OUR MIRACLE: SHARING THE GIFT

Our only daughter, Amanda, and her little family are walking to raise money for the National Kidney Foundation. Here's the reason why:

Amanda graduated from Utah State in 2004 and came home to Maryland to find work. She found a job at the company owned by a member of our ward, and once her benefits kicked in, we encouraged her to get a good, thorough physical.

I really need to back up here because right after Christmas, as she headed towards graduation, the parental mantra was, "You need a job with benefits." Why? For months I had felt an urgency on this topic--that something big was coming, and she would need to have good insurance.

A few days after her physical she was called in to review her lab results. We didn't think too much about this since she had several other serious but under-control medical issues that made her health more complicated. And since she was now 24, she was her own advocate.

I was in my car when that chilling call came in. She sent one to her father as well. "You'd better come up here." End-stage renal failure was the ultimate diagnosis after days of testing--extensive urinalysis, kidney biopsies, and blood work. We were beyond stunned. My husband and I each had a marker that left Amanda genetically pre-disposed to kidney failure.

Amanda explains:

In 2004 I was diagnosed with an auto-immune disease called IGA nephropathy. By the time I found out, I was already in chronic kidney failure and was told I would need a kidney transplant to live. It was overwhelming and devastating news to receive being only 24 years old. I had just found the man of my dreams and was looking forward to a life with him, filled with kids and joy. This dream seemed to be falling apart as I sat across from my doctor and learned this devastating news. Before the news could even sink in, my mom said she would be the donor. From that second on she endured test after test and the waiting game began. My sweetheart, Nick, stood by my side and proposed to me on October 20, 2004 - just one day after hearing the news. We went on and planned our dream wedding and waited for the phone call that would save both our lives.

There are so many miracles and tender mercies attached to our family's transplant story. And it is a family story. I was never prouder of all my family-- my husband, my children, my daughter-in-law, my grandchildren who made us laugh when we were bereft of joy, and of course, my darling Nick. But Amanda was the hero here, not because she wasn't afraid, but because she always took her fears to the Lord.

The feelings are still a little raw, a little close to the surface. We've tried to remain private about our experience. Amanda didn't want to be "the transplant lady" or to have people aggrandize her courage. She's opening up about it now because she realizes how seeing someone with such a positive outcome would have bolstered us during the darker hours. So someday we'll write our story and share it so those who also face a devastating diagnosis can have hope that the Lord does not leave us alone in such times. We felt him with us, sending us help, walking with us, tucking us in at night when we could barely go on. We leaned on prayer, on the temple, on the Priesthood. We were held up by the faith of mortal angels who fasted with us, prayed for us and offered to serve us in countless ways.

Again, from Amanda:

I hope that by sharing my story, others will find hope in their darkest hour. I hope that they will see that there is not only life after transplantation, but one that is full of joy and happiness. I am approaching my five year anniversary and have a 15 month old son that I carried healthily to full term and I will be delivering our second child, a baby girl on the very day of my fifth transplant anniversary. So, on May 16, I will walk in gratitude and for those who need hope. I am walking to help save someone else's life because my mother saved mine!

We realize how very blessed we are, but let me say to those who face transplantation, there is reason for great hope and joy! And to those who consider being a kidney donor--Please do!

For those who would otherwise like to support kidney patients awaiting a miracle, please consider donating to Team Long as Amanda, Nick and little Brady walk to show gratitude for their blessings.

BOOK NOOK REVIEW

WOMEN of the BOOK OF MORMON
by Heather B. Moore


Only a few woman are named in the Book of Mormon. A few more are noted in regard to their husbands, sons and lovers. Despite their anonymity, no one can deny that the powerful men of the the Book of Mormon had equally noble women by their sides, comforting them, bearing and raising their children, and waiting for their return from war. What lessons do their lives hold for us in our day?

Heather B. Moore is a prolific author of scripture-based historical fiction, but her newest book, "Women of the Book of Mormon," is a scholarly piece packed with splendid research and astute analysis on these oft-forgotten scriptural women.

I consider myself fairly well-versed in the scriptures, but Heather B. Moore has again done what she does so well--humanizing her subjects with cultural and historical details that illuminate their lives, making them real to us in ways this reader never before considered. Moore draws from the research of anthropological and scriptural scholars to recreate the locations and times in which these women lived. We weigh their sacrifices and feel the burden of their struggles, while the power of their influence for good or evil is also powerfully felt.

For example, Moore's depiction of the privileged life a wealthy matron in Jerusalem helps us empathize with the changes that likely occurred in the women's lives of Lehi's and Ishmael's households once they headed into the wilderness. Their lives of luxury were over, their beautiful clothing, jewels and household goods were now gone. I understood this, but Moore goes on to explain that without the benefit of servants, the responsibility for cooking, cleaning and serving the men fell to these once-privileged wives and daughters. The nomadic lifestyle required their pampered hands to set up camp, raise tents, toil, spin and weave. According to tradition, the women would have walked the long distances from site to site while the men rode. I saw brave, noble Sariah through new eyes.

