Coming to ourselves

the last day of April

"That God once loved a garden we learn in Holy writ.
And seeing gardens in the Spring I well can credit it."
- Winifred Mary Letts

The speaker in Sacrament meeting yesterday spoke from Elder Hales' talk at General Conference "Coming to Ourselves: The Sacrament, the Temple, and Sacrifice in Service." I listened carefully, loved where Brother M. went with Elder Hales' remarks.

He talked about the state the chapel is in each week because of lovely people who clean and organize the building weekly; the preparation of the Sacrament table, bread and water before the meeting by the Aaronic Priesthood; the organ playing, always a spiritual prelude and possible quiet time. He referred to Elder Hales' talk reminding us we need to be prepared to attend Sacrament meeting each week, to take the Sacrament and remember the Atonement. “For the sacrament to be a spiritually

cleansing experience each week, we need to prepare ourselves before coming to sacrament meeting. We do this by deliberately leaving behind our daily work and recreation, and letting go of worldly thoughts and concerns. As we do we make room in our minds and hearts for the Holy Ghost. Then we are prepared to ponder on the Atonement."

Brother M. read to us verses one and four of "Reverently and Meekly Now."

Rev'rently and meekly now,
Let thy head most humbly bow.
Think of me, thou ransomed one;
Think what I for thee have done.
With my blood that dripped like rain,
Sweat in agony of pain,



With my body on the tree
I have ransomed even thee.

At the throne I intercede;
For thee ever do I plead.



I have loved thee as thy friend,
With a love that cannot end.
Be obedient, I implore,
Prayerful, watchful evermore,
And be constant unto me,
That thy Savior I may be.

“More than just thinking about the facts of the Savior’s suffering and death, our pondering helps us recognize that through the Savior’s sacrifice, we have the hope, opportunity and strength to make real, heartfelt changes in our lives.”

I can

Skyped with Jen yesterday afternoon. It started out with me showing her the skirt I bought a couple of weeks ago for the wedding/luncheon, and bemoaning the dresses and one skirt I chose not to buy two days ago, below on a post... we both bemoaned those. Mommeeee she wailed, that dress is perfect. Can't you wear it? No I can't. She and I actually hunted dresses and suits a bit while we were on Skype, online at like Dress Barn and Macy's and Dillards, ooohing and aaaahing over certain ones, e-mailing links and photos.

Well. She did like the look of my skirt on my body (I threw on a black tee) and we decided on a black jacket to go on top. Something like this. There'll be a corsage and we can add a pretty necklace.



I put on my strappy sandals with a little bling and in my black tee and skirt, modeled. I've never seen you in those! (The sandals.) No, they were bought for a night out on a cruise years ago and've been collecting dust in closets in two states since then.

Then we got sorting out other wedding stuff - so much I had to take notes. The bottom line is I'm sending her an e-mail (she asked so politely) to remind her (in bulleted lines) all we talked about. I will. I'm not too frilly a hostess at a party - and this is a big one - but I can keep details and lists. Am I a better secretary even than a mother, maybe? Maybe. But I'm a good mother. Jenny said as we were getting off, can you believe this is happening?!

I said I can.

Looking good

I went yesterday afternoon to try on dresses. Found quite a few in one store to take to the dressing room and was excited. But after putting on a couple I accepted what the mirror tells me - I have still a bumpily body, too curvy and heavy for the kinds of dresses being sold. There's like no structure in a dressy dress, so a girl's shape has to be kind of straight in the tummy and hips so the dress shimmies. If it clings, unless she weighs about 106 it's not... well... pretty. And I'm not being snitty - that's the mirror saying!



So it was all a bust. (Which I have very little to speak of.)

And I grabbed a darling skirt from the rack thinking of a two-piece outfit for the wedding though without, at this point, importantly, a matching top. So in the same shirt I came shopping in with the drop-waisted skirt snugged and flaring some below the knee, I twirled before the mirror. Beautifully tailored and summery, so now, it fits like a glove but... well, it's not the exact right wedding colors. It's screaming "young" too, which I haven't been for 25 years - and will have to be bought in size 18 which I refuse to wear for the next 25. So I put it back. (Erin would have said BUY it! It's perfect for her right now or, well, after the baby, even with four kids.)

