Forty-Eight Part Two

Are you still with me? I shared the first half of this post yesterday. Because I recently celebrated another birthday, here are more things that I'm thankful for at this moment (one for every year of my life):

25. The miracle of forgiveness. Forgetting isn't part of the equation. Releasing bitterness is.

26. A steaming bowl of soup for dinner on still-chilly evenings.

27. The process of baking bread, which synchronizes all of my senses.

28. Poetry. A short time ago, I nabbed a thick volume by Leslie Norris (another thrift store find). His work is a "concentration and distillation" of everyday experience. Thanks to the internet I'm discovering some more current poets as well.

29. Segullah literary journal. I love the honest-yet-faithful writings by L.D.S. women. One of my poems will appear in an issue which is coming out soon.

29. Facebook. Laugh in my face or strike me with lightning but I'm thankful for this connection with friends, relatives, and adult children who live far from home.

30. A new journal. It was a thoughtful birthday gift from a new friend; I see it as a reminder that I still have something to say.

31. Old notebooks. I used to carry them with me everywhere because I couldn't wait to write, Now they're a concrete reminder that I can feel that way again.

32. Blogs. I'm fairly new to this world but it's opened up some possibilities to share and read others' thoughts.

33. A comfortable home. That's the thing about middle age. I'm learning to be more content.

34. Sibling harmony. It's what I most enjoy when my brothers and sisters get together and what I hope for with my children. My in-laws treat me like family too.

35. Secure employment. We've been less-affected by economic woes; living modestly is nothing new.

36. Caring teachers. I'm overwhelmed by the impact of dedicated coaches, church leaders, and educators in my children's lives. I still remember teachers who mentored and encouraged me.

37. Books. This differs from #15 because I'm talking about the volumes I've collected over the years. They're faithful friends.

38. Music. Technology allows us to enjoy music with the click of a button although my waistline would be slimmer if I had to walk long distances to a live concert (a la Bach).

39. Memories of a few trips we've taken. I loved the Oregon coast, live oaks in Louisiana, and sampling Texas barbecue.

40. A caring community. We have different views but there is always an outpouring of love when someone experiences tragedy or an urgent need.

41. Unfinished projects. Admittedly, boxes of fabric and decor fill my closet and clutter our room. It's been months since I sent anything to publishers as well. But the potential to improve my life, our home, and my wardrobe is there. I have plenty reasons to get up each day.

42. Scriptures. Reading daily is hard right now but I remember times when I've been filled with peace and insight. I'll keep trying and trust that I'll regain that feeling again.

43. The chartreuse green of new leaves. Right now the willows add a blaze of color to our stark desert landscape.

44. Joseph Smith. He was human and never claimed to be perfect. But he was also a courageous witness of Christ. I'm grateful that he restored the church that is my spiritual anchor here on earth.

45. Visual art. We recently enjoyed a free exhibit at a nearby college. There's nothing like seeing skillfully-rendered paintings or sculptures up close. It's food for the soul.

47. Prayer. Like scripture study, this habit has sometimes been hard for me to maintain. Remembering times when I've felt close to God helps me feel like He's still there.

48. My Savior, Jesus Christ. I love the Easter season and can't deny the power of His atonement. He lived and died for us individually. I hope my life this coming year will more clearly reflect this truth.

Thanks for enduring to the end of this post!

Forty-Eight Part One

Feliz cumpleanos: that's how they say it in Spain.

Now that I serve the women in my ward (local congregation), the children didn't sing to me the Sunday before my birthday. It came anyway and I decided to list positive things that are part of my life right now--one for every year I've lived on this planet.

So, in no particular order, I'm thankful for:

1. Pain-free feet. After visiting a naturopath (for lack of a better term), my heels have healed to the point where I can hike scenic (steep) trails again. Maybe I'll work in some running.

2. Our oldest son who shows concern for others while putting himself through college the old-fashioned way. Crazy marathon runner, he teaches me what accomplishing a goal is all about.

