FaceTime Refugee

Elder Bradan Soria received a warm welcome when he finally arrived in New Mexico with four other missionaries, a few articles of clothing, and a small backpack. The new mission president provided a hot meal, then insisted he FaceTime home, so our family could witness his survival. His first comment while shaking his head in shock, "What just happened...?!?" He was not yet able to sort through the complete destruction, endless tree branch moving, lengthy power outages, and numerous peanut butter cracker meals he had experienced. But his countenance remained bright.

"We have nothing, but we have everything we need," he said, referring to all valuables and belongings lost in the hurricanes that struck Puerto Rico.

Ending the call, I realized Bradan was a refugee in his own mission...

Evacuation

In the aftermath of Hurricanes Irma and Maria. I received a call from the LDS Church Mission Department that Elder Bradan Soria is safe and will be temporarily reassigned to serve in the New Mexico Albuquerque, Spanish speaking mission. He should arrive there by end of next week. He will "return to Puerto Rico to help communities rebuild once basic infrastructure is restored." Meanwhile, The LDS church is continuing efforts to assist in the restoration of devastated Caribbean islands. Bradan has a deep love for his Puerto Rican brothers and sisters and will hold them dear in his heart until he can once again serve them.💞

https://www.deseretnews.com/article/865689445/LDS-Church-buying-food-in-Puerto-Rico-for-Irma-victims-temporarily-moving-some-missionaries.html

Tall Weight

When I heard some strange, clanking noises and asked my young son, Gavan, what he was doing in the bathroom, he responded, "I'm weighing how tall I am."

"How much do you weigh?" I questioned.

"I'm five fourteen tall!" He declared.

Translation: Gavan weighs 51.4 pounds.

🤓

Unclear What It Meant

Last week, our stake held a special fast, specific to having the desire for opportunities to share the gospel in preparation for the Meridian Temple Open House.

At the close of all Kingsley Park Ward meetings on Sunday, Bishop Bowen had the congregation kneel in the chapel before offering an amazing prayer to break our fast together. As he shared words of gratitude for missionary opportunities, I received an overwhelming warmth in my heart regarding my son, Elder Bradan Soria. Unclear what the rush of emotion meant at the time, I simply nodded my head in agreement during that prayer and mentally expressed to the Lord that I trust and accept he is in control. My tears flowed.

Later, I went home to offer my own personal prayer, in order to break my fast, and felt inspired to include, "Please bless Bradan as he embarks on his new journey." I stood paralyzed and a bit confused. Tears welled in my eyes. I had no idea why those words came to me so clearly...until I received Bradan's email on Monday.

In his message to me, he mentioned that the missionaries in the Puerto Rico mission were making immediate preparations for the onslaught of Hurricane Irma. My heart sank a bit. I was clueless such a catastrophic storm was headed for the small island (and felt horrible for being so clueless), but I sensed a tone of nervousness in his writing. Bradan had survived a small Texas tornado and several California earthquakes, but never faced a Category 5 hurricane. He requested I read about it and stay alert. I followed up on his request and soon realized that come what may, the inevitable hurricane would thrust Bradan aboard a cruise of new Caribbean experiences; demands of the mission would be slightly altered. That, I understood, is why I prayed specific to him.

Sparing intricate details, this week carried gratitude unmeasured as my son and I both embarked on adventures to unknown territory: he facing an unavoidable natural encounter that will forever impact his perspective, and me with newfound spiritual insight. The Lord knows me, he knows my son, and he guides the meeting of our needs.

While driving home from a Linder Stake Relief Society meeting last night, I reflected on President Petersen's remarks about Mom Moments, and how they can happen at any time, at any place, and for any reason. Once again, my tears flowed and my heart swelled. I had been feeling super inadequate overall as a mother and daughter of God. But in reflection of his words, I thanked my Heavenly Father for the moment I answered the early morning call from Puerto Rico and heard my son declare, "Hi, Mom! I'm okay." Our chat time was limited, but in that brief Mom Moment, he called to me, I replied, "...now go forth and serve," and we shared an unforgettable holy connection, united, even while standing on separate ground.

I am grateful to leaders like President Petersen who give those unclear life experiences true meaning. And for helping me realize you cannot create any divine MOMents without including MOM...

Write Hand, Left

While rounding the stairwell, headed upstairs, I slammed my right hand on the sharp corner of the wooden stair rail two months ago. It rang through the house like Quasimodo's signal from the bell tower. Instantly, I hunkered in pain, yelled "I think I broke my hand," then sat on a step and giggled endlessly when my daughter ran up to my rescue.

It still hurts, hinders me. I have had to rework my fingering while playing piano. I drop things more frequently. It feels like a fifty pound weight prohibits any lifting and movement of my pinky finger. And I discovered this week I have no feeling atop that hand.

Given the circumstances, I consider it a blessing that I write with my left hand...

SAN to LAX

I could not figure out how I got caught in an isolated snow storm while sitting in the cabin of 747 at the San Diego Airport. After a brief moment of panic, I scoured the walls, the ceiling, well everything in view to find its source. I looked under my seat, out the window, and inside the magazine pocket. Nothing. As I hummed in confusion and positioned myself against the seat back to buckle up for take-off, it became apparent. The lady sitting ahead of me had her air vent on, and it was blowing HER flakes of dandruff around my face. Gag.

Moments later, the plane condensated cold-water drips onto my lap to complete the perfect storm.

