This project has been years in the making. I have always sort of known that I needed to do it… way back in the top secret places of my mind, but it just seemed so daunting to try to put it together, so I just kept burying the urge.
Recently several people have suggested to me that I should write a book, but I have really struggled with the topic. Should I write a fictional book, or a self-help book, or a biography? There were just too many decisions to really get me to focus on any one idea.
This year I started really feeling an urgency to do this and once I opened my mind and my heart to the idea, the big picture started coming together
When my dad was diagnosed with cancer, he said we would deal with it just like you would eat an elephant… one bite at a time! Our family immediately adopted the elephant as our family icon and we had posters of elephants on the wall of the hospital room and very quickly elephant figurines, pictures, music boxes, etc started popping up on desks and bookshelves and walls in our homes as a reminder of how one deals with the challenges that life throws at you.
So I decided to tackle this project the same way my dad dealt with cancer…. one bite at a time, one lesson at a time. I have fondly nicknamed it Project Elephant for that reason. . I have spent a lot of time thinking about this and as I have started writing chapters, I have realized that my main motivation is to share the stories and the things I have learned. I have decided that instead of doing it in a published book, I am just going to share the chapters on my blog, so that everyone who wants to read it will have the chance. As I publish the chapters here, I will label them all “Project Elephant”, for those of you who wish to follow along.
My idea for this “book” was to focus on some of the lessons that I learned from my dad while he was learning to eat his elephant. As I started pondering thoughts and as I reached out to family members and invited them to share their ideas of lessons learned, I realized that I had been learning important lessons from my dad way before cancer took over our lives. Many of them were not intentional lessons that he set out to purposely teach. Looking back, many of them were subtle lessons that one had to be quietly observing to even notice.
As you share this journey, it is my hope that you will be able to catch the spirit with which this project is intended and forgive my shortcomings as a writer. I like to write the way I think and sometimes it’s difficult to put into words what is in my head and my heart.
It is my intention for this project to be somewhat of a tribute to my dad as time quickly approaches the 20th anniversary of the end of his journey here on earth and the beginning of his next adventure. In order for me to adequately express some of the lessons learned, there will be stories that are difficult to read and even more difficult to tell. Therefore, I also hope that you won’t hold my dad’s shortcomings as a human being against him. We all have a path before us on our journey here on earth. Sometimes our path is made more difficult because of our own choices and sometimes because of the choices of others, but we all have our agency and for that I am truly grateful. With that agency comes the responsibility to forgive… to forgive others, whose choices have made our own journey bumpy, and to forgive ourselves when we have caused others to stumble.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
How To Eat An Elephant ~ Chapter 1: Look For the Strawberry
There is a Zen Poem about a man who was being chased by a tiger. "Coming to a precipice, he grabbed a vine and flung himself over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, he looked down, where far below him another tiger waited to eat him. Only the vine sustained him. Two mice, little by little started to gnaw away at the vine. The man then noticed a luscious wild strawberry growing nearby. Grasping the vine with one hand, he reached out with the other and picked the strawberry and ate it. It was so delicious."
For as long as I can remember, every time something bad happened (or when things simply didn’t turn out the way we wanted them to), dad would tell us to look for the strawberry in the situation. I remember one time when he said that, I found myself thinking in my mind, how much I hated strawberries!!
The strawberry has become almost as famous in our family as the elephant when it comes to dealing with challenges. Sometimes outsiders have confused our little inside joke with other fruit. One time, when my sister Brittney was in the hospital in a coma, our bishop traveled several hours to the hospital to pay a visit. He asked if he could offer a prayer, so we all gathered in my sister’s room and he spoke a wonderful prayer. He prayed that we could find a cherry in this situation…. We all knew what he meant!
After the prayer, we all giggled. I suppose at that moment, laughter was the best medicine for us, so in a sense, him mixing up our little fruit parable, was a strawberry in and of itself.
Strawberries are those tender mercies in life. They don’t always have to be in a moment of trial. A strawberry can appear out of nowhere when you least expect it and make you smile. Example… just the other day, I was having a bad day, I was feeling a lot of pressure from a business we were starting up and I was feeling a little neglected. I was standing in the checkout line at the grocery store and while I was getting somewhat irritated at the person in front of me for having more than 15 items in the express line, I looked at the impulse items on the shelf and noticed a black tube of Chapstick. My dad ALWAYS had tubes of black Chapstick stashed everywhere. It was his favorite. It was a smell I associate with his memory. (That and Elsha Cologne) When I was growing up, I don’t remember ever getting kissed by my daddy without him leaving a little residue of “black Chapstick” behind. I couldn’t help but smile and think that was that I was being given the opportunity to slow down for just a moment and notice something that had been in front of me every time I visit a check stand at a grocery store, but that I hadn't thought about in nearly 20 years. At that moment I felt close to my dad… Tender mercies…. The Strawberry! (I bought that Chapstick and every time I use it, I feel like I am receiving a little kiss straight from Heaven!!)
I have often pondered over strawberries that have come to me from situations like my dad getting cancer and my sister’s drowning. I think the biggest strawberry from these events is the closeness our family has gained through tragedy and our ability to rally together through good times and bad.
I was really close to my dad and sometimes I think I would sell my soul if I could just talk to him and ask his advice. Although it may not seem like it, but there-in lies a couple more strawberries in his death.
First… I have a very real reason to make sure that I am living my life in such a way that I will have the opportunity to be with my dad again someday, when our journeys once again intersect.
Second… Since his death, I have had the opportunity to become close with my mom and develop a relationship with her that I never took the time to develop when I was younger. Growing up, I always thought of her as bad cop. It wasn’t because she wanted to be bad cop, it’s just the way it worked out because dad was all too content to take on the role of good cop. I also now realize that she wasn’t REALLY the bad cop, our personalities were just a lot alike, so we clashed more and it was simply my perception of the situation that was distorted. So there is the strawberry… the tender mercy…. I was simply granted more time on earth with my sweet momma, so that I could have more time here on earth to develop that eternal relationship and gain more perspective and appreciation for all she sacrificed for her family. I am now the same age my mom was when she became a widow with 4 children still at home. I honestly can’t imagine how she got through it… I guess it must have been all the strawberries along the way.
So today’s lesson is this: When you find yourself hanging by a thread with tigers above and below you, wanting to eat you alive, and mice are chewing on your thin thread…. Look for that strawberry… that tender mercy….let go of the rope (with one hand), reach out and enjoy that moment!
For as long as I can remember, every time something bad happened (or when things simply didn’t turn out the way we wanted them to), dad would tell us to look for the strawberry in the situation. I remember one time when he said that, I found myself thinking in my mind, how much I hated strawberries!!
The strawberry has become almost as famous in our family as the elephant when it comes to dealing with challenges. Sometimes outsiders have confused our little inside joke with other fruit. One time, when my sister Brittney was in the hospital in a coma, our bishop traveled several hours to the hospital to pay a visit. He asked if he could offer a prayer, so we all gathered in my sister’s room and he spoke a wonderful prayer. He prayed that we could find a cherry in this situation…. We all knew what he meant!
After the prayer, we all giggled. I suppose at that moment, laughter was the best medicine for us, so in a sense, him mixing up our little fruit parable, was a strawberry in and of itself.
Strawberries are those tender mercies in life. They don’t always have to be in a moment of trial. A strawberry can appear out of nowhere when you least expect it and make you smile. Example… just the other day, I was having a bad day, I was feeling a lot of pressure from a business we were starting up and I was feeling a little neglected. I was standing in the checkout line at the grocery store and while I was getting somewhat irritated at the person in front of me for having more than 15 items in the express line, I looked at the impulse items on the shelf and noticed a black tube of Chapstick. My dad ALWAYS had tubes of black Chapstick stashed everywhere. It was his favorite. It was a smell I associate with his memory. (That and Elsha Cologne) When I was growing up, I don’t remember ever getting kissed by my daddy without him leaving a little residue of “black Chapstick” behind. I couldn’t help but smile and think that was that I was being given the opportunity to slow down for just a moment and notice something that had been in front of me every time I visit a check stand at a grocery store, but that I hadn't thought about in nearly 20 years. At that moment I felt close to my dad… Tender mercies…. The Strawberry! (I bought that Chapstick and every time I use it, I feel like I am receiving a little kiss straight from Heaven!!)
I have often pondered over strawberries that have come to me from situations like my dad getting cancer and my sister’s drowning. I think the biggest strawberry from these events is the closeness our family has gained through tragedy and our ability to rally together through good times and bad.
I was really close to my dad and sometimes I think I would sell my soul if I could just talk to him and ask his advice. Although it may not seem like it, but there-in lies a couple more strawberries in his death.
First… I have a very real reason to make sure that I am living my life in such a way that I will have the opportunity to be with my dad again someday, when our journeys once again intersect.
Second… Since his death, I have had the opportunity to become close with my mom and develop a relationship with her that I never took the time to develop when I was younger. Growing up, I always thought of her as bad cop. It wasn’t because she wanted to be bad cop, it’s just the way it worked out because dad was all too content to take on the role of good cop. I also now realize that she wasn’t REALLY the bad cop, our personalities were just a lot alike, so we clashed more and it was simply my perception of the situation that was distorted. So there is the strawberry… the tender mercy…. I was simply granted more time on earth with my sweet momma, so that I could have more time here on earth to develop that eternal relationship and gain more perspective and appreciation for all she sacrificed for her family. I am now the same age my mom was when she became a widow with 4 children still at home. I honestly can’t imagine how she got through it… I guess it must have been all the strawberries along the way.
So today’s lesson is this: When you find yourself hanging by a thread with tigers above and below you, wanting to eat you alive, and mice are chewing on your thin thread…. Look for that strawberry… that tender mercy….let go of the rope (with one hand), reach out and enjoy that moment!
How to Eat An Elephant ~ Chapter 2: Those Who Deserve Love the Least, Need It the Most
This would be one of those lessons that I mentioned that wasn’t really a result of dad’s battle with cancer. It is very much one of those lessons that one needed to be quietly observing to even notice.
Growing up in a small town, it seemed like jobs were hard to come by. My dad never really had a career to speak of where he did one job forever. He did what he needed to do to support our family to the best of his ability. It seemed like he was always doing odd jobs for a little money on the side. He was kind of a jack of all trades… except for plumbing! Whenever we needed a plumber, my mom would take care of fixing things and if she couldn’t fix it, she hired someone because she found it was cheaper to pay a plumber than to pay to repair the things that dad broke while he was trying to be a plumber!
One of the jobs he did was teaching alternate school. He was given a desk in the corner of the bus barn out behind the school and was assigned to try to teach the students that had disciplinary problems and weren’t otherwise allowed to attend school with the general population. These would be the kids that were suspended or expelled from school. I recall that it involved a dozen or so kids at any one time.
While I was home visiting one day, I went to see him at his little one room school and was very confused about his situation. It was a struggle for him and it appeared, from the outside looking in, that he was seriously underpaid and very underappreciated by the students and those to whom he reported. Later that evening, I asked him why he bothered to do it. The kids were unruly and didn’t seem to listen to him and he was being paid peanuts compared to what a teacher inside the school across the parking lot was paid. He simply put his arm around my shoulder and said. “Those who deserve love the least, need it the most.”
He was certainly not suggesting that any one of those students was undeserving of love. The point he was trying to make was that all they needed was some love and someone to believe in them to make a difference in their lives. Many of these kids graduated or attained their GED, due to the fact that he was willing to work in a job simply because he saw potential in these kids and he didn’t judge them for their poor choices or even their continued bad behavior. He just loved them.
He knew all too well what it was like to make poor choices in life and to have people love you through those poor choices and stand by your side and allow you to grow and rise to your potential.
Over the years, on a regular basis, I find myself pondering this lesson and even sharing it with others. It taught me to look beneath the bad behavior and low self-esteem of people and see the good in them and to imagine their potential. Perhaps much the way God looks at us and our shortcoming and sees the good in us and knows of the great things we can accomplish if only we could believe in ourselves. Regardless of what bad choices we may have made or how often we continue the same mistake.
Another example of this lesson was the way my dad coached little league. I remember that our summers were spent at the ballpark. My dad coached little league in the afternoons, played on a men’s league in the evenings and usually umpired any game that he was not playing or coaching. For the purposes of this lesson, I want to focus on the little league.
To say my dad was intensely competitive would be a gross understatement! He lived and died by the outcome of a sporting event. It didn’t matter if it was little league baseball, church basketball or watching the Braves on TV. His intensity and competitiveness are a whole other lesson!
But when it came to little league, he was a gentle giant. He was most definitely in it to win it, but to him, the boys were more important than the outcome of the game. He had some great players on his team throughout the years, but he also picked kids that were not the biggest and fastest kids in the pool. He loved them all and saw great potential in every one of them. He treated them equally and fairly. Many of the other coaches took things way to seriously by yelling and belittling the boys. In every other sport in his life, my dad was one of those people who took the game too serious, but in little league, it was all about the boys. Gently teaching them life lessons was more important to him than the win and regardless of the outcome, he frequently treated the team to root beer floats at the A & W after the game to congratulate them on their efforts.
Many of these boys, later in life, have commented to me on how his example and his interest in them made a difference in their lives.
“…if ye have done it unto the least of these…” comes to mind when I think of the example of how he treated the youth in the valley.
For my dad it was never about the money…. It was about being there when someone needed a person to believe in them and loving them despite their choices. It was all about the worth of a soul. He came full circle with this idea. He gave love and then, when he needed love in return, he was loved, which enabled him to pay it forward and give more love. It really is a beautiful lesson to have learned.
Growing up in a small town, it seemed like jobs were hard to come by. My dad never really had a career to speak of where he did one job forever. He did what he needed to do to support our family to the best of his ability. It seemed like he was always doing odd jobs for a little money on the side. He was kind of a jack of all trades… except for plumbing! Whenever we needed a plumber, my mom would take care of fixing things and if she couldn’t fix it, she hired someone because she found it was cheaper to pay a plumber than to pay to repair the things that dad broke while he was trying to be a plumber!
One of the jobs he did was teaching alternate school. He was given a desk in the corner of the bus barn out behind the school and was assigned to try to teach the students that had disciplinary problems and weren’t otherwise allowed to attend school with the general population. These would be the kids that were suspended or expelled from school. I recall that it involved a dozen or so kids at any one time.
While I was home visiting one day, I went to see him at his little one room school and was very confused about his situation. It was a struggle for him and it appeared, from the outside looking in, that he was seriously underpaid and very underappreciated by the students and those to whom he reported. Later that evening, I asked him why he bothered to do it. The kids were unruly and didn’t seem to listen to him and he was being paid peanuts compared to what a teacher inside the school across the parking lot was paid. He simply put his arm around my shoulder and said. “Those who deserve love the least, need it the most.”
He was certainly not suggesting that any one of those students was undeserving of love. The point he was trying to make was that all they needed was some love and someone to believe in them to make a difference in their lives. Many of these kids graduated or attained their GED, due to the fact that he was willing to work in a job simply because he saw potential in these kids and he didn’t judge them for their poor choices or even their continued bad behavior. He just loved them.
He knew all too well what it was like to make poor choices in life and to have people love you through those poor choices and stand by your side and allow you to grow and rise to your potential.
Over the years, on a regular basis, I find myself pondering this lesson and even sharing it with others. It taught me to look beneath the bad behavior and low self-esteem of people and see the good in them and to imagine their potential. Perhaps much the way God looks at us and our shortcoming and sees the good in us and knows of the great things we can accomplish if only we could believe in ourselves. Regardless of what bad choices we may have made or how often we continue the same mistake.
Another example of this lesson was the way my dad coached little league. I remember that our summers were spent at the ballpark. My dad coached little league in the afternoons, played on a men’s league in the evenings and usually umpired any game that he was not playing or coaching. For the purposes of this lesson, I want to focus on the little league.
To say my dad was intensely competitive would be a gross understatement! He lived and died by the outcome of a sporting event. It didn’t matter if it was little league baseball, church basketball or watching the Braves on TV. His intensity and competitiveness are a whole other lesson!
