What have you given up to help your marriage?

 

[NOTE: I was asked to answer a series of questions about marriage for a couple. This was one of the questions, which incidentally coincided with a dream I had.]

[Necessary background information: My primary love language is physical. Mike’s language is not. In fact, some days would go by without any physical touch from him other than a goodnight kiss. I crave being touched. I feel love when I am caressed. I feel so dejected and alone with the lack of touch…alone in the same house. The thing is, I know it is his personality; but if I walk up to him, he automatically backs up so he is not in my way, instead of leaning in and giving me a hug. Is he afraid of me? Do I repulse him? When I told him I needed hugs, his way of trying to appease me was to set his alarm to come to me with arms open wide, and announce it was time for a hug. It was not natural. It felt that if he had to have an alarm to remind him to even touch me, that he didn’t even feel a desire to be physical…at least to me. It didn’t used to be that way, but I guess as life when on, we got busy,...and  physical desire and urges left. I had resigned myself to a life of feeling alone.]

 

The Dream: One night in May 2022, I had the following dream: In the dream, I was in the dark, in the back, …facing toward an open doorway—with no door. Bright light was emanating through the doorway. I noticed a woman entering in front from the left, at the same time as a man entered from the right. They met in the center, at the doorway and hugged…happily declaring how much they loved each other and that they wanted to be together forever. Then, they proceeded, hand in hand, through the doorway towards the light. This was repeated for about 3 couples.

I remember thinking how cheesy it was, because they were not newlyweds, but they still acted like newlyweds. (I always hate it when couples post on Facebook, about how great their spouse is, and make it sound like they’ve never had a bad day in their entire married life…especially since that is not what I’ve experienced.) I took this reuniting of couples, and their overt happiness to be similar to my scorn of Facebook couple ‘braggadocios’. 

Then, to my amazement, I saw Mike walk to the doorway…alone. He looked back at me with a sad question in his eyes. I audibly answered, “No, I don’t want to be with him forever,” sadly thinking I didn’t want to endure all we had been through in our earthly life for eternity.

 

Then…I watched him walk through the doorway into the light…alone. I was left in the darkness.

My heart hurt. Yes, I hurt for the sadness he must have felt, but most of all I hurt for me. My despondency was so great, I woke up—but, you see, I was not sad that I wouldn’t be with Mike, it was that I held on to the aloneness I felt in our marriage, I had no guarantee that the personality characteristics and qualities of his, that I had come to despise, would be magically changed in a Celestial world) but I hurt because I wanted to love and be loved by someone. I wanted to have that happiness!

As I considered the dream, I realized two things:

1. It was my choice to reject or stay with him…not Heavenly Father’s.

2. I realized that Mike went to the Celestial Kingdom and I did not. It was shocking! I had rejected Mike; Heavenly Father had not! What had I done or not done that would keep me from the Celestial Kingdom, but not Mike? I mean, he was not perfect. I knew it. Why was he going and not me?

I knelt and prayed, pouring out my heart to the Lord. I asked what commandments had I not kept? As I prayed, in my mind, I went along the ‘Covenant Path’—over every covenant I’d made; over every commandment I knew. I soon realized that whatever kept me from progressing to the Celestial Kingdom had to do with whatever covenants I had made at marriage. 

What were they? In a covert attempt to ascertain my failings, I made appointments for Mike and I to do sealings at the temple and specifically listened to the words of the sealing of couples: “counsel”, “love unfeigned.” I realized two things. One was that I had to learn to love him on Earth as he is…without guarantee that he might be different when resurrected. That meant, I had to let go of being offended by his personality. I also realized that I am not his judge, Heavenly Father is…and Heavenly Father judges the heart. Wow! Since Mike went through and I didn't, it was my heart that needed to change, regardless of any perceived need of mine for him to change to make me happy. 

One of the things I did as a result, was that I began ‘counseling him’. Mike rarely asks me for counsel, in fact, in the past, he has rejected it, thinking of it as me telling him what to do (which he hates)…but in order for me to do what I had covenanted, I needed to counsel him. The result? It was horrible. He got very angry. Finally, I broke down in tears, reiterating my dream, tearfully telling him I was trying to do what I covenanted to do. I told him he didn’t have to do what I said, but he didn’t need to get angry that I said it. 

