Perspective

I have had some truly life-changing moments over the last few weeks, and I've got to write some of them down.  I won't bore you with all the details of my introspection, but I'm sure you will be able to identify how I was moved by each of these events.

First, the funeral of our dear ward friend, Boyd Smart.  His life was a simple one, centered on all the things that really matter.  His house was not fancy, he is not recognized for worldly accomplishments.  What he is know for is his life of selfless service and dedication to his family.  I remembered as a listened that he called me by name when he saw me at church or in the neighborhood.  And his smile was like sunshine.  Simple life.  Simple love.  Simple and so rich.  Do I really need a bigger house, newer car, etc?  What I want more than that is a family like Boyd's, connected by the unbreakable bonds of love.  What I want is to give more service to those around me and stop worrying about myself all the time.

The second event was the funeral of another dear friend, just a week later.  Nancy Law was the stake Relief Society president when I was Stake Young Women's president.  She took me under her wing after a stake council meeting where I was made to feel very embarrassed about a comment I made there.  After the meeting, she met with me in a little room and comforted me, assuring me that I had done the right thing with the comment I made.  (I won't get into the story behind what I said, and the way I was attacked by someone in that meeting-- because I think I'm finally over it.)  This wasn't the first interaction I had with Nancy, but I needed the comfort she provided me so much that morning.  She knew exactly what to say.  She made me feel better, and she made me want to be better.  She wasn't bitter towards the person who was insensitive to me, she didn't backstab that person to comfort me, which I might have done.  She made me want to rise above myself and forgive the individual, when my initial reaction was something more along the lines of, "Fine.  I quit."

Nancy was a passionate musician who taught middle school orchestra.  Her daughter, Sara, plays fiddle in the band Leaping Lulu, who we danced with when I was doing Irish dance.  Her husband was the head of the art department at USU, and Jason studied under him.  We have several connections to Nancy, as I'm sure countless people in this valley do.  She was loved by so many.  My heart broke when I learned that she had been diagnosed with an aggressive brain cancer last spring; she was only 64 when she died.

I will never forget the feelings I had as I walked through the line at her viewing.  On display were absolutely amazing photos of her and her children when they were small.  (Remember her husband is a world-renowned photographer!)  In the program for her funeral was a quote she loved:

Life is what you make it

So take it

And make it beautiful!

I wept as I drove away from the church, overwhelmed with the question, "Have I been wasting my life worrying about the wrong things?!"  But true to Nancy's earlier influence on me, I didn't feel despair.  Only determination to do better and live more.

The third event happened at Wal-Mart.  Did you know that you could have an extraordinary experience at Wal-Mart?  I did not.  But as I stood in line to return some shoes, I noticed a beautiful woman with the darkest black skin at the register.  She was trying to send money home, and she spoke no English.  She had an infant in a carseat, and a beautiful, wild little boy running all over the store.  The customer service girl was trying to figure out why the money wouldn't transfer to wherever it was she was sending it.  Another employee stepped in to help.  "Oh," she said, "Ivory Coast."  She shook her head at the beautiful young lady and tried to explain to her that there are no stable places to send money in her homeland, Ivory Coast.  Of course she couldn't understand and just stood there silently with a sad and puzzled look on her face while her little boy ran gleefully around all the checkstands in the store.  My heart broke in half right there in line and I desperately wondered how I could help her.  She kept showing the clerk the address on a paper, the information she needed to relay but couldn't communicate with words.  The clerk was so distressed, speaking slowly and a little loudly, with a red face, "I'm so sorry, but there is no way to send money to Ivory Coast right now.  I'm so sorry."

I can't tell you how this has affected me, but I know you can guess.  I know you can guess if you have a family that you love more than anything else in this world.  But I also know that most of us reading this blog will never understand what it's like to be in her shoes.  Ever.  I strolled through Wal-Mart with its vast racks of cheaply made clothing and food piled high, looking at all of us buying stuff we think we need. We don't have a clue.  I have more to say about the conflict in this woman's home country, but it would quickly turn political, and I don't really want to go there.  Only that I wish that as a country, our humanitarian works extended beyond those countries in whom we have national interest (aka oil) in.  I'm grateful to belong to a church who absolutely does and will continue to help those people.  That was my only comfort that morning.

And finally, the baptism yesterday of a feisty firecracker Brooklyn-born Puerto-Rican lady in our ward, Roqui Lugo.  She has investigated the church for 12 years, I think, and finally felt ready to accept the gospel.  I could not believe my eyes when I walked into the tabernacle and saw her sitting there.  She really was glowing.  Everyone said so.  She looked completely, completely different.  I can't describe to you the feeling in the room when she walked into the water to be baptized, being willing to take upon her the name of Christ.  She trembled and sobbed as she stood with the missionary who had been teaching her.  I doubt that there was a dry eye in the entire room.  The joy was tangible.  When the service was over, I hugged her and asked her how she felt.  She smiled and said, "I'm a Mormon!" with wide eyes, like she would have to get used to that idea.

We had a big celebration at our house afterwards, and that truly is what it felt like to me.  A celebration of life and love, and the bonds we have on this earth, with each other, and with our Savior.  I feel so aware of my blessings right now, and I don't ever want to forget.  That life is what you make it.  So take it.  And make it beautiful!