baptism

It's hard to believe it's here. Garrett is 8 years old. Garrett has chosen to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Words can't describe it. Special kid. Sacred occasion. Super emotional mom. Love him.

a story and our wall

Once upon a time a little boy found some himself some heroes.

These heroes:

They are the Stripling Warriors. This painting by Clark Kelly Price is entitled, "It's True Sir- All Present and Accounted For". Their story is found in the Book of Mormon, which is a second witness of Jesus Christ and a companion volume of scripture to the Bible that records God’s dealings with the ancient inhabitants of the Americas. Their story goes like this:

(as told by the artist)

Seldom in the annals of history has there been such an inspiring example of unwavering faith in God as was exhibited by the valiant young sons of the Ammonites. These two thousand and sixty young men were a "Great support" to their country's defense. Though they had never fought, the scriptures tell us "they were exceedingly valiant for courage . . . . . and true at all times in whatsoever thing they were instructed. They were men of truth and soberness, for they had been taught to keep the commandments of God, and to walk up rightly before God." (Alma 53:20-21) Their mothers had especially influenced their faith. Their commanding officer, Helaman, called them his "sons," "for they are worthy to be called sons," he said. (Alma 56:10) They called him "father", such was the love and respect they had for him.

This scene depicts the moment when Helaman (shown on his horse) learns from a subordinate officer that all two thousand and sixty of his beloved sons have survived a terrible battle in which everyone of them have "received many wounds." This was the second time this had occurred, though many other soldiers in the army had perished, this "little band" under Helaman's leadership, lost not a single man. Speaking of this unbelievable occurrence, Helaman states, "two hundred out of my two thousand and sixty had fainted because of the loss of blood; nevertheless, according to the goodness of God and to our great astonishment, and also the joy of the whole army, there was not one soul of them who did perish.

A year and a half ago, our family took this little trip to Palmyra, New York. We spent some time in the Hill Cumorah Visitor's Center where there happened to be a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL video clip about the Stripling Warriors.

Although it was nearing time to begin our 6 hour journey home, we could not pull Garrett away. He pushed the button over and over and OVER. Each time, my eyes welled up at the poignant message and the genuine intrigue my sweet little boy had in these 2000 young men.

Some 5 hours after leaving Palmyra, Garrett sat quietly staring out the window. After this continued for some time, I joined him in the back seat and asked him what he was thinking about it.

He replied, "The Stripling Warriors".

This began a tender conversation about these heroes, his deeper understanding of them and what it was about them that made them so valiant, faithful and full of the strength of the Lord.

At some point, it hit me. He gets it.

He wants to be like them.

Help him do it.

Since this time, we have often discussed the Stripling Warriors with our family. They come up in Family Home Evening and in very unexpected yet precious teaching moments. We've likened ourselves unto them, discussing the qualities, the faith, the courage they had, and what we need to be to be like them.

We want their story to be our story.

Matt and I want to be like Helaman and the parents of the 2000 Stripling Warriors who must lead our precious little ones off into battle, having taught them the truth and to have faith in God.

I think of my kids. Valiant. Faithful. Going forward to wage this horrible final battle against Satan himself.

Our quest is that in the end, we rejoice as Helaman did, knowing that we are:

A little tribute

I've spent the last several days finding it hard to think of anything other than Stephanie and Christian, constantly checking her sister's blog for updates, wanting to do something, and praying in their behalf.

I read beautiful tributes surfacing around the web to the exceptional people the Nielson family is, and adding them to my own association with her, conclude that everything surrounding Steph and her family is uplifting- even their trials. They are exceptional people, meant to do exceptional things.

I find it inspiring despite this tragedy to know that their kids will be okay because of who they are, because of parents they have, and because of the love and truth their parents have given them; that Stephanie and Christian will overcome this because of who they are and the faith they hold so dearly; and that the rest of us along the sidelines watching are able to grow. My sister put words to something I haven't been able to articulate for years about trials, and I firmly believe it.

Thinking about Stephanie makes me want to be better- to embrace life more, enjoy my kids more, pay more attention to what I'm teaching them, love my husband more, share my love the Savior more, smile more, strive to be more even-tempered, and enjoy all the little blessings that make up each day of my life.

The Nielsons

My thoughs have constantly been on our friends, Stephanie and Christian, who were in a private plane crash over the weekend and are in critical condition.

Since the time our paths crossed, she's continued to inspire me to embrace my life and my role as wife and mother, as she does for so many others.

We join their family and countless others in prayer for all the Nielsons. I know my blog world is small, but maybe it reaches some New Jersey friends of the Nielsons or others who have come to love "NieNie" through her blog. I'm sure they can use all the divine help they can get from anyone who wants to add their collective faith through prayer.

hearing

Honestly, I wasn't going to post this. It's personal.

