I brought my towel." I never had to remind her about her towel again. That doesn't mean I didn't have to remind her about other things, but I guess shivering wasn't her idea of a good time, so the towel thing was covered.

I would propose that it is more important for us to use those feelings to react compassionately toward our children. It's in the allowing them to have the full experience. That the true learning takes place.

So, why do these stories pop into my head this morning? Well, as we were heading out the door to school this morning, one of my children started to walk out the front door without shoes or socks on. I noticed, but I said nothing. I knew that within a few steps out onto the deck, he'd figure it out and run back in, but before that experience could teach the lesson, his older brother called out, "SHOES!"

DARN! I guess that lesson will be reserved for another occasion. I "would" think there will be one.

Sadly, though, I do need to add an obvious note here: 

If a child is in mortal danger, for heaven's sake, rescue him/her (Did I really need to add that?). If it is a situation in which the child really can't fix it him/herself (for example, my daughter taking care of her fraud situation while she was heading to the MTC), you will have to step in and take care of things. 

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A Little Piece of Hesstory: The RUDEST American EVER!

The newest group of missionaries bound for Olongapo is in the air as I write this. How exciting!

As I think about this fact, it reminds me of my own arrival in the mission field. We were in the mission home in Sendai, Japan, for three days and then, at breakfast, if I'm recalling right, we were given our individual assignments. I was sent almost as far north as someone could go--to the city of Aomori. I had three different trains to travel on by myself. That, of course, meant two transfers.

image: commons.wikimedia.org

I remember over that breakfast, asking the mission president to write the kanji characters for the stations I would transfer at. When it came down to it, I didn't really need them because things were also written in English letters under the kanji.

I took it as a personal challenge to speak with anyone that sat near me. I also learned quickly that the Japanese nod when someone speaks to them to show encouragement and that they do a little "uh" kind of sound, sometimes referred to as the "affirmative grunt" when they're listening to someone else speak.

image: uts.edu.au

I remember watching a woman in a phone booth. As she spoke, she bowed over and over again as if the person on the other end of the phone was present.

These are all things I remember from sitting on the trains that day all those years ago. I believe the date would have been around July 20, 1989.

image: panoramio.com

When I arrived in Aomori, I was AMAZED. Everyone had told me that I was going to the "inaka," the countryside. So, I believed I would find rice paddies everywhere. I pictured the textbook Japanese countrysides from my social studies classes in middle and high school. That was SO not the case.

image: tripadvisor.com

As we pulled into the station, I was sure I'd made a wrong transfer, but I kept hearing what I swore was "Aomori" over the loud speakers. This HAD to be it. But there were tall buildings with neon lights. There were people everywhere. This was the Japanese inaka?

I pulled my three suitcases off the train and looked around for someone to come to retrieve me. There had to be a white face somewhere, but no. There was not.

Oh, my goodness! I had made a wrong transfer. I was SURE of it.

image: 123rf.com

Ahead of me was a very tall staircase. If I climbed those stairs, what would be on the other side? Could it be that my companion was waiting there? Every other station we had passed had easy access to waiting friends. Was this one different? I decided that not venturing would be foolish, and I wasn't sure I had the Japanese necessary to figure out how to board the next train back to Sendai, so venture, I did.

The next quandary....what to do with the three suitcases. There was no way I was going to be able to haul all three at the same time. It was then that I remembered that I was now in a much safer country than the one I left. I would take one at a time, leave it at the top and go down for the next. In all of this, I would hope and pray that what I'd heard about Japan was true--my things would be safe and untouched.

I began by hauling my smallest bag up. The stairs were SO narrow and there were so many of them. I left it at the top and went back for the middle-sized suitcase. As I neared the bottom step, a porter rounded the corner and asked if he could help me; at least, that's what I deduced.

He grabbed my biggest suitcase. It was HUGE. I felt bad that he had chosen that one and tried to trade him for the one I was carrying. No go.

As we hauled them up the stairs, he started to fall behind just a bit. I wanted to come across as polite and grateful, so I decided that I'd better say something. I picked my brain for just the right thing. It was decided. I was going to say, "It's heavy, isn't it?"

The words came out: "Osoi desu ne?"

I was so proud of myself, but the look on his face told me that something was wrong. What could it be?

I thanked him the best I knew how with "Arigatou gozaimasu" and worked my way around the corner. There, at the bottom of another flight of stairs, was my companion and a couple of Elders. I was SO glad to see them. I hadn't taken the wrong train after all. PHEW!

image: pinterest.com

Two days later, I sat down at my desk to study Japanese. I decided to review some adjectives. I came across the word for "heavy," "omoi." Wait....."OMOI?" That's not what I'd said that evening on the stairs of the train station. Oh, no! What had I said? I remembered; I said, "Osoi."

