Surrounded

I have a beautiful print hanging in my room and I love it, "She Will Find That Which Is Lost" by Brian Kershisnik.  At the beginning of the year I stumbled across this painting in a blog post.  I had seen it before but in January it spoke to me in a new way. I find it beautiful, comforting and inspiring.  The idea that there are so many people to support and love a person is a wonderful thought.  I was struck by the woman, she looks down.  It seems that her grief is consuming and that she may not even realize the unseen forces that are surrounding her. The love may be felt but not completely understood.  The original is currently hanging in the Conference Center in Salt Lake City.  Troy and I were there about a month ago and took a minute to view this lovely piece.  I was amazed at the feelings that it evoked. I had tears in my eyes, the idea of my own unseen force created a sense of belonging.  I hope it's true.  I hope there are people who care so much for me and my well being that they will surround me with this same kind of love and support.  There are moments I feel this way, and I hold on to those feelings and cherish them.

Happy Birthday Mom!

My mom would be 79 years old today.  She is an amazing woman who had a lasting influence on so many people. Even though she has been gone for 28 years, I still run into people who remember her and speak very highly of her.  I don't remember a lot about her but I do remember how she made me feel.  I knew I was loved.  The things I do remember I treasure.  I remember that she would lose her glasses often, even when they were attached to the chain she wore around her neck.  I remember that she would lie on her stomach and look at the Kings ad in front of the fire.  I remember watching her flip pancakes early in the morning.  I remember Sunday dinners with chicken and potato salad.  I remember that when I was sick during the night if I coughed loud enough she would come and get me out of bed and rub vapor rub on my chest and cover it with a warm cloth.  I don't remember a lot being said during those moments but I loved that we were together.  I remember that she did not wear make up and her hair was rarely "fixed".  I remember how she loved her family and was always trying to find ways to keep us close.  I remember always knowing that for birthdays or Christmas you could get her a pair of salt and pepper shakers.  I remember that one Christmas I wanted to get her something extra special so I used what little money I had to buy her some pot holders.  I took the time to embroidery her initial on it.  I sewed the letter "M", for mom, to me it was better than her name.  I remember her hugs and how they seemed to make everything right.  

My fondest wish is for my children to know this beautiful woman who meant the world to me.  I take comfort in knowing that she held them before they came to earth and kissed them the way I know she longs to now.   I know she is near, I know that she watches over them.

She is a woman I love and admire.  She is my mom.

She was born July 9, 1934, the third child and first daughter of Fay and Emma Wasden.

She was known for her red hair and fair skin.

She married Marvin Nelson on May 10, 1957.

This is the car that my dad drove home from his mission.

Her hands were always busy.

My parents loved each other very much.  They weren't openly affectionate very often but there was a deep love. When my mom was sick there was a time when she was in bed and not able to get up.  One day my dad spent some time with her just lying by her side.  I remember her saying how much she loved that time.  My dad adored my mom, he spoke so lovingly of her to me.  Yet there was often regret in his words because he was so concerned that he didn't do enough while she was alive.  This love was enduring and gifted me with the example of what could be for me one day.

I am forever grateful that I am her daughter, what an honor.

Moments that change you

I have thought a lot about the events that happen in ones life that shapes who they become.  These events are filled with moments that can be recalled with amazing clarity.  These moments, when thought of, can bring the same joy, sorrow, or tragic emotions back as if they were happening in the here and now, that is how clear the memories are.

Let me share with you one of those events:

I was eleven years old, on the verge of entering that crazy world of adolescence.  I had just started the sixth grade, you remember the sixth grade, everyone is a little awkward and trying to figure out where and how they fit in.  You absolutely so do not want to be different.  It was evening and I had just got out of the shower and the late summer air was surrounding me from the open windows.

