Broken Heart Invitation

This Life’s Journey

is full of bumps in the road,

unexpected turns come at us without warning

and all of a sudden we’re faced with situations

that we’ve neither anticipated nor prepared for—

how could we, really?

I don’t know about you,

but I have little to nothing in common with someone

whose life has been uncommonly simple

so as to exclude any tragedy or dysfunction.

Don’t sit me next to a mere mortal at a dinner or luncheon.

I’ll be bored to tears, honestly.

Nothing to say, nothing to comment upon.

The depth of such a person leaves me wanting.

I cannot relate to them in any other way but

a shallow one.

Sit me next to a Hero.

Sit me next to Someone whose life has taken a Scenic Route,

And my soul stirs with a fiery interest.

I want to know how they got through,

whatever it is they got through.

My heart searches theirs for depth and breadth,

strength and inspiration.

I’m not talking about the whiny people I know.

The ones who pout and stamp about at the unfairness of life

and can’t get a grip on their own tragic choices.

While they might be interesting for a few moments

after awhile they resemble a burnt firework—

they had their moment to burn brilliantly,

to show their true colors of courage, strength, wisdom and action

yet instead sat back scratching their heads,

looking around for someone or something to

point a finger of blame on.

Those tragic figures leave me wanting

because I want them to finish telling me

the part that answers the questions:

“What happened next?”

“Then, what’d you do?”

And they mostly shrug their shoulders

indicating to me there’s no hero at the end of this story.

No,

sit me by someone whose journey has bounced them around

good and hard and unforgiving;

where they had to dig deep to find their strength,

cultivate their courage,

seek out wisdom on their knees and 

resources in their grasp,

test their faith in all that they know and believe.

I’m on a fact-finding mission.

Having traveled the Scenic Route,

being raised by wolves,

and other life experiences that came at me

like a meteorite’s sonic boom,

I need to know others who’ve survived to tell the tale.

The fact is,

I know more women who would qualify as a member of

The Broken Heart Club

than women who don’t.

My heroes include those who’ve survived many losses—

Husbands

Children

Miscarriages

Divorces

Dysfunctional Parents

Addictions in their families

Their own addictions

Eating Disorders

Depression

Unemployment

To name a few.

They are women of substance

whom I gravitate towards

because they exemplify grace under pressure.

They refuse to simply burn out.

They believe they have more to offer than that…

they have earned the privilege of having

Another Day to Try Again.

Why this blog today?

It’s because of a young mother named Natalie Jones

whose ten year old son, Mitchell, is living moment to moment

because he has a form of Muscular Dystrophy.

As I have read much about their family this week,

about a woman I have never met,

and yet feel a kinship to,

I realized she and I share something in common:

Broken hearts.

She will let go of her son sooner than I have been asked to let go of mine,

and for that grace, I cannot account for—

I am nevertheless

Grateful.

When my special needs son, Dean was very young

a woman approached me in a mall and after noticing his special shoes/braces

asked me what was wrong with him.

After I answered her,

she asked a second question:

“How long do you expect him to live?”

I was barely 24 years old,

it wasn’t a question I had allowed myself to ask yet

and here was a total stranger

putting me to the task.

I replied I didn’t know.

For days afterwards,

her words rang in my head—

“How long do you expect him to live?”

I had no idea.

There was only one place I could think of

to go to and ask my question:

the Temple.

I went inside and quietly prayed

to my Heavenly Father

asking the question:

“How long will I have Dean?”

I waited for the answer,

determined that I wouldn’t leave until I had one.

An answer from the heavens came:

“It doesn’t matter.”

I argued back,

“Yes, oh yes, it does matter. Please tell me how long I will have Dean.”

The quiet spirit whispered again,

“It doesn’t matter.”

I then pleaded in my heart to heaven,

“It DOES. Oh it DOES. Please tell me how long I will have him.”

A warm peaceful feeling entered my heart and a loving voice touched my mind,

“It doesn’t matter how long you have him,

but how much you Love him.”

I knew that was right.

It was the only thing that mattered.

I felt impressed today

to write to this young mother in Utah

and share my heavenly message with her

in these last days of her son’s journey.

I don’t know her.

I’m one of thousands of people who’ve been led to

Her family’s story, really.

But, if my sharing gives her even a moment of peace,

That’s enough.

We travel this earth over and over,

We broken-hearted.

The best servants are the ones

Who know what suffering feels like.

