The Powerful Widow

Before July this year, when I heard the word "widow", it brought to mind something like this - 



The Granny Babushka

When I was younger, as far as I was concerned, widow's were elderly women that liked to make homemade jam from their fruit trees, show me pictures of their grown children and late husbands, and pay my brothers five dollars to mow their lawns. To me, they were generally reserved, quiet, kind women who'd lived through something awful... loss - a big word I'm only now beginning to comprehend. Loss.

That's what I thought - before this year.

But this year, I learned something about widows. Yes, some are elderly, some make jam, some show me pictures of their children and husbands - but...

Widows can be young or old.

Widows can be strong in the face of great pain.

Widows can be movers and shakers.

Widows are powerful.

In the Bible, in the book of Mark, it reads:

“And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. “And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had,
even all her living.”

During his earthly ministry, the Savior Jesus Christ often used stories to teach gospel truths. This story is no exception, but this time, when I read it, I couldn't help but wonder about the widow in the story. The scriptures say she was poor, but there's no mention of her age. We have no way of knowing how she came to be a widow. We can't know if she had children to care for, or bills to pay. We don't know what pieces she had to pick up after her husband's death. She may have been struggling, still stricken with grief and shock, when she cast in her two mites. All we know, is that she was in need - and still, she gave everything, even all her living - to the Lord.

Now that, is a powerful widow.

When I was little, I loved to play with my cousin Sharee at her house in Idaho on Sheep Trail Road. One day, Sharee and I were playing outside in the yard and a massive hoard of sheep started down the road in one of the craziest, dustiest, most chaotic sheep drives I've ever seen. The sheep ascended upon us like a massive, fluffy, stinky, thundercloud. I was terrified. It seemed like there were thousands of them. They were everywhere - on the road, in the driveway, and on the front lawn.

My Aunt Julie



Oh no. 

Not the front lawn.

Because let me tell you - this wasn't just any front lawn.

This front lawn was groomed. It was mowed. It was weed free. It was beautifully green. It was the result of many hours of sweat and toil in the hot sun.

And the sheep were ruining it.

They were stamping it into a sad mess of divots, mud, and broken dreams.

But not for long.

The minute one hoof set foot on that grass, my Aunt Julie was out on the lawn with a tennis racket, swatting and herding those sheep off her lawn and back to where they belonged.

I'll never forget the sight. 

There she stood - my aunt. Courageous, bold, and heroic in the face of the multitude.

Powerful.

My nine-year-old self certainly was impressed.

Twenty-three years later, this year - I saw my Aunt face another multitude - when she stood in the receiving line at her husband's viewing. Nearly two thousand people came to pay their respects to my Uncle - a bishop, a brother, a son, a friend, and a great man. Two thousand - yes, you read that right. My Aunt stood for over six hours, hugging, shaking hands, and sharing memories and grief with every single person in attendance. Young, raw, and suffering, but every bit the courageous, bold and heroic woman she's always been.

Powerful.



     My Aunt and her children the day of my Uncle's funeral

In my church calling as Relief Society President, I come in contact with many widows. We have more than a dozen in our congregation. They are incredible, faithful women.

I know one who bears an unshakeable testimony of eternal families nearly every Sunday.

I know one, who at age 75, weighing less than 100 lbs - cared for her dying husband until his last days - lifting him, carrying him, watching over him until her arms shook and her back ached - holding his hand while he suffered in agony - kissing him while he passed slowly from this life - sobbing with sorrow and relief when it was finally over.
I know one who tried, with everything she had, to hold it together and sing songs with the Primary children the week her late husband's favorite dog died. 

I know one who's come to church alone, with three children in tow, and cried private tears while they played at her feet.

I know a military widow who serves in the Scouts because she wants to teach others the real value of freedom - and the real price.

I know one who buried her parents, every sibling, and her husband in less than five years.

They are all different, but one thing is the same.

They are powerful.

What I Should've Said

Sometimes words fall out of my mouth, and before I'm even finished speaking, I wish I could take them back. Foot. In. Mouth. It happens to all of us. Probably me more than some others - if I'm being honest about it. It's a hazard of my biology.
On the opposite end of that spectrum, is the wish that we could say what we wanted to say, the moment we wanted to say it. I think we've all had one of those moments too - a time when we should've said something, but we didn't.
Maybe those words we should've said are simple, like, "I love you", or "I'm sorry", and maybe they're harder things to say, like, "I'm angry with you", or "You've hurt me" - but, I think we've all felt the sting of wishing, somehow, that the right words would have come out, when it mattered.
There are so many reasons why, when the moment comes, we don't say what we should've said.

Sometimes we're scared of what might happen...
Sometimes we don't think of the words until after the moment has passed...
Sometimes our own insecurities get in the way...

