Angels in the Temple

There were angels in the temple;

Right before my eyes.

When the elevator opened,

Much to my surprise -

He stood in radiating white;

To another one he faced.

My hand reached out to clutch his arm,

Then wrapped around his waist.

With a stuttering introduction;
Glad tidings we both had.

I smoothed the greeting over

While explaining, "He's my Dad!"

He went his way on errand.

I continued on my own.

Then another angel beckoned.

Dad was not alone.

My eyes drew toward a staircase,

And sitting in a chair

Sat my angelic Mother

Peacefully awaiting there.

My heart began to flutter

As I drifted to her side.

She held her hand out gracefully

And I reached for it with pride.

We whispered thoughts of happiness,

Of perfect days like this.

We talked of loved ones gone before,

And this coincidence of bliss.

I saw angels in the temple.

What a blessed day!

My own angels right in front of me.

It took my breath away.

(With Love, Jody)

Thank heaven for little . . . blossoms

Oh April showers
May come your way.
They bring the flowers
That bloom in . . . September!

(to be continued . . !)

:)

Life is a blessing.

Love / Hate relationship with the skin Dr.

Last Monday I had a skin appointment . . . again.  It had been on the calendar for a while.  When the Dr. said she wanted me back in 3 months, I was a little relieved.  She was knowledgeable to the signs of trouble sooner than I.  Having three surgeries on my neck in one summer a couple of years ago, it was obvious I needed more attention than just my own diagnosis.

I was actually counting the days until my appointment, not because I loved going so much, but I had developed one for sure spot on the back of my calf that seemed to pop up overnight.   When I pointed it out, she kept saying, "Oooooo".  Then she turned toward her new ipad technology and scribbled away saying, "How about we do a biopsy?"  She continued to go over skin I could not see, until she got to the back of my thigh, and again I heard, "Oooooo".. (she really does have ex ray eyes!).  Then before I knew it she was taking photos of my marks and had me down for two biopsies; one on each leg.  If I could have run away I would have.  Is there a violation for that?  Oh, the times like this when I wished I could have run.  But I stayed, and they "doctored me up".

On the way out, she told me it would probably take two weeks for the results.  Great. That'll be fun.  Right during our cruise.  Does it get any more fun than that?

It's been a week.  I have babied my little abrasions.  All the while remembering flawless skin in days of yore.  I cringed to think what was in store. . . The phone rang a few minutes ago.  I was surprised to hear the voice of the nurse, since I thought I had another uninterrupted week to go.  In that split second, my worries kicked in and I convinced myself that my flaws were so bad, another week would be too late!  But I swallowed hard, composed myself, and tried to sound unfrazzled.

 "The results from both of the biopsies are benign", she said. (If I was a nurse or doctor, delivering that kind of news would be the favorite part of my job!)  I stuttered as I tried to tell her I had expected the worst.  "Did I make your day?"  she laughed.  I replied with emotion, "Definitely!"  She has no idea the new life line she threw me! 

Today I am a new person with a couple of healable imperfections.  And a sweet gratitude for blessings I don't deserve. 

memorable movie quote

(I just didn't want to forget this.  I think about it a lot.  From  "God is Not Dead")

Mark: You prayed and believed your whole life. Never done anything wrong. And here you are. You're the nicest person I know. I am the meanest. You have dementia. My life is perfect. Explain that to me!
Mina's Mother: Sometimes the devil allows people to live a life free of trouble because he doesn't want them turning to God. Their sin is like a jail cell, except it is all nice and comfy and there doesn't seem to be any reason to leave. The door's wide open. Till one day, time runs out, and the cell door slams shut, and suddenly it's too late.

Never Deeper

A new beginning for me.  Being deep in a black hole with a heavy cover over my head has humbled me.  I am a good person.  But I am not perfect.  Being hurt is a selfish thing.  That's why I was in the hole.  It's not fun there.

When I considered my choices, I could either remain in the hole and not progress, risking my very image to become tarnished with rust from pride, at the same time losing sweet eternal relationships that I know would kill me to live without.  Or, I could forget myself and try my hardest to imagine myself in their shoes, hoping for their perspective.  When you have children, you would run in front of a speeding truck to save them from hurt.
 
The speeding truck was coming, and as hard as it was to face, I was driving.  This was gently impressed upon me by one of my own.  There was confusion because of what they understood from my actions.  I didn't see it.  And because of my natural inability to communicate, along with a motherly perspective, it makes more sense now.  If I didn't step on the brakes  to understand their perspective, it would hit us all.  The choice was obvious.

