Safe Arrival

Elder Bradan Soria began flight at 5:30am, with his royal blue jacket on, and by the close of day, he safely arrived in San Juan. My heart sings, "...all are safely gathered in..."

Rejoice to Return

Elder Bradan Soria was called back to the Caribbean, where he will embark on a new series of mission adventures in Puerto Rico. The endless dedication, leadership, and laborious faith of President and Sister Smart orchestrated an outpouring of divine strength across a devastated island and ensured our missionaries a safe return to the Island of Enchantment, so they might continue serving as instruments for the Lord. The article attached reflects their perspective; how they placed the missionaries and the work they have been called to perform at the helm. I fully trust my son under their care. In this, I do rejoice!

https://www.deseretnews.com/article/865695981/Reason-to-rejoice-missionaries-return-to-Puerto-Rico.html

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.💞

I Never Appreciated Cereal

Year after year, night after night, gallon of milk after gallon of milk, I watched my son eat a heaping bowl of soggy cereal, right before dozing to sleep. The dishes would pile on his bedside desk for days. Occasionally, a straggler bowl never made it to the dishwasher for cleansing, but found its demise in the trash can, crusted (or molded, in some cases) beyond sanitizing. Keeping bowls stocked on the shelves was quite the feat. It was not uncommon for him to resort to using salad spinners, Tupperware, or mixing bowls in desperate times.

Admittedly, I do not see the draw in a General Mills night cap. Milk is a slimy liquid that tends to produce an influx of goobers. Cereal is too sweet for settling my night-time stomach, and the grainy texture leaves my inner cheek layers shredded. Although I never esteemed cereal, I did keep a lofty supply in the pantry, which gave my son a variety of options.

I never before appreciated cereal as much as I did while eating that big bowl of Honey Smacks at 11:30 the night he departed for the Caribbean. It was an unforgettable midnight snack; one with a reel of pleasant memories stuck on replay; perhaps a tradition which will evolve into my own mini-ritual over the next two years.

The Needed Call

Eighteen years ago, my first son was born. I remembered hearing earlier from an ultrasound tech that I was going to be having a baby boy. I refused to believe such nonsensical talk because I only had girls to that point. But the second Bradan entered this world, I knew he had a special place in my heart and in this world. He belonged.

Bradan stood as the backbone of priesthood in my home; he remained the sole entertainer and quiet peacemaker the many years I wore the single mother label. His vigorous spirit, coupled with the joy he illuminates, surpassed anything I could have wished for in having a son. His decision to serve a full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has been a solid one the past several years. He has prepared as needed, according to the will of our Heavenly Father.

Waiting at length for the white envelope from Church Headquarters to finally arrive often left me in cold sweats. For many weeks, I wondered, I prayed, I worried where Bradan would be requested to serve. There were many justifiable guesses, and even more random speculation. Yet, as Bradan opened the envelope to read the assignment with nervous excitement, every fear and all worry disappeared. A joyful peace flooded my heart, giving me an assurance that Puerto Rico San Juan is exactly where Bradan belongs. When I consider the responsibilities required and the blessings promised in his patriarchal blessing, combined with his personality, his heritage and lineage, serving there purely made sense.

Bradan's call was clear confirmation that our Heavenly Father knows us individually; he knows our abilities and what we have to offer others; he loves us eternally and has a special place for us. At any given moment and under any specific circumstance, we are needed...where we belong.

Bradan blessed my home beyond measure the past 18 years. Today, as he embarks upon his journey through the Caribbean, he will soon discover how immensely the people of Puerto Rico will bless his life while he faithfully serves them for the next two years.

A Silent Moment

Election Day 2016

It was a monumental experience today, election bonding with my son. His first opportunity to participate was a vital one: tackling the presidential ballot. Americans are divided against God like never before, and the structure of our government quickly crumbles while our Constitution dangles in the balance. The final outcome will determine the fate of our liberty.

It reminds me of Captain Moroni. He
hoisted the Title of Liberty, then rallied all the people to unite and defend God, religion, freedom, peace, and family (Alma 46:12-13). We seem to have gotten away from those core values and desperately need to head back in their direction.

Grateful for my own freedom, I utilized it to fully support the candidate I believe is most fit to run our country.

May God watch over and bless the USA!

Chained at University Hospital

My recent lumbar puncture procedure sparked a distant memory:

I remember years ago being admitted to University Hospital (at University of Utah) in Salt Lake City for neurological testing. The room adjacent to mine housed two male convicts who were chained to their hospital beds. The officer guarding the door outside their room could be seen in the view from my own bed. He occasionally peeked in with a smile, and made sure I recognized my own safety in the circumstance. I trusted that I was in good care.

Occasionally, I would be guided by the nurse to walk the halls so the injections from spinal scans could dissipate through my tissues. On one round of walking, I recall taking a glance into the temporary prison cell. My eyes briefly made contact with both criminals lying in their beds. An overwhelming desire came over me. I should have been afraid, but I wasn't...initially.

At that moment I yearned to sit down next to them and assure each how much their Heavenly Father loves them. I wanted to hear their stories; I wanted to understand what led to their current states of existence, and to ultimately teach them a better way.

But as with most conflict, I waited too long and thought too logically until the opportunity to approach them passed. Instead of acting on my prompting and asking permission to visit the two criminals, I ignored the feeling and turned my gaze away from them. Later, I was discharged and gone.

For many years, I regretted not acting in that moment. Every one of us is a criminal, a sinner in mortality.  Imagine if Christ had turned his gaze from me and, in essence, left me chained to my bed. The thought is unbearable...

Shards of Glass

Daily experiences package themselves in a variety of ways. Some may open to traumatic endings, some may carry endless joy, but most seem to unwrap small elements of surprise in an otherwise predictable life.

Last night my kids wanted to have an Applebee's steak dinner, then play a round of miniature golf for our Family Home Evening (FHE) activity. But, since we had a couple Texas Roadhouse gift cards burning a hole in the pocket, we made arrangements for call-ahead seating and settled on dining at the Roadhouse instead.

When we arrived at the restaurant, we were immediately given a cozy booth. I motioned my husband to scoot in, so I could be on the end to assist my son, who was sitting in a high chair. Greg introduced himself as our server, then introduced Jacob as a recent hire and a server-in-training. We exchanged pleasantries as the young men took our drink orders and gave us time to review the menu.

Within a few moments, Jacob-in-training returned, balancing a large tray of glasses filled with soda on his left hand. While he reached across me with his right hand to set a cherry limeade in front of my husband, a lady passed by our table. As Jacob-in-training simultaneously leaned in to get out of her way, he instantly lost grip of the tray, a loud SHATTER! rang through the building, and I was instantly drenched with soda. In a wave of ice cold shock, I yelped...then busted up giggling! Everyone around me giggled. The empty tray left a long trail of sopping wet evidence from the soft, brown hair on my head, through my crotch, and down to my cherry red toenails. Shivering in sloshing pools of soda, I proclaimed, "That was the ultimate ice bucket challenge!"

Needless to say, the shards of glass that scathed my clothing and sliced my fingers paid for our entire meal. We left a generous tip on the table, alongside my daughter's hand-written napkin note (which thanked Greg and Jacob for a great evening).

If we had dined at Applebee's, as originally planned, this mis-hap may have been missed happening. And what a shame that would have been. When any element of surprise presents itself, I choose to bask in whatever experience it offers. This incident produced a lasting memory for my family, and renewed gratitude that I write with my left hand. My only hope here is that Jacob-in-training remains on the payroll to become Jacob-the-server...