The List

Father's Day was yesterday. We are still feeling the ripples from the waves of meaningful Fathers in our lives. You know how sometimes you wish there were more days in the week-end? Well that's pretty much how I feel about special days that pay honor to our loved ones. They are not long enough. Sometimes we need a refresher more than just once a year.

When I was 18, my brother Jeff and I got our Patriarchal Blessings. It has been a true blessing in my life. I don't read it overly a lot, but I know exactly where it is. My connection with it is almost daily though, as I rehearse in my mind those memorized words of personal council that sometimes catch me off guard. It was especially meaningful in my younger days, when I first received it. This was my own blessing. I would read it over and over. That's when the words began imprinting in my mind and heart.

To this day, I can recite a long paragraph that means a lot to me. It's the one where it talks about being worthy and recognizing my future companion. It begins with "He will . . .and he will . . . and he will . . ." When I think about it, if lists were part of blessings, mine would have been written in list form. When I met Randy, I knew the list. I also knew what to watch for. The more I knew Randy, the more easily I could insert "Randy will . . .and Randy will . . . and Randy will . . . " Heavenly Father knew Randy. He also knew me. He knew I needed a list. I was warned to be extremely careful in choosing. I was. Randy came along and was everything on the list.

Some of the list pertained to he and I, but a lot of the list was all about our future children. So when it came to the "he will" parts, it was easy to picture Randy as a Dad, even though that seemed so far in our future. I never worried about it and I never will. I am grateful for faith, spiritual promptings, families, a knowing Heavenly Father, . . . and Randy, the good Dad that I recognized from "the list"even before we had children.

Happy Fathers Day, Dad!

Khaki's are good for working,
Or sitting in your chair,
Disguising Bondo's lunch,
And giving feral cats a scare.

You can wear them through all seasons,
Especially up at Macks.
(I hear they keep you safer,
In case of bear attacks!)

They also hide the spill marks
From all the cement mixin',
You don't even need an apron
For delicious ice cream fixin'.

From dawn until the sun sets
In and out and here and there,
Khaki's make life great!
Thought you could use another pair.

I LOVE YOU, DAD!

Senior Assembly

At the end of my Senior year at Arcadia high school (class of 1971), I was walking my usual route (trying not to trip, because . . . oh yes, I had tripped before!) through the campus one morning. Out of the blue, a friend called to me to tell me about the early morning assembly that had just ended. I don't even recall knowing about an assembly. Even if I did know about it, it would have been something I purposely would have avoided, if it wasn't required.

Growing up with the last name "Buehner" I had learned quickly who my friends really were. Some of my high school experiences are not very fond because of this. I could live without this assembly.

I chose my friends carefully. They were nice, good, slap-happy funny, fellow seminarians, quirky, bad drivers, off campus lunch goers, and streaky Quick tan wearers (who, like me could never get an even tan at our ankles because the sock line from our lives of wearing anklets left that part of our legs always shades whiter than the upper part). I still think of them today and wish we could walk aimlessly around and around the block at night, wearing our Dr. Pepper lip gloss. I was happy, just not into the Student Body thing (most of them were cliquish and I had few friends there).

So, that morning when my friend came running up, she informed me that it was a Senior assembly that I had missed - to recognize students with the most votes for "Most Likely to Succeed, Miss Congeniality, Mr. Macho. . ." (who knows what else!) . I thought, "So? And your point is?" I came back to life when she told me that I had been nominated. Yes, Me. . . "Most Timid". It felt like I was in a tunnel, where her voice echoed so loudly that I had to cover my ears. Exactly the reason I was content to miss the assembly! I was horrified. How demeaning. How embarrassing. What did I ever do to deserve THIS? I was crushed. It ruined my day.

I must have told my Mom about it when I got home, because when my Dad got home, I found myself in his office, for a little counseling session. He gently reminded me that I was from a class of 400 kids. "That is a lot of kids", he said. "And for you to be noticed, even as "Most Timid" was kind of a good tribute. You were noticed! Imagine the kids who were not noticed? That leaves a lot of unrecognized kids." Hmmm. I could feel my despair m e l t away. Maybe it wasn't so bad. . .I was unable to speak. I wonder if he could see in my eyes how he had completely changed my life?

Because of my Dad, I saw a broader picture. I will always be so grateful for his counsel. I'll always have a story to tell about "Most Timid". I still shutter when I think about it, but just before I flip out . . . I Smile really big!

Happy Father's Day! I Love you, Dad!

Flat Tire

One summer, quite a few years ago, I found myself driving alone with all of the kids. It wasn't that big of a deal, except that we were in Idaho. We had just dropped Randy off at the airport to return home for work. We attended a cousin's wedding reception and then we were off on a venture to the cabin. It was daylight. Things were under control. I could do this.

As we rolled along the unfamiliar access road to enter the highway, however, I knew I had a small problem. The road was smooth, but it felt like we were hitting only pot holes. I found a side street and quickly pulled off. Leaving all my good kids in the car, I got out and sure enough, the back tire was flat. Me - alone - only the kids - strange place in Idaho - a little scary.

As I stood there, I must have looked helpless to the couple who just happened to come jogging by. I was relieved to see them. Thank goodness they were willing to help remedy our situation. As I retrieved the tire changing gear from the back, the man promptly got on his back, while the woman got down to help him. They were a team. I pretty much stood back and made smaller than small talk. I was so grateful to them. As time went on, however, it became apparent that the man was having a hard time. I became more nervous as the sky began to get gray. He was a hard worker, but struggled. His hands shook as he unscrewed each bolt. He huffed and puffed and kept wiping away sweat from his face. At one point, as I came around to check on the kids, I heard the woman's voice behind me. She whispered, "You don't know how much this means to him." She explained that he was recovering from some limitations and though this was hard for him, he really needed the experience to prove himself. She was the grateful one - they both were. I also couldn't help but notice his ragged clothing. You could tell he didn't have much. It was dark when he finished. He had managed to change my tire in a completely charitable manner. He never hesitated. And as I stood there, face to face, thanking the couple, before we parted, I was pleased to be able to pay him more than I would have any other.

We loaded up again and were off - up the mountain, in the dark, to the cabin. I could have felt sorry for myself in any other situation. Flat tires are no fun. But I had been taught an overwhelming lesson that day. My misfortune was only this little jogging man's gain. Our flat tire experience met his needs. I think we would have been safe either way. But I also think that our flat tire was minor, compared to what he benefited.

Even though it was dark, things were still under control. I could not have done it alone. I'm sure were all being watched over that day.