Little Things

Yesterday I went up to the U to take a test.  Due to traffic congestion caused by an accident, I decided to take some back roads on my way home.  It helped that we used to live up there and I knew my way around.  I found myself passing landmarks that took me back to a time that Andrew and I had walked that road together.  The housing association had offered free babysitting and we were fortunate to get on the list before it filled up.  We dropped our kids off and decided to walk three miles to Red Mango for our date.  It was such a fun evening.  If I remember correctly, it was early fall.  The rain started to drizzle on us, but we had a great time together.  The memory was precious and I was filled with a quiet joy as I continued my drive home.

This morning I stayed snuggled in my bed for as long as I wanted.  Andrew had long since gotten up and headed in to work.  But before I left, he said a prayer with me and made sure I had an extra blanket or two. It's always harder to stay warm once he is up and out of bed.  The house was quiet and peaceful.  Andrew had taken care to buy blueberry bagels for the boys.  They were a "special treat" for Saturday breakfast.  Yesterday I heard Andrew show the bagels to each of the boys and explain, "These are for you to eat so that you can be quiet in the morning and let Mom sleep as long as she wants."  It worked!  Even while he was gone to work, he was taking care of me.  I feel so spoiled!

I walked into the kitchen and thought back to yesterday.  He and Peter had gotten up before Ammon and me and gone to the store.  They came back equipped with all the ingredients to make a delicious breakfast.  As we ate Andrew told me, "The strawberries and cream cheese in the fridge are for Sunday, so don't use them."  As a Valentine gift to me he had learned how to make crepes  - and he is already planning to do it again.

I pulled out my magic bullet to blend up a smoothie for breakfast.  My bullet had been leaking for a month or so and it just hadn't been as much fun to use anymore.  Yesterday, while I was taking my test, he had loaded up all the pieces (there are tons) and took the bullet back to Cost Co to exchange it for me.  Then, he took the boys out to a movie.

When he came home, we spent the evening working in the kitchen together.  He grilled up burgers outside and then transferred them to his indoor griddle where they became patty melts.  While he was doing that, I had fun chopping up Oreos in my new Bullet and mixing up an extravagant pudding mixture for the dessert Peter had requested - dirt.

After our family ate, Andrew started loading the dishes into the dishwasher.  He explained, "I haven't done a lot of dishes since we've been married, and I decided it's about time I started helping with these."  (As if his cooking two of the meals hadn't been enough of a contribution...)

Last month, with Valentine's Day quickly approaching, I realized that every day feels like Valentine's Day.  I look back on these past two days and realize why.  I have a husband who spends his days striving to care for me and pamper me in small and simple ways.  It is just a part of who he is and how he treats me.  For him, it is routine.

After eleven years of being married, I am filled with awe that I can drive around town or even just look around my house and be overwhelmed with reminders of his love for me.  Sometimes he feels bad that we haven't been able to do the bigger things in life - you know - the ones that cost lots of money.  But I am so very happy and spoiled by all the little things.  I wouldn't give this up for all the money in the world.

A Change of Heart

I was visiting with the Stake President as a part of the process of preparing to leave on a mission.  After going through some of the formalities of looking over paperwork etc, he used the time to offer some council and advice.

The first thing he told me was to attend the temple as often as possible between the time I received my call and the time I left.  It was a marvelous suggestion, and I'm glad to say that following his council on that had a very positive and lifelong impact on me.

The second thing he did was confirm my commitment.  He explained that he had been sending out a lot of sister missionaries who had been coming home early.  With the sisters not having the same expectation of service, they were eager to go, but quick to come home when it wasn't as fun as they had expected.  He said that before he signed the papers approving me to go, he wanted to make sure I was really going to stick with it to the end.  I eagerly said that I would and didn't think much more about it.

Three months later my whole world had changed.  I remember lying in my bed one evening realizing that I just really didn't like missionary work.  Texas was hot and humid.  The days were long and exhausting.  My regular routine consisted of knocking on the doors of strangers to try to have a conversation that they weren't necessarily interested in having.  In short, I was miserable.

In that moment I remembered the promise I had made to President Blair.  I really wonder if I would have gone home had he not taken the initiative to have that conversation with me.  But I had promised him, so another solution had to be discovered.

I found myself on my knees, pouring out my heart to the Lord.  I explained how miserable I was - how much I didn't want to participate in the daily activities that were expected of me.  I talked about how uncomfortable I was - literally sick to my stomach with apprehension.  I even whined a little bit, feeling sorry for myself for getting trapped into this life that I had chosen and volunteered for.

I prayed for a miracle.

It seemed that a change in circumstance was what I needed.  I just didn't know how to accomplish that change.  Maybe my promise didn't matter and I really did just need to go home.  Perhaps a new area would have improved things for me.  I didn't really know what the answer was, but I trusted that Heavenly Father could alter my life in whatever major way was required.

And he did.

He changed my heart.

The next day I found that I was less miserable.  I took inventory of what was different.  I realized that nothing had changed.  The daily responsibilities were the same.  The weather and climate were the same.  The endless doors and talking to strangers was still part of our schedule.  But somehow, I had been blessed with a little more courage and a lot more joy in what I was doing.

Sometimes the biggest miracles are really so small.

I reflect on this experience when the routines of life get overwhelming.  It is so easy to say, "But I don't want to do the dishes anymore.  I don't want to make the dinner.  I don't want to do the homework.  I don't want to fulfill my calling."  I sometimes think, "But I'm tired.  I want to do something fun.  I am not smart enough or disciplined enough and able enough."  And then I remember - He can make it fun.  He can make it worthwhile, and He can bring the joy in even the most miserable and mundane task.

