A BLOG FOR MY ANCESTORS

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!

12:26 PM
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A Chance to Say "I Love You", Again

adversity

I am sitting next to my father's hospital bed. The only sounds I can hear in his room is the beeping of machines, low whispers of medical personnel in the hall, and the ventilator which is pumping air into my father's weary body. It's hard to write or speak of how I feel below the surface without being overcome with emotion. I know that if I allow myself to speak fully about them, it would be impossible for me to be strong for my father and family right now. So, I will write instead.

I knew immediately when I heard my sister's voice on Wednesday morning that a tragedy had occurred and that something was wrong with my father. We had just left him on Monday afternoon. It was hard to say good-bye and bittersweet like always because we miss him and worry that he is lonely. We had just spent almost a week with him celebrating Thanksgiving and spending time together.

Bella had been his little shadow following him around on the farm as he tended to the rabbits, turkeys, and Stinkerbelle (his spoiled, peanut-butter loving pig), We played Balderdash late into the night numerous times, We laughed so hard at times we were crying and I truly believed my dad was going to pop a blood vessel he laughed so hard at the acronym definition of B.O.B. (The Brotherhood of Old Bastards). We ate Veyo pie every night and talked about visiting Aunt Diane in Whidbey Island, Washington. Dad talked about all the places in Canada he wanted to visit. We sat together twice and watched the The Cokeville Miracle. We cried while we watched and then spoke about our ancestors and loved ones on the other side and how we know they are with us and that they our guardian angels for us here on earth. Within moments his life changed, our lives changed, and now everything is different.

When my sister described the accident I wasn't sure if my father would survived it. I immediately dropped to my knees and started begging and praying that his life would be spared. I told God that I wasn't ready to let go of my Papa!

Afterwards, I felt guilty praying for what I wanted, especially after seeing him in the ICU and after the 6 hours it took to put his jaw back together. He had tubes going in and coming out of his body and he was highly sedated because of the amount of pain he was experiencing. His weary body struggling to breathe and yet because of the fact that he survived such trauma, he seem like a giant of strength to me. A man full of grit! Things haven't changed much in these few days except that they are bringing him out of sedation randomly throughout the day to check his vitals. We both dread and rejoice in these moments.

We dread the nausea that will soon overtake him once they turn the sedation down and he begins to move. All of this causes him to throw up which is extremely traumatic with his jaw is wired shut. It sets off alarms and everyone jumps up. Nurses rush in, someone starts suctioning, the bed is elevated, anti-nausea meds are administered, and we all pray that didn't aspirate anything. Then things calm down and we rejoice because in those brief moments we catch a glimpse of our papa again! We can only communicate by squeezing hands since his jaw is wired shut. We slowly say the alphabet and he squeezes our hand when we say the letter that he wants to use to spell a word and then one of us writes it down. It is a tedious process and takes many minutes to spell a 4-5 letter word. It is exhausting both physically and emotionally. Many times we would speak to fast or he would squeeze to late and we'd write the incorrect letters and then have to start all over again.

I will never forget that first message that he slowly communicated to us. It took at least 5 minutes of slowly reciting the alphabet, squeezing, and writing. It began with the letter I. Then the letters L, U, V.... We immediately figured out the rest of the sentence shouting it out loud in unison and then starting to both cry and laugh at the same time! I love you! His eyes were closed but he smiled with his lips to show that we had finally figured it our correctly. It was one of the sweetest moments that we had together by his bedside.

Such three simple words, "I love you" and how easy for us to say them daily under normal circumstances. I have learned that life can change in a moment and our opportunities to tell others that we love them may be gone. I am so glad for the moments we all had together over Thanksgiving. We shared so many memories and we said those words often to each other. I know that I would be struggling even more dealing with this experience if I hadn't just recently had that time with him.

May we all remember to continue saying those three simple words and to say them often! Not just to those in our lives that are the easiest to love, but to those who may need to hear it the most. May we reach out, forgive, and without any expectations of how it will be received, tell that someone that we love them today!

