This weekend was great! My mom approached me about throwing my sister a baby shower, even though this is her sixth child. She argued that it is nice to have something new for your baby whether you already have hand-me-downs for them or not. My part was to set up the date and extend the invitation on Facebook. It turned out that not only could all of us sisters come, but Cosette as well. Toni is still too far away and too poor for something like this. She was working at the salon where she is learning to become a nail technician, which is pretty popular down in Cedar City. I hope she and Danny can increase their earning power so they can begin to afford more of these activities in the future.

We had the party and it was really fun. We kicked all the “Y-chromosomes” out the door, at least we tried. Christian and Ben got together to take the Gibbs boys to fly kites and see some foxes that have a den in a local park. I don’t know where Robert took his boys, but they were gone too. We opened the presents and played a couple of games, and visited and had fun. Cosette brought Bennett, whom I hadn’t seen since Christmas and whom I hadn’t been sure I would see because of family problems. Later, Cosette approached me about sitting, saying that she and Austen wanted to have a date night. I ended up getting to keep Bennett overnight and take him to church with me today. Cosette has given me permission to take Bennett to volunteer up at the Park this summer. When I told Taryn about it she was excited. Along with all this, I felt a tug of guilt that I didn’t go get Christopher for church this week. I am going to try to take both him and Bennett as often as I can, even if it means both at the same time. I plan to have Jesse help with that.

Yesterday was a Face to Face event with President Henry B Eyring and Elder Jeffrey R Holland. This evening, Jesse and I tried to watch it. Lately Jesse seems to be very tired all the time. I don’t check on him during the night to see if he goes to bed when he’s supposed to, so it could be that he isn’t being honest about how much he’s sleeping. Either way, when we tried to watch the Face to Face for our Sunday devotional, he couldn’t seem to stay awake. I finally turned it off and told him we’d break it up and watch it in segments because I want him to get the messages. They really are fabulous and so relevant for today’s youth and the challenges they face.

I was also really inspired by the latest blog written by the Author Jason Hague. He’s a pastor from Oregon that has a son with pretty severe autism and he writes beautiful poems and compositions about his experiences. This time it was about how his son has something he keeps at home that helps ground him. When out and about, the boys mind is always on the beloved toys at home waiting for him. When he feels the desire to return to home and to his happy place, he asks for this toy, which he refuses to risk taking out of the house. The point where his father whispered in his ear, that after they finished what they had to do first, they then would go home was poignant. The son was comforted with the promise that he could return to the safety and comfort of his beloved home soon. He simply needed to be patient a little while longer. The completion of this post can’t be paraphrased and still done justice, I have to share it here:

Jack wiped his eyes and turned back toward the couch where his laminated pictures sat. That was all he needed the rest of the night. All the kids in that room have their coping mechanisms. Jack’s are actually quite simple. He just needs a reassurance that we haven’t forgotten about him, and that things won’t be that way forever.

Indeed, that is a truth we can all settle into. Life can make us anxious and angsty. Irritants can masquerade as emergencies. And soon, everything turns frantic.

At such times, we need to a good reminder of the temporariness of things. Life might seem acutely exhausting right now, but it won’t be like that forever. There will be better days when peace returns, joy comes roaring back, and the air around us smells like home again. First, the hard stuff, then the break. First pain, then home.

All it takes is a whisper from our Father.

This hit me powerfully as I often think about how hard life is, and how sometimes life feels long. There have been times I felt weary of life and I wished I could go home too. Home to my Father above and the peace that is all too hard to find in this world with its turmoil. Often in the past I have felt I wasn’t good enough, I wondered if I were destined to be forever lost from my heavenly home. As I learn more about my father in Heaven I have learned to trust in his plan for me and the Atonement for a hope to return home. In his talk He Will Place You on His Shoulders and Carry You Home, President Dieter F Uchtdorf said:

It matters not how completely ruined our lives may seem. It matters not how scarlet our sins, how deep our bitterness, how lonely, abandoned, or broken our hearts may be. Even those who are without hope, who live in despair, who have betrayed trust, surrendered their integrity, or turned away from God can be rebuilt. Save those rare sons of perdition, there is no life so shattered that it cannot be restored.

I have this belief in my heart that before I came to earth, I was promised that He would place in my life those experiences that would help me turn to Him, come to know Him, and return to Him. Every experience is an opportunity to see His hand in our lives. Each trial is a chance to turn to Him for comfort and guidance. I feel that Christopher’s life is a visual example of how this process can work. Major milestones in his life have been marked by Priesthood blessings.