#vomitbagstatus

A Comforting Refuge

Lately, every temple trip offers me the serenity and peace my spirit craves, while providing me the boost I currently lack. My worth of self plummeted quickly upon discovery that my spouse clings to deep, dark addictions. It has been a difficult journey to gain peace in my broken marriage and trust in a spouse who betrays. I have not found healing in the same environment where continual deception abounds, so this summer I planned road trips with my daughter to temporarily remove myself from the toxic residue. The trips were designed in order to visit at least one temple, as well as some of the local restaurants or sites.

Together, my daughter and I entered Los Angeles, Provo City Center, and Ogden. I was actually endowed and sealed there before the incredible remodel, so it was a sentimental, yet new experience for me. We toured the grounds as she captured some fascinating photos of Twin Falls, Brigham City, Salt Lake, Provo, Payson, St. George, and Reno. We also attended the open house of Idaho Falls, and continue weekly attendance in Boise.

Outside the temple, the spirit bore solemn witness of truths surrounding the edifice the building represents. But something even more incredible transpired upon entering The House of the Lord. Numerous sisters and a few brethren who work inside each temple stepped out of their comfort zones to vocally assure my daughter and I how beautiful we are; that our presence is needed. Some have made comments which were answers to questions that only my Heavenly Father knew how to address. Still others have even mistaken us as sisters...and I wholly grace the compliments.

One such moment was in my own district temple, Boise. I had finished with initiatories and wound my way to the Celestial Room when a dear sister pulled me aside. With joy in her eyes, she gently held my arm and said, "I am so glad you came this way. We are not allowed to talk in the initiatory booths, and I just wanted you to know how beautiful you are!" Tears immediately welled in my eyes and all I could muster was a humble, "Thank you." I have since forgotten her name, but her genuine love for me, a complete stranger, will forever remain. Her words that day were real; they were felt deep to my core. I believed her.

In contrast, I struggle to believe any compliment my spouse may offer. Based on opposite actions, his dictated words only ring hollow.

How grateful I am for a loving Heavenly Father who completely understands my needs; a father who sends tender mercies at crucial times. The uplifts have not only affected me, but have consoled my daughter, who often feels insignificant while battling a rare ovarian cancer.

For me, the temple is not only a place of learning, but a safe haven; a comforting refuge from any confusion in life.

The Open House

I took my youngest daughter and son on a short road trip to Eastern Idaho, so we could tour the Idaho Falls Temple during the public Open House in May. Gavan was amazed at its sacred beauty and charm! His favorite part was the intricate baptismal font; mine was the vibrant Celestial Room.

Along our journey, we stopped to see the literal falls of Twin Falls and walked the Twin Falls Temple grounds. What a perfect day for a glorious sight! 

Before settling into the Marriott Residence Inn for a warm swim and cozy sleep that night, we drove through Yellowstone Bear World. I never imagined how well it would be received. Gavan had an absolute blast there! He wanted to stay past closing time and return the next day. Unfortunately, we could not fit that desire into our schedule. 

Overall, the trip was an uplifting and successful get-away!

50, 50, 50

Right this moment, I am turning 50 years, 50 days, and 50 minutes old, while my world is simultaneously rising up and crashing down on top of me.

Ahhh, life.

They Are Everyday Heroes

"Heroes (we could be)" by Alesso is the song which came on when the absence of Bradan finally hit me in November. He and Kristin used to sing it together constantly. They would just belt it out, Bradan contrasting his slightly off-pitch tone against Kristin with her power-house voice. And I loved it!

Now that Bradan is away (dedicating his time to serving the people of Puerto Rico as a missionary of the Lord) and Kristin is home battling a rare ovarian cancer, the lyrical memories hold deeper meaning for me.

Hearing Kristin boldly sing it solo as we track along the dark miles between Salt Lake City and Boise, I realize Bradan to be a spiritual hero; Kristin a physical hero. They are everyday heroes, a rank above super hero, in my eyes.

Let my heart swell and the tears flow...

One Lump Sum

On Monday, the family attended my Uncle Harold's service. It was a wonderful life tribute filled with stories of near- death adventures, wild motor cycle rides, and military attacks in the jungles of Guam. Later that evening we were dining at Fiesta Guadalajara. My young son, Gavan, looked up at the big screen TV to see the car races showing, and asked, "Is that how your brother died? From the cars?"

It took me a split second to understand his question. Then I realized: viewing Harold's lifeless 90-year-old body, hearing all the motorcycle stories at the funeral, and having visited my brother's gravesite on several other occasions, Gavan jumbled all the information into one lump sum, trying to process it.

I giggled a little and said, "No, sweetheart."

I went on to explain that my Uncle Harold loved fast dirt bikes (not cars) and passed away just last week. My brother was a musician, but was really ill at the time he died, many years ago.

After my brief discussion, Gavan simply held out his tiny hand and asked for another dollar to go capture a rubber animal in the claw machine. Ahhh. The random mind of a kindergartener...

Kikin' Cancer

The piercing words a mother refuses to hear were spoken during a follow-up appointment with the surgeon at St. Luke's Medical Center this afternoon: Kristin (aka Kikin') must face an unpredictable battle with a rare form of ovarian cancer. The Stanford pathology experts concurred with the initial local pathology report. There is little research on her type of cancer. Standard treatments like chemotherapy and radiation do not offer much response. Staging will be necessary, but challenging to her specific case.

Time will tell her story, but if I know my daughter, she will be kickin' cancer to the curb.

In the midst of all the findings, she looked at me through heartfelt tears, as we walked out the revolving door of the MSTI clinic, and compassionately stated, "I'm so sorry I can't give you grandbabies."

Sweetheart, on this memorable Valentine's Day, that is the least of my concerns.💞