Day 21: I Happy Mom

Kids cut through all the 'stuff' and say it best.

Sporadically lately we will be playing Ring-Around-the-Rosie or making a PB & J together or playing in the sandbox and Colt will grab my face, turn it so we are looking into each others eyes and say, "I happy Mom."

"I'm happy too" I'll reply.

And I am. I'm really happy.

(Colt informed me today 'Your a girl Mom, I a boy'. Good. One less conversation to have)

Day 20: Thanks For My Burden

Thanks for THIS.

Thanks for the reminder.

Thanks for my burden.

Day 19: Ewe and I

When sharing the parable of the ninety and nine sheep, the Savior asked "Doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?" (Matthew 18:12)

I had always likened the sheep in this story to the collective members of the church, and the one gone astray as those individuals who were wayward or struggling. But maybe the one hundred sheep can represent us as an individual, and the one gone astray as that portion within us that is wayward or struggling. Each of us has a part, big or small, readily visible or buried deep within that is a little different. Something about us that we don't like. Something we need to change; yet, the power to do so alludes us and so it remains, lost like the proverbial sheep out in the desert to wander. But it doesn't have to be so. The solution is in this same verse:

The Good Shepard doesn't focus on the ninety-nine percent of us that's right and well but the one percent that's wrong, that "grope[s] for the wall like the blind, and grope[s] as if we had no eye". (Isaiah 59:10) Not because he doesn't love that first part, but because "they that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick". (Matthew 9:12) We are all sick. We are all walking dead men in need of living water.

Thankfully though, "he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth" (Isaiah 53:5-7)

Interestingly, the Good Shepard 'goeth into the mountains' to rescue the one. We too, can "go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths" (Isaiah 2:2).

(Gotta love that Isaiah. Smart guy, I'm telling ya)

Some days I feel like 99% of me is wrong, and I'm only getting 1% right. I appreciate that the Savior blesses me for that 1% ninety-nine times over, and doesn't give up on the part of me that wanders.

Day 18: Just a Minute

Just A Minute
by-Hillary Calaway

Just a minute sweetheart
I want to sit by you
But I need to wash these dishes
There's just so much to do

Just a minute little one
I want to play with you
But I need to finish this email
There's just so much to do

Just a minute Mom and Dad
I want to chat with you
But I need to finish cooking supper
There's just so much to do

Just a minute best friend
I want to go to lunch with you
I need to get this project done
There's just so much to do

Just a minute Father
I want to talk to you
But I need to get all my chores done
There's just so much to do.

Just a minute passes
And the moment disappears
For all those things you want to do
Over days and months and years.

Take the time to treasure
The ones that you hold dear
Every minute that passes
Throughout this coming year.

Thank you Heidi for the light bulb moment. I get it.

Day 17: Count Yourself Lucky

Have you ever had a friend that you can go without seeing for years, meet up with them and pick up right where you left off? The kind of gal you can call when you're in the middle of a Haagen-Daaz moment in life and dump all your drama to? The sort that won't judge you because you are having a bad hair day (or year), and that will correctly handle (gentle but for real) when you dare to enter into the 'do these pants make me look fat' territory? The type that you can hang up on five times in one conversation because your kid is flipping out, and you know they won't think twice about it. The rare species that you don't even have to talk to--you just know that they 'get' you and that they have your back, even when both of you are too broke, or busy, or whatever to see each other. Well have ya?

I have.

And I am very grateful. I count myself lucky for knowing you. For a very long time I didn't think I needed or was the type to have girlfriends. And then you dropped into my life and I don't know what it was before you. Thanks for being you. Thanks for being there for me. Thanks for putting up with me being the taker this year (I'll be the giver next year--I promise). I love ya. You are amazing and you make me want to be a better person.

Day 16: Silence is Golden

Darrell J. Wyatt, “The Plowman in Silence,” New Era, Jun 1979, 51

The plowman, in silence following his plow,
listens to the bright blade turn the spring-soft earth.
The oxen groan.
Taut reins sing in the breeze.
At the sharp cry of a jay he turns toward the grove
to see a boy, walking slowly
as if burdened by heavy questions,
disappear among the trees, being enfolded in gentle green.
Not hearing the whispered prayer,
the gentle introduction, and seeing nothing brighter than the sun,
he thinks the day not unlike another.
(Three more acres to plow and the morning wears on.)

At dusk,
driving the oxen home,
he listens to the barking of a dog,
not hearing the rejoicing of the heavens,
the singing of the stars
________________

For me, silence was scary and unproductive. I would always have music playing or the TV on--something to break the quiet. I even had a visiting teacher in college challenge me to enjoy silence and I thought, "She's crazy." Then I laid in a room by myself for a month and decided to join the crazy club.
I like it now and I'm really grateful that I had the chance to overcome this fear. I've spent way too much time as the man plowing my way through life instead of the boy in the grove burdened with questions, and I think I've missed some important things. Thank heavens that boy figured it out earlier than me.