So often, I have learned, it isn't my circumstance that needs to change, but my heart.

Seeking Revelation

Missionary Flashback

Missionary Training Center August 1999

When I first began to consider going on a mission, I received excellent advice from a very good friend of mine.  He and I (and since I am sitting in the backseat of his car in this memory, I assume his fiance Jennifer was also with us) were driving home from church in the singles ward.  We were discussing the possibility of me serving a mission and he reminded me that a mission is not a responsibility for the women in the church.  President Monson recently gave us the same reminder when he said, "Many young women also serve, but they are not under the same mandate to serve as are the young men. We assure the young sisters of the Church, however, that they make a valuable contribution as missionaries, and we welcome their service." Tim explained that missionary work is hard and exhausting work.  Basically, he told me that if I want to go on a mission, I need to KNOW that it is where I should be because without that confidence, my motivation would fail.

That advice began a serious journey of striving to seek revelation.  It went on week after week after week.  I prayed and fasted and studied and pondered.

But no answer came.

I waited and worked, trying to decide what I should do, but still all was silent.  I took Tim's council seriously and knew that I couldn't go unless I really really knew that it was what Heavenly Father wanted me to do.

This was a marvelous time of learning for me as I had to exercise faith, trust and patience - endlessly waiting for my answer.  But it still didn't come.

Finally, I gave up.

I decided not to go and I went to my knees in prayer to report my decision to Heavenly Father.  "I have tried," I explained, "to receive affirmation that I should go...  but that confirmation hasn't come in all of this time, so I believe that my answer is to NOT go.  I have chosen to not serve a mission."

And then the answer came.

The moment I expressed my decision to not go, I felt like a light was tangibly going off.  Though there was nothing visible in this experience, a darkness suddenly filled my life in a way I had never previously experienced.  I continued on in my prayer.

"This feels wrong.  Now I know.  I will serve a mission."

And as suddenly as the darkness had come, it was immediately gone again, replaced by a light brighter than had previously been there.  I never questioned my decision to serve a mission from that moment forward.

Name

I just stumbled across a "This is Me" challenge on Pinterest, and I thought I'd go ahead and try answering some of the personal history questions.

Today's installment is centered around my name:  

What is your full name and how did you get that name?

I feel like my mom should be the one writing this down since I am bound to get it wrong.  All I can do is write about the explanations and storied I remember hearing as a child.

My name is Jennifer Lynn.  The fact that my middle name is Lynn was always obvious.  It is my mother's first name.  Jennifer is a little less obvious.  In fact just last night I was telling some friends that my mom actually wanted to name me Amalie.  The way I have always heard the story is that my dad nixed the name Amalie because it sounded too much like hominy.  He figured a girl with that name would get teased and be called "Grits".  Apparently hominy is a corn-like item that is used to make grits?  As someone who has never been in a culture where hominy is common, this story has always confused me.  But I digress.  Mom wanted to name me Amalie, and Dad nixed it.  He had his own brilliant idea.  My dad wanted to name me Jerusha!  (Because that wouldn't induce teasing of any kind...)  It was meant to be a tribute to Hyrum Smith's first wife, who was a wonderful woman.  But I am still pretty glad that my mom tabooed that one.  In the end they settled on Jennifer.  I was told, with a shrug, that it was the first name they agreed on and so that was that.

I was always distraught by the commonality of my name.  For the first several years of elementary school, I was always guaranteed to have at least two other Jennifer's in my class.  To make it even worse, my middle name, though in my case given for my mom, was often associated with the first name Jennifer.  I always wished my middle name with Elizabeth.  Not only was it a beautiful name, but it was also the name of my favorite character in my favorite book series (Sweet Valley Twins).  And as if that wasn't enough, if my name had been Jennifer Elizabeth Nunes, my initials would have been J.E.N.  And that would have been cool!

Do you have any nicknames?

My parents always told me that my nickname was Baby-Bundle, though I don't have any memories of being called that. I was born five weeks early in the middle of winter. I weighed 5 lbs 11 oz. My parents talked about me always being kept in a bundle of blankets and that is where that name came from.

Other than that, my nickname was always Jenny.  It worked well and pretty soon I had six younger siblings with matching nicknames:  Katy, Joey, Danny, Jimmy, Davy, Becky.  As adults my sister Katy and I are the only ones who didn't switch over to more formal versions of our names.  (And my brother Jimmy, who died the day he was born.)

When I was in 7th grade we moved and my mom told me it was a great opportunity to "change my identity" if I wanted to.  She knew I wanted a name that was more unique.  I think I passed at that point, but as I entered High School she brought up the same option.  In trying to come up with a more stand-out version of my name, we came up with - are you ready for this:  Jenn.  With TWO n's.  Yeah, we were WAY out there!  In retrospect I always wished I had drawn on my middle name and gone by something like JLynn.  (Jaelyn?) Oh well.  It wasn't meant to be.

In High School I did have one other name.  To my very large group of friends, I was known as Bob.  As was typical, my group of friends had more than one Jennifer in it.  People were getting confused so my friend and neighbor Tim decided to solve that problem by naming us Bob and Chuck.  Those names seriously stuck!  My name evolved into Jenny-Bob and when "Chuck" got married (to Tim!) she was known as Jen VanShadel.  Then I married into the Shadel family as well.  We were back to the old conundrum of matching names.  There were now two Jennifer Shadel's.  We were talking about it one day and brought up our old nicknames.  My mother-in-law stopped us right then and there and banned those "boy names" from ever being used in reference to her daughters-in-law.  Ever since then I have been exclusively Jenny,a name my SIL has never gone by, and she varies between Jennifer and Jen.