It is our pain that both binds and lifts us.

Have a broken heart?

Come. Sit by me.

 Here's what I know:

God loves broken things.

His Future Wife Will Thank Us

You know we're growing a man over here, right?

At 13 years old,
our Joseph stands at 5'9" tall,
wears a man's size 13 shoe,
30-32" mens jeans...
and he eats, shovels in his food like a lumberjack.

Being the Quartermaster of his Scout Troop--
it's his job to take care of the troop's camping gear and equipment,
as well as make sure each scout is properly outfitted 
for the camping trips they take.
He is often paired with a less-experienced scout,
because he can keep an eye out for them.

Why, just yesterday he was begging us to let him sleep outside overnight,
in the midst of a blizzard.
We told him if he could actually set up a tent in the blowing snow
in the backyard,
he could do it.
I want him to be able to try his wild ideas out
in the safety of our shadows
before he attempts it alone.
He spent sometime outside
in the howling wind and snow
and came in awhile later,
declaring it was "too lonely".

We painted the family room and kitchen over the weekend--
guess who led the way for us?

He was all over it.
Seriously, he taped and painted a good deal of it
with zero complaints.

And this morning before school started,
he and Kent got out the old snowblower
that the two of them repaired last summer--
the snowblower used to belong to Kent's dad
and hadn't worked in many years,
but the two of them printed out a manual for it
and fixed it!
So Kent taught Joseph how to start it up
and use it...
he not only did our driveway and sidewalks,
but did the neighbors too!

This past year,
his dad has taught him how to:
*Replace brakes on the Suburban and the Accent
*Replace a dishwasher
*Hang a new light fixture
*Hang Christmas lights without falling off the roof
* Replace a sink faucet
*Change tires, batteries, and windshield wipers
* Replace furnace filters
*Replace a new thermostat for the heating/cooling system


I figure his future wife might appreciate this stuff...yeah? I sure do.  I'm thinkin' the next thing should be cooking and laundry.

My Valentines

“To you who are parents, I say, show love to your children. You know you love them, but make certain they know it as well. They are so precious. Let them know. Call upon our Heavenly Father for help as you care for their needs each day and as you deal with the challenges which inevitably come with parenthood. You need more than your own wisdom in rearing them.” 
― Thomas S. Monson

My Turn

"God does watch over us and does notice us,

but it is usually through someone else that He meets our needs."

~Spencer W. Kimball

Today was my turn.
I didn't know it ahead of time,
just like the last time
it was my turn...


I was at the mall shopping for a new white Sunday shirt
for my 13 year old son, Joseph
with Mr. Wonderful.
We'd just made our purchase 
and were headed towards to center of the mall
when I heard what I thought was a child's outburst of crying.

Being a mom to many,
I dismissed the cry--
thinking the child's mother would tend 
to whatever the needs were--
and kept walking.

But the crying outbursts kept going
and we were walking towards the cry
instead of away from it.

As we got closer to the escalators and elevators,
it became obvious that the crying was coming
from that area.
I fully expected to see a young mom struggling with her child,
but
that wasn't what I saw at all.

With his back towards me,
I could see a man kneeling over a 
young woman
who appeared to be stuck 
on the top of the escalator--
I thought perhaps a shoelace was caught in it
or other peice of clothing.

People were walking by them
but not stopping to help,
which seemed so odd to me.

Without another thought,
I hurried over to them.
As I looked into the young woman's eyes,
I knew
she was a special needs person.
She couldn't speak, other than the crying and pure panic yell
coming from her very frightened face.
She saw me
and like my own child
reached out for me.

I embraced her,
and softly said words of comfort,
"It's OK. You're OK. I'll help you."

I turned to the man and asked if he were her
"caregiver",
to which he replied, 
"I'm her friend."
Something wasn't right with him either,
so I focused on getting her OFF the still-running escalator
by holding her hands
then under her arms and shoulders
and bringing her to her feet...
which had no shoes on them.

I looked down and saw one shoe
the other was not in sight.
Her face lit up when she saw her one shoe
and I led her over to a bench
and kneeling down,
put her shoe on.

The guy was standing back
allowing me to do all of this for her,
not offering a word to her,
even though it seemed like
she knew him.

Again, I asked,
"Are you here with her day program?"
"I'm her friend." he answered.

I told him to stay by her
while Mr. Wonderful and I went down the escalator to look for her 
other shoe.
We found it at the bottom
along with a water bottle
and took them back to her.