I thought Mike would be sad that I had rejected him in the dream, but oddly enough, the opposite was true. He actually was buoyed up by the fact that the Lord felt he was worthy to enter the Celestial Kingdom with all his faults. He was also humbled and overjoyed that (as a result of the dream) I wanted to love him for eternity. As a consequence, Mike found himself praying about how we could counsel together. He has even come to me to ask me to offer my opinion on some things. 

One day, after he had been praying, he came to me and said the Spirit told him that just like he has personality traits that annoy me (i.e. his engineering mind: like his desire to simplify, or avoid the hard way of doing things—which I had always thought of as him avoiding work), is one of his personality traits. He furthermore, was given that one of my personality traits (i.e. that of being a workaholic: that I am always thinking of what hasn’t been done that needs to be done) had to do with who I am, and not who he isn’t.  Furthermore, both of our traits are inborn characteristics. He was given to perceive that when I would mention things that needed to be done, it was not a message to him that he had failed or not done enough…neither was it said to maliciously tear him down, but it was said, because that is who I am and how I think…just as much as his engineering mind averts him from such things. 

Wow! After 44 years of us fighting over that characteristic of mine (and his) we were given to understand that understanding! What a gift! 

Simultaneously, when he was angry at me for counseling him, I had been praying and praying, asking Heavenly Father, what I could sacrifice so that I could love and be loved by Mike. I was told simply to go to bed at the same time as him. That meant, I needed to stop reading into the night after our couple’s prayer. I have not done that perfectly, but I have gone to bed with him when he goes to bed (whether I have sneaked up after he sleeps to read and do Wordle). What happened as a result?

As a result of my going to bed with him when he goes to bed, was that I did get physical contact. In addition, we talked with each other—even when he had his sleep head gear on and I had my oxygen on! (I kept the CPAP off till he was asleep). As a result of our bedtime closeness, it spilled over to other times during the day. When Mike would see me, he DID naturally want to hug me. Could it be that simple? What a realization that I was just as much,  or more, at fault for the decreased physical contact and communication, by setting my sleep clock (by reading at night while he was asleep) to be opposite of his. What a revelation, that something so simple could change our relationship! 

Something that Mike gave up that made a HUGE difference in our marriage (not that he gave it up for me, but for a sacrifice to Heavenly Father in order to have Yuliia, Kevin’s fiancé, make it to the United States) was that he gave up television viewing…unless it was with me or a religious program. That was substantial in our relationship! The time he used to watch TV was spent listening or watching conference addresses.

 

[Note to readers: What Mike likes to watch makes me have anxiety and not feel the spirit. What I like to watch, often has immodest clothing, so Mike doesn’t feel the spirit.) We had to compromise to find something we would both watch.]

So, all at once we were doing something together we had never done before. We were watching chic flicks or ‘feel-good’ movies…TOGETHER! Now that Yuliia is here, he has gone back to watching some shows he used to, but we have the residual desire to watch something together that we both can stand. 

Another thing Mike had to sacrifice was early in our marriage: When we had been married one day, his friends from Houston came and crashed our home...and when we went to our open house in Houston. Mike was out there socializing with them, leaving me in the dust, so to speak. For hours I was left alone, while he was with his friends. Of course. They knew them better and longer than he knew me. I was extremely sad to be abandoned. When I brought it up to him, he announced that I would have to get used to it, because he needed to spend time with them every week. I tried to tell him that was not conducive to a good marriage, but it fell on deaf ears, till he read The Miracle of Forgiveness by President Kimball one day, and there was basically the opposite stated, that you put your wife first and do not leave her alone to do things with your friends, and that if you do things with your friends, you include your wife. The Spirit spoke to him and told him that I was right and he needed to change his way of thinking. He has done so ever since.

