Emily and the Lady Bug

For May 29th, 2009

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Emily who loved to go exploring in the great wide world. Emily was fond of all the seasons, but she especially loved springtime. She crawled through the tall weeds on her hands and knees in the vacant field behind her house. On Monday she found a yellow spider. On Tuesday she found two brown baby snakes. On Wednesday she found a fat black beetle. On Thursday she saw a green lizard and on Friday she found a red lady bug with black spots resting on a yellow dandelion.
“Lady Bug, lady bug, fly away home. Your house is on fire, your children alone,” Emily said repeating a phrase she learned at school.
But the lady bug didn’t fly away. She flew right into the Emily’s opened hand and the bug’s tiny legs tickled her palm. Then the lady bug crawled up her arm and stopped near her shoulder. Emily tried to pry the lady bug off but it was stuck.
Maybe she wants to be my friend, Emily thought. I’ll bring her home and take good care of her.
So Emily brought the lady buy home, found a glass jar and filled it with grass and leaves. She pocked holes in the lid with a screw driver so her new friend could breathe. Then she put the lady bug inside and placed the jar next to her bed. Each day she checked on her new friend and gave her fresh leaves. But she noticed the lady bug never spread her wings to fly any more.
One day Emily was running through the weed grass with the wind pushing her blond hair behind her. Then she thought about her friend in a jar in her bedroom.
“I feel sorry for my lady bug,” she told her mother after she went back home. “She is trapped. But I don’t want to set her free because I love her and I’ll miss her.
“Sometimes,” her mother answered, “when we really love someone, we choose to set them free.”
Emily thought about what her mother said. The next day she took the glass jar far out into the field and opened the lid very slowly. Then she watched as the lady bug crawled to the top of the jar, stopped for a moment and flew away. That night Emily looked at the empty jar next to her bed and cried.
The next morning when she was slipping on her sweater for school she saw something that took her breath away. A golden lady bug with diamond spots and two sparkly emerald eyes was pinned to her sweater near the shoulder right where her old friend used to rest.
“I love your lady bug,” her friend at school said that day.
“Me too,” Emily answered.

Happy Birthday Emily. This is a story I wrote just for you because I love you so very much.

love,
Grandma Baadsgaard
P.S. Check your mailbox every day. You might find something sparkly in there.

Graduation Speeches

I’ve been to a lot of graduation ceremonies in my lifetime and I’m sure I’ll be attending many more before I die. I’ve heard dozens of graduation speakers offer their advice and vision for the bright futures of the graduates. I’ve tried to listen attentively to each talk but mostly I’m secretly hoping the speaker will be brief because there are hundreds of candidates waiting to walk across the stage to receive their degree.
There has been a few times when I’ve wondered what I would say if I was the guest orator. I mull around in my mind the few concise words that capture what I believe creates a meaningful life. For a few moments I look more intimately at my personal journey and the journey of countess others I’ve observed over a life time. Then I try to make sense of it all and formulate a few sentences that capture what really matters after the pomp and circumstance are over and we all go home.

Bill Cosby, a famous comedian, once addressed a graduation with these few words. He walked to the podium, took a deep breath and said, “Get a job.” That comment brought the house down. When the audience quieted he said a second time, “Get a job.” The audience was really listening when he leaned into the microphone the third and final time and said, “Your parents have done enough. Now get a job.”

No one hands parents a diploma when they send a child off into the world after twenty something years of labor and love. No one hands a devoted husband or wife a diploma after they’ve nursed their spouse through cancer. No one hands an ordinary breadwinner a diploma after they’ve gone to work every day for thirty years to support their family. We never get a diploma for the most important things we do with our life.

So, this is what I’d say if I were the graduation speaker.

“Congratulations graduates. You have accomplished a wonderful goal. But remember this opportunity was made possible because millions of common ordinary people are willing to pay for your teachers and your educational institution with their hard earned tax dollars. You have been a taker. Now it is your turn to be a giver.
You might desire to do great and noble things for society or to become rich or well-known but your conduct at home with the people closest to you will be the final summation of your life. Look into the faces of the people who sit around your dinner table. Your love and sacrifice for those people is the most important contribution you will ever make.
If your career, leisure or prestige becomes more important than your spouse or your son or your daughter, you lose your greatest power to influence the world for good. Don’t give away your power for a mess of pottage. Create a loving home. Everything good follows.”