I have always hated being called Jennifer.  I always say that being called Jennifer is the most blatant sign that the person talking to me doesn't know me at all.  I have NEVER gone by my formal name.

Thanks, Brian

Last night Andrew was acting like a kid on Christmas Eve.

He was so excited because the next day was bringing him a visit from his best friend.

A friend who decided to move off to Georgia which means visits are few and far between.

It made him feel old to realize that he and Brian have been friends for 20 years!

Andrew lived down the street from me.

Brian lived directly across the street.

They weren't my age and I payed very little attention to them.

All of those years that I was oblivious to the two of them, they were friends.

They spent those years growing up in each others homes.

I've heard stories about sleepovers with nachos and M&M's.

Andrew and I started dating after we were all home from missions.

Andrew had a car and Brian and I took advantage of it.

The three of us rode to school together regularly.

One day Andrew wasn't there and it was just Brian and me.

Brian used that as an opportunity to help out (spy for) his friend.

"So, what's going on between you and Andy?" he slyly asked.

"Is it serious?"

At that moment, I had been facing some real hesitations about my developing relationship with Andrew.

We had just gone out on a large group date with a bunch of his friends.

There were girls as young as 18 in that group.

I was 22.

At that age, four years felt REALLY different.

I started to question whether or not I could see a future with this "younger" guy.

I started to waffle a bit at Brian's question.

"I don't know, I mean, we're talking about Andy Shadel."

(I almost spat the name out.)

As I always tell people - Andy Shadel wasn't just the boy down the street.

He was the boy down the street's LITTLE brother!

My condescending response fired Brian up a little.

He was nice, but he immediately put me in my place by asking what in the world I meant.

I can't remember his exact words, but I remember his tone.

And he basically told me that Andy Shadel is a great catch and I would be a fool to let him go.

Brian's conviction and allegiance to Andrew really struck me.

My trivial concerns about age melted away.

That was a real turning point in our relationship.

It isn't something I think about often.

It's really more of an afterthought.

But every once in a while I pause.

And I wonder if Andrew and I would have gotten married if it weren't for Brian.

After Brian left today I mentioned that story to Andy - I had never told him about that experience.

Andrew's response was immediate as he softly said, "I'll have to thank Brian for that."

Which is exactly why I know I should thank Brian too.

The Proposal

(part 4 of 4)
Continued from Driving to Manti 

We were in Manti to see the Mormon Miracle pageant, and Andy had come prepared with chairs, blankets, games and food.  We began to unload the car and I was surprised to find myself carrying the awkward, (relatively) heavy chairs while he carried the blankets.  Andy had always been so chivalrous in the past and I wondered if perhaps he thought that the blankets, though lighter, were actually just warmer and too uncomfortable to burden me with.

We found a nice spot to set up our stuff and I immediately went to work on opening the chairs.  Now these chairs weren't anything fancy - they were the basic foldout camping chairs that everyone has.  And yet, for some reason, I could not get mine to open up.  I took it out of the bag and struggled and struggled to set it up.  I still have this exact same chair - I can throw it open with one hand.  But that day it would not budge.  Andy was behind me, setting up the blanket and, without turning around I expressed my frustration with the chair and said that I just might need his help in a moment.  Then, suddenly, it opened as easily as I would have expected in the first place.  I set up the second chair and turned around.

With the Manti temple in the background, Andy knelt on the grass with this quilt spread out in front of him.  In the center of the quilt was a ring-box with the most perfect ring.  I was completely shocked.  I looked around and saw that in the midst of hundreds of people we were having our own private, life-changing moment.  I remember thinking, "Oh my gosh - this is really it!  This is the real thing!"

I got down next to him and with trembling hands he placed the ring on my finger.  About this point the people next to us noticed the wording on the quilt and asked, "Did you guys just get engaged?"  We nodded that we had and they congratulated us.

Later Andy commented that I had never actually said yes.  I reminded him that he hadn't actually articulated a question.  And so he asked me if I would marry him and I, of course, said yes.  I was beyond elated and wanted to scream my news from the rooftops.  I wanted to rush home to tell my family in person.  Andy was pretty certain that he hadn't ridden all the way down here just to turn around and go home and so he convinced me to stay.  Getting engaged seemed like the kind of news to share face to face, but I was too excited to wait.  We called my parents and then my Grandma.  I have always appreciated Andy's wisdom in enjoying the rest of the evening together.  We held hands and snuggled and kissed while we watched the pageant on the temple lawn.  It was a beautiful evening still serves as a wonderful memory.

And every year on our anniversary, he is always sure to say, "Thank you for saying yes."

Driving to Manti

(part 3 of 4)
Continued from Telling Andy

On the drive to Manti, I was a giddy, love-sick girl and couldn't stop talking about our future together.  In my memory, Andy drove, patiently tolerating my unbridled enthusiasm, piping in on the conversation every so often.  He and I had both brought a stack of CD's for our road trip and I remember putting mine into his case saying that we might as well combine them now.

After a while I started lamenting about the fact that I didn't have a ring.  The ring had been an interesting point of discussion throughout our courtship.  At one point he suggested that we casually look at rings together, but I refused.  I had been "engaged" once before.  I use the word loosely because in retrospect the whole thing seems practically imagined.  A boyfriend and I had committed to marry and we had announced it to family, but nothing further than that had really happened before the relationship crumbled apart.  We (the ex-boyfriend and I) had gone out ring shopping numerous times and nothing ever seemed right.  I remember one time holding his hand (the ex-boyfriend) as we walked into the ring shop.  He paused unexpectedly at the door and it felt as if he was forcing me to look like the foolish girl pulling the un-wanting boyfriend into the ring shop.  That experience had always left a sour taste in my mouth, and I had refused to ever look at rings with Andy anywhere but online.  I remember a night or two when Andy was working that I sat at my computer looking at rings and I sent him links to the things I liked.  Andy would e-mail back, asking clarifying questions, and eventually he and I both had a clear idea of exactly what I wanted.

