December 2019 Part 4: Service

December was really, really hard; I honestly just couldn't handle most of the things I would normally have embraced and anticipated. Everything seemed to just be a blaring reminder that Dad was gone. I have never been such a Scrooge--but even that doesn't really describe it. As with so many things last year, my mantra was "The only way around is through." Suddenly, all the silly things, didn't matter. I wanted more than anything was to serve. To give. To focus 100 percent on the Savior. Anything else, unless it was really distracting, was painful. Besides, I wanted my children to find the Savior in all the twinkling lights, gifts, treats, and cheesy music. So, Brian and I decided to focus on serving and had a brainstorming session with the kids on what kinds of things we could do to lift those around us. 

One of our friends invited our family to be a part of a project she called "Wreaths for Refugees." We didn't give actual wreaths to refugees, but we made and sold wreaths to earn money for Refugees. People in our neighborhood ordered wreaths or donated wreaths for us to take to nursing homes. The money we earned from selling the wreaths then went towards buying cleaning kits to give to refugees. Brian and I helped make lots of fresh wreaths from pine boughs and berries. We made 78 wreaths.

(Please pardon the next 4 pictures. I took these as screenshots from a video that my friend Cami took). 

One Saturday in December, we went with a couple of other families to deliver some of the donated wreaths to a local nursing home. We delivered the wreaths and sang a few Christmas songs.

There were two leftover wreaths, and we were trying to decide what to do with them. I felt a strong impression that I should take them to my dad's step-parents, who both live in Lehi. I fought the thought. After all, I'd tried reaching out to them over the last decade or more, and rarely got any kind of reciprocation. My heart has been hurt by the lack of care or effort, and I really didn't feel like visiting them. However, the thought wouldn't leave, and I found myself saying, "I have a couple of people who I can take them to." We first went to Grandma Kenna's home, only to discover that she was in a nursing facility in American Fork. We found out what her room number was from her son-in-law across the street. We hopped back in the van, figuring we'd swing by after visiting Grandpa Higley. When we arrived at his house, we found out from my Aunt that he had dementia and was in the same nursing facility as Grandma Kenna. Back in the car we went to drive over to the nursing home that they were both in. We visited Grandma Kenna first. I couldn't believe what I saw when we went to her room. She was hooked up to oxygen and she looked completely shattered. Grandma Kenna is the mother of my Aunt Melanie, who had died just a few weeks before. She was heart-broken and depressed. I knew that even if I didn't want to be a part of Kenna's life anymore, the Lord still loved her very much. He was aware of her and wanted her to know that He cared, and the best way was to send me and my family with a wreath. We visited her for a little bit, and then we took her for a stroll around the home. The kids all wanted a turn pushing Grandma Kenna. 

Along the way, we stopped in to see Grandpa Leonard, who was having lunch. I'm not sure if he remembered me or not, but he teared up that we would come and see him. I learned so much about the Lord that day, and I was so grateful that He used us to bring love and joy to two of His children. 

We wheeled Grandma around some more

and found a piano in the lobby. We had a little impromptu recital for her. Michael surprised us with his willingness to perform. Normally, he hates being in front of people. 

After the recital, we wheeled Grandma back to her room. 

Someone had sent her a bag of her crafting things, and Rachel was really interested to see the crafting things. I told Rachel that my love for crafting started when Grandma Kenna used to come visit us and had all kinds of wooden things for us to paint. 

I'm so grateful that we got to be a part of the Wreaths for Refugees project so we could bring some cheer to Grandma Kenna (Dad's step-mom) and Grandpa Higley (Dad's Step-dad). 

In December, one of the members of our ward and neighborhood, Brother DeYoung,  was dying from Cancer. Our bishop lives across the street from him, and he wanted to make Bro. DeYoung's last Christmas really special. He made arrangements for someone to stop by every night in December. One night, he wanted the Primary kids to go and sing "Gethsemane" to Brother and Sister DeYoung. Sister DeYoung was a primary teacher up until she needed to be released so that she didn't bring sickness to her husband. She was Michael's teacher one year, and she is just phenomenal. We were all happy to go and sing to them. Well, Gabe was more interested in this tiny patch of snow, but 

the rest of us could barely make it through the words, 

"The hardest thing that ever was done

The greatest pain that ever was known

The biggest battle that ever was won

This was done by Jesus

The fight was won by Jesus

Gethsemane

Jesus loves me

So he gave His gift to me

In Gethsemane."

while watching tears stream down Sister DeYoung's face. 

In thinking about what more I could do to serve my neighbors, I felt like I should offer a photo session the the DeYoungs, and I was so grateful that they accepted. I took a picture of him in his favorite chair. 

We reenacted their wedding photo. 

I took a picture of his hands, and I tried to capture this giant of a man for his children, his grandchildren, his sweetheart. 

He asked me, "Why? Why are you doing this." I didn't know how to answer. I guess I wanted to make sure that his family had good pictures to remember him, pictures that I wish I had taken of my own dad. I told Bro. DeYoung about how he and his wife had given us all so much, and it was an honor to give something back. I'll never forget his eyes filled with tears of gratitude and his words of blessing on me.  

He passed away in January, and at his wishes, he didn't have an open casket. Instead, they had two photos of him printed out and on display. The picture above was one of them. Somehow, word got out that I was the one who took his pictures, and his children each expressed how grateful they were. It was such a small thing for me, and I felt so honored to be this small footnote in this amazing man's life. This photo session was one of the most meaningful things I did in December. 

The night we were supposed to gather to put the Refugee kits together, we had some sick family members, so we collected supplies to put the kits together at our house while everyone else gathered at our friends' house. 

Even though we were sick, we still got to help a little. 

One of the things the kids suggested was a hot-chocolate stand. So, one day, after school, we made some hot chocolate and set up a table near the school so that we could serve the B-track students as they were coming home (half the school starts and ends 1 hour and 15 minutes before the other half to help with the overcrowding of the schools. This allows classrooms to be a little bigger for most of the day, but much smaller for the core classes like math and reading. Our kids were in A track, so they got out 1 hour and 15 minutes before the B-trackers). 

Rachel was really inspired by all the service efforts and made her own store. 

It didn't really go anywhere, but I loved her sign and her serving heart. 

Gabe even served me at home. 

On Christmas Eve, we swung by the nursing home for a quick visit to Grandma Kenna and Grandpa Leonard. Grandma was looking much better. 

Over Christmas break, our sweet Gabe plugged the sink downstairs and then left the water running. When we discovered it, there was quite the flood to deal with. We put out a call to our neighbors and friends for fans, and these amazing friends dropped everything to answer the call. One even helped pump up the water with his wet/dry vac and stayed for at least an hour helping us. This is just one example of the many ways we were also served during December. 

 Despite the pain, this last December was probably the most meaningful Christmas season of my life. One fo the few Christmas Carols I could stand listening to was "What Shall We Give?"

What shall we give to the babe in the manger,

What shall we offer the child in the stall?

Incense and spices and gold we've a-plenty-

Are these the gifts for the king of us all?

My hope was to give something to my Savior to thank Him for the many ways He has carried me for my entire life, and especially those difficult months following Dad's death. He is the reason for the season, and He makes all of our pain worth it. I said that my mantra was "the only way around is through" but it really was "The only way around is through, with the Savior holding my hand as I go."