Christmas was coming and I knew I needed to find a way to get into the Christmas spirit. But how could I when we had just buried our little baby boy? We learned his fate from an ultrasound taken a week before Thanksgiving. His brain had not fully developed and -he could not live very long. I held out for my miracle, but on December 4th he was born and died four hours later. We buried him on December 8th.
So, life was just supposed to go back to normal? At a time when the rest of the world was beginning to celebrate a very significant birth, our hearts were broken. Our other children knew that the baby didn’t come home from the hospital. They knew Ken and I were very sad. We talked about death a little bit. They knew their brother went to live with his Father in Heaven. For their young years, they seemed to take that in stride much easier than their grieving parents. I knew we needed to move forward, but I didn’t really know how. For me, Christmas, traditionally the happiest time of year, was very difficult to face.
Ken and I talked and talked. That’s what got us through each day. As the month progressed, he pointed out that we owed it to our other children to bring a little Christmas spirit into the home. The best we could do was to bring the large boxes labeled “Christmas” down from the rafters of the garage. For a few days those boxes just sat in the corner of the living room unopened. With all the funeral expenses, there would be no money for a “real” tree, so the old water-stained, duct-taped box containing the artificial tree lay next to the other unopened boxes. I nearly tripped over them several times going through the living room, but never stopped to peek inside. Normally, Christmas was my favorite holiday. But I just wasn’t ready.
On December 14th, a strange thing happened. We were eating dinner and there was a knock at the front door. Our oldest son, Benjy, almost six years old, jumped up to see who was there with Ken at his heels. As the door was opened Benjy announced, “Nobody’s there” and started to close the door when his father stopped him. On the front door step was a green and gold bell with a note attached to it. Benjy responded with glee, picked up the bell, started ringing it and handed his dad the note which read, “On the first day of Christmas a friend gave to you a Christmas bell”. That was kind of odd, but fun for the kids. We put the bell on the piano and went back to dinner, not really thinking too much about it. Following dinner the children remembered the bell and took turns ringing it and then started looking at the boxes and begged to open them up and find their own Christmas decorations. At their insistence, we began the process. Within only a couple of hours, the tree and trimmings were all over the living room. The old Santa Clause was hanging on the front door. The stockings were taped to the window sill (there being no fireplace in the house) and twinkling lights were put in the living room window. The children were very happy. We were trying to be happy, too. Somehow the decorations helped.
The next day in the late afternoon there was a light knock on the front door. The children were busy watching Sesame Street on TV and not wanting to be interrupted, one of them yelled, “Mom, someone’s at the door”. I went to the door with my folded laundry in hand and found nobody there. But on the ground were two pencils and a note saying, “On the second day of Christmas a friend brought you two pencils”. I set the pencils in the painted Santa boot on the piano where eventually candy canes would go once we had purchased some. Only then did it occur to me that maybe the bell and the pencils were related. Was this going to be an every day event? No, it probably was just someone playing a joke. After all, what did pencils and bells have to do with each other?
It wasn’t until the “third day of Christmas”, December 16th, though, that the children figured out there was a pattern and that the number of gifts would be increasing with each day. On Day #3 four-year-old Ray shouted for his turn to go to the door to find three colorful marking pens on the porch with a note. Ken and I began making guesses as to who might be doing this. It was certainly a kind gesture at a time when we needed it. The gifts seemed somewhat random and the paper the words were written on was different each day, ranging from plain notebook paper to fancy, decorated stationery.
Ken thought there might be several different people taking turns to cheer us up in our time of need. We thought about family members and wondered if they were responsible. We had many friends in the neighborhood and at church and in our school community. We were involved in the children’s school. We wondered if one of the children’s school teachers had instigated this. The school had been very kind and even donated money towards our baby’s funeral. Our minds reached back to almost anyone from our past and we began to think of all the friends we had and all the caring people in our little world.
As the days went on, we considered carefully all of our friends and family and even minimal acquaintances with new eyes, wondering just who was this secret friend or friends. No smile went unnoticed. Kind words from neighbors or mail carriers had more meaning as if clues were being left.
On December 19th, Day #6 (six Hershey kisses), Ken hired a babysitter and insisted he and I get out and do some Christmas shopping. It was really what I needed, but also a little difficult to do. I was still quite weak from a difficult birth and emotionally very fragile. But he had taken care of that. He arranged for a wheelchair and we hit the malls and discount stores together. I actually found myself singing to one of the Christmas carols in the mall. Life goes on and it was good to be reminded of that. The world outside was decorated and happy and hopeful. I needed this more than I had realized. We hurried home to wrap the little gifts we had purchased which added color and festivity to our home. The pathetic tree looked a little livelier with some presents underneath.
On Day #8 (eight ounces of hand cream) I found myself rummaging through family recipes, looking for that famous Christmas fudge that Ken and the children loved. Somehow I even allowed for the children to help make Christmas cut out cookies, mess and all! There was flour and sugar and sprinkles everywhere and most especially, the delightful glees of happy children and sweet smells in the home. We even made some extras to take to a few neighbors.
Christmas was coming fast, and although our hearts still ached at the loss of one child, we were enjoying the lights in the eyes of our other children. Every day new items arrived with their little notes. Each day our family carried on with more of our own Christmas traditions. One night everything for dinner was either red or green (I had to explain to the three-year-old that the meat had been red before we cooked it). One evening we even went Christmas caroling to the grandparents’ houses and a few of the grandparents’ neighbors, too.
On Day #10 (a pack of 10 crayons) our two oldest children joined forces to try and catch the Christmas delivery person in the act! They hid behind the drapes looking out the window nearly all day long. However, to their dismay around 4:00 p.m. a heavy, heavy fog rolled in, as was sometimes the custom for the damp southern California coastal area. The fog was so thick that watching out the window was pointless. While they both stayed very close to the front door, once the knock came, even as fast as they tried to be, the heavy fog hid their delivery host, although they thought they could hear steps in the distance, so they yelled out together, “Thank you!”.
Christmas morning was filled with the joy of new toys and children’s voices and the smells of cinnamon rolls and Christmas candies. Santa had been generous—with the help of some church friends. Stockings were filled with treats. Wrapping paper littered the living room and the sound of children’s laughter was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. It took a while to get to the door with all the new toys and books and ribbons to step over. As usual, there was no one there, but there was a paper plate with 12 pieces of homemade fudge and another note. To our surprise, the note revealed the identity of our secret visitor. It was neither the rich lady down the street nor the generous school teacher or even a family member. This Christmas offering had been the sole idea of a young teenage boy who lived around the corner. He was 15 years old and he had done it all by himself. His mother later explained to me that he had purchased each of the items entirely on his own and had carried out this whole 12-day process all by himself. We were speechless. How could such a quiet almost shy young man figure out what our hearts had needed in order to heal? Where did he get such wisdom in his youth? He would never know what a difference he had made in the lives of our family.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Alliance For Unity Food Drive
Congregations of all denominations will join together to donate food to the food banks throughout Utah on Saturday, December 6th. The goal this year is more than one million pounds of food.