And sometimes our feelings are so huge, that words are impossibly inadequate in comparison - and so we struggle to know what to say...

I had a moment like that.
It happened when I went to see on old friend of mine.

Let me tell you about my friend.

My friend, Trevor Linderman

I met my friend when we were in high school. I was a Junior and he was a Sophomore. My friend was intelligent. He was educated. He had opinions. He liked to debate about his opinions. He liked to win those debates. At first, I didn't want to be friends with my friend. I thought he was a bit of a pain in the neck, actually.

Then I saw my friend stop dead, in the middle of one of our debates, and comfort a crying girl on the debate team bus. "Maybe that guy isn't as bad as I thought," I thought. I was still the new kid at the high school and perhaps I was being a little too defensive and emotional to be friends with my friend.

I got to know my friend a little bit better. I found out that he's an Eagle Scout. He wore his scouting uniform with pride, like my brothers. My friend was an avid outdoorsman. He liked to hike all over the mountains of Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana. He ran track and played tennis. He played the cello in the orchestra. My friend liked good music too, Pink Floyd and the Eagles. My friend liked to hang out with his parents, even though they were, well, his parents. My friend knew how to make everyone laugh. Turns out my friend was pretty awesome.



Jacob and Trevor - Scouts

My friend taught me a lot of things over the years. He taught me how to snowshoe. He taught me how to use a camping stove. He showed me all the best spots to swim, hike, and play in the outdoors. He taught me how to drive a stick shift, even though he was probably scared for his safety. He tried to teach me to swim without plugging my nose - unsuccessful. He also tried to teach me to love everyone, even if they were different - more successful.



My friend was good at including everyone. While we were at debate tournaments, he played cards with anyone who was up for a good game. He silenced anyone who teased those kids, who we were pretty sure were gay, but hadn't had the bravery to come out yet. He knew how to make people feel comfortable. He accepted people as they were. My friend introduced me to a lot of people who were every bit as fun and awesome as he is. My friend helped me make friends. He helped me feel at home in my weird teenager world.


Madison High Debate Team - 2000

My friend and I kept in touch while I was at college and he was still a Senior in High School. We laughed together about my crazy roommates and my classes that were much harder than I was used to. He told me about a girl he liked - a cute one with red-hair named Chelsi. His debate partner. The girl who cried that one time on the bus. He listened at lot too. He gave me a lot of advice and encouragement. He kept me up-to-date on what all our friends were doing. He always made me smile.


My bro. Carson, Trevor's brother, Justin, and Trevor

One day, Jake, our mutual friend, called me with some bad news. My friend was sick. He had a seizure one night while he was out with some friends. His parents were taking him in for some brain scanning. The doctors didn't know what was wrong yet. I called my friend as fast as my fingers could dial. "I have a brain tumor," he said. "I guess that's what I get for sneaking out." He downplayed things as much as he could to make me feel comfortable. "I'll be okay," he told me, sounding very 'not' okay. "Is it cancer?" I asked him. "Yeah," he said. I swear I felt the earth move.

I went to see my friend after his first surgery. I was afraid walking through the hospital doors. I didn't know what to say. A hospital seemed like a very poor fit for my friend. He belonged in the mountains. "It's about time you showed up," he said when he saw me. I laughed. I relaxed. My friend had been through some tough times, but he was on the road to recovery. Everything would be okay.

Jake, Trev, Me

My friend graduated from high school, and even though he'd just had brain surgery, we stood from his wheelchair, and walked to pick-up his diploma. I cried my eyes out in the audience. I was so proud of my friend that day. Time passed. I still went hiking with my friend now and then, and even though he had a limp and a leg brace, he still pushed through the discomfort, every time - smiling, even. My friend went to college. More time passed. I got married. He got married too - to that cute girl he'd loved for years - Chelsi, the red-head. My friend and I were busy with life. I had kids. He had kids. We drifted apart - into that quiet place where old friends exchange occasional Christmas cards, e-mails, and "Long-time-no-see" hugs over the holidays.

I kept tabs on my friend. I bit my nails through Chelsi's blog posts and facebook updates regarding his health. I smiled at the pictures of his beautiful children. I cried when I heard that his tumor came back. He fought cancer - again. He went into remission - again. I cheered for my friend from afar. I prayed for him, the way long-distance friends do when they have no other way to help.

Then, not too long ago - I read that my friend had cancer for a third time. This time the options were more limited. This time it wasn't clear what the outcome would be. At first, I wasn't worried. My friend was strong. He's been in remission before and he'll go into remission again - but the more time passed, the worse it seemed to get. My friend and his wife started traveling. They created a bucket-list. They went to a lot of doctor's appointments. They made scrapbooks and asked for prayers. They started planning for the worst. Fear crept into my heart...

