The Loaf of Bread

"Heavenly Father, help me to be an instrument in your hands today," I prayed as I kneaded bread dough on my kitchen counter. That morning I'd awakened thinking about a woman in our ward, feeling like I should stop by and see her, but not sure why.  Since I had no special reason to visit I thought I would take her a loaf of bread.  If she needed to talk I'd stay, if not I'd just drop off my gift.  But still, I wanted to know if it was Heavenly Father prompting me, or just my imagination.  

 At least once a week I made bread or cinnamon rolls to take to people in our ward.  It always surprised me when someone received the gift with, "How did you know I was feeling down today?" or "You must really be inspired.  I was hoping someone would come see me."  I loved feeling like I was being an instrument in the Lord's hands, and just hoped I was listening closely enough to hear whenever he called on me to help.

As my bread baked I dressed and put on makeup.  When the timer rang I anxiously took the loaves out of the oven, thankful they looked OK.  Usually my bread worked out, but once in a while it didn't rise right.  If it had fallen today I'd have been too embarrassed to take it as a gift. Then what excuse would I have for visiting the sister who was still on my mind?

"Something must really be wrong at her house," I worried as I rubbed butter over the hot loaf of bread, then wrapped it in a napkin and carried it out to my ugly, old brown station wagon. 

"I won't be gone long," I told the kids and their babysitter.  During the school year I ran errands while Linnea, Holly, and Russell were at school, taking Alyssa and Stephen with me.   But it was summer, and I couldn't take all five kids along, so I'd asked one of the teenage girls in our ward to stay with them this morning.

Getting in our car I held my breath and turned the key.  The engine sputtered and choked, but it started.  I was never quite sure if that old car was going to start or not, and when I drove down the street it made such a racket everyone in the neighborhood knew I was coming, but at least it worked.  Sheldon had bartered the old car away from someone a few months earlier, and I really did love having my own vehicle, but it sure was embarrassing to be seen driving that rattletrap.  What I wouldn't give for a new car.  “But at least we don't have a car payment,” I told myself.

It was already 105 degrees outside, although it was only 10:00 in the morning. My makeup dripped down my face while my hair swirled around in the wind as I drove the two blocks to the sister's house I was going to visit.  The old car didn't have air-conditioning, and I wondered why I'd even bothered putting makeup on? Oh well.

I parked the car in front of a nice, two-story house.  "Everything looks fine from here," I thought as I walked up the front side-walk and stepped onto the porch.  There were no ambulances, police tape, or other signs of catastrophy.  "I wonder why I felt prompted to come?"

I rang the door bell and stood on the front porch, just a tiny bit apprehensive about how I would be greeted.  "Please help me to have the spirit guide me," I silently prayed.  I knew I wasn't good at saying the right things or being compassionate all by myself, but with the Lord's help I could do anything.

It took awhile, but finally I heard someone on the other side of the door and it opened, revealing a cute young woman, dressed up and looking like a million dollars.  She smiled when she saw me, but raised her eyebrows in surprise when she saw the loaf of bread I was carrying.

"Hi," I told her, a little taken back by how nice she looked in her stylish clothes and fresh makeup.  She sure didn't show any signs of stress or grief.  What was I doing here?

"I was baking bread this morning, and thought about you and wondered if you'd like a loaf?" I told her, half apologetically.  Maybe someone who lived in an expensive house and wore designer clothes would be offended by a plain old loaf of homemade bread.

"Thank you," she said graciously, reaching out for my gift.  "That was really nice of you."

She didn't open the door wider and invite me in, she didn't burst into tears and say, "Oh, how did you know I really needed someone to talk to today," she didn't even look particularly pleased that I was there, but I didn't give up.

"I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to get to know you yet," I tried, smiling my warmest smile and hoping she would look at it and not my messy hair or runny makeup or sweaty clothes, and especially not behind me out on the street at my old, run down car.  "I don't know many of the sisters in Relief Society yet.  I used to work with the Young Women, but I'm trying to get to know everyone now."

She just smiled at me.  "Oh," was all she said.

"Well, I guess I'll get going," I finished lamely, not able to think of anything else to say.  "I hope you enjoy the bread and have a good day.  There's not anything I can do for you, is there?" I added in a last, vain attempt to be helpful.  Hadn't the Lord prompted me to come here today because she needed me?

"No, I'm good," she replied cheerfully.  "Thanks for the bread."  And with that she shut the door.

"So much for being an instrument in the Lord's hands," I thought as I walked dejectedly back down her sidewalk and got into my stiflingly hot car.  "I must have been letting my imagination run away with me this morning."

I inserted the keys in the ignition, thankfully the car choked into life, and gingerly I held onto the burning steering wheel with just my fingers as I turned the car around and headed home.

"That was really embarrassing," I thought.  "Obviously, she didn't need me or my bread.  I wonder why I thought I needed to go see her.  Maybe I've been letting this calling go to my head and I need a dose of humility.  Just because I think about somebody doesn't mean the Spirit is prompting me to go save them or something."

I felt pretty dumb all morning as I cleaned up my kitchen and did the rest of my housework.   But then I got to thinking.  So what if the Lord hadn't prompted me to go see this sister?  Did it do any harm to take her a loaf of bread?   Maybe she didn't need it, but doing something nice for somebody never made things worse. 

By the end of the day I had come to the decision that I could never do bad by trying to do good.  The worst it could do was make someone happy when I gave them a treat, and making people happy was a good thing.  Maybe it wasn't saving the world or being an answer to prayers, but sometimes it was.  So I made up my mind to just go ahead and do whatever nice thing came into my head, and not worry whether it was a prompting or not. 

Interestingly enough, one Sunday about three months later I was in a Welfare meeting when our Bishop mentioned staying up all night counseling with a couple in our ward.  He didn't tell names, but from the way he talked I knew it was the same girl I had taken my loaf of bread to. Putting two and two together, I also realized the night he was talking about was the night before my visit.  Maybe I had been prompted after all.

Sit Down!

Looking back, it sometimes seems like everything went wrong when I was called to serve in Relief Society, and not just little things.  Grandpa Russell died the day before I was called to serve as a councilor when I was twenty-five.  The Space Shuttle Challenger blew up two days after I was asked to be Relief Society President when I was twenty-nine. Both of my parents passed away this last time I was Relief Society President just a few years ago, but that's getting ahead of myself, so I'll go back and tell you about the first time.

On the last Sunday evening in January, 1986, Sheldon and I went to meet with our Bishop to get our temple recommends renewed.  After my interview the bishop surprised me by saying, "Gale, there's something else I need to talk to you about, if you will wait just a second while I go and get your husband to come in."

I guessed I was going to be given a new calling, I'd been serving as the Laurel Adviser in Young Women for two years, but I was totally in shock when, after Sheldon was sitting next to me, the Bishop said," Gale, I'd like you to be our new Ward Relief Society President. Sheldon, do you think you can support her in this calling?"

Sheldon was thrilled with the idea.  He always liked having reasons to be proud of people he knew.  I was flabbergasted!  I was only twenty-nine; I had five little children; Stephen was only four months old; and I knew there were more mature, experienced women in our ward who would do a better job than me.  I said yes, of course, but I was in shock!

It was a wonderful experience, though, and I never enjoyed a calling more than being Relief Society President, mostly because it gave me a chance to stay close to the spirit. Perhaps the most important thing I learned as Relief Society President was how to listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost.  Often I would think about calling or taking something to someone, only to have them remark that I must have been listening to the Spirit because I was an answer to their prayers.  At first it really surprised me, but eventually I began to recognize the promptings on my own.  Then I began to wonder how many times in my life I had ignored that feeling, not realizing it was the Holy Ghost talking to me?

About a month after I was put in as Relief Society President Sheldon took me skiing.  He loved skiing, but I had only gone one time so I was still learning.  I thought I should practice a little on the lower slopes at first, but Sheldon was impatient to get to the top of the mountain and he assured me I could take the run slowly and I would remember what to do as I went. 

I got on the lift without too much trouble and didn't even fall down when I got off, so I was encouraged.  Sheldon took off on an intermediate run, but I carefully made my way over to a beginning course, and started down.  I didn't do too bad, and the basic technique did start to come back to me.  As long as I  kept my skis pointing in towards each other I did OK.  I worried about getting to the bottom of the mountain and having to stop, I couldn't remember how to do that, but I figured when I hit a flat spot I'd slow down.

Eventually I came out of a gentle slope above a steep part of the run, leading down to the chair lift and a flat spot where picnic tables were set up. Perhaps the mountain hadn't been groomed very well, at least that's what Sheldon later claimed, but for some reason there was a big, wide, steep hollow in the middle of the trail leading straight to the picnic area, and I got sucked into that dip.  My skis started sliding faster and faster down that slope, and I had no idea how to get out of it or stop before I ran into the picnic area.   

As I watched the tables rush towards me I heard a distinct voice inside my mind say, "Sit Down!"  Even while I was sitting, or rather falling backwards, I can remember being surprised that I knew what to do. I was lying on my back, legs first with my knees still bent and the skis on the snow when I smashed into a picnic table.  

Man, did that hurt!  At first I thought I'd broken my leg, but all it did was get a big bump and swell up.  Other skiers hurried over to me to see if I was OK, and although I was pretty shook up I was able to stand up and assure them I was fine. 

Then Sheldon came storming over, screaming and shouting at everyone and everything, as angry as I've ever seen him. I was so embarrassed.  He stormed around and yelled at everyone for letting there be such a dangerous place, but eventually he helped me onto the chair lift and we went up to the top of the mountain. There was a nice, warm cafe where I could sit and rest while he continued skiing.  It occurred to me, as I sat there letting the adrenaline slowly wear out of my body, that Sheldon reacted to fright by getting angry.  It was quite a revelation to me that he had really just been scared, which meant he loved me, and that was good.  I just hated that he got so mad and made a scene. 