One time Andy's parents actually pulled us aside, offering us a family diamond in the case that we ever got to the point of engagement.  They had recommended re-setting it, which seemed unnecessary to me because it was a simple gold band with a solitaire diamond, which is exactly what I wanted.  Except that I wanted a square diamond and this one was a traditional round one.  Andy refused to accept it, saying that when the time came for something like that, he wanted to give me a ring that he selected and paid for himself.  Driving that day to Manti, though, I started to beg for that ring.  It didn't matter - I told him.  "I don't care what the ring looks like or where it came from," I explained.  "I just want something to show the whole world that I am promised to you!"

Well Andy hated this whole line of conversation and continued to stand firm in the point that he wanted to get me my very own ring.  Eventually he admitted that he had already been to a jeweler and had a ring ordered.  I was absolutely shocked (and a little bit mad that he told me and ruined the surprise - poor guy can never win with me)!

Around lunch time we stopped at Arby's to pick up some food.  Then we drove to a nearby hiking trail that my mom had told us about to have a nice picnic.  It was one of the most uncomfortable meals of my life.  I could see Andy wanting to do something more formal to cement our engagement.  I felt like I was forcing him into an awkward proposal that he wasn't prepared for.  We were both extremely nervous as we ate and I was relieved when we finished lunch and got back on the road.

A few hours later we arrived in Manti.  As we parked and got out of the car, I had no idea that he was about to propose to me in a way that had been planned and prepared for well before I admitted having called the temple that morning.  In telling me about the ring, he hadn't ruined the surprise at all - he had tricked me!

To be continued in The Proposal

Telling Andy

(part 2 of 4)
continued from Scheduling the Wedding

I was mortified at my presumptuousness in scheduling our wedding without Andy's knowledge, and suddenly I was faced with the challenge of having to admit to him what I had done.  In about an hour and a half he was going to pick me up for a date where we would be spending the entire day together.  I realized that I couldn't wait, and I called him and asked that he come over immediately.  "We need to talk," I explained.

I met him out on the porch and we sat on the bench.  He was uncertain as to what to expect from me at this point and I nervously blurted out, "Guess what I just did?!"  (As if he could possibly have a clue.)  Of course he didn't guess it so I eventually confessed, "I just called the temple and scheduled our wedding!"  My hands flew to my mouth as the shock of what I just admitted hit me - it was as if I was trying to pull the words back in.  Ten years later, and I honestly can't recall exactly how the conversation went from that point.  I think I watched for his response, wondering if he would be angry and end our relationship right then and there.  He must have taken it fairly well.  I begged to know if he was really OK with it.  He said he was fine, but that he needed to get going to be ready for our date.  We hugged and kissed before he left and he rushed off to prepare for our day.  I ran back into the house and got ready for the day, amazed that the morning had gone this way, but not having time to process it at all.  By the time he left we had about an hour before we were scheduled to leave for Manti.

To be continued in Driving to Manti

Scheduling the Wedding

(part 1 of 4)

I woke up with one pressing thought on my mind: "I need to call the temple and schedule my wedding."  I jumped out of bed, ran upstairs and quickly retrieved the phone book from the kitchen.  I was back in my room, phone in hand, dialing the number before the absurdity of my actions occurred to me.  I suddenly stopped and exclaimed out loud, "What am I doing?"

The night before Andy and I had been on a date and somehow conversation had gotten me into an emotional tizzy.  The topic of marriage had come up due to some comments made by other people, and I was going on and on about all the reasons I wasn't ready to get married.  I had been distraught and upset and completely beside myself at the thought of "giving up my independence" and making a commitment of that level.  I listed all the reasons marriage would interrupt my life in an unwelcome way and why it just wasn't something I was interested in at this point in my life.  It had just been a theoretical conversation - we had no plans or intentions to cause serious concern.  But my distress at the thought was extreme and I made it known.  Andy had thoughtfully listened to me during probably my most horrific breakdown ever (in retrospect I honestly blame hormones for the craziness I felt that night) and after several attempts to comfort me, he finally offered to give me a blessing.  I don't remember what he said in that blessing - just that I felt a sense of calm come over me.  He left shortly afterwards and I immediately went to bed.

As I recounted the events of the night before, remembering that not only did Andy and I NOT have any sort of understanding of marriage, but that I had spent hours that previous night building up a case as to why I wouldn't be at all interested any time soon, well, it gave me reason to pause and I quickly slammed the phone back down onto the receiver.

But the impression remained, "Call the temple and schedule your wedding."

I battled with this for several moments - the clear and blatant prompting vs the complete insanity of the idea.  Somehow during the night, my heart had changed.  I knew I wanted to be married to my sweetheart and best friend.  I wanted to spend eternity with the man who listened to my tirade with patience and stood by me to offer comfort and support.  I wanted to move forward, united in life with the man that I could share myself with so completely and honestly.  From the beginning of our relationship, Andy was a person with whom I could admit my most genuine thoughts more openly than anyone else I had ever known.  With him I could be me and from him I received nothing but love and acceptance.  Andy was thoughtful, tender, fun, intelligent, handsome, spiritual...  the list ran on and on.  He was everything I wanted - the discussion of marriage wouldn't have so terrified me otherwise.  And in the light of the morning sun I was no longer frightened.  I was suddenly willing and desirous to pledge my life to him.