Somewhere between slinky and tight,



and tailored and twirly...



is the right outfit for me. I'll keep looking.

Mo good stuff

I read the latest from Laura's "Bookin' It" blog this morning first thing. She writes here about children's books. You remember how I say I like to have at least one "something" a day to elevate my feelings? Give me a lift?



And I go looking for it if it hasn't happened already by 8:00 in the morning... an amazing melody, the sunrise, a beautiful quote; well, and walking uphill doesn't always have to be it!! Some days I don't have to go looking - it's just already in place like the dessert fork above the plate on a table setting.

Laura's post (link) is that this morning for me. It is so good, and made especially that by the video she included with this link:

http://www.youtube.com/embed/v5co8FZXz0o

Will you watch it today? Go on, it'll make you happy!

I sidled over to Mo Willem's website and caught this blurb about his new book:



Booklist's starred review of the upcoming City Dog, Country Frog is quite flattering about my collaboration with Jon Muth. They say:

It’s hard to imagine a picture book that more consistently (and touchingly) hits all the right notes. Willems, never one to overwrite, is gracefully spare here, making every word count. That leaves room for Muth’s watercolors, richly seasonal, which fill each page. The pictures are imbued with hope and happiness, leaving and longing. This wonderful collaboration makes a significant impact with subtlety and wit. Adults and children will each take away something of their own.

That last line reads: "Adults and children will each take away something of their own..." I do today - a little "hope, a little happiness, a little leaving and longing." You can too.

Indulge me

NOT a successful eating day.

But why am I smiling?

'Cause I. Don't. Care.

It was time.

To indulge.

And no, I did NOT stop at Nielson's Frozen Custard for a chocolate-chip almond concrete to top off my Red Lobster lunch classic plus six Walt's fried shrimp and mom's left over crab cakes. 'T'would've added insult to injury.

Going the distance

There's a reason to put this picture up from last May... it shows the Bountiful temple, as clear an image as I'm going to get with my Kodak at this distance on a regular day. That's about what I see every day when I look yonder from my window.

It's a supremely lovely place. When I leave my neighborhood to walk it's always in the direction of the temple, uphill a way and past very lovely places in these foothills; at this time of year, especially the two golf courses on the ridge. This morning was overcast, just perfect walking weather.

I've held in my mind the idea of walking to the temple for almost a year now. Haven't done it - it's 6 1/2 miles from my house and that's doable, I just haven't done it.

I love the way there, the roads and sidewalks I walk upon every season any time of day. I once came up here in high wind on a sleety afternoon in shirt sleeves - ooh I hurried! I love the look and feel of this place and especially the closer I come to the temple grounds.

Now I'm not saying I've gotten close. I've started from my house and worked my way up and along about 3 1/2 miles... or driven from my house to the first golf course and parked and walked about that from there... never making it yet to the temple. Always turning around and hiking the distance back.
It's a long way.

I got a wild hair to walk clear to the temple today! I'd started an hour earlier from my own house and was what I think is half way there, a good, hearty, hilly breathtaking walk - and really considered calling Laura or Shana or even my friend Kristin on the phone in another hour and ten minutes to say I'd walked so far away I couldn't walk home (!) and could you please come get me. But no. Who'd want to be rousted out of bed or snatched from breakfast or family scriptures, whatever, to drive up the hill for me? With no planning... no. Not to someone you love. You notice I never even considered Kent to the rescue, um, nope. He rests his wee head late these days. So I turned around. Like I always do.

One of these days I won't.

(Seen from the car)


One of these mornings I'll walk right to the front door.

Half baked

Seriously! This is how it's going - watching foods and ingredients and counting. I was impressed yesterday when I made Chocolate Delight after supper and then was entering the recipe in MFP (so I can count every calorie) how few calories there are per serving. I wasn't impressed with, oops, how I forgot to add the flour when I stirred up the cake base (which gets piled high with cream cheese, Cool Whip and chocolate pudding, then sprinkled with nuts - the Delight). Didn't catch it til the mixture had baked and the pan was cooling and I was entering the ingredients into the recipe on My Fitness Pal... FLOUR? Flour? Aghhh!