But when it came to little league, he was a gentle giant. He was most definitely in it to win it, but to him, the boys were more important than the outcome of the game. He had some great players on his team throughout the years, but he also picked kids that were not the biggest and fastest kids in the pool. He loved them all and saw great potential in every one of them. He treated them equally and fairly. Many of the other coaches took things way to seriously by yelling and belittling the boys. In every other sport in his life, my dad was one of those people who took the game too serious, but in little league, it was all about the boys. Gently teaching them life lessons was more important to him than the win and regardless of the outcome, he frequently treated the team to root beer floats at the A & W after the game to congratulate them on their efforts.
Many of these boys, later in life, have commented to me on how his example and his interest in them made a difference in their lives.
“…if ye have done it unto the least of these…” comes to mind when I think of the example of how he treated the youth in the valley.
For my dad it was never about the money…. It was about being there when someone needed a person to believe in them and loving them despite their choices. It was all about the worth of a soul. He came full circle with this idea. He gave love and then, when he needed love in return, he was loved, which enabled him to pay it forward and give more love. It really is a beautiful lesson to have learned.
How To Eat An Elephant~ Chapter 3: A Bird in the Hand
After dad was diagnosed with cancer, one of the things he liked doing most was just staying home and spending quality time together with his family. One of the favorite past times was playing cards. Playing cards is a serious matter for a Peterson. When my grandmother died, we found stacks of notebooks where she kept score every time someone played a hand of Rummy with her. She even kept score when she played herself in Solitaire! Cards were serious business in my family!
A couple of things I learned from this:
NEVER play cards with a Peterson, unless the rules are CLEARLY defined BEFORE you start the game. It seems like every time I would go visit, the rules of Rummy had changed… do you have to pick up the whole pile, or can you just pick up part of it. If you only pick up part of it, do you have to play the last card you picked up? It is a game of evolution and if you don’t participate on a regular basis, it evolves WITHOUT you and that makes it very hard to catch up then next time you play!
When dad got sick we set up the card table in the living room and it was a permanent fixture for many months. Anyone who came to visit was invited to play a hand. I have great memories of the fun and the interesting conversations.
He liked to say he “had a dog from every country”, which implied that he had nothing to match up. I finally figured out that this really meant he was up to something and the hand was going to be quick… like, over before you realize what happened, kind of quick.
Another thing he said a lot was “A Bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”. I have thought about this a lot over the years. What exactly did he mean by that? In cards, of course, it meant that it's better to have a lesser but certain advantage than the possibility of a greater one that may come to nothing.
I think the life lesson here, is that we have the eternal truths that give us a certain advantage in life. We should not trade that certainty for the possibility of something greater in the eyes of the world that will certainly come to nothing.
I think that by repeating things over and over while we played cards, he was trying to send us a bigger message.
That brings me to another great lesson from the card table … the importance of family. Family is also a certainty that should not be taken for granted and those relationships should not be traded for all the birds in the bush..
The card table was a gathering place and we frequently gathered. Once again another example of him doing the same thing over and over to teach us a life lesson… by spending hours at the card table, we formed bonds that were important to carry us through this life. It taught us that we need to gather often and enjoy those moments when family can be together, because when it boils down to it… that’s what it’s all about.
We came to this earth, to be organized in family units and help each other through the mortal journey. Some of our journey’s will take a little longer and some of us, like my sister, Brittney, came to this earth on a very brief journey. The goal is to learn the things we need to learn, while trying to live a life in such a way, that we have to opportunity to once again be gathered as a family unit on the other side of the veil.
I have thought a lot about the concept that he knew his time was limited and that perhaps he was trying to teach his kids some important life lessons by playing a simple card game and repeating the lesson over and over
The most important thing I learned from playing cards is how important it is for family time. It doesn’t matter if it’s playing cards, or sitting around shooting the breeze, it’s always good to spend time together and it’s worth every bit of effort it takes to get together.
Twenty years later my dad’s children are now somewhat scattered as we have all married and ended up in different cities and states, and the business of life prevents us from spending much time together, but we remain close in heart and I believe that the lessons of the card table had a lot to do with that!
A couple of things I learned from this:
NEVER play cards with a Peterson, unless the rules are CLEARLY defined BEFORE you start the game. It seems like every time I would go visit, the rules of Rummy had changed… do you have to pick up the whole pile, or can you just pick up part of it. If you only pick up part of it, do you have to play the last card you picked up? It is a game of evolution and if you don’t participate on a regular basis, it evolves WITHOUT you and that makes it very hard to catch up then next time you play!
When dad got sick we set up the card table in the living room and it was a permanent fixture for many months. Anyone who came to visit was invited to play a hand. I have great memories of the fun and the interesting conversations.
He liked to say he “had a dog from every country”, which implied that he had nothing to match up. I finally figured out that this really meant he was up to something and the hand was going to be quick… like, over before you realize what happened, kind of quick.
Another thing he said a lot was “A Bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”. I have thought about this a lot over the years. What exactly did he mean by that? In cards, of course, it meant that it's better to have a lesser but certain advantage than the possibility of a greater one that may come to nothing.
I think the life lesson here, is that we have the eternal truths that give us a certain advantage in life. We should not trade that certainty for the possibility of something greater in the eyes of the world that will certainly come to nothing.
I think that by repeating things over and over while we played cards, he was trying to send us a bigger message.
That brings me to another great lesson from the card table … the importance of family. Family is also a certainty that should not be taken for granted and those relationships should not be traded for all the birds in the bush..
The card table was a gathering place and we frequently gathered. Once again another example of him doing the same thing over and over to teach us a life lesson… by spending hours at the card table, we formed bonds that were important to carry us through this life. It taught us that we need to gather often and enjoy those moments when family can be together, because when it boils down to it… that’s what it’s all about.
We came to this earth, to be organized in family units and help each other through the mortal journey. Some of our journey’s will take a little longer and some of us, like my sister, Brittney, came to this earth on a very brief journey. The goal is to learn the things we need to learn, while trying to live a life in such a way, that we have to opportunity to once again be gathered as a family unit on the other side of the veil.
I have thought a lot about the concept that he knew his time was limited and that perhaps he was trying to teach his kids some important life lessons by playing a simple card game and repeating the lesson over and over
The most important thing I learned from playing cards is how important it is for family time. It doesn’t matter if it’s playing cards, or sitting around shooting the breeze, it’s always good to spend time together and it’s worth every bit of effort it takes to get together.
Twenty years later my dad’s children are now somewhat scattered as we have all married and ended up in different cities and states, and the business of life prevents us from spending much time together, but we remain close in heart and I believe that the lessons of the card table had a lot to do with that!
How To Eat An Elephant ~ Chapter 4: The Miracle of Forgiveness
This would be one of those chapters that I mentioned earlier, that might be difficult to read and it was certainly difficult to write. This chapter probably could be written many different ways depending on whose perspective you are seeing it from. Looking back with the benefit of nearly 30 or so years of experience, this happens to be my perspective…
Much of my memory of my childhood took place during a time in my dad’s life when he was making some poor decisions, like drinking and partying with his friends. It seems like when a person gets caught up in this cycle, one bad decision leads to another and it becomes an out of control downward spiral. This led to him making some bad choices that caused a lot of hurt to the people he loved, especially my mother. I think most of the people who know my dad, already know that because of his transgressions, he was ex-communicated from the church. What most people don’t know is that it was his decision. He sat me down one night when I was a teenager and explained to me that he had made some mistakes and that in order for him to make things right, he had asked for this to be the course of action so that he could begin the process of righting the wrongs he had done. He viewed this not as a punishment, but an opportunity… and opportunity to start over. That was a big lesson for a dad to teach a young teenage daughter…. With few exceptions, no matter what you have done, there is a way to make amends and start over. It was a long process that took many years for him to be ready to start over and be re-baptized. It was a long process of forgiveness. He had to get to a point where he was humble enough to be able to forgive himself before he could have a fresh start.
One Christmas, he came into my room and handed me an invitation card. He told me to open it. It was an invitation to attend his baptism… on Valentine’s Day the following year. He asked me what I thought and told me he intended to give that invitation to my mom for Christmas. What an amazing gift. We had waited many years for this day, but the true gift was the man he had become through the process of repentance. He had learned to control his temper and he had stopped participating in the destructive behavior and hanging out with friends that chose a different lifestyle than the one he wanted to live. They were not bad friends by any means, they were good people and I have many fond memories of our families spending time together. I think the changes he made in his life earned him a new level of respect from these friends. He was a changed man, not perfect, but better.
Through this process, it was also an opportunity for those around him to have the chance to learn and grow and become better people as they had to find a way to let the Atonement into their lives and be able to come to a point where they could forgive him for his transgressions and the hurts that his choices caused those who loved him. Many people rallied around our family and offered guidance and unconditional love for my dad, and for his family. It was a hard thing for him to not hang his head in shame, but he set a great example for us of owning up to your mistakes and the healing power of the Atonement.
His life has taught me that forgiveness is not a single one time event. It is a process. How long that process takes is up to the forgiver. The person who wronged us may not ever ask us forgiveness, but we are required to forgive anyway. This process involves us communicating with God and turning over our hurts to Him. The Atonement is there for us to be able to let go of our hurts and allow mercy to take place, rather than demanding justice. Consider a balance scale with justice on one side and mercy on the other. Our task when going through the process of forgiveness is to try to find a balance between our demand for justice and our ability to extend mercy to the person that we need to forgive. If our demand justice becomes too heavy, then it tips the scale and there is not enough mercy to maintain a good balance. THIS is the process I am referring to. As our “forgiveness scale” tips up and down, up and down, eventually, with the help of the Savior, we will be able to balance our scale and THAT is when true forgiveness happens. This is also true when we need to go through the process of forgiving ourselves.
When my dad died, I was understandably sad and then when my sister died 2 years later, that sadness turned to anger. The only person I could blame and be angry at was God. I don’t believe that God gave my dad cancer, but I do believe that God could have taken the cancer away and cured Him….. if it had been God’s will. The same is true for my sister. I don’t believe that God caused her death, I have arrived at the understanding that her time on earth was predetermined and that it was simply her time to go. It has taken me a long time to find balance with this anger and realize that it wasn’t doing me any good by feeling this way. It only held me back in my own journey of spiritual growth.
My whole life I have been quick to anger. Perhaps I learned that from my dad. My dad figured out how to control that anger and be soft and kind and that is a lesson I am still trying to process. I can say that I have learned that it does no good to be angry at God. In order for us to forgive people who have wronged us, we need to have a conversation with God about that person and ask God to help us truly forgive that person. If we are angry at God, then calling on God to help us get over our hurts, is often harder than calling the person who has wronged us and perhaps even harder than extending mercy. If we want forgiveness, we have to be willing to offer forgiveness, it is cyclical in nature. If we are not square with God, then we can’t truly offer forgiveness and that breaks the cycle so then we also are not able to truly receive forgiveness.
I now realize that certain things are foreordained to happen in order to allow us to grow and develop to our full potential. My dad believed that he knew before he came to earth, what kind of pain and suffering he would have to pass through while dealing with cancer. He believed that he agreed to the deal because he saw, in the pre-existence, how his journey would touch and positively affect the lives of those around him. I am certain that many people have learned lessons from my dad’s journey and his example in life and perhaps his life ending so young was foreordained to help those around him realize certain lessons that they would not have learned by any other means…. Strawberries!!!
Much of my memory of my childhood took place during a time in my dad’s life when he was making some poor decisions, like drinking and partying with his friends. It seems like when a person gets caught up in this cycle, one bad decision leads to another and it becomes an out of control downward spiral. This led to him making some bad choices that caused a lot of hurt to the people he loved, especially my mother. I think most of the people who know my dad, already know that because of his transgressions, he was ex-communicated from the church. What most people don’t know is that it was his decision. He sat me down one night when I was a teenager and explained to me that he had made some mistakes and that in order for him to make things right, he had asked for this to be the course of action so that he could begin the process of righting the wrongs he had done. He viewed this not as a punishment, but an opportunity… and opportunity to start over. That was a big lesson for a dad to teach a young teenage daughter…. With few exceptions, no matter what you have done, there is a way to make amends and start over. It was a long process that took many years for him to be ready to start over and be re-baptized. It was a long process of forgiveness. He had to get to a point where he was humble enough to be able to forgive himself before he could have a fresh start.
One Christmas, he came into my room and handed me an invitation card. He told me to open it. It was an invitation to attend his baptism… on Valentine’s Day the following year. He asked me what I thought and told me he intended to give that invitation to my mom for Christmas. What an amazing gift. We had waited many years for this day, but the true gift was the man he had become through the process of repentance. He had learned to control his temper and he had stopped participating in the destructive behavior and hanging out with friends that chose a different lifestyle than the one he wanted to live. They were not bad friends by any means, they were good people and I have many fond memories of our families spending time together. I think the changes he made in his life earned him a new level of respect from these friends. He was a changed man, not perfect, but better.
Through this process, it was also an opportunity for those around him to have the chance to learn and grow and become better people as they had to find a way to let the Atonement into their lives and be able to come to a point where they could forgive him for his transgressions and the hurts that his choices caused those who loved him. Many people rallied around our family and offered guidance and unconditional love for my dad, and for his family. It was a hard thing for him to not hang his head in shame, but he set a great example for us of owning up to your mistakes and the healing power of the Atonement.
His life has taught me that forgiveness is not a single one time event. It is a process. How long that process takes is up to the forgiver. The person who wronged us may not ever ask us forgiveness, but we are required to forgive anyway. This process involves us communicating with God and turning over our hurts to Him. The Atonement is there for us to be able to let go of our hurts and allow mercy to take place, rather than demanding justice. Consider a balance scale with justice on one side and mercy on the other. Our task when going through the process of forgiveness is to try to find a balance between our demand for justice and our ability to extend mercy to the person that we need to forgive. If our demand justice becomes too heavy, then it tips the scale and there is not enough mercy to maintain a good balance. THIS is the process I am referring to. As our “forgiveness scale” tips up and down, up and down, eventually, with the help of the Savior, we will be able to balance our scale and THAT is when true forgiveness happens. This is also true when we need to go through the process of forgiving ourselves.
When my dad died, I was understandably sad and then when my sister died 2 years later, that sadness turned to anger. The only person I could blame and be angry at was God. I don’t believe that God gave my dad cancer, but I do believe that God could have taken the cancer away and cured Him….. if it had been God’s will. The same is true for my sister. I don’t believe that God caused her death, I have arrived at the understanding that her time on earth was predetermined and that it was simply her time to go. It has taken me a long time to find balance with this anger and realize that it wasn’t doing me any good by feeling this way. It only held me back in my own journey of spiritual growth.
My whole life I have been quick to anger. Perhaps I learned that from my dad. My dad figured out how to control that anger and be soft and kind and that is a lesson I am still trying to process. I can say that I have learned that it does no good to be angry at God. In order for us to forgive people who have wronged us, we need to have a conversation with God about that person and ask God to help us truly forgive that person. If we are angry at God, then calling on God to help us get over our hurts, is often harder than calling the person who has wronged us and perhaps even harder than extending mercy. If we want forgiveness, we have to be willing to offer forgiveness, it is cyclical in nature. If we are not square with God, then we can’t truly offer forgiveness and that breaks the cycle so then we also are not able to truly receive forgiveness.
I now realize that certain things are foreordained to happen in order to allow us to grow and develop to our full potential. My dad believed that he knew before he came to earth, what kind of pain and suffering he would have to pass through while dealing with cancer. He believed that he agreed to the deal because he saw, in the pre-existence, how his journey would touch and positively affect the lives of those around him. I am certain that many people have learned lessons from my dad’s journey and his example in life and perhaps his life ending so young was foreordained to help those around him realize certain lessons that they would not have learned by any other means…. Strawberries!!!
