Untitled

(Part 1 of 2)

There are certain cardinal rules to be kept by missionaries: Never leave your companion. Don’t get into cars with strangers. Be home by 9:30 p.m. Don’t have physical contact with men. Don’t enter bars and night clubs, especially alone. Never let the Elders into your bedrooms, let alone your apartments. By the time I fell asleep that night. I had broken all of them, multiple times.

I rarely woke with the intention of breaking any rule, let alone five or six major ones. It wasn’t looking to be a rule-breaking sort of day. We had zone conference scheduled for all morning and afternoon. And, we had two appointments scheduled for that evening. Two appointments! A day with just one actually scheduled appointment was a treat. But two appointments in one evening? Well, that was South America.

And, oh! what a spiritual feast of a zone conference it was! Caught up in a wave of religious fervor, my companion, Sister Basker, and I both stuffed our backpacks plumb full of pamphlets and Books of Mormon after it was over. Even though we had two appointments (two appointments!), we weren’t going to let a minute of our missions go to waste. We had half a dozen bus rides between now and the end of the day. We thought of all those wonderful sitting ducks just waiting to bloom spiritually. We made sure we had plenty of tools at our disposal to make it happen.

As if taking our positive cue, both our appointments were not only home, but also excited and ready to meet with us. We stayed too long at our final appointment, and it was almost 9:30 by the time we were walking to the bus stop. Our appointment had been on the outskirts of town, and we needed to take three different buses to get home. But, it had all been worth it! We had return visits scheduled for both our appointments.

As we waited at the bus stop, my companion turned to me and said, “It has been such a good day! Interviews with the President, Zone Conference, I didn’t have to give a talk, I memorized Doctrine & Covenants 4, we had two awesome appointments. NOTHING HAS GONE WRONG ALL DAY!!!”

“Be careful, Sister Basker,” I replied, “it’s not over yet!” But, I didn’t really mean it. It had been a most perfect of days.

At that exact moment, I looked up and saw our first bus approaching. It was yet another good sign. We situated ourselves comfortably on the near-empty bus and reminisced on our wonderful appointments. After riding it a few stops, I looked behind us just in time to see our second connecting bus. At this time of night, it was the last bus of its kind. If we didn’t make it on that bus, we’d have a long, long walk ahead of us.

I grabbed my overstuffed back pack and jetted to the back of the bus, shouting to my companion to hurry or we were going to miss it. I waved frantically at the bus behind me to get the driver’s attention. He saw me and, instead of pulling out of the bus stop, he opened his doors again and waited for me to get on the bus. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sister Basker rumple off the bus as she tried to zip up her back pack.

I was in the middle of thanking the second bus driver for waiting for us when I realized there was no us, just me. Our previous bus was pulling away from the stop and there was no sign of my companion. Had she not made it off the bus? Impossible! I had seen her start in her seat and follow me to the back. I was sure she made it off. Where was she?

The bus driver stared at me, as I had stopped speaking mid-sentence when I realized I had no companion.

“Samo malo,” I murmured, just a second. I turned around, and started to descend the steps I had just sprinted up. And then, I saw her. She was sprawled on the sidewalk of the bus stop. Her back pack had fallen open and Books of Mormon and pamphlets were everywhere. Before I could even laugh or get frustrated with the thought of picking up all the fallen paraphernalia, I heard her cry out and I knew something more serious than scattered papers was wrong. I quickly exchanged glances with the bus driver and he nodded his understanding. I jumped off the bus and helped her gather up our supplies and get to her feet. Leaning slightly on me for support, she made her way up the stairs and onto the bus while the driver graciously waited.

It was adrenaline that had helped her up the stairs. As soon as we were safely on the moving vehicle, she sunk down into the nearest chair and clasped her ankle. I looked down and gasped. It looked as if her leg had attempted to swallow a tennis ball, but it had got stuck in the crook of her ankle.

This was no ordinary sprain. Half panicked, and half laughing at the absurdity of the situation, she just looked up at me in pain and confusion, pleading to know what to do. All I could think was ‘elevate’. Elevate. How do you elevate someone’s ankle when they are in a dress and you are on a dirty, moving city bus, full of only men, late at night? She leaned up against the window and put her ankle on my lap. I could see the pain registering deeper and deeper with each breath she took. I didn’t want to look at her ankle, but I couldn’t take my eyes of it. It already resembled a mottled palette of reds and purples.

Think. Breathe. Think.

“Is anything else hurt?”

Slight shake of her head.

“Your bleeding. Your chin and your ankle.” I had removed her shoe, as the swelling was horrendous by now and was causing further pain.

She wiped at the blood on her face and winced with the slight movement that rippled through her body.

“I’m so sorry!” I cried. The guilt for making her race off the bus swelling as much as her ankle.

No response. I wanted to pull out a vacuum and suck away her pain, and the swollen ankle. I donned the role of senior companion and resorted to figuring out our immediate plans. Even if she could get off this bus and up onto the next one, we still had a three-block walk uphill to our apartment. We were not going to make it. We needed help.

Approaching our second connecting stop, a man, as if he heard my silent plea, came up and offered his help. I knew we needed it. Disregarding the rule of not letting strange men have physical contact with us, I gladly accepted. Balancing both overstuffed backpacks on my opposite shoulder, I got one side of Sister Basker, and let the stranger take the bulk of her other side. I glanced up at the bus driver and he waved, to let us know we could take our time going down the aisle and off the bus. Those three steps down seemed like cavernous abysses. Finally, we were off the bus and on solid ground. Our assistant helped us over to a sign post indicating the bus schedule and bid goodnight. I thanked him for both of us, as it was all Sister Basker could do to grabbed onto the post with both hands to hold herself steady and try keep her weight off her ankle. Now what?

