Santa Comes Early to Grandparents!

We figured Santa would be busy enough visiting our twelve wonderful grandchildren tonight, so he came to our home this evening! As I write this post on Christmas Eve at five minutes to twelve, I'm wearing my soft baby blue p.j.s my husband gave me, and I'm tickled about the gift card—I'm rich! Well, certainly rich in blessings!!!! Ron plugged in his new Norelco so he can have a good shave in the morning too! We waited to open some of our children's gifts so they can share the fun. I also took Ron to the movies this afternoon after he took me to the temple this morning! We saw “The Blindside.” I'm glad I had a pocket full of Kleenex for my cold, 'cause I cried like a baby nearly the whole movie! Everyone needs to see this movie. We definitely want to buy this one. If you've seen this movie then you might understand my sadness in my last post for people caught in poverty. REAL POVERTY—and why a toy for a tot at Christmas is a drop in the bucket of the needs of people in deep poverty. The movie is beautiful and ends on such a high! And, it's based on a very true story!

Then tonight I read a review in Meridian Magazine (I love this online magazine) about Dickens "A Christmas Carol." This amazing story opened the eyes of the people of his time to the cruelty and poverty of Dickens world, and probably gave birth to the idea of giving to the poor at Christmas time. Society has come such a long, long way in caring for the poor, but watching this movie today illustrates that there is still such a long way to go. When all the poor are cared for the way "Big Mike" was, then we will have Zion! It made me realize why I just can't participate in Sub for Santa's—the need is SO MUCH BIGGER than that, and I can't do what Sandra Bullock did for Big Mike. I feel too small for the enormity of the problem and terrified that I might do more harm than good by a pittance at Christmas time!

If that wasn't enough (I've never had such time on my hands on Christmas Eve before) tonight, I decided to read through a few old journal entries. I haven't been a great journal keeper — not a consistent one for sure — but I ran into this one from

January 26, 1998: "Well, I haven’t written in my journal for a very long time. Becky is in Florida with Kristi and Ron and I are alone. Just on an impulse I stopped by to look at an Ivory home again. It was lovely and upstairs was a magnificent master suite, with three other bedrooms. A nursery, a little boys room, and a little girls room. As I slowly passed through them I felt waves of nostalgia— I will never need a home like this again in this life. My children are nearly raised. The future stretches out before me, and the same question my children are asking becomes mine, “What shall I do when I grow up?” I may only be half-finished with my life! (Of course I could die tomorrow—one never knows.) But, if I live, forty-seven more years is a long time. Ron asked (I think almost sincerely) if we should adopt more children. But, I don’t think that is what the Lord would have me do now. I don’t think I could go through all that again. I know I have learned many, many things—but . . .I’m more inclined to think I’d better just pass them on to the good of my grandchildren! Anyway, I think I would like to write! Really write! Write such gripping and well told stories, that they hook people, and then bear a powerful witness of the Savior and His plan! Just knock the reader over! And then lift him to heaven! Make people go away from a book of mine feeling good—really, really good about life, with a resolve to live better, serve better, trust the Lord more completely, and most of all to turn to Him for their consolation! That’s what my desire is—to bring souls unto Christ!—with the power of the written word. I prayed that the Lord would give me this gift so that I might serve Him. Now I feel that I must write something everyday—practice if you will, before He would ever grant such a gift to me. So begins the day!"

Little did I know that just one year later my son would have chosen to end his life, and my heart would literally be broken in every way, and then only two months later I would have open heart surgery for a hole in my heart that had been causing mini-strokes for the last several years. It took a long, long time to heal physically, especially since I had the surgery AGAIN the next year. Compared to my grief, it was easy to heal a broken heart physically. It's been ten years! For most of them I didn't even so much as write a letter until my daughter encouraged me to start this blog. Did I really ever feel that way about writing? Such passion! Now, it really doesn't matter. I just want to do what the Lord would have me do — whatever that is — WHATEVER that is! Whatever shall I do with my life when/if I grow up? What?