Yes, I have friends that I go to lunch with, and he has his friends he calls every few months, but we don’t put those friends ahead of, or even on equal level with our spouse. Our spouse comes first, and we are friends with each other’s friends. If we visit them, we visit together. He doesn’t go hunting, camping, or fishing without me, and I don’t go on female vacations without him.

I just wanted all my daughters to know that Heavenly Father can help you through your marriages...and that if you draw close to Him and sacrifice for the sake of your marriage, you will be blessed. I also wanted you to know that sometimes we think we will be happy if the other person changes, when in fact, YOU need to be the one to change, as my example illustrates. But I further more I wanted all my girls to know why I may be going to bed sooner than they do, and admonish them to do likewise. Do not get your sleep cycle turned around from his.

Unmet Expectations

 

Back in 2007ish, I heard the male BYU choirs join to sing an acapella arrangement of “I Love the Lord, a beautiful 4-part, male, hymn arrangement of Be Still My Soul by Jean Sibelius (the theme in Finlandia)…only this arrangement had different lyrics. It was sung in a general conference session, and was very moving: I loved the lyrics…and being the ward music chairman, I ordered copies for a quartet to sing in church.

Well, also being the mother and wife of singers, I ‘voluntold’ my sons, Kevin and David, who both sing and read music well to sing. I also, asked my husband, who sings well, but can’t read music to sing 1^st tenor, since it was the melody. The 4^th person was a newly-activated young man, who went to all-state choir. We practiced once, then again, before church, and they sang perfectly. They all blended together and used crescendos and decrescendos to add meaning to the hymn. 

When I ordered the music, it stated the difficulty level as being ‘medium’. For those who sight read music, that is easy…however this music did have 3 key changes throughout the hymn, to represent the spirit of each verse. That would not be a problem if the chords were standard major chords, but they were not. It wouldn’t have been a problem if there had been accompaniment, but there was none…so, after the performance in Klein Oak Ward, regardless of the stated difficulty of the music, I held on to the copies, waiting for another opportunity to sing it again in a different ward (with the same calling) until I had singers, who could read music.

About 1 ½  months before ward conference, I saw the chance, and asked two great singers, soloist men in our ward, one a tenor; the other, a baritone. I envisioned them singing with their sons, one who I had used before and still had not changed his voice to be anything but a first soprano…but I, who also can sing soprano and bass in most passages, thought he could certainly take the part of first tenor, so I asked him. The other son, the one of the baritone, had sung in stake conference, and I was surprised he could sing, since he had never even shown interest in our ward, so when I went to ask him, too, his father negated the invitation first thing. “He can’t read music and he won’t want to do it. I had to jump through hoops to cajole him into doing it for stake conference.” 

OK. Well that really wrecked my plan. I didn’t know who else could blend with those men. I finally asked Mike. Even though he had sung the melody in the previous quartet, I thought he could sing first bass, since I could sight-read and sing first bass. I sent all the singers an audio of their parts played on the piano and the BYU conference version ( floating around on the internet.) 

I had no worries about the other men, but Mike…however, shortly after receiving the music, came in very confidently stating that his part was very easy. Great!

Shortly after arranging this to be sung, Mike and I decided to go to Utah for about 12 days. We would get back in time for my Thursday shift—leaving only Friday and Saturday before ward conference open for rehearsing. Well, one person had made an appointment at the temple on Friday, so we moved the rehearsal to Saturday. One person was driving to Dallas and said he would be back by 8 p.m., so we arranged the practice at 8:15 p.m. at his home (so his son would be there).

Turned out that his runathon thing in Dallas took longer than he thought and he didn’t even leave Dallas (a 4-hour trip) till 7:30 p.m. But…we practiced without him. I sight-read the 2^nd tenor part at their home and had no problems. We only had one part we needed to practice—a key change, where Mike could not find his note. We tried and tried, and Mike said he would go over it at home. Unfortunately, he didn’t (at least not enough).

Sunday morning came, and the ward before got out late; the man, who had never practiced with us, showed up even later, because he was speaking in another ward. We had time to run through it a few times though, and guess what…he couldn’t get the same key change as Mike. After a few private piano intervals given, he said he was confident he had it. 