Our not-so-little adventure off the bus quickly confirmed that we would need help getting off the bus at our final stop and getting up to our apartment. Sister Basker was bigger than I was. We needed help. The Elders! Of course. There was a set of Elders that only lived one bus stop away from ours. But, how to get ahold of them? The public phones were in the post office and that closed hours ago. Nothing was open. It was almost 10:00 p.m. There would be one, maybe two buses left that could get us to our apartment that night. But we needed help once we got there. Before I could even think long enough to change my mind, I turned to Sister Basker.

“Stay here. Hold onto that pole. I am going to go find a phone to call the Elders to meet us at our bus stop.”

“Ask them if they will give me a blessing.” She said as she slumped down on the cold cement. No resistance to my abandoning her in the middle of downtown, late at night. She understood the gravity of our situation as well as I did. I waved acknowledgment and crossed the street. I looked right and left. No lights. No open doors. No sign of life anywhere. The few people out on the streets were back at the bus stop. I knew I’d have to start going down some of the dark streets to find anyone who could help me with a phone. I turned around and took one last look at my companion, gripping the pole like a child clasps his mothers leg in a crowded store. I sent a prayer out into the night, hoping she’d still be there when I came back, turned and ran away.

Three Hours

Missionary work in Europe is like plowing a drought-ridden field with a plastic fork. Some missionaries serve their entire missions without any baptisms. Ours was no exception. During a particularly parching absence of baptisms, our mission president challenged us to fast and pray to find those prepared to hear the sweet but life-altering message of the gospel. Our whole mission, comprised of over 200 missionaries, was going to fast for 24 dedicated hours. Following that simple sacrifice, we all, including our president, were going to tract for the same three, consecrated hours.

About this time, I received a letter from a dear friend. She sent me a powerful article by Elder Alvin R. Dyer, an apostle of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the 1930s. It was so inspiring that I made a copy for everyone in my district, which included 6 Elders, my companion and me. I shared it with them at a meeting we had to kick-start our momentous mission-wide fast. (It is a lengthy article, but I need to share a taste of it to depict its flavor).

The Challenging and Testifying Missionary” by Alvin R. Dyer

“We think we learn the language and a few lessons and this prepares us to teach the gospel. This is a serious mistake. Were I a young missionary again I would challenge almost everyone I met and I would do it almost every hour of the day. I wouldn't care how many would turn me down.

“You actually do not know when you go to a door whom the Lord has prepared for the gospel. You must approach each door with the idea that here is where people who are prepared for the gospel live. You must do it without fail at every home because you do not know if these people have been chosen by the Lord.

“I remember as a young missionary we left the city of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, to go northward. The sky was blue, it was a beautiful day. It was so still it was almost dull. We had gone about one-half mile on a dirt road when a tremendous whirlwind came up and almost turned us off our feet. I said, "Brother John Clark; we must be going the wrong way." We turned and went the other way and had gone almost a half day into the country when we turned down a farm lane. I can still hear the dogs barking as we opened the outer gate and approached the house. The man said, "I have been expecting you young men." He had a neighbor who had dropped by and left him a copy of the Book of Mormon. Some missionaries had given it to the neighbor and he was not interested in it and had left it with him. "I have been praying every day that someone would come to tell me about this." Would you go into a lengthy series of lessons with that man? We did not. We went out and dammed the creek in back of his place and baptized him before we left.

“I can tell by the look on some of your faces that this goes against the grain. You still like it nice and easy, where you go in and teach the lessons. Teach by the spirit when you go into the home, and have the spirit so strong it comes out of your fingers and they feel it so strong they say, "I know what you say is true." I think the day will come when we will go to the doors of people and testify that we are the servants of God sent to them, call them to repent and be baptized, and I don't believe that day is too far away. We must be more courageous, more definite. We must be the "Challenging and Testifying” missionary. We know it is true. We know that the Lord knows that we know that it is true.

It was such a powerful article and it just added fuel to the fire of our fasting. The excitement of knowing that everyone, everyone was going to be out tracting at the same time was palpable.

We prayed intensely. We read the article. We fasted. We read the article again. We prayed more. We pondered and deliberated about where we should spend our precious three hours. We wanted to be ‘led by the spirit, not knowing beforehand the things {we} should do’ (1Ne. 4:6).

The awaited day arrived. We arrived at the buildings we had spirit-picked. The first building was open. It was a sign. We pushed the button for the elevator and waited like kids on Christmas morning while it leisurely descended to our level. We opened up the outer door, then the inner door and got in. Would it be the very first door? Who would we meet today? Who’s life was about to change? We rode the elevator all the way to the top. No door would go unknocked today.

We said another prayer after exiting the elevator. After our ‘amens’, we looked up and smiled, scanning our cement surroundings. This was going to be an incredible, fireside-worthy experience. We had done everything we needed to do to have the Spirit as our constant companion. We were out here, as two soldiers in a literal army of God throughout Slovenia, Austria, Croatia, and Serbia. Over 200 of us were knocking on doors at the same moment. It was exhilarating.

We knocked on the first door. No one home. No matter, there were still 2 hours and 59 minutes of invaluable finding time left. We approached the next door. Joy! We could hear someone! Would this be it? No. She wasn’t interested. We took the cement stairs down as fast as we could, wasting no time on in between. We had floors and floors to go. On each floor, at each door, we’d get the same reverie of anticipation. We were lost in the Spirit. Miracles were going to happen today -- to us!

However, nothing happened in that first building. We knocked on every door, on every floor of the building. No one wanted to let us in and share our message. But, the one good thing about being rejected fast is that we had a lot of time left to seek out those who were primed. Onward to the next building we went like the Christian soldiers we were. We had prayed about the entire street; possibilities ad infinitum.

We knocked on door after door, in building after building. Nothing. We still had over an hour left. We would not loose faith. We were Challenging and Testifying Missionaries. We rejected failure.

