Light, and the Giving of It

Some testimonies are particularly memorable, and last Fast Sunday a friend of mine shared a story that touched me. She has a large family, full of young children, and she decided to take them to the Visitor's Center at the LDS Oakland Temple so they could look at the beautiful pictures, movies and exhibits. Her idea was to boost their testimonies and prepare them for the day when they could attend the temple themselves.

When, towards the end of their excursion, they stopped in front of the Christus statue, one of her youngest daughters seemed especially taken with it. After a few reverent moments, the child looked at her mother and said, "Mommy, I miss Jesus." As you can imagine, this moved my friend deeply. In fact, she got tears in her eyes, because hearing her daughter voice this feeling made her realize that she misses Jesus, too. 

Our children teach us in the most simple but profound ways. No wonder the Spanish translation for "giving birth" is "dar a luz" (to give the light). I love this expression, because these little ones so consistently give that light back to us.

"Step by step, we come to thee. Thy light is a beacon for all to see." 

©2004 Susan Noyes Anderson, His Children

How to Make BLOG = BOOK

Check out my Sue's News, Views 'n Muse blog book.

All these printed pages add up to a family and personal history that will last indefinitely.

What's more, now the people I love (and those who come after us) can actually benefit from my previously irredeemable blogging addiction, all thanks to Blog2Print.com, my favorite excuse for posting as if there were no tomorrow. It isn't cheap, but it won't break the bank either, given the choice of hard back, soft back, or e-book. More specifically, I paid $72.00 for a 225-page hard back first volume, while the soft back would have been around $15.00 less. The e-books are only $2.99. (Geez, I sound like an advertisement for these guys!) But I am really pretty happy with the result. And it's easy, too, with lots of good choices for cover design.

The downside is that your ability to edit is quite limited, which means that some of the formatting doesn't come off quite the way it should. But, all things considered, I'm pleased. And it feels good to know that I am doing something constructive with my blogging habit.

So that's it, my friends. If you think this is right up your alley, mosey on over to Blog2Print.com and order up a handy-dandy, genuine blog book for posterity. I just ordered Volume 2 and can't wait to get it!

The Big Trip: Our Grand Finale!

Badwater Basin in Death Valley...aptly named.

Death Valley's Natural Bridge...(Looks more like an arch to me, but whatev.)

The Devil's Golf Course, a meringue of rock salt crystals.

My son Ryan, thinking the devil's salt is pretty dang cool. (You're wondering if he ate some?...Of course he did.) Bleccchhh!

One roller coaster ride of a road to Artist's Palette, a colorful collection of volcanic rock.

Check out the green rock...and the itty bitty black speck to the right of it that happens to be my hiking-enamored son.

More colorful rock formations...Photos don't do them justice, unfortunately.

Artist's Drive, a pretty lovely spot, really.

Leaving Death Valley National Park and headed for...

Channel Island National Park...

Santa Cruz Island, to be specific.

Would it bother you to camp out in a place called "Scorpion Ranch?" (Just wondering...)

It doesn't seem to bother my husband.

Or my son.

Or this little baby seal either.

To say nothing of his foxy friend.

The kayaking is the highlight of the trip.

Mostly because of these cool caves.

A man and his son. Happy as clams.

A man and his son. Not so happy to be going home.

Highway 101...heading back to NorCal.

Some pretty sights along the way.

Don't you love a view of the ocean?

(Not so much the traffic.)

But the road opened up after Santa Barbara.

It was pretty idyllic.

And so was our stop in Buellton (near Solvang) for Andersen's split pea soup.

I love these rolling hills along the way.

(Close-up shot. Just for you. A cacophony of color.)

I think I'm in wine country!

Lookie here, friends. A small reminder of the splendor of Yosemite.

Farmland. Gilroy must be near.

A scrub oak always makes me happy.

And so does getting off the freeway near my own neighborhood.

Dorothy got it right. There really is no place like home.  =)

A Lesson from the Holocaust

The holocaust has to be one of history's greatest teachers. Another of history's greatest teachers, my sister, shared the following story with me as we sat together this afternoon in her home. (I'm here while my husband and son close out our national park tour by kayaking and camping in the nearby Channel Islands.) Anyway, both of us were moved to tears by a highly evocative YouTube video, wherein an elderly man describes his experience of being rescued from a cattle car during the holocaust.

