Just the Right Thing

The job in Utah was one of those dream jobs. Every time I attended training meetings in Utah, I thought "Oh, that would be SO awesome to work there!" Woking for LDS Family Services is a dream job anyway, but the position in Central Office would be icing on the cake. Robert even daydreamed with me…he would've moved back to Utah as well. After he passed, I felt very settled here, but some little part of me always wanted to work in Central Office and to live in Utah.

Robert had job dreams too. He loved his work, but when the Phoenix Temple was announced, he felt a special pull towards it. It became his favorite temple (I used to tease him about the fact that he was sealed to two different women in two different temples, but neither of those temples was his favorite!) He hoped that the position of Temple Recorder in Phoenix would be a paid position that combined both his Facilities Management experience and the exacting but important work of keeping temple records. His desire, since before we married, was to be a temple recorder. The Phoenix Temple was still under construction (or more accurately, was stuck in design phase) when Robert learned that the Temple Recorder position for the Mesa temple was about to open up, he contacted a longtime friend, Edgardo Carbajal, who works in the Temple Department, to ask about the position. Although one doesn't usually ask to be interviewed for such a post, Edgardo was delighted to arrange an interview.

Robert described the interview as not so much an interview, but a friendly visit. The brother doing the interviewing explained that he was meeting with people, trying to discover who it was the Lord had in mind for the position of Temple Recorder. They talked about many things, including the responsibilities of the job. Robert felt qualified for the job, for sure, but by the time the interview was over, he also knew he was not the one the Lord had in mind for the position. And in the end, what we both wanted was to be doing what the Lord needs us to do. Little did we know, the cancer returned only a few months later. "Ah, that was why!" we thought. Robert did not even live to see the Phoenix Temple dedicated in this life. I'm certain he was present on the other side of the veil, but not with his own feet set on earthly clay.

Then the 'dream job' position opened up. My first thought was that I loved my life here. Close to most of my kids and grandkids, not to mention many, many friends. Then I thought about the long term benefits of the job in Utah and positioning for retirement. I wondered how a better retirement fund would happen in my current place. After a struggle, I decided to apply for the job. I'm good at what I do, so I wasn't surprised when I was notified that I was one of the final candidates. Nervous, yes. But not surprised.

I loved the opportunity to be interviewed! I enjoyed visiting the Church Office Building and getting a little tour of the grounds. I especially enjoyed meeting so many people, all of whom work to move the Lord's work forward. They are all people I admire, many are people I enjoy working with from my current position. Working right there, I thought, would be so fun and so inspiring. I hoped it would be a terrific experience! At the same time, I had some mixed emotions about leaving what I've known for almost 30 years. And the idea of moving to Utah, the place Robert and I dreamed of living, without Robert felt a little odd. Still, I'm always up for a good adventure (that's something Robert and I had in common).

The morning after the interview, I wanted to just relax and enjoy the weekend with my son and his family in Idaho. As I prayed that morning, I felt perfect peace and assurance that "Whatever happens will be exactly right" for me and for everyone else. It was such a tranquil feeling that I commented to Jane (my sister-in-law) that I wasn't sure if I was even feeling things, because I felt such total calm. I went off to 'play' with my family and it was wonderful!

The following Thursday morning, when I arrived at work, I noticed the picture of Robert and I from our wedding had fallen off the sticky board where it resides. I picked it up and suddenly felt Robert so very close. All the memories of that Temple Recorder Interview streamed through my mind and it was as if he was standing right there saying to me, "Don't worry, everything that happens will be the right thing for not only you but for everyone else." And I wanted that most of all; whatever happened, I wanted it to be right for everyone and the work to go forward with whomever the Lord needed there to do it. And somehow I knew that meant I needed to stay right where I was. So, when Sandie called later that day, I wasn't surprised when she said someone else had been selected for the job, and I immediately felt peace about it. I am very aware that the Lord is mindful of my needs, my desires and my abilities. Sometimes the abilities I think are important to Him and not the ones He wants me to develop. Sometimes, times like this, I am given direction on which way to go. That direction came after I did my best to go a different way, but then the Lord said, "That's okay, I need you here."