When he first became ill, Christopher was promised a slow recovery. The word that jumped out at me at the time was “recovery.” With that blessing I knew he would not die. He was to live, and he did. Sometimes his prognosis looked grim. Often he amazed the staff at Primary Children’s Medical Center with his progress. His life is a test. For him, for you, and for me, it stands as a testimony of the Hand of God in our lives.

A few years later Christopher became ill again. One morning he didn’t wake up. He was breathing, his temperature was normal. Everything appeared normal except for the fact that we couldn’t wake him up. We took him to the emergency room and they began investigating his symptoms. Over the next several hours we were able to arouse him briefly, and get some half-asleep type responses, but he wouldn’t fully awaken. Over the next few days, and a couple of aggressive procedures involving his shunts and intracranial pressure later, he was still very much the same. We didn’t understand what was causing his symptoms. The family held a fast for him, and soon a question occurred to me. The question, which I don’t even remember now, had to do with how his brain was affected by his Sturge-Weber syndrome and it appeared to be unrelated. I asked it purely out of curiosity. The neurologist I asked was nice enough to investigate the answer for me by taking another look at Christopher’s scans to see if he could see whatever it was I asked about. A few hours later he returned with the discovery that Christopher had had a stroke. It had not been detected because of its position in his brain. With this answer came the understanding of how to proceed with his treatment. Once again, prayer was the answer to our question.

Only recently, Christopher was once again ill with a life threatening disease He was given a blessing before a surgery, promising that he was going to live a while longer. This statement in the blessing was something unexpected, because we were expecting this to be a ‘routine’ procedure. Since he’d been promised life, when he developed the infection I didn’t worry over whether he would live. I know he is in our Heavenly Father’s hands. The blessing went on to state that his time was not yet, BECAUSE THERE IS STILL SOMETHING HE IS HERE TO TEACH OTHERS, and they have more to learn. I think, maybe, that means me.

I believe that before I was sent away here to earth to learn and be tested, I was given a promise. He promised me that He would send the exact trials that would draw me back to Him. He wouldn’t let me wander and become lost. My trials have been hard sometimes, but they have been good for me. I have become so much more because of the Atonement which allows me to be tried, fail, repent,  be forgiven, learn, and try again. My trials are specific to me, and what I need to experience, to become more like Him. President Uchtdorf also said:

Our Savior, the Good Shepherd, knows and loves us. He knows and loves you.

He knows when you are lost, and He knows where you are. He knows your grief. Your silent pleadings. Your fears. Your tears.

It matters not how you became lost—whether because of your own poor choices or because of circumstances beyond your control.

What matters is that you are His child. And He loves you. He loves His children.

Because He loves you, He will find you. He will place you upon His shoulders, rejoicing. And when He brings you home, He will say to one and all, “Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”

I’m not good enough. That doesn’t change. But I have faith in Him and His plan for me. As long as I continue to try and follow Him, I still have a chance to return to Him, and to return to peace and joy. It is because it is HIS plan, and it is perfect. I have something at ‘Home’ that grounds me too. It is my Father in Heaven, He who gave His perfect son, so I am not forgotten, and I can return home again. When I need that reassurance, I need only ask in prayer, “Are you there?” I feel the sweet spirit whisper that I, too, can return home soon.

I highly recommend this writer to any parent who is going through a struggle, developmental or medical, with their child. http://www.jasonhague.com His son and his struggles are so different than mine, but his perspective truly inspires me.

I always draw strength knowing how many of us are out there. I still remember names from the rehab unit where Christopher lived for a few months during his fifth year. Dan was so quiet and frail, but incredibly sweet. Justin was amusing as his compulsions resulted in tripped fire alarms and other fun surprises. Friendly Jessica or eloquent Cameron. They were in the same boat as Christopher, fighting their way back to life after a traumatic brain injury. Every child is different, unique. As we were told about Christopher’s brain injury, we were also told “We won’t tell you what Christopher will or won’t be able to do, because he will only make a liar our of us anyway.” The first weeks were the worst. Christopher made no progress, and they sent us home with an unconvinced-sounding rationale, “sometimes being home helps trigger something.” We feared Christopher would be like little Kyle, who never truly regained full alertness, at least not that I ever knew about. But I learned what I have to know and we headed for home, holding on to hope all the same. His Priesthood blessing had said it would be slow, after all.

About ten years ago, after many rough years, and my own decline into somebody I really don’t want to be, I concluded that I needed to forget the previous twenty years and focus on building a future that was better. Over the years, to overcome the pain, and the shame, I purposely avoided thinking about anything that had occurred between my 18^th and my 38^th year. After all, I was leaving behind a lot of rubbish by doing so.

