Sunrise Birth Story

I glanced out the window

towards the west

to see the mountain top just barely reflecting

the rising of the sun

Thursday morning.

Headlights zipping along the main streets

were increasing

as another day began.

I had been in the same hospital room

for almost 10 hours at that point,

attending a birth that I thought

going into it the evening before

would be a "short one"--

"I'll be home by midnight", I told my husband

after I'd gotten the call

from Mama M. just before seven p.m. Wednesday.

Her first birth, 

less than three years ago

lasted a mere eight hours...

it was incredibly easy--

better than textbook, even.

Second births,

are naturally quicker--

I adjusted for that and made my guess

that I'd be back home

before I knew it.

And yet,

there I was,

watching the sun come up

on a new day...

this birth had not gone as 

Mama M. had planned either.

Her water began leaking early Wednesday morning,

but it wasn't a gushing leak,

just a bit annoying.

She didn't call me or even her husband--

just kept on with her day

playing with her son,

unpacking her things as they'd just moved into a new house

a week earlier,

meeting the neighbors

and watching her son play.

Not until later in the afternoon

did she tell her husband about her leak,

and at his urging,

she headed to the hospital

to just "see" if she was actually leaking

amniotic fluid.

Yup.

She was there for the duration.

Because she wasn't having any contractions,

and because her water had been leaking

for most of the day,

pitocin was ordered to induce labor.

I arrived at her room

shortly after she'd gotten in there

from triage...

it was nice to see a familiar face,

as her attending Nurse Kellie,

was a childhood friend

of my oldest daughter--

she'd just come on duty at 7pm

and her shift would take us through the night

until 7am.

The first thing I asked Mama M. was when she ate last?

She had been grazing throughout the day,

but not really had a substantial meal--

and it was 7:15pm.

I groaned inside.

No fuel for energy.

And because she was getting hooked up to pitocin,

that meant she'd have to stay either 

in bed

or next to it,

with constant monitoring.

Which translated into very limited

comfort measures--

no showers,

no jacuzzi bath,

no getting up and walking around,

and only clear liquids,

no food.

Mama M. was just barely dilated to 2cm

at admittance,

and not having any contractions (ctx).

Nurse Kellie started the pit drip at 8pm.

Papa J arrived shortly after taking their son

to a sitter's house--

he brought a rolling cooler with him

full of food--

hot wings, pudding, drinks!

As if he were going to a picnic...lol.

Well, he had to keep up his energy too,

right?

Mama M. was hungry--

we gave her the allowed chicken broth,

jello, and apple juice...

not much compared to Papa J's feast,

but that's all she was allowed to have.

Not until 9:35pm did she finally feel a real ctx--

"Ow! Felt that one!"

At 10:30pm Dr. C came and checked her cervix--

still at a 2cm, 55-60% effaced, minus two station.

We had Mama M. on the ball,

standing next to the bed,

swaying/rocking her pelvis,

doing gentle squats--

to open her up.

She continued to drink lots of water

and had many ctx on the toilet--

which is good for laboring.

At One a.m..

Papa J was in the bathroom with her,

they were both laughing,

and all I heard from Mama M was,

"Don't make me laugh!"--

followed by more laughter.

yeah.

We still had a ways to go,

but it was great to hear her laugh.

A little after one,

labor kicked in--

which was great on one hand

bc that meant her body was working

towards delivery,

but on the other hand,

she was really really tired.

We sat her in a rocking chair

while I rubbed eucalyptus lotion

on her legs and feet

for almost an hour.

Mama M is a supremely great "breather"--

slow and steady

slow and steady

inhaaaaaaaaaalllllllle

exhaaaaaaaaaallllllle

blow it all awayyyyyyyyyyyy

over and over and over again...

She was wonderful.

She had some ctx side-lying on the bed 

when it was discovered that there was just a little bit 

of effacement left on her right side.

We put a "peanut" ball between her legs

for a few ctx's and then she stood up

throught a few more,

arms around Papa J's neck,

swaying back and forth,

Papa J's encouraging words in her ears

while I sat aside for a bit

to give them some time to just "BE"

in labor together.

All the while,

Nurse Kellie was in and out checking on Mama M.,

the baby girl handling it all very well.

Fatigue is a miserable companion in labor

and was definitely taking it's toll on this

sweet Mama M.

By 3:20am,

she was having a hard time keeping up with 

the waves of contractions...

Papa J had taken a few naps here and there,

but Mama M and I had ridden each wave together

and I saw exhaustion all over her body.