I scraped the goo from the bottom of the 9 x 13 - of course it wasn't cakey though it had looked it, no FLOUR in it, what was I smokin' - back into the mixing bowl and added a cup and a half of flour. Hot as blazes it was and I stirred it up and patted it into the bottom of the pan, returning it to my still hot oven for another fifteen minutes.

Twice-baked cake Kent called it and died laughing from the other room when I told him what I'd done. (Ew, or NOT done.)

The cake came out and I cooled it in the fridge then poured on the three top-layers and we tried it. Bottom to top it looked great! Sliced great! 176 calories a serving only, all Lite, Sugar-free and 1/3 Less Fat - but, darn it, after a while you can't

chew  cake.

It's kind'a like the inside of a sneaker.

All we like sheep

Kent and I watched Truman Madsen on his DVD series "The Eternal Christ" yesterday afternoon after church. I loved the bit where he was sitting among sheep in the mountains. Sheep I've never seen the likes of, woolly (and some not), ewes, rams, kids, brown, mottled and white; floppy eared, milling, grazing, baaing and bleating; one lay down beside his pant leg while he talked, chewing its cud... this bit that got me thinking about how Christ knows us intimately. Individually.

I won't be long. I can't tell you a hundredth part of what Brother Madsen said, it was all fascinating. There is this one bit though. He talked about scriptures that mention sheep on the right hand of God and goats on the left. He spoke of a man who offloaded a group of sheep and goats from a truck or pen into the open and what happened?! The goats went for the weeds to graze, where the sheep hunted grasses and flowers. They separated - are made separate - by what they partake of.

All we like sheep have gone astray - and we are distinct in our natures. We do make our choices, where we graze, what we partake of. God loves us and knows us - each and every one. I loved the ending to President Monson's talk just a few weeks ago in Conference, "The Race of Life:"

"He is concerned for the lost child, the tardy teenager, the wayward youth, the delinquent parent. Tenderly the Master speaks to these, and indeed to all: 'Come back. Come up. Come in. Come home. Come unto me.'"

Live dangerously

I got out on a bike path with Kent and Reva and Mac yesterday riding a bike for the first time since I was fourteen. Really. I borrowed my next door neighbor's good bike to try out; I was wobbly a while and nearly biffed going around the first bend in the path because I forgot the brakes, whoops! Got my heart rate up pretty good. It was fun. I hadn't been traveling more than five minutes though before I thought I better learn the road rules. (What are all these people doing out here?! Seriously the "dang public," and you know how I feel about that from my blog posts Niceties and Late night.)

Reva, I called out where she rode ahead of me, what happens when someone wants to pass?

She slowed and we rode side by side as I caught up. They'll say "on the left." You'll hear 'em call out behind you. She laughed and told me she ran a guy off the path the first time she ever came out; she heard "left" and veered left right in front of him. Too bad.

I was telling this to Kent later. He looked at me, then told his own story. He was wobbly at first too... and by the way, doesn't he look cute in his bike helmet! While Mac did the heavy lifting to get us going



he tried on headgear.



My camera stayed home for the rest of this adventure... anyway, more than halfway along the ride Kent had kind of got the hang of it and went up alongside Mac, both well behind us. He hears "left" and since his bike has a mirror he looks and sure enough someone's racing up on him. Was it daft of the person to wait until they were right behind the guys to call out? Kent thinks so. Too close for him to slow down and wheel behind Mac, watching in the mirror he moves to the far left and the biker, a woman, rides between them. You're s'posed to stay on the right! she shouts at him says, whizzing past.

(Niceties, not.)

Actually it was a pleasant day. "Just like riding a bike" - a simple maxim, right? "It'll all come back to you." Nope I had thought, starting out - but I surprised myself. I kept upright, went fast, went slow, felt the wind in my hair and got the sun in my eyes. Took on a few more freckles. And was myself more of a nuisance out there than the dang public, and so what! It felt good to live dangerously.

