The Road Less Traveled

The author Robert Frost wrote a poem called, “The Road Less Traveled,” talking about a traveler and the choice he had to make when faced with a turn in the road and two different paths to follow. One road was overflowing with green grass and clear blue water, while the other road was difficult to maneuver, with tangled undergrowth. Clearly, most people would choose the easier path filled with beauty, but in the end the traveler chooses the more difficult road.

I have often pondered what trials I would have chosen for my earthly test if I’d been given a list before leaving my heavenly home. I look at friends and neighbors and their personal sorrows of divorce, infidelity, pornography, and drug abuse. Satan is well and alive on the earth, tempting God’s children with his enticing wares. To watch one of my children loose themselves would have been unbearable. But I know me! To think that I would have chosen a health crisis as my personal test is unthinkable! I hate drama and being the center of attention. Surely I would have chosen an easiest trial, one without personal sacrifice.

After my shocking diagnosis of Lyme disease, I cried out to my angel mother in anguish. I wanted to know, “Why me?” Hadn’t I always been obedient, made good choices, and tried to live a good life? With tearful wisdom in her eyes, my mother proposed that perhaps I chose this particular test and agreed to fulfill it. “Why would I do that?” I said. I assured her that when they were passing out tests in heaven, I knew I would have been in the line with the easiest problems. Again she suggested to me, “What if there were two roads that you could have traveled? One was straight and easy to follow and led right to your eternal reward. However, when you arrived many of your family members wouldn’t be there, having lost their way without your help. What if there was a more difficult road? One that was bumpy and rocky with twists and turns, but when you reached your destination you would have the overwhelming joy of having your entire family with you. Which road would you take?”

Our brother and Savior, Jesus Christ, chose the road less traveled . . . the thorny path. He died for us that we could live again. He chose the difficult road. During the last few years as I have begun to know Him, I have slowly begun to comprehend what a wonderful gift our Savior has really given us. Our trials are not punishments, but they are an opportunity for us to gain the knowledge that we will need to live with him again. What a wondrous promise of eternal life we have been given!

Our salvation does not need to be earned. It is a gift that has already been given. Ultimately it doesn’t matter how many loafs of bread we bake or mundane chores we perform. The gift is there and it is up to us to know Him so we can receive it!

Our lives go on as we battle our trials. However no matter what happens in life we need not live in fear, because the Lord has a greater plan for all of us and we need to put all of our faith in him. I have a quote on my computer, authored by my mother that reads, “The deeper the darkness, the brighter the light that follows!” It is a daily reminder of my eternal goal.

I know the Savior loves me and that he loves all his children here upon the earth. He wants to take us by the hand and carry our burdens and lead us out of the darkness. No one can find Him for us, as each one of us must do it for ourselves. In the immortal words of Robert Frost, “And I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference!”

Flowers Are Not Always Red!

Flowers are not always red with green stems! While pursuing my Elementary Education degree at BYU, I learned the importance of fostering creativity in our children, encouraging coloring out of the lines so to speak. As a result I enjoyed doing art projects with my own children when they were young, hoping to inspire their individual creativity. There is truly something magical when a young child takes paper, scissors, glue and crayons or paint in hand, to create something they have imagined within their own mind!

The other day my four-year-old grandson, Zander, spent the morning creating paper sculptures with carefully cut magazine pictures, stickers, glue and tape. He likes me to admire his artwork so I suggested he display his paper sculptures on my bedroom door. He was delighted, running to our desk for tape. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him carefully arrange each treasured work of art, counting the items displayed and then proudly standing back to view his accomplishment. “Perfect,” he exclaimed. Throughout the day he would return to check on his masterpiece, mumbling new plans under his breath to expand his door display. It was such an easy, inexpensive project, made of outdated dot matrix computer paper with perforated edges that he ripped off. Yet I marveled at what a profound affect it had on his already well adjusted self esteem that day.

