Today I ran to Scott's school for him to get some documents off his computer that he needed. (Win-win. He got the stuff he needed without having to drive out there- thus getting some things done at home that he needed to, and I got out of the house without kids...)
On the way, I hit horrible traffic. I thought sure it was for construction, because cones were set up for about a mile. I inched forward slowly, and eventually was able to see that it wasn't construction, but a horrible, horrible accident. I found out later that it was a six or seven car pile up. I got there after the emergency vehicles had already taken victims to the hospital, and only saw the clean up effort. The cars were SO smashed up, it was scary to see. One car was only recognizable as a car by its location and the circumstances. Otherwise I'd have taken it for scrap metal at a construction site. I was very shaken by the sight- even though I didn't see any actual people that been involved in it. (Found out later on a news website that at least immediately following the crash, there had been no deaths. Hopefully that doesn't change.)
While I wasn't shaken by the memories this brought up, I couldn't help but think back to the picture of the car I had been in when I was my horrible car accident. There were a lot of angels working overtime that day, as I'm sure there were today for the people involved in the one I passed.
It was when my dad was in the hospital. I finally got the call to come home immediately because he was on his way out. Heidi was getting on a plane and I needed to drive from Logan where I was attending USU to Salt Lake City where my parents lived and my dad was hospitalized. It was December, and in Logan that means snow. This particular morning it meant blizzard.
My visiting teacher was Becky Clements (now Hopkins). She had been a good friend to me all semester, and had told me that if I needed to get to SLC quickly, to call her and she'd be happy to drive me, since I didn't have a car at that time. So this morning, Friday of finals week, I called her at about 7 AM. She willingly rearranged her schedule, contacted a professor to move a final, and drove to my apartment so we could load up and move out. I remember putting the phone numbers to all three bishopric members in my wallet, thinking I would want to call one of them when it was all over, just to let them know Dad had gone.
We made it about fifteen minutes from home was all. I only remember the first two minutes of the drive. Becky lost that whole week from memory. We hit some ice in Sardine Canyon and our car spun around into oncoming traffic. We were broadsided by a snow plow. (I found out in recent years that while it WAS a snow plow, what everyone has been meaning was a big pick up truck with a blade on the front- not a huge snow plow like I'd always been picturing... But in any case, we lost the battle.) Becky and I were thrown together. Her head broke my jaw. My jaw broke her head. She was in a coma for a month afterward. (Yes, I am hardheaded and stubborn, but I am convinced that this particular personality flaw in no way detracts from my lovability...)
The miracles? The car behind us (or shortly behind us- I don't know all the details) was being driven by a nurse or CNA who called 911 and then came to help us in the car. He later helped my bishopric counselor give me a blessing in the hospital. The rescue workers didn't go quickly at 'body removal' at first because they thought both girls in the car were dead. They were shocked to discover in time that it really was a rescue mission. I recovered fairly quickly considering my injuries. Within two months I had returned to work.
The miracles for Becky? First, it was a miracle she lived and had full mental capacity. She went on to become an occupational therapist- which was her goal even before the accident happened- which required a Masters Degree. Now she has a first hand view of what it is like for her patients. To my knowledge, she had no debilitating permanent effects of the accident, though it did affect her permanently. I want to say she met her husband as a result of the accident as well, but I could be wrong. (They live happily with several children.) Becky's dad had been laid off months before the accident. Because of the accident, networking happened and he found a job as a direct result.
Other miracles? First of all, I received a settlement from Becky's car insurance. That money held both my mother and me over for a year until she was able to find a job to support herself. She went back to school, got a job she loves, and then the money ran out. If I remember correctly, the money ran out right about the time she got back on her feet- I had just enough left to buy a car with the remaining money so I could do my student teaching.
Oh, and the phone numbers of my bishopric members that I put in my wallet? We did end up needing that later. I can't remember exactly when, but I think it was when mom was driving me back up to school after that Christmas break- so just a week or two after the funeral. We were just emerging from Sardine Canyon into Cache Valley when her car died. We coasted down the hill and into a gas station. Then I went inside to use the phone. I called the bishopric, and soon Brother Harrison came out to rescue us. (Side miracle- even though he wasn't a mechanic, he was still able to figure out what was wrong AND fix it so that we were able to get me to my apartment and my mom back home safely.)
Every story has a miracle. Some have many, like this one. Look for the miracles in life and you will never again feel weighed down by trials. I know in my life, when I look for the miracles involved rather than focusing on whatever trial I am experiencing, it takes the weight off as I remember that God really is aware of me.
Just a thought.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Personal Histories
At our Relief Society Midweek Activity this week, we learned about personal histories. We learned the value first of all, and then made personal history jars. In the jars we have lots of questions. You answer the question in your history. This helps you 'jar' your memory so you can write your history. It cuts out all the stress. It doesn't matter that your history won't be chronological.
The perk of this? We also got questions to ask our children. I started this today with my girls. We did three questions. Anna thought it was so cool to talk about herself and know that mommy was typing what she said. Then together, Anna and I decided what we think Katie would say in response to the same questions. I did these on google docs so I could allow the entire family to view it. I am saving all the questions so we can answer them again once we make it through the jar. Then we can watch their responses change as they get older. Very cool experience.
I highly recommend this activity. The handout in pdf form is at the following link: http://www.weebly.com/weebly/main.php. The pdf you want is the first document under Writing and Research Helps. (I tried to upload it straight to my blog and I can't, so you get to go to my old Weebly teaching site. :D) This document has first the instructions to make the jar, then the questions for adults, and then the questions for children.