All through sacrament, I was praying for them to do well. I, have in the past, prayed for angels to supplement voices when it was the choir, but how do you change keys when there are only 4 people, all on different pitches? As I was praying, I felt like I should ask for someone outside of themselves, to correct their pitches. I knew I couldn’t play the piano, as in previous rehearsals, they were going flat and it would be too much of a key change for me to jump in. And I, wrongly assumed the person changing their pitch would be an angel singing in their mind.

I sat at the piano and gave them their pitches, and after an eternal pause, they finally started. It was a bit slow, but they were blending…until the first tenor couldn’t hit the notes that were too low for his voice, so on the notes that were held long, his pitch warbled up and down as he trying to hold his pitch lower than his range. Mind you, he had the melody, and was front and center with the mic pointed at him to amplify his part.

OK, I thought, just keep on pitch. Just keep on pitch. Next came the pianissimo part where Mike and the other bass were to solo. Yep. They nailed that solo, about how wretched they were, and belted it out fortissimo. (The irony to come later.) Right before the last verse, when they were to change from the 'soft', sadness of the song, they were to change key, volume, and to a faster tempo.

What actually happened, was that they changed notes and volume. Ow. Ow. It was bad. How many were off key, I did not know, but right then, I knew that the person that was to correct their pitches was me. I started playing the piano, but since I had never done that with them before, it was a shock to all of them.  I can only imagine the looks on their faces as they heard the piano. Mike said he couldn’t find his note for the life of him, until he realized why I was playing the piano and he needed to listen to the to match what I was playing. After several, painfully slow, vocal off-key chords, I played louder and louder, until finally, they blended with the piano and I faded away.

Well…they made it to the end, where there were several intentional minor chords in the music—but since they had been off key before, I’m sure the congregation thought them off key again…sounding like some slow-motion funeral dirge; solidifying their performance, with nails scraping as the lid of the coffin finally closed. 

As I write this, I am laughing hysterically with tears running down my face…but I sure wasn’t yesterday. No. After the performance, I watched every participant. Red in the face. Staring straight ahead. No one in their family dared to look or speak to them. The horror of performing that way in front of the entire stake presidency and stake visitors.

The bishop kindly got up to say the music inspired him. Had I heard him say that, I would have questioned what it inspired him to do. Never join the choir? Never volunteer to sing in sacrament meeting again?

Had I not had several assignments after the meeting, I would have wallowed in humiliation. As it was, I was wondering how long the men would be embarrassed. What in the world I could ever say in a ‘thank you’ note to them that was positive about the piece? Would they ever accept to sing in church again…especially since I wanted them to sing at Christmas?

We haven’t spoken since the performance…except the 2^nd base, who thanked me for rescuing them—as I played the postlude music, and Mike for apologizing much later for wrecking the piece and not practicing enough. I don’t think we could face each other…but I woke up in the middle of the night laughing uncontrollably about the  grim performance. I doubt the performers are to that point of laughing about it, yet. Mike keeps saying 80% of it was good. Oh, my. Think about the 20%! It was that bad. It was painful. Still don’t know what to say to them. I mean. What would you say? 

What it was supposed to sound like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FASG0h6-5XQ

 

 

You've Got A Friend

 

YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND

After all the suffering I had incurred to finally gain a job, my family informed me that we were going to Philmont Scout Camp in two weeks—all expenses paid. I would have to quit my job. I only worked 6 weeks. How could I quit now? I knew the Strands wouldn’t let me off for eight days; they were hard-pressed to let me have Sundays off.

Worse than the trepidation I felt in applying for the job, was the fear of betrayal I felt in quitting! I cried. I ranted. I don’t know how I wore them down, but somehow, my parents agreed to let me stay home as long as I had someone they trusted to stay with me.

Wow! Every teenager’s dream! No parents for over a week and two of my best friends getting to stay with me. I was thrilled! I could hardly wait to tell Andrea and Jeannie.

 As my family left, all packed to the gills with camping gear, I felt no remorse, but excitement. Neither Andrea or Jeannie had jobs, so I left for work with them sleeping, peddling my bike in my white uniform, smiling inside at the fun times I could imagine we’d have when I returned from work.