The decision was made to get some fentanyl

to take the edge off...

Mama M. rested between ctx's

for almost an hour;

then Dr. C came in and I thought for sure,

the news was going to be 

"completion!" because all the signs were there

that the ctx's were the really good ones,

the ones that open the cervix and move the baby down--

but at 4:20am,

she reported only 5cm dilated, 90% effaced, -1/-2 station.

Disheartening news, to say the least.

Granted, Mama M had only been experiencing good ctx's

for 3 hours,

but, man oh man,

at 4:20 in the morning,

with an empty stomach and pain--

that was the last thing Mama M wanted to hear!

I knew she would take that news hard.

Exhausted tears fell....

after a moment to think clearly,

Mama M made the decision to try the fentanyl

once more,

and if it gave her some relief,

she would be okay,

but if not,

an epidural would be the next choice.

By 4:40am

the fentanyl wasn't even touching the ctx waves,

BECAUSE she was in transition,

just as I had thought before,

and we didn't know it!

That's right--

her body kicked into high gear

and those strong ctx coming on

were moving things rapidly--

but because just 20 minutes earlier

the Dr. said she was at a 5--

the fentanyl wasn't touching her pain level,

so she decided to go ahead with the epidural.

The anesthesiologist was in the room by 4:45am--

I went outside while he did his thing--

that's when I noticed the sun coming up

across our little part of the Rocky Mountains.

I was tired--

not as tired as Mama M. to be sure,

but I'd been awake for 24 very busy hours--

the sun coming up 

just signaled to me

that midnight had come and gone.

Within five minutes--

I am not kidding--

Papa J came out of the room

to get me,

because WHOA--

"She's having the baby!"

I jumped up from my seat

and went to Mama M's side--

"I feel like I have to push.", she said.

The epidural hadn't even had time to take effect

and here she was, 

ready to deliver.

Dr. C checked her again,

nodded a "yup",

and the room filled with staff,

preparing the room for the delivery in

tiny moments!

We held her legs for her,

and with just a few small pushes,

a sweet, long-eyelashed-seven-pound-beauty

with tiny piggy toes, 

and curled fingers 

greeted the sunrise.

It's amazing what delivery does--

such immediate, wondrous relief!

Smiles, happy tears, joyful declarations of love,

tender kisses, ooohhhs and ahhhsss--

these are the moments we welcome

after a long night.

On the way to the parking lot,

I looked back to the west--

the cloudy skies

with sunrays streaking through them

earlier,

now revealed a beautiful blue sky morning.

This.

This was a really good way to start a day.

Down to the Finish Line

I love finish lines...
whether it's a real race-to-the-finish-line
or a metaphorical one,
I'm definitely one who loves to
see the end of a competition.

I'm in a season of finish lines--
aren't many of us
as we let go of another school year?

Fifth child, Dara is graduating high school this week.
Last night,
was the celebration of Seminary graduation.
Seminary, for my friends who are not of our faith,
is a religious training class that all high schoolers
attend beginning in the 9th grade
continuing until the end of their twelfth grade graduation.
I'm pretty sure,
that no matter where you live--
if there's a high school nearby,
there's a class of seminary students.

Some of my kids attended what is called "early morning Seminary"--
which is exactly as it sounds--
they had class beginning around 6am.
I'd be lying if I said it was awesome.
Fact is, it's a sacrifice for anyone whose ever attended,
taught, or driven their teenager there.
Six am is early.
Diana had the good fortune to attend "released time Seminary"
while we lived in Idaho--
it's just another class, considered an elective,
and the classroom is a building just off campus.
Daisie has had both-- early morning and released time.
Early morning for her,
was awful.
She just couldn't get her bum out of bed
many mornings.
Her senior year, however, this school district changed to released-time.
As one new graduate last night shared,
"I'd like to personally thank the person who let us have released time Seminary. 
There is a special place in heaven for you."



So we're done with that
until Joseph goes into high school
in August 2014.

Speaking of Graduations,
after Dara's ceremony on Wednesday,
I won't have get to attend another one
until 2018.
Having attended four yahoo's graduations already,
plus my own,
I can't recall a single word that has ever been spoken
at any of them.
Nor any of the speakers, tbh.
But, I am ready to be finished with high school
for another year.

Also on my "finish-line"
is Sixth grade.
Come this Friday,
I will have officially completed my eighth year
in 6th grade.