Pied Beauty

    Glory be to God for dappled things—

        For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

            For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
    Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;

        Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
            And áll trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

    All things counter, original, spáre, strange;
        Whatever is fickle, frecklèd (who knows how?)

            With swíft, slów; sweet, sóur; adázzle, dím;
    He fathers-forth whose beauty is pást change:

                                                Práise hím.

This poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins is a simple hymn of praise to God for the “dappled things” of creation. God is seen as being beyond change but as generating all the variety and opposites that manifest in the ever-changing world. www.enotes.com
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Doesn't this English poet from the 1800s talk cool - here's how I'd like to use words too. I especially love "adazzle!"

pied: of different colors

dappled: made up of cloudy, rounded patches of different shades of the same color

couple-colored: two-colored

brinded: having dark streaks or flecks

rose-moles: rose-colored spots

stipple: a painting technique which uses the ends of the brush bristles to make dots

fresh fire-coal chestnut falls: the brightness of new chestnuts when they fall from the trees, looking as though they are lit with fire from within

fold: pasture land, or a paddock or corral where animals are penned up

fallow: land left to rest every seven years, covered with grass and wildflowers

plough: plowed cropland, with crops of wheat or oats

counter: opposite, as in counterclockwise

fickle: erratically changeable

adazzle: shining brilliantly

Keeping close

So I've snagged a photo from Dana's blog (link) cause it's just darn cute! I really depend on Dana's blog for pictures of Brady, Garrett and Jillian. And of her and Brad. I can't help but think what if my mom and dad had had social media, wow, even digital cameras, or, heck, computers to keep them close to us after they left the States all those years ago. When our children were little. (Small sigh.) We lost the baby times... And now look how lucky I am to live close to Dan and Amy (link) and their kids! Here's last Sunday - we were at their Sacrament meeting for Ellie's blessing, then at the house for lunch. Close enough I am to watch Joseph and Andrew and Ellie growing like weeds spring flowers, and isn't fun to be around at a moment like this!  ↓



"My heart belongs to Daddy" Jillian's hot pink shirt says above. Looking at the boys' expressions in these pics it's the other way around.

Then You Look at Me

...And you say you see, when you look at me,
The reason you love life so;
Though lost I have been, I'll find love again,
And life just keeps on running, 
And life just keeps on running,
You look at me and life comes from you.

From you.



The ending of a song I listened to this morning walking. Though it's an oldie it's got a great walking beat so I keep it in on the playlist. It really is one of those songs that as you're hearing it can change meaning depending on who you're thinking of... from a love song (the way it was written) to a song about just about anybody you love.

Do you ever do that? Substitute in someone else you love in a love song? Sometimes it works, depends on the lyrics... and it can get me teary eyed. On a walk especially, like in the neighborhood where everything's familiar - the sky and leaves on the trees and smells of flowers and sounds.... the light... this song comes on and I think of my mom. Or son. Or you.

It happened this morning on the painted cement track at the rec. I'd been on it a long, long time already, earbuds in. Boring? Well, you go with the beat of the next and the next and the next song and that helps. And "Then You Look at Me" comes on. Because it's an oldie I'm moved. Don't judge, eh, it's Celine! Who puts more passion into a love song, I ask you?! I've heard it a dozen times before, walking, and the memory of those dozen times on the streets of my old neighborhood under the Georgia sky fills me. Just floods over me... I'm walking there again and Celine soars and I pick up the pace - my elbows come up and I could just fly, you'd laugh - 'cause it moves me. And I think of...

I really mean this....

Christ.

Can I say why I cry? Christ. Then you look at me hurts it feels so good and I could fly. From gratitude and hope and possibility. She sings it SOOO good and I've heard it all before - all my life, that Christ loves me - and you know this isn't just a love song now.

Laugh and cry, live and die, life is a dream we're dreaming
Day by day I find my way, look for the soul and the meaning
Then you look at me, and I always see what I have been searching for.
I'm lost as can be, then you look at me - and I am not lost anymore!

People run sun to sun caught in their lives ever flowing,
Once begun, life goes till it's gone... we have to go where it's going.
Then you look at me, and I always see what I have been searching for.
I'm lost as can be, then you look at me - and I am not lost anymore!