11:01 AM
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Gratitude

adversity

We have a special tradition in our family that begins around my youngest daughter's birthday during the first week of November. It continues throughout the holidays and has expanded to include my dear husband, son-in-law, grandparents, and other extended family members. It is our family's Gratitude Journal. It sits on the mantel or dining room table where it is always available to the family. I started the tradition of writing in it quite a few years ago. At the time, I was a single, working mother. The holidays were around the corner, along with seemingly endless challenges and I soon found myself in a dark place

I was in the midst of wallowing. It was deep and muddy wallowing full of painful emotions and financial burdens. I was reeling from the effects of betrayal, abuse, messy divorce proceedings, and I was chin-high in bills and financial obligations that were left behind as a result of it all. My children were in the thick of it with me. It was painful to see them suffer innocently and so eventually I found myself also wallowing deep in self-pity. Then I did the most dangerous thing a person can do when wallowing, I started to compare.

I began to look around and compare my life to others. Everywhere I went and everyone that I saw seemed blissfully happy. I falsely assumed and was sure that behind their smartly-wreathed and decorated front doors there was only laughter, joy, and peace. The more I compared myself and my family to those around me, the more miserable I became until I was literally in fetal position in bed one night, full of self-pity and paralyzed with grief. I began to wonder what had I done to be dealt such a sour deck of cards. Then I started the negative self talk which included a list of all the reasons why I of course, didn't deserve happiness. I was in a bad place!

When I am in trouble I have learned to do two things; I reach up and out! I pray and read inspirational books or scriptures! While reading one day, I came across this advice, "When you are struggling to feel grateful, have an attitude of gratitude. Keep a journal and write down something daily that makes you feel grateful."

Initially, when I read that advice I thought to myself, "Well, that's a bunch of hooey (or some other descriptive word)!" Sometimes when you feel miserable, wallowing can feel so good but only temporarily. So then I eventually decided to act on that advice. I found a notebook that would become my gratitude journal. I started to write down specific things that made me feel grateful each day. It took awhile at first to think of something to write. I was so focused on everything in my life that difficult and sad at the time.

My list started out simple and short; air, food, water, life.

Then over time I couldn't stop writing. My list was getting longer and more detailed.

My life hadn't changed, but my attitude did and so then my burdens became easier to bear.

Soon, I encouraged my children to participated in the gratitude journal writing and I bought a special book with a picture of the resurrected Christ on the cover. The picture reminded me of His promise to heal my broken-heart (Luke 4:18) and it gave me additional strength.

Our Family Gratitude Journal

Being grateful helped me to feel closer to Him and my children felt this peace as well. I felt humbled and blessed when my children expressed their gratitude for the simple things we had in our lives and for the small blessings that can easily be taken for granted.

These words are a treasure to me now. A collection of all that we truly had during a time in our lives when at first, I thought we had almost nothing. Christ keeps his promises! He blessed me with the desire to feel gratitude while experiencing adversity. Through this experience, He healed my broken heart and helped me to see more clearly.

When we first started the tradition, Bella wasn't writing by herself. We transcribed her words as she spoke. In her first gratitude entry she said that she was grateful for her name! In this entry above, she wrote that she was thankful for all of our food and the vegetables that we had harvested from our garden.

One of my favorite pages

My sweet girls

12:18 PM
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Skeletons

adversity

“If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton,

you may as well make it dance.”

-George Bernard Shaw

So, what do you do when you find a giant, 165 year old skeleton in the closet? You get all the women in the family together to ruminate the discovery. Our first annual Smith|Goulé family history girls-night-out happened on the eve of Halloween. It was an eventful evening for our family. The first of its kind and a tradition we hope will continue for years to come.

A few weeks before we all gathered in a large hotel room in Park City, one of my aunts made an unexpected discovery. She had been perusing old English newspapers online through the FindMyPast website. After typing in the name of Louis Henry Goulé and to her surprise many articles popped up in the result field giving accounts of the same 1845 event: Murder at Durham!