 When I returned, there were Andrea and Jeannie…with their boyfriends. Boyfriends? I hadn’t counted on them being a part of the threesome. Within the hour, it became apparent that the (now, fivesome) had expanded rapidly. Cars playing loud music appeared everywhere. There seemed to be a kind of assembly line occurring among the boys. In horror, I discovered multiple cases of beer being loaded into our house. I grabbed Jeannie. “We can’t have beer here!” I hissed.

 “It won’t hurt anything,” she replied.

 Just then a loudspeaker sounded from outside. “Don’t do anything your parents wouldn’t want you to do.”

 What? What? Was happening?  I walked outside to see a police car in front of our house. The lights were flashing, and they tapped their horn with a clipped “Whoop. Whoop” of their siren…and then continued down the road.

 I somehow convinced Jeannie and Andrea that if those police came back, and found beer in my home, we’d be in trouble. We concocted a plan—a wonderfully exciting plan. We got the keys to one of the boy’s cars and while they were in the back yard, we three girls secretly moved all the beer to the trunk of the car by carrying all the cases out, wrapped in coats from my front closet. We had just closed the trunk and hung the last coat back in the closet when we heard the police car again.

 The three of us hid in in the closet, hearts pounding…and then the doorbell rang. I have long forgotten the conversation we had in the closet, but there were teens scrambling all over my house, looking to hide the beer that Jeannie, Andrea, and I had already removed.

One at a time, cars took off while the police watched. Once the police left, we three girls secretly concealed our laughing at the frustrated guys, who were looking for their stolen contraband. In fact, I was laughing so hard, that when I put my head down behind a car to conceal my laugh, my front tooth chipped on the hood. The last of the guys finally left, never knowing the missing beer was in his car. That was the end of Day One with my friends.

Day Two. I went to work, leaving Jeannie and Andrea—asleep again. I came home to a trashed house. No boyfriends today. Late at night…no TV…no boys. What to do??? (About a half mile away, near city hall…and, you guessed it, the police station, there were Grey Hound dog races in a gigantic stadium that lit up the night in noise and spotlights. We called it the dog track. We decided to walk by the dog track. So…around midnight, here I was, walking in the middle of a dark street…by the dog track. Laughing, joking, we girls could see there is a bright light behind us coming closer. We didn’t turn to see who it was, we just kept going.

“Keep walking.” Jeannie said, not turning around. “It’s probably just our boyfriends. Pretend you don’t see them.”

We did. But the light kept getting brighter and brighter, till finally I turned in horror to see another police car, their spot lights pointed straight on us. The police pulled up beside us, took out a pad, and asked our names.

I was terrified. Jeannie and Andrea both rattled off fake names. My mind was spinning. Its wasn’t in me to lie and I was so shocked by the circumstances that I couldn’t even think of a fake name. “Karen Felsch, “ I managed to squeak out in a shaky voice.

The policeman whistled. “Well what do you know. Two days in a row. Boy will I have something to report to your dad.”

I got this sick feeling as I listened to him telling me to go home. A sick feeling also grew in me when I realized my friends could rattle off lies so easily.

 

As the week wore on, my house grew more and more trashed. I would leave my sleeping friends in a semi-clean home as I pedaled to work and would come home to a trashed home. Empty cans in the yard. I had no idea what they did while I was at work, but they were always up for fun when I came home. We didn’t own a TV. What we would do, ended up reconnoitering with Jeannie and Andrea’s  boyfriends—both, of who were not members of our church, consequently not keeping the standards of the church that Jeannie, Andrea, or I professed. The next few nights we were taken to homes of people I did not know. For me it was boring, because I didn’t have a boyfriend…and those boyfriends seemed to think they couldn’t have any fun without drinking.

Saturday night came—the  night before Sunday. Jeannie’s boyfriend had invited us to another beer party. The girls wanted to go. I had done everything they wanted for the entire week, but Sunday was the next day and I didn’t want to be out in the wee hours. I finally stood up for myself. I mean, this was my house; I had let them make all the decisions the whole week! I asked them to stay home so we would be ready for the Sabbath. Result? I stayed home. They went with their boyfriends anyway. 

