The Day of Miracles!

My dad called here yesterday just before 4 PM.  He and my mom were on their way to UC San Francisco.  He had gotten the call that a kidney was coming for him. This is a call we have been waiting for since November or so last year when he was finally put on the transplant list.

Now we knew that the kidney itself is the first hurdle.  There was also the hurdles of final matching, the surgery itself and then the recovery time and potential rejection.  But the kidney--the first hurdle is the big one, really.

I spoke with my mom last night about 10 PM and they had Dad prepped for surgery--not letting him eat anything, IV in his arm, etc.--and they were expecting the new kidney to arrive within the hour.  I guess I didn't think they would call him until the organ was there yet, but it makes sense.  They can prep him while they wait for the organ's arrival.  It was one of those things I hadn't thought of in this process.

Mom said they learned that the donor was a 55 year old man who had a short stint with high blood pressure.  The donated kidney was coming from John Muir hospital, so they weren't sure how long it would take to get there.  But, she said, the head of the department--who was his surgeon--wanted to check the kidney tissue under the microscope before taking Dad to surgery.

This morning, my mom called about 8 AM our time.  The kidney arrives last night, and the good doctor thought it was a good match, so Dad went into surgery about 11 PM (their time) and the surgery lasted until about 2 AM.  The surgeon then spoke with mom and told her that things went great and dad was responding like he should.  All good news.

As Mom was talking with me, I could hear Dad in the background.  He was sitting up and feeling pretty good.  He had coughed just before she called and that caused him to finally take some pain mediation.  He has to use a catheter for a few days and the nurses monitor his urine output--to see if all the connections are functioning--and this morning things there were looking good too.

Mom said he has a 6 inch long track line where his "fluid exchange" tubing had been installed for his dialysis.  They removed the "quick connect" line and put the kidney into that same spot.  What I found interesting was they left his two natural--and minimally functioning--kidneys in.  They sewed in a new ureter to the new kidney and connected that like the old ones to the bladder.  I figured they would have removed the diseased ones.  But they don't. I think that is interesting.

Dad was doing well enough this morning that mom thought she would go home and sleep in her bed--she tried sleeping in Dad's hospital bed while he was in surgery--but the nurses kept trying to take her vital signs and she had to tell them she wasn't the patient!  They she would go back up and keep track of him until they left him out.

But there is much to be thankful for today!  I am grateful for the fabulous Transplant Team and the care they gave me dad and the knowledge they have to save lives and improve health for others.  I am truly thankful for the donor and his family--for their generosity and thoughtful gift in their tie of mourning.  I am thankful for the prayers of so many friends and family--that this day would come, but especially that the transplant last night would go well.  I'm thankful for the medical advances and procedures that have kept Dad going for these past few years as well as the astounding abilities they have developed to take one person's organ and give it to another.  And I am most thankful for our loving Heavenly Father how hears and answers prayers.  He is ever watchful and eternally kind to us.  And He ultimately has our lives in His hands.  I am grateful for another day, week, year, decade to share with my dad.

Back in the Saddle Again

The Boy played in a pre-season football game last night.  It was at our Cousins Garett's high school, so, since it was conveniently located, the family came to watch too.

 Warming up with some practice field goals....

 And the Kick Offs....several of them

 

 And a few extra points...like, four or five!

 The Family Cheering Section!  It was fun to have our Aunties, cousins, Grandmama, and Uncle there

This Time Of Year, You Just Can't Win

I recently read this article online by Campbell Brown, a former network news reporter.  I always thought she was well spoken, curious, intelligent and a bit like the proverbial 'girl next door'.  Her thoughts in this politically amped and PC-required moment in America's history make me think that the times are as frustrating for everyone as they have felt for me.  See what you think: 

Confessions of a Romney Wife--published on Slate on August 20, 2012--by Campbell Brown

I never thought I was harboring a dark secret. But if you live in the overlapping world of politics and media, as I am learning, anything less than full transparency can potentially do you in. There are quite a number of us who inhabit this world of mixed marriages and familial ties (mazel tov to the ABC News campaign reporter who just married an aide to President Obama), and we have all struggled at different moments with the question of how much to disclose about our personal ties.

I’m having a moment. My husband, Dan Senor, is an adviser to Republican presidential candidate Gov. Mitt Romney (He also worked for Romney in 2008, but since Romney never made it out of the gate, no one cared.) I do not have any involvement in this campaign. After a 15-year career in television news, sometimes spent biting my tongue in the name of objectivity and balance, I retired to raise our two small children. I am now basically a very opinionated mom, enjoying the freedom of being able to fully speak my mind. I have been fortunate that publications like the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal have allowed me to share some of my opinions with a wider audience. And since I am writing against the backdrop of this campaign, I have tried (and mostly failed) at getting the disclosure part right.