Something totally worth celebrating
is that our missionary, Diana,
is halfway through her 18 months.
Her release date is January 12th!!!

I may start breathing again.

So those are my "finish lines"--
what are some of yours?

BYU's Women's Conference: Busy Hearts & Hands

While at WC, 

waiting in line:

"we came, we saw, we conquered!"

There are so many interesting classes,

it's not hard to find one

worth waiting in line for--

there's about 10-12 different classes offered

every hour and a half.

 We got in line early for the one about communicating with our children.

As you can see, we were pretty early--

you just get in line, have a seat, and hang out, have a snack, visit with others, 

whatever.

 This painting got my attention:

 Do you recall the bible story about this?  It's always been one of my favorites.
When one of the classes we wanted to take was too full,
we headed over to the BYU Bookstore
and hung out with the many artists and authors there
signing their many works.
One of which was Howard Lyon.
We got to hear all about his latest art called
Mary Kept All These Things.
and how it tied to
The Light of the World-
notice the two paintings
share the same shroud--
it first belonged to Mary,
and in having Jesus wear it
in the other picture,
the artist simply reminds us
that just as He is the Son of God,
He is also the son of Mary.
My heart just melted.
And just standing there,
listening to the story behind the art
that an associate shared with us,
was a spiritual experience--
seriously.
~

Compared to our snowy spring in Colorado, Utah was in full bloom.

In fact, Colorado had a major snow storm while we were gone.  

The Springs got 6 inches of snow!

 Aside from the talks/classes

there are ongoing opportunities to participate

in Service Stations:

one of which was making greeting cards

for local hospices and Ronald McDonald houses.

 Also, the creation of both Adult and Child Cold Care packs:

 As well as educational kits, hygiene kits, baby blankets, booties, and knit hats...

 And this one that we jumped in to help; several thousand fleece blankets that would be delivered to local hospitals, orphanages, social services, Catholic Charities, and women and children's shelters:

Above the fabric is being cut into little rows for tying.

 Ya just grab a seat and start tying the ends...

Almost done!

We went back the next day

to finish off the 

2000 yards of donated fleece.

We didn't miss any classes while doing this either,

because there was a class on the other side of 

this gym,

and we got to listen to it.

It's one thing to go on a trip

and enjoy yourself,

it's another to also jump in

and make a difference for others.

Discovering the Beehive House & Little Roots

 On our mother-daughter trip to Utah last week,

Dara and I made it a point to visit

The Beehive House.

I'd been here just once before,

a long, long time ago.

A former residence of Brigham Young,

we had heard years ago

that a certain rocking chair

which my ex's family had inherited

through family lines,

and 

which I myself, had rocked

my firstborn son in,

had been donated to 

this home-

now-museum.

So we were on the look-out for it:

 This is a main floor receiving room.

One of many paintings of Brigham Young:

note the beehive carved into the frame--

that little hive is in many details of the house.

He chose the beehive as a symbol

of industriousness and common consecration of 

the early pioneers' faith and work.

 In our house, this would be called "The Home Teachers' Room".

A painting of a harvest:

That is some chandelier...

 The tour guide/ sister missionary shared that the room below was actually designed by one of Brigham's sons...added onto the house years later:

 Kinda fancy, hunh?

This is actually the bedroom of one of Brigham's daughters...Clarissa, I think.

That was an actual dress of hers.

One thing I noticed is that all of those people

were really small in stature...

dare I say, "hobitt-ish"?

 her bed:

 Things on her dressing table:

 A son's room,minus the featherbed:

 Ok, I don't know whose room this is, because I was lagging behind the tour:

 This was a child's learning/play room:

 Look at those little tea sets...how cute, hunh?

 A small dining room:

 A storage of sorts...fabric, grains, shoes, just lots of things for a home.

A picture in the hallway:

China dishes:

Another painting of the man of the house:

 The formal dining hall--

with it's original hand-stenciled walls. 

I imagine a great many dignitaries spent time here:

We were thinking that we'd reached the end of the tour,

with no rocking chair in sight...

at last we came to this room

right by the exit door:

And there it was.

The little rocking chair.

I believe it had belonged to 

Zina D. Huntington Young...

a great great great Aunt to my children:

Physical proof that somehow,

we are all connected.

Dean Update & Apologies to Angels

This is where I'm at--
I got the call about Dean.
It came.
He's good.
He is more than good.
He's left the hospital
and (fingers crossed) I'll get to see him
tomorrow, maybe.
At any rate,
I will get to talk to him later.
Whew.
Whew.
(Exhaling my held breath.)