SUPER LIBBY

For May 18th, 2009

Once upon a time there was a super hero trapped in a little girl’s body. Her mother and father thought she was a typical two-year-old but she was really Super Libby in disguise.
Whenever her parents turned their backs, Super Libby climbed up on top of dangerous tall objects in her house.
“How did she get up there?!” her mother often gasped.
“I don’t know,” her father answered. “I never do that sort of thing myself.”
Super Libby knew she had secret powers but she didn’t know how to tell her parents because she didn’t know how to talk yet. So, her wonderfulness remained a mystery. Libby knew she had sticky feet that allowed her to hang upside down on the ceiling. She knew she had retractable wings that allowed her fly from high furniture to the floor. Only sometimes her super power apparatus didn’t work – so she fell a lot and got lots of bumps and bruises.
Sometimes her parents worried that she might not live to be three. Sometimes they scratched their heads and rolled their eyes. Yet somewhere deep inside, both parents knew she was really an extra-ordinary child.
Late at night Libby’s parents stepped softy into her bedroom and looked at her sleeping peacefully in her crib.
“We kept her alive for one more day,” her mother sighed.
“How can such a little rascal look just like an angel when she is asleep?” her father added.
One day Super Libby’s family went to Grandma’s house. As soon as her father turned his back for just a second, Libby climbed up on the dining room table.
“She is just like her father,” Grandma said with delight. “So full of curiosity and courage.”
That’s when Libby turned and smiled.
Grandma took Libby into her arms and said, “I know your secret. You’re really Super Libby in disguise.”
“How do you know?” her father asked.
“Because I raised her daddy,” Grandma answered. “And look how super you turned out.”

Happy Birthday Libby! You’re super. I love you very, very much.

Love,
Grandma Baadsgaard

When We Are Each Other's Angel

I lived next to my best friend Edna for eleven years. This is how I found her. My husband and I had been driving around town for weeks looking for a place to build a new home. We felt drawn to a vacant lot next to a small white frame house on sixth east in Spanish Fork. We stopped the car and knocked on the door of that house to see if the person who lived there knew who owned the lot.

A petite white haired woman opened the door. We introduced ourselves and she told us she owned the lot. Then she looked at us, really looked at us as if she were seeing through our skin into our hearts. After a long quiet moment she told us she would be happy to sell the lot to us and offered us a fair price.

Later we found out from the other neighbors that many people had been trying to buy that lot for years but she wouldn’t sell. We never did figure out why she decided to sell it to us, two total strangers.

In the next few months we built our new house and moved in. Before long my children or I were at Edna’s house on a daily basis, my husband was tilling her garden and we became best friends. She helped me through my miscarriage and I helped her through her son’s unexpected death. When my children went to visit her, she would play games with them, read them stories and always send them home with a piece of candy. She became their second grandma.

When my growing family got too big for our house, we put a for sale sign up in the front yard. Edna told me she cried for days. We bought a larger house up on the bench but we still invited her to all our birthday parties and holiday celebrations as usual. Some people define family as those who share the same genes. I define family as those who love each other. Edna was family.

Later Edna’s children decided to put her into a residential facility for senior citizens. Now she had only a small bedroom to call her own. She had help with meals and cleaning but she wasn’t very happy there.

“Janene, I can’t carry on an intelligent conversation with any one who lives here,” she told me. “I miss you.”

I offered to have her come and live with me but she declined. Before long Edna was in a nursing home. My family and I went to visit her and bring gifts. After I located her room, I found her resting in bed. Soft evening light streamed into the room from a window above her head and made her face and white hair glow. She looked like an angel.

I walked quietly to her bed, knelt on the floor next to her and kissed her on the cheek. She turned and kissed me back.

“Oh, Edna you look like an angel,” I whispered in her ear.