Members of church congregations will organize the food drive in their own area, collect the donations and deliver them to designated drop off points. To find out the location of your community’s food bank and their drop off locations go to:
www.FoodBanksofUtah.org.
The food banks in Utah are thankful for the generosity of their communities. The need is greater than ever. Food banks throughout Utah are experiencing a 20% to 50% increase in those seeking help since last year.
In these tough times we can give thanks for the many things we have – family, friends, home and caring neighbors. The food banks are thankful for the community’s past support. Because the need is great, please give generously to the food drive on December 6th. If each one gives a bit more then many more can be helped.
Individual family donations are being accepted at all Jiffy Lube and Smith Food King locations throughout the holiday season.
Members of church congregations will organize the food drive in their own area, collect the donations and deliver them to designated drop off points. To find out the location of your community’s food bank and their drop off locations go to:
www.FoodBanksofUtah.org.
The food banks in Utah are thankful for the generosity of their communities. The need is greater than ever. Food banks throughout Utah are experiencing a 20% to 50% increase in those seeking help since last year.
In these tough times we can give thanks for the many things we have – family, friends, home and caring neighbors. The food banks are thankful for the community’s past support. Because the need is great, please give generously to the food drive on December 6th. If each one gives a bit more then many more can be helped.
Individual family donations are being accepted at all Jiffy Lube and Smith Food King locations throughout the holiday season.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
RADIO YOU HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR! by Sam Payne
Looking for a lift? yourldsradio.com hits the internet airwaves on Monday, November 3. It's a 24-hour, seven-days-a-week internet radio station dedicated to the music Latter-Day-Saints love. Wherever they are, and whenever they're connected to the internet, people who love LDS music can tune in for the best in uplifting inspirational music by their favorite Latter-Day-Saint artists.
The station brings together the talents of some of the LDS music industry's finest, including composer, playwright and radio broadcaster Steven Kapp Perry, long-time arranger and producer Greg Hansen, poet and songwriter Sam Payne, and former ops manager for "The Glenn Beck Program," David Dalley.
In addition to an always-on radio stream of great contemporary LDS music, visitors to yourldsradio.com can enjoy weekly audio segments like Steven Kapp Perry's "Cricket and Seagull fireside chat" (featuring interviews with prominent Latter-Day-Saint authors, artists, personalities, and more), the "Radio Family Journal with Sam Payne" (featuring two minutes of hometown wit and wisdom), and Greg Hansen's "New Artist Show" (featuring brief interviews with new faces in the LDS music community). Sunday listening options include a one- hour program of peaceful sacred music--just right for the Sabbath day.
With a built-in discussion board, yourldsradio.com provides a place where people can request songs, meet other LDS music aficionados, or comment on the music they hear.
Gaylen Rust, founder of yourldsradio.com, sees the internet as the perfect place for great LDS music to be introduced and enjoyed. “The beauty of an online radio station," he says, is that "it can be heard anytime, anywhere." With the world increasingly turning to the internet for news, information, and entertainment, chances are you spend some time in front of a computer screen. Anytime you're connected, enjoy the best in music for Latter-Day-Saints.
24-hours a day of the best in Latter-Day-Saint contemporary music: if you've been looking, you've found it! Make yourldsradio.com a part of your day.
The station brings together the talents of some of the LDS music industry's finest, including composer, playwright and radio broadcaster Steven Kapp Perry, long-time arranger and producer Greg Hansen, poet and songwriter Sam Payne, and former ops manager for "The Glenn Beck Program," David Dalley.
In addition to an always-on radio stream of great contemporary LDS music, visitors to yourldsradio.com can enjoy weekly audio segments like Steven Kapp Perry's "Cricket and Seagull fireside chat" (featuring interviews with prominent Latter-Day-Saint authors, artists, personalities, and more), the "Radio Family Journal with Sam Payne" (featuring two minutes of hometown wit and wisdom), and Greg Hansen's "New Artist Show" (featuring brief interviews with new faces in the LDS music community). Sunday listening options include a one- hour program of peaceful sacred music--just right for the Sabbath day.
With a built-in discussion board, yourldsradio.com provides a place where people can request songs, meet other LDS music aficionados, or comment on the music they hear.
Gaylen Rust, founder of yourldsradio.com, sees the internet as the perfect place for great LDS music to be introduced and enjoyed. “The beauty of an online radio station," he says, is that "it can be heard anytime, anywhere." With the world increasingly turning to the internet for news, information, and entertainment, chances are you spend some time in front of a computer screen. Anytime you're connected, enjoy the best in music for Latter-Day-Saints.
24-hours a day of the best in Latter-Day-Saint contemporary music: if you've been looking, you've found it! Make yourldsradio.com a part of your day.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Spotlight on Uganda by Kira Johnson
We had been planning our trip to Mukono, Uganda for almost a year now. We were going as volunteers from Help International and George Wythe College to introduce leadership education in local schools. But on the last leg of our flight, a knot formed in my stomach. My excitement and a tiny voice of inadequacy and fear battled it out for a minute. Do I know enough? Who will listen to us, we’re so young? Don’t you feel a little presumptuous to go and instruct teachers on how to do a better job? But with a few reassuring words from my husband Brian, and my excitement building back up, our plane landed.
We experienced culture shock. Cold showers, cockroaches, banana trees, dirt roads, and smiling half clothed children who called out mzungu! Mzungu! (white person) and ran to touch my hands and arms as we walked.
Within a few days we met teachers from nearby schools, and our teacher training courses and many friendships began. We attended some of their classes, sitting on small benches next to the students in classes of anywhere from fifteen to a hundred and forty students. It didn’t take long to see some of the challenges these teachers and others like them face in Uganda. Large class sizes, lack of materials, poor discipline, and an education system which revolves around three national exams.
The most common classroom environment was lecture and dictation, whether the students were eight or fifteen. As the teacher dictates word for word from the class’s one textbook, the students write it down and are expected to memorize the information for upcoming tests. The goal is getting through the material before the term is over and questions are often seen as interruptions. Getting the answer right on the test is seen as more important than understanding the concept. As one girl said, “We cram and cram and sometimes we don’t even know what we’re cramming.”
We taught concepts from A Thomas Jefferson Education by DeMille and 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Covey in our classes. We introduced and practiced discussion with our teachers, the importance of asking questions, and encouraging their students to ask questions. We discussed why education is important, that it should continue beyond school, how students learn in different ways and how we can help them.