In celebration of creativity and the great works of art and music that personal self expression has brought into our world, I want to reiterate the profound message from one of my favorite children’s storybooks, now unavailable. It’s called, “The Little Boy,” by Helen E. Buckley.

The Little Boy


By Helen E. Buckley



Once a little boy went to school.


He was quite a little boy,


And it was quite a big school.


But when the little boy


Found that he could go to his room


By walking right in from the door outside,


He was happy;


And the school did not seem 


Quite so big anymore.



One morning


When the little boy had been in school awhile,


The teacher said:


“Today we are going to make a picture.”


“Good!” thought the little boy.


He liked to make all kinds;


Lions and tigers,


Chickens and cows,


Trains and boats;


And he took out his box of crayons


And began to draw.



But the teacher said, “Wait!”


“It is not time to begin!”


And she waited until everyone looked ready.


“Now,” said the teacher,


“We are going to make flowers.”


“Good!” thought the little boy,


He liked to make beautiful ones


With his pink and orange and blue crayons.



But the teacher said, “Wait!”


“And I will show you how.”


And it was red, with a green stem.


“There,” said the teacher,


“Now you may begin.”



The little boy looked at his teacher's flower.


Then he looked at his own flower.


He liked his flower better than the teacher's,


But he did not say this.


He just turned his paper over, 


And made a flower like the teacher's.


It was red, with a green stem.



On another day, 


When the little boy had opened


The door from the outside all by himself,


The teacher said:


“Today we are going to make something with clay.”


“Good!” thought the little boy;


He liked clay.


He could make all kinds of things with clay:


Snakes and snowmen,


Elephants and mice,


Cars and trucks


And he began to pull and pinch
His ball of clay.



But the teacher said, “Wait!”


“It is not time to begin!”


And she waited until everyone looked ready.


“Now,” said the teacher,


“We are going to make a dish.”


“Good!” thought the little boy,


He liked to make dishes.


And he began to make some


That were all shapes and sizes.



But the teacher said, “Wait!”


“And I will show you how.”


And she showed everyone how to make


One deep dish.


“There,” said the teacher,


“Now you may begin.”



The little boy looked at the teacher's dish;


Then he looked at his own.


He liked his better than the teacher's,


But he did not say this.


He just rolled his clay into a big ball again,


And made a dish like the teacher's.


It was a deep dish.



And pretty soon,


The little boy learned to wait,


And to watch,


And to make things just like the teacher.


And pretty soon,


He didn't make things of his own anymore.



Then it happened


That the little boy and his family


Moved to another house,


In another city,


And the little boy


Had to go to another school.


This school was even bigger


Than the other one.


And there was no door from the outside


Into his room.


He had to go up some big steps


And walk down a long hall


To get to his room.


And the very first day


He was there,


The teacher said:



“Today we are going to make a picture.”


“Good!” thought the little boy.


And he waited for the teacher


To tell what to do.


But the teacher didn't say anything.


She just walked around the room.


When she came to the little boy


She asked, “Don't you want to make a picture?”


“Yes,” said the little boy.


“What are we going to make?”



“I don't know until you make it,” said the teacher.


“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.


“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.


“And any color?” asked the little boy.


“Any color,” said the teacher.


“If everyone made the same picture,


And used the same colors,


How would I know who made what,


And which was which?”


“I don't know,” said the little boy.


And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.



If we don't let our children be the architects of their own dreams, if we set limits on their imaginations, if we always devalue their ideas and goals, we are not leading. We are depriving them of an opportunity to reach their potential. We need to tell our children that they can indeed use all 64 colors in their boxes and that the world is filled with thousands of different flowers and their blank pages can be transformed into pictures of beauty. Because flowers are not always red with green stems!