“Janene, you see me like that because you love me,” she answered.

She spoke the truth. Those we love become shining and beautiful to us. It doesn’t matter what they look like on the outside because we see the exquisiteness of their soul.

“Remember that day when you knocked on my door for the first time?” Edna asked me before we left that day. “God told me you were my angel. That’s why I let you build next to me.”

I spoke at Edna’s funeral. I still miss her.

The Rooster at my House

There is a rooster at my house.

It all began innocently enough. My daughter’s second grade class was hatching eggs for their science lesson. Pretty soon the teacher asked her students if they wanted to take the cute fluffy chicks home with them.

My daughter begged.” Just one . . . please. Then it was, “Just two . . . please.” Then, “Just three . . . please.” You get the picture.

I’ve done chickens before. I know that cute little fluffy chicks turn into large hens and roosters that need to be fed and given water every day. So I told my little girl that she could have the chickens if she agreed to take care of them.

She promised. So the brood came home. We set up a big box, warm light, water and feed. I barely turned around before those cute little fluffy yellow creatures were sprouting feathers and flying out of their box. So we moved them to the barn.

Before long my daughter grew weary of taking care of her new pets and my reminders were met with wines.

“I warned you,” I told her. “I told you that they would require daily care. I told you that pretty soon it would be winter and you wouldn’t want to go out to the barn in a blizzard to feed them.”

“You should have warned me harder,” my little girl answered.

So today we have a huge rooster who pretty much rules and roost around here. The problem is – this rooster is way sneaky. He acts nice while you’re facing him, but if you turn your back he takes off running after you at lightening speed. You can hear him coming up behind you - so you turn. At the exact moment you turn to face the approaching beast, he stops . . . acts innocent . . . and begins pecking at the ground like he wasn’t really running after you at all. Then, if you turn your back again, the whole scenario starts over again.

I don’t like having a pea-size brain rooster who is smarter than I am around here. He likes to crow and wake me up at obnoxious times. He waits until the garden tomatoes are red then gorges himself. He chases the grandkids. It’s time for him to go . . . but we can’t bring ourselves to get rid of him. He’s become one of the family.

Keep Shoveling:There's a Pony in There Somewhere

Once upon a time there was a king who had two sons. One son was optimistic and grateful for everything the father did for him. The other son was pessimistic and never grateful for anything the father did for him.

One day the king decided to try an experiment. He gave his ungrateful son a brand new pony. Then he gave his grateful son a room full of manure. Several hours later the king went to check on his two sons.

First he found his ungrateful son. The boy was crouched in a corner frowning and grumbling to himself.

"What's wrong? the king asked. "I just gave you a new pony."

The son answered, "Now you probably expect me to feed it and clean up after it."

The king left the grouchy son and went to check on his other son. He found him smiling, happy and shoveling manure over his shoulder as fast as he could.

"Son," the king said. "What are you doing? Face reality. Don't you realize you are in a room full of manure?"

The grateful son answered, "Oh father thank you. With all this manure in here, there's got to be a pony in here somewhere."

At days end the king took the pony away from the ungrateful son and gave it to his grateful son.

So you see . . . there really was a pony in there somewhere.

How April Got Her Name

For April 23rd, 2009



Once upon a time, there was a woman who was going to have a baby in June. The woman thought about many names for her baby but she couldn’t seem to settle on just the perfect name for her first child. After all, they hadn’t officially met each other yet.

On the first warm day in spring several months before the baby was due this woman went to the park with her husband and had a picnic with their friends. After they finished eating, everybody played catch with a Frisbee. The husband leaped in the air to catch the disk, but when it came time for the woman to jump, she couldn’t. The husband and the friends laughed at the woman. She told them to stop laughing.

That night the woman woke up and rushed to the bathroom. She told her husband she couldn’t quit leaking so he rushed her to the hospital. When they got to the hospital emergency room, the nurses rushed the husband to the admission office. Then they took the wife into a room. A nurse started asking lots and lots of questions.