3. A courageous, unselfish daughter who also inspires me. One more year to go on her mission. She's doing great.

4. Our second son who introduced me to live jazz and rock 'n roll. I didn't plan to have a kid who plays electric guitar but it can be fun. (He also turns down his amp when asked.) And how many teenage boys spend successive Saturdays helping a friend's family move and paint their new house?

5. Son number three who blew apart any remaining parental preconceptions. Thanks to him, I'm learning more about valuing people for who they are and I've let my hair down. Way down.

6. My youngest son who has a kind heart and never fails to give me hugs before he runs out the door to school.

7. Hot popcorn with melted butter/olive oil and a sprinkling of salt.

8. The prospect of coral-colored tulips in my backyard.

9. Peach blossoms

10. Stunning views from my front windows: sandstone cliffs dusted with snow and a mountain that looks like a suspended blue-white wave.

11. The fact that my middle-aged eyes can transfer this stunning image to my mostly functioning brain.

12. A selfless husband who is my antithesis. That's a very good thing.

13. Rhodiola rosea. I know from experience that alternative medicines don't work for everyone, but this herb is helping to lift my moods.

14, Peanut butter. I still have one child who would not survive without it.

15. The library. I would not survive without it.

16. German chocolate cake and oreo ice cream: my favorite birthday dessert

17. Benja Thai and Sushi, where my husband and I went for this year's birthday dinner. Two reasons: calm ambiance and curry. Maybe someday I'll choose sushi. Or not.

18. My parents, who celebrated fifty-nine years of marriage this week. They didn't make a reality show out of life with ten kids. They just lived reality with sacrifice and faith.

19. The prospect of buying and planting a peace rose bush

20. The prospect of peaches and cream with buttery whole wheat toast for a late-summer breakfast. (Our peach trees escaped damage from frost this week.)

21. Nonshopping sprees. As in avoiding malls for long periods of time.

22. On the other hand, I'm glad that getting an occasional thrift store fix is a harmless diversion. My husband was the one who refinished the $50.00 entertainment center that barely fit through our door. I merely pulled out a $5.00 bill and the attractive skirt that still sported a $99.00 price tag was mine.

23. I'm also thankful for the minimal effort I recently put into losing 10 pounds. More effort will be required to reach my goal, but I'll be able to wear that cute skirt again.

24. The wonderful women with whom I serve in my church. I think God is trying to nudge me out of an introverted state.

Thanks for reading! If you're still with me, look for part two tomorrow.

Empty Chairs

It's 2:07 on Thanksgiving morning and I'm wide awake, counting blessings instead of sheep. At the same time I can't help thinking about empty chairs

This afternoon our daughter will file into a crowded cafeteria at the Missionary Training Center to partake of the annual feast.

Obligated to work on Black Friday, our oldest son will roast a turkey and maybe even bake homemade pies in his apartment to share with other students who couldn't travel to their homes for the holiday.

I ache with the memory of our college-age kids staggering through the front door with overflowing laundry baskets, their jackets smelling of November cold as they greeted us with awkward hugs and huge smiles. This year our hall isn't piled with luggage, no one has complained about hot water turning cold mid-shower, and no one's been demoted to sleeping on the living room floor.

How did life shift so fast, propelling our children into the world?

I am thankful that they'll miss us as much as we'll miss them when we gather with my parents, some of my ten siblings and their families for a laughter-filled dinner served on styrofoam plates. Two chairs will be empty because our son has a job and both of our adult children are choosing to serve others in a culture that's often colored by self-indulgence. I'm grateful that they freely embrace their obligations to a God who can never be repaid for blessings He pours upon us.

The winter of 1620 left many empty seats in the pilgrims' first hovels. They still thanked God for deliverance from "perils and miseries".

There will be plenty of reasons for empty chairs today as Americans likewise reserve a time to celebrate thanksgiving.