Day 15: Fresh Out of Control

(April 4, 2010 Easter)

Life can change in an instant can't it?

Control is such an illusion. A security blanket we wrap around ourselves to keep out the storms of life. Threaded in familiarity and patterned with habit, it sets us apart and acts as a buffer amidst the inevitable entropy of this existence. That is, until something comes along and strips us bare. And underneath all of the pretensions and carefully crafted facade, remains the only thing we can truly call our own--our will.

The one thing we possess and ironically, the only thing our Heavenly Father desires. So much so, that he sent his only begotten Son to set the perfect example of humble submission who did accomplish just that to the last degree.

Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.
-Luke 22:42

That is really what it is all about. Laying upon the altar our will, sacrificing it--setting down the things of this earth, and picking up the things of a better that we may 'lay up for [our]selves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal.' (3 Nephi 13:20)

I'm learning that it is true that when we lose ourselves, our time, our talents in the 'service of [our] fellow beings' as King Benjamin put it, we find him 'whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth'. (John 1:45)

I am so grateful that he stripped my cloak of comfort and control from me. In losing my son, he has brought me closer to finding His Son.

Day 14: Captain Cousteau

Blaine is grateful for this fish:

(It is Shark Week on Discovery Channel. A humble second place in excitement for him next to the thrill that will be his come college football season)

And Colton is grateful for this fish:

"I wanna name Nemo Coe-tun"

That's a direct quote people.
The newest addition to our home is this first-rate fish which will henceforth and forever(or until that unfortunate time when we have to make a dash to the pet store to replace this orange addition before the three-year old notices. . .) be known as Nemo Colton Calaway.

Me? Well, I am grateful for this 'fish'er of men:

Day 13: Just Another Day in Paradise

Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs...since the payment is pure love.

-Mildred B. Vermont

I have the best job in the whole world. I get to hang out with this little guy all day, everyday, seven days a week. I am so grateful that I have the opportunity to be a stay-at-home Mom. I would write a longer post, but I have a very important client with an appointment to play.

Day 12: Home, Home Can Be Strange

A personal adaptation of the beloved classic Home On The Range.
And a one, and a two, and a. . .

Oh, give me a home where the mosquitoes roam,
where the deer ticks bite you everyday
where daily it recurs, humidity that's absurd
so your three year old can't go out and play.

[chorus]
Home, Home can be strange
When your garage gets as hot as the oven range
You're sweatin' a lot, and it's sticky in spots
That you thought couldn't undergo a temperature change.

How often at night, I see the heavens are bright
with the light of an industrial yard
That's twenty yards away from where my head I lay
It feels me with a sense of delight.

[chorus]
Home, Home can be strange
When a Coca-Cola factory is in close range
You see those red trucks and you hope with some luck
They'll barter pop for homemade cookies in exchange.

I love these wildflowers in this backyard of ours
I love too the weeds that are my lawn
The spiders and red ants that crawl in my pants
And bite me leaving cute little scars.

[chorus]
Home, Home can be strange
When your legs look like a Calamine test range
You itch quite a lot, and it's painful in spots
Your death you would happily arrange.


I'm really grateful for winter.
When it is freezing, and all the bugs are dead.
Sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
[seriously]

Day 11: Seeing is not Believing

Tonight we are reviewing this story for Family Home Evening.

It has special meaning for me.

At the point when the Savior told Jairus, "Be not afraid, only believe", this father had just received news that his child was dead but he had not yet seen her. I was going to say I can imagine how he felt--but I'll abridge that with I know exactly how he felt.

There was a small interim between the time we discovered Shiloh's passing and when Blaine arrived where I was all alone in my hospital room. Oh, if there was ever an A awarded for effort, I would have earned it for the prayers I offered up at that point. I plead, I begged, I bargained. I just knew, I KNEW deep down that Heavenly Father could bring Shiloh back. I also knew that if it wasn't His will, no amount of pleading, begging, or bargaining would change it. That was what confused me so much. I thought, "This is so cruel. Why would I have the assurance that Heavenly Father could raise my son from the dead if he wasn't going to?" Well, hindsight is 20/20 as they say. I realized tonight why that assurance might have come.

Because seeing is not believing.

All through the New Testament we see time and again where the Savior performs miracles: restoring sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, cleansing the leper, raising the dead. And they truly are miracles. They are--please don't mistake that. But these are temporary means to an end. The real miracle is when the Savior restores sight to the spiritually blind, when he unstops the ears of those who are spiritually deaf, when he cleanses the spiritual leper in all of us, and ultimately, raises us from spiritual death to life eternal.

