April 2020 Snapshots

General Conference with everyone
Our friend’s name was read during General Conference. We raised our hands high to sustain him.
movie buddy
I pinch myself sometimes to see all the boys home.
Easter activity with the Sanchez family
Easter dinner: pulled pork, baked beans, homemade rolls, layered green salad
“Spelling” games from Easter candy 🤭
walk
recovering from surgery
Stake Council Zoom meeting, hearing a missionary report

I didn’t post much about family life in April. Days are smudged in my memory, all about the same. Sundays we gathered for dinner and to watch old home movies. Richard worked an unconscionable demand of hours, mostly from home, thankful to be employed. I have watched the clock for entertainment since my surgery, content to do almost nothing. We watched a movie almost every evening. Daniel has been a primary care giver to me, and we have had some good talks. Tim has worked outdoors, mowing and aerating, and has been faithful in completing school work. I learned quickly that I should not ask him about school. He manages his life like a boss. Mark was most content to be home, with days uncluttered by middle school nonsense. He talks through each assignment aloud, frustrations and triumphs sounding in my ears. We have eaten more takeout than usual, hoping to keep our favorite restaurants alive. Also, friends have provided a lot of meals since my surgery. I finished reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy and watched the movies. That was a good choice. April was the best and the worst. I know you can relate.

Losses and Gains

I am home from the hospital, feeling a little neglected because I am not awakened each morning at 3 or 4 am to stand on a scale and have my blood pressure checked. 😉

I have lost a length of my intestine. I have lost sleep, my appetite, and a lot of weight. But I have also lost a level of fear about this time, its isolation and uncertainty, and illness in general. People really do take care of one another. So, with all the losses, there are gains in perspective and understanding.

I am not able to focus on reading very well, so I have been reading my notes I took during my Book of Mormon study before my surgery. On the day I became ill, before I had any idea my life was about to change, I wrote these notes, under the caption of “Life Instructions during the Covid-19 pandemic”:

  • Remember God has delivered your ancestors. (Alma 36:2)
  • Trust God. You will be supported in this. (Alma 36:3)
  • The Atonement [of Christ] covers the harmful effects of [everything]. Let your mind catch hold on this thought: Christ’s mercy. He will make all this suffering better. He is that powerful. (Alma 36:14-18)

Hospitalized

I do not have coronavirus. I did have a bad night and a major abdominal surgery this week. Being hospitalized right now means I have not been allowed any visitors, even Richard. I wore a mask the first day, but they took it off after my surgery. The nurses I have met are covered. I was shocked to meet my surgeon by taking his outstretched, ungloved hand. I know my caregivers by their eyes and sometimes hair, and those with a gentle and healing outlook can’t be hidden by a mask. I have not lacked for anything I really needed. I had a priesthood blessing from Richard and Daniel before we rushed to the hospital. I partook of the sacrament last Sunday. I have the things I have learned about the Spirit’s voice, Christ’s atonement, and my Heavenly Father’s love in my heart. I have been given to know what to do and when, alone in my hospital room, to help myself deal with pain and make improvements in my condition. I have not been lonely, somehow, although I miss my family. Just a day or two more.

Some bright lights

I follow Geoffrey Walker’s Instagram account because of the way he delights in his wife’s sewing projects. This man is so good-natured and happy. Pauline is his sweetheart and he often says, “I love that girl!” They post snippets of a simple life, full of love and faith.

I follow this Instagram account because this father daughter duo is talented and loving.

I love Mr Morrill. He is a light, too.

Things will improve

These are amateur photos of Paige’s paintings of The Secret Garden, but they give you an idea what they look like.

Oh, this pandemic. I find my opinions and moods shift like the tides. I keep a copy of Paige’s paintings on the front of our kitchen cupboards to remind me that things will get better. When I am dealing with complex emotions, I ask myself where I am in The Secret Garden spectrum, and just being able to place myself in the story helps me see there is a resolution coming. Some days, I am painting number one, contrary and pessimistic. I like the painting with Collin in bed, with Mary illuminating the room with her candle. I want to be like Mary, sharing light, even though I am a little fragile, too. Richard likes the doorway opening into the garden, reminding us to keep a sense of wonder and hope. Clearing flower beds with the family was our best activity all week, and in a month or so, there WILL be pink flowers on the tree outside my living room window. Where are you in the spectrum today? Where is your robin leading you?

Master Healer

As we approach the worldwide fast for relief from the effects of COVID-19 tomorrow, I want to share this painting by J Kirk Richards entitled, He Healed Many of Diverse Diseases.*

As you look at this painting, what do you notice? Can you picture yourself here, and if so, which person seems most like you? What do you learn from the child in the painting? Who are the people that are ministering? Who might be feeling fear or anxiety, and what can you learn from their acts of faith? What feelings does this painting evoke? What truths about a merciful God can be found here? What can you do to point others to the Master Healer at this unique time?

I like the following graphic, but it is missing an important point: a prophet of God issued this call to fast. President Nelson is inviting us to plead for ourselves and our brothers and sisters all over the globe.

*This painting can be found in the 2020 Come Follow Me for Individuals and Families manual for the week of February 10-16, page 29.

Home

These weeks have not been easy. The not knowing, the not-so-good news, the waiting, painful conversations with people who heard Daniel was home when he was not, the constant school emails, and the work stress were rough. Things were complicated in Chile. Daniel helped print four different release certificates for himself in the mission office as his evacuation date moved several times. I prayed for peace constantly. One night, out of words to pray, I lay in bed praying the words to “Bring Him Home,” which was one of my more effective prayers.

Neither Richard nor I slept well the night before Daniel’s flight, and Richard tracked that plane constantly throughout the day. I kept busy, but felt my chest tighten as the day progressed. We drove to the airport together, two nervous wrecks. No, we didn’t think he would come home sick or harmed, but we were embarking into an unknown. Daniel arrived, full of light and reassurance. That night, I had my best sleep in years.

It’s not that we lacked faith. It’s that faith sometimes needs to be tested. Would we complain? Would we push our needs ahead of others who were suffering in different ways? Would we keep turning to God? Would we be overly dramatic about circumstances? Would we neglect the needs of our other children as we hyper-focused on our worries about international travel for Daniel? Would we stop acknowledging the blessings that flowed because Daniel was serving a mission? Would we forget hope? Would we neglect the little things like family prayer and scripture study in this sickly, dense fog?

There is much more to live before the resolution of this story. I don’t want to forget the comfort that only came through prayer. I don’t want to forget the light in Daniel’s missionary face. I don’t want to forget that there was a continual flow of understanding and concrete instructions as I read the Book of Mormon each day, pen in hand. These have been precious, soul-expanding days leading up to his return. Now that he is home, I am giving myself permission to breathe, rejoice, rest, and just look at Daniel’s face, in line with the rest of our children, all gathered together again.