I am happy with the person I am becoming as I continue to work and build my skills as a teacher, church member and family member. I can do things I never believed that I could and I seem to be making a positive difference in the world, one day, one effort and one student at a time. Even though I was drawing on my life experiences, I worked on not thinking about them too much. It was better that way. That is what I believed.

But then recently, my attention was drawn to a group of young adults that are the same age as my own child. I was very impressed with what they are doing with their lives, and excited for them. Of course, that made me turn to my own sons life and journey, and why I was so surprised with all these young people are accomplishing. You see, my son isn’t like that. He doesn’t have a great job or career, he works at Life Skills. He doesn’t have a family he cares for, he has caregivers who take care of him. And in spite of this, he inspires people. It is amazing.

Recently I attended Rootstech 2017. It was hosted in Salt Lake City by our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. It is all about family history. Research has shown that a powerful director in the life of a person is a family narrative. They thrive on a sense of who they are and how they fit into this world. Of course, there are really two narratives. We have a family on earth. Every family is different, each one unique. Every person born on this earth has a father and a mother. It’s science. Where each persons story goes after conception changes. There can be millions of families with two children, even with one boy and one girl. But you will find differences in the individuals of every family that meets that description. There is no story exactly like another, no two family narratives are ever the same.

Anyway, so research shows that when individuals know where they came from and who their family is, whether the story is triumph or tragedy, they have a stronger sense of who they are. This can enable them to try harder and achieve more than when they lack that narrative.

How does this relate to my opening about Christopher and my forgotten past? Christopher is a runner. This means that as soon as he became mobile after his brain injury, he began to try to run off to whatever adventure he thinks may be awaiting him elsewhere. He could crawl so fast, before his kindergarten teacher succeeded in getting him to walk, and he was a runner then. Last Thanksgiving weekend, the Saturday after a day full of family and feasting and fun, Christopher decided that things were too quiet in contrast. So he ran, to go find that Thanksgiving party again. I received a call from an officer in the West Jordan Police department. Christopher found them, after slipping past his care givers, out the front door, down the long drive, and up 7800 S street in West Jordan. Fortunately at 6:30 AM that rather busy street is quite deserted, because Christopher does not have a good sense of safety in traffic. He wandered another block to the police cars that were processing a drunk driving accident. The center he lived in had equipped him with a little booklet of phone numbers for family members and he had it with him. It was made so the staff didn’t have to dig into his file when he wanted to talk to somebody, and my number was labeled “Mom,” making me an obvious choice of who to call.

This incident resulted in another look at whether this care center was the best placement for Christopher, as well as a series of meetings. At one particular meeting, which took place on the day after New Years when most of the nation was taking an extra day for the holidays, his father and I mentioned his wanderlust. The director mentioned that I should write his story down. Unfortunately I am not a writer. This is what I have told myself for decades as I have purposely not written in a journal or diary. It is what I told myself when I struggled to earn B’s on required writing courses in college. There were never any but REQUIRED courses for me, since I have never sought out a writing course I didn’t have to take.

I didn’t really think I wanted to write a book, and besides, I have made a point of forgetting everything about the time span I would be writing about. It is much less painful that way. Then I stumbled on the fact that these remarkable young people I mentioned in paragraph five are about the same age as Christopher. I guess having a son who never met the milestones that his peers did changes how you perceive his age, because suddenly I was thinking about these people, and the fact that this generation my son belongs to is out shaping the world now. And I thought about what his story is and how it differs. And then I thought about writing, like had been suggested to me a few short weeks before.

Back to my mention of Rootstech. By the time I attended the event, I had already decided to write and was beginning to put things down in word documents. But I felt inspired as I sat and listened to the speakers that I was meant to write Christopher’s story, a story he cannot write for himself. But writing his story begins with writing my own. His includes digging into a past I’d decided to forget, and remembering. I found things falling into place when I found my old journal. I only wrote about ten entries in it, half of them were copies of letters I wrote my brother on his mission, but it spanned some of those forgotten years.

I discovered something in my memories. There is plenty of pain, true. But there is also tons of good stuff; times we laughed, played, worked and learned together. And as many times as I failed, I still did the job of raising that boy, with help from friends and family. It was a creation of memories  I’d forgotten existed. It is a chance to see who I am by recognizing and accepting who I was. In the same vein, it is a chance to see who we all are who have been touched by Christopher’s life and how it has made us better people.