Heavenly Father knew that I didn't need Him to raise my son from the dead for me to know that He could do it. And when you think about it--eventually my assurance that the Savior can raise my son from the dead will be realized. Someday, I will see that happen.
He will answer my prayer. . .just not yet.
And knowing that makes all the difference.
I am grateful for that.

Day 10: Confessions of a Slacker

I am grateful for second chances, and today--for third chances (very rare). Let me follow that up with this: Momma is always right.

My Mom told me when I was a happy, emotionally stable, always helpful teenager (NOT!) that I would regret not earning my Young Womanhood Recognition medallion. "Yea Mom, I know" (picture me rolling my eyes). Strike One.
And she was right of course. Initially when I failed to earn my medallion because I was too 'busy' (teenage code for lazy) I didn't feel left out, but as I left home, went to college and moved all over the country, every time I saw a girl/mother/woman wearing her medallion I felt the size of a snail inching my way towards perfection. By the time we moved to Florida I was curled up in my shell and the guilt got to me so I made a feeble attempt to start again the Personal Progress Program when I was called as the Young Women's secretary. We moved within the year. Strike Two.

So you can imagine how excited I was to be called as the second counselor in the Young Women's Organization of our ward today. Aside from the chance to try and be for the girls in my ward what the awesome leaders in my hometown were for me, I get a third shot at redeeming myself and finally finishing the Personal Progress Program.

I am committed to completing it this go around. The only thing standing in my way is if Blaine gets a promotion and we have to move in the next year or I lose all ambition (not likely.)

Wish me luck. Third times a charm right? Right.

Day 9: Would You Rather

I made up this game on long drives between Washington and Idaho while Blaine and I were dating called, Would You Rather. Basically, it was me pestering my boyfriend with questions like:

Would you rather lose all your toenails or fingernails? (cringe, shiver, yuck!)
Would you rather look stupid or be stupid? (Hey, the Jersey Shore kids got both covered)
Would you rather outlive all your children or die tomorrow?
Would you rather be a bird that is too fat to fly or an alligator that has no teeth?

You know--important stuff like that. (and I totally understand if you discontinue reading this blog after realizing what goes on in this head of mine--crazy place my friends.)
Sometimes Blaine would glance over at me with an expression on his face that said, "This is going to be the mother of my children?". Then he would roll his eyes and sigh and I would stop until he'd say, "So. . ." and I would barrage him with a brand new round of nonsense.

I flashed back to the Would You Rather days while watching the news about Pakistan this week. First there was a plane crash that claimed 152 lives and now a flood has taken 800 more. 952 people gone. Crazy. My hometown only has 176 more people in it, so basically that would be like losing most of the people I knew growing up. So naturally I asked myself, "Self, would you rather die in a plane crash or a flood?" Um neither, thank you very much.

Then I started wondering if I was in a plane about to crash what would I be thinking about--what would matter in that moment? Or if I watched everything I owned in this world get swept away and destroyed what would be the hardest thing to lose?

When you get right down to it--there is only ONE thing that really matters. And that's people. No, you can't replace pictures, or possessions--but you can get new ones of both. People on the other hand. . .you can't. Everyone is irreplaceable. Everyone matters. All the other stuff is just that--"other stuff".

So I guess I am most thankful today for you. All of you. You aren't one in a million--you are a lot more than that. You are one of a kind. And I love ya!

(Enjoy a few pics from the good ole' Would You Rather days--skinnier days for both of us! haha.)

Day 8: Wooly Eyes

I lived with my brother(s)-in-law/Calaway cousins in various combinations the first three summers of my married life. (small aside--bless their hearts every one of them for putting up with a clueless newlywed girly like me--i love those boys to death).

Living with teenage/young adult men taught me a lot. (to say the least). Two words for ya people: air freshener. No, not really. Okay, yes I am serious.

The words I meant to say were: wooly eyes.

My time spent in belch, fart and wrestle mania mode helped me gain a keen, almost sixth sense for any preconceived, newly formulated, or recently accomplished shenanigans those boys might be up to. Thanks to them, my own boy(s) won't easily pull the wool over these eyes. I am grateful for it really. I got an in-depth look at the mind and manners of today's male formula young adult. It was an honor. As I related to my father-in-law, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger".

I say all of this because we fed two sets of missionaries dinner tonight. I love having these Elders over. It makes me feel like I am back on the farm, cooking and cleaning up a storm for the boys after a long, hard day's work.

And I thought tonight, here are these 19 years old to 20 something guys who've put their lives on hold for two years to serve the Lord, denying their very nature (burp, fart, wrestle) to share with total strangers the good news that the true church of Jesus Christ is on the earth once again and that the relationships we have here can be perpetuated into eternity through the saving ordinances of the gospel. Heavenly Father could have given this task to anyone--but he chose these young men. Further confirmation for me that the church is true.

