I wrote this article for a new website, mum.info. Before I submitted it, I had Casey read it. He said it was beautiful, and he started to cry. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he wasn’t sad, but that he had felt the Spirit. He said reading my words helped him remember the importance of family. He kept repeating over and over that it was the most beautiful thing he had ever read. His reaction penetrated my heart, and I never want to forget it.
“Mommy, why is my last name different than yours? I want your last name!” My son, Casey, was only four when his little voice trembled out those piercing words. He and I had shared the same last name his whole life. It had just been me and him since before he was one year old. I had recently remarried, so my last name was different. And now, I was going to have a baby who would have my new last name. I wanted to cry with Casey, simply because he was sad.
That was six years ago, and I have done all I can to make sure he has no reason to cry over his last name again by:
Encouraging Him to Cherish His Last Name
That was the first step – helping him see that his last name was wonderful. No, it wasn’t my last name, but with a name holds a legacy going back generations. By holding onto his last name, he would be showing pride in his rich heritage, and extending love and appreciation for not only his father, but his father’s extended family.
Showing Him Love Daily
I think it hurt Casey a little when I got remarried. It was no longer just us. Then, when I had more children, he was no longer the only child. There are five of us in our household, and he has a different name than the rest of us. But, as I share my love, attention, and devotion to him daily, having a different name will never make him feel less cherished or important.
Not Asking Him to Pick Sides
It isn’t me against his dad. It never has been. I don’t tell my son that he can’t love, respect, or have a relationship with his father. I don’t tell him that I am a better parent, or place any blame or bitterness in his father’s direction. I do not judge his dad, or speak ill of him to my child. We rather pray for him and his family. I always keep the mind-set that his father is on the same team as me, my husband, and all other family members working to help Casey have a happy life and be a good boy.
Letting Him Spend Time with His Dad
Casey’s father lives far away, so he can’t see him often. However, I encourage regular phone conversations. He also flies to see his dad and extended family each year for several weeks. I have had people tell me that I shouldn’t have to do that because of the circumstances surrounding our divorce, but I feel very strongly that regardless of what happened in our marriage, Casey’s dad will always be Casey’s dad. They should have a relationship, and a strong one at that.
Being Honest about the Divorce
I did not do this when he was four, but about a year ago, I told my son why his father and I divorced. I didn’t water it down, but I also didn’t place blame or judgment. I encouraged my son to continue to have a strong, loving relationship with his dad. I told him to forgive him, pray for him, and encourage him to change his life for the better. I told him I am not sad about the divorce anymore. Though I wish that Casey could always be near me and his dad, I know we are blessed and things have worked out well for us.
Blending Our Family in Love
My husband of over five years is so wonderful to Casey. He always has been, and I knew he would be a wonderful father to him the first time they met. Casey doesn’t refer to him as his stepdad, but as his Daddy. He has two dads, and that is cool. He also thinks of his half-brothers as his brothers. That’s what they are to him. We are a family, and we love each other. There is no need to create those lines of division.
These artificial lines of division apply to me too. When I was first divorced, I thought it would be strange to continue having a relationship with my ex-husband’s extended family. I was uncomfortable by the phone calls and gifts at first, but finally I realized that they hadn’t abandoned me, and there was no rule that they had to. The fact that I wasn’t married to their family member anymore, didn’t all of a sudden erase the bond and love we had with each other. I still speak on the phone with my ex-husband often, and keep in contact with much of his extended family on social media and occasional emails and phone calls. It is a good thing, and it helps.
It is safe to say that my 10-year-old has a very happy life. He has three family trees to call his own. He is loved and cherished by all of them. He knows that there is so much more to family than a name. He knows all families look different, but as long as we are there for each other, we can always feel that we belong and that we are safe.
*I fully recognize this model may not work in its entirety for everyone. I strongly believe, though, that doing as much of this as possible will help your child feel that he belongs, and that life in any family situation can be grand.
I recently mused: A house is a roof over your head, but a home is so much more. To me, home is a very special word. It indicates a place of belonging, a place of love, a place of safety, a place of sacrifice, and a place of peace.
A house is something you build with your hands. It is tangible. A home is also built, but it takes much more intricate, ongoing effort of not only hands, but hearts as well.
Each person who puts his heart and soul into the building of a home might be called a homemaker.
We’ve all heard that word before. Most of us think of this term the way Merriam-Webster does: a wife who does work (such as sewing, cleaning, or cooking) at home and usually does not have another job outside the home.
Sewing, cleaning, and cooking are valuable skills, but alone, they cannot create this sacred place called home.
No, it takes more than that, and it takes every member of the family. I like to think of my family as a team. For our team to be the best it can be, each member must be wholeheartedly devoted to winning the game of life and achieving the joyful victory of being an eternal family.
Not every person in the home team will have the same obligations and roles, but each position, from father to toddler, is essential to win the game.
In our family night last night, my husband and I asked our children what they can do to make our home a happier place.
My ten-year-old, Casey, gave some good answers. He said that he can do nice things for his brothers instead of annoying them. He can help make mom and dad’s lives easier so we have more time to spend together. He can cooperate instead of argue, and let his brothers have their way sometimes.
I loved his answers. He isn’t perfect at any of those things, but I can tell that he truly wants to make this positive contribution to the family he loves. Usually he is a wonderful member of the team, and is a huge helper.
We asked our four-year-old, Rigel, the same question. My husband asked him how he could make Daddy happy, and he said, “Destroy you.” That is a game that they play together. We laughed about it, but to him, playing with his daddy is a way to make our home a happier place.
Several times Rigel has picked flowers for me from outside. Jad asked him why he does that, and he said because he loves Mommy.
He also holds his little brother’s hand sometimes. He often shares his toys, and he does help clean up. He likes to watch us cook, and he likes to play with us. He wants everyone to be happy, and gives good hugs and kisses. He is usually polite, and is good at saying “thank you.”
Kamren, our two-year-old, did not answer the question, of course. He just smiled his adorable, yet mischievous smile. He makes our home a happier place by giving kisses and hugs, cuddling, desiring to learn and be taught, and by making us laugh.
We asked Casey how we can make our home better, and he said to spend more time together. That is really so important. A family whose members are always separate don’t have a chance to talk together, laugh together, listen to each other, play together, cuddle together, or learn from each other. Spending time together shows we love each other and put each other first.