On a final note, I don’t consider myself a particularly great person. Great people don’t feel compulsions to bury and forget their past. But by doing things I know are right, I can still inspire others with my actions.

 I recently came face to face with a friend from my youth. I was at church with Christopher and we were headed to the restroom. I had one hand gripping the back of Christopher’s belt and the other tucked around his elbow as we walked down the hall. This way if he trips or starts to fall, which he does very easily, I can break the fall for him, something he doesn’t do well for himself.

 This friend had been Student Body President at our high school. I didn’t really run in the same circles he did in High School, I wasn’t one of the ‘popular kids,’ but we’d lived in the same neighborhood and we’d known each other since we were babies. He marked his time as president by working to make every student in the entire school feel included. He always took a minute to say hello and show interest in me, even when he was impossibly busy, and I saw him do the same for everyone else, too.

When I ran into him, we were at church and it was a week I have Christopher with me. Then this man, who’d been so impressive in his own accomplishments, expressed his respect and admiration for me, just because I was Christopher’s mom taking him to church. I have to admit, in the past I hadn’t ever thought Christopher needed to go to church since he understands so little of it. But one day I realized that he would be in full possession of his faculties on Judgment Day, and I didn’t want him to turn and asked me then and there why I didn’t bother to help him learn about his Savior, Jesus Christ. I knew I didn’t want that to happen, when it would be too late to fix, so I began making sure he gets to church regularly. I wasn’t really doing anything beyond the ordinary, I was simply trying to do something I know to be right. He seemed to be impressed by this simple and ordinary act I perform for my son, and once again I saw Christopher inspiring another in this life. Once again I knew that the struggle is all worth it.

The week of September 13^th 1993 will always stick in my mind as the week I lost Christopher.

Christopher started preschool that Monday. It was an afternoon schedule and I was concerned about him being overtired, because he still took afternoon naps. I was working at the daycare and we walked over there early so he could ride the van to headstart. I knew he would come back to daycare tired, but he would adjust. He played outside afterwards because the class was at recess when he returned. He came back the first day and proudly announced to me that he tried a hamburger and he liked it. I had never been able to convince him to try them before. He was so picky. He was playing outside and he fell and hit his head. I was right there looking, but not at him. I didn’t see if he fell from the top of the slide or just from standing underneath. He’d been at the top minutes before, and it was a pretty tall slide.  When he hit, it was hard enough to leave the imprint of the sand in his forehead. I took him inside and he took a long nap afterwards. The next day, he fell off the slide while sliding down, and then took another long nap. Thursday of that week he fell off a swing at home onto the grass. While it didn’t seem he could fall very hard, he complained of a headache when we tried to walk to daycare. We ended up having to ask a neighbor to drive us the one mile, because he couldn’t walk it. I was concerned about his headache, and kept Christopher back from school that day. He took a 3 ½ hour nap in the baby room instead. The next day he didn’t have school. I expected he’d be feeling better by then and was surprised when he complained even worse of a headache. He couldn’t walk 3 steps without crying about the pain. We had to find another ride to the daycare and he spent another long nap in the baby room.

I still had no clue how serious this could be, and by Saturday I expected Christopher to feel better and we headed off to his uncle Kamron’s football game that his dad was coaching. At the game, he was still tired and didn’t have any interest in the game, or anything else. Later that afternoon he developed a fever and started vomiting. I relaxed a little because I figured he’d simply been coming down with the flu, and I thought that explained why he was still so tired and headachy. Sunday morning, however, he still didn’t feel better and his fever was quite high. When I came home from church he was moaning every time he moved, and would say “Mom, my back hurts.” After another hour he was reduced to just saying, “Mom.”

I would stop my reading and ask him, “What?” He didn’t answer and after the third time, in frustration I said, “Don’t call me unless you are going to say something like ‘My head hurts.’ Or ‘My back hurts.’” To my deep shame, I didn’t listen when it mattered most. He never did call out again. He continued to moan every time he moved and after we had given him Tylenol and his fever rose instead of breaking, we took him to the emergency room.

The doctor looked him over and then lifted his head onto his chest. He told us it might be meningitis and they needed to tap his spine to be sure. If the fluid they drew was milky in appearance, it was meningitis. At this point I didn’t know what meningitis was, although I’d heard the word before.The fluid was milky. His first night at the hospital was touch and go, although the nurses didn’t tell me that until later. My last words to that little boy who disappeared after that night were words of scolding, when I should have been taking better care of him.