I am filled with gratitude for all of the missionaries out there serving, but especially thankful for the members of my family (past, present, future) who do this most important work. We missed sending off the most recent, my brother-in-law Devin who will be serving the good people of Philadelphia. We're so proud of you Devin--we love you! Go help them 'feel the light'. (inside joke)

Devin Thomas Calaway
'Called to Serve'

Day 7: Coulda-Shoulda-Woulda

Shiloh could have been perfectly healthy/he could have been severely impaired, I should have never taken that nap the day he died (you have no idea how many times I've night-mared myself with this one)/I should be 36 weeks along this weekend, I would have loved him just as much if he had lived/I would not be the same person if he had survived.

I try really hard not to live in Coulda-Shoulda-Woulda Land. . .that place full of lost possibilities and unmet expectations. It is like the dentist's office of mental monologues--it only spells p-a-i-n. I have to conscientiously remember to book a round trip flight whenever I venture abroad to this dismal destination.

When I met with my (plug in any adjective of your choosing that means perfect and lovely here) doctor today she gave us the test results they ran on Shiloh after he was delivered. The geneticist report said:

NO CHROMOSOMAL ABNORMALITIES

Basically this translates into what we all thought=Shiloh was a healthy little boy.

They are classifying his death as a cord accident (i.e. maybe he laid on the cord wrong, maybe the cord wasn't formed right, on and on). Bottom line is that it is very rare even in cases like mine. Shiloh beat the odds in both directions.

Up, up and away I flew into the Shoulda region of Never-Never Land (most dangerous zone if you ask me). I hovered there a minute or two, then did a rapid descent into reality and gut-checked myself with this thought:

"No amount of shouldas, or wouldas, or couldas are bringing Shiloh back. BE GRATEFUL Hill. It is what it is. Thank your Heavenly Father that Shiloh is a part of your life at all. Be happy you got the time you did unlike the millions of others out there who don't make it to 28 weeks, or who lived in a time when still-born children were considered morbid and these situations were swept under the rug. Live in today--not yesterday and not tomorrow. Today."

Shiloh, my little man--I honor you best by fighting in the cause of truth. I won't let the battle of possibilities distort the truth:

You lived. You died. You live. . .and I love you.

Day 6: Weeping, Wailing, Gnashing of Teeth

We might have given our son a complex what with me taking off for a month to live in the hospital. I left for an hour tonight to play the piano for choir practice and when I got back Blaine met me at the door with a home video proving that Colton screamed, shrieked, sobbed, moaned, and attempted to puke for 45 minutes out of distress over my sudden disappearance. Heaven help the individual that watches our child next.

That isn't my expression of gratitude--although it is awfully nice to be so loved that someone would puke over you (I'm right up there with Elvis, the Beatles, and Michael Jackson pre-glitter glove tonight).

No, what I am truly grateful for is the wonderful staff over at St. Josephs in Marshfield. As I drove all over Wisconsin today my mind was flooded with sweet memories of the good times I had at the hospital. It kind of stunk that when I lost Shiloh, I also lost my excuse to see those amazing people everyday. I told them I'd make Blaine impregnate me A.S.A.P. so I could come and visit (code: live there again), even if it is only for a couple days(cross your fingers, say your prayers).

So here's to you Lucy, Char, Kelly, Kris, Linda, Jamie, Nicole, Carol, Ruthie, Michelle, LuAnn, Kristina, Dr. Mascola, Dr. Schoole, Dr. Meyers, Dr. Kaplan, Terri, Tanya, Jean, my physical therapist (why am I drawing a blank here?!), Mary Jane(love you!), the cafeteria runners, Cathy and Cathy (my cleaning gals), and oh my goodness I know I have missed so many. You are amazing--you'll always hold a special place in our hearts. We love you!

And guess what the best part is. Tomorrow I get to see some of these great people. Yup--tomorrow is my follow up appointment and I feel like I am going home.

I might have left that hospital without a baby but I walked away all the richer from these associations.

I am one very blessed girl.

Day 5: Until We Meet Again Terri. . .

Life had been hard lately and she was tired. The waves of this world had crashed on her shore one too many times. Beaten and bruised head to toe without a blemish to prove it. Her struggle was wearing her down from the inside out. Day after day she had faced the storm, and gave it everything. But it wasn't enough. Morning came. She lay there. She let it have her. Eventually she found herself on her knees--surrendering.

"I'm at the wall Father. I have nothing left. I have given everything. I have done everything I can think to do. . .I. am. broken."