My mom and dad were in Mexico.  My mom had been receiving treatments for the cancer that she had been fighting for nine months.  My sister and I were at home while my older brother, who had graduated the previous spring, was at work.  As I was looking through my closet thinking about the ever important decision of what I would wear the following day I heard someone come into the house.  It was my 2nd oldest brother and his wife.  I had a sick feeling.  I didn't want them there, I knew that there was only one reason for them to be there, and I didn't want it to be true.  I don't remember the words that were said, it didn't matter, she was gone.  My beautiful mother was gone.  I don't recall yelling or screaming, or saying the word "NO!" like I imagined I would.  I do remember the tears, the never ending supply of tears.  They offered to stay the night.  I don't remember if they did.  Somehow it didn't matter, I was alone.  I could have been surrounded by a thousand people in that moment and I still would have been alone.

I decided to go to school the next morning.  A decision thought odd by many, but I knew I didn't want to answer the door when the cookies and casseroles started to arrive.  I didn't want to look into the eyes of the women who had come to my home to help my mom quilt and can and see the hopelessness and the sadness.  The look that said silently "You poor little girl, you are alone now".  I rode the bus and sat by myself and looked out the window.  I gazed into the beautiful blue sky and thought that my life would never be the same.  I thought about school dances and graduation.  I thought about getting married and my own kids that I might have one day, and I knew that there would forever be a gaping hole. Tears once again came.

When I arrived at school I don't know what I expected but I don't think it could have been much worse than what happened.  I walked into my classroom and there were whispers all around me.  Then my teacher looked up from her desk, surprised to see me and said, "didn't your mom die last night?"  I was so shocked, and taken aback.  I whispered "yes", and she then responded "What are you doing here?"  I thought I had done something wrong, I didn't know how to answer her.  There were no kind words or moments of understanding at school that day.  Just odd looks from people and the reminder that I was very alone in this. It was a very long day.

I was befuddled, confused and didn't have anyone to comfort me.  That is all I wanted.  Our family wasn't exactly a touchy, feely family, but I was, and my mom had always been there for me.  She was the one who would hug me and let me cuddle up next to her when she was on the couch.  Again, I was reminded of my solitude.  I looked forward to my dad coming home.  I don't know why because I really didn't feel close to him.  He was always working, very quiet and I never spent time with him.  But he was my last connection to my mom.  He had been with her when she died.  I guess I had hopes that she had given him a message for me or something.  He was coming home with my oldest brother.  I sat at the front window with the drapes blanketed around me waiting, watching, breathing.  I saw the car pull up and park.  I ran, out the door, down the drive way and straight into the arms of this man that was in many ways a stranger to me.  Yet we had a connection, we needed each other.  Sobbing I buried my head deep in the hug, and I heard him say over and over "Oh dear".  We walked together into the house and my awkward, to old to be held, 11 year old self climbed onto his lap.  "Oh dear".

The funeral was planned.  We gathered as a family around the woman who held us together, and said our last goodbyes.  I had written her a poem for mother's day and I placed it in her hand as someone slipped off the turquoise ring she always wore.  They handed the ring to me and I put it on my tiny finger.  It would be years before it would fit me.  They were ready to close the casket and I couldn't breathe.  I couldn't breathe, I didn't want to breathe.  I once again found a place in my dads arms.  We clung to one another as we followed her for the last time.  Beautiful words were spoken and songs were sung. And oh so many tears were shed.


When it was over and returned to the church for lunch, I am sure that we ate ham, cheesy funeral potatoes, and jello with whipped cream on top but I didn't taste anything.  I was very aware that my childhood was over.  At least the childhood that I knew.  I sat quietly watching life go on.  I didn't know if I could.  Then a cousin came by, touched my arm and asked if I wanted to go outside.  I followed the group out into the sunshine.  There on the grass in our Sunday dresses and ties we played tag.  I laughed for the first time in what seemed like eternity and I knew that I would adapt.

Those few days in the early fall of 1985 certainly shaped who I am today.  I was faced with my greatest fear and survived.  I became fiercely independent and quickly learned how to take care of myself.  I understood that life was oh so precious and that love was meant to be expressed.  There were many challenges that came because of this experience, yet so many blessings.  The blessing are what matter.  The blessings are what shaped me.  The blessings are what allow you to see farther and become what the Lord knows you can become.  I love my mom, I miss her, I long to see her again.  Yet, I would not want to trade who I am.  I am grateful the Lord knows me better than I know myself.  I am grateful for moments that shape you.