Still, the realization that I wanted to marry my amazing boyfriend was a far stretch from needing to schedule my wedding.  But as I tried to wade through my thoughts and feelings, the prompting to do so would not go away.

I set aside the phone and knelt in prayer.  I prayed and prayed and prayed, pouring out my heart to Heavenly Father.  I explained my desire to always be obedient to His will, but also pointing out how ludicrous this seemed considering my most recent conversations and understandings with Andy.  The prompting remained and I finally finished my prayer committing to trust Heavenly Father in this ridiculous course of action and act in faith.

With determination I retrieved the phone and began dialing the number.  It had been easy to find - the phone book practically fell open to the correct page.  (In retrospect that has always been interesting to me as other times I needed that number it wasn't so easy to find.)  The phone was answered on the other end and I took a deep breath as I was transferred to the appropriate person to schedule a temple sealing.  

Although there had been no agreement between us, Andy and I had looked at rings and talked about wedding dates.  It had all seemed theoretical at the time, just playing with the what if's of life.  Based on that, I had fallen in love with an autumn date and so when the Sister at the temple asked when I wanted to be married I easily told her September 29.  She asked me whether I wanted a large room or a small room and I quickly said small.  She took down my name and then asked, "What is the name of the groom?"  Panic seized me.  "The groom doesn't even know about this!" I thought to myself.  "Will lightening strike me down as I have his name recorded in the most Holy place on earth, as an unknowing husband-to-be?"

"The name of the groom?" she prompted again.

I gulped and responded, "Andrew Christopher Shadel."  My ears were burning in humiliation and I was certain she would know my lie.  I had no right to be providing his name as someone who intended to commit his eternity to me.   After nervously giving his birth date, the phone call was over and I hung up wondering what I had gotten myself into.

Then I faced the most alarming thought of the morning as I wondered how in the world I would tell Andy what I had done.

To be continued in Telling Andy

Written on the ten year anniversary of the day it happened.

Flowers Blossom

Another flashback of the past.  Continued from First Kiss.

Last year I began writing the accounts of our past.  I wrote about how Andrew and I met and the progression of our relationship.  I wrote about our first date and our first kiss.  I quickly got lost in school and haven't written anything of that sort for a while, but I want to get back to it.  The problem is, I am not quite sure where to start.  So here I go with a few little "clips" of my life.  Random, out of order, and probably not really of much interest to anyone else.  But ten years later I am finding that the memories are fading and I want to write them down before I lose them completely.

In my  post-mission life, I have seldom used an alarm clock.  I hate the sound they make - the jarring force of being reeled in from a peaceful slumber to an unwelcome awareness.  I much prefer to let myself wake up when I am good and ready gently letting my dreams fade into the distance as reality come back to the forefront.  Of course, once I had children, they became the ruling force in my schedule.  Since then the time on the clock has had little relevance to whether I am asleep or awake.  Before Ammon was born I worked a job that didn't start until 11:30 in the afternoon.  In that circumstance I just never needed to worry about being late.  And prior to my job, I was in school, carpooling with Andy, who picked me up at 7:15.  But having just returned home from my mission, my body was trained to awake at 6:30 every morning, and so I didn't even need an alarm clock then.

There was one morning, however, when I woke up just in time to realize that I felt lousy and that my ride was going to be there any second.  I was late, and I just couldn't bring myself to jump up and get ready for the day.  In fact it was pretty much time for Andy to be there to pick me up.  I ran upstairs just in time to tell him that I was sick and wouldn't make it to school that day.  Then I went to bed.

When I finally got up I began to putter around the house and wonder if I had made a mistake.  At this point Andy and I were friends who were quickly falling for each other, but I frankly hadn't really acknowledged that  or realized where things were going.  Of the two of us, he was definitely the one who saw our future more clearly, and knew where he wanted to take things.  The reason I felt that perhaps I had made a mistake in staying home was because I spent my morning missing him.  Going to school was my ticket to seeing him every day and I found that, despite being a little under the weather, I wanted to be with him.  I finally resigned myself to the fact that I would just have to be wait it out until the next day before I would have the luxury of talking with him again.  I restlessly continued sitting around the house, hoping to gain back some of my lost energy, and impatiently waiting for the next day to come.

That afternoon, the doorbell rang.  I was told it was for me and went to see who it was.  I met him in the dining room while wearing my pajamas and with my hair mess.  Andy stood, extending his arms towards me with a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

As a 30-something year old woman, I can tell you with certainty that those flowers were not a simple gesture from a friend.  But as a 20-something year old girl I wasn't quite sure.  All I new was that I had missed him.  And that I was flattered.  And that the flowers were so lovely and that Andy was kind to have thought of me.  I don't even remember what kind of flowers he brought, but I know how I felt when I saw him there and realized that he had been thinking of me.  My tummy had butterflies, my cheeks were pink and my face lit up with a smile.  And from that day on, our relationship continued to blossom.

Our Engagement

Grieving

Christmas is a strange time of year.  It is full of magic and happiness and peace and joy.  But it is also a time of year that memories stay with you, whether they are good or bad.

This morning I watched a touching video about servicemen who wanted to be home with their families for Christmas.  And that is when memories flooded my mind.  My husband was never in the military, but three years ago he was away for Christmas due to an assignment he had as a Federal Agent.  He was being trained to protect the borders of our country.

He left the day before my 30th birthday.  That was a hard year for me.  I was turning 30, living in my parents basement with my husband moving states away for five months.  I was left with a three year old and a seven month old to take care of without his help.  At the end of his five month absence, the "reward" for my sacrifice was to leave everyone and everything I knew and loved, and move - taking my children away from their cousins, to some of the hottest desert our country has to offer.  My spirits were low; my outlook was bleak.