She pulls her body through the motions. Get up, get showered, kiss the hubby and kids, hit the road. Another day has started. Drive to work, walk to the office, sit down, and check email before making the rounds. Nothing new besides a notice for a new arrival needing a visit--another high-risker. . .some woman from a nearby town on bed-rest with her second. "Why not", she concedes, telling herself "I'll drop in during my lunch break."
_______________________

[knock on the door]

"Come in." Probably my lunch. Ugh. I swear I'll throw up if I see another milkshake. Ok--they aren't that bad.

"Name and birth date" the server asks.

"Seriously, Monica" as I roll my eyes and smile. "Three, Nineteen, Eighty-Four and it's Snow White. Just look at my legs--any whiter and I'll be clear--then they won't need an ultrasound to see this baby."

"Very funny" she chuckles. "Enjoy your lunch".

"I will. Have a great afternoon--we'll see you tomorrow." I reply.

'All right--you can do this Hill' I cheer internally. I brace and grab the bed rail with my left arm, and shift from my right side to my left. Ooouuch. I swear, I could register for a rest home today--I drink prune juice, wear a diaper, and my joints throb like I'm ninety--sheesh!

Shiloh kicks. I smile.

"I know. I know, baby. Just two and a half months and I'll get you a bigger playpen. How about we dine to Mozart sweetheart. You'll love it-I promise. And someday I'll teach you how to play. . ."

(knock at the door)

Hmm. I wonder who that is. Probably Kris to check vitals.

A pretty woman with long hair and a gleaming smile pokes her head in. "Hi. I'm Terri. I'm from the branch here. President Smith emailed and said you might want some visitors--are you busy?"

"No, no. Of course not. Come in!" I stammer as I push my food tray away pleased that I have a reason to delay consuming MORE food.

We chat like two school girls at recess. I'm talking about my husband and boy--she's telling me about her girls. I make her laugh about my decision to apply for a nursing home and she's telling me about all of the places she's lived. Time disappears for a few minutes of our existence.

She promises to visit soon. I happily nod and thank her for coming.

And she keeps her word. She visits me every few days, bringing me lunch from the 'outside' (heaven bless her for that), DVD's to watch, and rich conversation to pass the time. I become enamored with this woman who seems to hold the sun, the moon, and the stars in her eyes. She's beautiful, and smart, and down-to-earth good, and real. And whenever the hours get long she's there. My luck seems too good--'how can this woman give so much to me when I have nothing to offer back?' I wonder. But she comes again. She tells me this time that she's catering an event and won't make it back for a week.

"I've got 48 days left" I tell her. "I'll be here."

And I was. . .
______________________________

"Haven't you heard?" the nurse says. "She lost Shiloh yesterday. They delivered a little boy early this morning. She's alone in her room if you want to visit."

She walks to Room 241, and knocks on the same door she'd happily entered so many times. But not today. She walks in and sees her, the woman she'd come to love over the past few weeks--lying there like always with a grin on her face and tears brimming her eyes.

No words come. What can she say? She holds the little mother as their tears together fall and she listens to her bed-ridden friend recount the past twenty-four hours.
_____________________________

"I don't understand this, and I don't have to. I don't need answers, but Terri--I have nothing left. I have given God everything. I have done everything I can think to do. . . I. am. broken. Is this what God wants--for me to realize I am broken with nothing left to give so that he can fix me and make me whole" I ask my friend.

"I am going to tell you something." Terri whispers as she wipes a tear from her face with the back of her hand. "I know what it is to feel broken. I came to work a few weeks ago and I had hit my wall. And then I see an email from President Smith talking about some girl that was pregnant and on bed rest needing visitors and I thought why not--I need this. I need to get outside of my little world and serve. So I came--and Hillary, you saved me."

"No" I declare. "You've got it backwards Terri. You saved me."

"It looks like we saved each other." Terri says.
___________________________

When Terri walked out of my room that day we left without exchanging phone numbers, or emails, or anything. I don't even have a picture of her. Our lives crossed for this moment in time and the intersection was so precious and perfect that I think we wanted to leave it that way.

Whether in this life or the next Terri, thank you. And God be with you until we meet again.

Day 4: Midnight Musings

"Charity is not an emotion or an action. It is not something we feel or do. Charity is who the Savior is. It is His most defining and dominant attribute."
-Sheri Dew from If Life Were Easy, It Wouldn't Be Hard

That's why real charity, the kind we read about in the scriptures--'never faileth'.
Ours on the other hand, does.

Sister Dew also explained that charity is a bestowal, a gift from our Father to all true followers.

"Thus when we plead for the gift of charity, we aren't asking for lovely feelings toward someone who bugs us or someone who has injured or wounded. We are actually pleading for our very natures to be changed, for our character and disposition to become more and more like the Savior's, so that we literally feel as He would feel and thus do what He would do."