When he was 14 years old, this man's entire family found themselves locked in a cattle car with the certain knowledge that they were en route to their own executions. This awareness was shared by their fellow detainees, who were surprisingly calm in the face of impending death. Suddenly, one man moved to the sole window and managed to somehow bend the barbed wire in a futile attempt to escape. Extremely undernourished, he was still not thin enough to pass through the small opening. It was then that our storyteller's father swung into action...apparently with the support of his son's mother, who had said that if anyone could escape from the Nazis to tell their story, it would be this particular son. Quickly, the determined father of this young man moved to the window, telling his son in no uncertain terms that he was to squeeze through the narrow opening and escape. When the boy held back, his father lifted him in a swift motion. "Yes, you are going," he insisted, adding firmly in words that were burned into the young man's soul, "I will get you out using your legs; go out using your legs." Somehow the desperate man would force his son through the unaccommodating hole that proved to be his salvation. 

His heart in his eyes, the boy turned to look once more at his father, expecting words of love or a hug. He was 14, old enough to know he would not see him again. But time was precious; the train had started to move. His father looked him in the eye and spoke only four words, in yiddish, calmly and with great clarity. "Be a good man," he said, and shoved him out.

That was the last message...the most important message. "Be a good man." Strong words...words that resounded in this valiant survivor's mind and spirit, carrying him through years of loneliness and longing for a family he would see no more. Words that were not only remembered, but honored. Words that charted the course of a faithful son's entire life.

Of course, he tells his story much better than I do, and I hope you will take time to follow the link at the end of this post and hear it for yourself. But first, I'd like to share my reaction with you.

As a parent, I could not help but be struck by the father's choice of last words to his son. I went so far as to ask myself what I might say under similar circumstances. With no time to spare, what would be the most important thing I could say to a child of mine? Would I express my love, offer comfort, impart counsel? What would I say to my child, knowing I would never see that child again in this life?

I only hope I would say something as wise and meaningful as this man's father said. "Be a good man." Simple. Profound. Eternally significant.

These words really cut to the chase for me. Not only do they epitomize the worthiest goal of a loving parent, but they manage simultaneously to do it all: express love, offer comfort, and impart counsel...the trifecta of parenting.

In the final analysis, the outcome most desired by those of us who have borne and raised children is pretty straightforward. We want them to be good. Good men. Good women. Good people.

My own sons and daughter are good people, and I am grateful. I am also grateful that I, unlike this loving father, was never placed in a position where I had to spontaneously boil all of my loving and teaching down to that one and most important lesson of all...Be a good person.

And yet, what a marvelous lesson it was.

If you are interested in hearing more about this beautiful story from a holocaust survivor (I promise you will not be sorry), click here.

PS. Happy anniversary, Matt and Heather. While our country is experiencing considerable difficulty, we live in a world of freedom and privilege. May you continue to use the blessing of time well as you raise your family together, teaching each one to "be a good person."

Touring the Valley of the Shadow of Death (YIKES!)

A guy in a Harley took this pic of us. (Can you guess where we are?)

No, we’re not at the Grand Canyon; it just looks that way.

Canyons, canyons everywhere!

Help, we’re surrounded on all sides.

Rock formations in every direction…until finally….

The road stretches out in front of us.

(Until it starts curving again, of course…)

Down, down, down we go.

Through another herd of rock formations…

Till we officially bottom out. Sea level.

And boy, is it level. (Or should I say "flat"? Salt flat, that is.)

The Museum/Visitor’s Center beckons.

And we are steered in the direction of Scotty’s castle, aka the Death Valley Ranch.

Pretty cool joint, built in the 1920’s, old Spanish style.

The great room (and it is...great, I mean)...

With its amazing fireplace...

And magnificent chandelier.

Check out the antique Spanish chairs and custom made Italian stoneware.

Quite a kitchen sink, eh, amigo?

Partial view of the courtyard and bell tower from upstairs.

The marvelous music room.

Note the hand-worked ceiling beams and awesome family crests.

Yet another view of the music room. The tile is exquisite.

I love this antique piece!

And this spiral staircase to the courtyard.

My good-looking son and the old dinner bell (an appropriate pairing).

Bye, Scotty’s Castle. Out in the middle of nowhere, but very cool.

More of Death Valley tomorrow, then full speed ahead for the Channel Islands (Santa Cruz, to be specific).