As the day played out, my birthday decided to go from bad to worse.  My back went out on me, which occasionally would happen, and to add to that pain, I also came down with the stomach flu.  My family did their best make it a great day.  Andy had flowers and a gift delivered, my family all gathered together for a dinner out, and my friend Amanda and I went to my favorite Christmas play (The Christmas Carol at Hale Centre Theatre).  It was about as wonderful as a terrible day could be.

In addition to having Andy suddenly removed from my life, both sets of parents also soon left on vacation.  And so I spent those first few weeks really shouldering life alone in a way that was new and foreign to me.  I worked frantically to finish a quilt that I was making so that I could ship it to Andy in time for Christmas.  I was completely exhausted.  I finally got it finished, spent extra money to ship it express, and learned that even though it would be delivered on time, it was going to be delivered to a place that Andy wouldn't have access to until after the holiday.

That is when the melt down came.  I lost it like I have never lost it before or since.  I was out of control and my poor husband, miles and miles away had no idea how to help me.  We were on the phone together and the conversation escalated into the most irrational argument known to man.  I don't know what it was about or what we said.  I just remember screaming, feeling like I was completely out of control.  I had enough sense to recognize how far gone I was, but not enough to pull myself back together.  And I remember thinking that in addition to being worn to the bone, I was also being overly hormonal.  It was getting close to "that time".

A few days later was Christmas.  I am pretty sure Andy found a way to get his quilt on time.  It was our best year financially, so the boys had some nice gifts from us that Andy and I had bought together before he left.

On that Christmas morning I found myself sitting alone at the dining room table eating my breakfast.  The presents had been opened and children were happily playing.  I recall lifting the spoonful of cereal to my mouth, my stomach feeling not quite right.  And then it dawned on me.  I hadn't just been feeling the typical monthly hormones.  Suddenly I knew.  I was pregnant.

I waited for a couple of weeks before I took a pregnancy test.  But when I did, it confirmed what I had realized.  Andy was on the phone while I waited for the results.  I'll always remember how genuinely excited he was.  It wasn't planned or expected so I didn't know how he would react.  But he was joyful about having another baby.  I spent a blissful week floating in a cloud of peace and happiness.

One night, sleeping alone in my bed, I suddenly woke up.  And just as surely as I had known I was pregnant, I realized immediately that I was having a miscarriage.  I found myself in the bathroom where I discovered only the slightest hint of blood.  But I knew what I knew.  I called Andy, but he felt helpless and frustrated.  There was nothing he could do.  I tip-toed into my mom's office where I found her still awake working on her computer.

"I'm pregnant," I told her.

She cautiously congratulated me - she could tell something was wrong.

"I think I'm having a miscarriage," I continued.

She told me how sorry she was.  Even though she was nearby, there wasn't anything she could do either.

The following days included doctor visits, blood tests, and a confirmed miscarriage.  It was sad, but there wasn't time to be sad.  It was a hard thing to go through, but in that phase of my life, everything seemed hard.  All I could do was keep moving forward.

And so it is that today, I find myself reflecting back to that Christmas morning three years ago.  That morning when I "just knew" I was pregnant.  I find that I am grieving almost as if for the first time.  Suddenly I feel the loss of the baby that didn't come then - the baby that hasn't come since.  And I'm sad.

First Kiss

Another flashback of the past.  Continued from Burger King.

When I think of a romantic first kiss, I envision something outdoors: in the moonlight; in the softly falling snow; in a beautiful rainstorm - something along those lines.  I remember a really great date with Andy where we went downtown to ice skate on an outdoor rink.  Talk about the perfect setting for a first kiss!  I was so frustrated when it didn't happen!  I think I spent the entire night waiting for him to make a move of some sort.  Really, the ambiance of the evening just begged for it.  But the moment never came and I went home just shaking my head and wondering why not.

As it was, our first kiss was while we were watching a movie. Doesn't that sound blah? So unoriginal and boring. The movie was Anastasia, which I think is a cute and somewhat romantic movie, so at least we have that much going for us. But the setting of our kiss isn't what makes it so special.

When Andy was leaving his mission to come home, one of his companions made a bet with him.  Andy wagered that he would kiss a girl before his  friend came home several months later.  The friend said he wouldn't.  The winner owed the other lunch.

I knew nothing about any of this.  When Andy and I started dating, he hadn't yet kissed a girl since returning from his mission.  I was his chance to win the bet!  But he made a conscious decision that he didn't want our first kiss to be cheapened by being a victory of something so superfluous. 

And so he waited.  He waited until he could kiss me in a way that I would always know it was about him and me.  He waited so that I would always know that it had nothing to do with a silly goal he had set before we ever started dating. 

Which is why, on the most perfect night, where the setting was beautiful and just begged for that next romantic step, he held back and didn't kiss me.  And why, just a few days later he did.  He kissed me the very day the bet had  been lost, before the movie even ended.

I guess a first kiss during a movie can be romantic after all.

Continued in Flowers Blossom

Burger King

Another flashback of the past. Continued from First Date.

Nine and a half years later, I am finding that remembering events from our dating life and recalling the cooresponding timeline are two different things.  And so rather than continue "our story" in the order in which events transpired, I will write these memories more according to what is on my mind.  And lately, what has been on my mind is, well, Burger King.

Andy was kind enough to sign up for a Physics class with me, which I had practically begged him to do.  I needed a friend to pull me through it, and he willingly took the job.  In addition to that, he became my main source of transportation and drove me to and from school every day.  A couple of days a week, our friend Brian came as well, but most days it was just the two of us.

