Mere Coincidence vs. The Hand of God

It was Christmas day and I was exhausted. 

 Just like the rest of the world.  Tis' the season to over-do and over-spend, right?

But this was beginning to feel different.  

The exhaustion and low back aches felt familiar and inevitable. 

Two years ago Pyelonephritis (infected kidneys) landed me in the ER 

for some bazooka-sized antibiotics, IV's, and welcomed pain killing drugs. 

The problem was we were leaving the country for two weeks in the morning. 

I don't love being a hospital patient, but I especially don't love even the idea of being a hospital patient in a third world country.  

I knew it was time to ask for some help.

I asked for a Priesthood Blessing.

(Bryan and Jacob before General Conference morning session, April 5, 2009)

My Love gave me a powerful blessing, 

along with our neighbor and dear friend, 

Robert Miller (who happens to be dating 

my sister Laura-- but that's a journal entry 

for another day!)

(Robert served a mission in Indonesia 2009-2011)

Throughout the blessing I offered my own prayer:

"Father, I know I can't escape mortal experiences all the time.  

But if there is any way that we can all stay healthy 

long enough to learn and grow from the experiences available in Ecuador 

I would be so grateful!"  

Of course, Thy will be done.

The next morning we boarded the plane for Ecuador!

I am so grateful to be married to a man who often asks "Would you like a priesthood blessing?"

It makes all the difference.

Now let me finish the story.  

Two weeks of travel through Quito, Cuenca, Coca, and into the Amazon Rain Forest 

eating local food (including bugs!) 

and not one moment of travelers diarrhea, upset tummy, or anything of the sort!  

HOWEVER......

the moment the plane touched down with our return to Colorado.......

 Jacob threw up.  

And that night I got sick as well.   

I can honestly say that I've never been so grateful to be sick.  

We had been able to learn and grow and enjoy all the beauty that Ecuador had to offer.  

My prayers had been answered.

Many people would claim this to be mere coincidence.  

Maybe.  

But I would rather be guilty of giving God too much credit 

than guilty of failing to see Gods hand in our lives.

Give us this day our daily bread

This picture tells a beautiful story. 

Not really the beginning of a story. And certainly not the end. 

It's somewhere in the middle.  Just a tiny moment, really.

 I suppose the story could go on without this moment, 

but my heart is so grateful that it doesn't.

Setting: 

Small and inviting kitchen on Dixie Drive, not ostentatious, 

but updated in 1996 (a much needed blessing in Mom's life). 

Typical Sunday morning.

Characters and Storyline: 

Dad/Grandpa- walking out the door, large print scriptures in hand,  faith and obedience in his heart, heading to a meeting (but only after a tender kiss and quick witted comment for his adoring wife.)

Mom/Grandma- dressed for church since the crack of dawn, adorned with string of pearls and apron, preparing homemade rolls for yet another beautiful and much appreciated 

(though it's seldom or adequately expressed) Sunday Dinner with her family 

whom she obviously and unselfishly lives her life. 

Grandkids- contently at Grandma's side with floured hands, 

learning first hard from Grandma's wisdom and example, 

the things that make all the difference in making rolls 

and the things that make all the difference in living life. 

Occasionally sneaking a bite of sweet dough.

Blessed Daughter- witnessing the scene she has been a part of countless times before, 

with new eyes and an overflowing and grateful heart.

Plot:

Passing on a legacy of faith and happiness to another generation through daily example 

(Recipe makes 32 rolls and a happy family.)

Mom's Sunday Dinner Rolls
1/2 cup warm water
1/2 Tablespoon sugar
1 1/2 Tablespoon yeast
1/2 cup butter, melted
1 cup milk, scald in microwave for 2 minutes
1/2 cup sugar
3 eggs, beaten
1/2 Tablespoon salt
5 cups flour

Mix water, sugar and yeast in small bowl and let rest.  Melt butter in microwave, then add milk and scald in microwave.   To milk add and mix sugar, eggs salt, and 1/2 of flour.  Add yeast mixture and mix.  Then add remaining flour and knead until well mixed.

Cover and let rise until doubled.  Punch down and divid dough into four.  Roll out each ball of dough  into a circle and cut pizza style into eight pieces.  Roll each section into crescent roll and place on baking sheet.  Rise again, then bake at 350 degrees for 8-10 minutes.

Maroon Bells

Some people say marriage is challenging.

I say marriage is beautiful.

Some people say climbing a mountain is challenging.

I say climbing a mountain is beautiful.

Just look at this mountain!

Beautiful.

This is Maroon Bells.

For our 15th anniversary Bryan and I wanted to do something challenging.

We woke at 4am, drove from Aspen to the Maroon Bell trail head,

and embarked on a crazy adventure!

See how happy I look?

(I had no idea what I was in for!)

Bryan is a seasoned climber. He has climbed about fifteen 14ers

(peaks over 14,000 feet) in Colorado.

A kiss for good luck before our climb to the summit!

It was about HERE that we began to realized what we were in-for...

(look at the steep grade on the "easy" part of our hike)

Refueling break.

Isn't this an amazing view?

Boulder fields are a killer.

Thank heaven for trekking poles.

Finally reached the summit

(or at least the 'false summit)

There's the REAL summit!

It was another 2 hours from this point.

The mountain goats in the back ground followed us.... mocking us the whole way.