Later that day I got back on my skis, although my leg still was sore and aching, and I learned some more got more confident.  I'll tell you what, though. I was sure glad my guardian angel knew how to ski better than I did, or at least he knew what to do in a crash better than me, because if he hadn't told me to sit down I would have hit that table at my waist and probably flipped over and really got messed up.

How to Handle Having a Big Family

"How do people do it?" a friend of mine once asked.

"How do they do what?" I inquired.

"
How do they stay sane when they have lots of kids?"

Good question.  I'd asked myself that same thing on more than one occasion.  I'd only been married eight years and had five children. Sometimes I wondered what sane even was.

"Well," I tried to come up with an answer. "My mom and my aunts all have big families, and they seem to handle it pretty well.  In fact, I love watching them on Sunday evenings.  They sit around and laugh and giggle for hours, and they seem pretty sane." 

"How many kids do they have?" my friend asked. 

"They each have six," I told her.

"That crazy!" she exclaimed.

Yeah, probably. 

"When you have just one child," I suggested, "it seems pretty hard, because everything is new and you're not used to having someone else to take care of.  Then when you have two kids it's pretty much the same, only twice as many mouths to feed, tears to dry, and buckles to fasten when you get in the car."

With three children you can't carry everybody anymore.  Either someone has walk or be in a stroller.  For me, I still had only two diapers to change because Linnea was potty trained before Russell was born, but there were still more tears to dry, more mouths to feed, and more clothes to wash.

"But four was the hardest.  Somehow it was harder to keep track of everybody, and they were never all happy at the same time.  The worst part was giving up the idea of ever having them all down for naps at the same time.  The only personal time I got was after everyone was in bed.  I can't tell you how many nights I stayed up till midnight, cleaning the house and mopping the floors, just so it could be clean for a couple of hours until the kids got up next morning."

"That's exactly how I feel," my friend moaned with despair.  "I clean and clean, but as soon as I finish one room and move on to the next the kids mess up the room I just cleaned.  Why bother doing the dishes or the laundry?  The second it's done I have to start all over again."

I laughed, not because it was funny, but because I totally understood where she was coming from.  "Five kids, somehow, is easier," I told her encouragingly.  "Or at least, it isn't harder.  It's really not that much more cooking or cleaning.  And I finally figured out my mom's secret.  After five kids, something just snaps up there in your brain, so you go around giggling all the time."

My friend laughed, but I really did mean it.  "My sister-in-law has another theory," I told her.  "She says that each time a woman is pregnant part of the oxygen she needs has to go to the baby, so her brain doesn't get as much, causing a little brain damage.  She calls it 'maternal dementia'.

That really did make my friend laugh.  "But I think there's another reason mom and my aunts always seem happy," I told her.  "I heard a lecture once by a famous family psychologist who said to be healthy a woman needs to talk. The problem is, men don't.  He said that back in the old days women didn't have as much depression because they spent more time with other women, talking.  In those days families usually lived close together, so they saw each other nearly every day.  They also spent lots of time with other women, having quilting and sewing bees and stuff.  His theory was that women of today suffer more anxiety, depression, and other psychological problems because they don't have a chance to talk to each other like they used to.  Maybe mom and her sisters handle things better because every single Sunday they get together and sit around laughing and giggling and talking."

Stephen

Alyssa was one year old when I found out I was pregnant with our fifth child.  I was thrilled. Sheldon wasn't.  I never could quite figure him out.

"Would you rather we had stopped having kids after Russell was born?" I asked him one time, "and not have Alyssa?"

"Of course not," he answered crossly.  He absolutely adored Alyssa, even going so far as to take the initiative to pick her up and play with her without being asked, which he had never done with the older children.

"Well, would you rather we didn't have Russell, or Holly, or Linnea?" I pressed him, intent on showing him that he really did like having children.

"I wouldn't give up any of them, now that they are here," he grumped crossly.  "Of course I wouldn't rather not have them.  I just don't see why you want to have more."

I gave up.  I guess he couldn't see into the future the way I did, and know that he would love and want all of the children we would have, the same he wanted the ones that were already here. 

It reminded me of the time I asked him what he thought our lives would be like ten years from now. 

"I don't know," he grumbled crossly then, too.  "How can I see into the future?"

"Well, don't you have goals and plans?" I asked him, really curious at that point.  I'd always assumed he saw our marriage stretching out for years and years until we died, then moving onto the other side and continuing in heaven for eternity.  That's what I planned.

"I have no idea what life will be like ten years from now, and I don't really care," Sheldon told me.  "Let's just get through today and not worry about it."

Interesting.

Anyway, although I knew Sheldon would come to love the new baby just as much as he did the rest of the children, I suspected this was the last baby he was going to let me have.  It made me sad.  I'd always wanted to have a large family, at the very least six children like mom and dad, but I was happy I at least had five.  Compared to the rest of the world, five children would be considered a big family, wouldn't it?

The doctor assured me that the baby was due the end of October, which would be kind of fun, what with Halloween and everything, so I made my plans accordingly.  I was busy, so the time passed quickly.  Not only was I still babysitting to make extra money, we had also started our own little at home business.  Sheldon had lots of contacts in the printing and mailing world, and he had decided we could make a lot of money typing mailing labels.  Or, more actually, I could type the mailing labels,  Sheldon would just get the jobs and the money. 

It was tedious, time consuming work, though not particularly difficult.  I had been a fast, accurate typist, and although it was awhile since I had done much typing it came back to me.  Sheldon assured me I didn't have to be 100% perfect with the labels, he said the volume was much more important than the accuracy, so for a few weeks I tried to just type fast, ignoring the nagging voice in my head that told me I was pretty sure I'd just transposed a couple of letters, or hit a seven instead of a six.  That made the job a lot easier, but it made my conscience uneasy. 

One Sunday I taught a lesson on honesty, and it hit me that I wasn't being honest.  How could I tell my students, or my own children for that matter, that we were supposed to be honest in all things if I wasn't trying my hardest in my own life?

From that moment on I made a point of doing the best job I could on the mailing labels.  I can't tell you how many times I had to stop, go back a field, and check to make sure I had spelled a name right or typed an address correctly, but it sure did make me feel better.

One Saturday evening I had a big job to do, so Sheldon rented a movie for the kids and him to watch and I worked on labels.  About 11:00 I started having contractions, but it was just the end of September, and the baby wasn't due for another month.

"False labor is such a nuisance," I thought, as I finished working on the labels, sure the pains would go away soon.  I finished the labels at 11:30 and I went to bed, but I couldn't settle down because of the pains.  I'd originally thought this baby was supposed to be born the end of September, but my doctor had assured me over and over that I had figured wrong.  Still, by 12:00 I was wondering if he could possible be wrong?  The pains were really hurting, so I got up and walked around, thinking that would make them stop.  It didn't.

About 1:00 I was really in pain and the contractions were coming three minutes apart, so I decided to give myself until 1:30. If they didn't stop by then I was going to call the doctor.  By 1:15 I changed my mind. I couldn't wait any longer.  I woke Sheldon up, (I hadn't told him anything about the pains because I'd been so sure they were false labor) and told him we needed to go to the hospital, now! You should have seen his face. He pulled on some clothes and woke up the kids and we got them all in his truck.  We were going to drop them off at mom's on the way, but by that time I was really having a bad time, so we all went to the hospital.  (Sheldon didn't want to have to tell his boss that his wife had a baby in his brand new work truck.) 

When we got to the hospital we left the older kids in the camper and Sheldon pushed me, with one-year-old Alyssa on my lap, in a wheel chair into the lobby.  They checked me in while Sheldon drove the kids over to moms. 

I still was a little afraid that the nurses would tell me I wasn't ready to have this baby, but when they checked me they found I was fully dilated plus three, and all they needed was the doctor.  We got to the hospital at 1:40.  The doctor rushed over as fast as he could, and the baby was born at 2:00, exactly.  He would have come sooner if the doctor had been there.

Sheldon got back from taking the kids about five minutes after the baby was born.  He had gone over the speed limit the whole way, kind of hoping a policeman would stop him so he could tell him he was rushing to the hospital, but no one did. 

 I remember when the doctor said, "It's a boy," the first thing I thought was, "I've finally got my Stephen."  When my last little sister was born we had been so sure she would be a boy and named Stephen that mom and dad still hadn't come up with a name for her three days later when she came home from the hospital.  It seemed like I'd been waiting for a Stephen ever since, and I sure was glad to have him.  My second little boy, and my last.  I was surprised to have him so early, but it was a great surprise, and I loved him!

The Piano

The piano couldn't have been lovelier.  It's golden brown wood gleamed with red highlights, rich and mellow, and smooth as glass.  I couldn't have been happier with the results, especially since it was my first attempt at refinishing furniture, and I'm afraid I was quite proud of myself.

I'd been working on restoring the old upright in our garage for a week: stripping off the old finish, sanding until it felt like silk, staining and varnishing and buffing, exactly like the directions said to do.  And it looked great!

I loved pianos.  Mom and dad bought a used piano when I was eight years old so I could take piano lessons.  It was still my favorite piano; dark cherry wood with a mellow tone that I'd never found anywhere else; and I'd really missed it in the last seven years since I'd been married. 

Two years earlier my in-laws had happened across an old, black, upright piano, and given it to me for Christmas.  It had been fun to have something to play again, but it wasn't in very good shape.  Eventually we had sold it to help pay bills, things were often tight around our house, and even though it hadn't been pretty, I missed it. 

