Things that are different between Germany and America, according to my uber wonderful foreign exchange student.

• Our refrigerator (which is bottom of the  line) is HUGE!  HUGE, according to German standards.  Let me tell you something: Our fridge doesn’t even compare with my mom’s or my sister’s or anybody’s refrigerator I’ve seen around here because it’s tiny, according to American standards.
• Our stove and oven (also bottom of the line) is also HUGE!  Again, please note: it is tiny, according to American standards.
• Her entire German school could fit comfortably, with wiggle room, in her new American high school PARKING LOT.
• Wal Mart (yes, I’m ashamed I took her there during her first American week, but we needed diapers!  And a bicycle tire repair kit.  Plus, she was happy to go because Wal Mart is famous.) is HUGE.
• Hardly anybody rides bikes in America.
• Coke is too sweet.
• Fanta tastes different.
• American food portions are enormous.

Are you surprised?

A few weeks ago, a census taker knocked on my door.  I knew she wasn’t there for me because I had filled my census out the second I received it.  I really like taking surveys and filling in information.  I get a slight thrill when I have to fill out anything, like insurance forms or applications for anything.  And don’t even get me started on how much I love the doctor’s office paperwork.  Sometimes I accompany my husband to his appointments just to fill out his paperwork.  I’m not kidding.

~But I digress.  Quite a bit.~

Anyway, the dear old white haired woman was at my doorstep to ask me for information about some neighbors down the street.  I don’t know much about those neighbors, other than that they yell at you when you bring them a plate of Christmas cookies and they also like to get in near fights while my husband and his friend stand close by, trying to decide if they should be heroes or walk away. 

~I digress.  AGAIN.  This is NOT the point of my story.~

I gave the woman as much information as I could and we chatted for a while.  She told me how some people yell at her, swear at her, slam the door in her face or act really creepy.  Poor little white haired old lady.  She doesn’t deserve that.

She complimented my daughter’s eyes.  (I LOVE when people compliment my daughter’s eyes because I think they really are quite beautiful.) 

After we had chatted enough, she stepped back into the world, not much more equipped to do her job of tracking down the psycho neighbors than when she stepped into my house.

But even still, as she left she said to me, “Thank you for your help, and thank you so much for your beautiful smile today.”

Awww…I want to adopt her as my local grandma.  I want to be like her.  I want to thank people for smiles.  As childish as this makes me feel to admit, it feels really good to be thanked for a smile!  It feels really good to hear that my daughter’s eyes are beautiful.  The world needs more sweet people like this woman and I think I’ll start by attempting to join her ranks.  Would you like to join with me?

This boy…er, I mean man, is the reason we went to California last week. 

My baby brother (who is actually a giant next to my 5 feet 10 inches) returned from a 2 year proselyting mission to Ohio for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

It was terribly difficult to not see him for two whole years.  It was made even more difficult because of the existence of my sweet Lydia.  It broke my heart that he missed the first 2 years of her life, which at this point, is her ENTIRE life!

But knowing he was in the right place, doing the right thing made the separation easier.  And seeing him 2 years later, all grown up and mature, I am so impressed with who he is.  He knows who he is, he understands his purpose, he cares about people, he loves his family more fiercely than ever, and he has a testimony of God.  I am so proud of him.

And those 2 years?  He more than made up for them with all the special attention he gave to his nieces and nephews.  They adore him because they can very clearly feel his adoration for them.  After about 2 seconds of shyness, Lydia was running and playing with Uncle Darren.

How many single, 21 year old guys do you know who would spend a whole day at a park with 5 nieces and nephews, feeding ducks, pushing kids on swings, and sitting at the kid’s table for a picnic lunch?

I love that kid, I mean…that grown up man.

There is a story too horrible to tell.

Yet it was told in sickening detail in the newspaper.  I stumbled upon it unaware, while I ate my breakfast one day.  My eyes traveled through the paragraphs, while my spoon traveled to my mouth.  There was no warning.  Just as I put another spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into my mouth, the words unfolded themselves to me with no regret and no sorrow.  Just awful, horrible facts.

The victim was much too young to have any understanding of the cruelties he was receiving.  The abusers were children themselves, much too young to commit such heinous acts.  Yet they did.

I have read many stories of human suffering, but this one won’t leave me.  I read it a month ago, and I still have not been able to bring myself to say out loud what happened.  I won’t give any more details here because I don’t want you to read what happened.  It’s awful.  It sneaks into my mind when I’m not expecting it.  Nearly every day, I see what happened to this little boy and I cry for him and his parents.

For a while I was in despair.  I thought that nothing, absolutely NOTHING, could make what happened to this boy any better.  I then thought of others who have suffered at the hands of cruelty and began to wonder: can this EVER be fixed?  Will they ever be whole?  Even in Heaven, can they be made complete again?

I came to a point where I had to make a decision:  Either the answer is no, and some things are just too horrible to ever be made right.  Or it is yes, and the atonement of Jesus Christ is real.