Jad and I want our home to be a holy place, so do our best to have weekly family home evenings, pray as a family and individually, and study our scriptures daily.
Everyone except Kamren takes turns praying for meals or family prayer, but even he knows to fold his arms and bow his head. Casey takes his turn reading scriptures each night. We try to get Rigel to repeat verses too. Even at young ages, our kids know that praying and scripture study are a part of our day to day lives. They remind us to do it too.
Jad is a holder of the Melchizedek priesthood, and has the authority to give priesthood blessings. Our children have so much faith. They know that when they are sick or sad, they can ask for a blessing. Rigel is especially good at asking for blessings for himself or someone else who is sick. Casey and Rigel both received father’s blessings before they started school this year. These blessings offer them comfort and strength.
Here are some other things that we encourage every member of our home team to do:
Help clean and tidy the house.
Pitch in during meal times, either by cooking, setting the table, or cleaning up.
Show affection and respect to each member of the family.
Be discerning of each other’s moods, needs, and desires. Be a good listener.
Only bring in uplifting pictures, books, movies, and music into the house.
Have a positive attitude, and try not to complain.
Keep the commandments of God.
There are countless ways each family member can help make the home a sacred place. If only the mother worked hard to be a homemaker, and nobody else participated, there would be less cheer and a lack of the Spirit.
As Bonnie Oscarson said, “What a difference it would make in the world if all people would see themselves as makers of righteous homes.”
The next time you hear the term homemaker, smile with pride knowing that you are one.
A few days ago, I heard about a movement called #iStandWithCherish. I didn’t really know what it was, and wasn’t super interested in finding out. Then, I kept seeing it everywhere, and read my friends’ passionate posts about it.
I then decided to find out what this was all about. I read a quick news article summarizing that a mother of four from Gilbert, Arizona, accidentally left her 2-month-old son in a shopping cart outside of a hair salon after checking out from a local grocery store. When I read that she left him alone for 40 minutes, I immediately found myself pressing judgment. How can a mother leave her child for that long? Why didn’t she notice? How did this even happen??
Then I decided to watch a video interview where Cherish Peterson told her story in detail. After I heard the whole story, and saw the clear hurt and regret she was experiencing, my heart changed. I felt compassion for her because it was clear that she loves her children, and that she just made a horrible mistake.
My mind immediately went to two times in my life as a mother where I made horrible mistakes that either did cause harm, or could have caused harm, to one of my children.
The first incident was in March 2012, when my second son, Rigel, was 14 months old. I had just given him a bath. I set him on the twin bed in his room, up against the wall. I then turned my back for mere seconds to get his clothes out. A few seconds was enough time for him to scoot backwards to the edge of the bed, and fall with his arm behind his back onto the hard floor. His wrist had been fractured, and he had to wear a cast for weeks.
Because of my error, my son couldn’t crawl correctly. Because of my error, we had huge doctor bills.
Thankfully, Rigel healed, and he never lost his cheerful disposition the whole time he was in the cast. I learned my lesson, though, and from then on I was much more careful, and didn’t put him on the bed unsupervised until he was old enough to walk and get on and off the bed on his own.
The second time I put one of my children in danger was three years later, with the same child, on March 17, 2015. It was so devastating, I haven’t felt comfortable sharing it with others, but now I feel it is time.
I had just taught that day’s church Institute class. I always had a lot of responsibilities after class, so occasionally, one or both of my little ones would end up in the hallway running around with other kids. One of the other moms told me that Rigel was walking around the church with her daughter.
I was planning to go get him, but my youngest, Kamren, decided he wanted to go outside to the parking lot to play with the other children outside. I followed him out, thinking that Rigel and the other little girl would come out the same door (the only door we use for class) in the next couple minutes.
The girl’s mother was still in the church, so I assumed she had found the kids and was playing with them, so as the minutes ticked by, I wasn’t worried at all. But when she poked her head outside and asked if I had seen the kids, I got a little concerned. She went back in to look for them in the gym.
Soon, a police car pulled into the parking lot, and my heart sank. I didn’t know why, but I assumed they were there because of Rigel and his friend. They were. The officer asked me if anyone was missing some kids.
I said that maybe I was. Then, he opened the door and there they were. I was grateful, concerned, and also confused as to how they got away from us.
Apparently, they were seen walking on the sidewalk of the very busy main road right by the church. This didn’t make sense, because there is no easy access to this road from the church parking lot. After mulling it over with other women, we figured out that that the kids must have opened a different door to exit the church, walked through the woods, and down the steep hill the church was on to get to this road. This was something I never would have expected to happen in a million years, and it was surreal.
For a few minutes, I was just totally involved in answering the officer’s questions and hoping I wouldn’t be charged with anything. When it finally hit me what had happened, and what could have happened, I broke down and wept.
My child could have been hit by a car. My child could have died, and it was my fault. It was my fault because I assumed he was okay. I assumed he was safe in the church. I assumed someone else was keeping an eye on him. Because of my assumptions, I may have never seen my child again.
My friends were so comforting and kind to me. They reassured me that I was a good mom, and that I couldn’t have known that would happen. I was so grateful for their sympathy, love and compassion. They helped me calm down enough to drive home. I sobbed the whole way there, and tried to talk to Rigel about the dangers of what he had done. He was so sweet and innocent, saying, “But Mommy, I stayed on the sidewalk.” I felt so incredibly grateful that he had remembered that rule. It could have saved his life.
One of my class members, Stephanie, sent me this sweet email later that day: I hope you are doing well after today’s scary accident. I meant what I said that you are a good mother. This was an accident that we can learn and grow from and I don’t think any less of you and Heavenly Father doesn’t either. Your love for your children is evident in the way you are with them and the things you teach us. Peace be with you my friend. I’m so glad sweet Rigel and <> are happy and safe.
I thanked God over and over for this miracle. I felt strongly that angels were with these two precious children that day to protect them from a devastating fate. My faith was renewed because of this experience.
I made this post on Facebook that day: I am feeling very thankful and aware of my Savior today, as well as how precious my children are, and what a great responsibility it is to be a mother. The Lord trusts me with these little angels. I must always be worthy of that trust.
This is Rigel the next day, safe, sound and happy.
I learned from this mistake too. I brought a baby gate to class from then on. I implemented a rule that no child could be outside the classroom without a parent. I continue to watch much more carefully over my children, even months later.