First, since I am writing opinion and am no longer an objective reporter, different rules apply. It is a bit more challenging for NBC political reporter Chuck Todd, whose wife is a Democratic consultant. It is a bit more challenging for NBC political reporter Chuck Todd, whose wife was a Democratic consultant in Virginia. But he is on TV so much (deservedly so) that if he disclosed this fact every time he opened his mouth, no one else would ever get a word in. My friend and former colleague NBC’s Andrea Mitchell has managed to have one of the most illustrious careers of anyone in TV news while being married to (and well before being married to) former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan. Morning Joe host Mika Brzezinski’s personal life is a minefield. Her father is Zbigniew Brzezinski, former national security adviser to President Jimmy Carter, and while one brother is an Obama appointee, the other advises Romney. Mika says she is always being labeled as “in the tank” for President Obama, and she finds transparency to be her savior: “I voted for Obama, and I am the first to say it.”

Fortune magazine's Nina Easton, who is also married to a Romney guy, once began her comments on Fox News with the disclosure, "I'm married to a Romney guy, so take this with a grain of salt". I'm seriously tempted to begin any future op-ed exactly that way.

Here is the truth: To assume that someone’s views are invariably influenced or shaped by his or her partner is lazy. It is an intellectual crutch we grope for when we do not have an effective counter to someone’s argument. In my limited experience writing opinion, smart people have challenged me with a reasoned response pointing out the weaknesses of my argument. The less intellectual partisans say, all full of ire, “She’s married to a Romney guy”.

But here is another truth: You can’t ignore the fact that two married people are most likely together because of some commonality. Given that, it is hardly unreasonable to assume they share some sort of identity and outlook, including, perhaps, a political worldview. The messy reality of our relationship, and I suspect most others, is that we are together on a lot of things and apart on many more. A few we agree not to even talk about. But mostly we challenge each other, learn from each other, and spend the rest of the time talking about the kids. Again, I’m married to a Romney guy, so take this with a grain of salt.

The degree to which my husband and I agree—or influence one another—is really less the issue than the disclosure. Failing to disclose gives your intellectual opponents a means of distraction, a way to create a diversion so that your arguments go unheard. It is an effective strategy. And I was slow to catch on. Here are the mistakes I have made and tried to learn from.

If you are going to criticize President Obama (as I did in the New York Times over his campaign for the women’s vote) then disclosing a Romney relationship is certainly a no-brainer. Where I apparently failed was in putting the disclosure in the middle of the piece, rather than at the top. Outraged readers filled the comments section and my Twitter feed with their disgust that I didn’t share my Romney connection. Clearly this was super  annoying to the people who wanted to dismiss the piece, but didn’t want to actually read it all the way through. Message received.

Another piece for the Times criticized Planned Parenthood for a weak legislative strategy that I felt was putting its federal funding at risk. I support funding for Planned Parenthood. Gov. Romney does not, so I didn’t think my husband’s role on his campaign warranted disclosure. But what followed was another round of attacks on my disclosure lapse, with Planned Parenthood, its supporters and many of my friends demanding to know why I hadn’t stated that I am “married to a Romney guy.” My mistake this time was not recognizing that during campaign season, you are never allowed to criticize those you support lest you give the other side ammunition to use against them. My bad.

Most recently an op-ed I wrote for the Wall Street Journal was critical of New York teachers unions for supporting a policy that makes it very hard to fire teachers who engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with children.In this case, I failed twice. The teachers union immediately pointed to my Romney tie (apparently in their view only a Romney supporter would oppose sexual predators in school?). They then rightly asserted that  my husband serves on the board of StudentsFirst—New York, an education reform group that advocates for charter schools. He receives no money from the organization, yet the teachers unions blasted me for hiding this connection, and falsely accused me of a financial conflict of interest. He receives no money from the organization, yet the teachers unions blasted me for hiding this connection and falsely accused me of a financial conflict of interest. Here I failed to disclose because I stupidly did not connect the teachers’ unions’ opposition to charter schools to their support for a system that protects teachers who engage in sexual misconduct. My sincerest apologies to the teachers unions for not fully appreciating how wrong they are on not one but two issues.