She grabbed the water bottle and drank from it quickly...
she was calming down
and trying to communicate with me,
but I couldn't understand her.

I put her other shoe on,
tidied up her hair with some hairbands that had
fallen off at the escalator,
and about that time
a group of people, that called her by name,
"Audrey"
came by and I felt like it was time to go.

The man said nothing at all to us.
So I don't know what his deal was--
perhaps he was a peer of hers
or perhaps an overwhelmed chaperone.

I directed a mall security guard over to them
so he could make note of her accident
and then we walked away.

It was hard to walk away from her.
As we drove away from the mall parking lot,
I wanted to go back in the mall and find her
and make sure she was really Ok.
But that's just weird, right?

It's now nine hours later
and I'm still a little emotional over it.
I wonder if anyone will tell her mom
what happened to her today.
I wonder if she'll freak out the next time
someone tries to lead her to an escalator,
and they won't know why.
I wonder if I could have done more,
and what would that have been?

She was the best part of my day.
Because she reminded me that
WE are all God's hands
and we all get a turn to serve
if we choose to listen.

Making It Stick: The Lessons We Learn Together

Daisie is a senior in high school.
She is, in fact, my 5th senior so far.
And while I'm not a novice at being the mother of a senior in high school,
I'm still not perfect at this place in life.
Which says something about me, I'm sure,
but thinking on it requires more effort than I am
committed to expending today.
This girl o' mine is complex,
as all other teenage girls are at this age.
She alternately amazes and confuses me.
One day she rises from her basement bedroom
ready for school,
on time,
dressed to the nines,
hair curled and shiny,
happy, alert, and engaging.
The next day
she requires a bit of tugging (aka "yelling" down the stairwell)
to get up and get going.
She rises to the top of the stairs in
what appears to be pj's,
or at the very least,
clothing that looks like they've been slept in--
wrinkly, anyway,
hair pulled back in a ponytail,
no makeup,
and communicating as though
she just rolled out
of the Stone Age.

She also has a job this year.
We encourage and facilitate our seniors to have part-time jobs
to get them ready for the real world of juggling college
and working
while they still have the comfort and support of home.
And yes, it means more work for me
as I drive them back n' forth to work
because we also don't buy our yahoos' cars while they're in HS.
Mainly because we know our yahoo's inability to say to their peers,
"I'm sorry, but I am not allowed to give you a ride in my car. I haven't had my license long enough.
My mother would kill me if I got in an accident and died. You'll have to find another way home,
even though you live across the street from me and you are obviously in despair. No. I cannot help you out."

We know our kids,
because they are just like us
and they would break the "No Passenger for the 1st six months" rule
just like we did, as rotten teenagers.

So we take that situation off the table
by never putting it on there.
Once the yahoos are out of High School,
their social situation changes
and it's a better time for the responsibility of car ownership
and we help them find a good used car to buy
with their very own money.

Ok, SO.
Daisie.
Because she works M-F after school,
her only home chores are dishes on the weekend.
Hey, it STILL takes a family to take care of a family
around here,
even if she is a senior and is working...
everyone contributes where they are able.
This is not a hotel
where our older yahoos simply sleep, shower and sometimes eat at...
unless they're willing and able to pay hotel fees.

Well,
sometimes she wants to skip out on her weekend dishes--
due to plans with friends or whatever,
so she has to find a substitute aka "kid sister or brother who wants 10 bucks"
to do her dishes for her.
And sometimes, no amount of money will buy that substitute dishwasher.
Joseph has been known to say, "Hey. I can't be bought."

This gets tiring, if you're the Momza around here
and waking up to a sink of dirty dishes makes me cranky.

So here's my parenting tip for the day that I'm sharing:
This is what I say:
"Daisie, if you don't do the dishes today,
I will not facilitate your life tomorrow."

In our world,
that means
she ain't going nowhere til' she's done her part.

Testing my resolve on Sunday,
she left pots n' pans in the sink overnight to
"soak"--fyi, I hate that excuse.
And there they were, come Monday morning,
"soaking" in the sink
as she surfaced bright n' shiny,
ready to go to school.
"Do you have people that are coming in later this morning to finish your dishes,
 that I don't know about?" I asked.
Her eyes widened.
We'll leave when the sink is empty." I said.
"Whaaa? Seriously?  I'll be late." She replied.
"Yeah, you will."
{Heavy sigh.}
"Gimme a minute." she said.