There were numerous accounts of the murder and it was the topic of much discussion in the town of Durham at the time. Louis Henry was well-known as the Superintendent of the Police. He shot his wife, Emma in the arm after a fit of jealousy. On the night of June 10, 1845, Louis Henry accused her of spending too much time with another man. Emma adamantly denied his accusations in the presence of other family members before she was shot. She died 6 days later from lockjaw caused by the gunshot wound. Louis Henry was found guilty of manslaughter on grounds of insanity and sentenced to three years prison time. He was acquitted of more severe charges which would have surely resulted in a hanging sentence and ultimately the end of that branch of my family tree.

This 3rd great-grandfather of mine left prison a changed man. He moved back to Ombersley where he originated and where his extended family still resided. He attended school to become a veterinarian and then married my 3rd great-grandmother, Mary Ann Knott. Together they had three children (he had no children with his first wife) and lived a seemingly quiet life after that.

My great-grandfather, Harry Thornley never spoke about this story or his grandfather to anyone in the family. We don't even know if he knew about it himself. It truly was a skeleton buried deep within our family closet until this month and 165 years later.

During our girls weekend we discussed all of this and then the victim, Emma Gyles. She had married one of our ancestors and her life had been cut short at just 31 years of age because of her husband's impulsive choice to be violent. We pulled out our laptops and spent time researching her family members. We read about her feisty attitude described in the testimonies of others and celebrated her assertiveness. We tried to pay homage to her by talking about what her life might have been like at that time. We all mourned her passing while trying to imagine how difficult it was for her family to overcome this loss in their lives.

Until this point, I had felt comfortable only sharing stories of my ancestors which included those in my direct line that had been victims and survivors of circumstance and abuse. I had never discovered a perpetrator directly in my ancestral line. I realized that I really only wanted to write stories about the heroes and heroines in my family; a woman that gave birth in a covered wagon with the threat of an Indian attack outside; brave young men escaping the French revolution in the dead of night; young girls helping their families settle the West and build up towns; brave men rescuing pioneers from certain death during a winter snowstorm.

This realization helped me understand that I also need to embrace all the tragedies that make up my family history. By doing so, I am acknowledging the pain and shame that comes to families who may have a member among them who chooses to cause violence, or impulsively makes poor choices negatively impacting the lives of others around them.

All of the sudden I felt so much compassion for families who suffer this type of adversity. I also realized how important it is to avoid any type of concluding judgements when discussing families or parents of perpetrators. Through the countless hours of time that I have spent researching my own family, I have also concluded that if any one of us is to dig long enough we will surely find deeply, embedded skeletons within each of our family closets. It is also important to remember that making poor choices is not in our DNA. Being a perpetrator of violence is not in a person's genetic make-up. It is a choice! Louis Henry Goulé made a very poor choice and it resulted in the death of his first wife. His actions should not cause me to feel shame, but should help me to feel greater empathy towards others.

Family History Girl's Night - After an afternoon at the Family History Library in Salt Lake City, Utah and a yummy dinner at Sugar House BBQ, we headed to a large family suite in a Park City Hotel.

We stayed up chatting and researching until 2 AM. We are so sleepy and tired in this picture!

Slumber Party!

Aunt Linda is up way past her bedtime!

The next morning and more exciting discoveries are made after just 5 hours of sleep! We had a hard time
stopping and saying our good-byes!

Beautiful mother and daughter look a likes, deep in thought and discussion!

Hey, Smith|Goulé women mark your calendars! Next year's Family History Girl's Weekend is already scheduled for November 11 & 12!

11:11 PM
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Hands

adversity

I think that I have always believed in angels, even though I might not have understood how they carry out God's work here on earth. As a little girl, I remember learning about the stories of angelic visitations in the scriptures. Believing in angels was an easy thing to do with the faith of a child. As I grew into adulthood and started to experience the storms of life, I didn't expect angels to visit me. However, I did pray to God and He did send me help and sometimes he sent it before I knew I needed it.