Then one day my cousin called and asked if I would like her piano.  She'd just got a new one, and she'd heard I didn't have a piano of my own.  I was so excited!  She warned me it was old, scratched and dented, but it still played well.  The day her husband brought it over to our house was one of the happiest days of my life.  I had him put it in our garage, thinking that I would try to refinish it before we put it in the front room, and I spent the whole afternoon sitting next to my car playing all the sheet music I had until well past time to make dinner.

The next day I went to the hardware store and bought a refinishing kit, then started to work.  It was hard, I had no idea what I was doing and I sure did make a mess, but I was happy with the results.  The piano was lovely.

I finished buffing it about 2:00 in the afternoon.  I called the kids, and all of the neighbor kids as well, to come see how pretty it looked.  They'd been watching me work for the past few days, and I suppose they were happier that I was finished and would now have time to spend with them than they were impressed with my work, but their praise and compliments sure made me feel good.

I just couldn't wait to see what the piano looked like in my front room.  I had stained it the same color as the mantel above our red brick fireplace, which also matched the book shelves dad had just finished installing on either side of the chimney.  I was sure the piano was going to look wonderful in that room.  But how to get it there?  If I waited for Sheldon to come home from work I knew he would either grumble and complain or else simply tell me no, he didn't have time to move it tonight.  Anyway, I wanted to try it out in my front room now!

Years earlier I had been visiting with a friend about the frustrations of getting husbands to help around the house.  She had given me a good piece of advice. 

"Whenever I want something done," she had told me, "I start it.  Then when my husband comes home he either has to live with the mess or help me finish it."

I'd thought that was a good idea, although the example she told me left me shaking my head, wondering what Sheldon would do if I ever tried something like that?

"One day I decided we needed to remodel our kitchen and living room," she had told me.  "I wanted to take the wall out that separated them and make them one big room.  I tried and tried to get my husband to work on it, but he was always too busy.  So I finally just got a sledge hammer out of his shop and knocked a big hole in the sheet rock myself.  It didn't take long before my husband got to work and we finished that project."

Right. 


Anyway, I got to thinking as I looked at my beautiful piano standing in my garage, that I might be able to push it out the garage door and over the sidewalk up to our front porch.  I knew I wouldn't be able to get it up over the step, but if I got it that far, then Sheldon would have to help me move it the rest of the way or leave it standing in front of our house for all the neighbors to see.  Plus, it would only take him half as long to help me bring it the rest of the way inside, so I would be making less work for him.  At least, that's how I rationalized it in my head.

The piano had wheels, small ones, but at least I could push it, so carefully I wheeled it off the drop cloth on the garage floor and toward the front sidewalk.  It pushed pretty easily, and I was pleased with myself.  It took a little maneuvering, but eventually I got it positioned to where I could push it down the first part of our side walk, to the point where it made a right angled turn up to the front porch.  That's where I got hung up.  How could I get the piano to make that turn?  I struggled and juggled, and just when I thought I had it, the piano suddenly started tipping onto it's side.  I grabbed a hold of it's side, but the shear weight of that old upright was too much for me, and in slow motion I watched as my beautifully finished work of art slowly fell backwards, over our low brick retaining wall, and ended upside down on my front lawn.  Horrors!

All the kids ran out to see what had happened, and they stood with me surveying the catastrophe in my front yard.  "Quick," I called to the biggest of them,  "help me stand it back up!" 

Linnea and Holly and the neighbor girl, and even little Russell who was only three-and-a-half, helped me push and pull, and eventually we got the heavy old thing back up on it's wheels.  It hadn't smashed it's back at least, nor had it destroyed the brick wall, and it really hadn't even scratched up the new finish that badly, but the keys!  They had all fallen out when it was upside down.  Carefully I tried to push them back in place, and they seemed to fit. 

I decided I'd better leave well enough alone for the time being, and I didn't try moving the piano any farther until Sheldon came home that night.  He did grumble and complain, but he pushed it the rest of the way into the house, and it looked lovely, just like I'd thought. 

The piano never did have a great sound, even after I had a tuner come out and work on it.  I told myself it wouldn't have, even if it hadn't nearly done a headstand on our front lawn. Still, I sure loved looking at it, and I spent many happy hours playing my favorite songs.  Eventually, when dad built our double house and we all moved in together, I got to have my cherry wood piano again.  I gave the refinished upright to my sister-in-law, and it furnished her children with many happy years of piano playing. 

So, all's well that ends well.  Just the same, I was more careful moving things from then on.  Not that I stopped doing it by myself, I just thought about what I was doing longer before I pushed and pulled pianos, couches, beds, tables, china cabinets, and everything else, and when I felt things begin to teeter, I quickly stopped.

Taking the Kids to the Cabin

A lull had settled over our car, peaceful and still after the laughing, chattering pandemonium that had filled it for the past three hours.  I glanced over my shoulder and saw that all of the kids, and even my sister-in-law sitting next to me on the front seat, were asleep.  No wonder it was quiet.

It was warm in the old car, but not unbearably.  Actually, it was quite comfortable now that we were up in the mountains.  It had been very hot down in Mesa when we left, even though it was only 8:00 in the morning.  Since we had no air conditioning in the old car we'd driven with all the windows down, and while it was still hot, the rushing wind had at least dried our sweaty faces and made us feel cool.  Now, driving slowly over the rocky dirt road leading to the cabin, the roar of the wind had also lessened, making it seem doubly quiet in the car.

Carefully I negotiated the narrow cliff road known as Fisherman's Point, hugging the hill as closely as I could, only glancing down into the deep gorge beside me briefly to see if the creek far below looked clear.  Sunlight glinted off it's surface, mirroring the cloudless sky above, and I grinned, imagining how much fun we were going to have swimming in that icy water during the coming week.

We were on our way to the cabin, finally.  It seemed like years since I had been there, and I had missed it so much.  I still couldn't believe I was actually making this trip. I had tried and tried to get here for the last four months, but something always seemed to get in the way, mostly my husband.  Sheldon worked long hours at the print shop in Phoenix were he was employed, but even on weekends and holidays I hadn't been able to talk him into taking us to the cabin.  He was too busy flying his model airplanes or going on outings with someone else.  He'd been on a fishing trip to Lee's Ferry, three skiing trips with my brothers and dad and other friends, and hunting up on Mount Graham, but he hadn't found time to take us up to the cabin.  And I was kind of grumpy.

Normally I did not approve of couples going on separate vacations, but frustrated, I'd finally decided it was time to stop waiting for Sheldon and decided to go to the cabin without him.  My sister-in-law, Tammy, had agreed that her kids needed a vacation, too.  And although my sister Linda couldn't get away until the end of the week, she was planning to join us at the cabin with her children as soon as possible.  Sheldon didn't care one way or the other, he would be busy at work all week, but dad wasn't so sure it was a good idea for us women and children to go alone.  He didn’t' tell us we couldn't go, but he made arrangements so he and mom and my little sisters could come with us.  We were going to have so much fun!

A fly buzzed lazily in the warm air next to me, disrupting my thoughts for a moment.  I glanced down at Alyssa, sleeping peacefully in her baby seat, then back up at the road as I rounded the last curve of the cliff part of the trail.  It was all smooth sailing ahead of us now, and only a few more minutes until we would be crossing the creek and almost to the cabin.  It was so nice and quiet and peaceful in the car.  My shoulders relaxed and I drew in a deep breath.  Boy, I had really needed this break!  My life had been busy and hectic lately, what with four children of my own to care for, my babysitting kids, our new house, preparing Sunday lessons and attending weekly MIA activities for my calling as Laurel Adviser, becoming Vice President of the Mesa Museum Guild and all the duties that went along with that job, and just all of the other things connected with being a wife and mother and housekeeper.

Bump, bump, bump!  My eyes snapped open just in time to see the front end of the car bounce over another rock on the side of the road, heading off into the forest.  I slammed my foot on the break and we bounced to a stop.  Oh my goodness!  I'd fallen asleep at the wheel!

Tammy jerked awake in the seat next to me and whipped her head around.  "Gale, are you alright?"

Grinning sheepishly I answered, "I guess it got too quiet in here, and I dozed off."

"What happened mom?  How come we're not on the road?  Why did we stop?  Are we at the cabin?" a bunch of little voices began calling from the back of the station wagon as the kids woke up. 

"We'll be there in a minute," I assured them as I gingerly opened my door and climbed out of the car, stumbling over the boulder I had just driven over.  Dad had stopped his truck a little behind us, and he hurried up to me.

"What happened," he asked with concern.

"Oh, I guess I closed my eyes for a second and dozed off," I told him sheepishly.  "Anyway, the car kept going straight when the road turned, so here we are." 

Dad walked to the front of the car and looked to see how far off the road my front tires were.  It wasn't really very bad.  We'd only driven into the rock filled dip on the side of the road. 

"I think you can just back up again and get back on," he finally told me after examining the boulders.  I got back in the car and carefully backed up.  It was bumpy, but not bad.

The kids sure got a kick out of telling and retelling how their mom fell asleep driving the car and almost got them in a wreck.  I had to grin each time they told it, because it really was kind of funny, and since no one was hurt and the car was all right it was a pretty good story.  But I wasn't as happy after they told Sheldon all about it the next day when we called him from the general store in Young.  This was back in the days before cell phones, so I had made arrangements with Sheldon to call him at work every couple of days. 


"Well, it sounds like you guys are having fun," he told me when I finally got the phone back after each of the kids had told him their version of our adventure.

"Do you still have to work this Saturday?" I asked.  "You haven't found a way to get off so you can come up and join us, have you?"