Happy birthday

I've had lovely cards for my birthday and phone calls and lunch out with mom and dad and Valerie and Mark and their kids, Marc and Amy. Kent too. We visited with them at mom and dad's before we went to lunch and dad took this with his iPad. I told dad I needed to Photoshop some eyes in on Marc (wouldn't it be funny to do someone else's on his face!) but otherwise it's a good picture, isn't it. Marc is way good looking when his eyes are open.



We had a great lunch and mom did fine there. It's hard for her at restaurants now because of the noise, though at Chuck-a-rama she does better than at some. Someone said what are you having for dessert mom, and I held up the Rice Krispie treat I had gone for a few minutes before that was resting on my plate. She grinned and took it. Would you like to go get your own I asked, meaning maybe she'd rather look the dessert bar over and decide on that or something different... no, she said. I'm not getting up. It was good to be out with them.

Dad made me a card which he gave me when I arrived.



I especially love this part... thank you mom and dad!!!



And Robert sent a card this week (said one more should be coming from the boys, hmm) and I Skyped with him and the boys this afternoon. Jenny called and said a little sump'n-sump'n (hint-hint) might be in the mail, and then Erin did, so I sent Kent to the mailbox - sorry Jen, yours hasn't come yet. Erin's card had loves and wishes from everybody in the family but Noah who can't write, with a blurb from Mike saying something about being 47... funny guy, and a gift card to Ross. If I'm smart I'll wait til I get to Colorado in a few months to use it when I can go shopping with Erin, more fun than just off by myself. Well maybe not, she always hits me up for shoes when we go out. Birthday money, mom, she'll say. And she'll be right - her birthday's six weeks after mine. I've been known to buy her birthday present on my birthday.

Carol Ann drove up the hill with flowers and sugar free chocolates and a gushy card last night and left it at the door; and a lady I visit teach left on my front door today (unexpected, huh) forget-me-not seeds and the nicest happy birthday note!  Really?! It's so fun to be thought of.

I'm out with Sandra for breakfast tomorrow morning and in a day or so to lunch with Dan and Amy and kids and Scott - it was scheduled for yesterday but yesterday I felt lousy so I canceled. It probably was sad for the kids but we'll see them soon. This way Kent can go - Tuesdays he's at the temple.

I made my angel food birthday cake just like last year (link) on Sunday night so Kent and I've been noshing on that and strawberries and whipped cream for three days. And my visiting teacher brought me full-fat cupcakes with chocolate frosting and sprinkles of which I shared one with Kent and ate the other three, absolutely positively no regrets. No regrets when there are sprinkles. (Oh I've had to work hard at the gym.)

I've loved the calls from my brother and sisters and e-mail from Marcia and all the cards and hugs. Sweet gifts and love from friends. Kent's out right this minute "on errands" he said as he kissed me goodbye.  He and I agreed he wouldn't do much or even anything for my birthday as, well, there's lots coming up...  he'll buy me an outfit for the wedding - that'll be more than birthday money! - but I bet he comes home in a while with a little something, not wanting to let me down. Let me down? I can't convince him he can never do that! True love is true love. And there's always the dress (and shoes) in June.



p.s. this just in from Kent... I love this man!

So this is love

Oh it's exciting getting ready for Jen's and Robert's wedding! Robert has from his hometown way north, way north and east of here (which is where Jenny gets to move to from sunny Texas), organized this wedding almost singlehandedly. Not really - he's just a gem and a whiz investigating places that supply accouterments a wedding party needs and, together with Jen, has managed reserving the temple here and asking someone to marry them (you have, haven't you Rob?), engagement pictures, ring-buying, flowers, wedding cake, announcements, guest lists, honeymoon and the most important thing in the whole wide world (apart from earning a living and being father to Brigham and Isaac): loving my daughter.

I chatted with the decorator myself today - it's less than nine weeks til they truck their ficus trees (some with lights) and tall panels and table linens and centerpieces and chair covers with sashes to the church building to set up. Will there be a canopy? Can't remember... but cabaret tables and a birdcage. I'm indispensable in this as I have the key to let the whole troupe in, them and the caterers about whom Robert has been euphoric because of what they'll be serving for the luncheon. Well, really I do not - I have to borrow the key, so I'm not all that! Nevertheless, I am the contact, and the one by-the-by with what will be the calmest temperament on that day before the wedding.

