A few years ago, I asked my grandmother Helen Marie Goulé Smith what it felt like to almost be 100 years old. She replied with a chuckle and a twinkle in her eye, "Darling, I feel trapped sometimes. I still feel 20 years old inside. I feel like a young person inside a body that doesn't seem like mine anymore." Even though I know she was trying to find humor and connect with me as a younger person, her response terrified me.  Aging is something that I have been rumbling with lately, especially as I have watched my parents age.

Helen boating in California, 1940's

Recently I visited my grandmother, Helen in the retirement home where she lives. As a family, we had celebrated her 100th birthday just days earlier. When I entered her room I saw that she was sleeping perpendicular on her bed with her legs hanging off the side. It was around 3:00 pm and too early for bedtime. When I first glanced into her dark bedroom and saw her laying this way, my stomach dropped. I thought she had passed away. She had collapsed onto the bed while her favorite Hawaiian music played loudly from her stereo. I turned the volume down and went over to stir her. I breathed a sigh of relief when she moved, smiled, and then closed her eyes again. We laughed about how she was laying on the bed the wrong way and I helped move her feet around and under the covers. Then she said in her grandmotherly way, "Everything will be alright, darling! Everything is going to be OK."

I crawled in next to her and spooned my sweet, frail grandma. I could hear her crying softly, but since her back was to me I could not see her face. This position allowed me to let my own tears flow freely and which to my surprise came so quickly and abundantly. As I laid there I wondered if she was sad because she missed grandpa or if she was frustrated from being caught between earth and heaven. She was sleeping more and the moments she was alert and cognitive required more of an effort. I am sure that her aging body was aching and that she was in pain. Then I wondered about my tears. I knew that I was mourning with her and I felt of her loneliness. She missed grandpa dearly. I missed him also. However, I think that I was also crying about the whole aging thing!

Helen and Harold Smith on their wedding day.

Growing old can be obviously painful and lonely at times. Yet, there is no way to stop the process so I have done a lot of soul searching lately on the subject. Our culture and the media seem to celebrate youthfulness in such a way that there tends to be some shame associated with looking older. As people mature into their 40's, it seems that society immediately looks for and discusses any physical signs of aging. Oftentimes a person's wisdom or life experiences are hardly ever mentioned or valued until their eulogy is written. I wish our society valued wisdom more than beauty.
 

I would like to grow old gracefully and I believe obtaining wisdom is part of that process. Otherwise one just becomes a wrinkled teenager. A person can grow older and not become wise. I believe wisdom is gained when a person continues learning while remaining humble and self-reflective.
While organizing and unpacking some boxes, I found a photo of my Grandmother Helen. It was taken by my daughter, McKenna when she was just 14 years old. She titled it, Beauty is Wisdom and entered it in a photo contest at school.



"Beauty is Wisdom" by McKenna Petty. The subject of her photo is her 95 year old great grandmother, Helen Smith.

 I looked closely at the photo and my grandmother's face and how her wrinkles hugged her smile and wrapped around her bright eyes and I saw joy. I remember when the photo was taken in our front yard at the little Orem house. McKenna got up close to her great-grandma's face that day and started snapping away. While she took these photos, she told her how beautiful she was and lovely her skin was and how she wanted to show others what wisdom meant. Grandma was flattered and joyful and we all smiled in the sun together on that fall day just five years ago. My daughter appreciated how her grandmother's face had changed over time because she recognized the knowledge that she had gained in the process of aging. McKenna knew through family stories and time spent together, that her grandmother valued education and chose to study nursing before marrying grandpa.

Helen Goule, Nursing School Graduation Photo 1937

She had also heard the stories of about how Grandma Helen, as a young mother in the 1940's, worked night shifts at the hospital so that she could be with her children during the day while grandpa worked as an Electrician. McKenna knew in detail how Helen felt about and coped with the polio diagnosis of her small daughter, my mother Penney. Throughout our lives we have all heard our grandmother wisely say, "Don't worry, be happy!" as she has faithfully lived her life.

Penney Smith, polio survivor with her mother, Helen G. Smith

The morning after I found McKenna's photo of my grandmother and had been reminiscing about her 100 year long life, I came across the beautiful, heartfelt story of a mother who was gracefully preparing to die after battling cancer for two years. She was in her forties and ached for more time in her life. Her husband wrote of their life together and their faith and their family and it all brought tears to my eyes.

 Seeing my grandmother's photo, pondering her life, and then reading this dying woman's story all in the same morning had a powerful effect on me. It made me think deeply about my feelings regarding aging and my lack of excitement about wrinkles, etc. I felt extremely humbled as I had this strong realization that growing old is luxury not afforded to many.  And then I felt grateful because I felt a little wiser.

 

Grandma and Grandpa living it up on their Catalina Island Honeymoon, 1937

Grandpa and Grandma Smith loved life and were always up for an adventure!

Heavenly Father blessed me right away with motherhood as Angela (our little 6 year old) came with her daddy to our marriage. As our wedding day approached she would always say, "our wedding", meaning the three of us or "we're getting married". Then as many of you know, the 3 of us were blessed very soon with a little angel from heaven, our Wendy Joy.

Our children bring much joy into our lives. Even when the days are stormy as just last Friday when Angie took sick. After the bad night, she was feeling fine the next morning and her little "I love my mama", sent a ray of sunlight through the clouds. As I was preparing this talk, she said, "Isn't it nice to be a mama?!" Yes, it is!