We ran out of buildings before we ran out of time. We had knocked on every door in 7 huge apartment buildings. With about 15 minutes left of our three hour slot, we had a decision to make. Should we give up? Or, should we go to another area and start anew? Despair and disappointment awakened inside us, but I knew we would forever regret it if we went home now, without anything to report at our upcoming district meeting.

We pulled out our map and quickly relocated to another area that we had felt good about when we were initially praying. There were three smaller buildings in this area. We committed to knocking on all the doors, even if we went over our time. Each building was only three stories high, which meant no elevator. We raced up the stairs, caught our breath, and knocked. No one was home. Door after door never opened. If there was someone home, we would get one of the usual rejections through the slit of opened door restricted by chains.

We had only one door remaining...

The following day at our district meeting, I was a music box cranked to capacity. Our district leader could tell I was about to explode with enthusiasm, so he let me share our experience first. I regurgitated our regrettably typical afternoon of rejection to them and waited until they were all listening before I moved on to the final door.

“Our three hours was long gone,” I spoke in an undertone as if our lives depended on their strict attention, “but we still had one more door. The final door in the final building. We approached it. Plastered right below the peep hole was a familiar sign, “Pozor, hud pes” (Danger, Evil Dog -- Beware of Dog). We did not falter a single step. No evil dog was going to stop us. We were missionaries on a very specific and important mission. We knocked. We waited. We heard the dog barking....

“Then, the dog seemed to quiet down as we heard a young female voice approaching. She opened the door just a crack and asked ‘Who is it?’

“It was my turn to give the door approach. For what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon, I smiled and said, ‘We are missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. We have an important message for you. Could we come in and share it?’

“ ‘Who?’ she repeated.

“ ‘Have you ever heard of the Mormons?’ I asked.

“‘Yes! I have!’ Her eyes lit up immediately. ‘Just a second. I have something.’

“She closed the door again. But, we were not going anywhere. We stood in silence, each with a prayer raging in our hearts. This was it!

“When she returned two minutes later, she held an English Book of Mormon in her hands. She had put the dog in another room and removed the chain on her door. She opened the door wide and stood in the doorway.

“ ‘Is this book from your church?’ she inquired.

“ ‘Yes! Yes it is!’ we both responded a little too enthusiastically.

“ ‘Oh! This is wonderful. I’m so happy to find you!’ She was hugging the book to her chest, like she somehow understood how precious it was.

“ ‘I went on vacation to California last year to see Disneyland and visit some friends that had moved there,’ she looked lost in her memories as she spoke. ‘While I was there, my friends gave me this book. I think they are part of your church now. I speak English pretty well, and so I started to read it on my plane ride home. I have now read it all the way through two times. I love this book! I have been wondering how to find out more about this church and if there was even one in Slovenia, and here you are knocking on my door!”

“We were stunned. Was this really happening?

I looked around the small room at our district of Elders. Everyone was on the edge of their seats. No one was looking anywhere but at my face. Some of their jaws were slightly open. Nothing like this ever happened to any of us. Ever.

“So,” I said to the room full of awaiting missionaries, “Do you think we wasted any time teaching her all the discussions? We did not! We went out back, dammed up the creek behind her place, and baptized her before we left!”

Silence. I struggled to hold in my laughter at the confusion that was slowly working its way over their excited faces. Our stalwart zone leader had jumped up off his chair.

“Sister Groberg! You are not supposed to baptize....”

That was when my companion and I lost it. Our laughter was enough to jolt him back to reality.

“I didn’t baptize anyone!” I explained between breaks of laughter. Everyone was either mad or laughing by this time. “No one was home at that last door. The dog barked and barked. End of story. We didn’t find anyone. But, I just couldn’t come here today and say that. I just couldn’t.”

I’m not sure if my zone leader ever looked at me the same way again. I’ve often wondered what lesson I was supposed to learn from this whole experience. We had followed every step of the law, done everything right, and yet no blessings came. It is one of those incidents that I will ask about in the hereafter. But, for now, it sure makes a good story.

Miracle in the Mountains

Miracle in the Mountains

I tried jumping up and down in place, just to get some blood moving. Anything to distract me from the cold, so wet it was suffocating. But, the sloshing and squishing of my wet boots was worse than just standing still. Heavy, wet socks bristled against my almost-numb toes.

“What time is it now?” I shivered. I was being annoying, I knew. But, it had to be close to 5:15 by now. Time could not move this slow, not even on a day like this.

“It’s only been ten minutes since you last asked. 4:45.” The Elder rolled his eyes at me as he replaced his soaking wet glove. I could have mentioned his fingers would warm up faster without the wet gloves, but emotions were already tenuous.

We tried playing games, quizzing each other on movie lines from classic 80’s films, singing our favorite songs, anything to pass the time until the bus came. The sky was finally darkening, slightly. It was the first time all day there had been a change from the ominous cloudy gray color.

What an adventurous P-day. I knew it would be when I woke up to rain in the valley. What hike up a mountain in rain wouldn’t be an experience? But, we all needed a break from the city and the monotonous tracting, so no one backed out. Thick, wet fog accompanied us all day, draped around us like layers of gauze. Halfway up our hike, the rain had turned into stinging snow. We didn’t let it stop us, and hiked for hours until the snow was up to our thighs and we were so helplessly lost we finally came to our numbed senses and turned around. We ended up sliding down the mountain in the snow, soaking every part of us the rain hadn’t previously claimed.

Five o’clock showed up. Only 15 more minutes and then warmth. Well, the beginning of our journey to warmth. The bus wouldn’t be heated, but we would be out of the wind. We had to take three different buses before we’d get back to our apartments. Ten more minutes. We played more games. Finally, 5:15 came. And then went. No bus. No worries. They were just running late because of the weather.