I believe in the atonement.  As soon as I thought that the answer has to be NO, nothing can fix these things, I thought about the atonement of Jesus Christ.  He suffered not only for our sins, but for the things WE suffer.  There is forgiveness and love and healing power.  If the atonement is true, and I believe it is, then the atonement is the only thing that can fix these awful, cruel things.

As soon as I had this thought, my mind again went back to the little boy I read about.  Oh no, I thought.  Not even the atonement could fix this.  But then I thought that if the atonement can’t fix this, then how can it be real?  It IS real.  I KNOW it is.

So the conclusion I came to is that the atonement is more powerful than I ever understood.  The sacrifice of Jesus Christ is the ONLY thing that can save us.  It is the ONLY thing that can make things right for that little boy.  And if those things can be made right, then the atonement of Jesus Christ has to be the most powerful, most loving thing in this world.

I believe this.  I know it to be true, yet I think I only grasp one millionth of that truth.  Even so, with my one millionth of understanding, I am more grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ than I can even express.

This was painted by my dear friend, Eve Okura.  Isn’t it lovely?

Have you heard about the new NBC show, Who Do You Think You Are?

Each week is a different celebrity tracing his/her ancestry.  It’s fascinating to watch them trace clues all over the world to find answers to family mysteries or discover something they never even knew about their ancestry.

It’s so interesting to see these individual stories from huge parts of history.  The show is on Friday nights, and you can also watch full episodes at nbc.com.

Here are some clips:

I’ve had a heavy heart this past week.  We found out that a really horrible, senseless and tragic thing happened to somebody my husband knew when he served a mission in Florida for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  Even though I did not know this person, I feel the grief and pain of the tragedy.  My husband and I have been struggling to make sense of things, and many tears have been shed as we realize that we just can’t.  There is no sense to be made of some situations.

And then, I read this book.

Sarah’s Key, by Tatiana de Rosnay.

The story is about a little known roundup of Jews in France during World War II when thousands of French Jews were sent to their deaths. And they were sent by the French police, not the Nazis. What’s worse, is the story of the children. 4,000 Jewish children between the ages of 2 and 12 were taken from their homes in Paris with their parents. Once they were in a camp, away from the big city and the eyes of neighbors, the children were violently separated from their mothers. Children and mothers were bludgeoned, beaten and drenched in water in order to make the separation happen. The mothers were then shipped off to Auschwitz, and the children remained in the camp, parentless. After a few days, they too were shipped off to their deaths.

I’ve read so many stories about the Holocaust, but this was the first story I read that was primarily about children. As a mother of a toddler, it was, perhaps, the hardest to read. I sobbed while I read about the confused toddlers who were left behind in this camp, without their mothers or even the ability to communicate what they needed.

These mothers were just like you and me. They made future plans with their husbands. They went on vacations. They sang and danced with their children. They kissed their babies’ noses and cheeks before putting them to bed in warm, safe places, covered with the quilt Grandma made and nestled next to the favorite comforting doll or toy.

I can’t make sense of the brutality. It’s so impossible to understand these acts.

With jolly Christmas going on, I’ve been struglling through this heavy heart to teach my daughter the story of Christ’s birth. It’s a beautiful story. But what is more beautiful is the love of Christ. His gospel saves. It fixes. It heals.

My daughter requested this video almost every day last week. “Wanna watch Baby Jesus,” she would say. So we would cuddle up and watch together. The song is beautiful and I repeatedly found my ears pricking up at the lines, “Truly He taught us to love one another…And in His name, all opression shall cease.”

The knowledge that Christ’s love has the ability to end these horrible things is the only thing that has comforted me while being immersed in stories of the ugliness of humans. The world has a long way to go, but I know that in Jesus’ name, opression will cease. The tragedy that happened to my husband’s friend in Florida, the victims of the Holocaust…there is no way to make sense of these things. But through Jesus, peace and love can and will be found.

I try not to have regrets.  If I do something stupid, I repent and put it behind me.  I don’t hold on to past mistakes because they have a way of clouding up your current happiness.

But this mistake I am about to tell you- I do deeply regret.

This is a picture of my middle school bus driver, Elaine Goldstein.

We called her Miss Elaine.  She was one of the most cheerful people I have come in contact with.  And that’s saying something, considering she drove a bus full of surly pre and early teens each and every day.

She knew us all by name and greeted us that way each day.  She gave us Cokes on many Fridays.  And if I remember correctly, she soon noticed I don’t drink Coke, and started bringing a Sprite especially for me.

When my class graduated from 8th grade, she was there.  She came up to me and handed me an envelope.  Inside was a note and some money.  I felt pretty special.  Then, I noticed she was handing an envelope to everybody in my graduating class- even to kids who didn’t ride her bus.  Each envelope held money. 

I don’t know how she was able to give money to over 80 kids.  That act of generosity has been brought to my remembrance over and over again.  At some times of my life, I have been generous.  At other times, I have been incredibly selfish.  Each time I think of Miss Elaine’s generosity that day, I want to be better about sharing my blessings.