No Man Is An Island

The 1960’s Folk singer, Joan Baez, sang in her musical lyrics, “No man is an island, No man stands alone,” and like Joan, I have discovered my own truth in those immortal words. The seven unsuspecting castaways on the humorous TV sitcom, “Gilligan's Island,” also discovered the reality of these words. Gilligan and the other six passengers aboard the S.S. Minnow on that 1960’s television show, assumed they were going on a relaxing three-hour cruise, never expecting to find themselves hopelessly shipwrecked on a uninhabited tropical island. I too, had high expectations for my long awaited Royal Caribbean Cruise, never suspecting how my adventure would change the course of my life into formerly uninhabited territory!

“It’s more than a vacation, it's a royal experience,” the promotional brochures promised us. Yes! We were going on a Royal Caribbean Cruise! It would be a vacation of pure rest and relaxation, daily pampering, gourmet food, entertaining shows, and interesting shore excursions. We looked forward to the lazy days and a week in the sun, with all our responsibilities momentarily left behind. On April 1, 1995, my husband and I embarked on the adventure of our lives. It was April Fool’s Day, but the trip was no practical joke. After giving birth to six children, ranging in ages from 3–21, and in addition, loving, nurturing, raising, and caring for their every need, we were taking a once in a lifetime Caribbean cruise! It was part of an incentive reward given to my husband’s top selling hardwood flooring distributors.

The cruise was indeed an incredible adventure. Never in our lives had we experienced such stress free rest and relaxation. We slept in late every morning, ate beautifully prepared gourmet meals, watched movies, attended entertaining variety shows, visited with interesting people, and relaxed in the sun. Throughout the trip, as the ship docked, we were able to tour the intriguing sites and ruins of the local villages in three different third world countries. We ended our dream vacation on a privately owned island in Haiti, where my husband went snorkeling with the “guys,” while I relaxed with the wives, or spouse equivalents, on the sunny beach. I swam in the beautiful, clear blue water and wiggled my toes in the snow white sand (never suspect of the invisible bugs and parasites that might have been lurking there). Little did I realize how soon my life would be completely turned upside down, as if shipwrecked.

One week later we arrived home, refreshed and rejuvenated and life returned to normal. Prior to this vacation I had been fairly healthy. I’d had a bout of childhood asthma and the normal childhood diseases of the 1950’s and 60’s, but I’d needed few antibiotics and my only real professional medical experiences were during pregnancy and childbirth. My gynecologist and our pediatrician were literally the only family doctors I knew well. I prided myself on my ability to keep my children in fairly good physical health with my limited knowledge of vitamins, herbs and what I considered nutritious eating.

I had lost weight prior to my cruise and bought some new clothes, so as I returned home I was determined to keep exercising and shed the last of my unwanted pounds. I had been speed walking two miles every morning and vowed to continue. But within a week after returning home, I developed a strange throbbing pain in one of my toes, preventing me from my daily walk. Within another week a toe in my other foot was in pain as well. I could no longer wear the new dressier shoes I’d purchased for the trip, although low healed and very comfortable. I’d had a minor foot problem the previous year, which had been resolved with foot massages recommended by my chiropractor. So I assumed I was now having a different kind of foot issue. However, when massage proved too painful to endure, on the advice of friends, I sought the help of a foot doctor.

The new foot doctor, chosen from a coupon book in the mail (uncharacteristically not like me) told me I had “neuromas” in my toes, a thickening or enlargement of nerve tissue generally occurring at the base of the third and fourth toes. Neuromas are usually the result of compression and irritation of the nerve, like when women wear high healed, pointed-toed shoes. I had been a sandal wearing, opened-toed kind of shoe girl my whole life, and even my new cruise shoes were conservative by any standards. Also my pain was between my second and third toes. But what did I know? He was the doctor and I needed to get out of pain and move on with life. So I took his anti-inflammatory medication and ordered the prescribed custom made shoe inserts that he assured me were medically proven to eliminate pain and discomfort. I quickly put the possible foot surgery recommended in the back of my mind. It wasn’t long before I discovered that while I was on the pain medication I could function, but without it I was riddled with throbbing, painful feet.