In Uganda, becoming a teacher isn’t something men and women happily choose. They don’t see teaching as a noble occupation allowing them the opportunity to touch and change young lives. They see it as a low end job. Something they accepted by default because their test scores weren’t quite good enough to get them the government scholarship to be a doctor, a lawyer, or the nurse they had hoped to be. Most students and their families can’t afford the tuition themselves, so they accept the government scholarship to be a teacher.
So one of the most exciting and touching parts of our classes was when individual teachers opened their eyes to see that they have an important responsibility; that what they do matters. When Deborah realized that the child she inspires at school is going to have a better life because of her guidance and instruction. When Sembuze understood that education is something more than getting high grades on a test, and should continue through your life. That education is not something to hate and suffer through because memorizing well is the only chance you have to get a better life. It’s not necessarily getting the same answer as everyone else, but finding a better way to do things. Education is becoming a better person. To be inventive, to be curious, to be passionate, to work hard until you find a solution.
Ronald told us "Before this class I only read to teach the students. The minimum. I didn't like to read. Now, you can always see me with a book, even if it's only for a few minutes in between classes. And the funny thing is, my students have begun noticing. It spreads. Other teachers take notice now also. They see the difference in us and our classrooms."
By the end of the term we sat in the same classrooms and watched these teachers lead their students in discussion. Instead of shutting down questions, they encouraged them. Instead of saying “wrong answer” they helped their students discover the answer. We watched one class role play historical stories with the entire class laughing and involved. We saw teachers who had found a reason to teach, and a determination to continue their own education.
At first I saw the problems in Uganda, and we wanted to help. We went to teach. To share what we knew and hopefully make a difference. I don’t think we realized how much we would learn and grow from the teachers and other people we worked and spent time with. Brian and I are better teachers, and will be better parents because of our time there. We were impressed with the parents we saw who work so hard and make many sacrifices so they can pay the school fees for their children. With the teachers who want to be better, and were willing to try new things in their classes, and in turn taught us.
The cold showers and cockroaches I never learned to love, but we quickly came to enjoy and learn from our other experiences, and to love our new friends and adopted family. It was worth it.
We experienced culture shock. Cold showers, cockroaches, banana trees, dirt roads, and smiling half clothed children who called out mzungu! Mzungu! (white person) and ran to touch my hands and arms as we walked.
Within a few days we met teachers from nearby schools, and our teacher training courses and many friendships began. We attended some of their classes, sitting on small benches next to the students in classes of anywhere from fifteen to a hundred and forty students. It didn’t take long to see some of the challenges these teachers and others like them face in Uganda. Large class sizes, lack of materials, poor discipline, and an education system which revolves around three national exams.
The most common classroom environment was lecture and dictation, whether the students were eight or fifteen. As the teacher dictates word for word from the class’s one textbook, the students write it down and are expected to memorize the information for upcoming tests. The goal is getting through the material before the term is over and questions are often seen as interruptions. Getting the answer right on the test is seen as more important than understanding the concept. As one girl said, “We cram and cram and sometimes we don’t even know what we’re cramming.”
We taught concepts from A Thomas Jefferson Education by DeMille and 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Covey in our classes. We introduced and practiced discussion with our teachers, the importance of asking questions, and encouraging their students to ask questions. We discussed why education is important, that it should continue beyond school, how students learn in different ways and how we can help them.
In Uganda, becoming a teacher isn’t something men and women happily choose. They don’t see teaching as a noble occupation allowing them the opportunity to touch and change young lives. They see it as a low end job. Something they accepted by default because their test scores weren’t quite good enough to get them the government scholarship to be a doctor, a lawyer, or the nurse they had hoped to be. Most students and their families can’t afford the tuition themselves, so they accept the government scholarship to be a teacher.
So one of the most exciting and touching parts of our classes was when individual teachers opened their eyes to see that they have an important responsibility; that what they do matters. When Deborah realized that the child she inspires at school is going to have a better life because of her guidance and instruction. When Sembuze understood that education is something more than getting high grades on a test, and should continue through your life. That education is not something to hate and suffer through because memorizing well is the only chance you have to get a better life. It’s not necessarily getting the same answer as everyone else, but finding a better way to do things. Education is becoming a better person. To be inventive, to be curious, to be passionate, to work hard until you find a solution.
Ronald told us "Before this class I only read to teach the students. The minimum. I didn't like to read. Now, you can always see me with a book, even if it's only for a few minutes in between classes. And the funny thing is, my students have begun noticing. It spreads. Other teachers take notice now also. They see the difference in us and our classrooms."
By the end of the term we sat in the same classrooms and watched these teachers lead their students in discussion. Instead of shutting down questions, they encouraged them. Instead of saying “wrong answer” they helped their students discover the answer. We watched one class role play historical stories with the entire class laughing and involved. We saw teachers who had found a reason to teach, and a determination to continue their own education.
At first I saw the problems in Uganda, and we wanted to help. We went to teach. To share what we knew and hopefully make a difference. I don’t think we realized how much we would learn and grow from the teachers and other people we worked and spent time with. Brian and I are better teachers, and will be better parents because of our time there. We were impressed with the parents we saw who work so hard and make many sacrifices so they can pay the school fees for their children. With the teachers who want to be better, and were willing to try new things in their classes, and in turn taught us.
The cold showers and cockroaches I never learned to love, but we quickly came to enjoy and learn from our other experiences, and to love our new friends and adopted family. It was worth it.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
A Knight in Nazi Germany by Keith Conley
There is a bond, a brotherhood, among those who fly, spanning many years and accommodating many circumstances. That bond received a severe test in the events remembered in this memoir by Keith Conley, a World War II pilot. Mr. Conley passed away several years ago.
In a small railway station in wartime Nazi Germany, faced with imminent and obviously violent death from an enraged mob, I experienced a phenomenon that is unique in the modern age: the camaraderie of men who fly. This feeling of kinship among men of the same profession, regardless of race or nationality, has not been seen since the days of chivalry when knighthood was in flower. I do not know what causes the affinity. It may be the sense of sharing in the exploration of the limitless frontiers of the sky, or the sharing of a constant adventure with its ever present hazard of violent death. However, I do know that it does exist, even in a world of educated and nurtured hate, and its appearance in a moment of desperate need, can be welcome beyond belief.
This affinity of airmen has been documented in many chronicles of flight. The stories of Word War I aces tell of the air duels that highly resemble the gentlemanly tournaments of the Knights of King Arthur. Charles Lindberg tells of the years between the wars when airmen could cast aside all pretenses when they met, and talk in a friendly and common manner. Heinz Knoke, the German war ace, tells of World War II in which he treats the international kinship as something well known and understood.