If you've been holding good thoughts or prayers for us--
thank you. thank you. thank you.

Man.

Ok so I haveta share what else is going on in Momza's House this week:

Basically, while I was at BYU's Womens Conference last week,
I heard a wonderful talk about communicating with our sons and daughters,
as well as another talk about the journey of marriage.
One of the speakers,
whose name I cannot recall because I didn't write it down,
quoted Jeffery R. Holland:
"Words are sacred"---
from a talk he gave in April 2007
entitled,
"Tongues of Angels".

For some reason,
I hadn't heard this before.
Or maybe I did,
but don't remember it.
Whatever--
I heard it and decided  to claim it for myself
and my family.

I don't know about you,
but our family can definitely do better
with the tone and words we use with one another.
And while I could easily point a finger at each of the 3 teens
in this house,
I have to own my part too.
When I get tired, especially,
patience is in low supply
while curtness is easy-access.

Because of the powerful way this hit me,
I knew it would be a wise thing for me
to share with my family...
so my thinker started thinking
of ways to introduce the topic
and the practice of being better in our use of
words.

I got home Saturday night from Utah,
n' when me and Mr W had a quiet moment,
I shared my experience with him--
could we also share it with the kids? I asked.
He gave it a "go"
and we decided we'd use it as a
Sunday night Devotional.

Well in Sunday School,
that talk by President Holland was shared
and again,
just confirmed to me that this is important.

Sunday night rolled around--
we called all the yahoos into the family room
for Devotional.
Mr W pulled up the talk on the iPad
and after introducing it a bit,
I told the kids we're going to take turns reading
it outloud.
You'd have thought I was asking them
to pull weeds
in July...
their excitement was that high.

Determined to make this work,
I told the yahoos
that this wasn't about their language,
it was about mine.
I need help remembering that angels are writing my words down,
and I don't want a heavenly being
having to write ugly words at all
that might come out of my (sometimes) thoughtless, frustrated
mouth.

It worked.
Dad started reading,
then passed the iPad to me,
and then onto Daisie,
Bee, and finally Joseph.

It looks alot calmer in black and white
than it was...
even as the kids were reading
they were critical with missed-pronounced words,
reading too slow or too fast...
it was not a smooth process.

But we got through it.
Finally.
There were a few times when I'd stop the reader and ask
"could you read that bit again? I liked that part."
The reader either did or did not mind...
but read it again.

After finishing the talk,
I asked the kids to share what it is
that they really need to hear
from us at home.

Daisie suggested we write our thoughts down
instead of saying them outloud first.
Whatever works, I answered.
So we passed a pad of paper around
and wrote what we need to hear more at home:
ME: "Thank you, Mom."
DAD: "Thank you. I appreciate you."
DARA: " You can do it!"
Joseph: "I appreciate what you do."
BEE: "I love you."

At first,
it was suggested that those little words
wouldn't make a difference.
I offered up that, whatever means were needed--
drawing a picture,
or writing a Post-It or alot of Post-Its--
"Words Are Sacred"
"Angels Are Listening"
--whatever might help us to remember
our new habit we wanted to create--
that it be done.

We even "practiced" the kind words with each other:
"I love you, Bee!"
"You can do it, Day!"
"Thank you Mom and Dad!"

And that was Sunday night.

Monday night,
as crazy a day as it was,
we cued up Elder Holland's talk
on the TV
and watched it together.
Discussed it for a short few minutes,
had family prayer and that was that.

Tuesday was a crazy day in our home,
due to the situation with Dean's needs--
and yesterday wasn't much better.
But I made a conscious decision
for dinner time,
that instead of eating in the kitchen
we'd actually "set" the dining table
so a real conversation could happen.
Sometimes,
it is a little thing that helps me get where
I need to be--
changing things up even a little,
seems to help.

