Parenthood?

by Julie Anne Thornton

I still remember the morning my husband and I entered the cracked and mildewed bathroom of our one bedroom apartment, and peeked at the sleek plastic pregnancy test in my hand, it's small, square window glowing victoriously with a vibrant red plus sign.
We both burst into tears, hugging each other tightly, as visions of parenthood danced in our heads.

Now...my profusion of tears come for a variety of reasons as I travel down the bumpy road of parenthood.

They come when my two-year old feels the need to become my personal hairdresser while I sit at my laptop, profusing through an eternal list of e-mail.
Needless to say, we're lucky my hair has multiple layers.

They show themselves when the same two-year old decides it would be a magnificant idea to use her big sister's blue nailpolish to re-paint the stairwell.

They leak through when my kindergartner (the crown diva herself), refuses to eat anything but ham sandwiches, "two pieces, toasted, with mayonnaise, and cut into four squares".

They teeter at the corners of my eyes when my eight-year-old son decides giving Mom a kiss on the lips is no longer "cool".

Sigh. But then, I have to remind myself about the other tears, the good tears.

Like the ones that come when my toddler throws her arms around my neck, her tiny lips slathering me with a large, wet kiss.

And the way my eyes well when my sandwich diva tells me she never wants to get married, because she wants to live with me forever.

Or the sprinkling that comes as I watch my son read a story to his baby sister, making her giggle as he points out the illustrations.

Of course, I can't forget the drops that form when my almost-eleven-year-old snuggles up to me, despite her ever-nearing proximity to teenagerhood, and says "I love you Mommy."

Those tears are the best, drowning out all others filed within the "less than desirable" category.

In short, neandering through the potholes of parenthood is not always an easy task, but I have to admit, those deep cracks sure make you appreciate the smooth stretches of road.

Death Is But Another Season

by Julie Anne Thornton

Each year, our family, like many others, looks forward to spending precious time together over the holidays.

We eagerly count down the days until that magical time when we: help the children hang a bundle of christmas ornaments on the fake-but-almost-real looking tree, frost three inch thick sugar cookies, listen to christmas carols until we just can't stand it anymore (this pertains more to Trent), and so on and so forth...

And thus the 2008 holiday season proceeded, the six of us running to and fro in our quest for the ultimate Christmas, blissfully unaware of the deeper spiritual repurcussions this particular Christmas would bring.

Aside from the gift-buying, party-going, food-consuming holiday Christmas has become; Trent and I do our best to direct our families thoughts on the Savior. Despite our best efforts, we still harbor small concerns as to whether our children feel the spirit of Christ as intimately as we'd like during our holiday celebrations.

This Christmas season, however, gifted us with a beautiful and personal reminder as to why we celebrate this sacred time of year.


About two weeks before Christmas, we received word that Trent's grandfather's health was failing, and he was not expected to live longer than a week. That evening, the six of us traveled to where Trent's grandfather lay bedridden, heavy with the knowledge this stop was more that just a casual visit; it was a good-bye.

The hour that followed was precious, as the spirit of peace enveloped us in its warm and tender hands. Trent's grandfather was fully conscious when we arrived-- a gift we will always cherish. Each of our children were able to wrap their little fingers in Great-Grandpa's large, knarled hands and tell him of their love for him. The return of love from Grandpa's eyes was unmistakable, and the spirit in the room was so strong, we knew it was a special and sacred time.

As I gave a final kiss on Trent's grandfather's wrinkled cheeks with tear-filled eyes and gently bade him farewell, an eternal truth echoed within the walls of my heart. "Families are Forever" it simply said, but the power behind its words consumed my entire being.



The funeral that followed was priceless, as our extended family and friends gathered around as we celebrated the life of an irreplacable father, grandfather, uncle, brother and friend. There were tears, yes, but also smiles and bubbles of laughter. It was a time of mourning, but also a time to celebrate life and love.



But, it does not end here.



The day after Christmas, we received another phone call informing us that my Grandmother's health was plummeting, and she was not expected to live longer than a week. The next morning, I received a second phone call from my father, informing me that my grandmother had passed peacefully away the prior evening.



Once again, we found ourselves driving to meet with extended family and friends to honor a beloved family member who's work on this earth was finished. We were blessed to reflect for a second time, on the life of a faithful woman who dedicated her life to church and family.



As we chatted with our extended familial network over scalloped potatoes and ceasar salad, I reflected on the unfathomable gift our Heavenly Father gave us with the birth of his son Jesus Christ; and on the unconditional love our elder brother holds for each one of us as he willingly sacrificed his life to fulfill the most precious of promises--eternal salvation.