We were told Christopher would be in for ten days. I felt faint at the news and had to sit down. I had never imagined needing to stay a whole ten days in the hospital! It turned out that the predicted ten day series of antibiotics—that’s what a normal treatment for bacterial meningitis is, assuming the child has a normal case—was a bit too optimistic. We could have benefitted greatly by bringing Christopher in a day sooner, had we known his symptoms of fever and lethargy were serious. Christopher’s immune system was on its last legs trying to fight an infection that proved to be a drug-resistant strain previously unseen within the U.S. I’d sit by his bed in the ICU unit and watch his blood oxygen levels, wishing he could wake up and start life again. We watched other children come in, go out, or linger—like us. Some were there briefly, as intensive medical care resolved their needs quickly. Some stayed longer, like we did. And there was one who was not going home, as the hospital was his home, because what he had was terminal and he was in his last days. It gave me a lot to think about. Three weeks and three different series of antibiotics later Christopher was moved to the rehab unit because his infection was finally being eradicated.

At the time I was simply waiting.That first night Christopher received a priesthood blessing promising a slow recovery. The next day they had to increase Christopher’s IVs to give him more medication. They induced a coma to help him heal and they given him a blood transfusion, too. His white blood cell count was badly depleted, and his immune system was almost spent. They suspected pressure on his brain as well, but were hesitant to drill for fear of further infection. They finally decided to go in, and found his brain was under extreme pressure, so they put in an outside drain. A few days later they discovered he wasn’t improving with his current series of antibiotics so they changed to 3 new kinds. His head wasn’t draining on both sides so a second drain was required.

Christopher had been lying down for several days, so he developed fluid in his chest cavity and they had to go in and drain that off, too. By this time they were pretty certain there was brain damage. His pediatrician, Dr Havlik, warned us that we would not take the same Christopher home that we had known before. At the time, I had no idea what that meant. 

Christopher was on a ventilator through all this and it was a triumph the day he was taken off it. I had not fully understood that he’d been in an induced coma and kept thinking he would wake up soon. He did become more awake. I expected him to start talking at that time, but he didn’t. He was extremely weak, and couldn’t be up or off his bed much because of the drains, that had to be kept perfectly level with his head. After he was taken off the ventilator, Christopher was finally ready to leave the ICU and transfer to rehabilitation. This was mid October and he’d been there for three weeks.

We went over to rehab and saw other kids in various stages of their own progression. Where they were and what they could do stood as a beacon of hope while I waited for Christopher to make the same steps. After the doctors pulled his drains, they decided he needed shunts and he had surgery on Oct 11^th for a double subdural shunt insertion. The following couple of weeks, Christopher was in a state of constant agitation. I will never forget the day Christopher’s two favorite neighborhood sitters came to visit him in the hospital. It had been on one of his bad days. The infection had cleared, but he lay in bed restlessly, shifting around a lot and making a noise. He was in pain and these sweet young girls were clearly were not ready for what they found. They hugged each other and sobbed. I felt terrible for them. This was followed by three more shunt surgeries, revising the existing shunts and placing a ventricular shunt. Once they got his pressure down, he was able to relax. He then lay there quietly for days. The staff began therapy with him attempting to get him to move, eat and any other actions at all, but he was nonresponsive. Finally discouraged by his lack of progress, the staff suggested sending Christopher home for a while. I was trained on how to change the diaper of a larger than baby person, and also on how to place his n-g tube and feed him, since he didn’t eat or respond to food in his mouth. A vendor came in and sold us a wheelchair. We chose blue for the frame and had every support possible. The chair reclined and he had supports for his head and all up his sides and a butterfly harness across his chest. He was released from the hospital Dec 1^st, 1993.
In spite of this I was optimistic. I still expected him to wake up one day, back to his old self. I realized he wouldn’t be back to preschool that year, but surely next year, by kindergarten, he would be better. Kary built a rail for his bed and we placed boards under the legs at the head of the bed to tilt it slightly to make it more like the hospital bed he’s been using.

Some neighbors came over and helped Kary construct a wheelchair ramp for Christopher’s chair so we can get it in and out of the house. It doesn’t have rails, but it has a carpet so it isn’t slippery. I am so thankful for the help the neighbors and our ward have given us. They have taken turns watching Toni, giving me rides to the hospital, and now they have helped with the ramp. 

The home therapy began. A couple of therapists came by each week to work with him. I watched so I could copy their actions when they weren’t there. During the third week I asked the PT why she brushed his arms and legs; what was it for? She told me it could help his brain rediscover and reconnect with his extremities, and she taught me to do what she was doing. During this period of time the only emotion Christopher showed was to cry if we accidentally hurt him. Otherwise he placidly stared into space, occasionally focusing on something with his eyes, but only momentarily.