I quickly looked up "osoi." It's meaning: "slow."

image: pinterest.com

Instead of saying "It's heavy, isn't it?" I'd said, "You're slow, aren't you?"

UGH!!! NOOOO!

Such an auspicious beginning....STILL kicking myself.

It's a wonder I survived, isn't it? So glad that Japan is such a safe country.

Returning After Many Years

Hoping to go here tonight....

I haven't been to this temple since April 7, 1989. How do I remember the date? It was the first time I entered the temple as an adult. My younger brother and I went together with our parents. The Portland Temple was under construction, and we were both bound for missions, so this was our temple at that time.

So looking forward to going back!

Social Life: How Times Have Changed

My sweet and wonderful friend, Rachel, just posted a new photo of herself on Facebook, and it got me thinking how non-social I am right now. Many of my dearest friends moved away years ago, and I just don't reach out much anymore.

It's funny because I remember my mom being very much like I am now. She spoke with people at church; actually, she was often the last one out of the building, but I don't remember her just up and leaving the house to go have lunch with friends or hanging out with people during the week.

I wonder, am I really anti-social, or is it just the fact that I have a houseful of kids, and my plate is full enough. I really am thinking it's the latter. There just aren't enough hours in the day anymore. Choices must be made, and I'm fearful that unless you live with a houseful of kids, you just don't understand my plight.

There are countless wonderful people I could call or hang out with on any given day, but I just don't feel the push to do that. Is something wrong with me?

I used to be the kind of person who hated to be home. I loved being out among others. Why don't I feel that now?

I'm now perfectly happy just to be home.

It is true...I feel that those in my house are my dearest friends. I'd rather be with them than with anyone else, so I guess that's a good thing, but as I looked at Rachel's photo, I realized how times have changed. Not that she's changed all that much. She's just a lovely as ever, but the times of going "Slimming with Rachel" are no more--Rachel and I used to go to deep-water aerobics at night twice a week. #4 would ask me often if I was going "slimming with Rachel" that night. I remember him calling it from his bedroom window after he'd been put to bed: "Mom, are you going slimming with Rachel?" as Rachel and I headed out onto the driveway and out to her car.

I, honestly, miss those days.

My hope is that someday I'll be a social person again, but to be honest, I wonder if, because of my neglect, no one will want to hang out with me when I'm an old woman, after my social circle has moved out and moved on with life--missions, college, the whole sh'bang.

I'm grateful for my memories with people such as Rachel. They were a gift at a time when being home with a whole slew of little kids could have made me mental....Those days when I needed a break to be with real people who could speak in full sentences that didn't include the word "maaaahm."

Rachel, thank you! I love you! You were, and are, a treasure in my life.

Shout Out: Julia Shinkle

This is one of those posts that has sat in the background WAY too long. As I attached the new family photo at the top of this blog this evening, I remembered writing this unfinished post and decided that I'd better get it done. So, here you go....


Two mission buddies (who ended up marrying) sent their oldest son to the Missionary Training Center today. Wow! It's just blowing my mind that I met them both when we weren't much older than our oldest children are now.

They have a beautiful family. It's so fun to see where life has taken them in the past number of years. I got to looking at the photos they recently had taken before their son left for the MTC and got to thinking about how before #1 leaves, we HAVE to have some family pictures taken, which is the cause for today's shout out.


When I think of family pictures, I automatically think of my friend Julia. She does AMAZING work. She's creative and fun. She takes the simple things and turns them into works of art.  I have to share a couple of our experiences with Julia....

The first time she ever photographed our family, #7 had just been born. Julia called me and asked if she could come take photos of #7 for her portfolio (she was just starting her business). When she came, things were easy and relaxed. She used items we had around the house--baby blankets, a drawer, wooden blocks, etc. It was clear that Julia wasn't just a photographer. She was an artist. Her approach was beyond creative.

In 2011, after receiving my nomination as Oregon's Young Mother of the Year, which later turned into a Mother of the Year nomination (long story having everything to do with the age of my oldest child and nothing to do with my expertness of being a mother--as if I even had to explain that to you), I was informed that one thing I would have to do is turn in some family photos and photos of myself. I immediately thought of Julia, but going from one child to photograph, who pretty much slept the entire time, to a big ol' family of nine? Ugh! How would that go? Would she even be able to get one click with all of us behaving ourselves?....Yah, good luck on that one.

Here are some of the images from that session.....

I love this spontaneous, unstaged catch.

One child climbed on and Julia told everyone else to gather 'round. This was the result.