My experience with the camaraderie of airmen began the morning of the 29th of July, 1943.
Our Fortress was one of a group of high flying planes on a bombing mission over northern Germany. Our bombs had been dropped and we were heading west toward England with that happy feeling of having another mission under the belt, when we received a particularly vicious fighter attack. An ME-109 appeared from nowhere and flew straight through the formation with all guns firing. After he completed his pass, my B-17 was a mass of flames and the left wing was practically shot away. I knew that the airplane could not last very long so there was no choice but to bail out. I was the last one to leave and made it just before the plane exploded. I pulled my ripcord almost immediately and hardly felt the opening shock and the bitter cold as I cursed my fate and sadly watched the Fortress formation disappear into the west.
My thoughts at this time were rather mixed. I was happy at having escaped from the burning airplane and at the same time both angry and apprehensive at the prospect of capture by an enemy, of whom I had heard so much bad and so little good. With this in mind, I began to hurriedly plan my steps of evasion: hide in the woods until dark, travel at night, keep a course south toward Switzerland, eat off the land, and eventually escape. I was beginning to actually feel optimistic about my chances when my planning was interrupted by the sound of an approaching airplane. It was a German fighter and the approach looked much like the head-on attacks I had experienced so often in the past few months.
The stories of airmen shot in their parachutes flashed through my mind. I tried desperately to think of an idea to escape this new danger. Before I could react the fighter was circling me and much to my surprise lowered his landing gear and flaps. He was then able to come by me slowly and as he did so, an amazing thing happened. The plot waved a friendly salute and then flew away letting down and out of sight.
I could hardly believe what I had seen. Nazi pilots just didn’t do things like that. The stories I had read and heard had described an enemy that was cold, implacable and brutal. The same stories had told of a people who had no warm human feelings as we knew them. This was my first close contact with the enemy and one friendly act could not blot from my mind all the stories of brutality. I decided that I could expect the worst if I were captured and that I would try my best to escape.
The new hope was short lived. As I hit the ground I was met by an elderly man with a swastika armband, a Lugar pistol and a determined air. After assuring himself that I was not armed, he nervously escorted me about a mile through wooded country to a local tavern that seemed to be a gathering place for captured American airmen. My crew had all shared the ignominy of immediate capture and had been brought here. We were all happy to be alive but quite unhappy at the prospects of our immediate future.
Although the tavern was a civilian place and may local people, excited and inquisitive, peered through the windows, the military took charge. We were searched, stripped of possessions and then forced to stand against the wall in an attitude of attention while what valuables we had were distributed amid jeering and laughter. We were then taken by truck to a nearby military camp where we received our first taste of the dark bread and potato soup diet that we were to exist on for the indeterminate future. After our meal we were locked in solitary confinement. Here we spent our first night in Germany lonely and full of self-pity.
The next morning we received a preliminary interrogation in a building and in an atmosphere which were almost exact replicas of Hollywood’s Nazi pictures. I had chuckled only a few days before at a movie presentation of Germany that I had considered grossly exaggerated. Now I was subjected to a view of heel clicking, pushing, kicking, guttural commands and general military behavior that could have been lifted from one of Warner Brothers’ most melodramatic scenes. It was all extremely tiring and depressing and it helped convince me that the fighter pilot’s gallant action of yesterday had been a mistake or hallucination.
The interrogation lasted about three hours. After it was over we were loaded into a truck and taken a short distance to a railway station in a small town near Hamburg. Here we were handed over to five guards and told that they would accompany us to Frankfurt in southwestern Germany. We received a briefing about the futility of escape and ominous threats of what would happen if we tried.
The railway station was a typical European shelter for travelers, concrete [with] high ceilings and dark. Its grey coldness and our disheveled and unkempt appearance perhaps contributed somewhat to the events that transpired. For certainly we were a nondescript, rough looking group, not having been able to wash or shave or clean up at all since our capture. We had no hats and our clothing ranged from the familiar pale blue heated flying suit to leather jacket and olive drab trousers; our shoes varied from the co-pilot’s high combat boots to the waist gunner’s bare feet. He had lost his shoes when his parachute opened and the Germans had not replaced them. Indeed we looked the living proof of the Nazi propaganda description of the American air gangster.
The station was literally filled with civilians, many of whom wore white conspicuous bandages, and most of them seemed to be carrying their earthly possessions. There were some military men and quite a few uniformed youngsters from the Hitler Youth organization. Most of the crowd consisted of ordinary middle aged and older people, many with babes in arms. They were refugees from fire bombed Hamburg. They had lived through the nightmare of three days and nights of merciless bombing and now they were homeless, frightened, shocked and vengeful.
Our appearance among these angry war victims was as a red flag to a bull. With the first cry of “Americanische Luft-gangster,” we could actually feel the rising emotion. The crowd had no leaders. None were needed. They all wanted to exact their personal revenge for the misery our bombing had caused them. They all wanted our blood and the only question was the method of getting it. Some of them wanted to hang us; some burn us; some beat us to death; and some even wanted to behead us. Our guards were naturally averse to using their guns on their own people and they themselves were badly frightened and ready to desert us at any moment.
The guards’ fright was nothing compared with mine. It is impossible to describe my fear at that moment. I had known fear in combat but that was fear that could partially be dispelled by the physical action that accompanied it. This was paralyzing fear, the kind that cannot be dispelled or reasoned away. It was certain that the crowd could not be reasoned with because by now their anger had increased to a point where they had become a lynch mob. The situation had reached the point where the overt action of any person there toward us would have been the final signal for the lynching. There seemed no way out and I planned to sell my life as dearly as possible.
But the action never came. At that moment, a most magnificent figure appeared between us and the crowd. The figure was in the person of a German Air Force Captain, tall, be-ribboned and superbly uniformed. He acted swiftly, with confident certainty and with authority that no one seemed to doubt his right to issue orders or dared to disobey them. He quickly formed the guards into a protective circle with bayonets bared. He ordered the military men, including the Hitler Youth, from the crowd and formed them into a further protective element. Within this circle he moved us quickly through a door into the street and then into a small building. The whole action had taken place so quickly that no one had time to stop it. I doubt whether the refugees really knew what had happened or where we had gone.