Copyright Nov. 24, 2011 by Nani Lii S. Furse

Daughter, Teacher, Friend

She was born in the wake of late-summer rain and a night of intermittent labor. I had dreaded the possibility of another forceps delivery but she came after only a few minutes of pushing, a blessed conclusion to an uncertain pregnancy.

More than twenty-two years have passed since we first held our newborn daughter. We've delighted in her first impish smiles, her princess fantasies and desires to emulate all things good and beautiful.

Yes, she took part in childhood squabbles. We had to enforce expectations that she complete schoolwork on time and her tendency to daydream once resulted in a wrecked car. But she walked away with minor injuries and we're grateful that she could enter a new phase of life.

One month ago we traveled to Provo where she was scheduled to enter the Missionary Training Center. She'd packed cardigans, skirts and blouses along with a few personal items. She'd posted a witty Facebook farewell. She'd printed her unfinished novel, tucked it away and placed her books on my bedroom shelf.

Autumn rain swept over the Wasatch mountains as we hurried through one last errand at the University Mall and our final meal together. We joked and laughed, trying to lighten the reality that she would be leaving for eighteen months. Then we crowded into our car and headed west with a steady flow of noon-hour traffic.

Unfamiliar with this area, I didn't expect to see the Utah Valley Regional Medical Center as my husband changed lanes and prepared to turn south. But the sight of the large hospital triggered memories and emotions that were impossible to check.

I remembered a frigid winter morning in 1989. As a young mother living in Midway, Utah I'd told my husband good-bye before he headed to another day of teaching school in neighboring Heber City. Then my spontaneous decision to read to our two-year-old son turned terribly wrong. One moment I was enjoying his clever comments as I basked in my happiness at being pregnant again. Everything changed as I felt something pop deep inside and a gush of fluid that turned out to be blood.

After a series of frantic phone calls and a trip over icy roads to the clinic, my husband and I sat, stunned, as our doctor said that I had probably lost the baby. Trying to comfort us, he mentioned that this wasn't uncommon in the first trimester. Then he sent us to Provo for an ultrasound.

A few days before, my younger brother had traveled up the snowy canyon from BYU to assist my husband in giving me a priesthood blessing. It's a tradition that we started when we learned that I was carrying our first child. But the comforting assurance I had received concerning this second pregnancy didn't seem to make sense. I tearfully voiced my doubts as we circled the half-frozen waters of Deer Creek Reservoir. My husband squeezed my hand and said, "Remember what we were promised."

It wasn't the first time I'd leaned on his faith. Nor the last.

Half-an-hour later I lay in a stark room as the ultrasound technician spread icy gel on my still-flat stomach. I hardly dared to look up at the dark screen, but we soon watched in amazement as the small yet perfect image of a baby kicked and wriggled into view. At last I felt the warm confirmation my husband had known all along: this child was meant to live and I would do everything in my power to make it so.

After weeks of bed rest, prayers, and plenty of red raspberry tea, the bleeding eventually subsided. I had to limit my activities for the rest of the pregnancy but, considering the seriousness of a partially ruptured placenta, our doctor said my recovery was remarkable indeed.

Twenty-six years into our marriage, my husband and I are dealing with different challenges. Some require high levels of patience (which I frequently fail to practice). They can't cured with a physical remedy or prayed away.

But the last backward glimpse of our daughter smiling as she walked down a rain-washed sidewalk towards another turn in her young life reaffirmed my determination to meet the unknown with faith.

I continue to feel amazement at her growth and the insights she shares in weekly letters or emails. Learning a new language (in her case, Spanish) in a limited amount of time is hard and other aspects of life at the Missionary Training Center are intense is ways that I don't understand. Her words express hope and optimism, however, and I don't worry. She's learned what it means to pray with intent--the intent to do her part--and she's beginning to reap the blessings, even if they are as simple as a quiet assurance that she can press on.

That alone is a reminder that I need on a regular basis. I'm thankful that, in spite of my weaknesses and mistakes, our children are growing into some of my greatest teachers and friends.