The chapter describing the wife of Mormon also moved me deeply. Moore reminds us that Mormon's wife was alone most of her married life, raising at least one noble son while her husband led a fallen, depraved people in battle. I had just finished reading Moroni nine when I reached this chapter, recalling Mormon's horrific details of depravity and torture, and then Moore connected the dots, reminding readers that these were the times and circumstances under which this hero's wife likely lived and died. The heroism and courage of this this unnamed woman leaped off the page at me.

Moore also notes that one fallen women has the distinction of being named in the Book 0f Mormon--the harlot Isabel. Moore again pulls in fascinating research to explain why this woman's actions likely warranted her name being held in remembrance.

"Women of the Book of Mormon" is filled with wonderful insights that make these women and their stories come alive. These were women who understood sacrifice and who had their eyes fixed on eternity. As I read each chapter my mind kept drifting to Relief Society General President Sister Julie Beck's recent conference talk about the need for women in the Church to "live so that we qualify for, receive, and know how to follow the Spirit." Heather B. Moore's book is filled with such women . . . strong, tender, remarkable, and under-considered women.

"Women of the Book of Mormon" is a treasure to add to any family's library. Though the research is solid, Heather B. Moore wrote the vignettes simply, making this book a comfortable, easy read that will satisfy young readers as well as Gospel Doctrine students.

You will learn, and readers will never again gloss over the contributions of these great women. But more than that, careful consideration of this volume could improve one's overall scripture study habits, reminding us to pause as we read, to draw lessons from each character's life and circumstances. This is a book I'll refer to often. Bravo, Heather B. Moore!

"Women of the Book of Mormon" is available wherever LDS books are sold.

THE GIFT OF OPPOSITION

I've mentioned before that one of my all-time favorite stories is about a king who sends his three sons out on a quest to return with a picture of peace. A year passes, and when they return, two of the sons present sketches of serene settings. The third returns with a sketch of a solid rock face marred by a crack. Emerging from that crack is a tenacious little branch upon which rests a tiny bird. The king's eyes moistened as he looked upon the image, for he knew that a man who understood that true peace must be found despite opposition would make a wise ruler.

I think of that image often. I'm in a relatively quiet stage of life right now. My husband and I are basically quiet people. I'm a little more animated than he, but life is peaceful--we eat what and when we choose, we nap when we like, and we play when we want. I'm free to write most days now.

It sounds lovely, but I miss the chaos of family life from time to time. My memories are rose-colored, I know. I see cherubs racing home from school with with stories and adventures to share, forgetting the pushing and shoving as they dove into the pantry for after-school snacks, and completely ignoring the hectic rush to prepare and serve dinner to four busy kids who had practices, homework and games to attend.

I'm visiting grandkids now, and life is noisy, busy, messy, chaotic and sleepless. Today my four-year-old granddaughter and eighteen-month-old grandson pulled all the pots and wooden spoons out and held a kitchen-band jam session. I aged five years in twenty minutes. But a few minutes later, after that joy lost its thrill and the floor was littered with abandoned cookware, my grandson toddled over to the shelf, pulled down the family's illustrated Book of Mormon, opened a page and searched for the page he loves best--the picture of Jesus. "Ashus" he said with a reverent timbre befitting an angel.

Yes, Christian, "Ashus" is here.

Like the bird on the tenacious little branch, we have to find peace in the storm. It's there. Because of Ashus.

WISDOM FROM FOOTBALL AND WAR

Vince Lombardi is credited with saying, "Fatigue makes cowards of us all." The same words have also been credited to General George Patton. Irregardless, the truth remains that if manly men of football and war know that fatigue can break our spirits and cause us to cower, we can admit it too.

We've all had those days when the laundry list of life overwhelms us and instead of beginning at the top and working through it, we slump in a chair and whimper, unable to organize our thoughts enough to even choose where to start.

I remember day five of a siege of illness that plagued our family. The laundry backed up with fetid linen--the refuse of the children's illness--the dishes were piled like Mount Vesuvius and you could have turned my stove top into a Science Fair contender. Still, meals needed to be prepared and well-intended classmates kept stuffing make-up work through the doorway, despite my complete disinterest in participles, dangling or otherwise. It had been days since I had had more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and REM was a distant memory.How did I handle it? I sat in a chair and stared at the greasy water marks running down the front of the sink cabinet, the residual by-product of the well-est of the children's attempts to do the dishes. . . and then, good soldier that I am, I cried.

Tom was out of town as I recall, but other help was available. It almost always is, but I was too stubborn or proud to ask. And so, determined to stay in the pocket, to march on, I wore myself to a frazzle. I'm two decades older now, and I'm still that way to a degree. I'm buried by obligations right now and pressed against a wall of deadlines, but experience and wisdom have taught me to recognize when it's time to accept proffered help. And help is coming in abundance this weekend.

It's Conference weekend for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I will sit and listen to the voices of modern day apostles and prophets of God, and feel the Lord's peace. And next week? Some of the things I pushed back today will still be there, but they'll concern me less. I'll remember what few things really matter, and I'll be still and remember that God is ultimately in charge.