How to Eat An Elephant ~ Chapter 5: Don't Be So Busy Making a Living That You Forget to Make A Life
Growing up, my dad never really had one career that he did day in and day out. Most people don’t know that he had a degree in law enforcement from BYU. But he never used that as a way to support his family. My first recollection of him working is when he owned Peterson Oil. He had a tanker truck and he would go around the valley delivering fuel to farmers. I remember riding with him in the truck in the summer time while he was doing his deliveries…. When that ended, he was the delivery driver for Garrett Freight and he would deliver freight around the valley. (I’m still bummed that Dustin ended up with the Garrett chair….!!) He was also a delivery driver for Frito Lay and drove to neighboring communities to stock chips at grocery and convenience stores. My dad liked to have jobs that would offer him the flexibility to not be stuck in an office. He worked hard at his job and taught us the value of hard work. Because we didn’t have a money tree growing up, I remember doing things at a very early age to earn my own money. I would get up while it was still dark in the summertime and go pick raspberries and I worked at lots of different jobs such as fast food and cleaning motel rooms. I learned to work hard!
I don’t remember a time when money wasn’t tight. We didn’t go on grand family vacations to Disneyworld or Hawaii or Mexico, and when I was younger I was envious of my friends whose families did things like that, but looking back now….what we did do was so much better!!!
My dad loved two things… sports and the great outdoors.
In the winter time, the gym was our playground. He would find a reason to be at the gym almost every night. If he wasn’t playing city league or church ball, he was refereeing the games. My brothers and I would tag along and the bleachers and hallways at the gym on Main Street were where we played. As I got a little older, he always talked me into running the scoreboard or keeping the book.
In the summer time, our only limit to fun was our own imagination. The ballpark was our nightly hangout on the week nights and many weekends. My brothers played and my dad coached little league and he played city league and, like basketball, if he wasn’t playing or coaching, he was umpiring. We had lots of fun hanging out at the park. (We didn’t have handheld video games back then, in fact, I remember when he came home one day with a new TV that had Pong on it. We were the coolest kids on the planet because we had PONG!) Because we didn’t have anything electronic to take with us to the gym or the ballpark, we had to use our imaginations to keep us entertained for hours at a time.
My dad also lived to go camping. The woods became our playground almost every weekend. I have little recollection of what the adults did during the day when we were camping, but I have some very vivid memories of what the kids did.
The kids would scatter and do our own things and when we got hungry, we would find our way back to camp. I remember being appalled one time because aunt Pat put pickles in the tuna fish…LOL… but we played hard, so we were hungry and I ate every bite… not as bad as I thought it would be. We were always in a hurry to eat so we could get back to our imaginary lives, so dad taught me that I could finish lunch faster if I put the potato chips ON the tuna sandwich. That way you can grab the sandwich and be on your way and you didn’t have to wait around to finish the sandwich AND the chips!
We learned to use our imagination by doing some pretty creative things and most of the time, we got away with doing whatever we wanted. I remember one time, we were camped below the dam and a friend (who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty) and I decided it would be fun to build a little rock dam in the stream below the spillway so that we could create a pond of sorts to land in when we slid down the spillway on our behinds! We worked all day stacking rocks across the stream and building it up. It never really did anything except make a mess of the watercress. There wasn’t a lot of water coming over the spillway at that time…Just enough to let some algae grow in the center of the spillway, which made for a very slippery slide. It never occurred to us that the algae would stain our white shorts black and that we would totally get busted for doing something dangerous… not to mention ILLEGAL!!! My dad was not upset… he was very concerned that we had done something dangerous and that taught me to think about consequences before I planned any more dangerous (or slightly illegal) activities in the future. He also made us go back to the watercress and remove every rock that we had placed across the stream. He had a love and appreciation for the great outdoors and taught me to respect that and to enjoy being there, but also to leave it the way you found it and not be disruptive to nature.
My dad set an example of how important it is to work hard, but he also taught us to play hard. He never really made much of a living, but he understood the importance of making a life.
I have learned to appreciate the tiny moments because life ends too quickly. In hindsight, the lesson was there for me to learn growing up. I regret that I didn’t do a better job of abiding by the lesson while raising my own kids…. But the lesson is this: Take time to watch a Braves game, play catch with the kids in the back yard, go to their ballgames or sporting events to support them, play games together, sing like you know the lyrics…. (that is another lesson) Hug more, say I love you more, don’t leave things undone or unsaid… take time to create memories and traditions, because after a loved one moves on, that is really all we have left to cling tightly to… until we meet again!
I don’t remember a time when money wasn’t tight. We didn’t go on grand family vacations to Disneyworld or Hawaii or Mexico, and when I was younger I was envious of my friends whose families did things like that, but looking back now….what we did do was so much better!!!
My dad loved two things… sports and the great outdoors.
In the winter time, the gym was our playground. He would find a reason to be at the gym almost every night. If he wasn’t playing city league or church ball, he was refereeing the games. My brothers and I would tag along and the bleachers and hallways at the gym on Main Street were where we played. As I got a little older, he always talked me into running the scoreboard or keeping the book.
In the summer time, our only limit to fun was our own imagination. The ballpark was our nightly hangout on the week nights and many weekends. My brothers played and my dad coached little league and he played city league and, like basketball, if he wasn’t playing or coaching, he was umpiring. We had lots of fun hanging out at the park. (We didn’t have handheld video games back then, in fact, I remember when he came home one day with a new TV that had Pong on it. We were the coolest kids on the planet because we had PONG!) Because we didn’t have anything electronic to take with us to the gym or the ballpark, we had to use our imaginations to keep us entertained for hours at a time.
My dad also lived to go camping. The woods became our playground almost every weekend. I have little recollection of what the adults did during the day when we were camping, but I have some very vivid memories of what the kids did.
The kids would scatter and do our own things and when we got hungry, we would find our way back to camp. I remember being appalled one time because aunt Pat put pickles in the tuna fish…LOL… but we played hard, so we were hungry and I ate every bite… not as bad as I thought it would be. We were always in a hurry to eat so we could get back to our imaginary lives, so dad taught me that I could finish lunch faster if I put the potato chips ON the tuna sandwich. That way you can grab the sandwich and be on your way and you didn’t have to wait around to finish the sandwich AND the chips!
We learned to use our imagination by doing some pretty creative things and most of the time, we got away with doing whatever we wanted. I remember one time, we were camped below the dam and a friend (who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty) and I decided it would be fun to build a little rock dam in the stream below the spillway so that we could create a pond of sorts to land in when we slid down the spillway on our behinds! We worked all day stacking rocks across the stream and building it up. It never really did anything except make a mess of the watercress. There wasn’t a lot of water coming over the spillway at that time…Just enough to let some algae grow in the center of the spillway, which made for a very slippery slide. It never occurred to us that the algae would stain our white shorts black and that we would totally get busted for doing something dangerous… not to mention ILLEGAL!!! My dad was not upset… he was very concerned that we had done something dangerous and that taught me to think about consequences before I planned any more dangerous (or slightly illegal) activities in the future. He also made us go back to the watercress and remove every rock that we had placed across the stream. He had a love and appreciation for the great outdoors and taught me to respect that and to enjoy being there, but also to leave it the way you found it and not be disruptive to nature.
My dad set an example of how important it is to work hard, but he also taught us to play hard. He never really made much of a living, but he understood the importance of making a life.
I have learned to appreciate the tiny moments because life ends too quickly. In hindsight, the lesson was there for me to learn growing up. I regret that I didn’t do a better job of abiding by the lesson while raising my own kids…. But the lesson is this: Take time to watch a Braves game, play catch with the kids in the back yard, go to their ballgames or sporting events to support them, play games together, sing like you know the lyrics…. (that is another lesson) Hug more, say I love you more, don’t leave things undone or unsaid… take time to create memories and traditions, because after a loved one moves on, that is really all we have left to cling tightly to… until we meet again!
How to Eat An Elephant ~ Chapter 6: Don't Be Afraid of Snakes
Besides sports and camping, my dad also loved to hunt and fish. There are a couple of important rules to follow when it comes to hunting and fishing:
Rule #1…. Never, never, never hunt on Sunday… Bad things happen when you hunt on Sunday… It seemed like every time he broke this rule, even if it was just to go road hunting, something would break down or get stuck… I remember more than once, mom having to go rescue dad because he didn’t make it home when he was expected because he was stuck or broken down.
If someone ELSE invites you to go hunting on Sunday… don’t fall for it. Otherwise you may have to pay the consequences of “guilt by association”! A couple of times my mom had to hike out of the woods with him because she “went along for the ride”… This lesson was drilled into my head… just don’t do it… it’s not worth it.
A side note to Rule #1… ALWAYS tell someone where you are going in case they need to come rescue you… ESPECIALLY if you are breaking rule #1!
Rule #2… What happens at deer/elk camp, stays at deer/elk camp. This would include all pieces of clothing that are worn during camp as well as stories of what may or may not have happened… since this is an important rule, I am not allowed to share examples here, because that would be a violation of rule # 2…If you have been there you understand. If not, it is something that you just need to experience for yourself.
Rule # 3… Don’t moon your buddies who may have a camera in their hand. One time he went fishing with my brother and he was down by the water and my brother was up on a ridge. My brother was taking some pictures of the scenery and dad thought it would be funny to moon him at the exact moment my brother snapped the picture. No harm no foul, right? WRONG! My sister in law developed the film and left the pictures sitting on the counter. Her mother later came along and was looking at them. There was a small spec in the picture down by the water and she (my brother’s mother in law) asked, “What kind of animal is that?” HAHAHAHA! NEVER MOON THE CAMERA!!!
Rule # 4… This is probably the all-time most important rule to remember…
DON’T YELL SNAKE!!!
My dad was afraid of snakes! Seriously, deathly afraid of snakes… when I say deathly, I mean do-this-at-your-own-peril.
Since knowledge is power, we quickly figured out the joy of hiding behind something and yelling “SNAKE” whenever he walked by. One time, my brothers and I were playing in a nearby field and we caught a bunch of tiny water snakes and put them in a 5 gallon bucket by the back porch… we had no idea that snakes could just slither up and out of the bucket without a lid on it, so when we came back to check on them later in the day, imagine our surprise when we discovered the bucket empty! My dad was soooo mad. He didn’t go in the back yard or in the basement for weeks because he was afraid he would see one. We did find several of them in the basement dead and crusty over the next several months.
While we had a lot of fun teasing him about his fear of snakes, it was a very real fear for him. So real in fact, that he carried his pistol holster over his shoulder when his fished in case he saw a snake. And he always poked the bank with a stick to scare away anything that was slithering around before he climbed out of the water… this would be why it’s the most important rule… He had been known to draw his gun on someone if they came at him with a rubber snake….. He didn’t mean anyone harm, it was just an involuntary reaction that he had no control over.
So.. it was good sport to jump out from behind a door and yell SNAKE, but you had to make darn sure he wasn’t armed and dangerous when you did it!
This taught me that it’s ok to be afraid. My big strong dad was afraid of a little water snake. Fear is a real thing and you can’t let it paralyze you and prevent you from doing the things you love. It is important to learn to face those fears. Instinctively he knew that there were snakes in the water, but he went fishing anyway. He prepared himself (with his gun) in case he came face to face with the source of his fear, but he never let it stop him from doing something he loved to do.
Many times in my life, I have found myself afraid of something. As someone who suffers from anxiety, social situations are my “snake”. I have been known to have an anxiety attack in the grocery store if it is unfamiliar to me. I hate change and situations where I am not in control of the circumstances. Social situations and doing new things are very difficult for me and people often misinterpret me as being unsocial when in reality, I am just afraid. I try to draw on his strength and his example of not letting fear control my life and make me miss out on doing fun things because I am afraid of the unknown. It’s kind of funny that I can stand in front of a group of people and give a lesson or a talk and not even think twice about it, but one on one contact in social situations with people who aren’t in my normal circle of trust is almost as paralyzing to me as a snake was to my dad. My fear is not as extreme as his fear of snakes, and I don’t frequently go to the grocery stored armed, but the principle is the same. There are many times in life when we find ourselves in a situation where we might be afraid to get in the water because we are afraid of what might happen when we climb out of the water and we don’t know what may be lurking in the grass on the bank. But we can’t let that stop us from getting our feet wet. I am so grateful for my dad’s example of learning to face a paralyzing fear and knowing that you can still find a way to enjoy activities that can cause fear and anxiety. I have also found that as you do those uncomfortable things, pretty soon your comfort zone has expanded to include the very things, that at one time, seemed undo-able.
Rule #1…. Never, never, never hunt on Sunday… Bad things happen when you hunt on Sunday… It seemed like every time he broke this rule, even if it was just to go road hunting, something would break down or get stuck… I remember more than once, mom having to go rescue dad because he didn’t make it home when he was expected because he was stuck or broken down.
If someone ELSE invites you to go hunting on Sunday… don’t fall for it. Otherwise you may have to pay the consequences of “guilt by association”! A couple of times my mom had to hike out of the woods with him because she “went along for the ride”… This lesson was drilled into my head… just don’t do it… it’s not worth it.
A side note to Rule #1… ALWAYS tell someone where you are going in case they need to come rescue you… ESPECIALLY if you are breaking rule #1!
Rule #2… What happens at deer/elk camp, stays at deer/elk camp. This would include all pieces of clothing that are worn during camp as well as stories of what may or may not have happened… since this is an important rule, I am not allowed to share examples here, because that would be a violation of rule # 2…If you have been there you understand. If not, it is something that you just need to experience for yourself.
Rule # 3… Don’t moon your buddies who may have a camera in their hand. One time he went fishing with my brother and he was down by the water and my brother was up on a ridge. My brother was taking some pictures of the scenery and dad thought it would be funny to moon him at the exact moment my brother snapped the picture. No harm no foul, right? WRONG! My sister in law developed the film and left the pictures sitting on the counter. Her mother later came along and was looking at them. There was a small spec in the picture down by the water and she (my brother’s mother in law) asked, “What kind of animal is that?” HAHAHAHA! NEVER MOON THE CAMERA!!!
Rule # 4… This is probably the all-time most important rule to remember…
DON’T YELL SNAKE!!!
My dad was afraid of snakes! Seriously, deathly afraid of snakes… when I say deathly, I mean do-this-at-your-own-peril.
Since knowledge is power, we quickly figured out the joy of hiding behind something and yelling “SNAKE” whenever he walked by. One time, my brothers and I were playing in a nearby field and we caught a bunch of tiny water snakes and put them in a 5 gallon bucket by the back porch… we had no idea that snakes could just slither up and out of the bucket without a lid on it, so when we came back to check on them later in the day, imagine our surprise when we discovered the bucket empty! My dad was soooo mad. He didn’t go in the back yard or in the basement for weeks because he was afraid he would see one. We did find several of them in the basement dead and crusty over the next several months.
While we had a lot of fun teasing him about his fear of snakes, it was a very real fear for him. So real in fact, that he carried his pistol holster over his shoulder when his fished in case he saw a snake. And he always poked the bank with a stick to scare away anything that was slithering around before he climbed out of the water… this would be why it’s the most important rule… He had been known to draw his gun on someone if they came at him with a rubber snake….. He didn’t mean anyone harm, it was just an involuntary reaction that he had no control over.
So.. it was good sport to jump out from behind a door and yell SNAKE, but you had to make darn sure he wasn’t armed and dangerous when you did it!
This taught me that it’s ok to be afraid. My big strong dad was afraid of a little water snake. Fear is a real thing and you can’t let it paralyze you and prevent you from doing the things you love. It is important to learn to face those fears. Instinctively he knew that there were snakes in the water, but he went fishing anyway. He prepared himself (with his gun) in case he came face to face with the source of his fear, but he never let it stop him from doing something he loved to do.