We usually got to school early enough to play a couple of rounds of Air Hockey at the institute building.  As a general rule, I won.  (smug grin)

We found that after school we still wanted to hang out together and so we logically offered to start doing homework together.  That expanded into generally having lunch together as well - usually I would cook for him and then we would work on our assignment after we ate.  One day, though, we unexpectedly ended up at Burger King where Andy treated me to lunch.

As we ate, Andy was particularly attentive to me.  He kept asking me questions and seemed completely fascinated by my answers.  He seemed to want to know everything about me - most especially my hopes and dreams and goals for the future.  In some ways the conversation was almost unnerving - his interest was so intense.  But I also got from him a strong sense of approval.  He asked me questions that I hadn't considered - had me talking about dreams I didn't know I had.  I knew, from that day, that Andy would never be interested in changing who I wanted to be, but that he would always be so eager and willing to let me develop myself.  I knew that he could help me grow into the person I wanted to become.

I've been remembering this a lot lately, as I've been reliving the same feelings I had that day.  I so appreciate the husband I have, who not only endures and accepts and helps out with my efforts in school, but who shows genuine enthusiasm in his support.  He brings an energy and excitement to my small little accomplishments that makes me feel so blessed.  He grew up with a dad and brother who program, so one would think that the small little computer programs I write would be no big deal.  I could see how it could even become a bit of an annoyance to him as it sometimes takes me away from our family.  But contrary to my expectations, he always allows me whatever time I need.  When my silly little program is finished he is always quick to come see it in action and tell me how awesome it is.  He cheers at my success and smothers me in compliments.  And once again I find myself feeling like that twenty-something girl sitting in Burger King - feeling adored and supported as I chase those dreams that I didn't even know I had.

We were married nine years ago today.  Happy Anniversary to my best friend!  Thanks for all you do to help make my dreams come true.

To be continued in First Kiss

To be continued...

First Date

Another flashback of the past. Continued from Coming Home.

Our first date was just three days after I returned home from my mission.  I remember feeling so comfortable getting ready, thinking that this was the perfect way to break back into the dating scene.  After all, nothing would ever develop between Andy and me, so we could just hang out at perfect ease. 

I did get a little frustrated, though, as my mom was preparing dinner for those staying at home.  It had been a year and a half since I had eaten her yummy enchiladas and spanish rice, and here Andy was ripping me away from this delicious smelling food so that he could feed me the kind of meal I'd been eating last week.  Oh well.  I had agreed to go so I decided to make the best of it.

I don't remember too much about the evening.  We ate at Tim and Jen's house and then watched a movie.  I remember snuggling up to Andy, again thinking how nice it was that we could just be snuggle buddy friends because he and I both knew that NOTHING would ever come of us.  We had just been neighbors and friends far too long for either of us to have romance on our minds...

I remember admiring the way he looked as we stopped for gas on the way home.  He was wearing a brand new leather coat he had gotten the week before as a Christmas gift.  He was wearing the same coat three years later as we headed to the hospital for the birth of our first son.

I remember feeling good around Andy - feeling like he was very chivalrous and kind and fun to be with.  We laughed a lot while we were together.

And the next day, as I spoke in church to report on my missionary experience, I remember bringing up a comment that he and I had discussed the day before.  I snuck a glance at him from the podium and we exchanged knowing smiles.  I was four days home from my mission and I realized that I had already found my best friend.

I just never would have fathomed that in less than a year he would also become my husband.

To be continued in Burger King

To be continued...

Coming Home

Another flashback of the past.  Continued from Neighbors Again.

I came home from my mission determined to spend some time "boyfriend free".  I had enjoyed the eighteen months of just being me and wanted it to continue for a time.

I was met, as most missionaries are, by a group of friends and family at the airport.  It hadn't really occurred to me that there would be people there other than my own family.  But there was my first missionary companion, several friends from highschool, and even someone from my home ward (Andy Shadel).  It was awesome and flattering to have so many people there to welcome me home.  I made the rounds, talking with everyone and was ready to leave with my family when Andy approached me again.

"Can I call you tomorrow?" he asked.

I was thoroughly confused.

"But I'm right here," I said.  "Why do you need to call me tomorrow?"

Well, he had wanted to wait until after I had been formally released from my mission before he made the request, but he explained that Tim and Jen had encouraged him to bring me on down to their house for a double date so that I would have a chance to see them.  He was eager to make Red Beans and Rice for dinner (a common favorite of southern food that he and I had been exposed to as missionaries).

He finished his explanation by asking, "Are you available Saturady night?"

I drew a blank.  I had no idea!  I had been a missionary for eighteen months, haven't even gotten home yet, and I have no concept of what I will be doing with my time.  I turned to my dad. 

"Am I available on Saturday night?"  I asked him.

He considered my schedule and determined that yes, I was available.  So with a shrug I turned to Andy and agreed to our first date. 

Then I headed down the escalator to pick up my luggage.

To be continued in First Date

To be continued...

Neighbors Again

I am randomly writing pieces of our past and mixing it in with the current events of our family.  So here is another flash back - continued from The Moving Truck That Changed My Life.

About a year after Andy left on his mission to Baton Rouge, LA, I left on my mission to Houston, TX.  When I was transferred to Cameron, LA (my third area), I received a letter from Elder Shadel.  I believe he had seen on the ward newsletter that I was in LA.  Apparently, at that time there was only one area separating us.  It was pretty neat to know that someone from "home" was so "close".  We exchanged, at most, a handful of letters.  I remember laughing at the missionary comics he sent me.  Some were generic to all missionaries, others more described the culture, which seemed to be similar in these neighboring missions.