So, that is why this Christmas was different from most. Why we held our children in our arms as we sat gathered around the brightly lit tree, and rehearsed to them again the great plan of salvation. And when my five year old with tears in her eyes said," But, I don't want you and Daddy to die," I could calm her fears with this promise, "Don't worry. We will always be together, because Jesus made it so we could."



And now, it is my prayer, that when the Christmas tree is pulled from the attic and "Jingle Bells" begins belting its famous tune over the air waves, my children will remember the unforgettable Christmas. The one that placed in their young hearts a personal witness regarding the truthfulness of forever families.

The Festival of Trees

by Julie Anne Thornton

Through the air wafts the scent of fresh baked cinnamon bread and the muffle of hundreds of festive voices fills my ears. The cold rush of air disappears behind me as I enter through the wide metal doors.

It is only the beginning of my five hour journey within the carefully laid out square of rectangular tables flooded with mountains of mouth-watering treats.

Caramel colored peanut brittle and chocolate chip cookies the size of my hand hold my attention first, but are soon forgotten as I watch several soft strands of pink cotton candy sail effortlessly through the sweet-ladened air.

The weightless webs of sugar as they feather themselves above the head of unsuspecting festival goers, darting and flithering about, until finally making their escape from the bustling square of sweets and into the sea of twinkling cone-shaped lights.

I follow the wandering cotton down the linear path of meticulously decorated evergreen trees, row after row, awestruck with the labor of time, talent, and love individuals gifted in bringing such bright illumination to the seemingly endless ceiling of the exposition center.

I picture the lightened sky above me as more than just a ceiling, but a representation of something much more...a brightening of human hearts; hearts darkened by the cruel hand of disease, illness, and other physical obstacles.

I feel honored to be among these earthly angels, all giving a portion of themselves to those whom so much had been taken. Hundreds of volunteers, giving what they can, to help light one more encouraging bulb within the heart of a challenged family.

For those of you who do not know, the Festival of Trees is a fundraiser produced annually for Primary Children's Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah. It is vital in helping raise funds for the treatment of children who's families do not otherwise have the means to pay for such astronomical expenses.

One hundred percent of all donations recieved through the fundraiser go directly to the hospital.

It is truly a labor of love.

I am grateful to all those who sacrificed intangible as well as monetary gifts to those precious children who struggle for nothing more than health and peace.

Merry Christmas and God Bless You!

Provident Books...My New Discovery

By Julie Anne Thornton

During a run to pick up a five-buck pizza from the local Little Ceasar's Restaurant, I decide to take a small detour.

A charming new book store, Provident Books, recently opened up in our little town of Pleasant Grove, and I am anxious to browse its shelves to see what little gems it might offer.

My first discovery reveals the store's presence serves a dual purpose. Yes, it is clearly designed for those who love the written word, but it also provides a wonderful opportunity for the littler folk, something similar to "Mr. Magorium's Magic Emporium"; but on a much smaller scale.

Upon entering the store, I stand chatting for several minutes with the young lady running the front counter, who instructs me on the workings of the bookstore. Provident Books carries the most recent winners from the Whitney Awards.

For those who are not familiar, the Whitney Awards are given by a writing group titled LDStorytellers, which is headed by an established and successful LDS author Rachel Ann Nunes.

After talking with the store employee, I spend several minutes dilly-dallying between the bookcases. The shelves are sparse, but I find a novel I've been wanting to read.

For the last several weeks, I'd heard several people speak about a novel by Glenn Beck titled "The Christmas Sweater". From the tatters of different whisperings, I found myself anxious to read more about the man whose life was altered by a jumble of woven thread.

I pick up the lovely red-covered book and my phone rings. It's my husband...and he's hungry.
"Where are you?"
"I'm picking up the pizza." I answer with an obvious "duh" sound in my voice.
"Has the whole world decided on pizza tonight?"
A woman in a bookstore always has a plan. "BYU versus Utes dear, what else can you expect?"
"Ah!" He sighs with understanding and I smile to myself.
"I'll be there soon." I say sweetly.

I pay for my book, but the cheerful employee spends several more minutes informing me about the wonderful educational toys they carry, and just before I walk out the door she reminds me to enter their drawing to win a replica of Laban's sword. I chuckle at the prospect of bringing a metal sword home to my eight-year-old son--our health insurance is good, but not that good.