Seven minutes later, we are in the car,
on the way to school.
And I was happy.
We didn't dwell on the lesson,
we just chatted about the rest of the day
and got on with it.
I love her. I want her to be happy and enjoy success.
I also want her to keep grounded in family and what it means
to be part of a family.

Some lessons stink on ice.
They're inconveniant and no dang fun at the time.
But seriously,
the lessons will be learned one way or another
and we're both better off learning them sooner than later, right?

We're in this together,
this parenting-child deal.
I've got to keep learning my part
and she's learning hers.
I think we'll come out on the other side of this
A-Okay.

It's Not My Dog

When my oldest daughter was a teenager
she possessed an impressionable heart.
It more resembled a thick absorbent sponge,
soaking up every bit of emotion, concern, despair or worry
that it came upon...
even when it wasn't hers.

If a friend or acquaintance had problems,
girlfriend would let all that negative energy
just wiggle itself down into her bones
until it was good n' wedged.

Doing this isn't healthy.
I saw what was going on with her,
and wanting to give her perspective
I came up with this metaphor.

It is natural and healthy to be concerned about your own dog.
It is your responsibility and privilege to be the dog's guardian.
You will want to be sure to feed your dog and protect your dog.
It's normal to care and even, at appropriate times,
worry about the safety and well-being of your dog.
If your dog suffers and even dies,
you'll be right in mourning over the loss.

However,
it is contrary to worry in the same way over your neighbor's dog.
You can support your neighbor's decision to have a dog,
by being kind to the animal
and being aware of it,
but your responsibility ends there.
Compassionate, Yes.
Consumed, No.

So we coined a phrase when she was younger
based on this little parable:
"It's not my dog."
This phrase has been repeated many times
in our home to reel ourselves back in,
when we need to remember that everyone
has their free agency to choose for themselves.
And we are not in charge of other people's agency.
It is not our privilege nor our responsibility to step-in and
remove our friends' free agency,
even when we think their choices are unwise, foolish or unproductive.
We can give counsel when asked,
we can give support when needed,
but other than that,
it's not our dog to worry about.

What's some advice that you've shared in your family?

A Peek into Sister Johnson's Mission

As I was just sharing with Jen at Denton Sanitorium,
our Sister Missionary has less than a year to go!

I was excited to get our 2013 calendar so I could mark
her countdown on it!

She's doing great, actually.
Her health has returned and though she is freezin' her bum off
in Rochester, New York
thanks to the lake effect snow storms,
she loves what she's doing and who she is serving!

She has a FB page for her mission,
which is so neat because we get to see new pics
all the time of her happy shiny face!

Here's a few new ones:

                 Here's one of Diana and her companion, Sister Green after a service opportunity last fall.

 At at little "tea" party.

  All of those leaves prior to bagging.

 I think this was her "District" of missionaries last Fall.

 She got to run in a marathon on Thanksgiving!

In front of the Palmyra Temple with other sister missionaries.

 Sister Johnson with her current companion, Sister Klepinger. (From Mesa, AZ.)

 Another one from the Turkey Trot.

 Her first day in the New York Rochester Mission...with all of the other new missionaries and her Mission President Christianson and Sister Christianson,at the Sacred Grove.

All of the missionaries currently serving in the Palmyra Visitor's Center.


It brings my motherheart great joy to see pictures of her journey as a missionary,
especially when we don't get to talk to her on the phone again until Mother's Day!
I love her Monday emails and her letters home.
I cannot think of a better experience for my children than to go out into the world
and serve others with their hands and hearts.
Each of my children who have so served, have returned more mature, compassionate,
service-oriented and loving people.

Things I Can't Do Anymore

It's time to reconcile this mind I have with this Granma's body I'm sporting.
A list seems appropriate.

In no particular order, here are the
Things I Can't Do Anymore.
The Things I Shouldn't Do Ever Again.
The Things I Once Did, But Shouldn't Have.
The Things I Wish I Had Done, But Didn't and Now I Can't.
Not to be confused with The Things I Could Never Do, But Still Wish I Could.