Many times in my life, I have found myself afraid of something. As someone who suffers from anxiety, social situations are my “snake”. I have been known to have an anxiety attack in the grocery store if it is unfamiliar to me. I hate change and situations where I am not in control of the circumstances. Social situations and doing new things are very difficult for me and people often misinterpret me as being unsocial when in reality, I am just afraid. I try to draw on his strength and his example of not letting fear control my life and make me miss out on doing fun things because I am afraid of the unknown. It’s kind of funny that I can stand in front of a group of people and give a lesson or a talk and not even think twice about it, but one on one contact in social situations with people who aren’t in my normal circle of trust is almost as paralyzing to me as a snake was to my dad. My fear is not as extreme as his fear of snakes, and I don’t frequently go to the grocery stored armed, but the principle is the same. There are many times in life when we find ourselves in a situation where we might be afraid to get in the water because we are afraid of what might happen when we climb out of the water and we don’t know what may be lurking in the grass on the bank. But we can’t let that stop us from getting our feet wet. I am so grateful for my dad’s example of learning to face a paralyzing fear and knowing that you can still find a way to enjoy activities that can cause fear and anxiety. I have also found that as you do those uncomfortable things, pretty soon your comfort zone has expanded to include the very things, that at one time, seemed undo-able.
How to Eat An Elephant ~ Chapter 7: Sing Like You Know the Lyrics
It’s hard to talk about my dad and not mention his appreciation for music. Growing up, music was a big part of our life, but probably not in the way most people would think of having a musical influence in their home. Dad loved his country music. Whenever we were in the truck with him, he would have his own eclectic mix of music playing. He enjoyed the road and the radio and he taught me a unique appreciation of music. Waylon Jennings was his favorite. My dad loved the hillbilly lifestyle and the lyrics of Waylon’s songs seemed to best describe my dad’s attitudes about life. Waylon was a big influence on my dad's attitude. So much so, that to be honest, I am a little surprised that I was not named “Lucille”. Waylon & Willie, Johnny Cash, Billy Crash Craddock and others like them sang what turned out to be the background music in the movie that was my life. When Waylon Jennings died, I felt like I had lost my dad all over again. It is crazy that I would grieve over the death of someone famous, whom I had never met, but I felt like I knew him because of the memories that were made while his songs were being imprinted on my mind during my growing up years.
When my brother’s wife was expecting twin boys, everyone (except my sister in law) thought it would be the perfect tribute to my dad, to name the boys Waylon and Willie. When she was in labor, she refused to go to the hospital until my brother promised her he would not put Waylon and Willie on their birth certificates while she was unconscious!
Often times, when I am feeling melancholy and wanting to feel close to my dad, I go for a drive and turn on the Waylon tunes….. It brings back lots of memories… happy ones and sad ones. These were our camping and fishing tunes. Even though it has been over 30 years since I went camping or fishing with my dad, to this day, I still can NOT ride around the hills of the Bear Lake Valley and not hear echoes of it in my mind. I am fairly certain that the ghosts that haunt the hills above the reservoir are humming, " I've Always Been Crazy, But It's Kept Me From Going Insane"!
Dad rigged up this box to put in his truck that had a portable 8 track player and a speaker. It was a homemade boom box before there was such a thing as a boom box. Whenever we were in the truck riding around or kicking around a camp site, he had his special kind of music blaring from his homemade boom box and we would sing along… whether we knew the lyrics or not. There was this one song by Billy Crash Craddock, called Sweet Magnolia Blossom. It became known in our family as the meatball song…even though nowhere in the song is the word meatball used. My little sister was young enough that she didn’t understand adult ideas and so she would sing what she thought she heard in her 6 year old mind. She mixed up the lyrics and instead of singing “it was me boy”, she would sing,” it was meatball”….LOL!
My own daughters must take after my sister because they have done the same thing on many occasions. One time we were driving around (not that long ago, mind you) and a Beach Boys song came on the radio… Keep in mind my girls would have no idea whatsoever what a T-Bird was, so as loudly as they could, they were singing, “She’ll have fun, fun, fun til her daddy takes her TV away”… hahah…..I almost ran off the road I was laughing so hard! The words don’t matter! In fact, I have learned that the song is even more memorable when you mess it up!
The lesson here is this: It was family time. It helped create our own special memories and the power of music helps us to recall memories and to remember and share those times with other people who experienced something along with us. Music, whether it’s classical or hillbilly, is a powerful way to cement ideas and memories into ones subconscious mind. With my own kids, we have some favorite “road tunes” that we listen to whenever we go on a family trip. It is just silly old country songs, like Big John and Wolverton Mountain ( just to name a few), that have become part of our family tradition. When one of our daughters left home the first time headed to college, she didn’t get very far down the road before she turned on these road trip songs to keep her company. She called me to tell me that it just wasn’t the same listening to them alone…A pay day for my mommy heart that she would associate those songs with fun family memories and that listening to them without her family would cause her to feel an emptiness and longing for her family... Those memories that she has of the times when we, as a family, were doing something together while listening to them are indelibly etched in her mind. (If you happen to catch Emma and Savanah together, be sure to ask them to demonstrate their version of the music video for “The Battle of New Orleans”.)
My girls and I frequently gather around the kitchen while I am cooking or baking something and have a Martina McBride or Adele concert on the fly. I hope when my kids are older and they hear one of those songs we like to sing, that they will smile and think of our fun road trips or their silly mom in the kitchen, dancing with the broom and singing like no one is listening.
When my brother’s wife was expecting twin boys, everyone (except my sister in law) thought it would be the perfect tribute to my dad, to name the boys Waylon and Willie. When she was in labor, she refused to go to the hospital until my brother promised her he would not put Waylon and Willie on their birth certificates while she was unconscious!
Often times, when I am feeling melancholy and wanting to feel close to my dad, I go for a drive and turn on the Waylon tunes….. It brings back lots of memories… happy ones and sad ones. These were our camping and fishing tunes. Even though it has been over 30 years since I went camping or fishing with my dad, to this day, I still can NOT ride around the hills of the Bear Lake Valley and not hear echoes of it in my mind. I am fairly certain that the ghosts that haunt the hills above the reservoir are humming, " I've Always Been Crazy, But It's Kept Me From Going Insane"!
Dad rigged up this box to put in his truck that had a portable 8 track player and a speaker. It was a homemade boom box before there was such a thing as a boom box. Whenever we were in the truck riding around or kicking around a camp site, he had his special kind of music blaring from his homemade boom box and we would sing along… whether we knew the lyrics or not. There was this one song by Billy Crash Craddock, called Sweet Magnolia Blossom. It became known in our family as the meatball song…even though nowhere in the song is the word meatball used. My little sister was young enough that she didn’t understand adult ideas and so she would sing what she thought she heard in her 6 year old mind. She mixed up the lyrics and instead of singing “it was me boy”, she would sing,” it was meatball”….LOL!
My own daughters must take after my sister because they have done the same thing on many occasions. One time we were driving around (not that long ago, mind you) and a Beach Boys song came on the radio… Keep in mind my girls would have no idea whatsoever what a T-Bird was, so as loudly as they could, they were singing, “She’ll have fun, fun, fun til her daddy takes her TV away”… hahah…..I almost ran off the road I was laughing so hard! The words don’t matter! In fact, I have learned that the song is even more memorable when you mess it up!
The lesson here is this: It was family time. It helped create our own special memories and the power of music helps us to recall memories and to remember and share those times with other people who experienced something along with us. Music, whether it’s classical or hillbilly, is a powerful way to cement ideas and memories into ones subconscious mind. With my own kids, we have some favorite “road tunes” that we listen to whenever we go on a family trip. It is just silly old country songs, like Big John and Wolverton Mountain ( just to name a few), that have become part of our family tradition. When one of our daughters left home the first time headed to college, she didn’t get very far down the road before she turned on these road trip songs to keep her company. She called me to tell me that it just wasn’t the same listening to them alone…A pay day for my mommy heart that she would associate those songs with fun family memories and that listening to them without her family would cause her to feel an emptiness and longing for her family... Those memories that she has of the times when we, as a family, were doing something together while listening to them are indelibly etched in her mind. (If you happen to catch Emma and Savanah together, be sure to ask them to demonstrate their version of the music video for “The Battle of New Orleans”.)
My girls and I frequently gather around the kitchen while I am cooking or baking something and have a Martina McBride or Adele concert on the fly. I hope when my kids are older and they hear one of those songs we like to sing, that they will smile and think of our fun road trips or their silly mom in the kitchen, dancing with the broom and singing like no one is listening.
How to Eat an Elephant ~ Chapter 8: Opposition in All Things
Things would not be right in the world if I wrote a book about the lessons I learned from my dad and did not include a chapter on the importance of picking a good spouse. My dad hit the lottery when he married my momma!
One of my dad’s favorite Waylon songs was “Good Hearted Woman”….
A long time forgotten the dreams that just fell by the way
The good life he promised ain't what she's livin' today
But she never complains of the bad times
Or the bad things he's done, lord
She just talks about the good times they've had
And all the good times to come
He likes the bright lights and night life and good time friends
And when the party's all over she'll welcome him back home again
Lord knows she don't understand him but she does the best that she can
This good hearted woman, lovin' a good timin' man
She's a good hearted woman in love with a good timin' man
She loves him in spite of his ways she don't understand
With teardrops & laughter they pass through this world hand in hand
A good hearted woman, lovin' a good timin' man
From the outside looking in, I can’t think of a better way to describe my parents.
I may have gotten my competitive nature from my dad, but I got my toughness and strength from my momma. Her example of unconditional love towards so many people inspires me to be a more selfless and giving person. That love and sacrifice of her own momentary happiness saved my dad and by so doing, gave our family the opportunity to be together forever. My mom is the glue that held it all together, especially during times when most families would have come completely unraveled. She was a rock during some really hard times and she has truly lived the entire spectrum of “for better or worse”!
Thinking of the differences between my parents is a testimony to me of the concept of opposition in all things. They say opposites attract and that is certainly the case with my parents. But the lesson of opposition here goes much deeper than that. Most of the lessons that I learned from my dad were because she allowed him the freedom to be such an awesome dad. I want you to know, mom, that I recognize that and that your sacrifice in that area did not go unnoticed!!!!!
If you try to put two magnets together and you put the same polar sides towards each other, the force repels the magnets from each other. You can’t make them touch each other unless you turn one around so that the + and the – sides are facing each other. Opposites attract. This is true in most marriages as well. As a result of this, most marriages result in a “Good cop…bad cop” situation. Our family was no exception. But I think it was more of a situation where she was the “adult” parent and my dad was her sixth child. They were married so young that my dad’s mom often said that my mom was the one that raised him. He was quite a handful to try to raise and keep out of trouble, but somehow she ultimately found a way to do it.
The lesson here of opposition goes much deeper than their difference in personalities. The lesson learned about opposition is also demonstrated in the idea that in order to truly know joy, you must also experience pain.
Without the times of not having enough money, I would not appreciate it when I am able to buy the things that my family needs. I would also not have learned about hard work and working hard if there had not been a need for me to provide things for myself as I got older. I would not have learned to live on love (and stale potato chips!!!)
Without the times of witnessing strained relationships, I would not appreciate having a husband who does not drink and party and get angry.
Without my dad temporarily losing his priesthood authority, I would not have an appreciation of the difference that makes in the home and know just how blessed I am to have a husband who is worthy to hold and exercise that blessing in our lives. I have felt the void that is present when it is not readily available in the home and there is a noticeable difference.
Without my dad being excommunicated, I would not have learned such a powerful lesson on the miracle of forgiveness and the repentance process.
I could go on and on with examples of lessons I have learned about opposition and I am sure many of you have similar comparisons…. Look for those comparisons in your own life…. Look for those “strawberries” and recognize them for what they are.
Let me end with this…
Without experiencing the loss of a loved one that you were really close to, one simply cannot understand the level of appreciation that comes from knowing how important it is to love the people who are important to you… RIGHT NOW… Deeply and unconditionally… Before it is too late. After a person experiences that kind of loss, you learn to let your hugs linger a little longer, say I love you more, and truly feel the depth of that love. You learn not to let opportunities to spend time together slip through your fingers like sand from a broken hour glass. There will come a day when you can’t turn over the hour glass and have more time. When it breaks, the time just slips out and is gone and you can’t ever get it back. That is the moment when you will be glad you have the memories to occupy your mind. Those memories will help to fill the void that is left. Pick up the phone and call a loved one just to hear their voice. It’s so hard when you wake up one day and realize that you don’t remember what their voice sounded like anymore. But the opposite of that is, that when you no longer hear the echo of their voice in your head, you begin to feel the presence of their spirit in your heart.
One of my dad’s favorite Waylon songs was “Good Hearted Woman”….
A long time forgotten the dreams that just fell by the way
The good life he promised ain't what she's livin' today
But she never complains of the bad times
Or the bad things he's done, lord
She just talks about the good times they've had
And all the good times to come
He likes the bright lights and night life and good time friends
And when the party's all over she'll welcome him back home again
Lord knows she don't understand him but she does the best that she can
This good hearted woman, lovin' a good timin' man
She's a good hearted woman in love with a good timin' man
She loves him in spite of his ways she don't understand
With teardrops & laughter they pass through this world hand in hand
A good hearted woman, lovin' a good timin' man
From the outside looking in, I can’t think of a better way to describe my parents.
I may have gotten my competitive nature from my dad, but I got my toughness and strength from my momma. Her example of unconditional love towards so many people inspires me to be a more selfless and giving person. That love and sacrifice of her own momentary happiness saved my dad and by so doing, gave our family the opportunity to be together forever. My mom is the glue that held it all together, especially during times when most families would have come completely unraveled. She was a rock during some really hard times and she has truly lived the entire spectrum of “for better or worse”!
Thinking of the differences between my parents is a testimony to me of the concept of opposition in all things. They say opposites attract and that is certainly the case with my parents. But the lesson of opposition here goes much deeper than that. Most of the lessons that I learned from my dad were because she allowed him the freedom to be such an awesome dad. I want you to know, mom, that I recognize that and that your sacrifice in that area did not go unnoticed!!!!!
If you try to put two magnets together and you put the same polar sides towards each other, the force repels the magnets from each other. You can’t make them touch each other unless you turn one around so that the + and the – sides are facing each other. Opposites attract. This is true in most marriages as well. As a result of this, most marriages result in a “Good cop…bad cop” situation. Our family was no exception. But I think it was more of a situation where she was the “adult” parent and my dad was her sixth child. They were married so young that my dad’s mom often said that my mom was the one that raised him. He was quite a handful to try to raise and keep out of trouble, but somehow she ultimately found a way to do it.
The lesson here of opposition goes much deeper than their difference in personalities. The lesson learned about opposition is also demonstrated in the idea that in order to truly know joy, you must also experience pain.
Without the times of not having enough money, I would not appreciate it when I am able to buy the things that my family needs. I would also not have learned about hard work and working hard if there had not been a need for me to provide things for myself as I got older. I would not have learned to live on love (and stale potato chips!!!)
Without the times of witnessing strained relationships, I would not appreciate having a husband who does not drink and party and get angry.
Without my dad temporarily losing his priesthood authority, I would not have an appreciation of the difference that makes in the home and know just how blessed I am to have a husband who is worthy to hold and exercise that blessing in our lives. I have felt the void that is present when it is not readily available in the home and there is a noticeable difference.
Without my dad being excommunicated, I would not have learned such a powerful lesson on the miracle of forgiveness and the repentance process.
I could go on and on with examples of lessons I have learned about opposition and I am sure many of you have similar comparisons…. Look for those comparisons in your own life…. Look for those “strawberries” and recognize them for what they are.
Let me end with this…
Without experiencing the loss of a loved one that you were really close to, one simply cannot understand the level of appreciation that comes from knowing how important it is to love the people who are important to you… RIGHT NOW… Deeply and unconditionally… Before it is too late. After a person experiences that kind of loss, you learn to let your hugs linger a little longer, say I love you more, and truly feel the depth of that love. You learn not to let opportunities to spend time together slip through your fingers like sand from a broken hour glass. There will come a day when you can’t turn over the hour glass and have more time. When it breaks, the time just slips out and is gone and you can’t ever get it back. That is the moment when you will be glad you have the memories to occupy your mind. Those memories will help to fill the void that is left. Pick up the phone and call a loved one just to hear their voice. It’s so hard when you wake up one day and realize that you don’t remember what their voice sounded like anymore. But the opposite of that is, that when you no longer hear the echo of their voice in your head, you begin to feel the presence of their spirit in your heart.