My oldest son had said "You can't ask the Lord to bless your efforts if you don't make an effort to do something yourself." That's so true! (Wow! I have such wise kids!) I still don't know how that retirement positioning thing is going to work out. But looking back I see that so very many things I wondered about have worked out far better than anything I could have thought of. The Lord has blessed and continues to bless my efforts. I'm profoundly thankful for the opportunity and the experience.

Keep thou my feet
I do not ask to see the distant scene
One step enough for me.

To Be A Pioneer

If you're a Mormon, you might feel a certain amount of pride in having Pioneer ancestors. Ancestors who sacrificed all, crossed the plains in handcarts and wagons and began a new life in a new land. Pioneers who not only settled distant towns and made the desert blossom as a rose, they did so for a religion that filled their hearts with joy and peace.

Well, maybe if you're from a long line of Mormons, anyway.

Some of us, though, are pioneers ourselves, becoming the first converts in the family tree.

That's me. I joined the Church as a convert from another faith. My mother and I were baptized on the same spring day 50 years ago (ouch! I'm that old?). My father, after exhausting many a missionary, stepped into the waters of baptism a couple of years later. I completely loved and embraced this new Church. All of the peace and joy that was missing in my life I found here. There was just one tiny painful point. Most of my new-found friends were from Pioneer stock…and I was not. I could not yet see myself as a different kind of pioneer. I simply wanted to have pioneer ancestors. When my new friend, David Orgill spoke of the faith of his great-grandfather, Heber C. Kimball, I was jealous. When other friends spoke of pioneer ancestors who crossed the plains, I was green with envy. Oh, how I wanted to be one of those 'pioneer families'!

My hope was renewed when my mother began to take an interest in Family History work (Genealogy). I begged her to find some hidden line of Pioneers and I could finally claim a birthright I thought I was owed. She searched…spending hours in genealogy libraries and travelling to Utah for more. She authored five volumes of family history on her father's line. No Hidden Pioneers.

You don't have to push a handcart,

Leave your fam'ly dear,

Or walk a thousand miles or more

To be a pioneer!

(To Be A Pioneer, text by Ruth Muir Gardner, Children's Songbook, p. 218)

The wanting grew when we spent a summer visiting Nauvoo, Illinois and other Church history sites. That summer, I read and re-read the History of Joseph Smith, written by his mother, Lucy Mack Smith. Oh, how I longed for religious roots sunk deeps as theirs. Lucy became an example to me, her faith and dedication to do whatever the Lord required of her ennobled my heart. I can't explain the bond I felt with her, but time would prove the reason for it.

Years later, some of my longing for Pioneer blood was satisfied by knowing that my children have contributed to the posterity of Hyrum Smith, brother to the Prophet Joseph Smith, and a real Pioneer of the Restoration. Their father is a direct descendant of Hyrum. I found peace and joy in that knowledge and the feeling of love and admiration towards Lucy Mack Smith grew. I felt humbled to have had a part in blessing in her life. I realized that each of us is a pioneer of sorts, we each blaze our own trail. That concluded my desires for Pioneer blood of my own, and I even stopped asking the Lord for such a blessing. If such a link were ever found, that would just be icing on a beautiful family history cake.

Ancestry DNA is a marvelous thing. A few weeks ago, I did a DNA test through them, hoping to find clues to help untangle the Messenger family on my Grandmother's side. All efforts at research had stopped at my great-grandfather. My mother had concentrated her work on my grandfather's line, leaving my grandmother to do her own. When grandma hit a memory snag, she stopped as well.  It was messy. So messy that I reasoned there couldn't possibly Pioneer ancestors in that line anyway. When her father supposedly died, Grandma was sent to live with another family. The information stopped there. I felt stymied, so I took a break. Now Ancestry DNA had fixed the mess. And there he was! A TRUE Pioneer Missionary in the early church!! We aren't direct ancestors, but we'll claim him anyway!!

Myron Spencer Higley is a cousin to my Great-great-great-great-grandmother, Martha Mills. His obituary shares the following information:

"Myron S. Higley, son of Job Higley and Dorcas Eggleston, was born in Simsbury, Ct. December 29th, 1801. His father supposed to be dead, in his 12th year Myron, with a younger brother, was leased to an uncle, but not relishing the treatment they there received, left without warning after two years' service; wandered off some forty miles and were kindly taken in by a stranger with whom they lived some years, when they went to Gananoqui, Canada and engaged in the business of turning wooden bowls and making water buckets, which Myron exported in large quantities.