I changed my mind after almost a week of wanting to share my experience, and knowing I won't likely be standing up to bear my testimony in Portuguese in church quite yet. Instead, I'll share it here with you, my internet world.

Last weekend was our church's General Conference. As April approached, I found myself looking forward to watching this General Conference more than I can ever remember. Primarily, I anticipated this historic Conference and the opportunity to sustain and hear from our new prophet, President Monson.

As I loaded the internet and we waited for the Conference broadcast to begin, a prior broadcast began to play and the Tabernacle Choir was singing. Tears flowed down my face and in that instant I realized another reason why this conference was so important to me.

We have been in Brazil for only 2 months. Understanding the lessons, talks, and prayers in church each Sunday in a language and culture that is so unfamiliar to me is still a great challenge. I have been eager for General Conference and to feel that outpouring of the spirit and enrichment that I struggle so hard to feel even a glimpse of in our meetings each week. I also knew that seeing the choir and the speakers in the conference center would help me feel connected and not so far away from "home".

Then to my dismay, as the first session of Conference began the video began to stall and quit working. In frantic frustration, I fussed with our internet connection and tried every source of broadcast media available to me.

Nothing.

All I wanted to do was watch conference and for my children to see our new prophet! Fortunately, we were able to get the audio streaming to work and we finally resigned ourselves to the fact that simply listening to Conference was our only option.

Conference was incredible. The talks were so profound and the messages so personal. We were grateful for the opportunity to participate as we sustained President Monson and felt blessed that we were able to hear the new prophet speak with the mantle of his calling evident in his voice.

During the last session, when Elder Ballard spoke specifically to the mothers of young children, I felt (as all young mothers must have felt) as though he was talking directly to me. So much of what he said I needed to hear as I struggle for peace and inspiration in my calling as a mother in the world today. I needed the refocus and encouragement he gave. I was certainly uplifted and felt a great outpouring of love from my Heavenly Father throughout the weekend.

Still, as the Conference sessions progressed, I couldn't help being frustrated that I couldn't see it!

Conference was being broadcast via satellite at the church, but we had given our driver the weekend off and we cannot legally drive ourselves here in Brazil. As I was attempting again to load the video Sunday morning, I prayed in my heart to Heavenly Father that the internet would work so that we could see the prophet.

Please Heavenly Father, let it work. I need to see conference, I prayed. My answer and the words to a hymn came so immediately, almost as if they were just a continuation of my thoughts:

I don't need to see the prophet. Come listen to a prophet's voice.

Although I'm sure the Lord could have sped up my internet connection so that the video would work, he wasn't going to. I could listen to conference, and that's what I needed. I needed to be taught the messages of the gospel and to feel the spirit, and as much as I wanted to, I didn't need to see the conference center and the speakers to do that.

I know President Monson is the new living prophet of God. I'm grateful I was able to hear his voice, and that my children were able to hear his voice and look at his picture in the Ensign Magazine while we listened. We were enriched, uplifted, and touched by the spirit this weekend and my testimony of listening to the prophet's voice was strengthened.

humble

(This post contains LDS lingo. If your confused, this might help. Or you can always ask for clarification!)

Tonight while Matt prepared his Portuguese/English primary lesson and I got our clothes ready for church tomorrow, I thought about our ward.

One of the many things I'm going to come away from this experience with is a new depth of humility.

Last Sunday when I was playing the keyboard in both Primary and Relief Society, I carried the power cord to each class with me because there is only one power cord for the two keyboards.

In between playing, I sat with Lydia in Nursery because she didn't want to stay. She didn't want to stay because there was nothing to do. There were no toys. Not a single one until about 20 minutes into nursery when someone came with a bag of toys.

I looked over the selection: some Lego blocks, a couple games with missing pieces, 1 car, a few pretend food items, and what looked like a collection of McDonald's happy meal toys.

Enter: Humility.

I couldn't help but notice the kids happily playing with the meager supply. All I could think about was the piles of toys in our old nurseries and all my kids' toys we left at home- all those toys I get so tired of picking up and stepping on; all those toys I'm always yelling at the kids to clean up; all those toys I gave away when we were packing things up because I was tired of looking at or hearing them.

I wish I would have known. I would have filled an entire suitcase, or maybe 3 or 4, just with toys for the nursery.

Toys are insanely expensive here and you better believe that the toys we brought with us will stay here when we leave.

But that's not really the point is it?

The nursery kids will probably love it. No doubt they will also love the toys my mom is collecting in a small service project for our nursery that she'll bring when she comes next month.