After our benefactor had dismissed the extra uniformed men and had issued our guard further orders, he turned to me and in a pleasant, relaxed manner and in American accented English asked what he could do to help us further. I was still unnerved from the events in the station and as a result was not prepared for this friendly gesture. I was so suspicious of the motives of any German that it took a moment or two before I could do more than grunt an unresponsive answer. However, after I had remembered the pilot’s action the day before and since I was so grateful to this one, I soon warmed to his obvious sincere friendliness. We talked of air combat and flying and even discussed the Milwaukee area and the ten years he had lived there. I told him we had been shot down the day before and mentioned the incident of the fighter pilot while I was in my parachute. He seemed quite affected by this story and soon after said he had to leave. I thanked him gratefully, on behalf of my crew, for what he had done in the railway station. He turned at the door as he was about to leave and made a parting remark that I shall never forget. He said, “I feel as though I owed it to you. You are flyers and so am I. But there is another reason. I am the pilot that shot you down.”
In a small railway station in wartime Nazi Germany, faced with imminent and obviously violent death from an enraged mob, I experienced a phenomenon that is unique in the modern age: the camaraderie of men who fly. This feeling of kinship among men of the same profession, regardless of race or nationality, has not been seen since the days of chivalry when knighthood was in flower. I do not know what causes the affinity. It may be the sense of sharing in the exploration of the limitless frontiers of the sky, or the sharing of a constant adventure with its ever present hazard of violent death. However, I do know that it does exist, even in a world of educated and nurtured hate, and its appearance in a moment of desperate need, can be welcome beyond belief.
This affinity of airmen has been documented in many chronicles of flight. The stories of Word War I aces tell of the air duels that highly resemble the gentlemanly tournaments of the Knights of King Arthur. Charles Lindberg tells of the years between the wars when airmen could cast aside all pretenses when they met, and talk in a friendly and common manner. Heinz Knoke, the German war ace, tells of World War II in which he treats the international kinship as something well known and understood.
My experience with the camaraderie of airmen began the morning of the 29th of July, 1943.
Our Fortress was one of a group of high flying planes on a bombing mission over northern Germany. Our bombs had been dropped and we were heading west toward England with that happy feeling of having another mission under the belt, when we received a particularly vicious fighter attack. An ME-109 appeared from nowhere and flew straight through the formation with all guns firing. After he completed his pass, my B-17 was a mass of flames and the left wing was practically shot away. I knew that the airplane could not last very long so there was no choice but to bail out. I was the last one to leave and made it just before the plane exploded. I pulled my ripcord almost immediately and hardly felt the opening shock and the bitter cold as I cursed my fate and sadly watched the Fortress formation disappear into the west.
My thoughts at this time were rather mixed. I was happy at having escaped from the burning airplane and at the same time both angry and apprehensive at the prospect of capture by an enemy, of whom I had heard so much bad and so little good. With this in mind, I began to hurriedly plan my steps of evasion: hide in the woods until dark, travel at night, keep a course south toward Switzerland, eat off the land, and eventually escape. I was beginning to actually feel optimistic about my chances when my planning was interrupted by the sound of an approaching airplane. It was a German fighter and the approach looked much like the head-on attacks I had experienced so often in the past few months.
The stories of airmen shot in their parachutes flashed through my mind. I tried desperately to think of an idea to escape this new danger. Before I could react the fighter was circling me and much to my surprise lowered his landing gear and flaps. He was then able to come by me slowly and as he did so, an amazing thing happened. The plot waved a friendly salute and then flew away letting down and out of sight.
I could hardly believe what I had seen. Nazi pilots just didn’t do things like that. The stories I had read and heard had described an enemy that was cold, implacable and brutal. The same stories had told of a people who had no warm human feelings as we knew them. This was my first close contact with the enemy and one friendly act could not blot from my mind all the stories of brutality. I decided that I could expect the worst if I were captured and that I would try my best to escape.
The new hope was short lived. As I hit the ground I was met by an elderly man with a swastika armband, a Lugar pistol and a determined air. After assuring himself that I was not armed, he nervously escorted me about a mile through wooded country to a local tavern that seemed to be a gathering place for captured American airmen. My crew had all shared the ignominy of immediate capture and had been brought here. We were all happy to be alive but quite unhappy at the prospects of our immediate future.
Although the tavern was a civilian place and may local people, excited and inquisitive, peered through the windows, the military took charge. We were searched, stripped of possessions and then forced to stand against the wall in an attitude of attention while what valuables we had were distributed amid jeering and laughter. We were then taken by truck to a nearby military camp where we received our first taste of the dark bread and potato soup diet that we were to exist on for the indeterminate future. After our meal we were locked in solitary confinement. Here we spent our first night in Germany lonely and full of self-pity.
The next morning we received a preliminary interrogation in a building and in an atmosphere which were almost exact replicas of Hollywood’s Nazi pictures. I had chuckled only a few days before at a movie presentation of Germany that I had considered grossly exaggerated. Now I was subjected to a view of heel clicking, pushing, kicking, guttural commands and general military behavior that could have been lifted from one of Warner Brothers’ most melodramatic scenes. It was all extremely tiring and depressing and it helped convince me that the fighter pilot’s gallant action of yesterday had been a mistake or hallucination.
The interrogation lasted about three hours. After it was over we were loaded into a truck and taken a short distance to a railway station in a small town near Hamburg. Here we were handed over to five guards and told that they would accompany us to Frankfurt in southwestern Germany. We received a briefing about the futility of escape and ominous threats of what would happen if we tried.
The railway station was a typical European shelter for travelers, concrete [with] high ceilings and dark. Its grey coldness and our disheveled and unkempt appearance perhaps contributed somewhat to the events that transpired. For certainly we were a nondescript, rough looking group, not having been able to wash or shave or clean up at all since our capture. We had no hats and our clothing ranged from the familiar pale blue heated flying suit to leather jacket and olive drab trousers; our shoes varied from the co-pilot’s high combat boots to the waist gunner’s bare feet. He had lost his shoes when his parachute opened and the Germans had not replaced them. Indeed we looked the living proof of the Nazi propaganda description of the American air gangster.
The station was literally filled with civilians, many of whom wore white conspicuous bandages, and most of them seemed to be carrying their earthly possessions. There were some military men and quite a few uniformed youngsters from the Hitler Youth organization. Most of the crowd consisted of ordinary middle aged and older people, many with babes in arms. They were refugees from fire bombed Hamburg. They had lived through the nightmare of three days and nights of merciless bombing and now they were homeless, frightened, shocked and vengeful.
Our appearance among these angry war victims was as a red flag to a bull. With the first cry of “Americanische Luft-gangster,” we could actually feel the rising emotion. The crowd had no leaders. None were needed. They all wanted to exact their personal revenge for the misery our bombing had caused them. They all wanted our blood and the only question was the method of getting it. Some of them wanted to hang us; some burn us; some beat us to death; and some even wanted to behead us. Our guards were naturally averse to using their guns on their own people and they themselves were badly frightened and ready to desert us at any moment.