"Well," Sheldon said, "I did talk my boss into letting me work later tonight and tomorrow so I don't have to work on Saturday, but Keith is going to drive over to California Friday, and I'm going to go along with him so he doesn't have to drive alone.  He has to deliver a job in LA, then we might stop and go to Disneyland on Saturday."

"You're going to go to California?" I asked in surprise, not believing what I was hearing.  "You couldn't get off to take us to the cabin, but now you're going to go to Disneyland with Keith?"

"Yeah.  You don't want him to have to drive over to California all by himself do you?"

I didn't know what I wanted. Keith was my big brother and I loved him and everything, but at that moment I sure wasn't very happy with him or my husband.  But what could I do?  After all, I was the one who had left Sheldon home so I could go on a vacation with the kids.  Bummer!

Understanding the Gospel of Jesus Christ

The gospel of Jesus Christ is simple.  We learn about Him until we believe in Him, that's faith.  Then, because we believe he can atone for our sins, we repent and get baptized, and by so doing our sins are washed away.  Then, with the help of the Holy Ghost, we follow Jesus and try to become like him. It's a process, of course, but because of the atonement we can repent and keep trying, and hopefully getting better as we go, at the same time helping the people around us come home to heaven with us .  Mind you, there are lots of commandments, but they are given to help us become like the Savior.

I've noticed throughout my life that people tend to make the gospel harder than it really is.  Sometimes we fixate on a principal or program intended to help us follow Jesus, but we forget the rest of the gospel.  Once in awhile people chuck the whole thing because they decide it's too hard or not worth it or they get discouraged thinking they will never be good enough.  They forget how simple the gospel really is, and how much they love the Savior,and how much he loves them.  He doesn't expect us to be perfectly like him to start with. He just wants us to try, and when we mess up, to try again.  Little by little, over a life-time and well beyond we will become like Him.  Then, after we have done our best, through the atonement He will make up the difference and we will be perfect.

I've held lots of positions in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day-Saints, (or Mormons as many people call us), and each one has helped me grow a little closer to the Savior, and taught me a little more about what He is like.  When I was young I played the piano and led the singing for the little children.  I learned from their pure love, innocence, and enthusiasm how to love Jesus with a simple heart.

As I grew older I was blessed to be a teacher of six, seven, and eight year olds.  All of the lessons were based on the simple, pure teachings of the Savior, and in trying to find a way to teach them they became a part of me.

As a young wife I was called to teach the twelve and thirteen year old girls, and found as I tried to help them understand the gospel and apply it in their lives, I also understood it better.

When I was called to serve the women in our ward in Relief Society I gained all kinds of new insights on how to raise children and love my husband with charity, the way the Lord would.  I also learned how to serve other people and create a warm, welcoming home.  It was so much fun.

When we moved to our new house I wondered what calling I would be given next.  It was a couple of months after we'd moved in before the bishop called me into his office and asked me if I would be the Laurel Adviser, teaching the fifteen and sixteen year old girls in our ward.  I said yes, of course, because by then I'd learned that every calling was actually a huge blessing for me, but I was sure scared.  I'd never taught girls that old before, and I wasn't sure I knew how.  Personally, I hadn't really enjoyed being a teenager, it had often been an intimidating, frustrating, humiliating, and frightening experience, and I never really felt like I identified with the boy-crazy, gossiping, trendy girls.  How was I going to understand and help the young women in my class now?

In the end it wasn't so bad.  The girls in my group were sweethearts, much more mature than I remembered being at their age, and they seemed to soak in the gospel like a sponge.  They understood, better than I had at their age that Jesus gives us commandments  to keep us safe and make us happy, not to restrict us. 

One thing I began to see clearly was that it is possible for someone to be active in church, to know the commandments and programs, but to not really understand the gospel.  I saw adults in our ward who came because they were expected to, or to see their friends, but they hardly ever even thought about worshiping the Savior.  I met other members who had stopped coming to church because they had their feelings hurt or they just found it boring.  They didn't get that church is the place we go to learn about Jesus and feel his spirit, no matter who else happens to be there or how much fun we may have.  In fact, these people seemed to think that church was about the Bishop, the Relief Society President, the Sunday School Teacher, or maybe the prophet, but they totally left out the Savior.  And it's His church!    Interesting, and no wonder when they stopped caring about those other people they stopped coming. 

Four Wonderful Children

"Holly, can you say bye, bye?" I coaxed my curly haired baby girl, covering my own eyes as I said it.  "Bye, bye.  Peek-a-boo!"  and I quickly removed my hands and grinned at the cheery face of my daughter.

She giggled and beamed, her whole face lighting up.  Holly had two of the cutest dimples you ever saw when she smiled, and looked just like a Gerber baby.  "Come on, sweetie,"  I encouraged.  "Say bye, bye."

Holly held her little hands over her ears, grinned happily, and cooed, "Bye, bye.  Bye, bye."

We all broke up laughing, then grandma scooped the tiny thing up and gave her a big hug.

I'm sure I was biased, but I really did have the cutest kids, and my family thought so, too.  And the smartest.

One day in church Linnea just couldn't settle down.  She went from grandpa to grandma, and finally was passed down the pew to me, kicking and squirming and not being good at all.  In exasperation I stood up  and started to carry her out.

"Momma, don't spank my bottom!" she exclaimed at the top of her lungs, plenty loud enough for everyone in the chapel to hear. 


"Please, Momma, don't spank me, don't spank me," she continued as I walked even faster past the rows of laughing worshipers.  I'm sure my face was red, but the only thing I could think to do was get her out as quickly as possible.  After church everyone patted me on the shoulder and thanked me for the entertainment.  Even the Bishop laughingly told me it was nice to know I too, beat my kids.  Yeah, right.

I have to admit I did spank them occasionally.  This was long before spanking was even an issue, but a swat on a fully padded and diapered back side probably didn't help much.

On the other hand, my kids were pretty good at teaching me lessons.  Like the time I lost Linnea in the clothing racks at Penny’s.  We were Christmas Shopping.  I had my hands full carrying Russell, holding onto Holly's hand, and trying to find something nice for Grandma.  Suddenly I looked around and Linnea was gone.  I panicked.  Where could she be?

Pushing through the racks of clothing, I stooped to see if I could see her little legs under the hanging shirts and pants.  I couldn't see her anywhere.  In desperation I picked Holly up, too, and dashed around the isles, calling "Linnea, Linnea.  Where are you?"

By this time I was so scared I thought my heart would break right out of my chest it was beating so fast.  I rushed over to a sales table and asked the lady behind to please help me.  She calmly picked up her microphone and announced that we had a little lost child in the store.  In less than a minute another sales lady appeared, holding Linnea's hand.  She'd found her on the other side of the woman’s clothing, trying to find her momma.  Thank goodness!  From then on I made sure I either had a shopping cart to put my children in, or else a stroller, but I never let them walk by themselves again.

Of course, that didn't always solve the problem.  After Alyssa was born I still had to run errands, but with four children now.  One day I walked into a store, holding Alyssa on one hip, pushing Russell in the stroller, and instructing Holly and Linnea to each keep a hand on the stroller, too.  I only had to return one item, I wasn't going to look around or anything, and hopefully it would only take me a minute. 


I had to stand in line, but everyone was good and stayed right where they were supposed to be.  Finally I got my turn at the counter and explained to the man what I needed to do.  He was helpful and took back the item without any problem.  As he counted out my change I looked around to make sure I still had all my kids.  Linnea and Holly were standing by my side and Russell was in the stroller. 


"One, two, three," I counted in my head with one part of my brain as I concentrated on what the man was saying with the other.  "Three?"  that part  thought, "there's supposed to be four now.  Desperately I turned around and looked for my other child.  "One, two, three,"  I counted heads again, this time paying more attention.  I was forever counting children when we went anywhere, usually eight or nine kids since I was nearly always babysitting, but this time no matter how hard I counted I only came up with three.  Now really frightened, I turned to Linnea and Holly and asked, "Where's Alyssa?  Can you see her anywhere?"

"Mom," Linnea said with a puzzled look, "You're holding her."

Right.  I took my money from the man, stuffed it into my purse, and quickly left the store, feeling like a fool while laughing at myself at the same time.

Alyssa

Rainy days are the best, especially for desert dwellers, since they are so few and far between.  I think the rainy days at the end of April, 1984, were made especially for me.  They sure did make me happy.

It was good, because I was over nine months pregnant, anxiously waiting for Alyssa to come into the world, and I was really in need of something to cheer me up.  The winter and spring before she was born seemed to be the longest four months of my life.  I blamed knowing that I was having a girl for part of the trouble.  It was fun knowing what the baby was going to be, but at the same time it took some of the excitement out of the pregnancy. 

Another reason I was blah was the fact that I had looked forward to moving into a new home for longer than a year, and now we were moved there was nothing left to look forward to.

I was also  tired of taking care of kids.  Not my kids, other people's children.  I was tired of babysitting.  I still had the the two little girls I had taken care of for the past four years, plus three new children who lived in our new neighborhood.  They were nice kids, but having eight children to care for every day got old real fast.  The topper was the day their mother was an hour late picking them up. 

"Sorry I'm late," she quipped when she finally showed up.  "Things came up at work, but I knew it wouldn't bother you since you're always home anyway.  I mean, it's not like my being late is going to change what you're doing or anything."

It really doesn't sound so bad written down, but it sure did rub me the wrong way when she said it.  I couldn't help thinking, "So you think I don't have a life or something?  You think all I do is sit around the house and goof off all day, so it's OK if I have your kids as well as mine?"