Three months later, while on a Fourth of July outing at our family cabin, we received early morning news that my beloved father-in-law had passed away. We needed to pack up and return home as soon as possible. But that morning I suddenly began experiencing a flu-like fever with no other apparent flu symptoms. As my strange symptoms progressed with no relief in site, I was desperate to be available for my husband and his family. So I medicated myself with a strong over the counter pain reliever (uncharacteristically not like me). My feet were more painful than ever and medication seemed to have little or no effect. To get through the funeral I wore running shoes with my dress, as any other shoes were too painful to tolerate. When people stared or jokingly commented on my fashionable attire, I responded with humor, blaming what I now considered the most painful neuromas ever! Following the funeral, anxious to rid myself of the unexplained pain and return to normal activities, I submitted to foot surgery without research, study or thought (uncharacteristically not like me). I, like most Americans, wanted a magic pill, an easy solution that would solve all my problems.

The surgery failed to cure me and I never really walked well again. Months later I was still wearing the foot surgery boots, hobbling around, unsteady on my feet. While I appeared as though still in recovery, the truth of it was, that my feet were now swollen and I was unable to fit into any of my shoes. I began wearing sandals with Velcro adjustable straps, with promises from the foot doctor that things would get better. They didn’t. My legs and ankles began aching intensely and the mysterious pain began rapidly spreading to my knees and hands as well. Within months, my legs that previously could have leapt up our staircase two steps at a time could barely crawl up a single stair! The pain in my toes developed into burning pain in my feet, that I can only describe as what it would probably feel like to walk on “hot coals.”

The foot doctor finally suggested that I should get blood tests and seek other medical advice. Scared, crying, and frightened, I hand carried my own papers to the hospital to have blood tests that day, something I had never experienced before. My only previous experience with my blood was giving blood twice in college and having my finger pricked at my gynecologist’s office. If only I’d know to check the box marked “Lyme” before submitting my papers.

My blood tests showed that there was no infection whatsoever in my body, and no explanation could be found for the now burning sore throat pain I was experiencing. I did have a slightly elevated RA factor, and further tests were recommended. I had no idea where to begin or who could help me. After all, with the exception of having difficulty walking, I looked fine! I felt horrible, not unlike what I imagined being run over with a truck and surviving might have felt like. But the worse feeling of all was the feeling of being all alone, stranded on my own tropical island, with no rescue in sight. Thus began our long and turbulent road with a succession of different kinds of doctors, with different kinds of degrees, recommending different protocols and therapies.

While the popular, comedic, American culture television icon of “Gilligan’s Island,” aired for three seasons on the CBS network, running a total of 98 episodes, and spawning three TV movie sequels, my little tropical island experience has not proved as popular. Among the estimated 30,000 people diagnosed with Lyme disease yearly, this disease is definitely not a crowd pleaser. The seven castaways on Gilligan’s Island found that although stranded on an uncharted isle, they were never alone as long as they had each other. I too have discovered who my true friends are and how important it is to have family and loved ones who support us. Without my disease and the lonely isle of uncertainty it brought, which has ultimately become a gift, I would never have recognized the unconditional love that I have always been given by my spouse and children. Each of our journeys are different and each road changeable. But those who bravely take the voyage with us are the ones who make it all worthwhile. No man is an island!

No man is an island,
No man stands alone,
Each man's joy is joy to me,
Each man's grief is my own.

No man is an island,
Way out in the blue,
We all look to the one above,
For our strength to renew.
~ Joan Baez, American Folk Singer

Note: Lyme Disease is prevalent across the United States and throughout the world. A tick doesn't see borders on the states and say, “Hey I am stepping off a deer from Wyoming and onto a deer from Utah.” Where you live doesn't effect your chances of getting it because everyone travels and everyone is susceptible to Lyme Disease whether you want to believe it or not!