No. No bus. 5:30. No bus. 5:45 p.m. Still no bus. Six o-clock came. At some point, we all realized there would be no bus. We were at a reclusive bus stop up in the mountains in a rainstorm. It was pitch black. We didn’t know what to do. Not only had no bus come, we realized we had not seen a single vehicle of any kind pass us going either direction during the two hours we had been waiting. We were freezing, wet, hungry, tired and completely stranded.

With no other options, we started to walk down the road toward the nearest city. We knew it was a little over 15 kilometers (about 9 miles) down a serpentine road, the only one for miles in any direction. I kept trying to grasp the gravity of our situation, knowing I should be panicking.

The newest missionary in our group suggested we offer a prayer. We stepped off to the side of the road to pray. Not that we needed to step off anywhere. There was no traffic to worry about. It was a simple prayer, offered up in faith by a group of missionaries who were without other recourse. Then we continued walking. Sometimes life is like that. Sometimes you pray and then you just have to keep going in the right direction on your own.

We hadn’t been walking for very long, however, when a supply van passed us going up the mountain. We all got excited simply because it was a sign of life! We had seen a car. Who cares that it had been going the wrong way. Maybe that meant another car would come down the mountain and stop for us!

We kept walking. And walking. And walking. For long stretches of time, the only sound was the squelching of our wet boots on the road. Then, we heard it. The faint sounds of a motor approaching. We turned back and saw a pair of headlights coming towards us going down the mountain. Without even saying anything, we all turned around and held out our thumbs.

As the headlights drew near, we noticed it was the same van that had passed us earlier. It started to slow down. As we let out a collective sigh, it rolled to a stop. One of the Elders explained our situation to the driver. He got out of his car and said he’d give us a ride to the nearest town. He opened the back of his supply van and we piled in. It was cramped, and there were no windows, but there was enough space for all five of us. One of the Elders rode up front.

It was a miracle, especially considering the type of cars in Slovenia. Most people do not have cars, they simply rely on public transportation. If they are fortunate enough to own a car, it is a simple two door Fiat or Yugo, or some other tiny car that makes the US compact cars feel like sedans. When we’d occasionally get rides from members or investigators, one of us would sit up front with the driver, and the other of us would crouch down in the back, all curled up for the duration of the ride. Cars were just tiny.

Even after we prayed for help to get home, I realized there would be no car driving by that would be big enough to fit all of us. There were five of us. Cars fit two people, three, at the most. The most I hoped for was a car to send some of the missionaries on ahead and they could call some members for help. I never imagined a car big enough to fit all of us would ever appear.

Perched on some boxes I couldn’t see, I kept thinking -- no one owns a van! I wasn’t sure if I’d ever even seen a van in my months so far in Slovenia. It was so miraculous and rare that this van was on that road at that time. And, what was this inexplicable van doing on this winding deserted stretch of a mountain during a storm at night? These thoughts were voiced aloud among us missionaries as we sat there in the pitch black riding down the mountain.

We expressed our gratefulness to Heavenly Father for answering our prayer so immediately. I said another prayer of simple gratitude because I was so overwhelmed by the situation. The van started to slow down. We heard the front doors open and shut and then the van doors opened. He had driven us straight to the bus stop in town. We thanked him as best as we could and gave him a rather soggy Joseph Smith pamphlet. He accepted it graciously and our angel of mercy got back in his supply van and drove off. We never saw him again.

As we waited for the last bus of the night to take us back to our home city, the Elder who had ridden up front, told us our rescuer’s story. Apparently, this man normally drove a tiny two-seater like every other Slovene did. He owned a supply van, but the engine wasn’t working and the van had been sitting out front of his house for months. Then, the day before our adventure, he decided to get the engine fixed on his supply van.

Then, that night, he felt like he needed to go check on a shed located by a property up the mountain. Twice he almost backed out because of the weather and the time of day. But, he eventually decided to go. Since his van was now fixed, he decided to drive that instead of his normal car. He drove all the way up the mountain to the shed, only to realize that he had left the key to the shed at home. He turned around and came back down the road and that is when he saw us and gave us a ride.

It was a miracle. By any definition. We had been rescued by a miracle. We prayed in faith, and Heavenly Father orchestrated this perfect miracle of events to answer our prayers.

Now, whenever I feel metaphorically stranded, I remember to pray. Pray and walk. For Heavenly Father knows me. My van might be just around the bend.

Seriously?

Things you might need to know to appreciate this post:

1) I love grapefruit

2) I love candy

3) I hate shots/needles

4) Six years ago, my body was diagnosed with "Hashimoto's Thyroiditis" (a condition where the immune system attacks good organs... in this case, my thyroid).

5) Every year on Christmas morning, we have grapefruit, followed by cinnamon rolls. It is pretty much the only Christmas day tradition I have.

6) In May 2010, I found out my body has diabetes

7) I'm trying to distinguish between who I am, and what my body is. That I am not my body. It's all part of this life coaching technique my older brother is helping me with.

Four days before Christmas, I had my three-month checkup with my endocrinologist. If you don't know what kind of doctor that is, it is for the endocrine system, and I've been seeing him regularly for six years now for my Thyroid issue, and now diabetes. At this appointment, he said my numbers weren't going anywhere good. My sugars were up (despite diet and exercise), and my cholesterol levels were really high (despite diet and exercise). He also showed me this number for this specialized test he had run on my pancreas months earlier. Normal levels for this test are 1.0 or less. My number was 30. Basically, he said my immune system has turned on my pancreas and is attacking and killing all of the beta-islet cells -- the ones that produce insulin that help the body to absorb sugar. Another effect of all this is essentially the early signs of heart disease. He said over and over and over again, how people who are not overweight, who exercise, and eat healthy, can have heart disease.