This was my absolute favorite:

Julia asked me if I'd brought any kinds of snacks. I told her that I had a bag of Cheerios in a bag in my purse. She asked if I would get them. I did. Next thing I knew, she had us all standing shoulder to shoulder in a random, however we placed ourselves, order and sat #7 in front of us on the ground. You can't see them, but there are Cheerios all around her. That's why her hand is to her mouth--she's eating a Cheerio.

In the meantime, there's Julia laying on the ground across from us snapping pictures of our legs and little Cheerio-munching #7. Love it!

Next, it came time for #1's senior portraits. For this one, we went out to Julia's property. Again, easy, relaxed. Here are some of my favorites:

I'm looking forward to #2 having this experience this coming year.

I decided that with #1 leaving for college, we needed to have a family session to capture us all as we were before our first flew the nest.

I have often posted the photo on the right, but I haven't shared how that photo came to be. It actually started out with the experience on the left. I was just sitting there. Actually, I think Julia was taking my photo. I was sitting alone. Along came two children. They started hugging on me and then Julia, observing this, called the whole crew over. Thus, the photo on the right.

I love that Julia can take a random event and turn it into something worth keeping and cherishing. I love that she can take a squirrely family like ours and find those moments when we all look just a little bit sane....

but then, there are those moments when we don't all get that memo.....

Thank you, Julia! I simply ADORE you!!!

Tonight's the Night

One of the biggest rites of passage in the LDS faith is going to the temple for the first time. #1 will have that experience this evening. What an exciting time!

If you'd like to know a bit more about LDS temples, here is a good article, or I'm sure I know a couple young men or young women who could tell you more if you're interested.

Here are some past blog posts in which I've mentioned the temple:

• The experience of taking our youngest son inside the doors of the temple.
• The temple's impact on our family history (sorry the video no longer works).
• How the temple figures into my view of success.
• The interesting find in my stolen purse.
• How the temple centers me.

So looking forward to #1's experience this evening. The temple will touch her for the rest of her life.

***

I just now received a phone call from a good friend telling me that her dad is dying. Ugh! Looking at the calendar, today is the day my mom slipped into her final coma and stayed there for five days dying. This coming Sunday it will have been 14 years since she left us.

Here is yet another reason why I love the temple. It gives me hope that I will see her again. I'm so glad that this friend has this hope as well. It just makes that awful pill a bit easier to swallow.

A Little Piece of Hesstory: Parallels

We spent this afternoon with someone I admire so much. Truly. I really can't explain it, but when it comes to moms, she's my icon. I just love to sit and watch her in action. She's just really got her head on straight and always has had.

As I watched her son speak in church today before he leaves on his mission, I thought of her. I thought of the influence a mother really has on the life of her child.

I feel blessed in my life to have had people such as this placed in my path. I don't think she knows what an influence for good she's been on me. Even though we've been miles apart for years, those foundational lessons I learned from observing and talking to her have stuck with me. Those were simpler times, and I just absorbed as much as I could from her.

We were placed together as visiting teaching companions. We were both newly married after returning from our missions not long before. We never really discussed our missions much. We were both concentrated on husbands going to school.

We were pregnant at the same time. We would take our babies for walks almost daily through the little town we lived in. We would go down to the craft store in town on a regular basis and buy the remnants of the fabric they had left over and would make overalls--her for her son, me for my daughter. I think we almost got to the point where we could make those overalls blindfolded and with one hand tied behind our backs.

These were such wonderful times.

One thing I learned from Lynda was to never budge. Know your standards and live them. Don't be afraid to face hard things in defense of what you believe to be right. I love her for that!

As I reviewed our lives, it almost made me laugh to think of how parallel our lives have been. Way back then, our husbands were both going to school to become teachers. Her's to teach high school science, mine to teach elementary school. Both husbands ended up becoming administrators in funny ways. Our children are very similar in ages even though we moved away a long time before most of them were born. Now, our oldest children, the ones who rode around town in strollers while their moms chit-chatted about life as new moms, will be serving missions at the same time.

Lynda's son will enter the MTC in two weeks (the day before his 19th birthday and the Warden's and my 21st anniversary). He will head to the Alpine German-speaking mission. #1 will follow four months later. Really, who would have thought this would have happened all those years ago?

The other funny thing...as I mentioned earlier, Lynda and I didn't talk about our missions much way back then, but I knew where she served...the Philippines. Yep, you got that right.

Today, when we were with them, Lynda got out her photo albums and some of the memorabilia from her mission to share with #1. So fun! She lent her a tape of children's songs in Tagalog. It was very encouraging to hear stories about the wonderful people of that country and about her experiences.

It's crazy how things come around. It will be SO fun to share mission experiences between our families. What a blessing to have such people in our lives!

As we rode home today, I felt a further boost to be the best mom I can be. I understood a little more my importance to my children and their futures.

How grateful I am for wonderful friends!