Statistically speaking, fewer than 50% of patients with Lyme disease recall getting a tick bite (like me). Fewer than 50% of patients with Lyme disease recall getting any type of rash (like me). (www.lymewalk.org)

In 2007, 27,444 cases of Lyme disease were reported to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) in the United States. However, the CDC has gone on record saying that they believe only 10-12% of Lyme disease cases are actually being reported to them. Many experts believe 200,000 people per year in the United States alone are being infected with this disease! (www.lymeresearch.org)

We All Merge at Grand Central Station

Many years ago my husband, Dale and I were in Switzerland, where after touring the city we ended up in a large and spacious building appropriately named, “Grand Central Station.” It was the central terminal where all incoming and outgoing trains throughout that part of Europe met together. At certain times of the day the terminal was quiet and serene, while during other moments throughout the day, the station was noisy, bustling with the activity of hurried travelers trying to get to their various destinations. As we watched the interesting varied action surrounding the station I suddenly had one of those Oprah light bulb moments, connecting the old clique saying of “Grand Central Station” with it’s origin.

Sometimes my house is peaceful and tranquil and I am alone with my thoughts plunking away at my computer. However, sometimes my house is like Grand Central Station, a flurry of noise and confusion as our children and their crazies (a loving term I use in reference to my energetic, delightfully funny grandchildren) come and go. On at least one day each month we all meet together at one central point to celebrate birthdays. That point, our home, has become the equivalent of Grand Central Station!

During the last couple of weeks my 87-year-old parents made the brave decision to sell their home and move into assisted living. My mother has been my father’s main caretaker and now we are hopeful she can leave behind the mandate tasks of cooking and cleaning and that together they can live out the remainder of their days in peaceful harmony. As my sisters and I have helped with their decisions it has never been more apparent that each of us are distinctive individuals, with different personalities, gifts and opinions. Each of us have had different experiences with our parents and with those experiences come diverse feelings and emotions. Yet each sibling has heart felt love, desiring our parent’s best interest, when all is said and done.

As families we are bound by love. Like the trains in the station we all leave home, navigating our own paths and destinations. As we try to plot a course and find our way we sometimes clash and differ in our opinions, letting anger and pride get in the way of the most important relationships we have. Yet eventually we must come together at one central station for the good of all.

Years ago I lashed out in anger at my older sister Vicki. I blew something small out of proportion and let years of unspoken buried feelings come tumbling forth. I didn’t speak to her for three months. I wanted to punish her for being a less the perfect individual, having idealistically placed her on an unrealistic pedestal all my life. I regret my unkind words terribly to this day and wonder if she will truly ever trust my unconditional love for her. I have admired her strength and courage during insurmountable challenges all my life. She has only given me love since I was a little baby, placed in the arms of my nine-year-old big sister.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, the American poet, probably wrote from personal experience when she said: “One great truth in life I’ve found, the only folks we really wound are those we love the best.” It seems ironic, but it is true that by a careless word or a thoughtless or selfish act we do the most harm to those who are most precious to us. If we don’t do something to correct the problem, our most valued relationships can be permanently damaged.

The key to repairing much of the hurt can be summed up in two words, “I’m sorry.” Life is too short and friendships are too few to waste time fighting or holding a grudge when an apology will set things right. It has been said that, “Being unwilling to forgive is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die!” It’s so true!

Like trains coming together in Grand Central Station we must all come together in love as well. We must learn to understand each other, cherishing our differences, and use our different skills and opinions to help one another find his or her destination. Perhaps county music singer, Jimmy Dean, said it best when he stated, “I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination.”

My all time favorite quote is by Walt Disney, a true example of merging together and moving forward. He said, “Around here, we don’t look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things . . . and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.” I’m happy to be living in the middle of Grand Central Station, in a world of amazing technology, constantly being exposed to new knowledge, people and ideas!