As a result of my numbers, he said I will most likely be insulin-dependent in about 12 months. Maybe a year and a half. Other doctors, he said, would have me strictly on insulin shots already, but he wants to postpone it as long as we can. He doubled my oral medication, which makes me extremely nauseous, and prescribed a new one for cholesterol.

My doctor was pretty nice to say over and over and over again that there is nothing I am doing that is causing all of this. My body is not behaving the way it should be under normal circumstances. I guess that helps to relieve the would-be guilt factor. I was handling all of this in stride, as best as can be expected. Then, I went to pick up my new medicine that night.

As the pharmacist was running my credit card (for the enormously HIGH co-pay on that cholesterol medicine), she handed me the medicine and almost as a last-minute comment, said, "Oh, and no more grapefruit."

"Seriously?" I blurted out.

"Yes. For real. No more grapefruit. For life."

"Seriously?" I thought she was joking. Had Dave called her in advance and told her about my love of grapefruit, and my Christmas morning tradition that was just days away?

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm serious."

I couldn't believe it! As I drove away from the pharmacy drive-thru window, the reality of everything just came crashing down. I laughed out loud the whole way home like some maniacal creature. Oh, the irony of life.

Soon (though hopefully not until 2012), shots every day. And no more grapefruit? Seriously?

Before I pulled into my driveway, I had already made one critical decision. High cholesterol levels or not, I was going to have my grapefruit on Christmas morning. So, Dave went and bought plenty of big, juicy ruby reds. I postponed taking my medicine for a few days. And, Christmas morning, I woke up, and had a grapefruit; section by juicy section. Then, I squeezed out every drop of juice and drank it up. It's going to have to last me a lifetime.

Seriously.

All we NEED for Christmas

I spoke in Church on Sunday, after two wonderful youth speakers and three beautiful choir pieces. I say, "I spoke", but really, "I cried" in church on Sunday. I was so emotional. Now, I feel completely spent. What a blessing it was for me to concentrate and focus on the Savior the entire month of December as I prepared this talk. I had at least 5 different versions of my talk written up in my head and in bullet forms on different sheets of papers. Then, a few days ago, I took a really long shower, and a new idea came to my mind. I sat down to my computer shortly thereafter, and, with a prayer in my heart, typed out my talk -- an entirely different talk than all five versions.

This is the reason I haven't blogged in over a month. This is the reason I haven't even thought about Christmas Cards yet. So, with gratitude to the Spirit, and to my hot water heater (it was a long shower).... Here is my talk. Merry Christmas!

All We Need for Christmas

Jerusalem, just over 2000 years ago. The people were struggling. They were unhappy with their current political regime. They felt oppressed. They were over-taxed and under-paid. The economy was terrible. Does any of this sound familiar?

The people of Israel -- God’s chosen people -- wanted a deliverer. A new King. They wanted a Redeemer from their current troubles, woes, and sufferings. The people knew the Scriptures. They understood that a Messiah was promised. But most of them confused their wants with their needs. They wanted a deliverer from their political and economical strife. They needed a deliverer from their sins.

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”

The promised Messiah came. As a baby, born in a stable. But, many were too focused on their wants to see the miracle right in front of their eyes. To truly see and understand that their needs were met in a small child, sent to us from a loving Heavenly Father.

Despite the countless wants of the Israelites, the Savior came to meet their needs. Among many others, they needed to learn three important things that we still need this Christmas. They needed to learn to forgive, to serve, and to love. He knew, that if they learned those critical things, they would come to know Him, and to accept Him, as their Redeemer. Then, they would be saved.

First, they needed to learn to forgive.

The Roman empire taxed the Israelites at insane levels. They forced them to be almost slaves to an emperor in a far away land. They smote them and whipped them, and treated them like less than human beings. And, Christ, whom they wanted to help free them from tyranny, taught them, “Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt ^alove thy ^bneighbour, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, ^aLove your ^benemies, ^cbless them that ^dcurse you, do ^egood to them that ^fhate you, and ^gpray for them which despitefully use you, and ^hpersecute you; That ye ^amay be the ^bchildren of your Father which is in heaven.”

They wanted retribution. They needed forgiveness.

A few years ago, a stalwart, LDS family was living in Southern Idaho. Suddenly, their youngest child, who was 18 years old, got very sick. After several doctor’s visits, she was diagnosed with a serious life-altering condition. Treatment was possible, but they were told not to get their hopes up. The entire family and many, many friends fasted and prayed. This girl went through treatment after painful treatment. Months went by and they finally started seeing some progress. Gradually, she started getting better. Her health was improving daily. The doctors were amazed at her miraculous recovery. She was scheduled to finally go home with a perfectly clean bill of health. The doctors wanted to give her one last ‘precautionary’ treatment, for good measure before she was released.

Then, through miscommunication and miscalculations, the ‘precautionary’ dose of medicine this girl was given was in reality an enormously high amount. A lethal dose. By the time the staff at the hospital realized their mistake, it was too late. The death-delivering dose was coursing through this girl’s veins. They only had time to call the family, who rushed to her side to say goodbye. This beautiful girl, who just hours earlier was planning on leaving for home after endless painful health issues, now had to be ready to leave for a different home, her Heavenly home. She leaned over to her father, and whispered, “I know it was an accident. Please, please forgive them.”

She passed away just a few short hours later. Over the next few days, the family was inundated with calls from lawyers across the country who had heard of the situation. I can only imagine those conversations. They had been wronged, in the most grievous way possible. Would they chose retribution? Or Forgiveness? My father was working in the temple later, when the entire family was there to do the work for their beautiful daughter. This family knew what they needed in their lives. They needed forgiveness. They needed the Savior.

Second, the Israelites needed to learn to serve one another.

The people of Israel wanted a new leader, one who would stand up to the Romans and the ruling class. One who would take back their rightful property. But, what they needed was to learn how to serve. The Savior taught them, “And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away.”