After days of having crowds in my house and meals to attend or serve and Jen's bridal shower to attend and not-quite-at-all-host, but almost. And the last dress fitting with a full regalia of dress pieces, corset, petticoat, veil and what-not to cart home and a bedroom to hold it in; Robert's clothes to help with and the grandsons' matching ties and who knows what the baby girls are going to wear.


Who knows what the girls are going to wear - something fluffy - I don't know.  Sorry Abbie, that's not you, just your two baby cousins; you'll be beautiful in a summery something for a nine year-old! And pray for goodness sake your mother doesn't have her new baby girl on a pre-wedding day here - away from her doctor!

Yes, the last time Erin talked to me she was in a small tizzy about being practically nine months pregnant for wedding pictures. Erin honey that's the least of it: Doctor's orders are for a reason (don't come) (did I just say that?) so keep cool and calm this trip.

And what will I wear? And don't I need to go out and buy that? Daunting, and about six weeks too early weight-wise but (sadly) just right spring fashions-wise. A mismatch if there ever was one, me and fashion.
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I have a cold in my nose and am on DayQuil - heady stuff - if you can't tell.

Time to change

Here's what I thought as I tried to go to sleep last night and couldn't for a long time... just surmising...

What would it be like to be like Jesus? To do what He would do?

All the time.



When I kneel to pray at the end of the day what would my His words be? How long would I kneel?

I'd sleep and rise and at 5:30 a.m. or 6:00 when I'm up what would I do then? At 7 on the clock would I be doing something other than I usually do? I try to imagine...




Midmorning when my energy is high do I think of Jesus? Write down promptings - or brush them aside? What do You want me to do now? Or off on my own.

What would it be like to be like Jesus all day?

At noon would I be different? Noon happens every day, am I aware?... what would He be doing now?

... and so until bedtime, the day mine to use.
-----

Why do I mind the clock winding me tightly in minutes and hours and days... when I can watch Jesus, do what He would do, and give these - and myself - away.

All the time.

Speaking of Christ

Last night Kent read to me from the book he's currently reading...  you remember he does this, shares paragraphs from whatever he's into, and so I learn ever as much as he does it seems from what he reads - it could be the owner's manual for the riding lawn mower and he finds me and says can I read you something? and I know it's gonna' be good. Anyway, he did last night as we lay around reading before bedtime. This time, the experience of Ezra Taft Benson in 1959,

then the U.S. Secretary of Agriculture and a member of the Church’s Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, from Ezra Taft Benson: A Biography by Sheri Dew which took place in communist Russia.

I've taken the liberty of interspersing the book narrative with a published office memo from the writer-reporter team who reported on the event at the time. You'll see it in grayed font... this is long but great, which is why I wanted to post it. Stick with it or come back!
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From the time he arrived [in the Soviet Union], Ezra repeatedly requested that he be taken to visit one of the two Protestant churches in Moscow. Finally, as his party was being taken to the airport for their departure, he again asked to stop at a church. Reluctantly, his driver swung into a narrow alley behind an old stucco building—the Central Baptist Church.

ACCORDING TO an office memo from Grant Salisbury and Warren K. Leffler: THE NIGHT we left Moscow to fly down to Kiev, Secretary Benson literally took us to church. Many of the reporters laughed about it on the way because Mr. Benson, who is a leading Mormon, had arranged for us earlier to attend a service at the Latter-day Saints Church in West Berlin, but all the newsmen found one excuse or another for not going. In Moscow, we had no choice because the cars picked us up at the hotel and stopped at the church on the way to the airport. It was around 7:30 o’clock on the chill, rainy evening of October 1. As the cavalcade of cars arrived at the Central Baptist Church, on a narrow side street not far from Red Square, somebody wisecracked, “Well, boys, you’re going to get to church whether you like it or not.”