J.T. jammin'

So "jammin'" might be a stretch right now, but he is well on his way.  A few months ago he came to me and asked for a guitar and guitar lessons.  On the inside I was jumping up and down yelling "yes, Yes, YES!!", but the responsible mom was the voice he heard.  "You want to play the guitar?  Well, if you save enough to pay for half, dad and I will match that."  Again the voice inside, "please, please be committed enough to reach this goal."  Troy and I have always encouraged our kids to try new things but we have always wanted to know if it was something they really wanted versus a cool idea that won't last long.  To curb the ideas and really foster the true desires we place a little responsibility on them.  Usually that responsibility comes in the form of cash.  We offer extra ways that they can earn money around the house, (read, chores that I hate that they can do for me :)  This guy totally came through.  He worked like a mad man, he cleaned up the yard after Troy trimmed the side bushes/trees and that in itself was no small feat.  He worked really hard.  We stopped at the music store at the beginning of this little venture so he would know how much to save and in a little over two months he was there and we went and picked out this beautiful instrument.

A little side story on the reason the voice inside my head cheered so loudly is that I have always wanted a guitar.  In fourth and fifth grade it was nearly an obsession for me.  I saved my money and dragged my mom to the store so I could caress and ogle over the  guitar that I knew would soon be mine.  I had $75 dollars saved, I only needed $25 more and would own my dream.  Then my dad talked to me.  He asked about lessons and how I would pay for them, and if I knew anyone who would be able to teach me.  I didn't, my hopes fell a little.  Then he pointed out that if I had the guitar but didn't know how to play it then it would be a waste of all that hard earned money.  My hopes continued to fall.  By the end of the conversation that grown up responsible person that has lived inside me even when I was little took over and I had decided to buy a bike instead.  It made more sense, it was much more practical.  Some of you may think my dad was wrong to talk me out of a dream, but before you make a rash judgement let me just say he was right.  He knew something that I didn't, I don't even think he knew he knew.  But that bike became a symbol of my ability to take care of myself.  After my mom passed away the next year, and I didn't have someone readily available to drive me places, that blue 12 speed took me all over, I rode to piano lessons, friends houses, the store in the little town nearby, cheerleader practice and eventually to drivers ed every day until I got my license.  That bike gave me the ability to achieve many more dreams that I had, and it was MINE, I bought it, I had ownership in that thing and that meant the world to me.  So I thank my dad for the practical side that he blessed me with and now with all my 11 year old heart I am cheering on my cute son to make that guitar sing the way I always wished I could.  Because I know he worked for it and he wants to.  He goes into his room and practices when he is done with chores, not because I told him to but because he loves it.  Good job J.T.!!  I love you!!

15 years

Fifteen years ago this young man picked me up and took me to the temple where we were married.  I love him, he truly is my best friend, and I couldn't ask for anything more than that.

This is part of the journal entry I made for that day, "Brother Adamson, who performed the ceremony, spoke of three "C"'s consideration, communication, and cultivation.  The last, cultivation, was very interesting, he said, "that which we want to become, we can develop."

I can't think of a more appropriate phrase to describe our marriage.  Our journey has been one of discovering who we want to become, individually and together.  Fifteen years at times sounds like a long time and at the same time I realize how little we have experienced. 

Fifteen years later.  I am glad we chose each other.

I LOVE YOU!!

Boise Idaho Temple

We had the chance to travel to Boise for the open house of the Boise Temple before it is rededicated in November.  It was a pretty quick trip, we left on Friday, stayed the night, went through the temple on Saturday morning and then headed home.  But it was very worth the trip.  It was beautiful, and the feeling inside was wonderful.  I love being in the temple with my kids.  My dream is to one day be in one of those beautiful buildings with my children and their spouses.  It is was life is all about, families, forever.

Boise has a special place in my heart, when it was originally built and dedicated in 1984 my mom and dad took me over there for the first open house.  I was in fourth grade and studying Idaho History, so a trip to the state capitol was so very memorable.  They were wonderful, they pretty much let me plan the trip.  We went to the capitol building, a museum, and I had the chance to see in person so many of the things that I had been learning about.  It was fantastic, especially for a budding history lover like myself.  The most memorable moment however occurred in the temple.  We walked past the brides room and my mom pulled me aside to show me the mirrors and the beauty of that tiny little room.  She put her arm around me and whispered to me that one day I could be in a room like that getting ready for my own eternity.  It made an impression on me, one that I have carried close to my heart.  One I hope I shared with my kids on this trip.