Sometimes we get ourselves into trouble. But sometimes stuff just happens. Stuff is happening to a lot of people these days, but help is still at the ready, if we will accept it. Comfort? Peace? Could you use some of that? Then push the debris back for a few hours, and come listen with me. Their counsel isn't just for Mormons. It's for anyone hungering for a pocket of quiet and hope in the storm.

(Links above for internet feed. Also available on Directv 374, Sat and Sun- 10-12 Mountain , 12-2 Eastern; 2-4 Mountain, 4-6 Eastern.)

CHRISTMAS STORY # 1

ONCE IS NEVER ENOUGH

Christmas Story 2007
by Laurie LC Lewis


John laid the Bible carefully on the end table and ruffled his young son’s head. He smiled as Ann bent low to place their toddler daughter near enough to receive a good night kiss. “How about we say prayers with Mommy and Sarah tonight, Jacob?” John suggested as he tenderly showed Jacob how to fold his arms. With eyes misting and his heart stirred by the too frequently neglected expression, the man found it hard to begin, finding his voice more easily as his son snuggled closer.

After the amen was uttered, Ann rose and guided the children to bed, leaving John to marvel at the simple turn of events that had precipitated the change in their family that night. He scanned the table where the critical shopping lists now lay, tossed inconsequentially upon the return home, their errands left incomplete. Odd, since just a few hours earlier he and his wife had sat there with their carefully balanced checkbook, newspaper ads and their list spread between them, strategically making the decisions about whom and what to shop for.

They had divided the errands between them— his wife and Sarah setting off in one direction while he and Jacob headed in another, beneath dangling snowflakes the size of garbage can lids, past inflatable snow people and their revolving, musical village. Twice, his rambunctious five year-old had dashed off to explore the colorful display, each time earning a stern rebuke from his father. His father’s reproach only unsettled the child further until the man finally relented, allowing his son a few moments to survey the dazzling display that showcased the gems of the season—the must-have toys which were set upon blocks of rotating, plastic “ice”, beneath which the names of stores and price tags were displayed.

With hands clenching his carefully-crafted list of errands, he stared at the scene, taking in the sounds of three dozen children, each one pointing out desired items while voicing their requests aloud. Soon he heard his own son’s voice joining in the cacophony, crying out request after request for each and every item on display, and for a moment . . . for just a regrettable moment, as the crowds jostled him and the music and voices raised all around, he voiced his thoughts. “I hate Christmas. . .”

The bitterness of the words chilled his heart as soon as they passed his lips. Hungry to find Ann, to have her reset his anchor, he lifted Jacob into his arms and whispered, “Let’s hurry and find Mommy.”

Clutching his son close, he dashed off to the first store on his wife’s list. As he approached the location he saw a crowd gathered around the store’s window and he marveled at the attitudes of the people coming away from the area, speaking in soft tones, their faces as bright and soft as their smiles. Curious, he drew near and to his amazement, little Sarah was the cause of all the excitement.

On tiny toddler knees with her nose pressed to the glass, she knelt before a Nativity scene, babbling as she pointed from one character to another. “Beebee!” she cried out with excitement. “Nicey beebee!”

“Yes,” her mother whispered hoarsely. “He is a very nicy baby, Sarah. He’s a very special baby too. His name is Jesus.”

“Jesus. . .” replied Sarah with reverence equal to her mother’s. “Nicey Jesus. . .”

With a trembling finger, Ann pointed to Mary. “And this is his mommy. Her name is Mary. She didn’t have a nice crib or a soft blankie for her baby, so she had to wrap him with pieces of cloth and lay him in this soft hay. The animals kept him warm and,” she pointed out various figurines, “angels sang to him . . . and shepherds and Wise Men came to visit him.”

Sarah slid her finger along the glass until it too pointed to Mary. “Pretty mommy. . . pretty beebee.”

John stooped down, gently placing Jacob beside Sarah and sliding an arm around his wife’s shoulder. Other children were now drawing close to the scene. Gazing at them, Ann wiped a tear from her eye and smiled as she explained the moment to John. “I was standing in line at the kiosk over there, struggling with Sarah who was crying and squirming. I was at my wits end when she suddenly became still and quiet. When I checked to see why, I noticed that she was staring at this store window whispering, ‘Beebee . . . beebee. . .’ After I paid the vendor, I put her down and she ran right over here. This is what she’s been doing ever since. It’s like she gets it, you know?” she sniffed. “It’s as if this little child understands what’s most important about Christmas.”

“I know this story, don’t I, Daddy?” asked Jacob with a furrowed brow. “Didn’t you tell it to me once?”

Sliding his list into his pocket, John squeezed his wife’s hand and raised her to her feet. Each bent down and picked up one of their children, placing kisses on their cheeks. “Once is not enough for the telling of the Christmas story, Jacob. Let’s go home and read it again, tonight, because once is never enough.”

Merry Christmas!
Love,
Laurie