It was raining, but the chill left as the Secretary's party entered the church which was filled to overflowing with mostly middle-aged and elderly people. Ezra understood that Soviet citizens attended these services at some risk; anyone who looked to a career of any kind avoided the slightest suspicion of belief in Christianity.

IT TURNED out to be one of the most moving experiences in the lifetime of many of us. One newsman, a former marine, ranked it with the sight of the American flag rising over the old American compound in Tientsin, China, at the end of World War II.

THE SMALL church was packed, with people standing wherever they could find room.

The American group caused an immediate stir in the old church. A newsman present described the scene: "Every face in the old sanctuary gaped incredulously as our obviously American group was led down the aisle. They grabbed for our hands as we proceeded to our pews which were gladly vacated... their wrinkled old faces looked at us pleadingly. They reached out to touch us almost as one would reach out for the last final caress of one's most-beloved just before the casket is lowered. They gripped our hands like frightened children."

Surprisingly, the minister invited Secretary Benson to speak. Knowing there was some danger, Ezra turned to Flora and asked if she thought he should do it. Without pause she answered, "You bet, T!" And he made his way to the pulpit.

SECRETARY BENSON and his family were ushered to the rostrum. After a hymn, sung beautifully by the congregation, Mr. Benson began to talk, drawing on his experiences as one of the leaders of the Mormon Church in America. Watching the Russian congregation, you could see tears welling up in the eyes of people as the Secretary’s words were relayed to them through a translator.

Never had he stood before an audience like this. As he scanned the crowd of anxious faces, it took some moments for him to control his emotions. These were good people, he felt immediately, subjected to a society that deprived them of unrestricted worship. The emotional impact was almost more than he could bear. Then he began to speak about hope and truth and love. As he talked about the Savior and the hope of life after death, tears flowed freely throughout the church.

“IT WAS very kind of your minister to ask me to extend greetings to you,” Mr. Benson began. “I bring you greetings from the millions and millions of church people in America and around the world.”

A soft, fervent “amen” came from the congregation.

"Our Heavenly Father is not far away," the Secretary promised. "He is our Father, Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the World, watches over this earth. . . . Be unafraid, keep His commandments, love one another, pray for peace, and all will be well."

Women took out their handkerchiefs and nodded vigorously as they moaned "Ja, ja, ja!" He looked down at one elderly woman, her head covered by a scarf and with a shawl about her shoulders, and spoke as though directly to her: "This life is only a part of eternity. We lived before we came here. . . . We will live again after we leave this life. . . . I believe very firmly in prayer. I know it is possible to reach out and tap that Unseen Power which gives us strength and such an anchor in time of need." He concluded, "I leave you my witness as a church servant for many years that the truth will endure. Time is on the side of truth. God bless you and keep you all the days of your life."

AT THE mention of the promise of life hereafter, muffled sobs could be heard in the small church. These people, after all, were sacrificing their chances of participating in the gains of the Communist society of Russia. Though worshipping God no longer is forbidden in the Soviet Union, those who do so usually find themselves cut off from advancement.

Communism in Russia remains avowedly atheistic. In Moscow there is one other Baptist church; there are 23 Greek Orthodox churches, two synagogues and one Moslem temple. In a city of 5.4 million people, it’s a comparatively tiny crack in the godless society. The dedicated Communists, when talking to visitors about religion, usually claim that those Russians who do go to the few churches in the city do so out of curiosity – much as they would visit a museum – and not because of their devotion.

By this time tears were streaming down Ezra's face. When his entourage finally filed down the aisle, men and women waved handkerchiefs and grasped the visitors' hands in an action that spoke more than words. Spontaneously they began to sing "God Be With You Till We Meet Again." The language was foreign, but the tune and meaning were unmistakable.

AS THE Secretary returned to his seat, the congregation broke into the familiar hymn, “God Be With You Till We Meet Again.” They were still singing and waving their handkerchiefs as we followed Mr. Benson out of the church. All the way along the crowded aisle, hands were outstretched to shake our hands.