As you may have guessed, I am not feeling very apologetic. These pieces represent my opinion and mine alone. If you want a different answer, ask a different girl. I have, however, gone back and forth on the disclosure question many times with a journalist friend. She believes the only way to go is to overshare, because as long as you are a Romney wife, there are certain people who will always believe that you are somehow doing his bidding. (Thank you, Twitter, for allowing me to engage with those people each and every day.)

So in the interest of full disclosure, let me share a few more potential conflicts (that are mostly with my husband). Hopefully this will satisfy those who believe I am his ideological twin. For the deeply offended, contact info below.

Dan likes the Jets. But we all know that Eli Manning is inimitable. (Jets fans can reach me at @campbell_brown via twitter. Tom Brady fans, you can look up inimitable on dictionary.com).
Dan works in finance. I think the financial industry is EVIL, with the exception of my husband. (Goldman Sachs—see above twitter handle.)

I support Simpson-Bowles. Dan is opposed to tax increases during an economic downturn. But we are working on this one in couples counseling. (Grover Norquist, please call Dan directly. He has some influence with me except when he doesn’t.)

Dan wants to try for a girl. I think two boys are enough. (See couples counseling.)

Dan is obviously voting for Romney. I supported Obama in 2008. This year I am voting for…

Some things we should be able to keep to ourselves.

Tweaking The Work

I have already shared with you my talk from last Sunday about Family History.  But because of the scheduling of our presidency's assignment to be the companion speaker for high council speakers this month, and the fact that Dear Friend Pam's son mission farewell falls on next Sunday, I have the opportunity to re-run my talk with just a bit of tweaking for yet another ward this coming Sunday.  It saves Pam from speaking on a day when her family would be all at her home for Stevie's farewell, as well as trying to prepare a talk when she is just getting back to school this week.  Getting to reuse my talk from last week, saves me from rewriting a new one--though I would be willing to do that.  The high councilman I will be speaking with told me that since I am filling in I'd be fine to use my old talk.  The member of the bishopric told me they have had members speaking all month on ways to invite the Spirit into their lives.  Doing family history is certainly another way to invite the Spirit.  So there isn't too much to tweak to make my old talk appropriate for the topic in that ward.

I am happy to do it.  Speaking in public isn't that big of a deal--though writing something that I think will please the Lord is a much bigger challenge. Now, however, the "naked Great Grandparent's talk" reputation precedes me.  Perhaps the tweaking will be more like editing or cutting and pasting.  The bishopric member who spoke to me just told me to "pray about it" so it was up to me.  Great.  I follow directions much better than I hear promptings.

Back to School

Here you go. The traditional first day of school photo of the kids:

Yes.  It IS that hard to do what your mother asked you to do at 7:30 in the morning of the first day of school when you are that cool...at least for The Boy.

It is sort of his standard issue expression, from the looks of it.  This was just before his Blue/White scrimmage game last weekend.  I have a feeling that he will NOT be excited about having me take his photo before every game he plays....even if his first real high school game is this Thursday.

I guess I should just be grateful he lets me take his picture at all.  He is a 15 year old sophomore boy, after all.

Family History Unites Geneations

I had a speaking assignment in another ward yesterday...this is what I ended up sharing.  MANY thanks to my mom who rushed me her family history notes so I could share from our own ancestral stories. Thought you'd like to see.

In the dining room of my parent’s home there is a wooden chest.  It is made of heavy, dark, aged wood.  It sits on short legs and is lined with a distinctly patterned fabric.  As a kid I thought it smelled funny. 

I remember hearing my mom tell me about this strange piece of furniture.  She shared that it had been her Grandma Blanche’s cedar chest and had a place in her grandparent’s home when she was girl.  But the connection it had to my mom was more than that.  She told me that when she was about 6 months old, she was left in the care of her grandparents for a few hours while her parents went out together.  Her grandmother placed her in that chest, on a couple of pillows, to sleep that evening—a makeshift crib at her grandparent’s home.  Some time that night, Grandma Blanche died suddenly.   To my mom that old cedar chest was a tangible tie to her grandmother.  It is a treasure to her and a keepsake in our family.

Elder Dennis B. Neuenschwander, of the Quorum of the Seventy, spoke about Bridges and Eternal Keepsakes in his General Conference talk in April of 1999. He said “Every family has keepsakes.  Families collect furniture, books, porcelain, and other valuable things, then, pass them on to their posterity.  Such beautiful keepsakes remind us of loved ones now gone and turn our minds to loved ones unborn.  They form a bridge between family past and family future. 