I felt like the worst mom in the world on both of these occasions – especially the latter. But, was I? Am I? I make mistakes. Cherish made a mistake. Thousands of mothers and fathers have made similar mistakes. We aren’t perfect. We do our best, but we falter. Then we learn and grow from these mistakes, and do so much better in the future.
In Cherish’s interview, she said that nobody loves her children more than she does. I feel exactly the same way about my children. If you had been one of the staff at the Orthopedic office who saw a hurt baby, or one of the drivers on Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd who saw two toddlers walking down the street alone, you might have judged me as a careless, stupid, irresponsible, unfit mother. But, you wouldn’t be right because you don’t know me. You don’t know that the thought of any of my children getting hurt causes me to sob uncontrollably. You don’t know that I dedicate my life to their well-being and happiness. You don’t know the joy they bring me, or that I would willingly give my life for them.
Similarly, judging Cherish Peterson for this mistake, which admittedly is horrible, and labeling her as an unfit mother, isn’t fair. If you have never made a mistake like this as a parent, you probably will. But, even if you don’t, please have compassion. Let God be the judge. Bashing someone’s name and dignity into the dirt on social media or in your heart is not helping anyone.
The focus in this situation should be gratitude that her sweet baby was unharmed and is safe. If he had been harmed, I would hope we would be praying for their family’s peace and comfort. Hate and unkind judgments will never make the world a better place, and they will never undo what has already been done.
Awareness of how to prevent these types of situations does help. Compassion and support do help. Prayers most definitely helps make the world a better place.
Please stand with Cherish, as I and thousands of others do now.
*The world has enough women who are tough; we need women who are tender. There are enough women who are coarse; we need women who are kind. There are enough women who are rude; we need women who are refined. -Margaret D. Nadauld*
You can support Cherish on Facebook here and here.
Say the word house to yourself. Now say the word home. The words feel different, don’t they?
A house is a roof over your head, but a home is so much more. To me, home is a very special word. It indicates a place of belonging, a place of love, a place of safety, a place of sacrifice, and a place of peace.
I want my family to always feel this way, and for their favorite place to be their home. I also wish for every visitor to my home to know they will be met with kindness, understanding, listening ears, fun, good food, safety, comfort, warmth, and hospitality.
To be all these things, my home must shine brightly within and without, truly welcoming and embracing all that come to it.
I love music. It soothes my soul, and enlightens my mind. I know five songs about light that remind me of how I can make my house a home and my home a heaven on earth:
Chorus: Like a lighthouse standing bold against the gray,
Shining through the night to warn of dangers in our way.
Like a lighthouse built on solid stone,
Shedding light on weary seaman who have drifted far from home.
To help make their home a sacred place, families must stand together in righteousness. They must be courageous and have integrity. They must build their foundation on the Lord, Jesus Christ. If they do this, then as the world becomes more and more wicked, and as Satan continues to tempt and to deceive, the people in these homes will be able to withstand the storms of life, and endure together. If a member of a family does stray from his foundation, then the home he came from will be there to help him find his way back.
Should my children ever leave their solid foundation, I will continue to love them, pray for them, and reach out to them. I will never abandon my family, and my home will always be open to them.
Partial verse: A cold and friendless tide has found you
Don’t let the stormy darkness pull you down
I’ll paint a ray of hope around you
Circling in the air
Lighted by a prayer
This song is also about a lighthouse, but is worth mentioning because the words hope and prayer are such essential characteristics of a sacred home. Families should never give up on each other. They should always hope for the well-being and safety of all. Each member of the family should be able to feel that hope, and also the hope that comes from the atonement of Jesus Christ.
If I raise my children well, they will know that no matter what mistakes they make, or struggles they endure, Jesus Christ is their friend and advocate. Through Him, they may be made clean or whole again. We will be there for each other to bear testimony, and to offer encouragement and love.
Everyone has heard the term that “families that pray together, stay together.” I have seen in my own life the power that comes from prayer, personally, as spouses, and as a family. I have seen changes of heart, and great miracles.
(Child) Teach me to walk in the light of his love;
Teach me to pray to my Father above;
Teach me to know of the things that are right;
Teach me, teach me to walk in the light.
(Parent) Come, little child, and together we’ll learn
Of his commandments, that we may return
Home to his presence, to live in his sight
Always, always to walk in the light.
(Both) Father in Heaven, we thank thee this day
For loving guidance to show us the way.
Grateful, we praise thee with songs of delight!
Gladly, gladly we’ll walk in the light.
This is a song that I grew up singing in church, and it always touches my heart. A child asks her parents to teach her to pray, choose the right ways, and to feel God’s love for her. A parent replies and says that they will learn together. If they follow the commandments, they will return to live with Him again. In the final verse, they pray to Heavenly Father and thank Him for His guidance. They willingly pledge to walk in His light.
For a home to be filled with light, the members of that home must follow the light of Christ. As parents, we have a responsibility to teach our children in light and truth. If each member of a family strives to keep God’s commandments, and if pleasing Heavenly Father and praying to Him are a top priority, the Holy Spirit will dwell in that home.
My home is not always a quiet, serene place. There is a lot of chaos, bickering, and complaining. However, there is also a lot of love for each other and for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. My husband and I may not be perfect examples all the time, but we do teach our children to serve others, love God, and keep His commandments. We teach them about the end goal of eternal life with our Heavenly Father. The Spirit is in our home, even if home life isn’t always serene. We have many sweet moments together.
4th verse: Jesus, show Thy mercy mine,
Then there’s love at home;
Sweetly whisper I am Thine,
Then there’s love at home.
Source of love, Thy cheering light
Far exceeds the sun so bright—
Can dispel the gloom of night;
Then there’s love at home;
Love at home, love at home,
Can dispel the gloom of night;
Then there’s love at home.
My Nana always sang the first verse of this song to her children when they fought with each other. I recently discovered a fourth verse to this song that I had never heard before. It beautifully illustrates how there will be love at home as we receive of Jesus’ mercy, love, and light. We can do this as we display pictures of Jesus in our homes, read our scriptures, pray to Heavenly Father, and make Christ’s atonement a personal part of our lives. If we know who we are, and hold on to our Heavenly family, there will be love and light in our earthly homes.
My children know that they are children of God. They know He loves them, knows their names, and wants them to be happy. Because we all know that we are beloved to God, we feel more love for each other at home.