How to Eat an Elephant ~ Chapter 9: Fly By the Seat of Your Pants
Dad always worked jobs that allowed him flexibility so he could do the things he loved on a moment’s notice. My mom always liked to have a plan – all her “ducks” in a row, but dads were always “scattered” all over the pond. My dad was a very spontaneous, fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of person. He could always drop what he was doing to have fun. One time on two hours’ notice, he and mom got a group of couples together and went to Jackson to the hill climbs overnight.
I remember when I was young, every spring in May when the ice melted from the lake, we were there fishing and camping. We would camp on the weekends, come home for school and work, do laundry and re-stock the food and go again.
I remember coming home from school on Fridays and finding my poor mom, running around like crazy putting stuff in the camper because he had decided on his way home from work that we would be going camping “right now”!
Sometimes he would come home from work in the middle of the week and grab the boys and the fishing gear (which was also always ready to go) and be gone in a matter of minutes.
Our day trips to the lake were the same way….hardly ever planned ahead, just very spontaneous and last minute. It was exciting growing up with a dad like that because you never really knew when or where the next adventure would take you.
Mom got wise to his ways rather quickly and the camper was ALWAYS stocked and ready to go… our clothes were in there at all times… there was always canned food, chips, cookies, licorice, etc. in the camper… all summer long. All she had to do was throw the perishable food in a cooler and we were off. Because of her wise ways, the camper became our play house (when it wasn’t parked at the lake or up the canyon). We would have sleepovers with friends or sometimes just myself and the bros would spend the night in the camper, raiding the snacks, playing cards and board games by lantern light until we fell asleep. In that sense, I guess we followed dad’s example of not needing a plan to have fun. Just round up some peeps and see what happens. I grew up in a ‘hood where there were about 30 kids the same age as my brothers and me within about 5 houses in any direction. During the summer, we spent our days, catching water snakes in the irrigation ditches, playing under the bleachers at the high school football field that was in our back yard, skateboarding down the sloped sidewalks at the church, having bottle rocket wars and every night after dinner, all the neighborhood kids would gather to play “night games”. We played Kick the Can, Eenie Einie Over, and many different versions of Hide and Seek, just to name a few. It was unplanned, spontaneous, come as you are, whoever you are, fun. It was childhood in a small town!
I have tried to instill in my own children this spontaneous kind of attitude, but they just think I am off-the-meds-crazy when I suggest they do things like this. (See my blog post, Encounter with the Popo to see what happened the ONE time they did decide to play night games!!) It seems that kids today have to plan out their fun and they frequently end up not doing anything, because no one can make a decision on what they should do and then it’s too late to do anything.
As I have gotten older, I realize how awesome my mom was for tolerating the spontaneous nature of my dad and for being flexible enough to just roll with all his last minute adventures. The older I get the more like my mom I am, in that I like to have a plan and have all the ducks in a row before I execute the plan. There is nothing wrong with having a plan. In contemplating this chapter, I have realized that maybe I was not enough like my dad in my parenting style. I need to relax a bit and have more spontaneous, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants adventures.
Being spontaneous can be uplifting and liberating to a soul that is depressed and anxious.. or any soul for that matter. It doesn’t have to mean getting together with 30 of your neighbors to play Kick the Can or going on unplanned camping trips every weekend. It can be found in unplanned fun like going to DQ for a Blizzard at 10 pm, grabbing a friend without notice and hitting Sonic Happy Hour, making an unplanned trip up to Claim Jumper for Mother Lode cake, getting in the truck and going for a drive to see someplace you’ve never been, or a spur of the moment board game with friends or family. There is a certain amount of freedom that can be gained by letting your hair down, and having a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants attitude once in a while. As I have been doing things this year to purge the negatives from my life, I am determined to emulate my dad and fill some of that void with spontaneous adventures… Be advised…this may land me on your door step with an invitation to do something random with only a moment’s notice!
I remember when I was young, every spring in May when the ice melted from the lake, we were there fishing and camping. We would camp on the weekends, come home for school and work, do laundry and re-stock the food and go again.
I remember coming home from school on Fridays and finding my poor mom, running around like crazy putting stuff in the camper because he had decided on his way home from work that we would be going camping “right now”!
Sometimes he would come home from work in the middle of the week and grab the boys and the fishing gear (which was also always ready to go) and be gone in a matter of minutes.
Our day trips to the lake were the same way….hardly ever planned ahead, just very spontaneous and last minute. It was exciting growing up with a dad like that because you never really knew when or where the next adventure would take you.
Mom got wise to his ways rather quickly and the camper was ALWAYS stocked and ready to go… our clothes were in there at all times… there was always canned food, chips, cookies, licorice, etc. in the camper… all summer long. All she had to do was throw the perishable food in a cooler and we were off. Because of her wise ways, the camper became our play house (when it wasn’t parked at the lake or up the canyon). We would have sleepovers with friends or sometimes just myself and the bros would spend the night in the camper, raiding the snacks, playing cards and board games by lantern light until we fell asleep. In that sense, I guess we followed dad’s example of not needing a plan to have fun. Just round up some peeps and see what happens. I grew up in a ‘hood where there were about 30 kids the same age as my brothers and me within about 5 houses in any direction. During the summer, we spent our days, catching water snakes in the irrigation ditches, playing under the bleachers at the high school football field that was in our back yard, skateboarding down the sloped sidewalks at the church, having bottle rocket wars and every night after dinner, all the neighborhood kids would gather to play “night games”. We played Kick the Can, Eenie Einie Over, and many different versions of Hide and Seek, just to name a few. It was unplanned, spontaneous, come as you are, whoever you are, fun. It was childhood in a small town!
I have tried to instill in my own children this spontaneous kind of attitude, but they just think I am off-the-meds-crazy when I suggest they do things like this. (See my blog post, Encounter with the Popo to see what happened the ONE time they did decide to play night games!!) It seems that kids today have to plan out their fun and they frequently end up not doing anything, because no one can make a decision on what they should do and then it’s too late to do anything.
As I have gotten older, I realize how awesome my mom was for tolerating the spontaneous nature of my dad and for being flexible enough to just roll with all his last minute adventures. The older I get the more like my mom I am, in that I like to have a plan and have all the ducks in a row before I execute the plan. There is nothing wrong with having a plan. In contemplating this chapter, I have realized that maybe I was not enough like my dad in my parenting style. I need to relax a bit and have more spontaneous, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants adventures.
Being spontaneous can be uplifting and liberating to a soul that is depressed and anxious.. or any soul for that matter. It doesn’t have to mean getting together with 30 of your neighbors to play Kick the Can or going on unplanned camping trips every weekend. It can be found in unplanned fun like going to DQ for a Blizzard at 10 pm, grabbing a friend without notice and hitting Sonic Happy Hour, making an unplanned trip up to Claim Jumper for Mother Lode cake, getting in the truck and going for a drive to see someplace you’ve never been, or a spur of the moment board game with friends or family. There is a certain amount of freedom that can be gained by letting your hair down, and having a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants attitude once in a while. As I have been doing things this year to purge the negatives from my life, I am determined to emulate my dad and fill some of that void with spontaneous adventures… Be advised…this may land me on your door step with an invitation to do something random with only a moment’s notice!
How to Eat an Elephant ~ Chapter 10: Competition is Good For the Soul
To say my dad was fiercely competitive by nature would be an understatement. As I have already mentioned he was very involved in sports, both himself as an athlete and also as a youth coach. He loved coaching the boys in little league baseball and basketball. And he loved playing softball, baseball and basketball on city and church leagues.
I remember many times watching him get into a squabble with an ump or ref over a bad call. He was loud and proud and many times this resulted in him being ejected from a game and more than once he was ejected from the gym! Emma and Derrek have a lot of their grandfather in them when it comes to playing basketball. If they get fouled and the ref doesn’t do his job, you can bet the next trip down the court will result in another foul…. one of retaliation… one that when the person gets fouled, they will remember for several days that they were fouled! They get that from their grandpa and I am sure he smiles a little about that! He always stood up for his teammates and his kids (both HIS kids and the kids he was coaching) and spoke up when he thought himself or a teammate had been wronged by a bad call. He especially enjoyed rooting for the underdog… whether from the sidelines, the bench, the dugout or the recliner! He instilled in me a special place in my heart for underdogs. Even if his team wasn’t the strongest or fastest and the 1st place team, he still encouraged them and loved them and win or lose, we always got root beer at the A&W after a baseball game! He understood the benefits of healthy competition (and sometimes unhealthy competition), but he also understood that it was important to build the boys’ self-esteem and help them feel like their best was all he expected of them. He was always saddened by the other coaches that would belittle and scream and yell at the boys because winning was all that mattered. Winning was important, but it wasn’t everything. One time during a little league game, his team was behind and he needed to say something to motivate his team in a really tight game. Instead of yelling and throwing water bottles to motivate his team, he told them “the game’s not over until the fat lady farts”….LOL! They ended up winning that game!
His competitive nature wasn’t limited to sporting events. It was a part of everything he did. It would show up in random places… like wrestling with my brothers and cousins at a family reunion or at the card table or telling tall tales of his fishing adventures. I’m still not sure if the story about Cleo is real or if he just needed to tell a story about a bigger fish than whomever his fishing companion was at the time. He was always looking for an advantage in everything he did. He was really good at developing trick plays or special moves or a unique curve ball that would give himself or his team an advantage. I can recall him spending hours in the back yard with my brothers teaching them exactly where to place their fingers on the thread of the baseball and exactly how to flick their wrist to get just the right spin on the ball. We had a ping pong table in the basement for a while and he took great joy in adding “English” to the ball so that his opponent wouldn’t know where it was going to land on their side of the table. He even got good at adding a little English to the blip when playing Pong on the TV! He was good at reading people and he always seemed to know when you had a good hand of cards or when you were bluffing. He was skilled at spotting weakness and knowing when to use that to his advantage. He knew when to put in a home run hitter and when to bunt.
I think that by witnessing his special talent for reading the circumstances in competitive situations, it prepared me to be able to read people and situations. He taught me to trust my gut and that has been something that has helped me… and caused me to stumble… many times in my life. There have been times when I didn’t go with my gut on something and it turned out badly. My gut always tells me to stick up for the underdog. Whether it’s a person who needs a friend or someone who is being bullied or someone who just needs a little encouragement, I have been taught, by his great example, to be there for them. Just like when I imagine he is smiling when my kids exhibit their competitive nature in a sporting event, I like to hope that he is smiling at me when I find the opportunity to help a person in need by giving them a hand up or a pat on the back or just letting them know that someone is on their side. I feel a special closeness to my dad when I act on an opportunity to help a person, who maybe at the time, couldn’t help themselves.
Through his example, I have learned when it’s appropriate to be competitive and when it’s appropriate to be compassionate, when it’s appropriate to stand up for a principle, and when it’s ok to turn the other cheek. It’s important to have the discernment to know which battles to pick and when to walk away. This has helped me as a parent, a wife, a daughter and a sister, as well as with other relationships in my life. I have also learned about loyalty and teamwork and how important it is to stick together during the bumpy times, because it makes the victories that much sweeter.
It was a huge burden being the oldest child of someone so competitive. I tried to play basketball and run track and cross country. I loved running because it made me feel free (and because there were boys on the team..hehe)… but to be honest, I wasn’t really good at either thing. I always felt like I was a disappointment to my dad because I lacked his athletic prowess.
I have a son that is an awesome runner. In high school, his job was to leave all he had on the track, and my job was to catch him at the finish line. One time, I couldn’t get through the crowd quickly enough to meet him at the finish line and I saw him wandering around somewhat delirious asking people if they had seen his mom. (What a payday for my mommy heart, that he would want his mom to lean on after a really tough race!)
I can’t remember if my dad was there at my games or my track meets, but I do feel him near me now, cheering me on, as I run the race of this mortal life. I can hardly wait until the day when he is there at the finish line to catch me. I hope he will be proud of the race I have run and know that I tried my best, that I put my face to the wind, had the endurance to finish… and left it all on the track!
I remember many times watching him get into a squabble with an ump or ref over a bad call. He was loud and proud and many times this resulted in him being ejected from a game and more than once he was ejected from the gym! Emma and Derrek have a lot of their grandfather in them when it comes to playing basketball. If they get fouled and the ref doesn’t do his job, you can bet the next trip down the court will result in another foul…. one of retaliation… one that when the person gets fouled, they will remember for several days that they were fouled! They get that from their grandpa and I am sure he smiles a little about that! He always stood up for his teammates and his kids (both HIS kids and the kids he was coaching) and spoke up when he thought himself or a teammate had been wronged by a bad call. He especially enjoyed rooting for the underdog… whether from the sidelines, the bench, the dugout or the recliner! He instilled in me a special place in my heart for underdogs. Even if his team wasn’t the strongest or fastest and the 1st place team, he still encouraged them and loved them and win or lose, we always got root beer at the A&W after a baseball game! He understood the benefits of healthy competition (and sometimes unhealthy competition), but he also understood that it was important to build the boys’ self-esteem and help them feel like their best was all he expected of them. He was always saddened by the other coaches that would belittle and scream and yell at the boys because winning was all that mattered. Winning was important, but it wasn’t everything. One time during a little league game, his team was behind and he needed to say something to motivate his team in a really tight game. Instead of yelling and throwing water bottles to motivate his team, he told them “the game’s not over until the fat lady farts”….LOL! They ended up winning that game!
His competitive nature wasn’t limited to sporting events. It was a part of everything he did. It would show up in random places… like wrestling with my brothers and cousins at a family reunion or at the card table or telling tall tales of his fishing adventures. I’m still not sure if the story about Cleo is real or if he just needed to tell a story about a bigger fish than whomever his fishing companion was at the time. He was always looking for an advantage in everything he did. He was really good at developing trick plays or special moves or a unique curve ball that would give himself or his team an advantage. I can recall him spending hours in the back yard with my brothers teaching them exactly where to place their fingers on the thread of the baseball and exactly how to flick their wrist to get just the right spin on the ball. We had a ping pong table in the basement for a while and he took great joy in adding “English” to the ball so that his opponent wouldn’t know where it was going to land on their side of the table. He even got good at adding a little English to the blip when playing Pong on the TV! He was good at reading people and he always seemed to know when you had a good hand of cards or when you were bluffing. He was skilled at spotting weakness and knowing when to use that to his advantage. He knew when to put in a home run hitter and when to bunt.
I think that by witnessing his special talent for reading the circumstances in competitive situations, it prepared me to be able to read people and situations. He taught me to trust my gut and that has been something that has helped me… and caused me to stumble… many times in my life. There have been times when I didn’t go with my gut on something and it turned out badly. My gut always tells me to stick up for the underdog. Whether it’s a person who needs a friend or someone who is being bullied or someone who just needs a little encouragement, I have been taught, by his great example, to be there for them. Just like when I imagine he is smiling when my kids exhibit their competitive nature in a sporting event, I like to hope that he is smiling at me when I find the opportunity to help a person in need by giving them a hand up or a pat on the back or just letting them know that someone is on their side. I feel a special closeness to my dad when I act on an opportunity to help a person, who maybe at the time, couldn’t help themselves.
Through his example, I have learned when it’s appropriate to be competitive and when it’s appropriate to be compassionate, when it’s appropriate to stand up for a principle, and when it’s ok to turn the other cheek. It’s important to have the discernment to know which battles to pick and when to walk away. This has helped me as a parent, a wife, a daughter and a sister, as well as with other relationships in my life. I have also learned about loyalty and teamwork and how important it is to stick together during the bumpy times, because it makes the victories that much sweeter.
It was a huge burden being the oldest child of someone so competitive. I tried to play basketball and run track and cross country. I loved running because it made me feel free (and because there were boys on the team..hehe)… but to be honest, I wasn’t really good at either thing. I always felt like I was a disappointment to my dad because I lacked his athletic prowess.
I have a son that is an awesome runner. In high school, his job was to leave all he had on the track, and my job was to catch him at the finish line. One time, I couldn’t get through the crowd quickly enough to meet him at the finish line and I saw him wandering around somewhat delirious asking people if they had seen his mom. (What a payday for my mommy heart, that he would want his mom to lean on after a really tough race!)