I hope my children know that I would run in front of a speeding truck to save them from hurt.  Hopefully I have learned my speeding lesson and remember the sickness I feel.  It would literally kill me to know I had a hand in their turning their back on me.  Please forgive my idiosyncrasies.  I have a new perspective and a new beginning, thanks to swallowing my pride.  And like a new found cleanse, I long to change my ways for good. . . for them.

Two talks that make a lot of sense:

https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2012/04/the-merciful-obtain-mercy?lang=eng 

https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2005/10/forgiveness?lang=eng

The Chance

A hopeful chance of adopting a precious baby girl was given to Rusty and Cariann in April.  They took it readily.  A baby!  Natalie. This could be their chance to expand their little family.  Of course this was right.  Who wouldn't jump at the chance?

The father had 30 days to contest.  They heard from him at 28 days, and yes, he disapproved.  Dark  clouds began to form as they had to put their growing love for her on the back burner and come to the realization that they could lose her, by law.  They cherished the days with no vibrations of threat.  But deep inside. . . . well, no one could ever know their hearts; deep inside.  In every direction, loved ones that knew Natalie, loved her, and birthed her, were pulling for Carianne and Rusty to be given the chance to keep her forever . . . except the father.

Saturday, was the day agreed to take her back to the birth mother.  At least she would love her, compared to the fathers questionable lifestyle.  No one can imagine the pain Carianne and Rusty must have felt, and are still feeling in the aftershocks.   Torture seems like a weak word to describe what they have been through.  But remembering the eyes of that sweet, pink, baby that needed them so much is where it hurts the worst. 

They have paid their dues in the turmoil department.  To see them get up, and attempt to carry on, despite the weight on their shoulders makes me cry.  With lumps in their throats, they carry on, knowing  they can heal, even with the weakest knees.

Don't think for a minute that prayers weren't heard.  Natalie was given Christlike love from their little Christlike family.  Heavenly Father knows and loves each one.  They have proven themselves beyond measure.  We are firstly spiritual beings, trying to live earthly.  He won't let us fall without helping us up, not even Natalie.

I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand;
Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.  

Dear Help Line

Dear Help Line

This is the phantom green photographer again.
I am embarrassed to say that the photos I took on my last fun filled visit to play with my grand children are still on my camera.  I'll be honest here, I originally focused my inquiry to my eldest daughter, who has been very patient with me.  When she was here last (April) she wrote up yet another  "never fail" check list to get the job done; but here I am again . . . stuck.  Part of my problem is that I can't intelligently describe my request.  Would this be downloading? uploading? side loading? transloading?

Here is the checklist:

From camera to computer -------
Click Computer
Turn ON camera (you'll be proud of me for figuring out that one by myself.  It only took me 34 min.)
Double click Canon power shot
    "           "   Removable storage
    "           "   DCIM

Now that I'm this far, and since I don't understand the terminology, I can't describe my problem, except to say that I just want to be able to put the photos in my 2014 file to be labeled - before it gets to be 2015!
If you have any idea what I'm talking about, would you please reply from your primer book on "Backwards Computer Grandmothers"?  .

Thank you, overloadingly!

The Race

Yesterday at church, Danny White spoke to us.  He is the High Counselor over our singles ward.  He is also a past ASU and professional football player for the Dallas Cowboys, and is still employed by the Cowboys as a spokesman/ commentator.  He has lots of stories about his football career, but happens to be a great speaker about life and testimony also.

I learned a lot from him and soaked in every word.  At the end of his talk he recited a lengthy, but meaningful poem.  I was impressed that he had it memorized; like it had been a part of his life for a long time.   I made a note to look up the poem when I got home: 