Jim and I marvel at this wonderful miracle called birth which you especially think about when you have a new little one in the house. She can't talk, and yet looking into those baby eyes, there is a true testimony of the existence of a Divine Creator. How privileged and grateful I feel to have been given a small measure of His creative power in my role as a mother. to know that you have been a part of this creation is the greatest blessing given to man and woman.

My older sister Angie and me. She was so happy to be a 'big sister'.

There is an old proverb which states, "Since God could not be everywhere at once, He created mothers." Along with the joy and happiness associated with motherhood, there comes much responsibility.

Our responsibility as women starts ever before our marriage. It is important to keep high standards, for each child born into the world has the right to be well born of goodly parents. Then as our children are born to us, we acquire the responsibility of rearing them, shaping their character, molding their thoughts, planting in them high ideals, righteous purposes, and faith in God.

Jim and Penney Griffith on their wedding day 3/31/67

Orson Pratt said, "Let each mother commence with her children when young, not only to teach and instruct them, but to chasten and bring them into the most co-operation. For then is the time when they are most easily trained and their tender minds are the most susceptible of influence and government."

My sister Angie sporting a swimming cap and hugging me

When you have a child of your own, you come to truly think of the great principle of pre-existence and how just a short time ago this little one was in the presence of our Heavenly Father, so very pure and innocent as to the ways of this mortal life. This makes me so aware of the complete dependence they have on us to supply their very need. A child's greatest security comes from a pure and unselfish motherly love. 

A little word, a simple word and yet it means so much. Love is the strongest force, and underneath it's magic touch a heart unfolds. Just like a flower that opens to the sun. This is the sweetest thing in life, when all is said and done.

"The mother's image is the first that stamps itself on the unwritten page on a young child's mind. It is her caress that first awakens a sense of security: her kiss, the first realization of affection; her sympathy and tenderness, the first assurance that there is love in the world..." -David O. McKay

In my short experience of motherhood, I find one of the great blessings is all that we learn from our children. Ora Pate Stewart expresses this in her poem, Lullaby,

We have come to the end of a busy,

You have come for a good-night song,

And although you think I am singing for you,

You have sung for me all along.

Your dear little lips, when you kiss me good-night,

Are as sweet as an angel caress;

And your soft little arms, when you hold me 

so tight,

Are the total of happiness.

Then folding your hands in a dimpled clasp,

And climbing upon my knee-

With your head half bowed

And your eyes half closed-

"Bless Daddy and Mama and me."

Today's been a day of correction for you,

I've mingled my tears with your own.

And tonight I am wondering who has taught best,

For I've not been teaching alone.
_______________________________________________

There have been many times in my life when I have heard stories about my pioneer ancestors and the hard things they did when crossing the plains and settling in Utah and Idaho. In the past, I have always reacted with comments such as, "There is no way I could have done that!" or "I would have never made it to Utah because I for sure would have died along the way!" My reaction to the stories of my ancestors and the hard things they did, has now changed. As I have researched their lives and studied their faces in photos, they have become more real to me. 

unique birth and entry into this world. Frances was very proud of the fact that she had been born in a covered wagon on the way to Utah and shared this frequently with her children and grandchildren. These are her words,**

 "I was born August 18, 1851 within a half days ride of Fort Laramie, Wyoming. I hadn't been expected until journey's end at Salt Lake. My early arrival was brought on by the heroic acts of my mother, Mary Jane Whitlock. She was very pregnant with me when jumped out of her wagon and threw her apron up waving it in the direction of stampeding oxen, which had been frightened by some Indians. Her actions redirected the herd and, saved an elderly lady by the name of Grandma Albridge from a certain fall. This act of bravery caused her to begin her labor and deliver me early.

My father, John Franklin Oviatt made the decision to pull off the trail and fall back behind the rest of the company.*** I'm sure that this was not an easy decision to make since this required him to possibly part from other family members and friends who were traveling with them. They were both so young at just 21 years of age and I was their first baby. John and Mary Jane had just married the previous year on November 28th in Winter Quarters Pottawattam, Iowa.

 So, my young father made camp, then brewed his wife some tea, and awaited my arrival. While he was cooking over the campfire, some hostile-looking Indians approached and watched him hand the tea into the wagon to my mother. One of the Indians asked, ["Squaw sick?" My father, then answered, "Yes, Squaw heap sick! Maybe so die. Got smallpox!" ] This was quick thinking on my father's part since the Indians had been dying of smallpox. Without any other further exchange, the Indians turned about and then left quickly, leaving us all unmolested. 

When I read this story now and tell it to my children, I feel different about the inspiring lives of my ancestors! They aren't super heroes to me. They are human and real. I feel a connection to them now. 

I am sure Mary Jane was scared in the covered wagon with the potential threat of violence just outside, while she labored to give birth for the first time. I know that she prayed out to God. I can imagine John prayed also, for strength and comfort as he worried for the safety of his small family. Because of his prayers, he was inspired by God to say and act in such a way that protected his wife and new baby.  They were probably both very emotional and joyous when Frances was born healthy despite being early! Afterwards, I am sure they were extremely grateful when they carried their baby to Zion and didn't have to bury her like so many pioneers before and after them. This gratitude has been the motive behind this story being told again and again for many generations, since that day in the late summer of 1851.

When I ponder this story now, I don't think like I use to and tell myself that I could have never done what they did or that they were so much stronger than me! Instead, I think about all the hard things I have done in my life. Just like John and Mary Jane Oviatt, I have prayed out to God for peace and comfort because of adversity and pain. I have also felt extreme joy and gratitude for the miracles in my life.

Now these family stories help me to remember that there is a little bit of Frances and Mary Jane inside of me and I am a strong.