“Could I lie down?” the woman asked.
After the woman was on the bed, the nurse checked her then screamed, “Don’t push!” then rushed from the room.
A sleepy doctor rushed into the room, checked her then yelled, “Don’t push!”
The woman was confused . . . she didn’t feel like pushing anything.
Then the husband rushed into the room wearing a hospital gown that made him resemble a space alien. Just then the doctor rushed toward the woman and caught a tiny five pound baby who was rushing into the world.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said.

The woman was tired of so much rushing so when the nurse put the baby girl in her arms, she took a deep breath and sighed. Then she looked at her infant daughter for the first time. At that exact moment, her heart sang for joy. A heavenly choir was singing the Halleluiah Chorus inside her. She wondered if the doctor and nurse could hear it. Then her baby looked up at her for the first time and smiled. A sudden explosion of sunshine burst inside the new mother. She wanted to get up and dance on the bed because she was so happy but the doctor said he had to sew her up first.

After the sewing was done the mother, father and baby snuggled together for the first time. The father said his daughter’s skin was so soft he couldn’t feel it through his callused fingers. The mother said she’d found the pot of gold at the end of her rainbow; her new baby was a golden treasure and dream come true.

When the mother brought her new baby daughter home from the hospital, she saw red tulips and yellow daffodils by her front porch. That’s when an angel touched the mother’s heart and said, “Your daughter is springtime - light, hope, warmth and joy.” That was the moment the mother knew the perfect name for her newborn daughter because an angel whispered it in her ear . . . April.

Now the baby girl has grown up and she has golden treasure babies of her own. Where ever April goes she spreads sunshine, happiness, love and joy because she is springtime just like her name. Now the woman who leaked on the way to the hospital is a grandma and she knows for sure she picked the perfect name for her baby girl.
Happy Birthday April. I love you.
MOM

Muddling Along

The dishwasher had malfunctioned, flooding our house all night as we slept. We didn’t know until one of our sleepy-eyed children came into our bedroom early in the morning and said, “Mom and Dad! It’s raining in the basement!”
The room that was hardest hit was the storage room where we’d recently carefully stacked and dated our pride and joy, a two-year supply of food. In a mad dash to save anything we could, every member of our family hauled each bucket and box out into the back yard to dry out. It took hours.

Just when we finished, we heard a clap of thunder, looked up, and felt several drops splash in our eyes. Then the heavens were opened and the few drops immediately became a downpour. We regrouped and quickly hauled our soggy mess into the garage.

When we finally got every box and bucket into the garage, my son came running to me in tears, informing me his pet rabbit was dead. After finally getting the children off to school, my daughter called from campus saying she couldn’t remember where she’d parked the car at BYU. Then my other first-grader had an accident that required a change of clothing. You get the picture.

“I can’t handle any more,” I said to my husband.

“You don’t have to handle it,” my husband replied. “There’s no rule book somewhere that says you have to go through life handling everything. Just muddle, Jan. I’ve been muddling for years and no one can tell the difference.”

Muddle, I thought. I think I can muddle.

Now every time I’m feeling overwhelmed, I remember my husband’s timely advice. Frankly, I’ve been muddling ever since and so far no one can tell the difference, just like he promised.

I remember a day when I walked into the kitchen to find my young son surrounded by the large white buckets where I stored our flour, sugar, and pasta. He was busy scooping— sugar into the flour—rice into the sugar—pasta into the rice. The whole kitchen looked like a white billowing cloud except for my son’s innocent grin and two large blue eyes staring up at me. “Look, Mom. I’m the bread maker!” my young son said as he looked up at me.

Suddenly it dawned on me that whenever I made bread I pulled out all the white buckets and started scooping. He was trying to be like me.

My feelings of frustration melted into love. I was so proud of him for trying. As we got busy cleaning the kitchen, I realized God loves us like that. No matter how big the mess or mistake we’ve made, God helps us clean it up. That is the essence of muddling.

Muddling is not mediocrity. Muddling allows us to stop keeping up appearances or worrying that we’ll never measure up. Muddling is accepting our humanness and inadequacies. Muddling is realizing there are some messes only our Father in Heaven can clean up. And muddling is seeing our worth through God’s eyes and never giving up hope that things will work out.