In truth, I had just as much a life as this working mother did.  I couldn't pick up and go to the store or run errands as long as I was babysitting her kids, just the same as she couldn't run around while she was working.  But she could take off during her lunch hour and on her way to and from work, and she didn't have to take her kids with her.  After she came and I got to run my errands I still had to take my kids along.  Plus, I didn't get to talk to other adults or go out to lunch or any of the other perks of being a working mom.  Anyway, she ticked me off.

So, what with being cranky because I was pregnant, cranky because I was unappreciated, cranky because I had spring fever and was tired of the same old, same old, I was pretty darn grumpy that April.  As my due date came and went I really had a hard time. 

My one consolation was our yard.  When we moved into our new house all we had was dirt, but Sheldon had worked hard laying brick planters, and I had filled them with flowers. We'd also  planted trees in both the front and back yards, and as soon as it got warm we planted grass.  By April little shoots began to pop up and soon there was a light green haze over the whole yard.  Of course, along with the grass weeds began to grow too, so I spent hours in the yard pulling them.  I'd hoped all the exercise would help Alyssa come faster, but no such luck.

Then, the last Saturday in April, I woke up to a dark, overcast, drizzly cool day.  It was so lovely!  I'd begun having labor pains about 2:00 in the morning, and although they were far apart they were consistent for about six hours, until they stopped.  I had contractions on and off all day, but by evening I still wasn't in labor.  We went out to dinner with mom and dad and my little sisters, and then we took Julie and Sharon back to our house to watch a Disney movie.  About 9:00 the pains started up, three minutes apart this time, and they didn't stop.  I called the Doctor at 9:30, then left the kids with my sisters and went to the hospital.  I wasn't dilated very much, but they decided to let me stay anyway.  About four hours later Alyssa was finally born.  It turned out that she was laying on her back instead of her stomach, so she couldn't come.  The doctor had to turn her over, which was miserable, but once she was in position she came quickly. 

You know, it really seemed like Alyssa did not want to be born, or at least like she was trying really hard to teach me how to be patient, but the second she got here and I saw her it made everything worth while.  My baby, my beautiful special little friend and gift from Heavenly Father, was worth all the trouble, and I sure was glad to have her here!

Skiing, and Talking

Soft snow-flakes floated lazily down on the other side of the huge picture windows.  I pulled my ski-jacket closer and snuggled down into it's warm collar.  It was chilly, even inside the ski lodge, probably because it was so big.  What's more, skiers kept opening the doors, letting icy blasts of air whip in and around those of us sitting in the chairs, watching people whoosh down the slopes in front of us.


Even cold, I was in paradise!  All my life I'd dreamed of snow, and lodges, and crackling fires in huge fireplaces, and sitting in a resort, holding a cup of hot cocoa in my hands as I watched it snow.  My dream had come true. 


I was at Sun Rise, a ski resort high up in the White Mountains of Arizona, and I was having a ball even though I wasn't skiing.  My brother-in-law and his wife had invited Sheldon and I to come skiing with them, and we had jumped at the chance.  Skiing was fast becoming Sheldon's favorite hobby, but since he could only indulge it a few months out of the year we had to go whenever we could.


We had gone once the previous winter and I'd enjoyed myself.  I wasn't good, by any means, but I had started to get the hang of it.  This winter I was five months pregnant, expecting Alyssa, and everyone thought it best if I didn't get out on the slopes.  But at least I could watch.


I'd had a nice morning so far, sipping cocoa and reveling in the the winter atmosphere.  I'd even started knitting a baby blanket, or tried to.  I wasn't very good at knitting. 


A cold breeze swirled around my legs as a new group of skiers stamped into the lodge.  I glanced up, then went back to my knitting.  I had to watch every stitch to make it turn out right.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman sit down in the chair next to mine, so I looked up and smiled.  She grinned back, stripping off her ski gloves and settling down into her chair. 


"Hi," I greeted her.  "Looks like you've been having a great morning."


"Oh, it's been lots of fun," she agreed happily, looking over at my sad attempt at a baby quilt.  "That color is beautiful," she praised.  "What are you making?"


"I'm trying to make a baby blanket," I told her, "but it's my first time knitting, so I'm not sure what it will turn out like."


We had a good time, commiserating on the difficulties of knitting, and I explained that I was expecting my fourth baby, which was why I sitting here in the lodge instead of skiing.


Eventually our conversation turned to her.  "I'm just learning how to ski," she told me, "and I'm not in very good shape.  I decided I'd come in and take a breather while the rest of my family goes down a couple of tougher runs.  But I'm having a great time."


I enjoyed visiting with her, learning about how she had recently married into a family who loved skiing.  This was her first time on the slopes.  Eventually the conversation wound its way around until she was telling me about her first marriage, and how it had ended. 


"I never dreamed I'd get divorced," she said.  "I never wanted to.  But my husband was dead set on leaving me, and in the end there wasn't anything I could do."

It sounded to me like she was protesting too much.  If she really didn't want a divorce, surely she could have done something about it.  I figured it was OK for me to judge.  After all, I'd stuck with Sheldon even after he told me about his infidelities, and I thought I'd made a pretty good job of our marriage. 

About then my new friend's family came back into the lodge and we said goodby.  It had been interesting talking to her, but I was just as glad to get back to my knitting.  Soon Sheldon came in to get something to eat, and then my sister-in-law joined me while she caught her breath and the boys went back out.  It wasn't long before it was time to leave.

Funny, but I forgot all about that conversation for three years.  Then I was ashamed of myself.  I had sure been self-righteous and judgmental, even if I only thought it in my mind.  You know what they say, "Never say never", and they're right.

Naming My Girls

Linnea, Holly, and now Alyssa.  These were the names I had used for my daughters.  It started with Linnea.  That was a tiny little wild flower Grandma Johnson used pick when she was a girl in Sweden.  I loved the sound of that name, and I decided when I was about ten that I would name my first daughter Linnea.

Grandma Johnson also shared with me her love of flowers.  I loved her yard.  She grew sweet peas, roses, verbena, honeysuckle, gardenias, pansies, and a host of other lovely things.  Since I had decided to name my first daughter after a flower, why not use flower names for all of my girls?

Heather was my next choice, (I loved reading English stories), but my second daughter was born at Christmas, so of course she needed to be named Holly.  Then we had a son.  I didn't think he would be happy with me if I named him after a flower, (remember the song A Boy Named Sue?) but it was kind of fun to find russeleanthus in a nursery one day.  I planted them around our house, but we never called Russell that.

By the time I was expecting our fourth baby I had decided to save Heather for awhile.  We had a special neighbor (she was actually a 2nd cousin of ours) who I just loved to babysit for.  Her oldest daughter was named Alicia, and I would have liked to name a daughter after her, but that wasn't a flower.  One day I was looking through a baby name book and I found Alyssa.  The book said Alyssa was a little yellow, extinct Greek flower.  Cool!  That was as close to Alicia as I was ever going to get!  So when our fourth baby was a girl I named her Alyssa.

I was sure I would have more daughters, and I had other names picked out.  I still wanted a Heather until my little sister Linda used it.   Kamala was a name I'd found in my World Literature class.  It is the Indian name for the lotus blossom.  I liked Lilly and Ivy, but the one name I knew I could never use, but still thought was really cool, was Shakuntala.  I also found it in my literature class, but it wasn't a flower and I knew my husband would never go for it.  Still, it was a good name to remember.  When offered the choice between Shakuntala and any other name, I figured he would be happy to choose the name I really wanted.

Having an Amniocentesis

"Let's fly!" Sheldon exclaimed as soon as he walked in the house.  "It only costs $21 to fly to Tucson!"

"$21 dollars one way, or for both ways?" I asked sceptically, sure it couldn't be that cheap. 

"One way," he admitted, "but still, that's only $42 a person, and that's not bad."

I'd known before he even went down to the travel agency that he would say we should fly.  Sheldon loved a party, an adventure, any chance to do something fun.  There was no way he would pass up on a chance to fly down to Tucson when there was a good reason to go.  For that matter, neither would I.  I'd only flown once, coming home from Oregon, and I wanted to do it again, too.

I was expecting our fourth baby.  I'd had three previous miscarriages, one I'd been so far along that I'd hemorrhaged and had to have an emergency D&C.  They had done tests and found that instead of having two genes in every pair, that baby had three.  The doctor said it was possible I might have carried the baby full term, but he would have been still born or died immediately after birth, so they wanted me to have an amniocentesis this time to make sure everything was OK.

I really liked my personal doctor, but I wasn't impressed with the gene specialist.  When my doctor explained about the testing I questioned why. 

"Even if the tests came back showing something is wrong I won't have an abortion," I told him. 

He smiled understandingly and said, "I know that.  I'm not saying you should.  But getting these tests done will help us make better decisions on how to help you and the baby.  There's probably nothing wrong, but if there is we should be prepared.  You know, it's Heavenly Father who has inspired and given us this advanced medical knowledge, and if we choose not to use it we are not taking advantage of the gifts he has given us."

That made sense so I agreed to the tests, but I was nervous.  I didn't relish the idea of someone sticking a six inch needle into my stomach to draw amniotic fluid from the baby's amniotic sac. The medical center at the University of Arizona in Tucson was the only place they did this procedure, and since I was already four months along it was important to do it right away.

Sheldon was thrilled as soon as he heard the news.  Not only did it give him a reason to skip work, it sounded like fun, so a few days later we took a small commuter plane from Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport to Tucson.  It seemed like we just took off before we landed, in fact the whole flight was only 21 minutes.  I wonder if that's why they charged $21? 

In Tucson we rented a car and went to a hobby shop Sheldon had heard about, then on to the U of A Medical Center. 