The Race
 
“Quit!” “Give up, you’re beaten!” they shout at me and plead,
“There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.”
And as I started to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene.
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win the race
Or tie for first, if not that, at least take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they sped, as if they were on fire
To win, to be the hero there, was each boy’s desire.
And one boy in particular, his dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field, across the shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arm flew out to brace,
And ‘mid the laughter of the crowd, he fell flat on his face.
So, down he fell, and with him, hope. He couldn’t win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished he’d disappear somehow.
But, as he fell, his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win the race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit, that’s all.
And ran with all his mind and might to make up for the fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face.
That steady look that said again, “Get up and win the race!”
So, he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last;
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running more. Three strikes, I’m out…why try?”
The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error-prone, a loser all the way.
“I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought, “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But, then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “Get up and take your place.
You weren’t meant for failure here; get up and win the race.”
With borrowed will, “Get up,” it said, “You haven’t lost at all,
For winning is no more than this–to rise each time you fall.”
So up he rose to win once more. And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been.
Still, he gave it all he had, and ran as though to win.
Three times he fallen, stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner, as he crossed the line, first place,
Head high and proud and happy; no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen crossed the finish line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad, he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me you won,” his father said, “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
“Quit!” “Give up, you’re beaten!” They still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says, “Get up and win the race!”

by D. H. Groberg








 

This is Heaven

Priceless.

One day older than*&^%$

 

This spoke to me this morning.

 I have them . . .

 and I am a good candidate for one, I'm sure!

Finally!

2/12/2014 . . . 

3/10/14 . . .

 

 . . . and the winner is . . .

4/18/20

Stay tuned.  This is only the beginning!

April 16, 2014

Let's get this party started!

Raining Violets

April Showers

Though April showers may come your way,

they bring the flowers that bloom in May.

So if it's raining, have no regrets,

because it isn't raining rain, you know

it's raining violets.

And when you see clouds upon the hills

You soon will see crowds of daffodils.

So keep on looking for the bluebird,

and listening for his song

Whenever April showers come along.

It is April.  And since I am a "rain" authority (it's the worrier in me), I always know that blossoms come next.  

 

This year, after some "rain"  we all witnessed a miracle when Carianne and Rusty brought home a baby girl, a gift from a mother who wanted a better life for her newborn.  The process was humbling as it brought many of their loved ones to their knees, pleading for "violets".  

They were notified of a birth mother that wished to pledge her baby to them 3 weeks before she was due.  She had come to AZ the week before and was prompted to seek them out when she saw their profile.  Days of anxiety followed, as well as the baby finally coming 6 days after the due date.  Carianne was invited around midnight, to come to the hospital, as there would finally be a baby born.  Camera in hand, she arrived in time to visit and greet the mother and Grandparents.  That morning, about 5:30, the baby came.  Julianne came down with her 2, knowing that if there was a baby, she wanted to be here!  We awoke at sunrise to retrieve messages and photos on all our devices of the birth.  The maternity ward was not busy and so it was decided that Carianne would occupy the room next door, conveniently to connect with the mother and her local family.  Rusty would be the deliverer of clean clothes each day, which she would shower and change into, never leaving the hospital.  They knew she was there and both took advantage of the down time to get to know each other more.

Tuesday, the day of releasing, was long.  We, on the outside will never know the emotion that filled all their hearts that day.  I can't imagine the love.  Now, the most beautiful story is theirs, and so is a sweet baby, Natalie.

Happy Birthday, Carianne!  (April 9)

Happy Birthday, Nattie Lou (April 6, 2014)

I love you!
Mom (Grandma)

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 Currently, we are seeing dark clouds upon the hills.  The story is incomplete.  As with adoption stories, the anxiety is heavy.  Struggles ensue as legalities become real.  It would be nice if we could just snap our fingers and ride off into the sunset.  But for now, little Natalie is the prize of all prizes, and she is worth every rain shower that will come our way.  Violets and daffodils will follow.

 Prayers are fervent for Carianne and Rusty.  You are welcome to join in.   We know there is a beautiful purpose for trials.  Because of a loving Father in Heaven, who knows us better than we know ourselves, we can do hard things.

It's May.
 We're intensely listening for bluebirds !

 

 

Deja vu

I remember years ago, driving along a two lane Greenfield Road, with cotton, corn, and maze fields lining each side as far as you could see.  It was the best route we could take from our house on Juniper St.  in Mesa (W of Mesa Dr. and N. of Brown).  We'd take the two lane (then) Brown road east, that separated major citrus groves on each side.  It was a beautiful ride to and from Grandma and Grandpa Buehner's; especially in orange blossom season.  It's amazing how much cooler the air gets when you're surrounded by green and irrigation.

I remember having only 2 year old Jeff in the car as we drove along.  I rolled down his window so he could feel the beautiful air from his car seat, kiddy/corner from me.  What was even better than the fresh air, was the look of pure joy on Jeff's face as the wind blew through his wispy hair.  I could hardly keep my eyes on the road because every time I turned back to see his delight, he would look back at me with a huge, wet lipped grin as he leaned his head back against the seat.  He was in heaven and I thought I was, too.