Where Sweet Peas Came From

April 24th, 2009
Once there was a mother who wanted to plant a garden. She wasn’t sure how to plant, water, weed or nourish – but she had the courage to try. So she carefully cultivated the soil, planted good seeds, watered the seedlings . . . and waited.

Then the sun came out and the weeds grew. The mother had to get down on her hands and knees to carefully remove the weeds near her seedlings so they could grow. Sometimes the mother’s back ached and she grew hot and tired but she watched and worked and waited. Storms came then went and the hot sun glared down from the sky. Sometimes her garden felt like all work and worry. The mother had to supply the water when it didn’t rain. She had to hoe the weeds when she didn’t feel up to it. Sometimes she wondered why she ever thought she could grow a garden because she didn’t really know what she was doing and perhaps it would be easier to give up and go shopping at the grocery store instead.

But even after the hard days, the mother didn’t give up.

The seedlings grew and grew and soon became leaves and vines and blossoms. Each blossom grew into a tiny pea pod that soon grew longer and longer. First the pods were flat. Then each day the pea pod grew plumper and fuller until it was ready to burst.

One day the mother picked a plump pea pod. She pried back the outer shell and what did she find? The sweetest pea she’d ever seen.



Happy FIRST Birthday Logan . . . my precious little sweet pea!

I love you.

Grandma

You're Invited

A few years ago I decided I wanted to learn how to play the violin. It was the first time in my married life when all my children were in school and I had a few hours to myself.

When I was growing up I always wanted to play the violin in the school orchestra but when I told my mother she said, "Only rich kids can do that." So I sang in the choir instead. But I always watched the students with their black cases and longed for the chance to try.

In college I worked at the music library where music major students would ask me to put on a particular classical piece assigned by their teachers. Then they would listen to the musical selection on a channel with headphones. When things got slow at the music booth I would listen to the pieces along with the students. I had never been exposed to such masterpieces. I discovered one particular piece that literally moved me to tears every single time I listened. The piece was titled "Adagio for Strings" - written my Samuel Barber. I used to dream about how it would feel to play in an orchestra that could make music like that.

Before long I got married and immediately got busy raising ten children. I used to put on records and tapes and listen while I changed diapers and chased toddlers around the house. I wanted my children to share my love for music so I figured out a way to pay for piano lessons for all ten children by writing newspaper columns. Then there were the teenage years when my music had to compete with the loud base booming beat coming from my son's basement bedrooms.

I thought the rest of my life would be devoted to inspiring my children to enjoy quality music. I didn't know I'd ever get a second chance. Who ever heard of a fifty-two year old homemaker learning to play the violin?

I've learned it's never to late to follow your heart.

Why am I telling you all this? Because I will be playing in a concert with an orchestra on Thursday. We will be playing some of the music I used to put on for the music major students when I was in college.

There will be moments during our performance when I know my eyes will water. Music always moves me like that. Yet the emotion will be for other reasons as well. I'm playing a violin in an orchestra - a privilege I never thought I'd have and I can't get over the absolute thrill of it all.

So I'm inviting you to my concert at 7:00 p.m. at 4000 N. Foothill Drive in Provo on Thursday April 16th. I'm also inviting you to try something you always wanted to do. It's never too late to follow your heart and see where it leads.