The doctor did a Sonogram first.  He saw the baby clearly, and we could see it's head and stomach and hands, the doctor even counted five fingers on one hand.  He said the spine looked fine and he counted four chambers in the heart. The one thing they couldn't see was whether the baby was a girl or a boy, but everything else looked good.

Then the doctor told me he could give me a shot of Novocaine to deaden the area where he would put the needle, but it seemed to me that a shot would hurt just as much as the actual test.  The doctor agreed, so he just did the amniocentesis.  It wasn't nearly as bad I had expected.  It didn't hurt any more than getting a shot in my mouth at the dentists.  In fact, pulling the band-aid off the next day hurt more than the test.

"It will take a couple of weeks to get the test results," the doctor told us.  "We'll even be able to tell you with 99% accuracy if it's a girl or a boy."

"Why won't you be 100% sure?" asked Sheldon. 

"Well, there's always that one in a hundred chance that we actually got a bit of your wife's gene's instead of the baby's, so it would look like a girl when it's really a boy," he explained.  "But that almost never happens."

"So we went through this whole thing for nothing?" Sheldon grumbled as we walked out of the medical center.  But he wasn't really mad.  He'd had a lot of fun on the short trip.  So had I.  It ended up being a really expensive little vacation, $100 for the plane and rental car and $600 for the test after our insurance paid the rest, but it was nice to do something different for a change.

The best part was two weeks later when they called with the results.  Everything was fine, and we were going to have a girl!  (99% positive)  And I already knew what we would call her.  Alyssa!

Moving

The fall prior to moving into our new house was exciting.  We got to pick out our own flooring and light fixtures, paint colors and appliances.  It was so much fun.  At the same time Linnea was in kindergarten half day and I baby-sat, a lot.  Not just my regular two little girls, but for other people as well.  Some days I had eleven kids all under five years old, but we made it, and lots of times we even had fun. 

The heat seemed to last forever that year.  I was sure glad I had a new house to look forward to, because between being pregnant, taking care of lots of children, and being warm and humid I was sure uncomfortable.  I was also busy.  One week in my diary I recorded that I had baked a cake for my father-in-law's birthday, put on a Relief Society Homemaking Meeting, (although I was the 2nd Councilor in Relief Society I didn't have a Home Making Leader so I also had to plan and prepare the monthly meetings) gone Visiting Teaching and to a Stake Relief Society Board Meeting, hosted a birthday party for the little girl I babysat, and sent my husband up to the White Mountains on a fishing trip. Then I recorded that in the coming week I would help put on a Ward Relief Society Board Meeting, attend an open house for a young man who was in the class I student taught, go to Ward Temple Night, a Mesa Museum Guild Meeting, (I was the publicity chairman) and our Church General Woman’s Conference, make a wedding cake for couple who were getting married that weekend, and begin planning the cake for my brother-in-law's wedding in a couple of months. 

I was also asked  to design and paint the scenery for our ward Road Show.  Dad helped me build four 7x4 foot frames out of two-by-fours, to which I stapled muslin.  I painted them with a white base coat of paint, which, when it was dry, created a huge canvas for me to paint the scenery on.  It was so much fun, and I learned how to make stuff look really awesome from far away, even though up close it didn't look like much.

It was good I was busy.  I think I would have gone crazy otherwise, waiting for our new house to get built.  The closer we came to moving the more excited I became.  We were going to have three bedrooms, two bathroomss, a front room and a separate living room behind the kitchen, and even a small room where Sheldon could work on his model airplanes.  He had evolved from building model railway sets to remote controlled airplanes, and I was glad we would have a spot specially designated for all of his tools and equipment, and mess.

Of course, the house took longer to build than we had been told, but we were able to move in the middle of December, in time for Christmas.  What fun!  It was wonderful  having room to put up a big Christmas tree, hanging our stockings above our brand new red brick fireplace, and opening presents Christmas morning in our own, beautiful new house.  I thought, that morning, how awesome it was to be sharing our first Christmas in the home we would live in for the rest of our lives.  Of course I was wrong, but it sure was a happy day.




 

We Really Needed to Move

I loved the little house we rented from mom and dad.  It was old, cute, and eccentric. The doorknobs were glass and the floor was hardwood, but we had to replace it twice during the six years we lived there due to termites.  There was a big rock fireplace in the front room, but it mostly let cold air in through it's chimney.  It had a heavy mantle above it,  perfect for holding candles and pine boughs, but it was made out of cement so I couldn't drive nails in to hang my Christmas stockings on.  The front room ceiling was high and beamed, but even with a broom I couldn't reach it to knock down spiderwebs.  The walls were smooth plaster, but they had been painted and papered so many times it took days to strip them before I could paint them my way.  The architecture was quaint, but it was hard to squeeze our family of five into the two tiny bedrooms and one very small bath, so after living there for six years I was ready for a new house.  About that time dad bought some acreage out in Gilbert, and began thinking about selling the rental house anyway.

I'd had a ball painting that old house.  I'd painted Cookie Monster, Ernie, and Big Bird in the kids bedroom.  Then I tried my hand at a dragon and The Count in the back play room.  In my bedroom I experimented with Lilly of the valley, roses, and all kinds of stencils, but the best part of do-it-yourself decorating was being able to paint over my trials when I was done.  I never could come up with a design for those walls that satisfied me.

The front window was paned, and it looked beautiful at Christmas when I painted it with snowflakes and poinsettias, but the calking around each piece of glass continually chipped out, letting the weather in.  The yard was amazing!  It was full of mature trees and bushes, and the irrigated lawn was plush and green, but I could never get our ancient lawn mower to start so I usually cut the whole thing with the weed eater, which made gave me a cramp in my back and left a red burn on my arm because it got so hot.

The worst thing about that house was the heating and cooling.  It had a gas wall furnace as well as the fireplace, but I was afraid of explosions or carbon-monoxide poisoning, so we rarely used it.  There was a big square hole cut in the back wall with an ancient evaporative cooler mounted behind it, but it mostly spit water into the room and increased the humidity to a point where I felt like I was living in a sauna without hardly lowering the temperature at all.  By August of our sixth year I  was ready to trade all the charms of that old house for a new, boring, modern home.  Plus, I discovered I was expecting our fourth child, and we really needed at least two kids rooms.

We looked at all kinds of house and finally found a new subdivision south of town where they were building homes we could afford.  We drove out to look at the area and fell in love.  It was just south of the Freeway, in a kind of no-mans-land where our address would be Mesa but the school district was Gilbert.  Years earlier I had driven down the main street of Gilbert and decided I would never want to live there, but it had changed since then.  By this time Mesa and Gilbert had grown so much you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. 

We signed papers the same week Linnea began Kindergarten.  Since it would take about four months to build our house she started in the same school where I went to Kindergarten, but we planned to move her to Gilbert at the beginning of January.  I was glad, because her first day of school didn't go too well. 

Linnea came home that first day disgusted!  Her teacher had paired all the kids up with walking buddies, and she had put Linnea with a boy!  "I don't want to have a boy friend!" she complained when I finally got her to tell me about her first day.  "My walking buddy got out of line and I had to hold his hand, so I got out of line too. Then the teacher yelled at us and said we lost five minutes of playing time outside!   But it didn't matter," she added triumphantly, "because it was so hot nobody got to have recess!"  She sure was growing up.

Holly and Russell were getting older, too.  One day while they were playing at the playground across the street from their grandma's house Holly's foot slipped off the bars of a big (it was 15 feet tall) slippery slide.  She couldn't climb back on, but instead of falling she held onto the ladder while Linnea and her cousin ran all the way home and got their uncle to come help.  Holly was a mighty brave little girl, and stubborn.

Russell was surrounded by girls all the time.  Not only did he have two big sisters, he also had to put up with the girls I babysat, too.  Russell was good about being bossed around by girls, but he sure did like it when he got to play with his boy cousins.  He was almost three years old by this time, and the best part of moving to a new house meant he wouldn't have to share a room with his sisters any more.

The Miscarriage

I knew I had been talking as the fog lifted, but I had no idea what I had said.  Had I been complaining?  Had I made sense?  Were the nurses laughing inside over the foolish stuff I had been prattling off?  The more cognizant I became the more embarrassed I felt.  One thing was sure, I did not like being drugged.

Slowly everything came back to me.  I was in the hospital.  I had been hemorrhaging.  The doctor had given me an emergency D&C to stop the bleeding.  Oh, that’s right, I had been pregnant and had a miscarriage.  As I remembered I opened my eyes and saw Sheldon standing next to my bed, grinning from ear to ear.  Maybe he'd heard some of the dumb things I had said.  Maybe he'd been flirting with the cute nurse standing at the foot of my bed.  Maybe he was just glad I wasn't pregnant any more.  Whatever the reason, he sure looked happy.

The nurse saw me open my eyes and she stepped up beside me.  "How are you feeling?" she asked kindly. 

"OK, I guess," I croaked.  Was something wrong with my throat?

"Here, try a little drink of water," she suggested, pressing a cup up against my lips.  "Sip it slowly."

I drank a little, and it helped.  It felt like there was something stuck in my throat, but I knew there wasn't really anything there.

"They put a tube down your throat during surgery," the nurse explained.  "It will be soar for a bit, but you'll feel better after awhile."

A wave of foggy tiredness swept over me. I closed my eyes and sank back into the pillow.  Brother, I didn't feel good!  I lay there, listening to Sheldon chat with the nurse, and floated in and out of sleep for awhile.  The next time my mind started working I wondered when Sheldon had got there?  Mom had driven me to the hospital.

