A Christmas Sewing Miracle

Just after I finished a sewing project and put my machine away, I noticed how much thread was left on the spool. IT WAS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE! 

(Having it turn out that close is a miracle any time it happens!)

Do you sew? (Or is sewing just so-so?)

Love and Courage and Strength, a True Story

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” ~ Lao Tzu

Bob's father, who's lived a unique life, turned 89 in October. His best present was that he was finally getting around on a newly healed ankle, broken last spring when he tripped over a board on the footbridge in his backyard. An annoying infection sent him back to the hospital to have the plates and screws removed from his bones.

In spite of patient care from Grandma B, heroic assistance from his daughter Lucy, devoted attention from his son John and various grandchildren and great-grandchildren, Grandpa got to a point where he hadn't eaten for 4 days and was unable to swallow even liquids. Hydrated through IV lines, he lost 30 pounds. It looked like the beginning of the end when he stated in no uncertain terms that he didn't want any heroic measures taken to prolong his life.

The trouble is, he forgot that his family is made of heroes.

Determined to see Grandpa one last time, my six sons and husband converged on his hospital room all on the same day. Their combined love blasted Grandpa, building on the love already delivered by other family members. Grandpa told stories and laughed until he cried. He ate four bites of food. After hugs and goodbyes, my boys went out to eat, having way too good of a time at the restaurant. (See photo above.)

The next morning, my two oldest sons went for a final visit before making their long drive home. They found Grandpa sitting up and drinking through a straw. Instead of being on the brink of death, he was on the brink of returning home.

I have to believe that the deep love poured out to Grandpa from all his family gave him strength to continue living with us on earth for awhile.

Don't ever underestimate the power of love!

Season of Sacrifice, by Tristi Pinkston

Author Tristi Pinkston writes history as though she'd been there. Her books carry a sense of place and time that belie her youth, and make a reader believe the author must be a sage of many years. Her new book, "Season of Sacrifice," was a compelling read with many emotional twists and turns. It gets to the heart of a controversial lifestyle that some see as barbaric and others view as supremely loving. Whether you agree with it or not, polygamy has been a part of Utah’s history, and Pinkston uses her proven skill with words to portray the close bond between sisters that builds up to the breaking point when the oldest sister’s husband proposes to the younger sister. As a reader, I could not imagine how the heartbreak caused by the emotional rift could ever be resolved. But Pinkston managed it with her characteristic flair.

Woven into the tale of affairs of the heart is the incredible story of a tenacious group of settlers who would not let an impossible pass through a natural hole in the rock remain impossible. Their journey is an inspiration to anyone who faces obstacles of any size in their life.

When you reach the end of Pinkston’s story, all the more remarkable because it is true, you are left with a sense of wonder and a renewed belief in the power of love.

Get your copy of the wonder and miracle of love, "Season of Sacrifice," at http://www.tristipinkston.com/books.htm

Bad Red

Since we're studying Book of Mormon history history in Sunday School, it was only natural that the subject of the New York Sacred Grove came up. As our teacher talked about the miraculous feeling in the grove, my mind skittered backwards to my childhood days when I visited the grove with my family. While we were there, looking up into the heavens and wondering about the events from so long ago, my two brothers had their eyes on the ground, and each one managed to catch a small snake from those sacred grounds. I don't recall if they asked our parents or if they smuggled them in their pockets, but those snakes made it home.
My younger brother's snake was a mild gray color, and eventually had a batch of teeny little baby snakes which we discovered wrapped around the vents on the back of the old black and white TV set. (No, I don't know how they got onto the TV.) When I first saw them, I thought they were little black wires and I touched one. It was soft and it squirmed. I don't remember exactly what happened to them, but I believe my mother gathered them up into a shoe box, and then my memory fails me.
My older brother's snake was a dusky red color, and with a fiery temper to match, was aptly named, "Bad Red." My brother would hold Bad Red's mouth up to his ear and let the snake bite his earlobe, then walk around the house to show off his snake earring. I thought he was terribly brave.
Then, one day, Bad Red went missing. We looked for him, but had no luck until my mother went downstairs to get a load of laundry out of the washing machine. Her scream rose three stories, and brought my brother running. "Did you find my snake?" he asked. She had, right with the clothes flattened to the side of the tub by the spin cycle. The miracle is that Bad Red was still alive, and very much in the mood for biting earlobes. If you think a boy and his dog are a touching sight, you haven't seen a boy and his snake earring.