Redefining the Nature of Work

When I was expecting my sixth child, the doctor ordered bed rest because of preterm labor. This order produced more than a healthy nine-pound full-term baby boy. Six weeks of bed rest dramatically altered my point of view concerning work. Before this order I’d wasted my fair share of time inwardly complaining about all the work I had to do. Suddenly and without warning, I wasn’t allowed to do any work at all.
Actually, the first day was great. As a mother of five little rascals, the chance to rest felt sublime. The next day I was antsy to get out of bed and do something . . . anything! It took an army of people to fill in for me and I was embarrassed. By the third day I wanted to climb the walls. By the second week I felt the gears of an internal attitude adjustment suddenly shift. I understood for the first time that the ability to work was a gift – a gift that can be taken away at any moment. I vowed to never complain about having too much work to do again.
By the third week I discovered my children needed the busy hurried me less than I preciously thought. My maternal work description needed to include more than productivity. My children rather enjoyed having a mother who was right there where they left me, a mom who wasn’t too busy or stressed-out to be truly present in the moment. While I was in bed and unable to care for my children in the usual ways, I learned what else my children needed from me. Yes, they needed a mother who could fix their meals and clean up after them. More, they need a mother who had unhurried time to hug them, read stories, snuggle and sing songs. While in bed all day, I found my children needed my peacefulness, patience and skin to skin affection. The doctor didn’t order a distressed mother, but that is what my children got. I stopped defining my value by how much work I accomplished during the day.
Most of us define ourselves by the work we do. One of the first questions we ask a new acquaintance is “What do you do?” Yet we often confuse our paid work with our real worth. Our culture tells us that our vocation is a proper gauge to determine how important we are. So, we spend most of our lives on egotistical things like career, car payments or mortgages. We get strapped onto a materialistic treadmill where someone else keeps turning up the speed until we can’t get off. We live in a society that teaches us we can never have enough. We need more, more, MORE! Then eventually retirement comes and we are left to wonder, “Is this all there is?”
If we want only more things - this really is all there is. Yet having more things never satisfies our inner most needs. What satisfies is personally offering others what we have to give – a song, a sincere thank you, a smile, forgiveness, a story, warm meal or a heart-felt hug. If we devote ourselves to offering our time, love and devotion to those in our own homes and communities we will not become bitter, empty or disillusioned.
The next time you’re feeling sorry for yourself because you have too much work to do, imagine being ordered to bed for the rest of your life. After the first day, you wouldn’t like it there. So, put a smile on your face and be grateful. If we make it our life’s work to care for others with compassion and joy we will find the only path to personal refinement and discover the ultimate fulfillment of life.

A Weekend to Remember

Elder Holland came to our Stake Conference this past weekend. It was a weekend to remember. The first session of conference took place in the temple earlier in the week when we invited members of our stake to join together for an endowment session at the Provo temple. When we arrived the waiting room was filled to overflowing. So many members of the stake came to the temple we filled several sessions. It felt like walking into heaven when I entered the celestial room and saw the faces of so many people I love dressed in white.
On Saturday, my sweetheart Ross met privately with Elder Holland. They also held several other Priesthood Leadership meetings. Before the adult Saturday evening session I prepared a meal for our visiting authorities. We invited the family members of the Stake Presidency, secretary and clerks to attend the dinner. As we ate together each family introduced themselves. Elder Holland stood and expressed his sincere appreciation to each wife and child in the room for the loving sacrifices they make each day that allow their husbands and fathers to serve.
The adult session of conference filled the stake center to overflowing. I was so touched by Elder Holland’s sincere and hopeful counsel. A master teacher, Elder Holland told us God loves to mend broken hearts . . . “when we lay our broken hearts on the alter, God gives us back a new one.” He told us to let go of our fears, to pull up our socks, to grow up, to endure and to face our problems with courage. “Stay in the boat and be of good cheer for Christ has overcome the world.” He told us we will all have times when we think we can’t face our challenges, that God doesn’t love us or that God has abandoned us. He told us God is trying to help us become like Him – that when we feel most alone, God is most with us. He told us not to jump out of the boat and dog paddle on our own. “Look to the Master of earth and sky who says, ‘Peace . . . be still.’”
We were asked to prepare for stake conference by asking ourselves how our activities are bringing us closer to Christ and what we can do to better strengthen our families. Elder Holland met with the prospective elders in the stake early Sunday morning and reserved the front chapel for these prospective elders and their families during the combined general meeting later Sunday morning.
Elder Holland told one particularly touching story on Sunday morning concerning the late President Hinckley. He told us that our late prophet came to a meeting in the temple and told his counselors and the twelve apostles that he had cancer but he didn’t want them to tell any one. Then he told them he would be receiving treatments. When some expressed their worries for him and the difficulties of cancer treatments he told them he had no choice because all the Primary children in the church were praying for him and he owed it to them to remain alive as long as possible. He was given three more years.
Elder Holland stood as a witness of Christ. He told us he could not walk away from him wife, children and grandchildren for this work over and over again without an absolute conviction that, “God the Father and Jesus Christ really appeared to the prophet Joseph Smith.” Then he left us all with an apostolic blessing of comfort and joy.