The Americans entered their cars with not a dry eye among them. "I shall never forget that evening as long as I live," Elder Benson later wrote. "Seldom, if ever, have I felt the oneness of mankind and the unquenchable yearning of the human heart for freedom." Others felt similarly. Cynical newsmen who had complained about "going to church with Ezra" (and who had skipped out on LDS services in West Berlin) stood and wept openly.

Grant Salisbury, in U.S. News & World Report on October 26, 1959, wrote, "It turned out to be one of the most moving experiences in the lifetime of many of us." Tom Anderson, editor of Farm and Ranch magazine, wrote, "Imagine getting your greatest spiritual experience in atheistic Russia!... The communist plan is that when these 'last believers' die off, religion will die with them. What the atheists don't know is that God can't be stamped out by legislated atheism... This Methodist backslider who occasionally grumbles about having to go to church, stood crying unashamedly, throat lumped, and chills running from spine to toes. It was the most heart-rending and most inspiring scene I've ever witnessed."

When they reached the airport, nearly all the newsmen traveling with Ezra told him it had been the greatest spiritual experience they had ever had. he was profoundly grateful for the circumstances that had allowed him to leave his testimony with those people. He knew he would never forget the experience.
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On Tuesday, June 2, 2009 President Dieter Uchtdorf of the First Presidency of the church and Elder Neil Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve visited the Central Baptist Church. The two leaders were escorted through the historic building by Vitaly Vlasenko, director of external relations for the Union of Evangelical Christian Baptists of Russia, and Pastor Sergey Zolotarevsky.



It was in this same church in 1959 that Ezra Taft Benson spoke to a standing-room only crowd of worshipers. Elder Benson would eventually become president of the Church, serving from 1985 to 1994.



"Fifty years go fast, and lots of things have changed. But the desires of the heart have not changed," President Uchtdorf said to Pastor Zolotarevsky. "And we appreciate very much that Apostle Benson could come here and talk about Christ as you still do here, and as we try to do."



Elder Benson's witness of the Savior on that day came at a difficult time in Russian history, but that the message of Jesus Christ is needed by people of all faiths just as much now as it was then."Our friends from the Baptist church were very kind, very friendly," cited President Uchtdorf. "They invited us to come. We met with them in this historic place and stood at the pulpit with them and could feel how the message of Jesus Christ - even with different doctrinal feelings and different beliefs - unites us a people as we try to follow Him, our Savior."

Sweet time

I couldn't tell who I was more in love with at this moment watching my babies, Dan or Ellie. Good thing I don't have to choose! At eight weeks now Ellie is intent on faces. I loved seeing as Dan got home from work the other night and picked her up, Ellie's immediate responses to his cooing and stroking and so-low voice. Soft endearments. I have to say it brings home to me (poignantly) how essential fathers are in a girl's life - from the beginning to forever.

Lunch

Shana and Russell and Laura and I met at a park at lunchtime a couple of days ago to walk around a 3/8ths-of-a-mile track pushing the baby in the stroller (ack we all took a turn burning the calories pushing him) about four times which is a mile and a half, and then eat lunch and watch him on the playground. While we walked we talked - food of course - 'cause we're all trying to do the same thing: figure out how to eat good and stay skinny!



So Shana told me about uncooked whole wheat wraps, she called them tortillas, she makes personal pizzas out of. Yum! She described these and today I bought Tortilla Land uncooked multi-grain wraps and came right home and went through the fridge for, well, pizza toppings. Can you believe I found a tiny Tupperware of leftover spaghetti sauce? Jenny, do NOT say ew. And the same of grilled onions from dinner the other night? Big chunky things seasoned with salt and pepper and garlic salt and the slightest bit charred?!



It's too true I always have white mushrooms in the fridge and what did I think of next but the Jimmy Dean faux sausage links we eat with eggs and toast for breakfast. Turkey sausage, fully cooked frozen linkies that taste pretty darn great - and I thawed two in the microwave and Magic Bullet-ed them.

Cooked that wrap to a golden brown in a hot skillet in under a minute, put it on a baking pan and topped it with the ingredients and had that under the broiler in under another... just like Shana said. Oh me oh my I love sausage-onion-n-mushroom pizza. The test would be if the wrap holds up and tastes good.



It does.

It did.

364 calories good.