I probably would have forgotten this sweet memory, except it came back in a flash last week.  I had the privilege of watching Henry (almost 2) for the morning, and we drove to Gilbert to see Grandma B.  We had a fun filled time;  dogs, roosters, feeding chickens, petting horses, playing games with Grandma, and lunch.  He was such a delight, it was hard to leave.  But we packed him up and after the "huggins", we were off.

Greenfield Road is now a busy, multiple lane thoroughfare.  We headed north on that beautiful spring morning.  As Henry sang away, I couldn't help rolling down the window to add to his happiness.  That's when it hit me. . .  I've done this before!  My heart skipped a beat as I quickly turned around in anticipation to see . . . Henry's flawless face, with a grin that spread up to his big bright eyes.   There it was again - only a sweet generation later.  Pure joy!  He was in heaven, and so was I. 

Happy Birthday, Jeff!
I love you!  (and Henry!)
Mom

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Today  is Mom's (Grandma Buehner or Grandma B, to some of you) Birthday.  She'll is 84.  I bravely ask her how old she would be and she said, "Well, it's not hard to figure out.  When you're born in a year that has a zero on the end, you always know the last number!"  2014?  Yep, that would be 84.  She was born in 1930.   Anyway,  Jon and Jim and family's are out of town, so we're treating her to Sunday dinner here (with Dad, Aunt Chris, and our little family - minus Carianne and Kate).

I've been reminiscing about life when I was a young girl.  I have recipes of dishes Mom used to make that today, still bring back the memories.  Today we're serving chicken ala king.  It's been a long time family favorite.  In 1963, Weight Watchers was formed.  Mom was proud to inform hungry consumers that this dish was a Weight Watchers recipe.  Somehow that made anyone seem like they were in the know, if they served one of their recipes!

Another recipe I remember fondly, though it wasn't for today, was  Italian bread loaf.  Mom used to watch Rita Davenport  on local TV.  She always had good hair.  Mom could always find someone with a good hair- do.  It made her especially happy when she could find a magazine picture to snip out,  take it to the beauty shop, and say, "I want to look like her!"  So, Rita demonstrated this  recipe on her show and it became a family favorite.  We always ate it all; but maybe Mom would have never tried it if Rita didn't have good hair!

I'm also making emerald salad for today.  This was one of her staples.  I think it was a recipe that her mother used to make.  Mom would always make it in a 9 x 13" pan..  The reason is that, in those days, the movers and shakers of the food entertaining world, would display their salad presentations on a separate plate, above the fork.  So, back to the rectangle pan, the set salad would be carefully cut into squares and placed on top of a bed of lettuce on the plate.  I still love the salad, as does our family.    But Mom might cringe if she knew I sometimes make it in a bowl, to be spooned out onto the dinner plate.  Thank you Grandma Neeley!

I'm making saucepan cookies, also.  This is a recipe that has been handed down since my Grandma Neeley, too.  Mom made these all the time.  Chocolate chips, brown sugar, eggs, flour, etc are spread in a rectangle cake pan and baked, then cut into squares.  My entire life she made these, and still does.

We grew up on Cheery Lynn in a home surrounded by citrus trees.  That meant lots and lots of fresh orange juice.  I can still hear the juicer running if I close my eyes and dream.  That was a familiar morning sound, and I simply can't  be your friend if you don't love fresh orange juice.  It's HEAVEN!

I can't forget the cooked oatmeal Mom would make most mornings before school.  If anyone hated cooked oatmeal, it was my brother Jeff.  I don't remember the oatmeal as much as I remember bracing myself for his reaction!

Dear Mom, life is definitely sweeter with the memories of love you showed in your preparing favorite foods for us.  Today's dinner is only a sample of a Big THANK YOU!  It just occurred to me that I have an abundance of 9 x 13" pans - some glass and others metal.  I pride myself on my collection.  Somehow I don't think this is a coincidence!

Happy Birthday, Mom!
I Love You, Dearly!
Jody

We Love Thy House, Oh God

Laurie Ball

Jody and I completed our first day working in the Gilbert Temple. It was a busy but very fulfilling day. We're back tomorrow at 5am for another go of it. So glad for the opportunity!

This is my dear friend, Laurie's facebook post.  I'm not a "selfie" type, but this photo HAD to be taken.  It is a validation of one of the most beautiful days of my life!  She and I started working in the Mesa Temple in September 2013. 