I can’t remember if my dad was there at my games or my track meets, but I do feel him near me now, cheering me on, as I run the race of this mortal life. I can hardly wait until the day when he is there at the finish line to catch me. I hope he will be proud of the race I have run and know that I tried my best, that I put my face to the wind, had the endurance to finish… and left it all on the track!
How to Eat An Elephant ~ Chapter 11: Laughter is the Best Medicine
There is nothing dignifying about fighting cancer. If you have never had the privilege of being a caregiver to someone who is in the end stages of cancer, this post may be hard to read. If you HAVE had that privilege, you know what a sacred time it is to spend time with your loved one, while they slowly watch their dignity slip away and people look on with pity. It is a bonding experience and a time when you get to love unconditionally. I remember watching my mom gently wipe my dad’s forehead and bend over to kiss his swollen eyes and that image is what I think of when I hear the words “unconditional love”. Knowing their history and everything they had gone through, made that moment even tenderer to witness.
But let me back up to the beginning of the end….
My dad’s fight started with surgery, followed almost immediately with radiation. He lost two patches of hair on the back of his head, so he looked kind of funny because of where the hair fell out. Then he started chemo and he looked like he had died, but that’s because chemo is poison. In order to have any chance of saving him, they had to poison him until he almost died and then they stopped… for a while… then they did it all over again… and again and again. He was ready for the zombie apocalypse… and then the rest of his hair fell out.
He took steroids to reduce the inflammation of the tumor which causes the fat in your body to move around and become displaced. This is sometimes called Moon Face, when the fat from the lower part of the body moves to the upper part of the body, causing it to be swollen. It is ironic that a side effect of a medication that reduces inflammation is … inflammation!
My dad was no exception and when this happened, it created pressure in his eyes. He was one of the lucky ones because at first, only one eye was affected and so he got to wear a patch over that eye. Eventually, both eyes became so swollen that he couldn't see anything. Another fun side effect from Moon Face, was that the lower part of his body became so weak that it could no longer support the added weight from the fat that had shifted to the upper part of the body. When that happened, his new constant companion was a walker. And he got to enjoy having a potty chair next to his bed because he couldn’t move himself much farther than that. Finally his strength deteriorated enough that he had to have home health come in and bath him, because he no longer had the strength to get out of bed.
Nope… nothing dignifying about it!
He had to choose between excruciating pain from the tumor growing in his head and drugs that made him hallucinate… ok, so maybe the drugs that make you hallucinate might not be so bad to endure… LOL…. Like when dad imagined a herd of squirrels running through the living room early one morning. Mom had my brothers hide the shotguns after that imaginary event, but it was certainly something to laugh at, otherwise you might just breakdown because it’s so hard to watch a loved one live this way. Most days he didn’t know what was real and what was imaginary. I mentioned in a previous post about our time together playing cards. I remember many times playing cards with him and he would say things that didn’t make any sense. One time he told someone to leave him alone because he was busy playing cards. When we asked who he was talking to, he replied “grandma”. We laughed it off and told him that “grandma” wasn’t there, assuming that he was talking about his own mother who frequently participated in our card games. Looking back, I believe that it was not MY grandma who was nearby, it was probably HIS. I believe that the morphine made his mind more open to experiences that maybe we were not privy to and that his time on earth was drawing to a close and the veil between this life and the next was a little thinner for him. This is the type of sacred experience that I was talking about when I mentioned that is was ‘privilege’ to be a care giver and to be able to witness these special moments. This has taught me to be more open minded about what is going on around me. There are things that I may not be able to see with my mortal eyes, but that I can feel with my heart if I allow those moments to penetrate my busy life. It’s important to enjoy the solitude and listen with our hearts or we will miss those moments when the veil is thin.
One thing that was important to dad was to laugh about things and not let some of these challenges get the best of him. He tried to maintain a “positive mental attitude” about his situation. Many times my mom, who was more in touch with the reality of the situation, told him where he could put his PMA…LOL! When he was first diagnosed, he was given 6 weeks to live, but he defied the doctors by living for another 10 months! He believed that he could mentally heal himself by remaining positive about his situation. I believe that he probably could have too… if it had been God’s will that he remain on earth. But that was not to be. He may not have healed himself, but I firmly believe that his attitude allowed his body to decay more slowly, which gave him more time here with his family.
Dad liked to joke around about his ‘radiation head’ by telling people that my mom tried to iron the back of his head and burned off all his hair, since the bald spots somewhat resembled the shape of an iron.
He also had a favorite shirt that he wore ALL the time. It was very tattered and had a white paint splatter on the front. He liked to tell people that a bird pooped on him. I guess when you have no dignity left, things like that help to give one a little humor in a very somber situation.
He told my kids many wild stories about the “pirate patch” he wore over one eye. Derrek was his first grandchild and his little buddy, so when he started having trouble talking, he developed a system of communication with Derrek that he referred to as the ‘buddy sign’. It was giving the thumbs up signal. At first Derrek was not very coordinated and it was more often the thumbs sideways signal! Every couple of weeks when we would go to Bear Lake to spend time with my dad, the first thing he did when he saw Derrek was ask him to give him the buddy sign and 3 year old Derrek would quickly respond with an enthusiastic thumbs up! When communication became difficult, we all adopted the ‘buddy sign’. This was our way of letting each other know that we were doing ok. We even used this when it was just too difficult emotionally to speak. A simple buddy sign would let each other know, without the need for words that all would be ok.
Since he wasn’t able to work, he was home all day, while my mom went to work. He tried to do things to help out around the house, like wash the dishes… keep in mind that this was a chore, since they didn’t own a dishwasher. One day, he got frustrated because he always had to wash so many cups each day, so he set aside one cup for each member of the household, and then put the rest of the glasses in the house, in a laundry basket, and hid them! He didn’t think this was funny, but everyone else sure did. Come to find out, dishes were never his strong suit. When he and mom were first married, she was still finishing school so it was his job to do the dishes. His idea of cleaning up the kitchen was to just HIDE all the dirty dishes from her!
When it became difficult for him to move about the house, my mom gave him a bell, so he could ring it if he needed help with something. Sometimes he would ring it just to see how quickly she would come running to his side. It became a way for her to bribe him into good behavior (ok maybe threaten is a better word)… if he didn’t do what he was supposed to do, she could simply hide the bell!
Through all of this, dad taught us by example, that laughter is the best medicine… laughter is the way that you maintain your dignity through all of life’s experiences. That lesson has spilled over to many facets of my life and I have tried to remember when I find myself in a really stressful situation, to find some humor. I guess that is how I developed my love for retelling events in a very humorous way. His positive attitude and example have helped me to develop a unique way of looking at things. Sometimes I need to be reminded, especially when I am in the heat of the moment, but mostly I try to emulate his attitude and look for the humor in every situation and most importantly take time to laugh!
I really believe that laughter helps our memory. As I reflect back on memories of my sister’s life, the most vivid memories I have of her were times when we were laughing (either with her or at her, but definitely laughing!)
Laughing is a positive, healthy way to get rid of some of the stress and emotion that builds up in your body. There were many times when we reached the point that we were forced to find a release to that emotion and we could laugh or we could cry. Looking back on the cancer journey, most of my memories were times when we were laughing. I can only remember two times when I really cried... When we were walking through the hospital after they took him in for the initial surgery and I watched my mom collapse on the floor in the hallway under the gravity of the situation and the second was when I held his hand while he took his last breath. The first were tears of fear… fear of the unknown and what the future would hold. The latter were tears of relief, that his pain was over and his spirit was no longer trapped in a diseased, bed ridden body. I know that there were many, many other times I cried, but those are not the memories that stick with me. The moments I remember most are the ones where we found the humor in the situation. Laughter truly is good medicine!
But let me back up to the beginning of the end….
My dad’s fight started with surgery, followed almost immediately with radiation. He lost two patches of hair on the back of his head, so he looked kind of funny because of where the hair fell out. Then he started chemo and he looked like he had died, but that’s because chemo is poison. In order to have any chance of saving him, they had to poison him until he almost died and then they stopped… for a while… then they did it all over again… and again and again. He was ready for the zombie apocalypse… and then the rest of his hair fell out.
He took steroids to reduce the inflammation of the tumor which causes the fat in your body to move around and become displaced. This is sometimes called Moon Face, when the fat from the lower part of the body moves to the upper part of the body, causing it to be swollen. It is ironic that a side effect of a medication that reduces inflammation is … inflammation!
My dad was no exception and when this happened, it created pressure in his eyes. He was one of the lucky ones because at first, only one eye was affected and so he got to wear a patch over that eye. Eventually, both eyes became so swollen that he couldn't see anything. Another fun side effect from Moon Face, was that the lower part of his body became so weak that it could no longer support the added weight from the fat that had shifted to the upper part of the body. When that happened, his new constant companion was a walker. And he got to enjoy having a potty chair next to his bed because he couldn’t move himself much farther than that. Finally his strength deteriorated enough that he had to have home health come in and bath him, because he no longer had the strength to get out of bed.
Nope… nothing dignifying about it!
He had to choose between excruciating pain from the tumor growing in his head and drugs that made him hallucinate… ok, so maybe the drugs that make you hallucinate might not be so bad to endure… LOL…. Like when dad imagined a herd of squirrels running through the living room early one morning. Mom had my brothers hide the shotguns after that imaginary event, but it was certainly something to laugh at, otherwise you might just breakdown because it’s so hard to watch a loved one live this way. Most days he didn’t know what was real and what was imaginary. I mentioned in a previous post about our time together playing cards. I remember many times playing cards with him and he would say things that didn’t make any sense. One time he told someone to leave him alone because he was busy playing cards. When we asked who he was talking to, he replied “grandma”. We laughed it off and told him that “grandma” wasn’t there, assuming that he was talking about his own mother who frequently participated in our card games. Looking back, I believe that it was not MY grandma who was nearby, it was probably HIS. I believe that the morphine made his mind more open to experiences that maybe we were not privy to and that his time on earth was drawing to a close and the veil between this life and the next was a little thinner for him. This is the type of sacred experience that I was talking about when I mentioned that is was ‘privilege’ to be a care giver and to be able to witness these special moments. This has taught me to be more open minded about what is going on around me. There are things that I may not be able to see with my mortal eyes, but that I can feel with my heart if I allow those moments to penetrate my busy life. It’s important to enjoy the solitude and listen with our hearts or we will miss those moments when the veil is thin.
One thing that was important to dad was to laugh about things and not let some of these challenges get the best of him. He tried to maintain a “positive mental attitude” about his situation. Many times my mom, who was more in touch with the reality of the situation, told him where he could put his PMA…LOL! When he was first diagnosed, he was given 6 weeks to live, but he defied the doctors by living for another 10 months! He believed that he could mentally heal himself by remaining positive about his situation. I believe that he probably could have too… if it had been God’s will that he remain on earth. But that was not to be. He may not have healed himself, but I firmly believe that his attitude allowed his body to decay more slowly, which gave him more time here with his family.
Dad liked to joke around about his ‘radiation head’ by telling people that my mom tried to iron the back of his head and burned off all his hair, since the bald spots somewhat resembled the shape of an iron.
He also had a favorite shirt that he wore ALL the time. It was very tattered and had a white paint splatter on the front. He liked to tell people that a bird pooped on him. I guess when you have no dignity left, things like that help to give one a little humor in a very somber situation.
He told my kids many wild stories about the “pirate patch” he wore over one eye. Derrek was his first grandchild and his little buddy, so when he started having trouble talking, he developed a system of communication with Derrek that he referred to as the ‘buddy sign’. It was giving the thumbs up signal. At first Derrek was not very coordinated and it was more often the thumbs sideways signal! Every couple of weeks when we would go to Bear Lake to spend time with my dad, the first thing he did when he saw Derrek was ask him to give him the buddy sign and 3 year old Derrek would quickly respond with an enthusiastic thumbs up! When communication became difficult, we all adopted the ‘buddy sign’. This was our way of letting each other know that we were doing ok. We even used this when it was just too difficult emotionally to speak. A simple buddy sign would let each other know, without the need for words that all would be ok.
Since he wasn’t able to work, he was home all day, while my mom went to work. He tried to do things to help out around the house, like wash the dishes… keep in mind that this was a chore, since they didn’t own a dishwasher. One day, he got frustrated because he always had to wash so many cups each day, so he set aside one cup for each member of the household, and then put the rest of the glasses in the house, in a laundry basket, and hid them! He didn’t think this was funny, but everyone else sure did. Come to find out, dishes were never his strong suit. When he and mom were first married, she was still finishing school so it was his job to do the dishes. His idea of cleaning up the kitchen was to just HIDE all the dirty dishes from her!
When it became difficult for him to move about the house, my mom gave him a bell, so he could ring it if he needed help with something. Sometimes he would ring it just to see how quickly she would come running to his side. It became a way for her to bribe him into good behavior (ok maybe threaten is a better word)… if he didn’t do what he was supposed to do, she could simply hide the bell!
Through all of this, dad taught us by example, that laughter is the best medicine… laughter is the way that you maintain your dignity through all of life’s experiences. That lesson has spilled over to many facets of my life and I have tried to remember when I find myself in a really stressful situation, to find some humor. I guess that is how I developed my love for retelling events in a very humorous way. His positive attitude and example have helped me to develop a unique way of looking at things. Sometimes I need to be reminded, especially when I am in the heat of the moment, but mostly I try to emulate his attitude and look for the humor in every situation and most importantly take time to laugh!
I really believe that laughter helps our memory. As I reflect back on memories of my sister’s life, the most vivid memories I have of her were times when we were laughing (either with her or at her, but definitely laughing!)
Laughing is a positive, healthy way to get rid of some of the stress and emotion that builds up in your body. There were many times when we reached the point that we were forced to find a release to that emotion and we could laugh or we could cry. Looking back on the cancer journey, most of my memories were times when we were laughing. I can only remember two times when I really cried... When we were walking through the hospital after they took him in for the initial surgery and I watched my mom collapse on the floor in the hallway under the gravity of the situation and the second was when I held his hand while he took his last breath. The first were tears of fear… fear of the unknown and what the future would hold. The latter were tears of relief, that his pain was over and his spirit was no longer trapped in a diseased, bed ridden body. I know that there were many, many other times I cried, but those are not the memories that stick with me. The moments I remember most are the ones where we found the humor in the situation. Laughter truly is good medicine!
How to Eat an Elephant ~Chapter 12: From the Beginning
I thought it might be good to share a little back story of my parents so that those of you who don't know their history, have a better idea of who my dad was and his some of his background and how the cancer was discovered. This post is actually written by my sweet momma from her perspective:
I first saw Guy Peterson when I started high school. Coming from a little country school to the “big” town high school was frightening. He was not much taller than me, but I thought he was the best looking boy in the school…beautiful blue eyes and a terrific smile. When he asked me to a dance, I knew I was in “love”. We dated through high school, had great times and he broke my heart a few times, but we always went back together.
The summer before my senior year, he asked me to marry him, so on September 1st, 1965 we were married. We felt all “grown up” but were both far too young to know better. I still had my senior year to finish, so he found a job and we began our adventurous, bumpy, happy life together in a basement apartment. As I was in school and he had time, he was supposed to do the dishes – but as they kept disappearing, I found out he was putting them in an empty dresser drawer instead of washing them!
On New Year’s Eve, 1965, he received his draft notice. The Vietnam War was in full swing and because he wasn’t in school, he was drafted. The recruiter told him to enlist and he could choose where he wanted to go – so, believing him, he did. He and another man from Bear Lake, Herb Cleary, enlisted for three years and were sent to Fort Ord, Calif for basic training. I stayed with his parents, Everett & Maxine and continued working and going to school. He was sent from Calif to Fort Gordon, Georgia March 1966 for military police training. At that time I left school and went with him. Herb’s wife, Sheila, also went. We had an apartment off base and the guys came home on the weekends. I took correspondence to finish school. This was hard but I wanted my diploma.