Alone, I turned on the radio, and reflected on the week, my friends, etc. Lots of time to think. Perhaps it was my fault, because I didn’t ever say ‘no’…I didn’t ever put my foot down. What use were friends if they didn’t respect me or my property? Perhaps they weren’t really my friends. Perhaps they were just using me…and I let them. 

I stared out the window into the darkness as tears rolled down my face. I had no friends. It was midnight and still the girls were out. I waited up for them, like a mother waiting for their children to come home from a date. With each passing moment, my realization that my so-called friends were not who they said they were. They were not my friends. 

Then, as my soul sorrowed, and my loneliness increased, music from the radio seeped to my mind. Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend” seemed ironic, but as I sang, listened, and cried, I had an epiphanic moment.

 

            You've Got a Friend by Carole King

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running, running, yeah, yeah, to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there, yes, I will

Now, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend
When people can be so cold?
They'll hurt you, yes, and desert you
And take your soul if you let them, oh, but don't you let them

 

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running, running, yeah, yeah, to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there, yes, I will
You've got a friend
You've got a friend

Ain't it good to know you've got a friend?
Ain't it good to know, ain't it good to know, ain't it good to know
You've got a friend?
Oh yeah now, you've got a friend
Yeah baby, you've got a friend
Oh yeah, you've got a friend

 

At first, I was hearing the lyrics and feeling, “Oh, wo is me,” but as the music went on, I realized that I did have a friend, who will never leave or desert me. One who will always be there. I thought of Jesus and Heavenly Father. The Holy Ghost. I always have them. They lift me up. They make me better. I can always talk to them. They redeem me. They save me. They turn my darkest night to light. I poured my heart out to the Lord. 

My loneliness dissipated and my heart was filled with joy. Then thud. My ‘friends’ came home. Drunk. No longer did I feel betrayal, but shock…then realization.

 

Yes, I did get in trouble. My parents came home to the beer cans in the driveway, and a trashed house. Jeannie and Andrea weren’t there. But when I got home, my dad—the city manager—already had the police report in hand. Turns out, unbeknownst to me, he had asked them to particularly watch my home. No wonder they were there so frequently!

Punishment? Yes. I was told I would not be able to be in any more plays. You see, I had been promised by the Drama Coach that I would have the part of the wicked queen in Once Upon A Mattress, and Mother Superior in The Sound of Music. Those productions had been planned with me in mind. Although I had had the starring role in Arsenic and Old Lace, the previous year, those parts were ones I wanted. I didn’t think it was fair. To me, the only thing I did wrong was to ‘let’ Andrea and Jeannie determine what happened, instead of leading out as to what should happen.

My father told me that when they first left me, he would pray for the house and me to be safe, but as the week wore on, he felt to pray that I might resist temptation and evil influences.

 

Did My Savior Suffer for Me in Vain?

Perhaps it was because I have been reading in the scriptures about the 2nd coming of Christ, I don't know...but as I rattled off my litany of people who needed help as the voice in our couple's prayer and ended with the prophet, President Nelson, I felt that I should pray for Jesus Christ. Well, I didn't in our couple's prayer, but as the night wore on, I pondered why I would have that thought come to me.

As I prayed privately, I discussed with Heavenly Father, that I didn't even know what help Jesus would need. I mean, He is a God. He already suffered. Why and what help would He need from the Father? As these thoughts and words ran through my brain, I vocally recalled with joy the individuals and circumstances in our family when He had redeemed them through His suffering. What a blessing!

Then I came to me. Me. I had caused Him to suffer. I had caused Him to bleed. The joy I felt for my family members turned to sorrow as I realized, I have so many things I haven't done. So many things I still have need to repent. There was no joy as I realized that heretofore, He had suffered in vain for me. I thought of John Donne's Holy Sonnet 11, how we look piously at those who crucified Jesus, and yet, we crucify Him daily with our unrepentant behavior. We cause His sorrow daily, when we take His atonement for granted. He loved us so much, that He suffered for all, even knowing many would not utilize that atonement. 