1984, me with my sweet dad.

A new calling

A couple of Sundays ago I was called into the Bishops office and he asked me if I would be the pianist for the Relief Society....(dramatic pause).  Seriously?! ME?!  I wondered if he knew how frightfully inept I would be, if he knew that I would make mistake after mistake, if he knew there was not very many things scarier than that request, yet I heard myself say I would be willing to accept the calling.  

There are two reasons that I accepted despite my fears and misgivings.  The first reason happened a long time ago, right after I returned home from my mission.  A member of the Bishopric stopped by the house and the following dialogue occurred:    him, "will you be the girls camp director?",    me, " you do know I only went to camp one year, right?"     him, "that's okay"      me, "I don't know anything about camping."       him, "that's okay".   Apparently he had much for faith in me than I did.  I then responded with words I don't ever like to hear, "I can't".  But I felt positive that  it was the only answer that made sense.  I just knew I wasn't capable, and I convinced myself that there was not a responsible parent alive that would want to send their daughter with someone so inexperienced as myself.  So I chose not to serve.  It has always bothered me because I gave up a chance to expand, learn, and serve.  I'm sure I would have made a lot of mistakes, heck we probably would have eaten hot dogs every meal, (the only camping food I knew how to make at the time).  But I would have come home with so much more, and I don't think the girls would have minded one bit.  I chose to avoid something that made me uncomfortable and in turn an opportunity was lost.

The second reason is still kind of an ongoing event.  About 4 1/2 years ago I was serving in the primary presidency.  It was January and I was listing my goals for the year, I listed "relearn the piano".  The thing is it wasn't just a thought, I knew the Lord needed me to learn it.  I just didn't know why.  So I started, I pulled out some old music and began practicing a little.  Sadly, it only lasted for about a month.  I looked around the ward and wondered why I would ever need this skill there were so many pianist  that were really good, so once again I quit.  Then 2 1/2 years ago our ward split, I once again found myself in the primary presidency and at our first meeting we talked about who was qualified to serve in the music.  The president looked around and asked each one of us if we played the piano, to at least get us through until we found someone.  We soon realized there were very few people in the entire ward that played.  And everyone who did play already had a calling.  I was dumbfounded, I felt like the Lord was saying,  "I told you I needed you, how come you didn't listen?"  So I started once again, and soon realized that I needed lessons, because I didn't remember much from when I was younger.  A good friend of mine agreed to teach me and the adventure began.  I substituted as the pianist a couple of times before the actual calling came and every time was so scary.  I know I am not good, I make SOOO many mistakes,  I have a hard time slowing my breathing down and my hands sweat like no other.  So why did I say yes, because I know I am not alone in this little adventure.  

The Lord will not make me perfect in this but he will strengthen me, and I will do it because I trust Him.