So we sat down for dinner
chicken- fettucine(flat noodles)- alfredo(white sauce)- florentine(spinach);
and even before we could get to the prayer
unkind, impatient words flew about the table--
I calmly said,
"Hey. I've gone to the trouble of making a nice dinner tonight
because I love you guys and I do not want to hear ugly words
at this table."
The Bee added, "Yeah, angels are writing them down, guys. So shut up."
"I mean--sorry, Angels--be nice!"
So we went around the table with our *3 Questions:
I asked Joseph to go first,
"What was the best part of your day?"
Without hesitation he answered,
"Sexual education."
"Yeah? Do you have any questions for us?" I asked.
"Nope." then he sang a small lyric from an unfamiliar tune
to which both girls busted up laughing
and in unison, joined in--
I was clueless.
The only lyric I got was
"its just around the corner..."
and much more laughter from the kids.
"OK", I said. "I give up--what's that about?"
Dara and Bee both exclaimed that it was from the
Sex Ed movie series that the school shows.
Oooo...kay.  Weird--my kids have memorized the song
from the sex ed class movie.
It took months of practice to get their times table down,
but after seeing a movie once, they've got the song down.
"What's the song have to do with it?" I asked, oh-so-ignorantly.

"It's about cleaning your gentiles!" Joseph busts out, laughing.

Gentiles? oh my gosh. no.
Mr W cracks a grin and shakes his head.

"Why aren't we filming this, Mom?" Dara asks.

I shrug my shoulders in defeat.

"Well the angels are already writing it down!" Bee reminds us.

"Sorry, Angels!" offers Dara, heavenward.

Oh heavens. I'm sorry too.

*3 Questions:
1-what was the best part of your day
2-Share something you learned
3- Something you did for someone else

A Long Night in the Garden

Daybreak couldn't come soon enough.

Yesterday was one of those days

that will not be forgotten.

It started out rough

because I'd been worried about my Dean--

something was up,

my mother heart warned.

I didn't sleep well the night before,

thoughts dragged through my mind

kept me alert

as if on a watchtower.

The routines of morning kept me going,

small distractions really.

Then,

the phone rang.

And I knew.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood

as an agency social worker told me the news:

Dean was in the hospital.

He had a major psychotic breakdown at his day program

and had a police escort to the local hospital.

I noted which hospital,

made a couple of phone calls,

got myself together--

that took longer than one would think,

because I could not,

for the life of me,

make a decision about what shoes to wear!

Stupid. Time-delaying decision.

I ended up grabbing sandals

and heading out the door

towards the hospital for Dean.

In the car,

I prayed,

"Please let him be OK. Please tell me what I can do? 

Please save him."

I cried. I sobbed. I begged.

I re-traced all of the events that have led up to this moment.

I'd just had a meeting on Monday

discussing Dean's need for a medication check-up,

a neurologist appointment,

a psychiatry evaluation,

and everyone at that meeting agreeing 

it all needed to be done quickly,

yet lamenting about Medicaid's delays

in scheduling those appointments.

And here it was, 

twenty-four hours later,

the culmination of my worst fears.

I was met at the door of the ER

by Dean's day program director, Rob.

His eyes wide opened,

relating the awful events of the day

that led to Dean being placed on lockdown

in the Psych Unit.

Events so awful,

I felt the blood leave my head 

and had to sit down

or faint on the spot.

This is not my Dean.

This is not my son.

This is mis-managed drugs in his system.

This is the lesion on his brain that is inflamed

and still has not been addressed

since we found out about it in December!

Who is accountable here, the Psych Unit Intake Director asked--

the Agency case workers shrugged their shoulders,

casting their eyes around each other and at the floor.

I raised my hand,

"I am. I'm his mother. 

And while these other agencies were supposed 

to be making the appointments,

and caring for my son's needs, 

they didn't, so I should have.

He's my son."

The case worker guy offers the lame excuse

that Dean's hospital-stay-paperwork

was mis-filed--

the needed referral, lost.

So they didn't know.

Seriously, that's what the guy said.

Is it ok if I'm angry about that?

I didn't get to see Dean.

His attending nurse came out

and asked if any of us knew what would help

calm Dean down?

The other agency workers shook their heads 'No',

but I got her attention,

and dug into my pocket

to pull out a set of latex surgical gloves

that I had intentionally grabbed 

from under my bathroom sink

for Dean.

He loves those kind of gloves,

has, since he was a little boy,

and in my haste to leave the house,

I wanted to bring something,

anything,

with me for Dean--

"Here. He likes gloves. 

He wore a pair of these every day he was in the hospital

in December. I don't know why, but these make him happy."

Smiling, she took the gloves from my hands

and headed towards Dean's room.

My positive thoughts from this are that

hopefully, now,

Dean will get his meds adjusted,

get that appointment with a neuro that he needs,

and he'll be better.

I was told it would be better for me

to come home than to sit in the waiting room

and that when a doctor had evaluated Dean,

I would get a phone call.

That was 14 hours ago.

I held it together pretty good,

I think.