The guards’ fright was nothing compared with mine. It is impossible to describe my fear at that moment. I had known fear in combat but that was fear that could partially be dispelled by the physical action that accompanied it. This was paralyzing fear, the kind that cannot be dispelled or reasoned away. It was certain that the crowd could not be reasoned with because by now their anger had increased to a point where they had become a lynch mob. The situation had reached the point where the overt action of any person there toward us would have been the final signal for the lynching. There seemed no way out and I planned to sell my life as dearly as possible.
But the action never came. At that moment, a most magnificent figure appeared between us and the crowd. The figure was in the person of a German Air Force Captain, tall, be-ribboned and superbly uniformed. He acted swiftly, with confident certainty and with authority that no one seemed to doubt his right to issue orders or dared to disobey them. He quickly formed the guards into a protective circle with bayonets bared. He ordered the military men, including the Hitler Youth, from the crowd and formed them into a further protective element. Within this circle he moved us quickly through a door into the street and then into a small building. The whole action had taken place so quickly that no one had time to stop it. I doubt whether the refugees really knew what had happened or where we had gone.
After our benefactor had dismissed the extra uniformed men and had issued our guard further orders, he turned to me and in a pleasant, relaxed manner and in American accented English asked what he could do to help us further. I was still unnerved from the events in the station and as a result was not prepared for this friendly gesture. I was so suspicious of the motives of any German that it took a moment or two before I could do more than grunt an unresponsive answer. However, after I had remembered the pilot’s action the day before and since I was so grateful to this one, I soon warmed to his obvious sincere friendliness. We talked of air combat and flying and even discussed the Milwaukee area and the ten years he had lived there. I told him we had been shot down the day before and mentioned the incident of the fighter pilot while I was in my parachute. He seemed quite affected by this story and soon after said he had to leave. I thanked him gratefully, on behalf of my crew, for what he had done in the railway station. He turned at the door as he was about to leave and made a parting remark that I shall never forget. He said, “I feel as though I owed it to you. You are flyers and so am I. But there is another reason. I am the pilot that shot you down.”
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Whitney Awards-And the winners are...
On Saturday, March 22nd, several writers were recognized for their excellence in literary fiction as LDS authors at the Whitney Awards. All of us at yourLDSneighborhood wish to congratulate the winning authors and all of the finalists for the 2007 Whitney Awards.
The Whitney Awards gala was held on the concluding evening of the annual LDS Storymakers Writing Conference, in Sandy, Utah. The Whitney Award has seven contest categories and a Life Time Achievement award. yourLDSneighborhood gave five contest award winners a cash prize of $500 each and awarded an additional $1000 for both Best Novel of the Year and Best Novel by a New Author.
While attending the 2006 LDS Storymakers writing conference, Robison Wells was inspired to begin a program to award great writing and encourage LDS fiction. Robison is now the president of the Whitney Awards Committee
The Whitney Award was named in honor of Elder Orson F. Whitney in reference to his inspirational quote dated 1888.
We will yet have Miltons and Shakespeares of our own.
God’s ammunition is not exhausted. His brightest spirits are held in reserve for the latter times. In God’s name and by His help we will build up a literature whose top shall touch heaven, though its foundations may now be low in earth.
Small things are the seeds of great things, and, like the acorn that brings forth the oak, the snowflake that forms the avalanche, God’s kingdom will grow and on wings of light and power soar to the summit if its destiny.
The winners who soared are:
Best Novel of the Year
On the Road to Heaven
by Coke Newell
Best Novel by a New Author
Dragon Slippers
by Jessica Day George
Best Romance/Women's Fiction
Counting Stars
by Michele Paige Holmes
Best Mystery/Suspense
Sheep’s Clothing
By Josi Kilpack
Best Young Adult/Children
Fablehaven: Rise of the Evening Star
by Brandon Mull
Best Speculative Fiction
Book of a Thousand Days
by Shannon Hale
Best Historical
Out of Jerusalem, Vol. 4
Land of Inheritance
by Heather B. Moore
Lifetime Achievement Awards
Jennie Hansen, Anita Stansfield, Dean Hughes
The first year for the Whitney Award was a huge success. The Nomination Committee received over 600 nominating entries from readers. The award recipients were extremely grateful. The Whitney has already become a coveted award, undoubtedly encouraging talents out from under bushels and refining gifts to raise the mark of excellence. LDS fiction is a rapidly growing market with many books being recognized by national awards.
The momentum of the Whitney Awards is well described by Annette Lyon, author and co-chair of the 2007 LDS Storymakers Conference:
As the evening wore on, I felt a surging sense of awe and privilege. That night represented the beginning of something very big. And I got to be a small part of it. I even got to be involved a tiny bit in its creation. I was sitting in the middle of a piece of history. The thought was overwhelming. I felt so honored to be in the company of those around me, to bear witness to the birth of something so much bigger than myself, something meaningful, something that I believe Orson F. Whitney himself smiled down upon."
May he keep smiling. Congratulations to all involved in the 2007 Whitney Awards. For more information visit whitneyawards.com
The Whitney Awards gala was held on the concluding evening of the annual LDS Storymakers Writing Conference, in Sandy, Utah. The Whitney Award has seven contest categories and a Life Time Achievement award. yourLDSneighborhood gave five contest award winners a cash prize of $500 each and awarded an additional $1000 for both Best Novel of the Year and Best Novel by a New Author.
While attending the 2006 LDS Storymakers writing conference, Robison Wells was inspired to begin a program to award great writing and encourage LDS fiction. Robison is now the president of the Whitney Awards Committee
The Whitney Award was named in honor of Elder Orson F. Whitney in reference to his inspirational quote dated 1888.
We will yet have Miltons and Shakespeares of our own.
God’s ammunition is not exhausted. His brightest spirits are held in reserve for the latter times. In God’s name and by His help we will build up a literature whose top shall touch heaven, though its foundations may now be low in earth.
Small things are the seeds of great things, and, like the acorn that brings forth the oak, the snowflake that forms the avalanche, God’s kingdom will grow and on wings of light and power soar to the summit if its destiny.
The winners who soared are:
Best Novel of the Year
On the Road to Heaven
by Coke Newell
Best Novel by a New Author
Dragon Slippers
by Jessica Day George
Best Romance/Women's Fiction
Counting Stars
by Michele Paige Holmes
Best Mystery/Suspense
Sheep’s Clothing
By Josi Kilpack
Best Young Adult/Children
Fablehaven: Rise of the Evening Star
by Brandon Mull
Best Speculative Fiction
Book of a Thousand Days
by Shannon Hale
Best Historical
Out of Jerusalem, Vol. 4
Land of Inheritance
by Heather B. Moore
Lifetime Achievement Awards
Jennie Hansen, Anita Stansfield, Dean Hughes
The first year for the Whitney Award was a huge success. The Nomination Committee received over 600 nominating entries from readers. The award recipients were extremely grateful. The Whitney has already become a coveted award, undoubtedly encouraging talents out from under bushels and refining gifts to raise the mark of excellence. LDS fiction is a rapidly growing market with many books being recognized by national awards.