"He married Priscilla Ebberson, October 1885; heard and embraced the Gospel just before the patriot war and moved to New York State… made his mother a visit and converted her to the truth of the gospel, but her husband (for supposing Myron's father to be dead had married again) being so much opposed to the religion, she concluded not to be baptized then…

"From Nauvoo he moved to Benton's Fort on the Des Moines River then to Council Bluffs, and from there to Uintah, Utah….His family number eleven children, seventy-one grandchildren and fifty-six great grandchildren. He was tender hearted, strictly honest and a faithful devotee of Mormonism."

Why do I share this? Why not leave the story un-fulfilled? Why not be happy with BE-ing a Pioneer of my own making?

For me, this entire journey proves how closely connected we are with each other. A glance at my social media feed shows me this as well- you know, that Six Degrees of Separation thing. But THIS connection is about family. Somewhere in this valley are other relatives of Myron Higley. Higley Road, Town of Higley, all surely named after some distant relative! We're all related somehow, the actual links are hidden in our ancestry. Before this event, I didn't believe I was connected to any of it. Often, how we see our connections shape how we treat each other. The same blood that made Myron a tender-hearted and faithful man runs through me and to my children. The strength to survive difficult life situations, the desire to work hard, the desire to have a strong family…all of these things are shared in our genes. That makes me think, what hidden and shared experiences are in the genes of that stranger I see on the street? What common ancestor-ly experience is shared by my new friend at church? What hidden link might I share with my neighbor? I wish I could see how your fourth-great grandfather was a kind stranger to my third-great-grandfather. It would give me greater cause for compassion and understanding. We need to be kinder to one another, because in the end, we're all connected.

May thy strong Spirit bind our hearts in unity,

And help us each to find the love from self set free.

In all our heart such love increase,

That ev'ry home, by this release,

May be the dwelling place of peace.

(Our Father, by Whose Name, text by F. Bland Tucker, Hymns, #296)

A Full Bottle of Blessings

My home teacher asked me if I had a bottle of consecrated oil in my home. I knew I did. Well, I thought I did. It wasn't where I thought it was. Two weeks later, while looking for something else, I was digging through 'Roberts drawer' in the dresser I found it.

And there in Robert's writing is the date on the label: 9-09

September 2009. Robert was home from the hospital, doing Chemo. We were so full of hope. But I have forgotten about this oil....did Jeff come over and they consecrate oil together? Did they do that in a Priesthood meeting? I remember Robert had a couple of other bottles which he gave to others, but this one was ours. I remember the tender comfort I had, knowing that there was a bottle of sacred oil in the fridge, and more importantly, a Priesthood holder who was able and willing to use it by my side.

The bottle is nearly full. Not that Robert didn't give or receive blessings. He did. Some of my most sacred memories are of blessings received at his hands. There are precious few of them (how many blessings can a person have in just three years?) but he did give them. To me. To children and grandchildren. To others- we often made quick visits to hospitals and homes of friends so he could assist with blessings. But most of the blessings he received were in the hospital, using someone else's oil. So our bottle is almost full.

Full represents something else to me. Roberts favorite saying was "My half-full cup runneth over with blessings." A full bottle of oil. It is evidence that our life, his life, my life, have also been full of blessings.

And oh, the blessings we received. Not just Priesthood blessings, given by the laying on of hands. But blessing blessings. We filled journal pages listing the tender mercies of each day.  The way we met was a true tender mercy from the Lord, evidence of His design and Plan for us. And as the blessings of days together continued, he would squeeze my hand, or I his, as a silent recognition of a tender mercy unfolding before us. Even holding hands (which we always did) was a tender mercy! How have I forgotten this? But I have.

And yet this week, as I had petitioned Heaven for a return of some of that Joy, the bottle of oil appeared to remind me. It's always been there. I just lost it for awhile. A bottle full of oil for blessing others.

Oil for my lamp, and a light unto my feet.