Alma taught us, “Now if a man desired to serve God, it was his privilege; or rather, if he believed in God it was his privilege to serve him” (Alma 30:9). King Benjamin further explained this truth. “For how knoweth a man the master whom he has not served, and who is a stranger to him, and is far from the thoughts and intents of his heart?” (Mosiah 5:13) Do we desire to come to know our Savior and be like Him? If so, then how? The answer is simple. Serve Him. And, how do we serve Him? “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings, ye are only in the service of your God.” (Mosiah 2:17).

When we think of service, do we think of wants or needs? When I think of what I want, I want to pass around a sign-up sheet in Relief Society to feed the Blaser family for a week. That is what I want. But, what do I need? I do not need side dishes and salads. I need a smile. I do not need freshly-baked food, I need a friendly word or a phone call -- just because. That is what I need. I am not alone in that. Many of us do have temporal needs at this time, in this economy, but ALL of us have emotional, social, and spiritual needs that ought to be addressed as well. And, all of us, regardless of our income, marital, health, or spiritual status, can provide the service require to fill those needs of one another. THAT is what the Savior taught. That type of service -- the giving of one’s self, of one’s heart, of one’s time. That is what the Savior did. His atonement was the ultimate give of one’s self, of one’s heart.

During Lucie Gallman’s funeral, I witnessed a selfless act of service. Carlie Welling had just been in our ward a short time. She came to the funeral, as most of you did, out of love for the Gallman family, which she barely knew. She then saw a need. Several of you had young children you had brought to the funeral. Carlie decided to open up the nursery room and offered to watch all of your little ones so you could attend the funeral and be a part of the spiritual outpouring that it was. No one asked Carlie to do this. She saw a need. She saw an opportunity to serve. She followed through. That is true service. That is understanding and acting upon the vital difference between wants and needs. That is coming to know the Savior.

Five and 1/2 years ago, my best friend, Trudy Barrett, died in a car accident. I was devastated. I didn’t know how to begin to cope with the loss of someone who was such an integral part of my daily life. I didn’t even know what to pray for. But, the Lord knew what I needed. I needed service. I was soon called to be the compassionate service leader. Bishop Williams asked me to oversee taking meals to Aaron and the boys for an entire year. After just a few weeks, Aaron pleaded to reduce it to three times a week, as they could not possibly eat all the food they were receiving before it went bad. So, we started bringing in meals every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. For one whole year. Every few weeks I would pass around a sign-up sheet in Relief Society to cover the next month. Many of you, who never even knew Trudy, signed up regularly to bring in meals to the Barrett family. In all that time, for over 150 meals, guess how many times the sign up sheets came back with a blank slot? Zero. Never once did I have to ask twice for help. This ward knows how to serve. Through these acts you have come to know your Savior and to be like Him.

The only possible area where we could improve in our service is to look around with a closer eye at the more subtle needs surrounding us. There are people who need friends, phone calls, and a person to sit by during a lesson. There are children who long for your faithful testimonies as you teach them the gospel. There are hugs that need to be delivered, and shoulders to cry on. As we learn to serve, with our focus on the Savior, we will see needs around us we might have never realized were there. And, we will have the strength and the desire to fill those needs.

Finally, they needed to learn to love.

John 3:16

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

This is true love. To give up something of yourself that is so precious because you love someone so much. That is how much our Father loves us. He gave us His only son. His ONLY Son. He knew what the Savior would go through. He knew the suffering and the heartache and the lonely, necessary journey His ONLY Son would have to take. Yet, He sent Him here -- for You. For Me. For each one of us. And, I’m positive that our Father in Heaven is full of love towards us when we pray and express our gratitude and appreciation for that gift of Love. But, I’m also sure that He is just as full of love towards those of our brothers and sisters on this earth who have never even had the thought of praying and thanking Him for that most wonderful of gifts. He loves them just as much as He loves you and me. That, that level of love, is the type of love we need to strive for in our lives.

Our Savior understood and answered with that level of love. The Atonement, in its infinite and eternal nature, could not have been performed by anyone who did not have a perfect love for us. The Savior knew us. He knew we would make mistakes. Even after we knew better. Yet, his love for us remains.

It is easy to love someone who loves you back. That level of love is something we can all experience when a child cuddles up to us, or a friend does something out of the blue and extraordinarily kind. But, as we come to know our Savior, and strive to be like Him, we need to learn how to love on a completely different level. With a Christ-like love. Sometimes you can learn to love someone so much that it is physically painful to see them make choices you know will lead to a life of unhappiness. But, the key to having Christlike love in our lives, is that when this happens, our love for that person increases, rather than decreases.

I served a mission in Slovenia, a small country nestled in the Southern Alps of Eastern Europe. The church had only been there a year or two when I went. There were very few members. The work was hard, and we often went months without meeting anyone who even want to listen to us. Towards the end of my mission, we met a wonderful lady named Marija. She immediately latched onto the saving words of the gospel. The gospel is perfect for everyone, but sometimes, there are certain people who are just perfect for the gospel. The struggling branch needed Marija and her faith. We met with her often, reading from The Book of Mormon, teaching her the various discussions, and sharing testimony of the restored truths. We always left her apartment uplifted and excited that we had found someone who was ready to embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ. We had talked seriously about baptismal dates. She had already chosen the place, a beautiful little pool at the base of a small waterfall in her favorite mountains. We just needed to firm up the day.

Just before Christmas, we were in her apartment one day, and I noticed a beautiful nativity set on a dresser. She showed me each piece, the shepherds, the angel, the wise men, Joseph, Mary, and the baby Jesus with careful attention. They were made out of clay and quite breakable. I absolutely loved them all, loved the way they looked, and told Marija just that.