“Every family has other, more valuable keepsakes. These include genealogies, family stories, historical accounts, and traditions.  These eternal keepsakes also form a bridge between past and future and bind generations together in ways no other keepsake can.”

Elder Neuenschwander noted that “Bridges between generations are not built by accident. Each member of this church has the personal responsibility to be an eternal architect of this bridge for his or her own family.”

We are taught in the Member’s Guide to Temple and Family History Work: “As you participate in temple and family history work, you will be blessed with a stronger testimony of its importance, a greater appreciation of the Lord’s love for His children, and a motivating desire to do temple work for your ancestors.  You will have a better understanding of your family origins and an increased love for your ancestors.”

“Family history and temple work have a great power,” Elder Neuenschwander taught, “Which lies in their scriptural and divine promise that the hearts of the fathers will turn to the children and these children will turn to their fathers.”

President Eyring has said “If you learn stories about their lives, write them down and keep them.  You are not just gathering names.  Those you never met in life will become friends you love.  Your heart will be bound to theirs forever.”

I have been delighted to learn more of the lives of my ancestors from both sides of my family.  They may have lived in very different times than I do, but I feel a connection to them as I learn of their characteristics and choices.

Mary was waiting tables in Finland in July 1914 when, as she recalled, an “old man from America came in”.  John Jarvi was looking for a wife for his 30 year old son Alexander.  Mary longed for the adventure and the promised success to be found in America and convinced him to take her as the bride-to-be.  She had to work for one year to pay the family back for the cost of her passage across the ocean.  She was supposed to marry Alexander, but while she worked that year she got to know Alex’s youngest brother, Jacob.  She preferred him much more and once her passage was paid off, she and Jacob married.  They had 6 children together and raised cows, chickens, pigs, horses, wheat and corn along with a large garden in the little town of Frederick, South Dakota.  She was a member of local Savo-Lutheran church which was the center of their social and religious activities.

Okke and Elizabeth Boomgaarden were passengers on a two-masted sailing vessel, one of the few ships to carry emigrants from the North Sea harbor of Emden, in northern Germany.  The voyage to New York would take 13 weeks.  Young Jacob was less than three years old at the time.  The little family had left a village called Campen.  On board was another young family called the Freerks.  They were leaving their village of Rysum—only a few miles from Campen, but the families hadn’t ever met before traveling the Atlantic on the same ship with a similar dream of success and prosperity in America.

During the passage, a heavy sea washed little Jacob along the deck and would have swept him overboard had not Evertje  Freerks flung her body at him and seized him by the leg.  In heartfelt gratitude, the Boomgaardens voiced the hope that in time their little boy might marry a future Freerks daughter.  The two families went their separate ways upon arriving in Illinois but some years later the Freerks family, including their daughter Harmanna, moved to Grundy County where they discovered their shipboard friends had also moved.  The thankful vow made on the stormy deck of the ship was fulfilled twenty years later when Jacob married young Harmanna Freerks.

Elder Neuenschwander continued “Family history and temple work are one work….  Family history research provides the emotional bridge between the generations.  Temple ordinances provide the priesthood bridge.  Temple ordinances are the priesthood ratification of the connection that we have already established in our hearts.”

My ancestors were not the Mormon pioneers that we honor each July 24^th.  But my ancestors brought our family to America years before my parents would eventually find the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  And, subsequently, it blesses us to do the temple work for these long ago generations of my family.

President Erying once said “It is not surprising that Wilford Woodruff said, while he lived, that he believed few, if any of the ancestors of the Latter Day Saints in the spirit world would choose to reject the message of salvation when they heard it.” 

Because of the eternal nature of the family, and the glorious restoration of the Gospel in its fullness, I believe the words in D&C 110 “that in us and our seed all generations after us should be blessed….Behold the time has fully come, which was spoken of by the mouth of Malachi—testifying that he [Elijah] should be sent…to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children and the children to the fathers. Lest the whole earth be smitten with a curse….”

May I share once more from my family history?  I recorded this in my journal, and then shared it in answer to one of my cousins after a question about my Great Grandmother Mary—the mail order bride from Finland—came up. 

As a child of about 8 I remember driving nearly across the country to meet my great grandparents.  My mom and her sister, my own sister, then about 5, and our two cousins–T, about 6, and M, about 3, all rode from California to South Dakota to see them.

Grandma and Grandpa Jarvi were Finnish and so was their whole side of town.  To my 8 year old girl self, Grandma seemed a bit cold to me and a bit severe too.  My thought then was that she just had 4 little kids invade her space.  She didn’t speak to us much, as I recall, but with a grown up perspective now I think she just probably felt uneasy speaking in English.  Her community was Finnish and they spoke in their native tongue daily.