A few months earlier I had discovered I was pregnant with our fourth baby.  Russell was almost two years old and I was pleased we were adding to our family, but Sheldon wasn't.  Everything was fine for the first three months, but during the fourth month the baby stopped growing.  My doctor sent me to get a sonogram, and they discovered something was wrong.  The doctor warned me that I would probably start bleeding and miscarry, but he said not to worry unless I began to hemorrhage.  Then I'd need to get to the hospital quickly.

A few days later I began bleeding.  At first it wasn't very heavy, although my heart was knowing I was loosing my baby.  By evening I was bleeding more, but still not that bad.  Sheldon had a cub-scout pack meeting that night, but I thought he would tell them he couldn't make it since I might need him to take me to the hospital.  I was wrong.  He said he'd be back in a couple of hours and he went anyway.

I was doing OK until about 7:00, when suddenly the bleeding got very heavy.  I called mom.  She came over and picked me up, the kids went to her house to stay with Julie and Sharon, and she took me down to the hospital.  They quickly admitted me when they saw the blood dripping down my leg, puddling on the floor. I was rushed into surgery, where the anesthesiologist got mad at me for eating dinner. 


"You aren't supposed to eat anything before you have an operation," he yelled, embarrassing me to tears.   How was I supposed to know that?  I hadn't even known I was going to go to the hospital. 


The nurse was really sweet and gave me an understanding smile, but by that time I was shaking all over. All I can remember is someone giving me a shot, putting a mask over my face, and then nothing.

I stayed in recovery for about an hour until I was able to sit up and answer some questions.  Then I was discharged from the hospital and sent home. 


"You'll be kind of groggy for awhile," the nurse told me as I signed some papers and got ready to go, "but you shouldn't have any trouble.  Just go home and take it easy for a few days."

They wheeled me out to our car which Sheldon had driven up next to the door.  When I stood up I got all woozy again, but it passed after I'd sat down in the front seat for a couple of minutes.  Sheldon started the car and drove out of the parking lot. 

"I promised the secretary at work that you would make a cake to celebrate some birthdays tomorrow," he told me as he turned onto the main street in front of the hospital.  "They love the chocolate cherry cake you make."

I looked at him in surprise, but quickly shut my eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over me.  "I don't have the stuff to make it," I told him weakly.

"That's OK," he said brightly.  "It's not that late yet.  Fry's will still be open, so we'll stop on the way home and I'll run in and get everything you need."

I really couldn't believe my ears.  I had just been released from the hospital, and he expected me to make a cake for him to take to work the next day?  But that's exactly what he wanted.

We stopped at the store and he let me stay in the car while he ran inside.  When we got home he helped me out of the car and I stumbled into bed to sleep off the anesthetic, but Sheldon woke me up at 6:00 so I could bake the cake in time for him to take it to work.

When he left that day I went back to bed, covered my head with my pillow, and cried.  I hated Sheldon.  I hated him so much that it scared me just to think about it.  I hated him with all the hate, anger, hurt, frustration, disillusionment, and sadness that I had stuffed inside ever since we got married.  I hated him!

For two days I harbored that anger, going about my daily tasks like an automaton, but inside boiling and seething over the pain my husband had caused me, and then I woke up.  It was like a light went on inside my head the third morning, and I asked myself, "What are you going to do?"  Because, like it or not, I was stuck with Sheldon.  I had married him for time and all eternity.  I had promised I would love, honor, support, be loyal to and stick with Sheldon no matter what.  Did I really want to be stuck with a guy I hated for the rest of eternity?  No way!  So what could I do about it? 

One thing I knew, divorce was out of the question.  That meant I only had two options.  I could either endure the hell I was living in now for the rest of eternity, hoping that maybe someday Sheldon would either change, or else get so bad that he wouldn't be worthy of heaven and I'd get out of our contract that way, or else I could change myself and stop hating him. 

Mom had always taught us, "You love the ones you serve."  I could hear her voice ringing through my mind that day as I struggled with what I should do, and then suddenly I was at peace.  I could serve him.  I could do something, myself, to change the way I felt about Sheldon. I didn't have to just endure to the end in this misery and pain.  I could serve him.

I'm not saying I stopped hating Sheldon that day.  I was still angry and hurt and frustrated and all the other stuff.  But I had hope.  There was something I could do, and that gave me a direction to go in, reason to hang on, and a hope that things would someday be better.  And they were.

I began that very day trying to do something nice for Sheldon every day.  I got up extra early and made him special breakfasts and packed him goodies in his lunch, including a love note in every bag.  I tried to find other ways to surprise him, like sending cookies to work or mowing the lawn or washing the car before he had to.  It was amazing to me how quickly my heart did change, and how soon the angry feelings and hate slipped away and were replaced with peace and contentment, and even love before too long. 


Not that I became the perfect wife and never got cross, I did.  Not that I forgot the pain and disappointment of the past, I didn't.  It just stopped hurting as much.  We still had our monthly fights about money and what was right or wrong.  I still got cross when he was late coming home or he selfishly did what he wanted to do without caring how it effected me or the kids, but I got over it quickly and most of the time we were happy.  Most of all, I could honestly say that I loved Sheldon again, though I might not like him all the time, and that was a wonderful feeling.  I loved him, no matter what he said or did, and I was glad that he was my husband and I was his wife. And life was good again.

Worrying About the Future

And so, life went on.  We lived in the little house we rented from mom and dad for six years.  We celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary there; I had three children of my own and took care of two more on school days; Sheldon started a business, sold it, and went to work for a big printing company;  we both served in lots of different church callings, I even got to be second councilor in our ward Relief Society for two years;  and we had numerous family parties, reunions, and even Hawaiian luaus while we lived in that house.  We made a lot of memories there, both good and bad, but by the time I had endured the sixth sweltering, sweating, sauna like summer with only an old evaporative cooler and fans to cut the 112 degree plus heat, I was ready to move on.

One thing that made the summers bearable was going to the cabin.  We didn't get there often enough, but whenever possible we packed up the kids and took off to the mountains.  The best times were when mom and dad and my brothers and sisters came with us.  Then we all crowded into our tiny cabin, sometimes putting up tents or bringing dad's camper to give us extra sleeping space, and laughed and played and told stories; reliving happy memories and making new ones for our children as well.

Linnea, Holly and Russell loved being at the cabin just as much as I had, and it soon became their happy place, too.  They loved playing on the swings, running through the tall grass, climbing the trees and exploring all the fascinating places around Grandma and Grandpa Russell's cabin down below the hill.  Both of my grandparents had passed away by this time and their cabin was falling into disrepair, but it was exciting for the kids to open it's door and peak inside the dim interior, taking my hand and walking quietly around the cool dark rooms while I told them about the happy hours I'd spent playing games and staying with grandma and grandpa there. 

The kids especially loved playing down at the creek; throwing pebbles into the deep pools, wading in the shallow water, or rock-hopping down the middle of the stream.  The girls would bring their dolls down and play for hours where the last big flood had filled the channel with small stones, creating a spot where the water ran only a few inches deep.  That flood had also filled our old swimming hole with boulders and mud, making a good place for little kids to swim since the water only came up to their chests.  One summer we tried building a dam across the creek, hoping we could make the hole a little deeper, but it didn't work very well.  Still, it made a fine place to sit and fish.

Most afternoons we would drive up the creek to the big swimming hole to go swimming.  The water was very deep there, running between granite rock outcroppings that made warm places to sunbathe. They also gave the more adventurous adults a place to climb up and dive off from.  Linda's husband was a dare devil extreme, and Sheldon and my brothers always wanted to keep up with him. 

We had so much fun at the swimming hole.  A huge old tree had been pushed down by a flood and lodged between the rocks on both sides of the creek, creating a bridge.  Even the little kids liked jumping off of it into the deep water.  Looking back, I wonder how we managed to spend so many happy days playing there with never one accident or even minor cuts or bruises?  We were sure blessed.

Dad and Grandpa had leased the land where we built our cabin for 40 years.  They had given part of the property to Uncle Tillis, Grandpa's brother, to build a cabin on as well.  He passed away before Grandpa, and dad worried about his brothers and cousins.  He felt they should have a chance to use the cabin too.  Finally he tallked to the man he leased the property from to see if he could buy it outright.  The fellow wasn't interested in selling the whole thing, but he agreed to sell dad the hill our cabin was built on and half of the meadow below where grandpa's cabin was, if he could keep the other half and Uncle Tillis' cabin.  Dad worked out an agreement with Uncle Tillis' family that they could have Grandpa Russell's cabin, and he talked to his brothers and told them they could use ours.  They never came to the cabin anyway, so everyone seemed happy, except me.  I liked things the way they had been, and hated anything to change, but life does.

I suppose it was about this time that I started having nightmares about the cabin.  I would dream that we were there, but nothing was the same.  In my dreams there were houses and subdivisions all around.  I would try to walk down to the creek, only to find paved streets and developed lots in the way.  I would wake up shaking, cold and sick inside, sometimes even crying for sadness.  I would tell myself I was being silly, but no matter how logically I tried to talk myself out of my fear, inside it still hurt.  The next morning I'd laugh at those silly dreams, but it didn't stop me from having them.  Perhaps subconsciously all of my fears about the future were being channeled into nightmares of loosing the cabin.  It was my happy place, my safe place, the one place that meant more to me than any other place in the world, and loosing it would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me.  Or, at least, that's the way I felt. 

The First Divorce In Our Family

The older I got, the older the rest of my family grew, as well.  It wasn't long before Phillip and Linda both got married, too, and we added two more people to our family, people who fit so well it was like they had always been part of us.  Sadly, about the same time Keith's wife left him.  It wasn't a big surprise, she had been brought up believing if your marriage wasn't perfect you just got a divorce and started over.  But still, it was heartbreaking.  Keith's mother-in-law hadn't particular liked Keith, and she constantly nudged her daughter toward divorce, even inviting her old boyfriend to come with them on a family trip to Rocky Point, but it still broke Keith's heart and totally floored me when she left.