This song is simple, but every time I listen to it, I feel the Holy Ghost, and tears fall down my cheeks. It helps me see that the goodness and light that come from one person, from one home, can affect the whole world. I believe this is true. I believe that to change the world, we need to start in the home. If the home is filled with love, sacrifice, spirituality, respect, and service, the people in that home will set the example for others. Then those people who are inspired by that example will help set the example for even more people. It is a cycle that goes on forever. Witnessing kind acts and strong relationships will bring light to some, and then to the world.
I love the quote “Believe there is good in the world.” I love the idea of being the good in the world even more. That is what we try to teach our children.
Homes are not just meant to just protect us physically, but to protect us spiritually. Within the walls of our homes are members of a family that we love, support, and protect. With the light of Christ, our homes can be sacred places, and safe havens from the world.
My family was established March 6, 2010, and I want it to last forever. If we allow the Savior’s light to guide us, and make our homes reflect that light, our families can be eternal. I know this with all of my heart.
This post is part of a blogger round-up! Read the tips and experiences these bloggers share in making their homes a sacred space.
Most of the dreams I have, I forget, or if I do remember them, they make no sense.
Well, the night of July 21, 2015, I had a dream I will never forget. The power of the Holy Ghost was so overwhelming, that it consumed my thoughts and heart during the dream, and after I awoke.
That particular night, I dreamt about Joseph Smith:
A large group of church members were at gathered at church because a play was going to be done about the Prophet Joseph Smith.
The setting of the dream was in modern times with modern conveniences.
There were so many people, that not everyone could fit to view the play. I, and a group of other people, had to sit in a classroom and listen to the play. I was actually quite content with that, because that room was actually where the actors’ offstage was located.
I remember being so excited to see the man playing Joseph Smith. After one scene, a mob scene, the actors ran into the classroom.
I was so happy to meet him. Somehow, this man looked exactly like the actor from the Joseph Smith movie.
For the rest of my dream, though, he was no longer an actor, but the real Joseph Smith.
I remember sitting at his feet and speaking to him. I talked to him about my favorite part of the gospel (In real life, the evening I had my dream, the missionaries were in my home and asked my husband and I to answer that very question). I told him it was the Holy Ghost because he testifies of truth, and because he can provide us with spiritual power to be able to testify of the truthfulness of the gospel and to do missionary work.
The Prophet Joseph told me that I was missing something important, and that I needed to focus on Jesus Christ.
He walked away then. I felt crushed and a little mad, since he didn’t offer any other explanation.
Soon, everyone in the building heard many loud noises and screams. We found out that a real mob had come to find Joseph and kill him. The mob was going around to every room searching for him. The mob finally came to our classroom. A woman in the mob yelled angrily that she could tell one of us was hiding something, and she pointed right to my son, Casey.
He fearfully said he had to go to the bathroom. I stood up with him, and took him there. The mob didn’t stop us.
We were so scared. I wondered where Joseph was, and if he was okay. I was crying a lot, and praying with my son.
I don’t know if the mob left, or if they just went elsewhere, but I soon saw Joseph again.I sat at his feet, tears streaming down my face. He stayed very calm, and asked me how I keep Heavenly Father fresh in my mind.
I told him that I pray to Him, and also that I often ponder on the Plan of Salvation. He was pleased with my answers. I don’t remember what else I said, but the thought stayed with me of how important it is to always keep Heavenly Father in my mind.
I felt so happy in Joseph’s presence. He told me that he would be okay, and that the mob would not hurt him.
He had felt that this would happen, so long before he had come that night, a plan was formulated on how to hide him. A master carpenter had changed a large wooden cabinet into a wall, so Joseph could hide behind it as long as was necessary. Nobody would ever think to look behind a wall for him.
He was prepared to stay in there as long as needed, and there were members who would have brought him food, water, and clothes.
I felt a deep, abiding love for the man in my dream – a respect, a reverence and an admiration I cannot describe.
When I awoke, I felt that the Holy Ghost had testified to me in my dream that Joseph Smith was a true prophet. He also had given me a small taste of the horror the early Saints went through as angry, hateful mobs – armed to kill – invaded their homes and lives.
I am grateful for this dream. The tears flowed during the dream, and as I wrote my memories of it. I already knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I have known that for a long time. Now, though, I feel like I know him, and I have received counsel from him that he would have told me had I lived when he did.
“The fundamental principles of our religion are the testimony of the Apostles and Prophets, concerning Jesus Christ, that He died, was buried, and rose again the third day, and ascended into heaven; and all other things which pertain to our religion are only appendages to it.” – President Joseph Smith, Jr.
I was not my mom’s first pregnancy. She had lost a baby before me. That tragedy would make it even harder to handle the trauma of her second pregnancy: me.
I was due around August 17, 1984, but I was born June 21, 1984. I was eight weeks early.
On June 16, 1984, my mother was working the cash register at Kmart. By the time her shift ended, her ankles were completely swollen, and she was in so much pain, she could barely walk.
My dad had come to pick her up from work, like he always did. Upon evaluating his wife’s condition, he told her manager firmly that this was her last day.
My mom took it easy the rest of that day and the next. In the middle of the night on the 17th, she got up to go to the bathroom. On the way there, blood started gushing from her body.
In a panic, my dad quickly drove her to Chippenham Hospital in Richmond. On the way, my mother was having painful contractions.
At the hospital, she found out the reason why she was hemorrhaging: the placenta was tearing away from her uterus. (My mom actually has a misshapen uterus. It looks kind of like a heart because there is a wall going down the center of it.)
She got medication to stop the contractions. Throughout the night, my mom also got multiple ultrasounds to check on her unborn baby’s lungs.
She did not sleep at all that night. She was put on complete bed rest, and had to stay in the hospital for the next four days.
On the evening of the 21st, since she hadn’t had any issues, the doctors let her get up to use the bathroom on her own.
Immediately after my mom got out of bed, she started hemorrhaging again. She was rushed back to bed, and the ultrasounds started again to check my lungs. I can’t imagine how scared she must have been.
My dad was not at the hospital during that time, because he was at school. While in class, he got a prompting to go to the hospital, so he left early.
When he got there, he saw my Nana and Granddad (my mom’s parents), who had been there anyway for a visit. When he found out what was happening, phone calls were made to my aunt Kathy, my aunt Betsy, and my Grandma (my dad’s mom) to come to the hospital. Back then there were no cell phones, so it was a blessing that they all responded and could be there for my parents.