One night, however, as mom was getting my sister and me into bed, we heard Grandma’s one phone of the house ring.   It was in the hallway, just outside our bedroom door.  After a slightly reserved “Hello”, Grandma’s voice burst into energy and excitement.  But it was not in English.  One of her Finnish friends had called and this little grandma that I had thought so severe and cold was gurgle-ling on and on with her friend in a sing-songy language that I couldn’t even recognize.  As I laid on the bed listening, I realized that this lady was friendly and apparently funny too.  After hearing the difference the shared language made, I felt different about her somehow.  She was kind and sweet and a little funny.

But perhaps the most vivid memory of that trip and the stay with Grandma Jarvi in particular was also fairly traumatic.  The four of us kids were trotted out back with Grandma and Grandpa.  We were headed to a shed-like building sitting toward the back part of their back garden.  I remember thinking to myself, “Why are we going to mow the lawn?  It is getting late.”  I assumed the shed looking building was a storage building for gardening equipment.  

Grandpa opened the outside door and herded us in to a small entryway–somewhat like an indoor porch.  There was a seat on one side and a huge dipper hanging on the wall.  Grandma followed us in, bringing with her a big bucket of water.  “This is weird,” I thought to myself.”  Just then in her broken English, Grandma told us to take off our clothes.  In her other arm she carried a pile of our pajamas.  “This is only getting weirder,” I thought again.  

Instead of getting our PJs on, she shepherded us into the adjoining room through an interior door.  This room was rectangular shaped and in one corner was a pile of rocks sitting on what looked to be a tiny fireplace with a subtle glow of heat.  She indicated for us to sit on the bench that lined the whole room.  The room felt like it was made of very smooth wood paneling.  The four of us sat on the bench looking at each other and wondering just what was going on and beginning to feel very warm.  All of a sudden the door opened again and in walks Grandma Jarvi with her bucket of water–buck naked!  This WAS weird.  And more bizarre yet, Grandpa Jarvi followed her in and took a seat near my cousin T–again NAKED!  

This was not normal! 

Grandma dipped the huge ladle into the water bucket and slowly and careful poured the water, over and over again, covering these strange rocks in the pile.  The steam erupted into the air and filled the room.  Soon it was so dense that we couldn’t see our naked, wrinkly grandparents at all.  The heat permeated our bodies and soon we felt like we’d just been thrown into a hot tub, but without ever feeling the water.

Of course, this was a Finnish Sauna and was a regular part of their culture and heritage.  They bathed this way.  For a nearly 8 year old girl this was not a memory that could fade easily.  You just can’t see Great Grandparents NAKED and ever forget it.  However, as the years have gone by I look back on that experience and am grateful for it.  I saw–more than I wanted to then–a glimpse into their home country, their private, yet daily, life together.  They invited us–their great grandchildren–into a regular part of their day.  Now I feel blessed to have known them so personally.

Many years later, my sister and I visited the Pioneer Village in SLC with our own kids and stopped to look at a Swedish home that had been reproduced to represent what the Scandinavian saints had built when they joined the other members of the church in Utah.  A distinct Scandinavian design I saw in the front of the home reminded me of these sweet great-grandparents, now long ago passed away.  I asked to my sister, “Remember when we visited Grandma and Grandpa Jarvi in South Dakota and they took us out to the sauna with them?”  She didn’t remember the experience.  Perhaps she had “blocked it out”–seeing naked, old people as a child might do that.  Or perhaps, more certainly, she was too young to hold on to that memory.  I retold her of the experience we had with our great-grandparents as little girls.

The volunteer ladies “hosting” at this pioneer home had been sitting on the porch doing some quilting when we went along inside.  As we got back to the doorway, one sister asked about the story I was relating–“not meaning to eavesdrop,” she said, “but that memory sounds very distinct and quite interesting.”  I explained it to her and both these volunteer sisters remarked that the memory, though funny now, is certainly an important part of how my own feelings of our heritage have been shaped.

Knowing some of the people personally who have the names on my family group sheet makes all of the genealogy work we do real.  They belong to me, as I belong to them.  We are family.  And time and place and differences won’t ever change that.  The gospel and the revealed truth it provides about temple work and the importance of families makes it possible to link generations as far as we can find them.  These real people will be there in heaven to greet us–just as they met four little grandchildren in South Dakota years and years ago.  Just next time, I hope without any sign of a sauna nearby!