And now, here is my confession and my regret:

I went to California for a visit last month.  The thought hit me that I should look up Miss Elaine and let her meet my daughter and husband.  Even though it’s been 12 years since I last saw her, I knew she would remember me and be so happy to meet my family because she was just that kind of person- the kind that doesn’t forget.  The kind who is truly happy for the happiness of others.

Sadly, I ignored that feeling.  I was only in California for a few very busy days, and I did not try to look her up.  I thought that maybe I would try to find her on my next visit home.

She passed away September 30 from cancer.

I don’t think I’ll get past this feeling of regret.  But I hope that by sharing it, I will be more motivated to heed those feelings I sometimes get.  And I hope Miss Elaine and all those like her will be remembered.

Marinda was my great great great grandmother.  She was born in Denmark, and at the age of 9, her family heard the Mormon missionaries, believed what was preached, and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

The state religion of Denmark was Lutheran, and it was hard for people to accept those with a new religion.  Because of their new belief, Marinda’s family (and all the other people who had joined the Mormon church) were persecuted, much like the Mormons in America- with mobbings, beatings, tar and featherings, and more. 

Marinda’s family decided to move to America to join the rest of the Mormons heading west (who were also escaping persecution in Illinois).  Marinda’s family was lucky enough to be able to sell their house before they left.  Other Mormons were not able to sell their houses, and instead watched their neighbors move in, steal their furniture, and get nice and comfy while they set out on their long journey- leaving behind everything they had ever known.

This was what their beautiful village looked like  (I stole this picture from my mom, who recently travelled to Denmark).  How hard to leave that behind and move on to unknowns!

Marinda lost three sisters on the journey across the Atlantic Ocean, one who was born during that journey.  Upon reaching America, her father contracted cholera from drinking water in New Orleans and died.  That left Marinda, one sister, and their grieving mother to set out together on foot towards Utah, only a tiny fraction of what their family once was.

Once in Utah, Marinda’s mother re-married, had a child, and died in childbirth.  Marinda ended up living with another family.

Remember when I told you yesterday about my favorite paintings from The Hope Gallery? 

Take a gander at this first one, entitled “Immigrants.”  I imagine Marinda as the little girl holding the orange in the tiny family at the front of the painting, waiting to board the ship for their journey across the ocean.  She had no idea what was in store for her or what sadness she would soon endure.  But she knew her family would be able to worship and live the way they believed.

Immigrants Edvard Petersen

And this painting, “Visit by Mormon Missionaries”- is she the little girl interested to hear the message from the missionaries?

Visit by Mormon Missionaries Carl Dalsgaard

I admire her strength- to live a life so full of grief, but still find happiness.  She later married and had her own family.  And am I ever grateful!  Her strength to endure would later give me life, as one of her many many descendents.  And not only that- Her faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ was taught to her children, and passed from one generation to the next.

I am amazed at the hardships and tests our ancestors were put through.  Whenever I hear these stories, it always makes me stop and wonder: am I living up to their sacrifices?

My grandma turns 91 next week.

If I counted correctly, she has lived through 17 US presidents.  She was born pre-television, refrigerators, and microwaves- a fact she always loved to shock us kids with when we were young.  She lived through both World Wars, and was even alive before women received the right to vote.  She lived through the Great Depression, and still carries the “Use it up, wear it out” mentality from that era.

And that was just the early part of her life!  I haven’t even gotten into civil rights, man on the moon, personal computers…Doesn’t it make you wonder what you will have lived through by the time you are 91? 

Sometimes it seems like life if merely being lived, and nothing extraordinary is happening.  But when I look back at a timeline, I think i will be amazed at the advances and setbacks that occured during my lifetime while I was just moseying about, raising a family, teaching piano, and blogging!

Lydia meeting her Great Grandma for the first time at Grandma’s 90th birthday party last year.

There are so many things children don’t know.  They are ignorant of so many things- even ignorant of their ignorance!  But when they do discover a new thing- oh, how wonderful it is!

Like a stick.

Today, I took my daughter to the park.  She happily and surely identified many things with impolite points and stares. 

“Kid!” she yelled, with her finger in the face of a kid.  “Yes, that’s a kid.  Let’s walk this way.”

“Duck!”

“Bike!”

“Water!”

But when I told her to pick up a stick, she was lost.  She stood in a pile of sticks, looking around and around.  Finally, she looked at me, put her hands in the air, and questioned, “Shtick?”

“This is a stick,” I told her, as I bent down and picked one up.

Oh, the joy!  She hopped from shtick to shtick, gathering quite the large collection, while merrily shouting “Shtick!” (which, if you’re just walking by and don’t understand baby language, happens to sound an awful lot like a 4 letter word.)

She invented games with the shticks and wanted me to participate.  We could not leave the park without a prized shtick in hand.

And up to this moment in her little life, she has been ignorantly walking over sticks, crunching them under her feet, paying not even a second of attention to what they were.  She had no idea what she was missing, and what fun she could be having!

Doesn’t it make you wonder what you’re crunching under feet right now?  What thing are you ignorant of right now?  What will you be so shocked and amazed to discover?