After graduation from MP school in May 1966, Herb was sent to Vietnam and Guy went to Germany. Sheila and I drove back to Montpelier from Georgia on Memorial Day weekend. I continued to work at the Arctic Circle and saved money to go to Germany to be with him. In September 1966 I was able to go, 18 years old, never been out of Bear Lake much, and alone, I flew to Heidelberg, Germany.
We had an apartment off base in Stuttgart. What an adventure we had. We had friends and went on many trips sight seeing, we had card parties and enjoyed our time there. We were both missing home and family though. Guy enjoyed being an MP and looked so handsome in his uniform. It was a great experience.
Our first apartment was a semi-basement apartment and cold and damp and I had to clean mold from the corners every week. We finally moved to an upstairs apartment…much warmer and nicer. In January of 1968, I got pregnant and we were excited. I continued to work and the baby was due in October. I came home to Montpelier in September and Guy was to come in December. Wendi was born in October and Guy got home two days before Christmas. Thus began a new and different life together. It was so good to be together again.
He enrolled and was accepted into BYU and we moved to Provo, Utah with our little blond haired, blue eyed baby. Guy was so cute with her.
Wade & Pat were also in Provo and we spent a lot of time together there. We were sealed in the Logan temple in July 1969. Wendi was so beautiful in her white dress.
In Jan, 1970, our first son Landis was born. We were thrilled again. It was fun being parents.
In Nov, 1971, our third child, Jordon was born on Thanksgiving night.
We were really struggling financially to get through school and take care of our growing family. Guy graduated in criminology and sociology and wanted to go on to law school but because of lack of money and a family to support, he didn’t. He got a job back in Montpelier and we packed up and moved home to a little rental house on Jefferson St.
We purchased the Amoco oil plant and began a business. This was during the “gas crunch” years and rationing of fuel began and was hard to make ends meet.
Our fourth child, a son Dustin, was born in Feb, 1976. I was so grateful he was born healthy.
On June 30, 1980 we had our fifth child, a girl, Brittney Jo. As I held her, I cried and had the thought that I wouldn’t be able to raise her. She proved to be a blessing as she became an instrument in bringing her dad back into the church.
During these years, Guy had been excommunicated from the church. It was a very difficult time. All during his life he had taken the hard road to things. It was as if Satan always won the battle until Guy overcame each trial. He was very strong when he set his mind. I think he must have been a valiant spirit before coming to earth and needed to be tested more than others.
Without my knowledge, he went to the bishop and began the process of getting his life back in order. It was difficult for him but he prevailed. He presented me with a card announcing his forthcoming baptism back into the church. What a glorious day. Both our families were there to support and join us. The next few years were good. It was all I had dreamed of having and we were able to have his priesthood and temple blessings restored. Life seemed good after so many hard years. Our kids were a part of this happening.
August 1992 brought the annual Peterson reunion. Guy was always healthy, active and in good shape so, when he complained of a headache that wouldn’t go away, we went to the doctor who treated him for sinus infection. After a couple of days and it got worse we went to the ER. They gave him a shot for pain which did nothing. We were sent to Logan. They did a scan and MRI and found a tumor at the base of his brain. We were sent to Salt Lake City for surgery. The result – it was cancer. We cried and held each other and vowed we would beat this. Two surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation became our lives while trying to support two missionaries, two children at home and a married daughter. Our lives were suddenly spiraling out of control.
I was working at the hospital and needed to keep the job, so Wade took Guy into his home in SLC, took him to treatments during the week and home on the weekends. This continued for many weeks.
Landis returned home from his mission and helped. In December, Jordy also came home early to spend the time left with his dad.
During this time, I never heard Guy complain or murmur. He kept looking for the “strawberry” and kept a good attitude. He died June 28, 1993. Two years later on October 4, 1995, he came to take Brittney with him. His mission was done.
After he was re-baptized, he became so strong in the church. He was in the bishopric and a home teacher.
All through his life he was involved with the youth in the church and community. He coached little league baseball and basketball and related to the youth. He taught alternate school and had a good influence on troubled kids. He had a big heart and gave to others freely.
We spent a lot of summers camping and fishing. He taught his kids to enjoy the outdoors and love life. His motto was “work hard, then play hard”.
In being honest, some of the years were so hard and I’m not sure how I made it through, but in the whole picture, I’m so glad I stuck with it as we have an eternal family. Guy had so many good Christ like qualities and Satan knew he had to work hard to win him but in the long haul – Guy conquered and returned to his Father in Heaven a winner.
I first saw Guy Peterson when I started high school. Coming from a little country school to the “big” town high school was frightening. He was not much taller than me, but I thought he was the best looking boy in the school…beautiful blue eyes and a terrific smile. When he asked me to a dance, I knew I was in “love”. We dated through high school, had great times and he broke my heart a few times, but we always went back together.
The summer before my senior year, he asked me to marry him, so on September 1st, 1965 we were married. We felt all “grown up” but were both far too young to know better. I still had my senior year to finish, so he found a job and we began our adventurous, bumpy, happy life together in a basement apartment. As I was in school and he had time, he was supposed to do the dishes – but as they kept disappearing, I found out he was putting them in an empty dresser drawer instead of washing them!
On New Year’s Eve, 1965, he received his draft notice. The Vietnam War was in full swing and because he wasn’t in school, he was drafted. The recruiter told him to enlist and he could choose where he wanted to go – so, believing him, he did. He and another man from Bear Lake, Herb Cleary, enlisted for three years and were sent to Fort Ord, Calif for basic training. I stayed with his parents, Everett & Maxine and continued working and going to school. He was sent from Calif to Fort Gordon, Georgia March 1966 for military police training. At that time I left school and went with him. Herb’s wife, Sheila, also went. We had an apartment off base and the guys came home on the weekends. I took correspondence to finish school. This was hard but I wanted my diploma.
After graduation from MP school in May 1966, Herb was sent to Vietnam and Guy went to Germany. Sheila and I drove back to Montpelier from Georgia on Memorial Day weekend. I continued to work at the Arctic Circle and saved money to go to Germany to be with him. In September 1966 I was able to go, 18 years old, never been out of Bear Lake much, and alone, I flew to Heidelberg, Germany.
We had an apartment off base in Stuttgart. What an adventure we had. We had friends and went on many trips sight seeing, we had card parties and enjoyed our time there. We were both missing home and family though. Guy enjoyed being an MP and looked so handsome in his uniform. It was a great experience.
Our first apartment was a semi-basement apartment and cold and damp and I had to clean mold from the corners every week. We finally moved to an upstairs apartment…much warmer and nicer. In January of 1968, I got pregnant and we were excited. I continued to work and the baby was due in October. I came home to Montpelier in September and Guy was to come in December. Wendi was born in October and Guy got home two days before Christmas. Thus began a new and different life together. It was so good to be together again.
He enrolled and was accepted into BYU and we moved to Provo, Utah with our little blond haired, blue eyed baby. Guy was so cute with her.
Wade & Pat were also in Provo and we spent a lot of time together there. We were sealed in the Logan temple in July 1969. Wendi was so beautiful in her white dress.
In Jan, 1970, our first son Landis was born. We were thrilled again. It was fun being parents.
In Nov, 1971, our third child, Jordon was born on Thanksgiving night.
We were really struggling financially to get through school and take care of our growing family. Guy graduated in criminology and sociology and wanted to go on to law school but because of lack of money and a family to support, he didn’t. He got a job back in Montpelier and we packed up and moved home to a little rental house on Jefferson St.
We purchased the Amoco oil plant and began a business. This was during the “gas crunch” years and rationing of fuel began and was hard to make ends meet.
Our fourth child, a son Dustin, was born in Feb, 1976. I was so grateful he was born healthy.
On June 30, 1980 we had our fifth child, a girl, Brittney Jo. As I held her, I cried and had the thought that I wouldn’t be able to raise her. She proved to be a blessing as she became an instrument in bringing her dad back into the church.
During these years, Guy had been excommunicated from the church. It was a very difficult time. All during his life he had taken the hard road to things. It was as if Satan always won the battle until Guy overcame each trial. He was very strong when he set his mind. I think he must have been a valiant spirit before coming to earth and needed to be tested more than others.
Without my knowledge, he went to the bishop and began the process of getting his life back in order. It was difficult for him but he prevailed. He presented me with a card announcing his forthcoming baptism back into the church. What a glorious day. Both our families were there to support and join us. The next few years were good. It was all I had dreamed of having and we were able to have his priesthood and temple blessings restored. Life seemed good after so many hard years. Our kids were a part of this happening.
August 1992 brought the annual Peterson reunion. Guy was always healthy, active and in good shape so, when he complained of a headache that wouldn’t go away, we went to the doctor who treated him for sinus infection. After a couple of days and it got worse we went to the ER. They gave him a shot for pain which did nothing. We were sent to Logan. They did a scan and MRI and found a tumor at the base of his brain. We were sent to Salt Lake City for surgery. The result – it was cancer. We cried and held each other and vowed we would beat this. Two surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation became our lives while trying to support two missionaries, two children at home and a married daughter. Our lives were suddenly spiraling out of control.
I was working at the hospital and needed to keep the job, so Wade took Guy into his home in SLC, took him to treatments during the week and home on the weekends. This continued for many weeks.
Landis returned home from his mission and helped. In December, Jordy also came home early to spend the time left with his dad.
During this time, I never heard Guy complain or murmur. He kept looking for the “strawberry” and kept a good attitude. He died June 28, 1993. Two years later on October 4, 1995, he came to take Brittney with him. His mission was done.
After he was re-baptized, he became so strong in the church. He was in the bishopric and a home teacher.
All through his life he was involved with the youth in the church and community. He coached little league baseball and basketball and related to the youth. He taught alternate school and had a good influence on troubled kids. He had a big heart and gave to others freely.
We spent a lot of summers camping and fishing. He taught his kids to enjoy the outdoors and love life. His motto was “work hard, then play hard”.
In being honest, some of the years were so hard and I’m not sure how I made it through, but in the whole picture, I’m so glad I stuck with it as we have an eternal family. Guy had so many good Christ like qualities and Satan knew he had to work hard to win him but in the long haul – Guy conquered and returned to his Father in Heaven a winner.
How to Eat an Elephant ~Chapter 13: Sometimes Silence is Discipline Enough
My dad spent several years in the Army serving his country in Germany. He also had a love of hunting. As a result of his experiences, I grew up in a home where guns were not an unusual thing to see in the closet or hanging in the back window of dad’s pickup truck. I did not grow up living in fear because there were guns in our home. He taught us to be patriotic and to stand up for our freedom and appreciate those people, who like himself, defend those freedoms that we enjoy and even take for granted some times.
My dad made it a point to educate us kids on the dangers of guns and what they should be used for… putting food on the table, bonding with his kids while shooting pop cans, hunting squirrels, etc. He made it a point to let us handle the guns in a safe and controlled way and therefore took away the mystery of them so that we had no desire to play with them when it wasn’t an appropriate time or place.
We had a lot of fun doing these activities with him. My brothers spent most of the time with him doing these activities, but occasionally I got to tag along. Jordon recalls one time when he was about 13 or 14 years old. It was in the fall and he asked dad if he could go shoot pop cans with the 22. Dad agreed so Jordon gathered up the pop cans, his gun and shells and they headed up by the junk yard.
They were shooting, having fun and enjoying the day when all of a sudden Jordon pulled the trigger and heard a big echo. He quickly realized that he had shot the side of the bed of the truck. He jumped inside the cab of the truck and locked the doors. He feared a butt kicking that he thought for sure he would get.
To his amazement, dad was outside laughing so hard at the way Jordon reacted that he didn’t even care that he had just shot the side of the pick up! That is how he was all of the time. He would always say, “We are just here to have fun and if we didn’t have fun, we should have fun trying.”
Dad had a way of letting you stew about a situation for a while before he talked to you about something you had done wrong. More often than not, by the time he actually talked to you about the situation, you had beat yourself up pretty badly all on your own and he didn’t really need to say a word about the incident because you had already given yourself a lecture on how stupid you had been and how you would never do it again.
A great example of this was another story that involved Jordon when he was about 11. We had all gotten new bikes for Christmas and Jordon was always trying to ride wheelies on his. Dad was always telling him to quit doing that because it wasn’t good for the bike. He even threatened him by telling him if he caught Jordon riding wheelies, Jordon was going to lose his bike.
One day Jordon and Mike Willie were out on the town and of course they were riding wheelies from 8th Street down to Lloyds and he passed dad coming towards him. He knew instantly that he was busted and didn’t want to go home to face the fact that he was going to lose his bike. He hid out at Mike’s for the remainder of the day and even skipped going home for dinner. Then to make everything worse, dad called over there and asked if he could come home for a while because he had to talk to him about something. Jordon was sure he knew what it was about and boy was he scared! He took his time getting over to the house and when he got there dad asked him if he would come into his bedroom and shut the door. By this time Jordon was shaking with fear. Dad asked him to come sit on the bed with him (that was his M.O… he played that card with me several times as well. When he did this, you knew it was serious!!)
As Jordon sat on the bed with his face hung towards the ground, he felt something under the covers of his bed. He sat up and dad pulled back the covers and there sat a new deer rifle. Jordon wasn’t sure if dad intended to shoot him with it or what!! LOL!! Dad said he came across a good deal and couldn’t pass it up and asked if it was all right that he took the money of Jordon’s savings account to pay for it. Jordon never heard a word about riding wheelies on his bike until the day the handle bars broke because of riding wheelies. So the old man knew what he was talking about after all.
Many times growing up, I did similar things, got busted, beat myself up and then went back and did it again. Most times, I had punished myself much worse than he probably would have. I am so grateful for my dad’s patience with me during these times in my life when he told me not to do something and I did it anyway…and for his “silent” discipline. His quiet, gentle way allowed me time to think about my mistakes and of the consequences of my actions and many times I made a choice NOT to do something I knew was wrong simply because I didn’t want to have him sit on the end of my bed and be disappointed in me. Even now, as an adult, I find myself making decisions based on not wanting to disappoint my dad. Those thoughts often take my mind to the bigger picture and think of what Heavenly Father thinks of my choices and decisions and how much I want to live my life in a way that doesn't disappoint Him. I don't want to find myself in Heaven sitting on the edge of a cloud with a loving Heavenly Father looking at me with disappointment in his eyes.
My dad made it a point to educate us kids on the dangers of guns and what they should be used for… putting food on the table, bonding with his kids while shooting pop cans, hunting squirrels, etc. He made it a point to let us handle the guns in a safe and controlled way and therefore took away the mystery of them so that we had no desire to play with them when it wasn’t an appropriate time or place.
We had a lot of fun doing these activities with him. My brothers spent most of the time with him doing these activities, but occasionally I got to tag along. Jordon recalls one time when he was about 13 or 14 years old. It was in the fall and he asked dad if he could go shoot pop cans with the 22. Dad agreed so Jordon gathered up the pop cans, his gun and shells and they headed up by the junk yard.
They were shooting, having fun and enjoying the day when all of a sudden Jordon pulled the trigger and heard a big echo. He quickly realized that he had shot the side of the bed of the truck. He jumped inside the cab of the truck and locked the doors. He feared a butt kicking that he thought for sure he would get.
To his amazement, dad was outside laughing so hard at the way Jordon reacted that he didn’t even care that he had just shot the side of the pick up! That is how he was all of the time. He would always say, “We are just here to have fun and if we didn’t have fun, we should have fun trying.”
Dad had a way of letting you stew about a situation for a while before he talked to you about something you had done wrong. More often than not, by the time he actually talked to you about the situation, you had beat yourself up pretty badly all on your own and he didn’t really need to say a word about the incident because you had already given yourself a lecture on how stupid you had been and how you would never do it again.
A great example of this was another story that involved Jordon when he was about 11. We had all gotten new bikes for Christmas and Jordon was always trying to ride wheelies on his. Dad was always telling him to quit doing that because it wasn’t good for the bike. He even threatened him by telling him if he caught Jordon riding wheelies, Jordon was going to lose his bike.