The perk of this? We also got questions to ask our children. I started this today with my girls. We did three questions. Anna thought it was so cool to talk about herself and know that mommy was typing what she said. Then together, Anna and I decided what we think Katie would say in response to the same questions. I did these on google docs so I could allow the entire family to view it. I am saving all the questions so we can answer them again once we make it through the jar. Then we can watch their responses change as they get older. Very cool experience.
I highly recommend this activity. The handout in pdf form is at the following link: http://www.weebly.com/weebly/main.php. The pdf you want is the first document under Writing and Research Helps. (I tried to upload it straight to my blog and I can't, so you get to go to my old Weebly teaching site. :D) This document has first the instructions to make the jar, then the questions for adults, and then the questions for children.
Friday, October 26, 2012
I Have Brown Hair
I have brown hair. For those of you who know me, I'm sure you are thinking, "Thank you for pointing that out. Why do I care?" Let me explain why this is a big deal. Growing up, my sister had beautiful blonde hair. (She still does, but it's only important that she did as a kid....) My cousins Julie and Becky both had beautiful blonde hair. I blame the three of them for my story today. (Heidi, you are welcome. :D)
So the point is this. I always considered myself a blonde. That's even what my driver's license says. I made lots of dumb blonde jokes with the intent to poke fun at myself. I'd claim 'blonde moments' among a long list of other blonde things I related myself to. Again, let me remind you. I have brown hair. Always have.
About three years ago (yes, this embarrassingly enough took me until the age of 29 to figure this out) I was sitting at my desk at school. The background picture on my computer was a photo of Scott and me when we were first married. I stared at it for several minutes. Suddenly it dawned on me. I HAVE BROWN HAIR. Here I was, 29 years old, and only just NOW realizing what color my hair was... I honestly always thought my hair was blonde. I stared at that picture for several minutes after that realization. I started searching my memory for other pictures of myself growing up, thinking, "Did it go darker when I got older?" The picture that comes to memory is my 9th grade yearbook picture. (I always picture that one because it's the first one where I don't look like a dork...) Nope. Still brown hair. I think farther back to elementary school. The picture that comes to memory is the one when I had shorter hair. Still brown. VERY LIGHT brown, but still brown.
Hmmm. It was a humiliating moment for me, but also very enlightening. It explained a lot of looks over the years as I made blonde jokes about myself. It explained the doll I received as a small child that was supposed to look just like me but I never understood because it had brown hair. It explained the clarification at the DMV about my description of myself. (At the time I thought the question about what my hair color box said was because I have horrible handwriting... Maybe it wasn't...)
My point is this. Sometimes we have thoughts and beliefs about the world, the universe, God, etc. Those thoughts and beliefs make up our reality. Then suddenly we learn something new. We realize that what we have always thought is not what always was. I always had brown hair, no matter what I thought or said. My sudden identity crisis (three years later and I'm only just now able to say without pausing that I have brown hair...) did not come about because of a change in my appearance, but a change in my understanding. Didn't make it any easier accepting the new truth just because of the realization that THAT was how it had always been.
This is just a little encouragement to everyone. Give it time. Gradually each new thing we learn works its way into our new reality. That is how we grow. That is how we improve. And that is how we become more like God.
So the point is this. I always considered myself a blonde. That's even what my driver's license says. I made lots of dumb blonde jokes with the intent to poke fun at myself. I'd claim 'blonde moments' among a long list of other blonde things I related myself to. Again, let me remind you. I have brown hair. Always have.
About three years ago (yes, this embarrassingly enough took me until the age of 29 to figure this out) I was sitting at my desk at school. The background picture on my computer was a photo of Scott and me when we were first married. I stared at it for several minutes. Suddenly it dawned on me. I HAVE BROWN HAIR. Here I was, 29 years old, and only just NOW realizing what color my hair was... I honestly always thought my hair was blonde. I stared at that picture for several minutes after that realization. I started searching my memory for other pictures of myself growing up, thinking, "Did it go darker when I got older?" The picture that comes to memory is my 9th grade yearbook picture. (I always picture that one because it's the first one where I don't look like a dork...) Nope. Still brown hair. I think farther back to elementary school. The picture that comes to memory is the one when I had shorter hair. Still brown. VERY LIGHT brown, but still brown.
Hmmm. It was a humiliating moment for me, but also very enlightening. It explained a lot of looks over the years as I made blonde jokes about myself. It explained the doll I received as a small child that was supposed to look just like me but I never understood because it had brown hair. It explained the clarification at the DMV about my description of myself. (At the time I thought the question about what my hair color box said was because I have horrible handwriting... Maybe it wasn't...)
My point is this. Sometimes we have thoughts and beliefs about the world, the universe, God, etc. Those thoughts and beliefs make up our reality. Then suddenly we learn something new. We realize that what we have always thought is not what always was. I always had brown hair, no matter what I thought or said. My sudden identity crisis (three years later and I'm only just now able to say without pausing that I have brown hair...) did not come about because of a change in my appearance, but a change in my understanding. Didn't make it any easier accepting the new truth just because of the realization that THAT was how it had always been.
This is just a little encouragement to everyone. Give it time. Gradually each new thing we learn works its way into our new reality. That is how we grow. That is how we improve. And that is how we become more like God.
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