I wept as I realized the sorrow He must feel as He looks at the wickedness on the Earth today...not because He suffered for them, too, but because He loves them, too.

Did I even come to a conclusion as to what I needed to pray for in Jesus's behalf? Probably not. But in retrospection, I have found that in praying for Him, I was not focusing on what the Father could offer Him in support, but rather what I could do to support Him. His mission is not over. The atonement is not over. He would receive joy from my applying the gift he gave me. Part if His mission on Earth is for me to utilize that gift. I have a part in His happiness and mission. That changes everything. The very exercise, culminated in a new repentant spirit, a realization of the meaning of the sacrament every Sunday, and a new depth of gratitude and new empathy for my Savior, my brother, and God, the Beloved Son...and a renewed commitment to be better.

Tender Mercy Miracle for Kevin

 Kevin has tied up his money in many investments, and businesses, etc. as well as furnishing his new town home. Yesterday he received a bill for $750 to pay for a gas line he had put in his new home. He had just purchased a new freezer and did not have the money to pay the bill. A mere two hours later, he received an online payment for $750 from a friend. Both the timing and the identical amount was not a coincidence. He had no expectation of this money. Turns out that some time ago, he gave this friend some used appliances being removed from the company he works for. At the time, he said the appliances were a gift, but if the friend sold them, that he could give Kevin half the amount. Well, his friend did sell them for $1,500...thus, the exact amount for $750. Yes...Kevin did pay tithing on that miracle!

I'm writing this because Kevin has things like this happen all the time and never writes them down. 😑

Hand of the Lord in our Life

 Our bishop has asked us to write our special experiences during this year, so that he could include them in the ward history. I have diligently written ALL about 2020, including many spiritual experiences, which I should probably share, but for now, I will give you this excerpt that happened yesterday--Saturday, 12-5-20.

"As days passed, I felt strongly the need to be with my 90-yr. old mother. She had been by herself—basically a shut-in, the entire time because she doesn’t know how to use social media the way we do and no one checks on her from the family the way they do for Mike's mom. Fortunately, she has had the bishop come to give her the sacrament every week since she fainted of heat exhaustion and went by ambulance to the emergency room in July.

When we called up to tell her we wanted to come, she asked, “Do you think I am going to die?” (Yep. That's my mom.) We prayed about when to go, and although I felt prompted to go, I also saw in my mind’s eye, the airport being too crowded for social distancing. In trying to reconcile the two promptings, we chose to go after the Thanksgiving rush, and come back before the Christmas rush. We also chose to go First Class, with alternate empty rows, and to leave the first flight in the morning. Coming back, it will be later, but it was the best we could do.

When I fly, I have to take my portable oxygen concentrator with me…and by law, if I travel with one, I have to have a spare battery to show at check-in. An interesting coincidence happened 2 days before we left. I had been walking around the lake with Mike the day before and my battery started beeping because it needed to be recharged. We came home and plugged the cord in my concentrator to recharge, thinking all was well. Saturday, I grabbed my concentrator to walk around the lake again, and it was still beeping. I looked at the battery and it was on zero. How could that be? Turned out that the cord had been unplugged from the wall, so my battery had not been recharging. No problem, we plugged it in and now could recharge it.

However, Mike said, “Let’s just get the backup battery for now, so we can go for a walk around the lake.” Well, I went to where I always kept the battery and it wasn’t there. Panic ensued—if I couldn’t find the battery, I couldn’t fly. We searched and searched, under any bed or piece of furniture. We emptied bookcases. Went through drawers and suitcases. Went through closets, and book cases. I called my daughter, who’s daughter Olivia goes through everything in my house, hence knows where everything is, since many times she puts it there, however, she did not answer. Mike called his mother to see if we left it in San Antonio at her house. Nothing.

Mike said, "We needed to say a prayer, because the deadline for ordering a new one is looming, since we leave Tuesday at 5 a.m.

I prayed. I poured out my heart, and in the end, I added, “Bless us to find this before we order a new one.” 