I am sure many angelic miracles occur around us daily without our knowledge; guiding our car around an icy curve, helping our child cross a busy street. God sends us Heavenly help in a myriad of ways. I am sure that my Heavenly Father has helped me on numerous occasions without me even being aware of it. However, I knew on this particular day He had sent help and He did it in the most unexpected, obvious, and loving way.

It had been almost a year and a half since the girls and I found shelter at the Women and Children in Crisis Center. After that night things changed rapidly and once the courts were involved the civil and criminal proceedings rolled along on their own accord. I now spent most of my energy on trying to provide for my daughters while dealing with the roller coaster of events that continued to play out in the legal system.

Despite the thousands of dollars I was still having to pay my attorney and also being solely responsible for supporting my daughters, I was still better off financially than when I had been married. I had my own bank account and access to my paycheck and the bills were being paid. My self-respect returned and I felt empowered. We were happy and safe, but there was absolutely no extra money. In fact every month there was a deficit, but it always worked out in unexplainable ways.

One of the first things I did to try and make our house a home was to paint every room. If your house is 800 square feet, paint is a pretty inexpensive way to clean things up and change a room. Also, it's cheap therapy. Initially, the entire house felt dingy and dark. It had needed to be repainted for years and since I had never been allowed to be creative before in my own home, I went all out.

We worked together and painted each room was a different color. The girls helped me choose the colors. We painted red walls in the kitchen, yellow in the hallway and green in the living room. We painted the bathroom orange. I made curtains for all of the rooms. We found second hand furniture that we could paint and restore.

It finally felt like a home for the first time in over ten years. They girls were so proud. They wanted their friends over for the first time. Our home was not only a peaceful and happy place, but now it was bright and cheerful inside and I loved having it full of the girls and their friends.

The outside was a different story. The 50 year old siding was falling off in pieces. Some of the old original windows had still not been replaced and the ones that had been were not framed in properly. Some of the rooms were without electricity and I had to drag extension cords around the house. All of these factors definitely increased the cost of utilities in both the winter and summer months. Our neighbors and fellow church members noticed and came to me asking me if they could help as part of their yearly service. I humbly agreed and was very naïve to the depth of the project they had in mind for me and my family.

I never considered having the outside redone because I knew that I just couldn’t afford it. Now, I felt like I would be getting a new house completely. I had no idea the love and healing that would occur within my heart and also, that my Father in Heaven was the motivating influence behind this project. That is until day arrived for the service activity to begin on my home.

Their plan was to rip all of the old siding off, put up the foam board, and then snap into place all of the plastic siding. Some new windows were to be installed and electrical lines repaired. They would install trim and gutters after that. Even now, years later and while writing about it, I can't stop myself from crying and feeling so humble and blessed.

It is difficult sometimes being on the receiving end of service but I guess I had gotten to the point in my life where I absolutely knew I couldn't do it on my own anymore. I had completely surrendered and accepted and prayed constantly for God's hand in my life. I was so grateful for anyone who reached out their hand and offered help and support.

I hadn't prayed for my home to be repaired but I had prayed for Him to give me strength to help me continue supporting my girls. I prayed asking Him to blessed my daughters and protect them from the effects of the poor choices made by others around them. I wanted them to feel His love and to be strengthened by it. I needed my Savior more than I ever had in my life. And then he answered my prayers just as he always did, so unexpectedly and so powerfully.

I felt His love with every pounding nail and smile and hug. My heart was over flowing with gratitude and warmth and since I couldn't stop crying, I wept and walked around inside my house cleaning and organizing, while so many hands helped cover the outside of my home with insulated foam board, new bright siding. Gutters were installed on the eaves and trim placed where it was needed. I never felt judged or pitied, only loved and blessed and cared for more deeply than I ever had. I felt warmth, protection, and the healing love of God.