It wasn't until Kent came home from work

last night,

found me in the kitchen cleaning like a madwoman,

wrapped me into his arms

and held onto me,

that the dam burst forth with tears.

This is hard.

I have prayed on my knees,

in my car,

in the shower,

in my heart.

Returning again and again to the Garden,

I have lifted my sorrow to the heavens.

This morning,

I woke early,

but feel calm.

I can trust that for whatever reason(s),

this,

THIS experience is part of God's plan 

for my son, Dean

and me

and our family.

We are not alone today.

If you're so inclined,

prayers are appreciated.

Moving out of Gethsemane Garden

Last week I had the opportunity to attend

Brigham Young University's Women's Conference.

It's a two-day event that

celebrates

uplifts

enlightens

and educates women

in all kinds of areas in Life--

from raising children to money management

careers and marriages,

living our faith and sharing it with others.

I have been going since 1993

and enjoy it every single time.

I will share more about the experience as a whole

another day,

but today I want to focus on a particular talk

that has been ruminating since I heard it last Thursday.

The speaker was Elaine Marshall;

her manner was lovely and articulate--

not ethereal,

but real and present,

totally relate-able.

It was my pleasure to listen to her.

She shared some of her life's journey,

which included the loss of a treasured son,

who died at the age of eight years old.

She didn't go into the details of his passing,

but openly shared her

deep deep grieving--

her mother heart was broken to peices

and she mourned his absence

continually.

Her own mother, in an effort to comfort her,

kindly suggested:

"You've spent too much time in Gethsemane. Jesus has already been there for you.  Go find another garden."

Is that not the most beautiful, inspiring words of comfort?

Sometimes I spend too much time in Gethsemane--

it could be said of me, that I set up house there.

Always tending to my sorrows and sins,

as if by being ever mindful of them

will make me a

 wise steward

a responsible woman, mother, wife.

So automatic is my "tending in Gethsemane"

that I forget that's it okay

to leave my troubles there

and accept the Atonement as it is meant to be accepted

and move on

to other gardens.

While I was at conference,

the first day I was away from home actually,

I got a call from the agency that cares for Dean.

There'd been an incident so disturbing

that he had to be removed from his host home.

I was nauseas, upset, 'fretting' doesn't even cover it.

I wished I was back home--"forget Conference", I thought,

"I need to be home."

Through constant texts and phone calls

all day,

I was kept updated on how he was doing.

He wasn't injured,

in fact, he was "OK" despite the situation.

Into familiar Gethsemane I went...

ready to let go of the busy, fun schedule we had planned--

I brought my 18 year old senior, Dara with me.

And I must say, 

that she is the reason

I kept myself busy with the planned schedule.

I couldn't let her down.

We have needed this time together very much,

and I had to get a grip on events I couldn't control,

and control the things I could.

SO, 

we carried on

and visited another garden:

The best part of that day was going to

Temple Square:

The beauty and peace there was like the Balm of Gilead

to my heart--

alone it lifted me out of Gethsemane

and gave me rest.

 Also on the first day of my trip,

I was given notice that my missionary daughter, Diana,

who is far away in New York,

was in a car accident.

 I went right back to Gethsemane...

-how hurt was she?

-would she be coming home?

-whose fault was it?

I got a few answers--

a concussion, whiplash,

but otherwise ok.

Still, my mother-heart retreated to the familiar path

to Gethsemane...

 I said prayers

for my children,

and decided that instead of setting up in camp,

that perhaps I could trust that these 

sorrows also,

could be entrusted to my Friend,

whose Garden it is.

 I allowed my self,

my heart,

my mind,

to leave Gethsemane

and rely on His atonement...

and leave my cares right there

in His care.

Though the rest of my trip was not "trouble-free"--

I was enabled to take charge of my experience there

with my daughter, Dara,

and together our trip strengthened our relationship

and provided opportunities to bond and create some great memories.

She will be out of my "view"

soon enough...

before I know it,

and these days will be those days--

how grateful I am that I felt comforted and peaceful

in the midst of trials

so that we could enjoy our time together.

It was never intended that we,

as God's children,

take up residence in Gethsemane's walled garden;

He has greater desires for us than to be

prisoners of our mortal bodies and earthly trials.

That's why He sent His Son.

There is comfort in Gethsemane--

I know I will yet visit there many times over

in my life,

but I will try to

remember that the Savior,
the Great Redeemer of All,

the One who sanctified that place,

both figuratively and genuinely--
well,
He also left that Garden a long time ago.