Christmas Card: 2017

Y'all, I will never get one of these in the mail. That's just the truth of the matter. So here you are- Wilsons Christmas Card, 2017, a la My Favorite Things. You're welcome for the tune in your head. It's my gift to you.

In seventeen, with some mild trepidation

After a decade of serving the Nation

Wilsons decided—well, tentatively

To separate from the military

Since we were unsure of where life would take us,

We made some changes, and they tried to break us

Squeezed the whole family in like sardines

In an apartment, which burst at the seams

Summer rushed by us, and then in September

On day eleven (we’ll always remember)

Kyle took the leap, and peaced out from that scene

Asked the Air Force for a form 214

Got a new job

And a new house

And a second car

We’re now stuck in Georgia indefinitely

But everything’s good so far

Damien’s ten now, a homeschooled fourth-grader

Loves to do science; a great tennis player

Lyric is six, and she loves Monster High

There’s no rock-climbing wall she wouldn’t try

Malachi’s three and incessantly busy

Keeping him all in one piece has mom dizzy

Killian finally reached The Best Age

Ending the lovely no-Sunday-School stage

Kyle and I both began school; full-time classes

One of us loves it and one… well, he passes

This year makes ten since we kids tied the knot

We’re both still thrilled with the spouses we got

Well, that’s our year

In a nutshell

Simple as we are

‘Twas one full of changes, and waiting, and bills

But everything’s good so far!

Happy Holidays and much love,

The Wilsons

Thanks, God

Several years ago, on a visit to our parents in Colorado, Kyle found his giant childhood tub of Legos, and we decided to bring it home for Damien. When I gave it to him, he said,

"Thanks Mom!"

Damien has always loved receiving presents. (Have you ever seen the video of the thankful kid whose mom gave him an avocado? They could be brothers.) Since the plastic bin had an opaque lid on it, Damien had no idea what was inside, but he was just thankful to get something from us. When he lifted the lid, his eyes lit up a little more; he hadn't spent much time with Legos yet, but he knew, vaguely, that they were a cool toy- especially because Kyle had shared stories of having used them. With a little more conviction, he looked up at me and said,

"Thanks Mom!!"

He spent the next few hours building something. I'm sure it was totally magnificent and unrecognizable, as the majority of toddler sculptures are. It took him a while to get the hang of them and figure out what he could do with them, but eventually he came running to show me his creation with excitement overflowing from his entire being. He hugged me tight and said, with even greater understanding,

"Thanks, Mom."

I told him how awesome he was at building already, and mentioned that he could build all kinds of amazing things with his Legos. He built an entire battlefield of creations, and came back one more time to tell me, ever-so-seriously,

"Thank you, mom."

Having experienced the awesomeness of the gift he'd been given, he began to comprehend the potential in that box full of Legos. He made robot after building after monster after tower. Years later, I still find him often at his box of Legos after hours of intense building. He doesn't have to thank me anymore; I already know that he has developed the quality, rather than the act, of gratitude in his heart, because he continues to use his gift.

This experience with stages of thankfulness can be applied to any gift from God, but in my life no gift has planted more fruitful seeds of gratitude in my heart than the gift of Christ and His atoning sacrifice. 

When we first learn this gift has been given to us, it's like a beautifully wrapped box. We don't really understand what's inside it yet, but we are thankful to have received it. We casually say,

"Thanks, God."

At some point, we open it. We realize what's inside. We have heard about it from those who have used it in the past, and we think it sounds pretty cool. And with increased sincerity, we say,

"Oh, thanks, God."

And then we use it for the first time. We experience what we can do with it. We feel the joy of casting a burden on the Lord, Jesus Christ, and in awe we pray,

"Wow, thanks, God!"

And for a while, we think we have figured out the purpose of the gift. But eventually, something comes along that reminds us that we can use it again, in another way. Perhaps we fail. Perhaps we lose someone. Perhaps we wander from our course and can't find our way. Perhaps we feel pain. Perhaps we battle inner demons. Whatever it is, we realize that we can use the Atonement again in another way, to right another wrong. And we fall on our knees and say,

"Thank you, God."

Over time, having experienced the awesomeness of the gift we've been given, we may begin to comprehend its potential. We use it to heal sorrow after sin after pain after grief. Years pass, as we return to the feet of our Saviour. We don't always express our gratitude in words anymore, but we don't have to; our Father knows that we have developed thankful hearts, because we continue to use that greatest of gifts, year after year.

I believe that God never asks anything of us just "because He says so." There's always a reason. A blessing He wants us to have, and a behavior upon which that blessing is dependent. He, knowing our hearts, surely has no need for us to utter vocal gratitude when we feel it- He already knows! I'm sure He loves to hear it, but I believe He has a greater reason to counsel us to learn gratitude. We thank Him, not for Him, but for us. When we have grateful hearts, we remember the gifts we have been given, and we use them again and again. I believe that God asks us to be thankful because He knows the formula for Happiness. Our actions, then, are what truly speak to Him:

"Thanks, God." 

I can do anything for five more minutes

I have a personal slogan in my life: "I can do anything for five more minutes." I alter the length of time to match whatever I'm going through, but the sentiment is the same. I have four children, all of whom were delivered by C-Section. When I was being prepped for surgery to deliver our third child, the anesthesiologist struggled to get me completely numb. Nothing he tried was numbing the entire location of the necessary incision. After some time and effort, my doctor kindly but urgently told me, "We have to do this now. If we wait any longer, the baby could go into distress. So it's up to you. We can put you under, or we can start the operation as you are now." I looked at my wonderful husband, gripped his hand firmly, and told the doctor to go ahead. "I can do anything for five more minutes."