I wanted to repay these earth angels; my neighbors and friends who had spent so much of their own time and resources to help me. I wanted to do something to show my gratitude while they worked so hard outside. So, I decided I would feed them. I looked in the fridge and freezer and I had nothing to offer but hot dogs. I got to work heating them up for the volunteers. I knew my words could never match what my heart was feeling and so I could only pray that they would all know how grateful I was when they heard my simple thank you and saw that large pot of steaming hot dogs. It was meager compensation for their generosity.

In the end, my little house was more beautiful than I could have imagined. That wasn't all that was beautifully repaired that day. My heart was soothed and comforted. I was strengthened to continue pressing forward in order to fulfill all of my motherly duties and teaching responsibilities, despite the stress of all that was happening in the court systems.

More importantly, my daughters saw the Hand of God in their lives. They felt His love and they knew that He was watching over and providing for them. The hands that my Father in Heaven used to bless our family that day were the hands of His other earthly children. And I think that is the most beautiful part of the story, we are and can be angels for each other. We can be God's hands and we can love and serve each other just as He would if He were here on earth.

A very special thank you to all my Cascade 6th Ward friends and family!

11:10 PM
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Grace

adversity

God's Grace has blessed me over and over again throughout my life. Over the past few days I have been pondering one of the many miracles that He performed in my life during the darkest of days.

I had just left the Women and Children in Crisis Center with my daughters. The youngest was just two and half. We had returned to our family home after a judge granted us the house through a protective order. Our lives had imploded and I felt shell-shocked and full of the fear of the unknown. Each day was a challenge as I would rise wearily from a sleepless night and put on a happy face for my children. The dark shadows of anger and rage was now gone within our home and this brought me great relief.

However, I was faced with heaping bills of debt, a house that was in the early stages of foreclosure, legal fees, and consistent threats of and violations of the protective order. I had no idea how I was going to meet all of the financial obligations of the family, including all of the debt left behind for me to assume completely, on just my teacher's salary.

I was fearful of losing my job, especially if my personal problems leaked out and patrons of the school heard of them and were worried about safety issues. I didn't fully understand the social stigmas associated with domestic violence until I was in the midst of trying to escape it. I was beginning to realize that people, hearing stories through the media or having innate fears or misunderstandings of their own, could pull away and back off and not want any part of something that they didn't understand.

This realization came to me like a blow to the face when my daughter's daycare provider came to me and told me she could no longer watch my youngest daughter. This woman felt like I may of over-reacted by filing a protective order and that she couldn't support me in my decision to leave my husband and that I needed to find a new baby-sitter. Apparently, my husband at the time went to her and tearfully told her a story. I don't know exactly what was said, but it was enough to convinced her to pass judgement on me and refuse to watch my daughter.

I was shocked and hurt, but mostly so very worried about who would care for my daughter now while I worked. What if others from my place of employment or parents of the children in my classroom, what if they felt the same way? What if this whole thing (wanting to free my children from witnessing violence at home and wanting my own freedom from humiliating physical and psychological abuse) caused me to lose my job?

How would I support my children? How would I feed them? Where would we live? What if we had to move? The children would lose their friends at school and church. The only support systems they had ever known. I began to panic. What if I was wrong? Doubt filled my mind. I began to doubt myself. Then I could hear the voice of the adversary repeating the words spoken to me often throughout my marriage, “I told you no one would believe you. You are crazy. You always over react. What an idiot. Without me you're nothing.”

I ended up in fetal position on my bed that night. The girls were already asleep. It was a Friday. I remember being grateful to have the weekend to get myself together before the work week started again and I was bombarded with more unknowns. My prayer was just three words at first. Help, Help, Help! I repeated them over and over again in my mind.

Then, I remember calling out to God reminding Him in a childish way. You promised to help me. You led me to the shelter and brought me here. What do I do? These are your daughters too. I know you love them. You loved them first before they ever came to me. Please, help me know how to take care of them. Protect them from all of this. Please Father, just put a bubble around them that can deflate all the negativity, sorrow, and pain. I will take is all for them. Just help me protect them from having to suffer because of the actions of a parent.