Missing Ashley

My daughter Ashley is gone on a choir tour to California this week. She’ll be singing in cathedrals and going on rides at Disneyland and Six Flags. She’ll be hanging out with friends and wiggling her toes in the wet sand on the beach. I know Ashley will relish every moment – from the annoying “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer” song the kids sing on the all-nighter bus ride - to the brilliant overtones she’ll hear resonating off the arches in the Crystal Cathedral.
Ashley lives in the moment and relishes the here and now better than anyone I know. Her smile is like a beam of light that welcomes everyone into her safe harbor. If you have Ashley for your friend you are one happy sailor anchored safely in her love.
Ashley knows how to suck the marrow out of life . . . literally. When she was a baby she used to crawl over to my bare feet whenever I was playing the piano. Then she would suck on my toes while they bobbed up and down on the pedal. Now she plays that same piano with so much grace and beauty if takes my breath away. When she was a little girl she loved her cloth doll so much she sucked the stuffing out of the top of her head. Now she tends her nieces and nephews with so much gusto she can suck the grouches right out of them. Like sudden bursts of sunshine, Ashley’s laughter pops all around you like soap bubbles.
Ashley’s trip to California this week is my primer course in living without her. She will be moving out in a few months to begin a new journey at BYU. She’s ready. I’m not. We have our children in our homes for such a short time. I want to share Ashley with the world, I really do - but for now I want to take this moment to really soak in the enormous treasure she is in my life.
It’s too quiet around here when Ashley is gone. No one can take her place. You’d think having your children leave should get easier and easier the more times you’ve done it. It doesn’t. It just gets harder and harder. This will be my eighth launching party and I’m getting worse and worse at watching my babies leave. I don’t know where her voyage will take her or how often it will bring her home. I do know she is ready for the grand adventure that lies before her. And so I let her go with joy and sadness because now it is her time to sail toward the horizon without me.
I envy her roommates. Ashley laughs as easily as breathing. She throws nutritious meals together in minutes. She invites you to relish the world with her by going for a walk, listening to a new piece of music by Brahms or sharing her latest piece of exotic fruit from the produce department at Reams.
Ashley's bedroom down at the end of the hall isn’t tidy. It doesn’t bother me. Her room is like a mosaic of her treasured life . . . a dried corsage from the Sweetheart’s dance, a piece of sheet music from the choir concert, old Christmas candy, a soft turquoise robe, journal, a picture of Jesus, worn backpack, biology textbook, piles of makeup and a pair of high healed shoes next to a pair of worn sneakers. Behind the door is a teddy bear she has had since she was a baby and some rumpled plaid flannel pajamas. Cleaning out a bedroom when a child is about to leave home comes much too soon. After we pack all her things and haul her to college this summer, I know I’ll walk by her clean room and wonder where she’s gone without me. I don’t think children realize how much their parents love them until they have children of their own. Ashley doesn’t know how much she will be missed. I do.