I worried what a divorce in our family would do to mom and dad.  They were such good parents and had taught us about the sanctity of marriage, so I was afraid they would be really hurt.  I shouldn't have worried. Mom, especially, was fiercely loyal to her children, but even dad had a hard time accepting that someone had hurt his son.  One day not long after Keith's wife left dad noticed their wedding picture still hanging in the front room hall.  Angrily he turned to mom and exclaimed,  "Why don't you take that d___ woman's picture off our wall?" 


I also worried about how poor grandma Johnson would take a divorce in her family.  I shouldn't have been concerned.  Although by this time she was a frail 80 year old widow, her reaction was just as feisty as dad's.  When mom told her that Keith's wife had left him she exclaimed, "He better not have let that woman keep the quilt I made them for their wedding!"

Frightening Nights

"You'll have to leave those here, mam," said the security guard at the inspection station leading to the boarding area at the airport.  We had come to meet Sheldon's brother coming home from his mission.  Family and friends were still allowed to accompany passengers to the gate back then, but they had begun checking purses and backpacks before we walked down the concourse.

"You want us to leave the baby's diaper pins here?" I asked in surprise.  "They're just decorations."  Someone had given Russell a cute cowboy outfit when he was born, complete with diaper pins adorned with tiny six-shooters.  The one inch pistols were adorable, but certainly not lethal.

"Yes, mam, you'll need to leave the guns here and pick them up on your way out."

Laughing, I unpinned Russell's diapers and handed the offending guns to the security guard, using an extra pair of plain pins to refasten Russell's diaper before hurrying after the rest of the family.  That was my first real encounter with the world of anti-terrorism, and the effect world conditions were having on the lives of ordinary citizens.  Things were indeed changing, and the world was becoming a scarier place. 

Life was evolving at home, too.  After three years running the print shop east of town, Sheldon and dad decided to sell it.  Sheldon worked really hard, but times were tough and it just wasn't making any money.  I was happy and sad.  Sad because we put so much time and effort and money into the venture, but glad that we would finally have a steady paycheck when Sheldon went to work for a bigger company.  I was also happy because he would be working set hours, and I wouldn't have to worry and wonder where he was when he was late coming home. 

Running a printing shop meant working until the job was finished.  Especially during election season Sheldon often worked till after midnight.  When he was in the shop I could call and talk to him to see how he was doing unless he was running the press and it was too noisy for him to hear the phone.  But he also had to deliver the jobs, and people wanted them as soon they were done, so there were lots of times I couldn't reach Sheldon and didn't know where he was until he drove in the driveway. 

Night after night I would sit in the front room, wondering and worrying if he was ever going to come home.  At first I would be slightly annoyed that he was late again.  As the time lengthened I would get cross and cranky, unhappy because I was tired and wanted to go to bed, but knowing I wouldn't be able to sleep and feeling compelled to stay up until he came home.  As the hours slipped by my frustration would turn to worry, and eventually fear, as I wondered if Sheldon had been in a car accident or attacked by thieves.  Then I would start to wonder if a policeman was going to knock on my door and tell me he was dead.  Little by little I'd begin to play out in my mind what I'd do if that really did happen.

Usually Sheldon would come home about then, but as these nights repeated themselves over and over I found myself planning farther and farther into the future.  How I would call my family to let them know Sheldon had been in an accident, how I would plan Sheldon's funeral, what I would do to take care of myself and the kids.  Eventually I reached a point where I almost looked forward to the policeman's knock, and was disappointed when I heard our car turn into the driveway and knew Sheldon was home.  It messed up my plans and meant I would have to live through that agony again another night.  Like I said, I was glad when Sheldon got a job working at a large printing company on the other side of town, believing those frightening nights were over.  I was wrong, of course. 

What Kind of Wife Did He Want?

"My, those boots are really something!"  my sister-in-law commented as she walked in my in-laws back door on Sunday afternoon.  I'd thought the same thing when I saw my mother-in-law, but I hadn't made up my mind what the 'something' was. 


"I like to keep my marriage hot," my mother-in-law purred provocatively, making a low growling sound as she swiped her fingers through the air.


I shuddered inwardly, embarrassed by her antics.  My mother-in-law was old enough to be, well, my mother.  Why would she want to look and act like a street-walker?


On the other hand, it helped me understand my husband a little better.  I wished he thought I was beautiful, but regardless what other people said, I always had the feeling he was disappointed in me. It was funny, because other people said I was nice looking. 


One day soon after we got married we ran into some old friends of Sheldon's family.  After introducing me to them, one of the men turned to Sheldon and said, "Wow!  How did you manage to get such a gorgeous wife?"  It made me feel really good, and I could tell Sheldon did a double take and looked at me a little differently for a while, but it didn't last.  Apparently, having a pretty face wasn't what Sheldon wanted.


Having three babies in four years meant I had been pregnant for most of our marriage.  While I enjoyed having babies, Sheldon didn't like having a pregnant wife.  It was hard finding time to exercise with three little children, but for awhile after Russell was born I was able to get up early in the morning and go out running before Sheldon had to leave for work.  I really enjoyed the time by myself.  I'd run through the neighborhoods around our house, admiring the yards and flowers and architecture, while pondering the wonders of our universe and thinking great thoughts.  It was fun.


Eventually the exercise paid off, and I not only could fit in all my old clothes,  I got to start buying smaller and smaller sizes.  That felt great!  One day I bought a pair of spiky, silver sandals that were really not my style, but they were on sale.  That weekend we went to dinner for our weekly date, and while we were eating Sheldon grinned at me and said, "Did you see the men watching you as you walked by?"


I was surprised.  No, I hadn't seen anyone watching me, but I was pleased that Sheldon thought I looked good.  At the same time, I couldn't help wondering.  What was it Sheldon wanted in a wife?  A nice woman who loved him and his children, took care of his home, and cooked him delicious food, or a trophy wife that other men would lust after?

Restless Nights

Life is full of happy and sad, good and bad, fun and boring.  I suppose that's what makes it interesting.  The years we lived in the little house we rented from mom and dad were like that.  Up and down, thrilling and depressing and often just going along the same as always, but going.


It was really fun living on a busy street, because the house was old and cute and I could decorate it with flowers and paint the windows at Christmas, and everyone always commented on how nice it looked.  It was almost like living in a gingerbread house. 

On the other hand, living on a main street also had it's drawbacks.  I'll never forget the night we woke up to flashing lights in the front yard.  Sheldon got out of bed and snuck into the front room to peak out the windows, finding policemen surrounding our house, flashlights drawn, poking around in the shrubbery and behind trees.  It turned out we had accidentally left the hatch-back up on our Mazda, and a vigilant policeman had called in a report of a possible burglary. 

Not long after that I was woken up one night by soft noises outside our bedroom window.  I'd left it open a crack since the nights were warming up as spring approached.  I looked out the curtains but couldn't see anything.  Both Sheldon and I wondered if this time there really was a burglar hiding behind our house, but it turned out to be one of the horses dad kept pastured on the lot between our back yard and the alley separating us from his house.  It had eaten through it's rope and was now enjoying the fresh new leaves on our trees.

The final nightly escapade while we lived at that little house scared me a lot more than the first two.  I usually woke up in the middle of the night and checked on the kids.  This night it was about 2:00 that I peaked into their bedroom to see how they were doing.  Linnea was sleeping peacefully on her bed.  Holly was snuggled down under her blankets next to her.  We had just moved Russell out of his crib to sleep on a twin sized mattress on the floor.  He was too big for the crib, but I worried that he might roll off a regular bed.  I walked over to his side of the room the see how he was doing, only to find his bed empty! .

Quickly I went back into my bedroom to see if he'd climbed up into our big waterbed next to Sheldon, but he wasn't there.  I checked the floor to make sure he wasn't sleeping there, then went back into the kids room again to see if he could possibly be sleeping by the girls.  No Russell.

I was getting pretty worried by this time, but I made the rounds through the house, checking the kitchen, front room, back room, bathroom.   Where could he possibly be?  Praying silently, I poked my head out the back door and called his name, peering into the shadows under the trees created by the big street lights out on the street.  I walked around to the front yard, shivers crawling up my spine, hoping no burglars or bad guys were out wandering the streets at this hour.  Surely Russell wouldn't have gone out front?

Now really scared, I hurried back into the house, calling Russell's name over and over.  I didn't know where else I could possibly look.  Frightened, I woke up Sheldon and told him I couldn't find Russell anywhere. He got up and helped me look again in all the places I'd already searched.

"What should we do," I asked in despair.  "I don't know where else to look.  Should we call the police?"

"I don't want to do that," he hesitated, "but maybe we'll have to.  Do you know what the phone number is?"  This was back before you automatically dialed 911 for every emergency. 

"I'll have to look in the phone book," I whispered, hurrying to the alcove between the two bedrooms where a niche had been built for a telephone.  We didn't keep ours there, but it was a good place for the phone books.  Just on a whim, or perhaps something whispered in my mind, I peeked back into the kids bedroom one more time. 

Russell's bed was still laying there empty, with all the covers pushed down in a heap at its foot.  He couldn't be there, could he?  Desperately I lifted the blankets, and sure enough, there was little Russell, curled up in a ball at the foot of his bed, covered with sheets and blankets and peacefully sound asleep!  Oh brother, what a relief!  Sheldon went grumpily back to bed, but I sat next to my sleeping son for a few minutes, thanking Heavenly Father over and over for helping me find him and for taking care of all of us. What a night!