Since reading that last week I have daily plead (sometimes multiple times a day) with all of my might, mind, and strength (see Mormon 9:27; Moroni 10:32) to have this gift. Because I am weak--a super weak mortal. And I need it. I have hungered for it--wanted it.

And then last night before floating away into sweet slumber I read about a couple who is precariously posed to start down the journey we recently embarked on--waiting for their unborn child to die. . .
After the shock and numbness wore off thinking about the storm this family is about to endure, I quickly slid out of my warm sheets and hit the hard ground to plead a stranger's case with full purpose of heart before my Maker. And afterward I thought, is that charity? Or at the least, is that a byproduct of charity? Pleading and pulling for others the way we would for ourselves--advocating their cause? That is what the Savior does for every one of us, and we follow that example when we apply the Golden Rule in doing for others what we hope would be done to and for us. Is it, I wondered.
Maybe.
I don't know--we're dealing with the gospel of Hillary here--I have no clue.
But if it is, everyone of you has that gift. You have pulled, and pushed, and plead our case. My heart is so full just considering that. I don't deserve it--I don't feel worthy of it.
But thank you nonetheless. Thank you for your prayers (past and present). We have felt them and they have made all the difference.
What can I say?
I owe you.
(a lot.)

Day 3: Pezzunts

Sunday naps aren't long enough. just sayin'. conversation that just occurred with the slightly (Okay, super) cranky three year old:
Colt: Mommeeee, I wanna pezzunt
Me: A 'pezzunt'?
Colt: Okay.
Me: Why do you want a 'pezzunt'?
Colt: I wanna pezzunt, okay Mom. Go up-sairs, open pezzunt.
Me: Honey, I don't have a 'pezzunt' for you.
Colt: I wanna GO HOME! (His answer for everything. That, or 'I want thaus-udge' [sausage])
Me: You are home.
Colt: (crying)
Me: (chuckling) Do you need a hug?
Colt: Hey, don't laugh Coe-tun. Coe-tun need pezzunt. (walks off, comes back 10 minutes later and dives straight into it while crying) Hey! I wanna pezzunt. Mom, I wont a pezzunt. Coe-tun need a pezzunt.
Mom: (no response, maybe he'll forget about it)
Colt: (runs off to Dad) I wanna pezzunt Dad, okay.
Dad: (no response, thinking maybe he'll forget about it. men don't mess around)
Colt: Dad, I wanna pezzunt.
Dad: What are you saying? I don't understand you.
Colt: (runs back to me) I wanna pezzunt Mom. (Buzzer on dryer goes off)
Mom: The house is on fire Colt. RUN!
Colt: (pause) I wanna pezzunt. huh. someone is still in birthday mode. twenty minutes later. . .
Colt: Mom, I wanna duice (juice). I wanna pezzunt.
Mom: (eyeroll, this again?)
Colt: I wanna pezzunt.
Mom: Colt, I want to understand. Why do you want a present?
Colt: (hopeful) A Pezzunt.
Mom: Why?
Colt: A pezzunt.
Mom: No, why?
Colt: A pezzunt. I wanna juice.
Mom: If I get you a juice, can that be your present?
Colt: I wanna pezzunt.
Mom: (Crap)
(Dad walks in office)
Colt: I wanna pezzunt.
Mom: You want a present?
Dad: THAT is what he's been saying?
Mom: Yeah, what did you think he was asking for? (mumblings in the background from Colt about pezzunt going on)
Dad: I don't know. I thought he was saying p-e-n-s-a-k-e.
Mom: Seriously?
Colt: I wanna pezzunt.

I don't know why I shared this conversation. Maybe because Grandmas read this blog and I shouldn't just blab on about me. Or maybe because my run-ins with Colt secretly thrill me, and I can't get over that kid. He saved me. I am so grateful for that little guy. I think Blaine and I would have had a completely different experience losing Shiloh if we hadn't had Colt.

I've read about a part of the grieving process, and I don't know if this is just with individuals that lose babies, but they call it 'empty arms' and your arms literally feel empty. I had this really bad right after I lost Shiloh, and I still do once in a while. For me, I am super aware of my arms when it happens and they literally feel heavy--they ache like crazy. Sometimes, I'll sneak downstairs in the middle of the night, scoop Colton up and just hold him and rock him in the dark until I get too tired. He fills that void right up. I thank my Heavenly Father everyday for my two boys, and for sending them in the order He did.

They are the best 'pezzunts' I've ever had.

Day 2: All is Well, All is Well

Today is the 24th of July, the day members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints celebrate their pioneer heritage.

At age 19 I had the opportunity to take a month long tour across the United States to study the American Heritage, American Literature and Church History sites. It was AWESOME--one of our stops was the Winter Quarters Temple and Visitors Center.