Bella's blessing day and McKenna's baptism day!

Finally and from exhaustion, I stopped speaking and slinging words up to heaven. I laid in silence and wept and then very slowly I felt the anxiety slowly dissipate and I heard the sweetest words in my mind, "I am HERE. Wendy, I am here! I have ALWAYS been here and I am waiting for you to give me your burden. Lay it at my feet!" My heart began to overflow with love and soon, I was sobbing with gratitude. Peace entered my soul and I felt calm and protected.

Then, the scripture came to me take my yoke upon you and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart and ye shall find rest unto your souls. I had heard this scripture many times in my life but in that moment it became so real to me. I had been trying to carry this immense burden alone and was buckling under the weight of it. All I had to do was surrender and give it to Him. He who knows all the sorrows of the world and is the only great Healer of hearts. The last impression I remember feeling that night before finally fell fast asleep, was that everything would work out and that I needed to ask for help at church on Sunday.

Throughout the next day as I went about my duties, I had to continually visualize in my mind wrapping up my burden in a bundle or package and literally laying it at the feet of Jesus. Or I would visualize two Oxen yoked to together and then visualize my Savior standing next to me helping me carry my burden. If I didn't do this I would fill myself slipping back into that fearful, anxious state I had found myself the day earlier.

The next day was Sunday and I was craving the peace that I would find there as I worshipped with others. I was nervous about asking for help. Some of my close friends knew about the details of my marriage ending but I had done a very good job of keeping everything a secret for many years. So, many people were shocked and I expected there was confusion and talking, but I didn't care. I was mostly worried that some would misjudge me. However, if I began to feel fearful of that or of the future I would remember those sweetly and simple words, I am here!

I asked the Relief Society President to announce for me in the Sunday meeting for the adult women, that I needed a new babysitter for my youngest child immediately and that I wouldn't be able to pay much, if anything for a while. I felt slightly humiliated asking for a handout but was desperate for help and then I went to sit in the Young Women's class (youth class) where I served at the time.

After church was over and people were exiting the building, one of the ladies walked right up to me in the hallway. She grabbed me smiling and said, "I want to watch Bella!" I couldn't believe it! I was on the verge of tears, I tried to explain, but I can't pay you much, if hardly anything." I started crying then and her eyes filled with tears. She said, "Wendy, I want to take care of Bella! I am not doing it for money. I want to care for Bella." I was overcome with gratitude.

How do you thank a woman who is willing to step into your place as a mother, when you can't be there yourself? How I ached to be with my daughter all day, but that was not a possibility for me and so the Lord provided a way for my daughter to still be loved and nurtured and He soothed my aching heart in the process.

This sweet sister had two older sons the same ages as my two older daughters. She had not been blessed with anymore children after that and I know her heart ached for more. Bella would help fill a void in her life too.

This Christ-like sister was a surrogate mother to my daughter for over two years. She loved, taught, and nurtured her in her home. Bella received her undivided and loving attention during a very difficult time in our lives. This situation ended up being so much better than the daycare Bella had originally been attending. The Lord was well aware of Bella's needs and He knew both of our motherly hearts as well. He had lovingly orchestrated the entire thing.

To others it may seem like a simple story full of coincidences. I know different. Through the Grace of God it was one of many miracles that occurred during those dark days of my life. Those miracles were like beacons of light that illuminated my path helping me see how and what I needed to do to help my children.

I never felt truly alone as a single mother during those years. I felt God's hand in my life constantly and whenever I turned to Him, He helped show me the way. He put others in my path who were earthly angels, inspired to administer to the needs of my daughters. He was always actively helping me raise my precious daughters. All I had to do was ask and for this I will be eternally grateful. Our Father in Heaven is the Father of us all. He knew and loved our own children first. He knows and loves them still and He will always help us in our divine role as a mother. All we need to do is call upon Him and His Grace and He will lead us lovingly home.

My daughters and I together at Sariah's wedding in 2012

5:42 PM
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Journeys

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A Chance to Say "I Love You", Again

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