more birthday

Here are some pictures from one of the many celebrations we had for my birthday...dinner at Bucca di Beppo's. Always good food, always fun with the family!

The love of a good man

SO what more do I need in my life? When it comes right down to it, I can thank my lucky boots that despite my wicked, miserable youth, I must have done something good.

For my birthday, my hard-working husband took my seminary class so I could sleep in and relax!

Knowing the calling as I do, I can't imagine anyone volunteering to undertake it. I certainly wouldn't have! He even helps me out already, EVERY Friday fun day-with scripture mastery games, on top of that! But that's just the kind of man he is. And I selfishly accepted it.

It was the best gift ever. Two whole days without lesson preparations, and a day to stay up as late as I wanted (which really wasn't much past 9PM afterall-because I've adjusted to my new schedule of 9PM bedtime, 4:30AM waking time!)
Yep the best man ever!

• He still thinks I'm beautiful, and tells me so (even though an "almost" 1/2 century tells me otherwise)
• He hurries home from work to be with me
• He calls during the day to tell me he's thinking of me
• He helps me with all my hare-brained ideas and rarely complains
• He lets me put my freezing feet against him
• He devotes his life to the family
• He pretends to listen when I go on and on
• He holds my hand
• He THINKS I'm the best thing that ever happened to HIM!

Yep the best man ever!

it all seems worth it!

I'm invisible..... It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Pick me up right around 5:30, please."

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -- but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going ... she's going ... she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."

In the days ahead I would read -- no, devour -- the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals -- we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."

And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand-bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
This excerpt is from Nicole Johnson's novel The Invisible Woman (W Publishing Group, 2005) . For more information, check out the author's Web site at www.freshbrewedlife.com.

Human Conference

Elder Boyd K. Packer said it. Something about how the Brethren are just folks. He told the great story about the sister who threw a rock when everyone else was throwing flowers in the path of Brigham Young’s carriage and shouted something like, “He’s no better than my great-uncle Mortimer!” Or some name to that effect. Elder Packer wasn’t particularly offended at that bizarre behavior, because she may have been right, which was the whole point.

Thinking of President Eyring brings me to what this column is about, Humans in Conference. I mean the Brethren, President Eyring, for example. When his emotions are about to break, he usually hides it with a smile. I’ve seen many women, some of whom seem quite unsilly in other ways, begin waving their hands as though fanning their ears when an emotional break threatens. President Eyring smiles. Sometimes we smile when we’re embarrassed. I wondered if maybe President Eyring, though, smiles involuntarily just because being moved around by the Spirit at the expense of his poise pleases him. I think that’s it. Really human, in a good way.

The Priesthood Session brought a couple of other nice humanities out where they could be seen and enjoyed. At the end of his quite wonderful prepared remarks, President Monson was drawn off-script by the red hair adorning a father and son in the priesthood choir. I love it when he goes off-script. It’s like if an actor playing Moses goes off script and you suddenly realize, “Oh! He actually is Moses!” That was one. Here’s another:

My son Sam asked me if I’d ever seen a Prophet in a sweater before. I admitted I hadn’t. (Once Elder L. Tom Perry came to a play I was in — came to see his grandniece-in-law — and was wearing a sweater under his suit jacket. But in the meeting, both Sam and I were struck by the fact that the President of the Church was wearing a sweater under his suit jacket. This was very much a matter of sartorial addition rather than subtraction, because the dark suit was there, the white shirt was there, the conservative tie was there, and the sweater was black. Anybody who’s ninety-seven years old has the unassailable right to fortify himself against the coming of Autumn, but it was just downright humanizing to see that sweater.

What about Elder Wirthlin, who began practically to expire at the pulpit? His testimony of charity was born as eloquently by him as by Elder Nelson, who had sprung to his side to hold him up. The weaker Elder Wirthlin got, the stronger he became. Had he, indeed, passed away while bearing that testimony, I have to think he’d have been sealed up to glory in the very act of doing the most human thing any of us will ever do.

Probably, other glimpses of our leaders’ “plain and precious parts” moved you. I guess we go to conference hoping to experience divinity, not humanity. Still, it’s so comforting and encouraging and friendly to drink the water of life from earthen vessels.

Marvin Payne is a professional actor, wordcrafter, songwriter, and recording artist.http://marvinpayne.com/