This temple is unique because the grounds encompass a cemetery. The juxtaposition of the Lord's house where families are sealed for eternity and the cemetery where families are separated for time is inspiring.

I didn't appreciate this fully at 19.

And I didn't really 'get it' at 25 when I lived in Iowa and would come to this temple.

At 26. . .I get it.

My Dad told me that when he saw Blaine and I kneeling across from one another to bury Shiloh that he was overcome with an image of the pioneers crossing the plains, burying their babies in the ground.

[This] statue stands in the center of the cemetery. It signifies the couple pressing on through hard trials. The cemetery here in Winters Quarters is a children's cemetery. Many families suffered the loss of a child or children.
(http://www.mormonchic.com/gospel/ch_tour_winter_qtrs.asp)

Today, I am grateful for my pioneers. It is a happy day.
And all is well. . .

Day 1: The One I Almost Missed

Oh Colton, my dear Colton. Someday, I will tell you all about the little brother I tried so hard to bring home to you, and how you were my saving grace when I couldn't make good on that. But just for today, it is all about you my little man.

This year, I nearly missed my oldest boy turning three, and the thought of that was completely devastating to me; nonetheless, I was a momma on a mission bound and determined to spend the rest of my summer in the hospital. Alas, both of my boys decided they wanted to be June birthdays. (Kids always make you eat your words don't they!)

So even though I would have died (honestly) to be in a hospital bed, I am ironically incredibly grateful that I was present (and vertically oriented might I add, in my own home for that matter) for my big boy's important day.

Here's to you Colt. I love you.

Notice the birthday cake BEFORE. . .

and AFTER (hmm, suspicious)

Sampling Great Grandma Calaway's YUMMY chocolate cake

You can't see it here, but there's a HUGE grin plastered on his face.

Hard Working Boy

Showing Mom his tools--one second before trying to give me a low-grade nose job.

I Just Love Lemons

Yesterday I watched a Glenn Beck show where he challenged his viewers for the next forty days to regain the honor in their lives, to fill themselves with 'faith, hope, and charity'. I realized today that I had done that very thing while on bed rest with Shiloh. (A brownie for you Hill!) For forty days I had worked to develop an 'attitude of gratitude', to see the glass half-full, recommitting myself to living more fully the gospel of Jesus Christ.

And then my son died. . .

And I thought, do I cease rendering God thanks, do I slacken my efforts to live His law because things didn't go as I had hoped?

NO.

So, for the next forty days I am recommitting to making lemonade from life's lemons, to praising Him who 'gave, and [He who] hath taken away' (Job 1:21). What can it hurt?

And I am challenging you to do the same. That's right--YOU. Slap a Pollyanna "Glad Game" sticker on your hinny and join in. Get a piece of paper, heck-get a blog and start writing down what it is that you are thankful for the next forty days of your life. By August 31st you'll have a nice stack of entries detailing the Lord's hand in your life. Hmm, you might think about sharing those compositions with the people you love. I did. And apparently it helped some of them.

Just something to think about.

(P.S. Plus I promise to use more pictures this go around--just thinkin' of you Cassie and Craig--we know how you roll! haha)

See ya'll tomorrow!

Not Forever

Not Forever.

That is what I whispered as I dressed Shiloh for the last time, as I gave him just one more kiss, as we closed the lid on the only home his body will know, as we laid him to rest, and as I got in the car and drove away. . .

I've thought a lot about this, and I've decided to share the remarks I gave at Shiloh's burial with you. You are probably thinking, 'She spoke? Crazy woman!' True. True. But I had to--I know him better than anyone and there were some things that had to be shared. So I'm sending this out into the universe. I pray it helps someone reading this.

I was on bed rest with Shiloh from late April to early June. While I was in the hospital, I was almost too weak to make it to the bathroom five steps from my bed let alone shower by myself for five minutes so I would wait until the weekend when Blaine could come and help. One time, I returned from the shower and noticed that a floral arrangement my dear friend had brought me now had large white flowers blooming that I hadn't noticed there previous to my shower. I asked Blaine if they had been there before.

'Yeah, they were there' he said.

'No', I told him, 'I don't think so'.

Again he reaffirmed to me that they were there and I realized that I must be losing my mind so I didn't say anything further until one of my favorite nurses Chris asked if I was upset that she had added some of her homegrown peonies to my floral arrangement. She explained that peonies bloom for a short while and she thought I would enjoy them. I of course thanked her and we all had a good laugh, but it sparked my curiosity about this plant. I found it ironic when I learned that under ideal conditions, peonies bloom from late April through early June.