Then I one day, I read this post from Chelsi -
"If you're going to see him, now's probably the time. We don't know what will happen. We don't know what symptoms might crop up..."

So - even though it had been a decade, even though I had long-since been a B-list friend, even though it felt a little awkward - with some encouragement from his sweet wife - I went to see my friend.

Trevor.

I was a bit rusty at first, and a little nervous, but, as was usual for my friend, he made me feel comfortable right away. His house was full of people. His people. His close friends and family. The people that matter the most to him. There was a feeling in his house too. A strange mix of joy, friendship, chaos, peace, reverence, hope, and love. I wish there was a word for it, but even now, weeks later, I can't think of one. We talked. We caught up. We laughed about old times and old friends. It was a simple blessing, to sit there with him, and talk about life.

Me and Trevor

What I saw - People, family, kids, Chelsi - coming in and out. Always hugging him before they left and kissing him when they arrived. Cooking dinner. Hugging children. Asking him what he needs. Offering to help.
What I said - "Man, this house is like revolving door. How are you managing this?"
What I should've said - "You are so loved."

What I saw - Trevor's friend Josh, one of the most goofy, carefree, kids I can remember from high school, helping Trevor into his wheel chair and pushing him around, without an ounce of awkwardness - like he'd done it countless times before. Checking on him. Reminding Chelsi to give her children medicine on schedule - because he's been there so much, he has more than one medication schedule memorized. Josh's wife, Sam - helping Trevor's children, helping Chelsi, socializing with his visitors, joking with Trevor like a brother.
What I said - "I'm glad you guys have stayed friends over the years."
What I should've said - "You make me want to be a better friend, and I hope one day, more than anything, that my children will find a friend like you."

What I saw - Chelsi, running errands, taking care of sick kids, hugging visitors hello and goodbye, worrying about dinner, massaging Trevor's feet, asking him if he's too cold, or too tired, or too sore, adjusting his socks, going to and from appointments and pharmacies, figuring out how to pay for everything, offering everyone drinks, and food, and a place to sleep, organizing rides for Trevor, and musicians for Trevor, and visits from neighbors and friends, and doing so many other things, I eventually lost count.
She hugged me when I left. She followed me out the door to make sure I was okay. - Imagine. She was concerned about me. That's what kind of woman she is. Struggling in ways I can't possibly fathom, but still taking the time to care for other.
What I said - "I'm so sorry. I hate that this is happening to you guys."
What I should've said - "You're an angel on earth. When I think of courageous women, I think of you. I'm so glad my friend found a companion like you to share his life with. You inspire me to want to be a better person."

What I saw - My friend, Trevor. The same, intelligent, educated, opinionated, funny, kind-hearted, courageous, clever, man he's always been - trapped in a body that isn't working too well anymore. He's tired from endless rounds of radiation, but still resilient enough to push himself in physical therapy. He's proud of his kids. He lights up when his wife and family are around. He's hopeful. He laughs through his discomfort. He makes jokes about himself. His memory is remarkable, considering. He's open, vulnerable, and honest. He's unafraid. He's caring and concerned about others. He's surrounded by love- more love than I've ever felt in one home.
We both cried when I left. I struggled to find words through my tears. I couldn't seem to find words big enough to express what I was feeling.
What I said - "You know, I'm going to cry the whole way home. I'm sorry your struggling. I'm so sorry. I've missed you, Trev. You have wonderful family. One of the reasons I married my husband is because he reminded me of you. I love you. I pray for you every day. You've made my life better, happier. You've been a wonderful friend to me. I know it must be so hard. Keep fighting."
What I should've said -
...
...
...

I still don't know.
Turns out, there aren't words for those kinds of feelings - those huge, intense, encompassing, feelings. Maybe it's some immense combination of gratitude, concern, sorrow, joy, nostalgia, fear, faith, respect, and love - but if there are words. I don't know them.

So... I cried instead. I'm still crying. Weeks and weeks later.

Before I left, Chelsi, an incredible poet in her own right, quoted something to me. Something about tears being a noble form of expression. I looked it up when I got home because I never wanted to forget it...

“Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.” - Robert Herrick

How true. My tongue is mute. I can't really find the right words because there aren't any. How do you contain the memory of seeing that beautiful and terrible struggle into a few words? How do you find things to say that are encouraging and uplifting in the face of so much trial? How do you tell someone what they've meant to you, and how they've influenced your life for the better? How do you express that level of respect and love?