The momentum of the Whitney Awards is well described by Annette Lyon, author and co-chair of the 2007 LDS Storymakers Conference:
As the evening wore on, I felt a surging sense of awe and privilege. That night represented the beginning of something very big. And I got to be a small part of it. I even got to be involved a tiny bit in its creation. I was sitting in the middle of a piece of history. The thought was overwhelming. I felt so honored to be in the company of those around me, to bear witness to the birth of something so much bigger than myself, something meaningful, something that I believe Orson F. Whitney himself smiled down upon."
May he keep smiling. Congratulations to all involved in the 2007 Whitney Awards. For more information visit whitneyawards.com
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
How To Make Cold Mornings Memorable for your School Kids by Greg Hansen
She moans, she grunts, she sighs and huffs, as she laboriously pulls herself up the stairs, hand over hand on the stair rail, mimicking a convict fettered to a ball and chain. Her eyes are mere slits, fending off the light as if it were some gaseous acid, a black cloud of scribbles over her head like a grumpy Calvin and Hobbes cartoon character.
The Zombie has arisen. “She lives!” I screech in my best imitation of Dr. Frankenstein upon seeing his monster come to life.
“Mmmphh”...she grumbles from beneath the tangled hair. But ten minutes later, she is happy, awake and back to her convivial, daytime self--even though I know the Teenage Zombie will return tomorrow morning. What made the difference? Gourmet hot chocolate, background music, and a warm ambience. She just had a cup of hot cocoa, served up in her favorite horse-themed mug, whipped up by my fabulous Mr. Coffee 32 oz. Motion Hot Beverage Maker. This mug has Stephen’s Gourmet Mint Truffle Cocoa mix crowned with a dollop of French Vanilla Cool-Whip and some Smucker's hot fudge. It has a nice healthy froth like you'd find in the latte shops. Some fine one-sided conversation about the day’s upcoming events and a flip of the gas log fireplace switch gets her warmed up from the inside out, and the outside in. Michael Dowdle's 25 Beloved Carols of Christmas, the most effective mood music you'll ever find, is playing in the background. Soon, she is back to the sweet, generous, and studious girl we know and love. If you decide to try this with your kids, here are a few tips: Hot chocolate made with a hot chocolate maker leaves you free to shower up while it’s working. No mess or gloppy glassfulls result like when you use hot water in a cup. Wal-Mart stocks the Cocomotion Hot Chocolate Maker in season, priced about 28 bucks. It makes four generous, memorable mugs. Simply add the ingredients to the machine, turn it on, and walk away. Try adding two cups milk and two cups water instead of four cups water when adding the ingredients to the machine. No matter what brand of instant cocoa you use, it will taste richer. Two percent milk is fine. Follow it with four generous scoops of cocoa mix. Customize the flavors as needed. My kids like Stephen’s Gourmet Mint Truffle, but there are also other delicious brands that come in flavors such as orange and raspberry. Add a dash of raspberry or strawberry syrup, a spoonful of marshmallow cream, or a peppermint dissolved in the mix.
Top it off with any number of favorites: Whipped cream in a can, whipped topping of any flavor from a container, or marshmallows of varying sizes or colors. Use your imagination on other holidays such as Halloween and Thanksgiving, or Valentine’s Day. Cinnamon sticks make good stirrers, as do unused peppermint sticks leftover from Christmas. Plastic sipping straws will get them out the door on time it the cocoa’s too hot. Every great restaurant has ambient music, why not try it yourself? Michael Dowdle's acoustic guitar work is near legendary for creating a great vibe to start the day. Find it at www.LDSTunesNow.com, under the Michael Dowdle category. You can download the mp3s and burn a Cd immediately.
It’s a fun, inexpensive way to make those winter mornings something the kids will remember and look forward to.
Greg Hansen is a record producer, writer and horseman. For more information about Greg, visit his website at www.greg-hansen.com
The Zombie has arisen. “She lives!” I screech in my best imitation of Dr. Frankenstein upon seeing his monster come to life.
“Mmmphh”...she grumbles from beneath the tangled hair. But ten minutes later, she is happy, awake and back to her convivial, daytime self--even though I know the Teenage Zombie will return tomorrow morning. What made the difference? Gourmet hot chocolate, background music, and a warm ambience. She just had a cup of hot cocoa, served up in her favorite horse-themed mug, whipped up by my fabulous Mr. Coffee 32 oz. Motion Hot Beverage Maker. This mug has Stephen’s Gourmet Mint Truffle Cocoa mix crowned with a dollop of French Vanilla Cool-Whip and some Smucker's hot fudge. It has a nice healthy froth like you'd find in the latte shops. Some fine one-sided conversation about the day’s upcoming events and a flip of the gas log fireplace switch gets her warmed up from the inside out, and the outside in. Michael Dowdle's 25 Beloved Carols of Christmas, the most effective mood music you'll ever find, is playing in the background. Soon, she is back to the sweet, generous, and studious girl we know and love. If you decide to try this with your kids, here are a few tips: Hot chocolate made with a hot chocolate maker leaves you free to shower up while it’s working. No mess or gloppy glassfulls result like when you use hot water in a cup. Wal-Mart stocks the Cocomotion Hot Chocolate Maker in season, priced about 28 bucks. It makes four generous, memorable mugs. Simply add the ingredients to the machine, turn it on, and walk away. Try adding two cups milk and two cups water instead of four cups water when adding the ingredients to the machine. No matter what brand of instant cocoa you use, it will taste richer. Two percent milk is fine. Follow it with four generous scoops of cocoa mix. Customize the flavors as needed. My kids like Stephen’s Gourmet Mint Truffle, but there are also other delicious brands that come in flavors such as orange and raspberry. Add a dash of raspberry or strawberry syrup, a spoonful of marshmallow cream, or a peppermint dissolved in the mix.
Top it off with any number of favorites: Whipped cream in a can, whipped topping of any flavor from a container, or marshmallows of varying sizes or colors. Use your imagination on other holidays such as Halloween and Thanksgiving, or Valentine’s Day. Cinnamon sticks make good stirrers, as do unused peppermint sticks leftover from Christmas. Plastic sipping straws will get them out the door on time it the cocoa’s too hot. Every great restaurant has ambient music, why not try it yourself? Michael Dowdle's acoustic guitar work is near legendary for creating a great vibe to start the day. Find it at www.LDSTunesNow.com, under the Michael Dowdle category. You can download the mp3s and burn a Cd immediately.