At our next appointment, a few days after Christmas, Marija gave me a small little package, a late Christmas present. It was a tiny tin box. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was the little angel from her Nativity set. I gasped out loud in delight. She smiled and said, “I could tell how much you loved it. Well, you have been like an angel to me, so I wanted you to have my angel.” I thanked her profusely and carefully wrapped it back up to bring it home.

And then, a few weeks later, just four days before I left the mission field to return home, we went to see Marija. She was somber as she let us in and we took our usual seats around her dimly-lit table. She had all of the pamphlets and her copy of The Book of Mormon stacked neatly in a pile. She proceeded to tell us that she had made the decision to take a different path in life. One that did not include the Church.

Stunned, we tried to understand what had happened to cause this enormous shift in her life. She did not want to share any more with us, but let us know we were not to return there to teach her any more. I couldn’t hold back the tears. Even as we were led out of her apartment, I turned around as if to make sure this was really happening. It couldn’t be. My companion and I both bore solemn and bold testimonies of The Book of Mormon and of the restored Gospel of Jesus Christ. She smiled, but then said good bye and closed the door.

We had no choice but to walk away. It was a bitter cold January morning and the wind seemed to mock my tear-stained cheeks. We got a few feet onto the icy sidewalk and I just stopped and turned back towards her apartment building. We had been rejected so many times on my mission. Why did this hurt so bad? And, then, I understood something eternally important. I had come to love Marija. To love her the way our Savior loved her. I saw her through the eyes of our Savior Jesus Christ and saw how He was crying for her as well. He loved her so much. It was so painful because of the love. But, the pain did not decrease our love for her.

It has been 15 years since that windy, sad morning. But, every Christmas, as we get out our increasingly large amount of decorations, there is one small tin box that I keep for myself. Inside it, wrapped in tissue paper that is now quite yellow and brittle with age, is a small clay angel. My angel. And I carefully set it up high on a shelf and am filled with love. I remember the wind. I remember the tears. And I remember the piercing love for one of our Heavenly Father’s children. That love has not faded in the slightest with time.

Oh, how we NEED that love in our lives this Christmas. As we strive to learn how to freely forgive, with no conditions, to truly serve and not just with our wallets and watches, and to really love, we will come to know our Savior.

As parents, we understand how vitally important it is to give our children what they need -- love, safety, structure, yes, Josh, even carrots, and not just what they want.

The Savior taught, “If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will ye for a fish give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give good gifts, through the Holy Spirit, to them that ask him?” (Luke 11:11, JST included).

Our Heavenly Father knows what we want. But, of infinite more importance, He knows what we need. We need the gift of His Son in our daily lives. We are not that different from those, the chosen people, of Israel over 2,000 years ago. The economic situation is bleak. We are over-taxed. We feel frustrated. But, are we crying out for a Deliverer from our temporal trials? Are we focused on our wants? Or, do we remember what we really need. Forgiveness, Service, and Love.

What do you want for Christmas? It is a question oft repeated, by Santa Claus to little children as they sit on his lap, by strangers waiting in line at the post office, or to friends and family alike. And, I hope that everyone within the sound of my voice does get something that they want this Christmas. But, my prayer is that we will all receive something that we need. That we will receive the Savior into our lives. That we will learn to forgive, to serve, to love, and to come to know the babe born in Bethlehem. And, really, all of those are actually the same thing.

Moroni 7:48 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, ^apray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true ^bfollowers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall ^cbe like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be ^dpurified even as he is pure.” In the name of Jesus Christ Amen.

The flies on the wall were cracking up!

This is guaranteed to summon a few snickers (not the candy bar kind), a giggle or two and and least one good snort.

This is what the flies heard Monday night:

(At dinner)

Josh: "What do you think I'll be when I get up?"

Eden: "Get up?"

Josh: "I mean grow up. What do you think I'll be when I grow up?"

Dave: "A doctor."

Me: "An engineer."

Josh: "Nope. I don't think those will work out."

Dave: "What are you going to be, then?"

Josh: "An Illustrator"

Eden: "You mean an artist?"

Josh: "No, an Illustrator:

Me: "Drawing pictures for books."

Dave: "Just as long as you can make enough money doing that Josh, you'll be fine."

Josh: "Money isn't the most important thing, Dad."

Me:(Laughter)

Eden: "Fun is the most important thing."

Me: (Laughter)

Dave: "No, that's not right, Eden. But, Josh, I know money isn't the most important thing..."

Me: (interrupting), "Josh, so what is the most important thing?"

Josh: "Love!"

Teya: "I know how to make paper dominoes!"

Two pleadings with the kids to please eat their dinner later...

Josh: "Does it cost money to get something fixed at a hospital?"

Me: "Yes!"

Dave: "A lot of money!"

Josh: "Do you have to pay for it before they will fix you?"

Dave: "Yes."

Josh: "Even in an emergency?"

Me: "Yes."

Josh: "What if you don't have any money?"

Dave: (insert small discourse on how hard-working people pay health insurance every month, and they are the ones who have to pay for those who don't have health insurance, but still expect to get treated)

Josh: no more questions.

Scene II: Cut to me reminding Josh he has the lesson for FHE.

Me: "So, Josh, what are you going to teach for the lesson?"

Josh:"I don't know."

(Three minutes later)

Me: "Josh, have you decided what you are going to teach for FHE?"

Josh: "Yeah. Just go on Netflix and instant stream the VeggieTales movie about the 2,000 stripling warriors."

(There are several things wrong with that sentence. Can you find all of them? None are grammatical in nature, hopefully. Answers listed at the bottom of the post.)

Me: "Josh, there isn't a VeggieTales movie about the stripling warriors."

Josh: "Why not?"

Me: Because the VeggieTales movies are made by a Christian company that just believes in the Bible, and the 2000 stripling warriors' story comes from the Book of Mormong.

Eden: "Yeah, they are Christian, Josh!"

Me: "So are we, Eden."