I distinctly remember that, because it seemed an odd thing to say. But after many more unsuccessful minutes, Mike said, “I’m going to order another one. They’re $300, but that’s the only way we can fly.” 

He left to go to his office, and started filling in the order online. I answered, “Go ahead.”

But...something about my agreeing to order it kept niggling in the back of my mind. I kept thinking, “What kind of faith do I have if I pray for us to find it before we order another one and I tell Mike it’s OK to order another one?”

I thought about the trip we had taken to San Antonio and how it hadn’t been in a suitcase, then I glanced at a large purse I had taken to San Antonio. I picked it up and saw the battery in it and yelled, “I found it!”…just seconds before Mike would have pressed the ‘Complete Purchase” button.

What a tender mercy! I do not count it a coincidence that Mike had unplugged the recharger cord from the wall to plug in another item, so that we would have the need to find the second battery. I do not count it a coincidence that the words coming from my mouth in a prayer (“Bless us to find it before we order another one.”) I do not count it a coincidence that I was able to find the battery right before Mike would press the ‘Purchase’ button.

Just another example of the hand of the Lord in our life this year.

 

I Believe in Dreams...that Come True

I need to preface last night's dream with a previous occurrence.

About 3 months ago, I went to RS shower for a new baby. I was quite puzzled because I didn't quite know the mother (I thought). When I got there, I found out I DID know her; she was my age! All her daughters were there...except one--the one that had bore the child. I found out this was child #5 out of wedlock for that daughter. The first child had been adopted by a random person, the 2nd child had been adopted by the unwed father, the 3rd child had been adopted by one of her sisters, the 4th child had been adopted by a different one of her sisters, and now, the 5th child was being adopted by her mother, who was in her 60's. Everyone there was in awe of the 60ish grandma, who was adopting her daughter's child.

So last night I had a dream. Mike was not in the dream. I found out I was pregnant (told me by a source) and was so excited, I told everyone. Then I realized I was 65. How could this be? I thought of Abraham's wife, Sarai, how she was 90 and then conceived. I felt concerned that I would bear a child that would be dead or deformed due to my age. I was in a half-sleep state at that point, prolonging the dream to make sense of it...but in the end, I remember my father and grandfather coming in my room and I told them my dilemma. I told them I needed to go to the doctor to see what I could do to have the baby be born healthy, but my father said, "Don't go to the doctor. If the Lord wants you to have a baby, He will give you a baby." That was the end of my dream.

So, in contemplating the dream (with the possible meanings)...especially due to the fact that my father and grandfather were in it, I thought of the ways the Lord would give me a child when I was too old to bear one. I thought of the grandmother adopting her grandbaby. Hmmm.

I read in my Dream dictionary and it said a pregnancy in a female dream meant increased wealth. At age 65, that was just as impossible as the pregnancy at 65! So I prayed...I prayed to know if the dream had some significance in my life's future or was just a dream.

 Alas, it was of no significance.

I must admit it made me a bit sad to know that. A part of me wanted another child to raise.  It would be nice to hold a baby again. It would be nice to have a do-over. You know, when you have nothing significant to do...i.e. have all the time in the world, finally have a decent house and funds, would have only one child and not 6, and would finally know all the things I did wrong and could correct them. "That would be the perfect chance to raise a child," I thought.

I once asked my mother if, knowing what she knows now about what she did wrong as a parent, would she want another child to parent. She laughed, and said, "Every child is different. Every child is a unique challenge. If I had another child, it would be a different child, so that I could grow and learn different skills."

I guess that is what motherhood is for all of us. We, who are not perfect, try our best to fumble around that divine responsibility. Given our own trials and physical limitations, it will always be imperfect. The closest we can get to parenting each child correctly must be when we turn to their father...our Heavenly Father, and reach out for His hand to team up in this responsibility.

While I still may yearn for children, after-the-fact, and yearn for the do-overs in my own parenting. I hope and pray that all my daughters, and daughter-in-laws, may make the most of this one-time chance to get it right. I pray that they will partner with their mate and Heavenly Father to bring to pass the Eternal joy of a forever family.