Because of her intense hemorrhaging, my rapidly decreasing heart rate, and breech position, Dr. Crooks prepared for an emergency C-section, where my mother would have to go under general anesthesia.
Before the operation, Dr. Crooks allowed one person, other than my father, to visit my mother. My aunt Betsy (my dad’s sister), and my aunt Kathy (my mom’s sister), fought over who would get to see her. My Nana remembers Kathy firmly saying,” She is my sister.” Needless to say, Kathy was the one who got to see my mom.
Sadly, nobody, not even my dad, was able to be with her during the actual C -section, but my mom wasn’t afraid. She simply pled to Dr. Crooks, “Please save my baby.”
He responded to her, “We are going to save you first.”
That was when my mother realized that not only was my life in danger, hers was too. That thought was the last thing she remembered before going under.
My dad wanted so badly to be with my mother, but he had to stay in the waiting area with everyone else. What made it even more traumatic, was that the doctor told everyone that they might lose one or both of us.
My family gathered in a circle and prayed. My Nana said she believed it was Granddad who offered that prayer.
My dad remembers crying bitterly, and then the warm embrace of his mother comforting him.
All they could do was wait, with prayers in their hearts.
Finally, they were told that I had been born, and that Mom was okay. I was born at 9:30 PM, a mere 3 pounds 10 ounces, and 17 inches long.
When my mom finally awoke from the general anesthesia, she got the wonderful news that I had survived. Her face fell, though, as she was told she wouldn’t be able to see me yet.
Dad had seen me though, and held me. He could cradle me in one large, strong hand.
He, and the rest of my family, watched as I was prepped with needles, IVs, tubes, and a u-shaped tank over my head to provide me with oxygen. Right as they were about to attach something to my heart, the curtains were closed.
I had to be rushed to MCV because there was no NICU at Chippenham Hospital. My mom was not able to see me before I was taken away.
Dad went with me in the ambulance, unable to visit my mom first. She stayed behind, enduring her intense pain and exhaustion.
When I got to MCV, I was put in an incubator. My dad was allowed to go beyond the glass in scrubs, but nobody else was.
Meanwhile, my mother’s good friend from work, Robin, also had her baby, full term. They were put in the same hospital room. The nurse brought Robin her baby and then asked my mom if she wanted hers.
Her heart aching, she said, “My baby isn’t here.”
This is a picture of me with Robin’s baby when we were about 2 months old.
She wasn’t able to see or hold me, but her heart was with me. She also helped me survive by pumping milk for me to be fed through a feeding tube that went down my throat into my tiny stomach, because I had not yet developed my sucking reflex. I only ate about 2 CCs of milk at a time.
I also had acid reflux and couldn’t digest food on my own. Because of that, I had to take medication. Thankfully, I never was put on a respirator, but I was given oxygen to help me breathe.
Two days after I was born, my mother finally got to go to MCV to see me. My dad drove her there, and wheeled her to me in a wheelchair.
My Nana, who had been having a lot of hemorrhaging issues herself, was scheduled for a hysterectomy that same day. Before her surgery, she watched my mother go to my bassinet to hold me for the first time.
She recalls my mother’s initial look of horror at looking at me with all my wires attached. Then, the most precious moment happened: as soon as I was placed in her arms, it was as if a switch was flipped. Her horror, in an instant, transformed to “total, perfect, and complete love.” Nana had never seen anything like it in all her life. It was such a change.
While Dad was in the room with the two girls he loved most in the world, he watched the rest of the family “cry like a baby” behind the glass as they saw this true love unfold.
Nine days after being in the hospital, my mom was finally able to go home. She and my dad came to visit me at MCV every day, and she continued to pump milk for me, until I was also healthy enough to go home. My dad recalls what “a pain” it was to drive back and forth every day, not knowing when they would be able to take me home.
They were told so many times that in just a day or so, they would be able to take me. Then, they would be told no because I wasn’t digesting well enough, and hadn’t gained enough weight.
As my parents visited MCV during that period of time, they met many families with premature babies. Babies passed away all the time. One day the parents would be there, and the next day they would be gone because their baby had not survived the night. It was heartbreaking.
After being at MCV for a month, my parents could finally take me home. I weighed in at a humble 4 pounds 5 ounces.
That same day, my mom finally had her baby shower, while my dad and aunt Kathy watched over me.
Everyone had to shop at a special preemie store to buy clothes and diapers for me. It was located right next to a friend’s, Steve Montrose’s, carpet store. To give me an idea of how small I was, my dad said my diapers were about the size of a Cabbage Patch Kid’s.
When my parents took me home, they also took home a heart monitor. I had a heart monitor at MCV too, and it constantly had to be re-calibrated, so my parents were a little anxious. There was a Velcro band that had to be wrapped around me, with wires attached. I slept with the wires underneath my little sleepers.
The reason I need the monitor was because I had sleep apnea. My parents were told to shake my leg any time the monitor went off and I stopped pumping blood.
At first, the heart monitor went off all the time, scaring my parents to death. They got no sleep that first night because they were so worried about me. They were so relieved that I made it through that first night. It was actually hard for them to sleep any night. Every time that monitor went off, they ran and checked on me. I had this monitor for six months! My dad told me that my little chest was concaved from having that band around me all that time.
My health was not the only thing that heavily burdened my parents. They also went into huge debt after my birth. My mom had gotten pregnant before their health insurance went into effect, so when she had me, her hospital bills were not covered. Luckily, mine were because I was an emergency delivery. My parents would receive many calls and letters from collection agencies, causing them a lot of stress.
My mother reminisced with me about her feelings during this time of new motherhood. She had been only 22 years old, dealing with the anxiety of having a premature baby who needed so much care. She pondered on how she could have lost her life in the delivery room. She felt so blessed to be alive and to still have me. She said I wasn’t even as small as some of the babies born later term than me. She had been told that baby girls are stronger and fight more, so she was so glad I had been a daughter.
She tried to nurse me after bringing me home, but it was so hard since I had never nursed before. By then, I had gotten used to a bottle. My mom was so worried I would lose weight and go back to the hospital, she started me on formula. Thankfully, I slowly started to thrive.
When I was two months old, Dad gave me my baby blessing at church. My Nana and Granddad had purchased my beautiful blessing gown from the preemie store. Of course, my family thought I looked beautiful, but my dad remembers an audible gasp in the congregation when he held me up.
Nana, Mom, and aunt Kathy with me
I continued to grow, though, and at six months old, I no longer needed my heart monitor.