The festivities leading up to the opening of the Gilbert Temple have been so touching.  Over 140,000 people came through the two week open house.  Some were members, but so many were not.  It was a pleasure to be a greeter there.  We watched, humbled, as 12,000 youth performed mightily at a beautiful Celebration in the pouring rain.  President Monson was in our midst Saturday for the Celebration, for the Dedication on Sunday,  and for a special first session in the Temple on Monday.   

Tuesday was the first day for patrons.  Since our shift is early (6 AM prayer meeting)  this week all shifts started one hour earlier for training.  That put us there at 5 AM,  ready to go; and you can do the math about when we set our alarms to be there!

The opening song was, "We Love Thy House, Oh God"  This is truly His house.  I'll never hear it again without thinking about the thrill it was to be ready to serve in His temple, on that first shift in its history. . .  Humbling.

The day was so unbelievably beautiful and busy.  We found ourselves there for the next day's prayer meeting at 5 AM also!

Yes, it is that wonderful!
 

I'm a Smart Person . . .

I'm a smart person.  I wouldn't think of leaving a pot of beans on the stove to boil over.  No, I would sensibly adjust the knob to at least medium low.  See how smart I am?

This afternoon, the computer grabbed me into its crafty clutches.  I realized this after 30 minutes of negligent bean duty when the most shrill siren blaring, nearly knocked me off my chair.  I was dazed and confused.  I had never heard such an unfriendly noise before, especially in the house!.  I collected all my reasonable thoughts, which took me about a full minute, and made my way upstairs; still wondering if I was in the twilight zone.  Half way up, I remembered . . . the beans!  I'm going to see flames for sure!  With all that racket, it had to be bad!  I was relieved to find the pot only engulfed in white smoke, as the sorry beans hissed at me from dehydration.  I hurried it outside to be left  on a patio chair.  Problem solved?  NO!

I called my hero husband from a back room (as if he would never hear the commotion) and again, he saved the day.  If I opened all the windows and doors, the alarm would shut itself off.  Luckily I never knew that (because I'm so smart)!  It didn't take long for the alarm to die out..  It also didn't take long for me to realize that just because my shriveled beans were outside, that didn't mean the neighborhood had no idea what was going on at our house.  Now, every dog has a head ache, and  all my neighbors know that the Clawsons probably won't be having beans for dinner.  I changed candles and am making believe it will make a difference when piano kids come this afternoon.  Except, after about an hour, the smell now resembles cigar smoke.  That'll make 'em wonder.  . . .

**********************************

It's the next day . . ..
As piano kids filed in yesterday, I was first to apologize for the lingering smell; except for one kid who, before I could explain, went right to the treat box, convinced  it smelled  like chocolate.  Everyone also had a story, maybe just to make me feel better because they felt sorry for me.  Poor mindless Mrs. Clawson.  Randy walked in last night at 8:00.  Six hours and a house full of open windows later, the look on his face was apparent.  He also tried to make me feel better; but it wasn't very convincing, as his eyes welled up with smoke filled tears.  The smell lingered like a cloud, inside and around me all night.  It's been almost 24 hours.  The house has been scoured, and here I sit with a smokey burned bean head ache.  At the computer!

But I'm smarter than that!
Out'a here!

 In honor of Valentines Day

Marriage is like music

Both are playing different

 instruments and different parts,

but as long as you're playing

 from the same sheet music,

you can create something

 beautiful.

 

"Who Is This?!"

Dear Son in Laws,
The air conditioning guy, carrying a loaded tool box like it was a basket of feathers,  paid me a scheduled visit this morning.  (We still get warranty calls about every 6 months.)  I never know who will show up; it's always someone different than before, so I am always cautious when I'm alone.  He was a big dude with short light hair, blue eyes, clear skin, and about your ages.  We visited about the units and he went about his business to check things out.
After a few minutes I heard him come upstairs and in an excited voice say, "Who is this?!"  I turned around to see him close to frantically pointing to a photo of you on the shelf against the stairs.  I proudly informed him it was my son in law, expecting to hear of his knowing you.  And since he was so interested, I went on to give him your whole name, upon which he almost didn't believe me.  He was a little disappointed to learn your photo was not Tom Cruise . . .   As he puttered out the front door, shaking his head in disbelief, I heard his voice fade out again and again, "He looks just like Tome Cruise!  He looks just like Tom Cruise!" 
I wandered over to the shelf to see for myself and realized he was pointing to the other  of you than I had originally thought.   
To one of you,  you are our new claim to fame Tom Cruise-look-alike-son in law. . . to the other, this dude now knows your full name . . . Walk softly and carry a bigger toolbox!