Here's a few people who've done a bit better than me - 

“True friends influence those with whom they associate to “rise a little higher [and] be a little better.” - Elaine S. Dalton

"I cannot even imagine where I would be today were it not for that handful of friends who have given me a heart full of joy. Let's face it, friends make life a lot more fun." - Charles R. Swindoll

"A true friend freely, advises justly, assists readily, adventures boldly, takes all patiently, defends courageously, and continues a friend unchangeably." - William Penn

I don't know what I should've said - but it's probably something like that.

So for now, while I search for better words -
I'll pray for my friend. I'll pray for his family. I'll have hope for better days. I'll find peace in the knowledge that the gospel of Jesus Christ brings. I'll have faith that Lord has a plan for my friend, and for all of us.

And I'll ask you, my friends, for your help.

Below are links to Trevor's story -
Youtube Video - #Linderlove
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1WF4jN6P30

The Linderman Family Blog
http://lindermanlife.blogspot.com/

Medical Fundraising page -
 http://www.youcaring.com/medical-fundraiser/join-the-linderman-s-fight-/303310

***If you can, join him in his fight. Help this family feel the comforting arms of friends - and friends of friends - who care. I can't think of a more deserving family. One thing everyone can do, is share. Share the youtube link. Share the Youcaring page. Share Chelsi's blog. Share this post. Many hands make light work...

***Seriously, I don't need a Christmas present, or a birthday present, or a cookie, or a high-five from you. I want you to give all that love to this wonderful family instead. :) So...if I've ever owed you a favor...guess what? I'm calling it in, folks.

Much Love,
Mandy

The Bright Side of Autism

Did you know that there's a bright side to having a family member with autism?
Well, there is.
A big one, actually.

Most of the stories we read online and in the news, are about the hard parts. There's a reason for that. Sometimes the struggles of parenting a child with autism teach us difficult lessons, and sharing those lessons with others can help us to find meaning in our trials. Sometimes we just need to get it off our chest. And sometimes, we're trying to help you - the person on the outside - understand us, the people in the trenches. Because, if you understand, you can help your own children understand, and bit-by-bit, the world gets easier for my son to navigate.

Education leads to some incredible things. Invitations to birthday parties. Inclusion in the games on the playground. Compassionate hugs instead of dirty looks. Helping hands instead of empty words. It leads to advocacy. It leads to treatment. It leads to answers.

And we need answers.
1 in 68 children born this year will have autism.
3.5 million people in the United States have autism, and that number is growing.
That's a lot of people.
That's a lot of parents of people.
That's a lot of people caring for people.
That means, it's very likely, that every person will eventually be effected by autism in one way or another. Including you.

That's why April is autism awareness month. That's why today, my family is lighting it up blue - to show our support for our children, family members, friends, and neighbors who have autism.

This post though, is not about the hard parts. Those posts are for another time. This post is for me to celebrate my incredible, unique, brilliant son, Clyde - who happens to have autism. This post is for the good parts - the bright parts - and this is what they look like.

Family and Friends

Harker Family 2014

Grandpa and Grandma McNair's with Cousins

Terrific Teachers

Clyde and Miss Gwen

Mrs. K. (Michelle Keitzke) and Clyde

Miss Jelly & Class on "Clyde" Day

Mrs. McCann and Clyde

Fantastic Fun!

Bouncy Fun

Rock Wall at IFG

Mt. Rushmore

Swimming with Henry

Mattress Surfing

Sledding in Idaho

So. Many. Letters.

The Real Life Chicka Chicka Boom Boom Tree

4 Years Old

The Perfect Alphabet

Alphabet Puzzle

Letter Calisthenics (X & N)

Even. More. Dominoes.

The Great Domino Tower

A Different Way to See the World

Apples at Grandpa and Grandma Harkers

Can Tower - age three

Dentists office - 2015

A Few of Clyde's Favorite Things - Rice, Snuggly Blanket, Dominoes, Reading

Guard the Toilet Tough Guys

Phew - Perfectly Organized

Only Clyde Can Dwell Within

The Bright Side, My Son Clyde

First Day of School

Leaves

Our Friend Julian - the Gentle Santa, and Clyde

Working Hard

Easter 2013

Fries - The Favorite

Sensory Tub Time!

Steve or Clyde?

Toughies

Clyde is one-of-a-kind. There's no one else on earth quite like him. He has autism, and that means he sees world in a different way. He thinks differently too - and those differences should be celebrated. Clyde's mind is constantly expanding in new and incredible directions. He views things through a different lens, so he's able to see things in a we can't. I rejoice in his strengths and his small triumphs because they are so hard won. He is courageous in ways I am only now just beginning to understand. He is an incredible person. There are some hard parts to autism, but alongside the hard parts, there's an incredible cord of brilliance and spirit the runs parallel to the struggle. I see that light in him every single day. 

That's the bright side of autism.

I wouldn't trade it for anything.