I began brushing Christopher’s arms, legs and torso, as well as gently compressing his joints twice a day. I stretched unused muscles to keep them flexible for later use.  I ran his feedings and cleaned up several times a day when he didn’t keep his formula down. Then I repositioned his Ng tube back into his stomach, slowed down the rate of his feeding, and started his formula again. I placed casts and braces on his hands and feet to ensure they didn’t begin to tighten and deform. And I waited.

About three weeks later, during church, something happened. Christopher started lifting his head out of the headrest in his wheelchair and holding it up for a couple of seconds at a time. A neighbor noticed and gave us an encouraging smile. His next doctor checkup was a little different. While he was still doing so little, he was a little more alert, and six weeks after I began brushing him, the doctor scheduled him to come back in for more inpatient therapy.

This was it. What I’d been waiting for. It began the second or third day as I walked toward his hospital room and from the hall I heard Christopher saying, “A A A A A B B B B B C C C C C D D D D E E E,” and then start over again. The nursing staff got him to endure his feedings better so he could take more than an ounce or two of formula over the course of an hour without vomiting it back up again. They began sitting his chair more upright and he began to build strength in his torso so he might sit up someday. Then he began to move his hands and start grabbing and holding objects.

Out insurance covered only so many days of inpatient therapy. This meant that in spite of his continued progress, Christopher had to be released a little short of three months after he went back in. The hospital staff was fantastic. They developed a program where Christopher could come in five days a week and receive the same amount of therapy he’d been receiving, but without the inpatient costs of a room and nursing services. They named this new program Day Treatment and succeeded in getting it approved by the insurance company. This allowed Christopher to continue to progress at an awesome rate. When he transitioned to Day Treatment Christopher was sitting with minimal support, scooting and rolling himself around on the floor a bit to reach toys he wanted and babbling words and phrases he heard. During the summer, as he was weaned back to regular outpatient therapy, he was crawling and transitioning to and from a sitting position at will. He had surpassed the original expectations of the hospital staff after his initial lack of progress. And we found ourselves on an unexpected journey.

As a child, my parents always started out our vacations with a prayer. They would pray for a safe trip, that we would have a good time, that everyone would get along—the  kinds of things every family hopes for on a vacation. As an adult, I have worked on continuing some of the good habits I was taught as a child, although I haven’t always been consistent. However, after my divorce I found myself leaning more and more on prayer, mostly because on my own I have ended up with cars that are older and less reliable and I have  limited resources. This is a blessing because I have developed better habits regarding prayer.

As children of God we are entitled to his help when we ask for it. We are more receptive of the help and more in a position to receive it when we are obedient to his commandments. As President Gordon B Hinkley said in his talk “You Are a Child of God:”

Never forget, my dear young friends, that you really are a child of God who has inherited something of His divine nature, one whom He loves and desires to help and bless. I pray that our Heavenly Father will bless you. May He smile with favor upon you. May you walk in His paths and follow His teachings. May you never speak the evil language that boys and girls are inclined to speak at school. May you ever be prayerful unto Him, praying always in the name of His Beloved Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. May each of us resolve to always follow Him in faith. May life be kind to you, for you are indeed a child of God, worthy and deserving of His love and blessing.

Jesse and I took a trip down to Cedar city at the end of July last year to visit my daughters and their families.  Before we left to come back home, we said the usual prayer and included a blessing on my car to get us safely home. As I was coming down the hill just north of Fillmore I felt a sudden jerking in my car accompanied by a loud popping sound. It startled me but the car smoothed out again and continued to drive without trouble, so I kept driving. At Nephi I planned to stop for gas, but as I slowed down in the exit it suddenly became very hard to steer. I fought my way to the gas station and when I was pumping the gas I also walked around the car and checked for signs of trouble. The steering problem felt much like it had years before when I developed a flat tire, but my tires were all okay. As we started to leave the gas station, Jesse watched out the side mirror and saw that my rear passenger wheel began wobbling wildly as soon as I got up to about 20 miles per hour. We limped to another gas station and I called my dad. Having done family history on my dad’s mother I was well aware that we have many relatives from Nephi, so I asked my dad if he knew anyone there were could call for help. He has two cousins about his age and he gave me both names. I tried the first, but he was on a mission and was not available. However, the second cousin was there and willing to come right over and take a look. It turns out the axle assembly for my wheel was heavily corroded and had snapped, no longer holding the wheel straight when it spins. It needed to be replaced. He had a young mechanic whom he recommended and helped me limp my car there, then he took Jesse and me to his house to wait while the necessary repairs were completed. A further blessing occurred when I had less than $500 in my checking account, but it turned out the repairs were cheap enough that I could afford them without a visit to the bank, and I even could afford a little Caesars pizza from a place across the street for  dinner before we hit the road again.