One day Jordon and Mike Willie were out on the town and of course they were riding wheelies from 8th Street down to Lloyds and he passed dad coming towards him. He knew instantly that he was busted and didn’t want to go home to face the fact that he was going to lose his bike. He hid out at Mike’s for the remainder of the day and even skipped going home for dinner. Then to make everything worse, dad called over there and asked if he could come home for a while because he had to talk to him about something. Jordon was sure he knew what it was about and boy was he scared! He took his time getting over to the house and when he got there dad asked him if he would come into his bedroom and shut the door. By this time Jordon was shaking with fear. Dad asked him to come sit on the bed with him (that was his M.O… he played that card with me several times as well. When he did this, you knew it was serious!!)
As Jordon sat on the bed with his face hung towards the ground, he felt something under the covers of his bed. He sat up and dad pulled back the covers and there sat a new deer rifle. Jordon wasn’t sure if dad intended to shoot him with it or what!! LOL!! Dad said he came across a good deal and couldn’t pass it up and asked if it was all right that he took the money of Jordon’s savings account to pay for it. Jordon never heard a word about riding wheelies on his bike until the day the handle bars broke because of riding wheelies. So the old man knew what he was talking about after all.
Many times growing up, I did similar things, got busted, beat myself up and then went back and did it again. Most times, I had punished myself much worse than he probably would have. I am so grateful for my dad’s patience with me during these times in my life when he told me not to do something and I did it anyway…and for his “silent” discipline. His quiet, gentle way allowed me time to think about my mistakes and of the consequences of my actions and many times I made a choice NOT to do something I knew was wrong simply because I didn’t want to have him sit on the end of my bed and be disappointed in me. Even now, as an adult, I find myself making decisions based on not wanting to disappoint my dad. Those thoughts often take my mind to the bigger picture and think of what Heavenly Father thinks of my choices and decisions and how much I want to live my life in a way that doesn't disappoint Him. I don't want to find myself in Heaven sitting on the edge of a cloud with a loving Heavenly Father looking at me with disappointment in his eyes.
How to Eat an Elephant ~Chapter 14: Not Every Prayer Bounces Off the Ceiling
This post is deeply personal and I found it difficult to articulate the thoughts that are in my head and heart about this subject. I hope my readers will feel what I am trying to convey in this chapter and that you will come away with a deeper understanding of how prayers get answered and better recognition of answers to your prayers.
Many examples throughout my dad’s life have taught me to believe in the power of prayer. I have also learned that prayers are answered according to God’s timing, not mine and according to God’s will.
Sometimes prayers aren’t answered immediately. I prayed every day all through high school that my dad would re-join the church so we could be an eternal family. That prayer was eventually answered, but it was according to my dad’s timetable, not according to my demand to God that He change my dad’s heart. I believe the prayers of many people helped to soften my dad and prepare him for a mighty change to happen, but it was one of those instances where it was a process and all those prayers I offered not only helped to soften my dad’s heart, but I believe they helped to soften mine as well. Perhaps it was more of an issue of what other people may have needed to learn from the experience that dictated the timing of it being answered. Perhaps there were other hearts that needed to be changed before that struggle could be over. Perhaps other people’s faith needed to be strengthened through their opportunity to continuously pray for my dad. I believe that God sees the big picture and he knows what things the people around us need to learn through our experiences and struggles. When you pray for something for a really long time, it is such a beautiful witness of the power of prayer when that prayer is finally answered. Sometimes the answer is not “no”, but rather “not yet”.
Another great example of this was a prayer that we offered for over 20 years before it was answered. What an amazing experience it was when Wayne’s daughter Tina came back into our lives after being absent for over 20 years. I don’t know why it had to take 20 years for that prayer to be answered, but it helps me to know that you should never give up on a righteous desire.
I try to remember this when I get frustrated with a challenge that I am going through and I can’t understand why God won’t help me solve the problem and move on. Perhaps people around me need to learn something from my experience or struggle and until they learn that, the timing of my answer may need to be postponed. It helps sometimes to try to step back from my struggles and see if from a larger perspective.
Sometimes prayers are answered in a different way than we expect. I have learned that you have to be very careful what you pray for. When I had a small child at home and was expecting number two, it was hard and I found that I wasn’t emotionally prepared for the demands of motherhood. I prayed for patience. Never, ever, EVER pray for patience. It is almost guaranteed that you will be given a trial to really test your patience! In this case, I was called to be a nursery worker… are you kidding me? I was struggling to even be able to deal with my one child, how on earth was I going to deal with everyone else’s wild child… all at the same time? After that, I certainly had more patience in being able to deal with my own child and other struggles that would come my way. I also learned to be more creative and very specific in what I ask for now.
Sometimes a seemingly unanswered prayer, may be just the answer you are looking for. A dear friend of mine taught me that “doubt means don’t”. This has proven many times to be the answer I needed when I have paused before rushing into a decision, only later to find out that there was a better option coming if I only had the patience to wait for it. (Here we go with that patience thing again, which by the way, is still a struggle for me)
Many times the thing I have prayed for has had a different outcome than what I had hoped or intended, but when I look back with the benefit of hindsight, I can see that it was answered in the way that ultimately worked out for the best.
Sometimes prayers can postpone an inevitable outcome. Throughout his cancer journey, I really struggled to come to terms with the idea that he wasn’t being cured. He had such a positive attitude and he had a tremendous amount of faith, as did those who loved him. He had numerous priesthood blessings. He deserved to be cured!!! It really shook my faith that none of the things we were doing were working to heal him. I often blamed myself, thinking that I was the weak link because my faith wasn’t stronger. Toward the end of my dad’s battle with cancer I was visiting with him and he told me that the prayers we were offering on his behalf were keeping him here on earth and that he wanted me to stop praying for him to be healed because he felt that we were keeping him from his next assignment. He wanted me instead to pray that whatever God’s will was that it would be done quickly. This was such a hard concept to wrap my head around. I sort of knew in my heart what the outcome would be if I did that and I felt like I was giving up and having a lack of faith by doing this, but I loved him enough to honor his request. Immediately it seemed like he took a turn for the worse and started to slip away. I was out of town and it was going to take several days before I could get to Bear Lake to be with him. In the meantime, he asked every day, what day it was. I think he knew when I could be there to say good-bye and he was holding on waiting for me. I got there in the evening and told him I was there and it was ok for him to go now, and he was gone a few hours later. I am so grateful for the way this experience built my testimony on the power of prayer. Our prayers did not change God’s will, but they allowed us the extra time we needed to be ready to let him go and to have the chance to strengthen our faith through the experience. I believe that for him, the veil had been very thin for quite some time and it must have been hard for him to make the choice to stay here until we were ready to let him go home. I had a personal experience with the veil one time when I was having a miscarriage and was hemorrhaging badly. I was in the Dr’s office and due to the critical nature of what was going on, they had do an emergency D&C right there in the Dr office… without the benefits of anesthesia…. Not something I would recommend you try!!!! From the loss of blood and the pain, I was very near death and I remember feeling very warm and peaceful in the midst of the pain and drama. I sensed my dad’s presence and longed so much to just be enveloped with his spirit, but I sensed he wanted me to go back because my work here wasn’t done. At the same time I remember being aware that the nurse was slapping my face very hard trying to get my attention. At that point I had a choice to make. I was close enough to the veil to be torn between which way I wanted to go. This experience has helped me, in hindsight, to better understand the struggle my dad must have faced with deciding how long to hang on here on earth and when it was time to make the decision that he needed to go.
Throughout these and many other experiences, I have learned that the purpose of prayer is not to try to change God’s mind about something or anyone else’s mind for that matter. God already knows what we want and He already knows what we need and He knows what His will is. He gives us the opportunity to pray so that we can humble ourselves enough to ask. I believe the higher purpose of prayer is to change our own hearts. The true power in praying comes from the faith that is developed through the process…. when you are humble enough to turn it over to God, when you realize the prayer has been answered… or you recognize the reason it wasn’t.
Many examples throughout my dad’s life have taught me to believe in the power of prayer. I have also learned that prayers are answered according to God’s timing, not mine and according to God’s will.
Sometimes prayers aren’t answered immediately. I prayed every day all through high school that my dad would re-join the church so we could be an eternal family. That prayer was eventually answered, but it was according to my dad’s timetable, not according to my demand to God that He change my dad’s heart. I believe the prayers of many people helped to soften my dad and prepare him for a mighty change to happen, but it was one of those instances where it was a process and all those prayers I offered not only helped to soften my dad’s heart, but I believe they helped to soften mine as well. Perhaps it was more of an issue of what other people may have needed to learn from the experience that dictated the timing of it being answered. Perhaps there were other hearts that needed to be changed before that struggle could be over. Perhaps other people’s faith needed to be strengthened through their opportunity to continuously pray for my dad. I believe that God sees the big picture and he knows what things the people around us need to learn through our experiences and struggles. When you pray for something for a really long time, it is such a beautiful witness of the power of prayer when that prayer is finally answered. Sometimes the answer is not “no”, but rather “not yet”.
Another great example of this was a prayer that we offered for over 20 years before it was answered. What an amazing experience it was when Wayne’s daughter Tina came back into our lives after being absent for over 20 years. I don’t know why it had to take 20 years for that prayer to be answered, but it helps me to know that you should never give up on a righteous desire.
I try to remember this when I get frustrated with a challenge that I am going through and I can’t understand why God won’t help me solve the problem and move on. Perhaps people around me need to learn something from my experience or struggle and until they learn that, the timing of my answer may need to be postponed. It helps sometimes to try to step back from my struggles and see if from a larger perspective.
Sometimes prayers are answered in a different way than we expect. I have learned that you have to be very careful what you pray for. When I had a small child at home and was expecting number two, it was hard and I found that I wasn’t emotionally prepared for the demands of motherhood. I prayed for patience. Never, ever, EVER pray for patience. It is almost guaranteed that you will be given a trial to really test your patience! In this case, I was called to be a nursery worker… are you kidding me? I was struggling to even be able to deal with my one child, how on earth was I going to deal with everyone else’s wild child… all at the same time? After that, I certainly had more patience in being able to deal with my own child and other struggles that would come my way. I also learned to be more creative and very specific in what I ask for now.
Sometimes a seemingly unanswered prayer, may be just the answer you are looking for. A dear friend of mine taught me that “doubt means don’t”. This has proven many times to be the answer I needed when I have paused before rushing into a decision, only later to find out that there was a better option coming if I only had the patience to wait for it. (Here we go with that patience thing again, which by the way, is still a struggle for me)
Many times the thing I have prayed for has had a different outcome than what I had hoped or intended, but when I look back with the benefit of hindsight, I can see that it was answered in the way that ultimately worked out for the best.
Sometimes prayers can postpone an inevitable outcome. Throughout his cancer journey, I really struggled to come to terms with the idea that he wasn’t being cured. He had such a positive attitude and he had a tremendous amount of faith, as did those who loved him. He had numerous priesthood blessings. He deserved to be cured!!! It really shook my faith that none of the things we were doing were working to heal him. I often blamed myself, thinking that I was the weak link because my faith wasn’t stronger. Toward the end of my dad’s battle with cancer I was visiting with him and he told me that the prayers we were offering on his behalf were keeping him here on earth and that he wanted me to stop praying for him to be healed because he felt that we were keeping him from his next assignment. He wanted me instead to pray that whatever God’s will was that it would be done quickly. This was such a hard concept to wrap my head around. I sort of knew in my heart what the outcome would be if I did that and I felt like I was giving up and having a lack of faith by doing this, but I loved him enough to honor his request. Immediately it seemed like he took a turn for the worse and started to slip away. I was out of town and it was going to take several days before I could get to Bear Lake to be with him. In the meantime, he asked every day, what day it was. I think he knew when I could be there to say good-bye and he was holding on waiting for me. I got there in the evening and told him I was there and it was ok for him to go now, and he was gone a few hours later. I am so grateful for the way this experience built my testimony on the power of prayer. Our prayers did not change God’s will, but they allowed us the extra time we needed to be ready to let him go and to have the chance to strengthen our faith through the experience. I believe that for him, the veil had been very thin for quite some time and it must have been hard for him to make the choice to stay here until we were ready to let him go home. I had a personal experience with the veil one time when I was having a miscarriage and was hemorrhaging badly. I was in the Dr’s office and due to the critical nature of what was going on, they had do an emergency D&C right there in the Dr office… without the benefits of anesthesia…. Not something I would recommend you try!!!! From the loss of blood and the pain, I was very near death and I remember feeling very warm and peaceful in the midst of the pain and drama. I sensed my dad’s presence and longed so much to just be enveloped with his spirit, but I sensed he wanted me to go back because my work here wasn’t done. At the same time I remember being aware that the nurse was slapping my face very hard trying to get my attention. At that point I had a choice to make. I was close enough to the veil to be torn between which way I wanted to go. This experience has helped me, in hindsight, to better understand the struggle my dad must have faced with deciding how long to hang on here on earth and when it was time to make the decision that he needed to go.
Throughout these and many other experiences, I have learned that the purpose of prayer is not to try to change God’s mind about something or anyone else’s mind for that matter. God already knows what we want and He already knows what we need and He knows what His will is. He gives us the opportunity to pray so that we can humble ourselves enough to ask. I believe the higher purpose of prayer is to change our own hearts. The true power in praying comes from the faith that is developed through the process…. when you are humble enough to turn it over to God, when you realize the prayer has been answered… or you recognize the reason it wasn’t.
How to Eat an Elephant ~ Chapter 15: A Letter to My Dad
Dear Daddy,
As we come upon another Father’s Day weekend without you, my heart is full of emotion. In just a few weeks we will remember the 20th Anniversary of the day you left this earthly life to move on to bigger and better things. It’s so hard to believe that 20 years have gone by in the blink of an eye. I have thought about you every single day for the past 20 years and missing you does not get any easier.
As I am sure you know, I have been writing some memories down about the lessons you have taught me. Mostly so that I can remember and I want my kids to be able to know who you were and what you stood for. I also thought they might help other people get through some of their own struggles so I decided to follow your example and share these stories publicly. It seemed only fitting that I share these lessons in the hopes of helping others, because helping others is what you liked to do.
So today, instead of recalling a lesson, I thought I might just write you a letter for Father’s Day and tell you how much I miss you. Before you passed away, you wrote me a letter. Do you remember that? You said, “I just want you to know how much I love you and that I hope you will always have just a little spot tucked away in your heart where your daddy can dwell as you go through life. I want to be there to make a difference. Family love is the best thing I could leave you, so remember I’m there in your heart just wanting you to feel that same love all the days of your life.” I no longer remember what your voice sounds like, but I feel you daddy, every day, in that special place in my heart that I saved just for you. I want you to know that you have made a difference. I am inspired by the struggles that you have overcome and every day I strive to live my life in a way, so that your efforts to give our family the opportunity of eternity, were not in vain.
You weren’t rich by the world’s standards and in the end you died without any real financial assets to speak of. But what you left this world was of far more value. You left an impression in people’s hearts and you have inspired many people to change their lives and to be better people because they knew you. What you left was not something the family had to divide up. Each person who knew you has a little piece of that impression and each person has their own memories of you to hold on to and be inspired by. Every person who knew you could write chapters for this book and while the details would be a little different, the message would be the same. You had a big heart and the rich example that you left on this earth is not something that is limited to immediate family. It was something you shared freely with anyone who was truly paying attention.
You have taught me that not all super heroes wear capes. The real super heroes are the ones who quietly go about doing good in the world without the need for credit or recognition. Real super heroes are the moms and dads who spend time creating a loving family and welcoming in anyone who happens to need some extra love. I am so glad that you and mom raised us kids to be close to each other. You were right when you said that family love is the best thing you could leave us. I am so glad that you got to be my daddy and while there were some really hard struggles and some unpleasant lessons to learn, I am so thankful that I got to have a front row seat and be able to participate in the miracle that was your life.
I know you are probably really busy helping people where you are now. Thank you for taking the time to continue to dwell in that special place in my heart. It gives me comfort to know that you are still out there and that I can continue to feel that closeness to you. Happy Father’s Day daddy. I love you to the moon and back!
Love Bunky
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