What creature in their right mind would live on rocky cliffs?!?!

We climbed up chimney's...

...down chimney's.....

...across ledges...

...and hours and hours of climbing up,up, up.....

...to the top of the world!!!

It's so great to know you can't possibly climb any higher!

Challenging climb? Yes.

Worth it? Absolutely.

Beautiful sites to behold!

A kiss for good luck on our descent.

(We should have kissed much longer! We needed more luck!

The descent kicked our tails!)

Ha! These are picture that I would typically delete in about two nano-seconds.

However.

I can't describe how tired we felt!

These pictures give a bit of a clue!

We didn't make it back to our truck until 11pm... 17 hours of non stop climbing!

Oh, my aching legs!

Some people say climbing a mountain is challenging.

Some people say marriage is challenging.

And they are right.

BUT!

Mountain climbing is challenging but also beautiful.

And Marriage is challenging but also very beautiful.

Especially when you achieve your goals together.

Happy 15th Anniversary!

A Powerful Missionary

Five years ago today Bryan tenderly helped my pregnant body into our minivan and drove us to the hospital, no words exchanged but every emotion shared between us. This was our fifth pregnancy. Our first four children came while Bryan was in medical school or residency. Very busy times. Very limited time together. We were ready for another baby now. Bryan was excited to be an active part of this baby’s bath times, feedings, lullabies and even sleepless nights. But those lullabies would have to wait.

Five days earlier I had been preparing for a Relief Society lesson I would be teaching. The topic was ‘missionary work’. It was while preparing this lesson that I received a distinct and sudden impression that this child would be a powerful missionary. I know the title ‘missionary’ is not gender specific, but in that moment I knew I our baby was a boy; a powerful boy who would be a powerful missionary, and I felt humbled to be the vessel giving him a body to accomplish this work. He was very active that day as I prepared my lesson as if to say, “Yes! I WILL be an amazing missionary preaching the Gospel!”

A few days after this experience I was laying on the sonogram table in the doctor’s office waiting for them to confirm what I already knew: this was indeed a boy. What I wasn’t prepared for was the look on the doctor’s face or the words of condolence he offered when he told me that the baby’s heart was no longer beating.

Dr. Baer gave me the medication to induce the contractions. Bryan walked with me through the hospital halls and around the hospital grounds (we even walked an extra block to the Olympic Training Center facilities to look at the statues in the garden) as I breathed through contractions and waited to deliver our baby boy’s body.

The labor took eight hours. The same amount of time labor had taken with our other children. His body was tiny; five months developed. His entire hand fit on the tip of Bryan’s finger with room to spare. He weighed nothing in my hands. He weighed everything in my heart.

There were no newborn cries in my hospital room; only my silent tears as I cried for our loss. I mourned the unrealized dreams of bath times, feedings, lullabies, and even sleepless nights. But I also cried tears of gratitude for the comfort and sustaining peace in that room. It was my nurse who put to words the feelings of my heart. She had been my nurse during the delivery. The next morning when she came to my hospital room she quietly said, “I hope it’s okay if I tell you.... your room feels.... reverent… like there is a strong power, but it’s quiet.” Those were beautiful words: Reverent. A strong power. Quiet. And she was right. It was palpable.

A few days later I reread some notes I had made the week before as I prepared to teach about missionary work. My notes struck me different this time. From Wilford Woodruff: “Millions of people have been born in the flesh, have lived and have gone to the grave, who never saw the face of a prophet in their lives; never saw a man that was called of God and had power to administer in one of the ordinances of the House of God. Will God condemn them because they did not receive the Gospel? Not at all.

God is no respecter of persons; he will not give privileges to one generation and withhold them from another; and the whole human family, from father Adam down to our day, have got to have the privilege, somewhere, of hearing the gospel of Christ; and the generations that have passed and gone without hearing that gospel in its fullness, power and glory, will never be held responsible by God for not obeying it. Neither will he bring them under condemnation for rejecting a law they never saw or understood; and if they live up to the light they had they are justified so far, and they have to be preached to in the spirit world.”

For a moment I had believed that I would teach my baby boy and prepare him to preach the gospel as a missionary on this earth. Now my spiritual eyes were opened and my heart understood that he had already been prepared to preach the gospel in a place where people were waiting anxiously to be taught by a powerful missionary.

We named our son Ammon.

(We planted this pine tree in remembrance of Ammon.)

"And EVERY knee shall bow"

"...and EVERY knee shall bow, and EVERY tongue shall confess... and give glory to him"

Sometimes I learn the most poignant of lessons

by simply observing

the way my two year old plays.

Sacred Milestones

On November 1, 2009 our family had two milestone events

occur upon the same sacred day.

Our oldest child

Jacob Bryan Wilcox

was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood

&

our youngest Child

Eve Isabelle Wilcox

was given a name and a blessing.

What a beautiful day!

(Thank you dear friend Becki- beckimadsenphotography.blogspot.com-

for helping us capture the sweet spirits of our children!)

Fleeting Moments

Eve is my sixth baby.

I've learned a few things during my years as a mother.

Well... maybe only two things.

But these two thing alone are worth learning.

#1 The sleepless nights don't last forever.

#2 The sweet newborn phase doesn't last forever either.

They grow much too quickly.

The moments are fleeting.

Luckily a Mothers Heart captures these moments,

...where they are planted,

...and they become even more sweet

with time.