For Christmas that year, my present, and my parent’s present, was no more wires for me!
To celebrate my new freedom, Nana and Granddad presented me with a huge, and super soft polar bear – the softest stuffed animal they had ever felt.
Nana remembers when I first saw it, I looked at it like, “What am I supposed to do with that?” She chuckled softly as she thought about that moment.
I thrived, and my mom said I ended up being as big and chunky as her friend, Robin’s, son, who had been born full term on the same day.
This is the first picture of me in photo albums where I started to look chunky.This picture makes me laugh!
Apparently, I also got prettier. A friend of my family, Gisela Tetterton, said that I was the prettiest baby she had ever seen.
Nana said that I grew quickly because I had a very strong spirit. Physically, because of my underdeveloped esophagus, I could have easily died. But, I didn’t. She is sure it is because of my spirit.
To her, it has been evident ever since. I have always been determined to be what I wanted. That strong spirit still remains, Nana says, a spirit equaled only by my mother’s spirit.
Nana said that my mom was determined that I would survive so that she could love and rear me. She was willing to have more children, even though she had miscarried her first baby, and almost lost me.
Mom, Dad, me, and my baby brother, Aaron.
Nana confidently said that there was no way, with the combination of her daughter’s mental and spiritual capacities that things wouldn’t have turned out beautifully.
She lovingly told me that I am spiritually strong like my mother. My mom had just come that way, just like me. Nana believes that is because she was pregnant with my mother the day she was sealed in the LDS temple to Granddad, and her first baby, Danny. She always felt having her there in the womb had something to do with mom’s spiritual side.
My Nana knows how to make me cry. Her love is pure and strong. She told me that she treasures all of the pictures of me as a baby laughing and smiling, especially at her and Granddad. Because of the situation surrounding my birth, Nana has always had a sweet spot for me. My whole life, we have sung “I love you, a bushel and a peck” to each other. She is just as special to me as I am to her.
I know my parents were grateful for all the help my grandparents and other family members gave to them in my very difficult first several months of life.
When I was 1 year old, MCV had a reunion at Maymont Park in Richmond. For my parents, it was wonderful to be reunited with the nurses that had loved me and taken such good care of me. I hadn’t even been the smallest baby they had ever seen, which only reiterated what a miracle it was that I lived.
I still have that bear I got on my first birthday.My whole life, I celebrated my birthday with my Granddad, whose birthday was one day after mine.
When I was in the hospital, my parents were told that I could have mental or physical disabilities from being born so early, but another miracle is, I never did. I grew up healthy and happy.
To this day, I have scars on my hands and feet from the IVs. My mother still has a very crooked scar on her lower abdomen from her emergency C-section. My parents have a joke that Dr. Crooks “couldn’t cut a straight line.”
These scars are something to be grateful for, to hold sacred. They are a memory of God saving two lives, one of them being mine. I will eternally be grateful to my Heavenly Father for giving me the opportunity to live on earth, and to be raised by such loving parents.
I have never been so grateful for my parents as I am now, now that I have finally heard all of their memories of my birth, and the first very difficult six months of my life.
My dad told me that when I was two, I never went to bed when I was told. I got out of bed so many times, and often I would be found sleeping at the foot of my parents’ bed. I remember doing that when I was older too. I am sure it was because of the true love I felt for my parents, knowing their love and devotion kept me alive and nourished me into a healthy little girl.
I am so happy that they took a great leap of faith to have more babies after me. My life has been blessed beyond measure by having siblings.
Eddie and Laura Thacker have helped me become the woman I am today. I am so grateful for their examples and for all they do for me and my sweet family now.
Most of all, I am grateful to be alive, when it makes no sense that I am. I know that Heavenly Father has a plan and a mission for me. I owe it to Him to serve Him my whole life, and serve His children. I hope to help save souls just as He has saved my life.
I know that miracles happen. I have had many of my own. I will be eternally grateful for all of them.
Nobody wants to be accused of being envious, especially when it is true.
I have often battled with this monster, and often I have given in. I have submerged my mind in bitterness, inadequacy, and irrationality.
It is next to impossible to be true friends with someone whose skills, talents, looks, and achievements you envy.
Throughout my young life, my problems have lain mostly with envy of talent, popularity, and praise. Growing up, the people I didn’t like were the ones most like me – the ones with the same talents and hobbies. I found myself being angry if someone got asked to sing more than me, got more praise than I thought I got for similar achievements, was cast the part I wanted in the school play, or got a better grade than me even though I thought I worked just as hard.
In my adult life, I sometimes still grapple with this. As I have prayed for this weakness to be made a strength, I have received witnesses of how to wash the green away:
If someone gets something before you, or does better than you at something, that person may have more experience, know the right people, have more time to work on it, or have more resources. Perhaps God’s will for them is not the same for you, or at least not right now.
Most of the time, your friends and peers are not trying to hurt you when they succeed. You should not expect them to halt their dreams or accomplishments for your sake.
Recognize that even if people seem to have it all (or at least what you want), there are many things they may not have, or are struggling with, that you don’t know about. People aren’t defined by one facet of their lives, nor do they get their entire fulfillment from one thing.
Remember that life has its ups and downs, and so have you. Maybe you are on the down side of the teeter totter right now, but you will be lifted up again in time. As you hope for your side to go up, never hope that someone else’s side goes down. Someone else’s fall will not lift you higher, nor will your envy.
Life isn’t meant to be a competition. You should only compare yourself to others to motivate you to be better than you are now, not to be better than someone else is right now. In fact, you may never have exactly what someone else has or do what someone else does, and that is OK. That doesn’t mean you are less loved, less blessed, or less valued. It doesn’t mean you have lost at life.
Sit down and count your blessings. When all you do is think of what you don’t have, you are missing out on the wonder that is your life. You may not have the fancy car, or the perfect relationship, but you have life. You have tremendously more than you even realize.
Pray to God every day and night that He will help you recognize your potential, your worth, and your calling in life. Also make an effort to pray for those you envy. Pray that you can see their worth, and how they can play a positive role in your life.
Instead of ignoring those you envy, sincerely compliment and praise them. Ask for their advice on how to be better, and humbly request an honest opinion of your skills. This vulnerable interaction can help build a rewarding friendship.
Ponder on what really matters in life. The everlasting goal is to return to live with Heavenly Father someday. God doesn’t care how beautiful you are, or how much money you have, or how many people know your name. That is what Satan wants you to think. No, the true test is how you overcome your envy and learn to love others unconditionally.