Eden: "I thought we were Mormon!"

Sigh.

Josh instead reads the chapter from Daniel and the Lions Den aloud to us for FHE. We are trying to elicit a decent discussion afterwards.

Dave: "So, what does this story teach us?"

Josh: "Well, there is this VeggieTales movie about chocolate bunnies..."

Me: "That's about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, not Daniel."

Eden: "They had to go in a furnace."

Teya: "And it happened to fruit, not real people!"

Me: "No, it happened to real people, and an angel came and protected them in the furnace."

Josh: "It was VEGETABLES, not fruit."

Dave: "Teya, do you think it is more important what happened to real people, or to fruit?"

Teya:"Fruit."

Josh: "They were VEGETABLES!"

Me: "Let's just say the prayer."

Tucking the kids in that night:

Me: (to the girls) "Remember, NO candy when you wake up in the morning!"

Teya: "Pixie sticks aren't candy."

Me: "Yes, they are."

Teya: "They are just plain sugar. Sugar isn't candy."

Me: "Go to bed."

Dave: (to Josh) "Just close your eyes and go to sleep!"

Josh: "But closing my eyes doesn't make me fall asleep! It just makes everything go dark!"

And, that was just Monday. Between the hours of 6:30 and 8:00 p.m.

Answers to above question: 1)I'm just not used to my kids demanding we instant stream anything yet. They are truly part of the "I want it here and now and I don't want to wait" generation. 2)Since when is a VeggieTales MOVIE a FHE lesson? 3)VeggieTales make Bible stories only and have no affiliation with the Church, or Book of Mormon Stories.

Halloween, Groberg style

For my mother, it was no coincidence that the words sugar and sin started with the same letter. Carob was more commonplace in our cupboard than chocolate. I was a teenager before I realized they were not the same thing. Everything was made from scratch, picked from our garden, or ground with our wheat grinder. We made our own yogurt from cultures grown on light boxes. Alfalfa sprouts grew underneath our sink. We purchased preservative-free peanut butter in gallon sizes. When we needed a new jug, we had to expend significant elbow grease to reunite the oil and the mushy nuts before it was cloaked in spreadability. Cold cereal only existed in the form of oatmeal that was ready to eat before I was. Vitamin C pills were as close to treats as we ever came.

So, when Halloween dared to come around, my mom had to get creative. While thoughts of candy bars and lollipops danced in our eyes, she was busy figuring out a way to thwart the sugar that would infallibly fall into our digestive tracts through school parties and the t-words. Trick or Treating. She came up with a meal stuffed with an assortment of the most disgusting vegetables, as if filling us up with vitamins and goodness would make us recoil at the sight of a Snickers bar.

She called it “Dinner in a Pumpkin”. The very phrase still gives my stomach nightmares. It was a goulash of meat and peppers and other spices cooked inside a real, down-to-earth, squashy pumpkin. We would scoop out the seeds, (to be roasted and eaten later, instead of our candy). She would slice up the fleshy pulp and inject all the ingredients. Then, our oven would host the unwelcome gourd for an hour or so while everyone but me dressed up in costumes and giddiness.

Every year I begged for an alternate meal. I offered to eat an entire plate of just green beans, or three corn on the cobs, or five bananas. I begged and begged. I hated pumpkin. I hated all stringy, pulpy squash. But, the rule of no substitutions applied on this night as it did on every other night of the year. There would be no mercy, no advocate would come to my aid. I had to eat the pumpkin or stay home from the one night where adults who normally intimidated and scared me gave me candy.

So, I would always eat it, trying my best not to chew. I would take the smallest of bites, and chase them down with water, choking and gagging my way through my alloted portion. When my plate passed inspection, off I would trudge to the nearest bathroom, each step echoing my displeasure with ‘dinner’.

The bathroom’s wallpaper was beige with pictures of planes, trains, cars, and boats. It spoke of happier times and carefree hobbies. It shuddered when Halloween came around. It knew why I was there. I would pull my hair back into a ponytail, kneel down and lift up the porcelain lid to evacuate the contents of my dinner and sometimes my lunch.

Stomach freshly scoured of any traces of vitamins and nutrients, I donned the hand-me-down costume earmarked for me and joined my siblings for our adventures in begging. We couldn’t go trick-or treating ad hoc. We were to go up and down our little street, and maybe, just maybe, hit a few houses on the side. But, any candy we got was like manna from heaven. For about an hour, we were the official owners of contraband. When discretion was our friend, some of the candy never quite made it into our bags.

Upon our return, we were allowed to select a few pieces. I would both savor and devour those favored items. Then, we dutifully turned the rest of our candy over to senior patrol. After that, I’m not sure were it went. Perhaps some of it was doled out periodically over the next few weeks. I’m more inclined to think my parents ate it surreptitiously. I think some of the less popular pieces made it all the way to our Christmas stockings.

As a mother of three perfect-for-trick-or-treating aged children, I am now faced with the dilemma. What do I feed them on All Hallows Eve? Dinner-in-a Pumpkin? Never. In fact, I’ve been tempted to tear ‘Dinner-in-a-Pumpkin’’s page from our family cookbook and offer it up in some fiery ritual. But, it would probably catch my hair on fire in some final act of vengeance. So, I reflect on my many trips to the wallpapered room of doom and always end up making macaroni and cheese -- their favorite. Better to stuff them with food they will actually eat, right? Then, when their little feet have had all they can of our vast neighborhood, home we go. They get to choose a few pieces to eat right then. The rest? Well, I’ve graduated now. I’m senior patrol. Surreptitious is my middle name.

P.S. While my childhood mind felt tortured by the lack of sugar, my mother obviously knew best. She has never spent a day of her life overweight. And, even though she had 11 children, and is now well into her 70s, she still doesn’t have any grey hair. Maybe there is something magical to Carob after all.