The Seven of Us

Sometimes we meet someone who changes our lives forever.  In the seventeen years we've been in Haxtun I've met several of those people--most by accident. It's only by looking in the rear view  mirror that I can really see the effect they've had on me. Sixteen years ago we moved into a little tiny house with an amazing yard.  It was at 237 W. Bryan Street in Haxtun, and it sat just across the alley from an old man named Chuck Edwards. Mr. Edwards was kind.  He was certainly past seventy, though his awkward kyphotic curve made him appear older.  He was a thin man, and his personality was as modest as his physical stature.  He just went about his day--mowing his yard, taking care of his flowers, walking to the post office, driving to Sterling for a senior's dance or to Fort Morgan or Denver for an appointment at the VA hospital. He never drew attention to himself,  and he was always alone, though he had older children and grandchildren nearby.  ...

Don't save stamps. Don't get me wrong: I used to collect stamps.  As a teenager, I collected Olympic stamps. Then I collected stamps with pictures of exotic fruit. Finally, I gave up; my kids had destroyed my stamps, and  giving up was a better option than trying to save them. There's another kind of stamp saving, too.  Years ago, my friend Mike*  taught me about holding grudges and refusing to forgive.  I was better friends with his wife, Ellen*, who was an overwhelmed mom of five at the same time I was an overwhelmed mom of four. I saw her at least once a week, and we commiserated and laughed about the challenges of being a mom. It was pretty apparent that she felt that her husband wasn't supportive, and I understood her situation. Being a mom of many young kids is hard, isolating, and just draining. She wanted to go out and play like her husband did, golfing with friends and finding time for himself. She resented being at home ALL of the time. One day,...

Every day. Every day, I see things that I hate. Things that make me raw. Don't misunderstand:  Life is good. Very, very good. But there are still injustices. And in teaching, you see things every day that hurt your heart a little. You see kids struggle to do things--simple things, like add and subtract--that you and your own children did easily. You see kids struggle to hold a pencil. You see kids who don't have pencils, who, at the age of eight, get themselves dressed and ready and walk to school, all without a parent  to help. You see teens who have built walls higher than the Great Wall of China. lest they become vulnerable by letting you in, which, of course, is where you need to be in order to truly help them. You see a beautiful little boy, hungry for a woman's love and attention, because his mom isn't around much. (You know that he has an amazing, dedicated father who is one of the best people you know. And you wonder how his dad's love and care isn...

It's been a whirlwind school year. I know that is true of every year, but wow! We started school knowing that Kenna was having a hip issue. She injured her hip in April 2015 while running in a track meet. We just thought it was a strained hip flexor. She rested for about 6 weeks and it felt much better. In June she started playing volleyball again, and by mid-July it hurt. In August Mark McDonald finally diagnosed impingement. At that point I knew she probably had the same issues that my friend Steph Harms had and would probably need surgery. Still, we were trying to schedule an appointment with Dr. White, the surgeon.  We had to wait till the end of September, then do an arthrogram (MRI with dye injected so that the tear in the labrum would show). By mid- October we had a diagnosis and a surgery date, which was December 22nd. Most of the school year has been marked with visits to the surgeon and Ron, her awesome physical therapist. She is healing amazingly well but we do th...

Generally speaking, I don't love being wrong. I'm kind of a proud person, so, while I'm willing to learn from my mistakes, I don't relish making them.   I also don't take much pride in being argumentative or debating a point; if someone wants to be right, that's okay by me, unless it is a moral issue that I need to speak up for, or unless I'm dealing with my own kids and I feel compelled to correct them in order to give them guidance. Having said that,  I love being wrong about people.   I have a sign hanging in my kitchen and another, identical one in my classroom.  It'a quote by Jefffry R. Holland, one of my favorite apostles. It says: Think the best of each other, especially of those you say you love. Assume the good and doubt the bad.  I absolutely love this quote! I believed this before Elder Holland said it, but since he said it, I'm even more convinced that it's true.  In fact, I believe that this statement is the essence of char...

My degree is in Athletic Training, or sports medicine. I spent five years studying to be a trainer, and I absolutely loved it. My biggest desire (outside of  being a good person, being available for my family, and living the Gospel) since I graduated from college eighteen years ago has been to return to college and get my master's degree and work as a trainer. It's the one vocation I'm sure I'd love. I get tired of waiting until I can go back to school. I want to be a trainer. I want to evaluate injuries and feel the endpoint when doing an anterior drawer test and know that I can palpate the coracoid process and deltoid tuberosity perfectly and efficiently. I want to use my hands and mind to heal the body and use my heart and soul to connect with people. That's what I want. And yet, I can't stand seeing kids get injured. I hate seeing a serious injury occur. I hate watching  grown boys and girls writhe in pain. I hate seeing the crippling dysfunction that ...

Well, 2015 was over two days ago; tonight is January 2, 2016.  Two weeks ago I was about to begin the best and wildest two weeks of the year. (I'm pretty sure that's true; I don't think I've seen two weeks this busy since last Christmas. It's always busy when it's cold and everyone's inside for 10 straight days and we're eating a lot and doing a lot of laundry and getting on each other's nerves and having fun.) Two weeks ago, we were looking forward to Corbin's baptism the next day. Grandma Sally and John were here and we had just gotten pedicures and it had been a whirlwind week at school finishing grading and finals and then I went straight home (well, to the gym, my sometimes home) to watch the Haxtun/Holyoke game and voila! Everyone was there. All of the grandparents. And I knew surgery was very close and life was good because it was vacation and I had no worries for just a couple of days. So, Corbin was baptized on December 22 and t...