Many are called . . . I will officially be serving in the new Gilbert Temple as of today at 10:00 AM.  It opens March 4.  :)

"Whew!"

I teach piano to an elementary school girl.  She comes every week with a positive attitude, usually with a story to tell about her week.  She is kind and considerate, and wears a big smile.  She is progressing, alright, but most weeks I sense her mind wandering.  When a student doesn't look at the music when you're explaining something, that is a red flag.

The problem I have discovered, is not her.  It is me.  I'm not that much different from the norm. Everybody likes to be accepted, don't they?  Being a teacher, it's nice to know your students think you're OK.  There are a few positive signs however, like looking at the music, that are important when you're trying to learn a piece.   But this girl's eyes,  most weeks  are not on the music.  Two guesses where they are . . . .

Like an owl, her neck slowly turns her head towards me and then she stares.

I pretend to carry on without the distraction.  But how do you ignore when you know someone is looking at you for whatever reason?  And then my mind wanders.  What is she looking at?  Did I miss my lips again with my fast application of lipstick?  Is there a hair, or heaven forbid something else in my nose?  Do I have a comb over?  Did I miss my top buttons?  Is she comparing me to her great grandmother?

Yesterday it happened again.  I lost her.  She slowly turned her head  to me, but this time she spoke.
"Mrs. Clawson . . .  Do you wear contacts?"
As I looked back at her over my spectacles , I answered, "Nope."
Then she said. . . . ."Because your eyes are SO blue."

I politely thanked her and heaved a sigh of relief.  How about that?  I think I just got a compliment when I expected the worst.  There's a lesson in there somewhere. . .

"Whew!"

Leaving "Home"

Yesterday was my last day of officially serving at the Mesa AZ temple.  Starting in September, I have spent MANY wonderful early mornings there.  The women I am surrounded by are each such a light and have taught me so much.  I have been trained, shadowed, and befriended by the cream of the crop.  Being new, there is so much to learn.  Each sister gave me knowledge, from hands on to my heart.  I think of the things I have learned and put a mental picture of that sister and her instruction in my mind every time.  Sweet, sweet knowledge.

I also experienced heaven on earth as I was privileged to study inside.  When I started,  many quiet places were pointed out.  But from the first day, I found my favorite study place in the youth center, behind the wall that led to the little boys' white dressing room, on a tiny stool.  It was most peaceful, among the graduating sizes of little boys' white Sunday attire.  I could lean back against the shelf, with small white neckties hanging to my side, and think.  If you thought there was a more peaceful place in the temple, it couldn't have compared to the sweetness there.  At this point in my temple life, I'll miss that place the most.

Being back after Christmas, I have reflected so much on the Mesa temple experience.  It's like we're moving away from our house that we've lived in forever.  We have to pack so many memories and precious belongings.  It's overwhelming, the life we've experienced there.  Randy and I were sealed there, as well as Carianne and Rusty, Julianne and Brenden, Gregg and Rachael, and Jeff and Vita.  I have easily reflected, as if it were yesterday, being with them on those important days as I have served in so many of the same sacred places inside. From our Grandparents, to our parents, to family sealings, and first times through for missions . . . That temple has been a safe haven.  And like any moving experience, I wonder how I can possibly keep things the same.

At our 6:30 AM prayer meeting, the brothers and sisters all squeezed into the chapel to be together one last time, just like each prayer meeting held each of the days and shifts this week.  Messages were thoughtful and profound.  We sat in the front and as they ask those who were going to the new Gilbert temple to stand, I turned around and saw at least 2/3 of our group on their feet. They spoke about changes.  Good changes.  This, as hard as it is, is a good change.  We will move on.  The experiences I have had and the people I have met there will be forever imprinted in my heart.  And the experiences I have in the future will only be more grand because of what I learned there.  I'm anxious and nervous, both.  Anxious, because I'm ready to continue serving, even though it will be in a new temple; and nervous, because I'm leaving my "home".  I am excited to experience the wonders of how it will change my life.  That's the great thing about faith, it's all good.   But the Mesa Temple will always be my favorite, and I intend to return there with fondness . . . especially to that little boys' white dressing room.



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