In seven weeks of existence my precious Shiloh influenced more people and did more good than many do in a lifetime because he changed one heart--mine. I thought that I was working with God to save my son, but I realize now that really my son was working with God to save me. I gave him the body he wanted, and he gave me the new heart I desperately needed. If that were all that came out of this experience it would have been worthwhile--but it isn't. Our family has been changed for the better. Many other families have been changed as well.

The day I delivered Shiloh, one of the three high risk physicians that handled my case spoke with me and he expressed how important he felt naming a child was and that he was fascinated with the name we had given our baby and its meaning. His father and grandfather had both been Seventh Day Adventist ministers so he of course recognized the biblical origin of the name Shiloh. I told him that Blaine and I felt strongly that our son exemplified the meaning of his name which in Hebrew is, "His Gift."

"While that fits" my doctor said, "That is not the meaning to which I was referring." See, in his bible the meaning of the word Shiloh is peace or tranquility and it derives its meaning from what in our scriptures would be referenced as Isaiah 52:7 which says,
"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!"

As Aunt Gaylene so eloquently said, 'Shiloh didn't have to utter a word to bear his testimony.'

I want to join with my son and testify to you that God reigns.

When I first realized that Shiloh was gone, my doctor was beside herself-she couldn't accept it, and my nurse was literally wringing her hands exclaiming, "There can't be a God--what kind of a God would allow something like this to happen to someone like you."

And I remember that I wasn't crying. I just held my nurse in my arms as she sobbed and told her, 'It is okay. God didn't take Shiloh. It will be all right."

How is it that I could say that at that moment?

Because it is true. I know that it is true. God is so good. He is so kind.

In Isaiah 55:8 the Lord says," For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways..."

C.S. Lewis once gave the following analogy:

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first , perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently, He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is he up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of- throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace."

I would borrow from Truman G. Madsen and add that he is making us living temples--and it is in the temple that we come to truly understand where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going.

Elder Russell M. Nelson once said, "We were born to die and we die to live. As seedlings of God, we barely blossom on earth; we fully flower in heaven."

Shiloh has fulfilled his mission on this earth, and he has gone on to greater things as has the man in whose arms he will figuratively rest until he is again in mine.

Last Friday, I was reading from the Book of Mormon, First Nephi where Lehi is recounting to his two oldest sons his vision of the tree of life. In verses 10-15 of Chapter 8 it reads:

"And it came to pass that I beheld a tree, whose fruit was desirable to make one happy. And it came to pass that I did go forth and partake of the fruit thereof; and I beheld that it was most sweet, above all that I ever before tasted. Yea, and I beheld that the fruit thereof was white, to exceed all the whiteness that I had ever seen. And as I partook of the fruit thereof it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy; wherefore, I began to be desirous that my family should partake of it also; for I knew that it was desirable above all other fruit. And as I cast my eyes round about, that perhaps I might discover my family also, I beheld a river of water; and it ran along, and it was near the tree of which I was partaking the fruit. And I looked to behold from whence it came; and I saw the head thereof a little way off; and at the head thereof I beheld your mother Sariah, and Sam, and Nephi; and they stood as if they knew not wither they should go. And it came to pass that I beckoned unto them; and I also did say unto them with a loud voice that they should come unto me, and partake of the fruit, which was desirable above all other fruit."

In chapter 15, verse 27 Nephi addresses his older brothers when they question him concerning their father's vision. "And I said unto them that the water which my father saw was filthiness; and so much was his mind swallowed up in other things that he beheld not the filthiness of the water."

I wondered, 'what other things were consuming Lehi's attention?' If you trace the footnotes back you learn that this filthy water is from the river that Lehi's wife and children are standing by in his vision. The patriarch of this family, who has gone on to taste of the sweet, redeeming love of the Lord is beckoning to his wife and sons with a loud voice to join him and experience for themselves true joy. Lehi's attention is so riveted on his family members, to the point that he doesn't notice the filthiness of this river that stands betwixt them--yet, in the end, that filthiness will bar his posterity from enjoying the fruit he longs to see them partake of. Is it so different for us? The patriarch of our family isn't focused on the filthiness that surrounds us--his attention is riveted on his wife and his sons, and he is beckoning to us with a loud voice to join him.

Will we?

My favorite scripture comes from the Joseph Smith Translation of John 13:8-10. The setting is at the last supper when the Savior is washing the feet of his disciples.

"Peter saith unto him, Thou needest not to wash my feet. Jesus answered him, If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me. Simon Peter saith unto him, Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head."

May we allow ourselves to be washed clean by He alone whose right and joy it is. Might we never allow those who have gone ahead to truly be dead to us--may we recognize and accept their invitation and cheerfully do all things that lie within our power, that we may find no empty chairs at our family's table is my prayer and I say this in the name of our beloved Savior, even Jesus Christ. Amen.