It’s a fun, inexpensive way to make those winter mornings something the kids will remember and look forward to.
Greg Hansen is a record producer, writer and horseman. For more information about Greg, visit his website at www.greg-hansen.com
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Visiting Teaching - More Than A Plate of Cookies
In 1997, I became active again in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Though I knew through many powerful manifestations that this was what I should be doing, it was scary. My husband was rekindling his activation in his church to pit against my revival. We had just had our first child. Of course, the issue of which religion our son would be raised with was at the forefront of our home.
I only knew three sisters in my ward, two dear neighbors and the Relief Society president. However, one day my quiet phone rang. The sister on the other end introduced herself as my visiting teacher. We small talked a bit. She asked if she and her partner could visit me. She also asked if they could share a lesson from the Ensign magazine. She informed me the lesson was on the Holy Ghost.
My husband had already told me that he did not want any of my people coming into our home. Especially no religion taught. I mentioned this point to my visiting teacher and that I would need to check with my husband about their visit.
In discussing this proposed visit with him I told him how I needed to know more women. I had recently quit my job. So, I was at home everyday, all day, alone with our baby. He consented to the visit with the condition that he needed to be in attendance. I told him about the lesson my visiting teacher had mentioned. This was quite a discussion, but we agreed that both of our religions had the Holy Ghost in common. We compromised with the decision that the sisters could visit once with a lesson.
I called the sister back and we set up a time for their visit. I informed her that my husband would be joining us. How intimidating for these sisters but, sure enough they came.
My husband and I greeted my visiting teachers as they entered our home. After they had settled in on the couch they gave me a popcorn cut-out labeled “Just Popping in to say Hello!” Their names and phone numbers were included. They asked to offer a prayer, we chatted a bit and then they gave the lesson. They stayed probably 20 minutes.
My husband never really said much during the visit. In fact, he sat sternly with his arms folded. After the two sisters left, he quickly announced he didn’t feel he needed to be there again when they came to our home.
I had felt the spirit so strongly with these sisters. I could see how unfamiliar my husband was with the spirit and how uncomfortable it made him. He had shifted and squirmed. I was excited because he felt the spirit.
I was grateful to these sisters for calling. I placed their popcorn cut-out on the fridge. It made me feel good when I saw it. They were my friends. They came regularly. They cared. They shared that they prayed for me. They were casual. They were always there and had a lesson prepared. They would even bring cookies occasionally.
My son had a few medical problems as a baby. He had severe reflux and occasionally his wind pipe would collapse. When both of these things happened at the same time I would have to clear his throat and stimulate his breathing. He would turn blue and it was awfully scary. One day was particularly difficult. I had to get my son breathing a number of times; I was a worried, nervous wreck. My pediatrician kept telling me that his wind pipe was getting stronger, and there was nothing to do but keep with what we were doing. My husband was working a massive amount of hours and we weren’t getting along too well. My family was far away. I felt so alone.
Then, I received a phone call from one of my visiting teachers. She told me that she just felt like she needed to call and wanted to know if everything was alright. Was there anything she could do for me? She had already done it. She showed me she cared. It wasn’t a fleeting thought that she didn’t act on. She prayed for me because she really cared. She called because she really cared. Have I been touched by the Saviors hands? Have I felt his love? You bet! Instruments in the hands of God! Visiting teaching is the Lord’s work.
Time passed, we moved and we grew stronger. One fall day, it gave me great pleasure to call one of these sisters and tell her that my family had just been sealed in the temple. I was able to thank her for their genuine love and service to my family. What a difference these sisters made for all eternity.
I only knew three sisters in my ward, two dear neighbors and the Relief Society president. However, one day my quiet phone rang. The sister on the other end introduced herself as my visiting teacher. We small talked a bit. She asked if she and her partner could visit me. She also asked if they could share a lesson from the Ensign magazine. She informed me the lesson was on the Holy Ghost.
My husband had already told me that he did not want any of my people coming into our home. Especially no religion taught. I mentioned this point to my visiting teacher and that I would need to check with my husband about their visit.
In discussing this proposed visit with him I told him how I needed to know more women. I had recently quit my job. So, I was at home everyday, all day, alone with our baby. He consented to the visit with the condition that he needed to be in attendance. I told him about the lesson my visiting teacher had mentioned. This was quite a discussion, but we agreed that both of our religions had the Holy Ghost in common. We compromised with the decision that the sisters could visit once with a lesson.
I called the sister back and we set up a time for their visit. I informed her that my husband would be joining us. How intimidating for these sisters but, sure enough they came.
My husband and I greeted my visiting teachers as they entered our home. After they had settled in on the couch they gave me a popcorn cut-out labeled “Just Popping in to say Hello!” Their names and phone numbers were included. They asked to offer a prayer, we chatted a bit and then they gave the lesson. They stayed probably 20 minutes.
My husband never really said much during the visit. In fact, he sat sternly with his arms folded. After the two sisters left, he quickly announced he didn’t feel he needed to be there again when they came to our home.
I had felt the spirit so strongly with these sisters. I could see how unfamiliar my husband was with the spirit and how uncomfortable it made him. He had shifted and squirmed. I was excited because he felt the spirit.
I was grateful to these sisters for calling. I placed their popcorn cut-out on the fridge. It made me feel good when I saw it. They were my friends. They came regularly. They cared. They shared that they prayed for me. They were casual. They were always there and had a lesson prepared. They would even bring cookies occasionally.
My son had a few medical problems as a baby. He had severe reflux and occasionally his wind pipe would collapse. When both of these things happened at the same time I would have to clear his throat and stimulate his breathing. He would turn blue and it was awfully scary. One day was particularly difficult. I had to get my son breathing a number of times; I was a worried, nervous wreck. My pediatrician kept telling me that his wind pipe was getting stronger, and there was nothing to do but keep with what we were doing. My husband was working a massive amount of hours and we weren’t getting along too well. My family was far away. I felt so alone.
Then, I received a phone call from one of my visiting teachers. She told me that she just felt like she needed to call and wanted to know if everything was alright. Was there anything she could do for me? She had already done it. She showed me she cared. It wasn’t a fleeting thought that she didn’t act on. She prayed for me because she really cared. She called because she really cared. Have I been touched by the Saviors hands? Have I felt his love? You bet! Instruments in the hands of God! Visiting teaching is the Lord’s work.
Time passed, we moved and we grew stronger. One fall day, it gave me great pleasure to call one of these sisters and tell her that my family had just been sealed in the temple. I was able to thank her for their genuine love and service to my family. What a difference these sisters made for all eternity.
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