Find joy in yourself. Love yourself. You are blessed with many gifts and talents. Use them to help others. As you focus on serving with what you do have, you will be blessed with more.
I can say from personal experience that this shade of green is not a good color on anyone. I can also say that freeing yourself of this suffocating weight can make all the difference in how you feel, how you think, and how you act every day. You will feel wonderful, and free. Take off the green.
1. See it on the ledge of your stairwell, jump backwards, and scream!
2. Run as far away from it as you can.
3. Ask your four-year-old if he will kill it.
4. When he looks at you in horror and says no, you realize you must kill it.
5. Breathe deeply.
6. Say a prayer that the experience won’t be scary and that you will be unharmed.
7. Grab the vacuum from the hall closet and run upstairs as fast as you can, veering away from where the bug was.
8. Make sure the bug is in the same spot. It is.
9. You plug in the vacuum, and thoughts of how the bug is just sitting there minding its own business, and that it is one of God’s creations, run through your mind.
10. You are reminded bugs do not belong in the house, especially ones that are big and ugly, and you start to extend the vacuum hose.
11. You realize that may not be good enough, so you run to the laundry room and grab the first spray bottle you see: Windex.
12. You approach the bug and spray the Windex on it like a mad woman.
13. As the blue liquid starts to roll down the wall of your stairwell, the bug slowly starts to walk away.
14. You pick up the vacuum hose up again, trying to build courage to get close enough to the bug that the vacuum hose will suck it into its dark abyss.
15. Meanwhile, your toddler has come up the stairs and is happily playing right near the bug of death.
16. You scream frantically at him to get out of the way and near you. Why doesn’t he realize danger is right above his head???
17. He looks at you like you are strange, but finally comes to you.
18. You ask your 4-year-old one more time if he would like to come kill the bug.
19. He fearfully says that he wants to get in his jeep and drive to Daddy so he can come home and kill it.
20. Taking that as a no, you tell yourself that you have to do this. You can do this.
21. You spray more Windex for good measure, and the bug slowly inches itself further away from you.
22. You very carefully take the vacuum hose, and inch it as close as you can to the bug, still on the stair ledge.
23. He tries to flap his (he has wings?), and you are glad the Windex has weighed him down so he can’t fly away.
24. You bravely move the hose one more inch and watch the bug disappear into the black hole.
25. You scream and turn off the vacuum, watching the hose fall to the ground.
26. You ask yourself, is the bug really gone? What if he comes out the other end?
27. After a quick scan, you realize that it is really gone, and slowly put everything away.
28. You clean up the Windex from the ledge, wall, and carpet, because in your panic attack, you accidentally spilled some on the stairs.
29. You look one more time to make sure the bug is gone.
30. You reassure your 4-year-old and yourself that the bug really is gone and it is safe in your home once again. Your toddler continues to play happily as if this traumatizing experience never happened.
So, there you have it: a mere 30 steps to killing a really ugly, brown, flying, and large bug.
I realized these steps this morning before going downstairs for breakfast. I am not exaggerating the steps I took. I am really that scared of huge bugs in my home.
I think my fear came from my dad chasing me with dead bugs when I was a kid. I used to hide in the bathroom with the door locked until he gave up. He still occasionally tries to do the same thing, but now I just get angry and yell at him, and then run away.
Yes, I am a little crazy, in case you couldn’t tell before.
As I was pondering these moments later, I realized firstly, that I am a little over-dramatic, but secondly, that there are way scarier things that I could actively fear.
In general, though, despite the increasing violence, decreasing morals, more intolerance in the name of tolerance, and a push to remove God from our nation, I do not live my life in fear.
I attribute that to my faith in Jesus Christ and my relationship with Him and my Heavenly Father. Because of this faith that I have, I do my best to keep God’s commandments, fulfill my roles as a woman, mother, wife, sister, teacher and friend as best I can, and strive to make my home a holy place. Because I do that, in partnership with my husband, God is my partner too.
I have the Holy Spirit abundantly in my life helping me see truth, recognize falsehoods, remind me of what spiritual knowledge I have, and help me look at the eternal perspective. This life will be full of experiences that will test my faith, and that of my husband and children, and bring hurt and suffering to us. As long as we keep God first in our family, we will be able to endure those things and come out of them better people. We will also be able to withstand the temptations and deceitfulness of Satan.
Will my fear of bugs ever go away? I am thinking it may not, but that is okay. Bugs are a part of life, and I can’t completely control their presence in my home. But, I can control the presence of many other things in my home that could either strengthen or dampen faith, bring the Spirit or drive it away.
My realization of this control, and the implementation of it in my home, is what makes something simple like bugs my greatest fear. I’ll take it.
As someone who has many friends and family members who have questioned their faith, whether it be in their specific religion, or God Himself, this subject of losing faith has been consistently in my mind.I am someone who loves to help. Anyone who knows me knows that I constantly am looking for ways to serve. I feel one of the most important ways to serve is by helping others in spiritual matters.
If you are one who has lost his/her faith, let me try to help you.
Let’s start with a simple physical analogy. When you lose a key, or your phone, or your kid’s favorite teddy bear, what do you do?
1. You realize you have lost it and slightly panic.
2. You look around the immediate area.
3. If you don’t see it there, you retrace your steps.
4. If you still can’t find it, you ask other people who may have seen it to help you find it.
5. You look for as long as it takes because that item is essential to you.
6. If you don’t find it after all that, you may feel defeated and sad. Then, and only then, do you even consider replacing what it was you lost.
Guess what? These same steps can be used for when you lose your testimony of one or all aspects of your faith.
First, you will realize that something is missing. You don’t feel that fire like you used to. You find you have doubts, a lot of them. You wonder if you ever really knew God was real, or that Jesus is your Savior, or if certain books of scripture are true.
There are many options you can choose as you realize you have lost your faith, but the best option, the only option that will lead you to your end goal of finding your faith, is to reflect on your life. Reflect on the blessings you have, on the goodness you see because of the faith you have lived by.
If you can’t see that because you have been slowly detaching for a long time, you should retrace your steps, meaning look back upon your past. Think of special times that you exhibited faith, made a commitment to God, felt the Holy Spirit, felt a prayer answered. Perhaps you will want to write those things down.