As we headed out that day I hadn’t anticipated getting an answer to that prayer; at least, not one that I would see. Usually the answers to such prayers are most marked by any absence of marks. We never see the troubles we were protected from because we were PROTECTED. We have this wonderful gift from the most powerful being in the Universe. Prayer is a gift that applies to every part of our lives. No part need be left untouched. Heavenly Father  wants to use his power to bless the lives of his children.  As Elder Richard D Scott said in his talk, “Using the Supernal Gift of Prayer:”

Prayer is a supernal gift of our Father in Heaven to every soul. Think of it: the absolute Supreme Being, the most all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful personage, encourages you and me, as insignificant as we are, to converse with Him as our Father. Actually, because He knows how desperately we need His guidance, He commands, “Thou shalt pray vocally as well as in thy heart; yea, before the world as well as in secret, in public as well as in private.”

I realized that the axle must have broken 55 miles south of Nephi, but I was able to make it to Nephi, a town where I had family that could help, and a mechanic who would work late and a repair bill I could afford to pay. I truly felt the answers to a prayer that day, a prayer that we had made a habit of saying before each trip. I feel truly blessed that we were able to go so far in a car that should have been undrivable as soon as the axle broke, and that it was by the power of an answered prayer that we were able to get to a place where we’d have help before it became impossible to go any further.

Another part of receiving answers to prayer is recognizing and expressing appreciation for them. My opportunity began as a thank you prayer and continues as I share my testimony with others. Sharing our testimonies is another way to show our gratitude to our Heavenly Father, as he desires us to do so. It brought me great joy to share this experience with my co-worker who is not a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, but also has great faith in Jesus Christ and in prayer. She thanked me for this affirmation of her belief in the power of prayer. As Elder Scott said:

An important aspect of prayer is gratitude. Jesus declared, “And in nothing doth man offend God … save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.” When we contemplate the incomparable gift of prayer and the limitless blessings that flow from it, honest appreciation fills our mind and heart to overflowing with thanksgiving. Should we not, therefore, continually and profoundly express to our beloved Father, as well as we are able, our unbounded gratitude for the supernal gift of prayer and for His answers that meet our needs while motivating us to grow?

As Elder D Todd Christofferson taught in an address to a group of young single adult wards , If our prayers lack the spirit, we need to start with gratitude. When we pray with gratitude for the good gifts of the Lord, for our trials, recognizing the Lord’s hand, we will have the spirit in our lives. If we live with thankfulness, he has more to give. So if our prayer feels uninspired, giving thanks will bring the spirit.

We will be blessed with more happiness and gratitude. The Lord knows each of us personally. He knows who we are, He knows what we need. No matter how long it has been since we talked to him, he knows us perfectly. And He couldn’t love you more than he already does.

Tonight I had an epiphany. Recently I decided to write my son Christopher’s story. The first reason to do so is because his story is very different from most of his peers. Another reason is because he cannot do so for himself. Finally, I have considered it because people have told me I ought to write a book about him.

Lately I have been looking at some remarkable young adults whose accomplishments I have enjoyed greatly. They created a TV show featuring clean comedy and have been wildly successful. They also participated in a Face to Face event to inspire LDS youth to remain strong in testimony and faithful to the Lord. And then I did it. I discovered that three of the cast members were born the same year as Christopher. And I compared him to them. Then I decided I need to write his story, as if to explain to the world why my son hasn’t done anything like the things these remarkable young adults have done.

This is not the first time I was guilty of comparing Christopher to his peers. There is an incident that occurred one Sunday when Christopher was eight years old. I had taken him to church, and because his behavior was like a toddler, I went to class with him. A few minutes into the lesson Christopher became bored and stood up and began to play with the lights, which was problematic because the room had no windows, so it was cast into pitch darkness when the lights were turned off. I became depressed, looking at how Christopher acted in contrast to the other boys in the class who followed the lesson and answered questions. I think this is when it finally hit me that Christopher was never going to get better. He wasn’t going to eventually catch up with his peers and life wasn’t going to get back to normal. I cried.