I don't recall what exactly he said, but I remember one letter that literally took my breath away as I read the testimony he bore at the end.  I was shocked to find myself so touched by the power of his testimony.  After all, I was a also missionary.  I was constantly sharing my own testimony.  And I was surrounded by other missionaries doing the same.  I shared and listened to testimonies many many times a day.  Every day.  But despite my surprise, there was something about the testimony at the end of Elder Shadel's letter that sank deep inside of me.  It touched me; it changed me.  And I found myself looking up to him in a way I never had before.

Our correspondence didn't last long.  He went home, and we communicated just enough to arrange taking a class together when I got home.  I begged him to take a Physics class with me because it was one of the few classes I still needed to finish my associates degree, and although I had started a couple of Physics classes, I had always dropped them.  I hoped that having a friend in the class would get me through it (and it did)!

To be continued in Coming Home

To be continued...

The Moving Truck That Changed My Life

Having just moved to a new area where people don't know me and questions are being asked, I have had the opportunity to reflect on various aspects of my past.  Especially the highlights like how Andrew and I met, the stories of our engagement and wedding.  The births of our children etc.  And you know, I never really thought of it like this, but I actually met my husband on a moving truck!  Isn't that totally random?

My sister and I were walking home from school one day - middle school.  She was in 7th grade, I was in 9th.  Just a few doors down from us, and on our path towards home, it looked like we had some new neighbors moving in.  I remember seeing the boys, who looked to be about our ages, disapear into the moving truck.  We must have called out to them, because I am pretty sure we were summoned up into the truck.  And that is where we met them.

The taller one, who I also thought was cuter, turned out to be the same age as my sister.  I remember grumbling to myself how it just figured that Katy would "get" the cute one.  In a way, though, it was nice.  Because I became fast friends with Tim, the brother who was my age, and never did have a moment of romantic interest to get in the way of or confuse our friendship.

Andrew and I spent our teenaged years around each other as I was friends with his brother and he with my sister.  In fact, he and my sister actually went out on a few friendly dates.  (Something that took him a while to live down as, in the first years of our marriage, I would occassionally remind him that he had taken my sister to a Jazz game so why not me?)

He tells me that when he turned sixteen he actually did ask me out.  According to him, I laughed in his face.  Now, I don't remember this, although after years of hearing his story I have either begun to remember, or just plain made up a memory to go along with his story.  But before you feel too bad for him, this was not a story of a young crush quelched by the mean insensitive girl.  This was a boy who turned sixteen before most of the girls in his grade.  He was eager to get active in the dating scene and simply turned to the "older" girls in the ward.  I was just one of many on a list.  And at the time, I had a boyfriend so really, what was I going to do but get a good chuckle out of the idea of dating this "younger" boy.

Years later, I ran into Andrew at a Halloween party.  I had just gone through a hard breakup and was reeling from being told by the boy I had dated that he had never loved me.  I was such a romantic who felt like every kiss between he and I had been bursting with love and devotion.  I had been enamored and was devestated that my kisses, which had felt so genuinely packed with emotion to me, had been so easily disgarded.  So here I was, feeling angry and scorned and wanting to prove that I, too, could kiss a meaningless kiss.  And here was that cute little Shadel boy, flirty and fun and having a good time with me at the party.  I think we had actually both leaned in for the kiss in the middle of the party when I suddenly realized, "Wait.  This is Tim Shadel's little brother.  I can't do this to Tim Shadel's little brother."  And so the kiss never happened.

The following summer I ran into him at another party - this "boy down the street's little brother".  He was within a few days of leaving on his mission to Baton Rouge, LA.  He told me of the woes of leaving behind a new romantic interest of just a few weeks.  He looked forward to his opportunity to be a missionary.  We sat, for hours in the dark, outside of the home where the party was being held, and talked and talked like best friends might.  And I wished him well as I watched him drive away into the night, ready to enter this new and unknown phase of his life.

To be continued in Neighbors Again

To be continued...

Goodbye, Green Car.

Picture taken February 24, 2010

A couple of weeks ago, we aquired a new vehicle.

It was desperately needed.

To replace the dying "green car".

Today the car is going away.

Donated to the Kidney Foundation.

Andy was a little sad to realize that the car may be gone before he gets home.

I teased him and asked if he wanted a picture.

He laughed and said no.

Then he came back.

And said yes.

This is the car we drove on our first date.

Every morning he would pick me up for school. 

He would rev the engine in front of my house to try to make it warm up faster for me.

He exploded a milk jug in the back seat and had to tear out the carpet.

(The milk was there because he had ran to get groceries for our lunch date.)

It got locked behind the temple gates the day we were married and he had to break into the temple parking lot to get his ID for our honeymoon.

We drove it on our first road trip together - the trip when I fainted and took over a year to return to full health.

This car carried our first baby home from the hospital.

It moved with us countless times, including to AZ and back.

Someone backed into it, denting the hood.

We said don't worry, this car is going to die any day.

That was a good five years ago.

We used to hope it would die, wanting to replace it.

Then we prayed for it's survival, knowing we depended on it.

Last winter we received miraculous goodness at the hands of our Bishop and friends

Who took countless hours to keep it running just a little bit longer.

Andy recently got sick.

The doctor said that it was the inversion.

A few days later Andy realized,

"Well, maybe it is the antifreeze I breath driving to work everyday."

This car lived a long life, but it was ready to die.

(And trying to take Andy with it, apparently.)

I am glad Andy wanted to get a picture this morning.

This car was sometimes hated by us.

But mostly it was loved.

Goodbye, Green Car.

Thanks for the memories.