Happy Birthday Letter to a Five-Year-Old

March 20, 2009

Dear Sammy,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
I am so excited you are turning 5 years old today. You are such an awesome little boy and I love you so much. The last time I saw you, you ran into my arms yelling, “Grandma!” and gave me the biggest hug in the whole world. I felt SO happy I almost danced a jig.
I still remember the day you were born. Your mom’s family was at a party at your Uncle Jordan’s house. When we got home from the party, your parents called me from the hospital and told me that you were about to be born. We were worried because you weren’t supposed to be born for several more months. We prayed so hard that you would be safe.
When we got to the hospital, you came into this world so fast. You were so tiny that the doctors and nurses had to help you breathe and eat. We worried you might die but you didn’t. You surprised everybody because you were SO strong. You had to stay in the hospital for a long time so you could grow bigger and stronger. Your mommy stayed with us while you grew and grew. Our whole family was so happy you were born. We thanked Heavenly Father for you every day.
When you were a baby sometimes your Mommy and Daddy would let you come and visit me. You would peek at me from your car seat and look deep into my eyes for a long time. Then you would smile at me like you missed me and were happy to see me. I felt like I had sparklers inside my tummy every time you smiled at me. I was so excited whenever I found out you were coming to my house. You were my first grandchild with dark brown hair like me. Did you know your mother used to be my baby and sometimes I still want to wrap her in a blanket and rock her to sleep?
I came to your house after your little sister was born. We snuggled on the couch and read books together. We also danced to your favorite songs and went for walks in the leaves. When you fell asleep on my shoulder I thought I’d slipped into heaven and I never wanted to leave.
One of my favorite things is when you call me on the telephone. When I hear you say, “I love you Grandma,” I feel like a soft bunny inside. Then I want to reach through the telephone wires and hug you so tight your eyes will pop.
Sammy, you are such a handsome, wonderful, energetic, sensitive little boy. I am so proud of you for learning and growing even when things are hard for you. I think about you every day and my heart gets so lonely for you sometimes because you live far away. Sometimes I go look at the French doors in the dining room at my house where you left your hand and nose prints. I touch them and think about you. I don’t wash them off.
Sammy, I am so glad that you are my grandson. Every day I thank Heavenly Father for you. I love you as big as the universe and beyond.

Hugs and kisses,
Grandma Baadsgaard

P.S. My real name is Janene because I was born in January. If you were named after the month you were born your name would be Marchy instead of Sammy.

March Miracles

Spring tip-toed into my world while I was sleeping. Crocuses bloomed in my flower garden. There was no blaring trumpet to announce this glorious event, just a simple flower. After a cold dark winter, there is no sweeter sight than a delicate flower. Yet there is another sure sign of spring – mud. Now that the temperatures have mellowed and the frozen ground is soft, my children and grandchildren have tracked mud in the foyer, up the stairs, all over the car seats, across the tile and even clogged the sinks and smeared the counter tops.
There was a time I lamented March mud. There was a time when I was annoyed about anything that kept my life a constant challenge. I am not annoyed any more. For I have learned we can’t have spring without some mud. Flowers need earth, water and sunshine to grow. We can’t put earth and water together without making mud. In a similar way, all of us need trouble in order to mature.
This past weekend I flew to California to speak to a large gathering of women. On the airplane, I sat next to a beautiful young African woman from Kenya and Sudan. She was currently living in Utah. She told me about her childhood growing up in a country with constant violence and poverty, her years as a refugee and finally seeking asylum in the United States. She had learned to speak English and was now going to school to become a nurse hoping to be of service to those with various cultural and religious backgrounds. Her wisdom, desire to bring light and her hope in the future gave me the feeling I was in the presence of royalty. She had taken the mud she was given as a child and created a beautiful garden.
Once I arrived in California I was privileged to meet so many amazing women. As we honestly shared our challenges with each other, I felt a bond that will stay with me forever. Even if I never see these women again, I will always remember and love them.
On the flight home I thought about my daughter who had experienced a ruptured appendix on her wedding day. I thought about another daughter who daily faces the fragile medical condition of her little boy who was born without a brain and still another daughter dealing with the unexpected lay-off of her husband. They have all chosen to embrace their experiences and learn and grow from them.
We all have days, weeks, months or even years of rain. There are times when we all wonder about the mud we have to deal with. Eventually we discover challenges don’t go away; they simply become new ones. So we have a choice - we can wait for the storm to pass or we can learn to dance in the rain.
Each person has a heavy load to carry. When we show more kindness for each other’s struggles we will ultimately discover more courage for our own. Eventually winter fades away. Then the first crocus seems even more the miracle. Yet even in the midst of our personal winters there is purpose and meaning. Patience, wisdom and peace are coming. Like dormant bulbs in the cold earth our hearts are about to open because of our winter wait.