I think one of my problems is the feeling that what my children do, at least for the first few years of their adult lives, is a reflection on how I did as a mother. By this standard, I feel like I really don’t measure up. Other parents must have done such a better job because their children are doing so many things mine are not.


Comparing is a natural reaction to most circumstances. “Taking the temperature” of how we are doing, for example. When we set goals, we make comparisons to see if we are making progress with them. But when we are comparing our circumstances to another, we are not allowing for the fact that we are not all alike, but are in fact unique individuals, with incomparable circumstances. In this setting, comparing ourselves to others can be a failure to accept God’s will for us as individuals. We also risk failing to value our own uniqueness and abilities. As President Deiter F. Uchtdorf said in his talk “Forget Me Not,”

we spend so much time and energy comparing ourselves to others—usually comparing our weaknesses to their strengths. This drives us to create expectations for ourselves that are impossible to meet. As a result, we never celebrate our good efforts because they seem to be less than what someone else does.

Not all comparison is necessarily detrimental. I often look at others, see their accomplishments, and set myself up a goal to try to do that too. I find inspiration by seeing what can be done, often when it is something I had not previously considered.I don’t think this is the same as the comparison that can prove detrimental to our growth; it is quite the contrary. We are meant to learn from each other. Some situations, however, aren’t meant to be compared, and should not be. Why my twenty-seven year old son is not a college graduate, holding a job and maybe even starting a family is not a question that will be beneficial to him or me. Such a future was lost, when 23 years ago he fell ill with spinal meningitis. Due to circumstances beyond our control, his life simply doesn’t compare to that of his peers. But there is much he can teach us.

A little under two years ago Christopher developed trouble with a shunt he has in his head to drain excess fluid and prevent excess pressure on his brain. It seemed routine enough at the time. We went through at least half a dozen shunt surgeries when he was a child. A Priesthood blessing promised Christopher he would live and be healed. It said that his life would be spared because he still had things he needed to teach us here on earth. At the time I wondered if his uncle Kamron, who was giving the blessing, was simply being reassured about concerns he carried. But the Lord is good. He knew, as we had yet to discover, that this surgery wasn’t going to end up routinely. Christopher developed a serious infection from the staph bacteria MRSA in his brain. The location of this infection is called ventriculitis, and sent him to the ICU for several weeks of aggressive medical treatment. It also carries a mortality rate of 60%. A blessing given days before prevented me from wondering if Christopher was going to live or die. It did, however, leave him very weak, which he still is trying to recover from to this day.

Instead of comparing, I need to focus on finding joy in the little everyday things in my life. I pick up Christopher every Wednesday evening and we have dinner. My sister Melody LeBaron has been kind enough to host most of these dinners in her own home. This makes it more exciting for Christopher because his Aunt and Uncle LeBaron have been important people in his life and he loves to see them. These visits are intended to get Christopher out and visiting, something he has little ability to do on his own. Every other Sunday I take Christopher to church. When the schedule permits, I attend his meetings with him, otherwise I take him to mine. My goal was to try to help him develop a testimony of his own. At the very least, I didn’t want him on judgement day to ask me why I never tried to teach him about his Heavenly Father. I knew this was working the day he stood up and bore his testimony. It was a sweet experience, even more so because it was his idea.

My goals to raise my children in righteousness are partially realized with my sons. Even though I see other parents who seem to be doing so much better than my 50/50 track record on raising a righteous generation, I feel truly blessed to have my two boys. As President Uchtdorf said:

The lesson here is that if we spend our days waiting for fabulous roses, we could miss the beauty and wonder of the tiny forget-me-nots that are all around us.

This is not to say that we should abandon hope or temper our goals. Never stop striving for the best that is within you. Never stop hoping for all of the righteous desires of your heart. But don’t close your eyes and hearts to the simple and elegant beauties of each day’s ordinary moments that make up a rich, well-lived life.

Much of the time I am pretty happy. As long as I don’t fall into the trap of comparing and measuring my success against people whose experiences really aren’t comparable. The Lord has truly blessed me with the life I have. Thanks to Christopher I have learned so much about patience. Christopher will never be one of the young adults I compared him to. But then again, they have never experienced and survived the things Christopher has. They have an impact on people around them for good. I have seen Christopher have an amazing and sometimes surprising impact on people around him too. Always, I must remember,

God loves me because I am His child. He loves me even though at times I may feel lonely or make mistakes.

The love of God and the power of the restored gospel are redemptive and saving. If I will only allow His divine love into my life, it can dress any wound, heal any hurt, and soften any sorrow. (Uchtdorf)