I give the girl at the counter one last smile before continuing on my way. I know the clock is ticking, along with it my husband's starving patience.

Little Caesar's is every bit as busy as I anticipated, and before long my cell phone's melodious tune floats from my pocket.
"Only minutes now." I reply to the grumble on the phone.
He does his best to remain cool, but I know he's teetering.

At last, I grab my pepperoni pizza, garlic breadsticks and two-liter of root beer. My mission is accomplished and it's time to return home. I arrive just in the nick of time, taking several safe steps back as my ravenous family attacks the warm meal.

All is well.

Of course, I still have yet to tell my husband I bought a new book today. But that can wait--till after dinner.

Twilight...Twice!

By Julie Anne Thornton

The clock continues to click down, until the time most Meyer fans have feverishly waited for...the arrival of "Twilight" to the big screen!

Earlier this week, I secured tickets from a friend of mine, who had a friend (still following?) who rented two screens at the local downtown theatre. I felt quite smug to be holding two coveted tickets for the Friday ten o'clock (in the morning, I might add) showing. I would be one of the first to witness Bella and Edward on film--Score!

But then...it gets even better. During a meeting with a friend who works in film, I was invited to join a group he has gathered together to attend tonight's midnight viewing of the movie--Double score!

Please excuse me if I sound like I'm gloating, but...well, I guess I am. It appears now, I will be viewing the long-awaited film tonight, as well as tomorrow morning. Which throws me into a triple grand slam, or slam dunk, or...whatever. I've never been much of a sports fan; except during the bittersweet era when Karl Malone and John Stockton were at their height. My heart has never fully recovered from the dissolution of the "Dynamic Duo".

Aside from bouncing orange balls, I'm looking forward to a fun-filled twenty-four hours of "Twilight" madness. My husband, however, is still somewhat perplexed in his efforts to understand the purpose of seeing the movie twice within ten hours of each other.

My response was persuasive and insightful. "Why not?"

Enough said. I am eager to see how Hollywood fares in bringing to life Meyer's compelling story. Will it hold the same tone? Will I still be amused by Bella's dry sarcasm and Edward's mouth-watering (no pun intended) appeal? Only time will tell.

So now I must wait, and watch the minutes on the clock move with agonizing slowness, counting the seconds as they creep closer, and closer to the midnight hour--the hour of vampires.

A Visit With Nunes

By Julie Anne Thornton

I was given, along with a larger group of women, an opportunity to attend a meeting in which Rachel Ann Nunes, a popular LDS author, was the keynote speaker. I'm grateful for the thoughts and message she shared. She spoke of believing in ourselves as women. She encouraged us to overcome our fears and make time, however small, to facilitate and strengthen our talents.

Following her talk, I was impressed with how she dealt with the group of inquiring women eagerly surrounding her. Mrs. Nunes carried herself with humility, graciousness and a down-to-earth sense of humor. She made no attempt to appear hurried or unavailable, as she lingered around the dessert table, munching down pumpkin roll and vanilla ice-cream.

I was able to steal a few minutes with Mrs. Nunes and tap into her repertoire of writing wisdom near the close of the evening. She shared a few practical ideas such as; write at least a thousand words two times a week, as well as; make sure to attend the Annual LDStoryteller's Conference in the Spring.

Even more important than word count and conferences, were the personal experiences Mrs. Nunes shared during our chat. She laughed as she described nursing her baby while she sat typing on her keyboard (the epitome of multi-tasking in my opinion). She also chuckled in explaining how her toddler would be scrambling up her back just as she was writing some of her novel's most important scenes.

One description she shared reverted to her imaginations as a young woman, and how she envisioned her life as a writer. She described herself as wearing a beautiful, white flowing dress and walking along the shores of a rocky seashore; feeling the sprays of the ocean against her barefoot toes. She would write when she felt inspired, and her works would create enough money to give her everything she ever dreamed.

Mrs. Nunes smiles now when she recounts this fanciful image, and smiles even wider when she proceeds to explain her life as the mother of six is infinitesimally more beautiful than walking alone barefoot by the sea.

The beauty of Mrs. Nunes' words, the true essence that left its impression on my heart, was her ability to remain centered in the dual world of motherhood and writing. She's managed to fill her divine role as a mother to its fullness, while still mastering her craft as a writer.

My conversation with Rachel Nunes reminded me that in our quest to adorn ourselves in the "flowing dress", let us remember to not lose perspective on those things that are of more eternal importance.