It wasn't a pretty five minutes. Actually, it was more than five minutes, but that's beside the point.

The point is that there is no stipulation in the commandment that we must endure to the end gracefully.

Imagine the people in the Brother of Jared's barges lit only by rocks touched by the finger of the Lord, with only a hole plugged with a stopper to give them clean air, and tossed about on the waves of the sea. I doubt their endurance was particularly graceful, but they made it across the water.

We don't have to endure pretty.

Imagine the Prophet Joseph Smith, physically torn from his home in the middle of the night by an angry mob, to be tarred and feathered for daring to bring to light missing truths in a society in religious upheaval. I doubt his endurance was particularly pretty, but he did not give in to their attempts to silence him, and successfully set the Restoration in motion.

We don't have to endure neatly.

Imagine Mary, the mother of Christ, traveling- perhaps while in labor- on a donkey, and giving birth to the Savior of the World in a cave fit for animals. I doubt her endurance was particularly neat, but she bravely bore the Son of God, the world's first and best Christmas gift.

We don't have to endure quietly.

Imagine the Son of God crying mightily to His Father to remove the heavy burden He was to bear, yet submitting to His Father's great plan of redemption. Imagine Him as He willingly suffered for every sin, weakness, ignorance and sorrow of every man, woman and child who ever lived and who ever would live- suffering so great that He bled from every pore- and His body trembled from the pain of it. Imagine Him as He carried His cross and was crucified. Imagine His battle with the power of mortality, as He broke the chains of death. Could His endurance have been neat? or quiet?

We aren't commanded to endure sweetly.

We just have to keep on going, one ugly step after another, and believe that there is, in fact, an end to the trials we face. And He can and will help us.

Last January, my Grandfather died after a decade of fighting, at times, up to three forms of cancer in various parts of his body. The first time he was diagnosed with cancer, he felt strongly that he could fight and beat his disease, and through a miraculous combination of medicine, faith and determination, he was successful. It was so taxing on his body and spirit, however, that he said he would not fight again, if he were to relapse. Soon after he went into remission, my grandmother began to show signs of Alzheimer's disease, and deteriorated quickly. My grandfather was her devoted caretaker, and although she did not always know who he was, or even who SHE was, she somehow knew she was safe with him, although she was highly confused and combative with other caretakers. His cancer returned, more aggressively. Despite his earlier resolution, my grandfather pledged to fight that cancer as long as his sweetheart of 59 years could be comforted by his presence- it was his final mission call.

Late in 2015, his condition deteriorated to an extent that he could not live in the same home as his dear wife, for risk of infection. He fought to recover the strength to have a late Christmas celebration at their home, where his adult children gathered, to be together one last time on this side of the veil. He told them at that time that he knew he could be of no further comfort to his wife, and he knew that he had honorably completed the final responsibility given him by Heavenly Father. He was at peace. Within the week, he passed away, to wait for his beloved wife on the other side of the veil.

My Grandfather knew that the trials we must endure to the end are always matched with a promise of things we may enjoy endlessly:
Healed and perfected bodies
Restored minds
Eternal marriage
Eternal families
Eternal progression
Eternal joy in the presence of our Savior and our Heavenly Parents

He knew that the result of enduring to the end is a collection of blessings that never end.

I flew to Washington with my then-youngest child, to attend my grandfather's funeral. Our return flight encountered severe turbulence- worse than I had ever experienced. As the plane bounced and jumped and veered and seemed ready to roll over, fellow passengers panicked and sobbed. A feeling of peace washed over me as I held my undisturbed, sleeping son close to my body, and the words to a hymn replaced my thoughts:

"Master, the tempest is raging! The billows are tossing high!

The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness. No shelter or help is nigh.

Carest thou not that we perish?

How canst thou lie asleep when each moment so madly is threat'ning a grave in the angry deep?

Master, with anguish of spirit I bow in my grief today.

The depths of my sad heart are troubled.

Oh, waken and save, I pray!

Torrents of sin and of anguish sweep o'er my sinking soul, and I perish! I perish! dear Master.

Oh, hasten and take control!

Master, the terror is over.

The elements sweetly rest.

Earth's sun in the calm lake is mirrored and heaven's within my breast.

Linger, O blessed Redeemer!

Leave me alone no more, and with joy I shall make the blest harbor, and rest on the blissful shore.

The winds and the waves shall obey thy will: Peace, be still.

Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea or demons or men or whatever it be, no waters can swallow the ship where lies the Master of ocean and earth and skies.

They all shall sweetly obey thy will: Peace, be still; peace, be still.

They all shall sweetly obey thy will: Peace, peace, be still."

The Atonement of Jesus Christ is stronger than whatever we're facing. Through the Atonement we can travel through the turbulence of mortality in peace.

It's stronger than depression.

It's stronger than loneliness.

It's stronger than that math class you're struggling in.

It's stronger than the terrible twos and disability and betrayal and infertility and unemployment and divorce.

It's stronger than sin.

It has us covered, no matter what we're facing.

As Jeffrey R. Holland so beautifully stated: "Don't you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead. Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don't come until heaven; but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come. It will be all right in the end. Trust God, and believe in good things to come."

I testify that when we build a relationship with Jesus Christ and study the Atonement and put it to use in our daily lives, He will share the weight of our burdens, and walk with us until we reach the end of our trials. We may have to drag ourselves through the mud and the mire to get there, but we will get there.