 Let's just start with some obvious things:
1. The Trampoline. It's not the jumping, it's the landing. No, not after 7 children.
2. Inline Skating. Toofasttoofasttoofast.
3. Skateboarding.  See #2.
4. Let's just say, Anything on two wheels.
5. Ski. Truth is, I was a novice anyways, back when I could go gliding down an ice-covered mountain on two sticks with curly ends. I had some good runs, had some laughs of sheer amazement that I'd survived the run at all. But seriously, no.
6. Water Ski. Again--two sticks on my feet, water beneath, being pulled 40 mph by a string and prayer.
7. Jump Rope. Not the jumping, but the landing.
8. Amusement rides. Give me a headache. Excite my vertigo.
9. Chinese Fire Drills.
10. Jump off a swing in mid-air.

Less Obvious:

1. High Heels.  Not the Aerosoft ones--those are ugly, granma shoes. No, we're talking Jessica Simpson style. Too tall. Too tight. Too little fat on the bottom of my feet. I can actually feel my feet bones crunch.
2. Boots. Boots look dumb on old women. Unless they're Russian women wearing Russian boots. Or French women wearing Italian boots. Or an old ballerina--she can wear anything with her crumpled-up arthritic feet if she wants, she's earned it.
3. Patterned leg hosiery. Whereas I used to adore the fun and trendy patterns in my youth and young womanhood, it would draw attention to my overly-round calves at this point and that is not my goal.
4. Lace.  There's a fine line between feminine lace and old woman lace.  I have yet to find it.
5. Leggings.
6. Leg warmers.
7. Lacy Leggings.
8. Lacy Leg Warmers.
9. Hair Extensions.  Not that I ever got to try those out, but still, that's a big fat 'No'.
10. Going Blonde. Never did. Never will now.
11. Growing my hair past my shoulders. Hairstylist to the Stars, Jose Eber said it in the 80's and it's still true..over 40 is a "No".
12. Mulitple peircings.  Still have the two I got in 2nd grade and again peirced by my cousins in the 5th grade. Never got more than two, but my window of opportunity is long closed even if I entertained the idea.
13. Tattoos. Never wanted one, but old women shouldn't be coloring on their bodies anyway, unless it's their own name and SS# or home phone#...a thought I have entertained over the past few years.
13. oops. already have 13.
14. Colored eye contacts. Not even for fun.
15. Gold teeth grills.  Ever see an old woman with one?  {shudder}

More Random Things Off the Table:

1. Dating. (BAHAHA!)
2. Eating pasta before bedtime.
3. Or dairy before bedtime.
4. Or donuts before bedtime.
5. Anything after 5pm is a "No Go".
6. Watching the sun rise.  Not unless I happen to be up from #2,#3,#4.
7. All night movie marathons. Or movies that start after 7:30pm.
8. Midnight showings of anything, anywhere.
9. Free Pie Day at IHOP...not that I don't love pie. I just forget to go on Wednesdays--the Free Pie Day.
10. Rappelling off mountains. Not that I ever did it often.

11. Scuba diving.
12. Sky jumping.
13. Parasailing.
14. Bungee jumping.
15. Again, anything with "jumping". See #1 and #7 in first column.
16. Experimenting with my hair.  I just got the most awful haircut--I look like "Moe" from the Three Stooges right now with bangs that are nearly 2 inches long. At this point in my life my hair is kinda important to my self-esteem. And while I am not a beauty queen with a strict regiment, I enjoy curling my bangs when I have them.
17. Bright nail polish. Old woman hands. Good for cuddling babies, drying tears, making buttermilk biscuits, folding laundry, driving kids to lessons...not for "Palisade Pink" on lab-created nails.

18. Long, dangly earrings.  Makes me look like an Afghan Hound. Or Liberace.  Imagine Erma Bombeck and I'm a close doppelganger.
19. Hot Dogs. Even the good ones. eww.
20. Suffer Fools. I have no patience for them.
21. Remembering things without writing them down.
22. Remembering things without writing them down.
23. What? I forgot #23.
24. My Beloved Zumba. Vertigo stinks.
25. Ride in an elevator.  I have to take the stairs sometimes. Vertigo Stinks On Ice.
26. Drive a Stick. It's not that I can't but I don't want to.
27. "Wait to go."  As in, "I'll just wait to go until I get home from Target."
28. Paint a ceiling.
29. Cross-stitch. I useta cross-stitch all the days...now me eyes go crossed looking fer that tiny hole!
20. Ooops. Already did #20.
30. Daydream about "someday". Someday is here.
There's more, of course, there's more. But that's all I can remember today.

What're some things you can't do anymore?