Play in Sacrament Meeting

Day one of my 101 in 1001 journey and I think I may have accomplished the most scary item on my list and can I tell you I am currently doing a happy dance like you can not imagine.  This experience and goal is a LOOOONG time coming.  We are talking almost 30 years.   From the time I was little I remember my mom wanting a piano so much.  I remember her talking about how she wished she could play and wanting that for her own kids.  When I was 10 we finally got a piano, I was in the 5th grade and began piano lessons.  My mom would take me every week and sit and listen during the lesson and then when it came time to practice she would wake me up early and sit in a chair near the piano covered with an afghan.  I loved that first few months of piano.  I loved spending time with my mom and I really liked playing the piano.  A few months into this new adventure my mom became sick and so my Aunt Kay would take me to my lessons.  I missed my mom while i practiced but I was determined to give my mom this gift of learning on her treasured piano.  Sadly my mom was only able to hear one of my recitals.  I still took lessons for three more years, but had to change teachers to make it a little easier for my Aunt to help my get to my lessons.  I am so grateful for all she did, she had eight kids of her own and yet still took time out to help me.  It's disappointing to me but I have to admit I did not work as hard as I should have, in fact a lot of money was spent on my lessons for which I practiced very little.  Finally after eighth grade I ended the charade of taking lessons.  And it ended I didn't play or touch the piano for a very long time.  Then about four years ago in 2007 I had a very strong feeling that I needed to learn to play the piano.  So I picked up a book and in January had good intentions, those good intentions lasted about five weeks, and I thought why do I need to learn this, there are plenty of piano players in the ward I am not really needed.  So again the piano was silent.  In the fall of 2009 our ward was split, and when the dust settled we realized quickly that there was not  very many in our new boundaries that could play.  I realized how important that feeling was and that I had ignored it and the consequences were now staring me in the face.  So once again I opened the dusty piano books, but this time I was serious and found a sweet friend to teach me.  And it has been a challenge.  I have worked and practiced and faced a lot of my fears of not being perfect and performing in front of people.  I have had the opportunity to accompany in Relief Society a couple of times and then about a month ago I received a call to play in Sacrament Meeting.  I'll tell you what every voice in my head was screaming "NOOOOOO", but I found my voice saying "Yes, I think I could do that."  I had started practicing an arrangement of Reverently Quietly by Paul Cardall and figured a month would give me enough time to present it.  So this last week I took time to go over to the church and practice and I honestly did everything I could.  Today was the day, I am so thankful Troy was able to be there, he really is a great support.  All of my kids were telling my I could do it and I knew that they were rooting for me.  I was so incredibly scared but it was interesting because I wasn't as scared of messing up and what people would think as much as  I was scared that I would drive the spirit of the meeting away.  I was shaking so hard that it amazes me that any notes came out let alone the right ones.  I made a few mistakes but I did it.  How grateful I am to my Heavenly Father for the talents that he has blessed me with and the desire to better myself.  By no means does this mean that I  would call myself a pianist, but I am a woman who will face my fears and try to to what I am prompted to do.  I hope my mom was watching today and I hope she knew how much I wanted to make her smile.  If she were here I would thank her because 30 years ago she wanted nothing more than a little music in her home and she gave me this opportunity I had today with out even knowing it.  I love you mom.

Echo

Thirty some years ago a little family was preparing for the addition of their seventh child.  I imagine there was a little excitement (at least I hope so), and there was obviously talk of what they would name this cute new baby.  I don't really know exactly how this event took place however I have interpreted the many stories that I have heard.  There was a meeting of sorts and democracy was to rule, each child would get to have a say in what their sibling would be called.  On the ballot for voting was the following: 
Noel
Faylene
Heidi
Echo



The first was chosen because the baby was to be born in December, and really how festive to carry a name to remind everyone when gifts are needed to celebrate a birthday.  The second was a play on her grandfathers name, Fay.  The third was on the list because an older sister had just recently read the book Heidi and believed it to be the prettiest name.  The last I'm told was picked by the father, he loved uniqueness in naming his kids and wanted to give them something that would represent them as being an individual.  The voting took place ......drum role please.... and the winner is, Heidi. 

Yep, that is how I was named.  I don't know if the sister somehow managed a very persuasive coup over my dad or if everyone envisioned a future of people repeating my name over and over to be funny.  I always wondered if it would have altered my life somehow if I had been given a different name.  I wonder if by being called Echo it would have driven me to be more outgoing, or more popular, if I would have been made fun of more or left out of the group.  I wonder if my dad sighed and resigned himself to the fact that his last opportunity to bestow a unique name was gone. In fact when I turned 18 he told me I could change my name if I wanted to or at least add a middle name.  I obviously chose not to.  I don't know if my life would have changed if I had a different title or if it would have altered how I viewed myself.  But this I know, I am who I am.  And through the years I have added to my title, daughter, sister, friend, missionary, wife and mother.  Each has added to the dimension of who I am.  I have my own story and no matter the title it is very much my own.  My experiences have created my story to this point and the future holds even more. 

An echo is repetitive, it reminds us of what has come before, and if we listen it can hint of the future.  I like to believe that my dad gave me a gift of perspective simply by suggesting the name Echo.  But I am completely satisfied with introducing myself as, Heidi.