All this will certainly make me feel better, but the truth is, they're perfectly happy without them. These humble children are grateful for what they have.

Dad's day

My dad passed away 13 years ago

today.

Today I'm celebrating my dad.

Today I'm celebrating my family.

If there's one thing I've gained through the trials in my life it is that they've made me a better person. They've made me stronger.

Our family is stronger. The older we get and the more challenges we face, the more we learn from and lift one another.

My dad left an incredible legacy for my family.

I intend to live up to it, and I'm going to need all the trials the Lord has in store for me to develop the qualities I need in order to do that.

I think that's how Dad approached his cancer. Although it defeated him, he let it make him a better person along the way, and he was a remarkable person.

To my family:

I love you. I'll be thinking of all of you throughout this Service Day.

then sings my soul

Music has the power to speak to our hearts and invite the spirit- in any language. It spoke to me today.

We attended church for the first time today here in Brazil. Aside from one other American family, the wife of the Rio de Janeiro mission president, and a couple bilingual Brazilians, everyone spoke exclusively Portuguese.

The kids did great. Matt attended Primary with them to translate and make sure they were comfortable. Initially it was a little scary, but it is amazing how loving and accepting children can be and don't allow language to inhibit their communication.

I tried to follow along with the lesson in my Relief Society class as best as I could using my English manual alongside a Portuguese manual, but quickly became lost. I ended up just read the lesson quietly to myself in English, trying not to feel completely isolated while contemplating what on earth I’m doing here.

I suddenly felt a great deal of compassion and understanding of the loneliness, frustration, and confusion that many people I have known in other settings must have felt being the foreigner in my country. I am grateful that my testimony is strong, as I can see how easy it would be to simply stop attending church when it takes so much effort to understand and communicate.

Then it came time for the closing hymn. As the chorister stood for the second time to lead the music without an accompanist at the nearby keyboard, I quietly asked the mission president’s wife sitting next to me if they have anyone to play the piano. She said no, asked if I play, and immediately volunteered me to accompany the closing hymn.

The words were unfamiliar, but the song was the same. I held back the tears as I felt the Spirit for the first time during the meeting while I played for my new sisters and sang to myself, There is Sunshine in My Soul Today.

A Beloved Prophet

It was so peaceful to take a break this weekend from the chaos and stress of this intense and crazy time our lives and spend a couple hours watching the beautiful funeral and tributes to the life of our beloved prophet, President Hinckley, who passed away recently. I cannot go without recording the feelings I've had this last week.

My emotions have been so close to the surface and words cannot fully describe the love I have for that man and the conviction I have that he was a prophet of God. I will miss him. Along with millions of others around the world, he was my prophet.

I realize that a lot of my readers are friends and family that share my beliefs. For those of you who are of different faiths, I want to share with you my conviction that just as God taught and guided his people through a prophet in ancient time, he equally loves his children on the earth today and continues to teach, guide and speak to us through a living prophet.

Our prophet, President Hinckley, was a humble servant of God. In his gentle, loving manner he taught us, counseled us, guided us and encouraged us to "stand a little taller". He urged us to be better people, better parents, better families, and better disciples of Christ.

In short, he loved us. From that love, we feel the love of the Lord and are striving to live our lives in such a way that allows us to return to live with our Lord, our Heavenly Father, again one day.

something familiar

Tonight the boys and I were singing Christmas songs from the Primary Children's Songbook. We started singing Once Within a Lowly Stable, and I had a glimpse of something familiar- something about Christmas as a child, and something about my dad.

.

I can't pinpoint it exactly. A lot of my childhood years are fuzzy in my mind, mostly those around the time that my dad was sick and passed away. But I had this remembrance of something- maybe of my family gathered around that big upright piano singing songs together at Christmas time, and maybe that was my dad's favorite Christmas song, or maybe that was my mom's favorite, or maybe it has nothing to do with that particular song at all. I've probably sung that song a million times without feeling so emotional over it. . It was something though- something familiar; something sad because I miss him so much and it's getting harder and harder to remember him; something warm and happy because I was sitting there at the keyboard with my two little boys snuggled on my lap in their pajamas with the Christmas tree all lit up next to us; something nostalgic because of the innocence and joy of childhood; something spiritual because we sang about the birth of our Savior.

.

It was a glimpse of something I treasure.

wise woman

In her book, Small and Simple Things, Sister Marjorie Pay Hinckley wrote: "I love the scripture in Mosiah: 'And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefore, all things must be done in order.' Choose carefully each day that which you will do and that which you will not do, and the Lord will bless you to accomplish the important things that have eternal consequences..." (page 104). Thanks, Sister Hinckley. I needed that tonight.