I have spoken to people who question if those special spiritual experiences of the past were a hoax. It saddens me to hear that. I think that we each have a conscience, we each have an inherent goodness, and we each have the light of Christ within us. If we felt peace and joy in those moments, it wasn’t a lie.
Perhaps, though, you really struggle believing that what you once felt was really right. That is when you can talk to others. You can talk to friends and family who do have their faith, and who can testify to you. Most importantly, you can and should commune with your Heavenly Father. Pour out your heart to Him earnestly, sincerely, and humbly. Ask for His guidance, for His love, for His spirit to rest upon you and envelop you. Ask Him to help you remember, and to confirm to you the truth you once knew.
You may lose heart if you try these things and nothing helps you find your faith. Be patient. Keep searching. Read your scriptures, continue to pray, fast, talk to those who help lead you back to your faith rather than push you away from it, for running away from what you lost will not help you find it. In fact, it most certainly guarantees you never will.
I have had enough experience in my life with prayer, scripture study, and soul-searching to testify to you that this method will work if you are willing to hear God’s answer. If you already have your mind made up, you will never be able to hear His voice.
I believe that in most cases, number 6, replacing your lost faith with something else, will not be a necessity as long as steps 1-5 are taken very seriously and sacredly. However, if you have done all of the other steps with full purpose of heart, and you still don’t find your faith, perhaps God is telling you there is more out there for you. Just remember that it is in God you must trust if you wish to find and nourish your faith once more.
I am there for anyone who ever wishes to have conversations with me about faith. I want to help, and by so doing, I know my faith will also grow.
Much love to all of you who are confused and unable to find your way. There is hope, and you can get the answers you seek.
I have been thinking about the idea of friendship the past few days. I went through a time not so long ago where I felt really down. I felt like I didn’t have a really close friend- best friend – who I could talk to or hang out with any time.
I felt sorry for myself that I moved into a neighborhood with several families that I knew, expecting to become best buddies with all the women, and not seeing it happen instantaneously like I hoped it would.
I just felt kind of alone, and unwanted, like I wasn’t good enough for anyone to want me as a good friend.
I have always been kind of shy of meeting new people, and I feel very uncomfortable in large group settings where I have to be social. That is one of the reasons I longed for a best friend so that if I were in a social setting, I could just spend time with her and not worry about anyone else. No awkward situations required.
I actually did have someone I considered a best friend several years ago, before I remarried. She and I would hang out at all the church Young Single Adult activities, go to the dances together, go shopping together, go out to eat together, talk on the phone late at night, talk about boys and look at engagement rings for fun – you know, normal best friend stuff.
I was heartbroken when she moved away and decided not to remain my friend. I have never known why, and have reached out several times to try to reconcile. Nothing worked, but ever since that awesome friendship, I had hoped to find another such best friend.
That is understandable, right? One day, when I was really down about it, I posted this on Facebook:
October 19, 2012
Does anyone else wish they had a best friend? I feel like I haven’t had one of those in years. It’s not for lack of trying because I try really hard to genuinely be kind to everyone and help everyone, not to mention get to know people whenever I can by inviting them over. I never seem to get past the friendly acquaintance or friends when we have time stage. What I need more than anything is someone I can call any time I want to talk (and it can be about anything), or want to hang out, and it will be welcomed with enthusiasm and joy. I want someone to see me that way too. We would actually do the things we say we want to do together (make an actual plan) – we wouldn’t dream of letting it slide. Forgive the self-pity. I’m just really feeling it today. I hope I am the only one that feels this way, because it really stinks. If you are in the same boat at me, just know I am happy to be your friend.
When I posted this, nearly 20 women responded to me saying they knew how I felt, because they were there, or had been there, too. It touched me, and saddened me at the same time, that so many women were feeling like me.
After I saw that I wasn’t the only one, that gave me strength, and I started to pray for help to make friends, and to be a better friend myself.
I don’t know how those lovely women are feeling now, but I want to make an update to my feelings from almost 2 1/2 years ago.
My problems aren’t over. I am still so uncomfortable in large social settings. I still don’t have someone I can call my best friend. However, I have been blessed as the Lord has answered my prayers and brought understanding to my tender heart. Here are some of the things that I have learned:
1. Though having a best friend is a really beautiful thing, I personally cannot grow as well as a person if I cling on to one best friend. Because I am sometimes socially awkward, I need to be stretched and pulled out of my comfort zone.
2. As adults, especially with spouses and kids, we are really busy. We are pulled in so many directions, and our priorities are different than they were when we were younger. However, it is possible to care deeply about someone even if we don’t have time to talk on the phone or spend time together on a regular basis.
3. It is a good thing to befriend as many people as you can, and touch as many lives as possible. I have felt so blessed to be given the desire to have different people in my home for dinner, play dates, and girls nights. I have come to know so many wonderful women this way. I can call all of them my friends, and I hope they know that I am there for them when they need me.
4. You can have special friends of all ages, races, religions, political affiliations, cultures, and personalities. As long as we respect one another, our differences make us uniquely able to build each other up.
5. I have a husband, and he can fulfill most of the criteria for a best friend. In the areas he can’t, I have my other friends.
6. Your parents, siblings, in-laws, and children can be some of your closest friends because they know you the best and need you the most.Make them a top priority.
7. I have, just like each of you have, special gifts that I can share with others to help their days be a little brighter. I don’t have to be called someone’s best friend to be admired, appreciated, and loved. If I do my part to bring joy to others, they will call me friend.
8. People are put into your life for a reason. Instead of feeling sorry for myself that I don’t have a best friend, I should feel honored that God loves me enough to put special people in my path, and trusts me enough to put me in theirs. I may not be close friends with everyone I meet, but we have something we can give to each other.
9. It is much more fun to have many women to call my friend. There doesn’t have to be special rules around what makes a friend. If you welcome me into your home, you are my friend. If you exercise, bake, go to movies, chill with me, you are my friend. If you love my kids, you are my friend. If you listen to me and give me advice, you are my friend. If you give me a smile and a hug, you are my friend. If you laugh with me and cry with me, you are my friend. If you help motivate me to be a better person, you are my friend. If you appreciate my gifts and talents, and help me feel good about myself, you are my friend. If you share your love of God with me, you are my friend. If you do any of these things, you are my friend.
10. Whenever I feel sad or alone, I always have Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father as my true friends who love me, are there for me, and want what is best for me.
To all of you reading this, you are my friend. Thank you for your support.
