Runaway Bride

Today is my wedding anniversary! My husband, Dale, and I have been married for 37 years! The reality of it is quite amazing for a girl who almost bolted and fled the scene! 



When Julia Roberts escaped her impending weddings in the movie, “Runaway Bride,” she truly believed she had found true love right up until the actual commitment ceremony. I didn’t go that far, but I came closer than anyone could have imagined. Four days prior to our wedding I began to reflect on the seriousness of my decision. Suddenly it all seemed so extremely permanent. We were talking about forever! Did I love this man enough for ever after? In my confusion, I found myself in my mother’s dressing room heaped on her floor, reduced to tears and pouring out my fears. I didn’t want to get married! I was too young! I was barely 21. What if I was making a mistake? Lovingly, my mother listened as I wept uncontrollably, spilling out my irrational fears and concerns. I wanted to graduate from college. What if I accidently got pregnant and couldn’t finish? It was a Thursday night and the following Monday morning was to be my Wedding Day. Invitations had been sent, bridesmaid dresses had been made, and money had been spent on the reception. My wedding dress hung in the closet, lovingly stitched by my mother. Before me flashed my non refundable wedding. 



Yet in spite of all the preparation and money involved, my mother wisely said, “You don’t have to marry anybody you don’t want to. The money doesn’t matter. Pray about it and talk to Dale and if you want to cancel the wedding we will.” Reassured, I followed the wisdom that graced my mother’s lips. She showed no signs of panic or stress. There was only love and understanding in her eyes. 



The next night Dale came down and we talked about my fears for the future and how marriage and children would somehow keep me from following my dreams. Dale listened while I cried and talked and then suddenly none of it mattered anymore. This was the man I was supposed to marry . . . the one who would love me unconditionally and care for me. Happily we parted for the night. All at once I couldn’t wait to get married! I didn’t want to run away anymore.



Our actual wedding day was truly memorable, a never to be forgotten daze of events, ones we still laugh about today! 



My morning began with a scramble to get dressed, after my alarm clock failed to go off on time. I wouldn’t have considered having my hair professionally styled back then, having experienced a bad salon up-do in the seventh grade for my sister Vicki’s wedding. So I rolled up my hair with electric steamrollers, grabbed my make-up bag, and put myself together during the car ride to Salt Lake. My parents and I blew in with little time to spare, my hair straighter than I’d hoped for, just as Dale and his parents arrived. I don’t remember the specific details of our ceremony or the profound words of advice we received. I only remember being with Dale and the joy I felt with my hands in his. We loved each other and we were going to be together forever. Suddenly it didn’t seem long enough.

Our marriage literally began on shaky ground, following the beautiful wedding breakfast Dale’s parents provided. Dale began to feel nauseated, shaky and pale, an unfortunate recipient of food poisoning, more than likely caused by contaminated Cornish game hens served at the breakfast. After too many well-intentioned home remedies from everybody’s mother and their dog, he spent most of our wedding reception throwing up in the restroom. We have endured years of family jokes about who really deserves to celebrate our anniversary, as his brother, Leon, and my brother-in-law, Richard, were substitute grooms throughout the evening.

Our reception was held at the Alpine Country Club, where I was a waitress, working my way through college. After I returned to my employment, I discovered my coworkers were still unsure about which of the three grooms I had married. Humorously, they asked in confidential whispers, if my new husband just had a case of wedding nerves and shyness! 



There is no one I’d rather be with or talk with other than Dale. I am sure that he was hand picked for me in the life before this, because I was much too self centered and immature to have picked such a winner. When I was younger someone told me that you can always tell what kind of husband a man will be by how he treats his mother. As a teenager I didn’t fully comprehend and appreciate that quiet quality in Dale. As his wife, I am grateful everyday of my life. Like Julia Roberts said in Runaway Bride, “I guarantee there'll be tough times. I guarantee that at some point, one or both of us is going to want get out. But I also guarantee that if I don't ask you to be mine, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. Because I know in my heart you're the only one for me!”

Friends Are Family You Choose

There is an old idiom that says, “Birds of a feather flock together,” meaning that people who are a lot alike tend to become friends. We grow up as part of a family and no matter what kinds of relationships existed there, ultimately our family structure becomes the yardstick wherein we measure our lives, consciously or unconsciously. If we are nurtured and loved, we are able to spread our wings and fly away like baby birds leaving the nest, independent of our parents. In the best of scenarios our family members can also become our life long friends. However the friends we choose along life’s path can also become our family. Friends are family you choose for yourself!

Recently I got a call from a former high school classmate informing me of our approaching fortieth class reunion. I was asked to go to the newly created class reunion website, to sign-in with an updated picture and profile of what I’d been doing, since way back when. After I recovered from the realization that forty whole years had passed since those carefree days, I checked out the website, mostly out of curiosity. I took a quiz to find out how much I remembered and was pleasantly surprised how the memories came flooding back. I hadn’t really thought about my high school days in years. I read a few profiles, halfheartedly looking for a long lost friend or two, and then submitted my own updated profile, signing the guest-book. To my surprise, three friends I grew up with contacted me to say, hello!

My friend, Colleen, was a pleasant surprise, one I’d not been expecting. Colleen’s family had moved away before our senior year and she was unable to graduate with us. We had all gathered after graduation for a senior trip to my parent’s Bear Lake cabin, but other than that we had completely lost track of one another. Now our periodic emails have become cherished moments of formerly lost or misplaced memories. They have also brought new discoveries as both of us have realized just how much we have in common. Our lives have taken different paths, with different challenges, yet each journey has discovered similar truths. We share similar values and similar joys, sharing a love of literature and the written word.

I find myself wondering why Colleen and I were not better friends as children, when we obviously share so many interests? Interestingly we lived one street apart from each other, and as children often do, we played only with those friends on our individual streets. Now I have discovered my long ago friend again and that discovery has enriched my life like a new sibling introduced into my family!

I had a misconception as a teenager that girlfriends could not be trusted confidants, consequently preferring boyfriends most of the time. I was careful with the secrets and inner thoughts I shared with my girlfriends, having somehow concluded that girls tended to betray your trust, especially when boys were involved. Girls could be kind to your face, turning a jealous eye when you weren't looking, or so I misjudged, perhaps missing out on relationships that may have enriched my life back then.

I love this quote I’ve kept over the years by an unknown author: “I believe in angels, the kind Heaven sends. I am surrounded by angels, but I call them my best friends.” 
Friends have come and gone out of my life. Some remain “forever friends,” even though distance makes them impossible to see. I have discovered that when we truly care about people it doesn’t matter how often we can physically see them, because we are always encircled in that love we’ve shared, and when we are reunited again, it is like old times!

Friends are family too. We can discover them within our neighborhoods, work places, religious association, or in our communities. They are like quiet angels who sit on our shoulders, lifting our wings, when we forget how to fly. Like this unknown author said, “The best part of life is when your family becomes your friends, and your friends become your family.” ~ Danica Whitfield

A REASON, A SEASON, A LIFETIME
By Brian Andrew “Drew” Chalker



People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you figure out which it is, you know exactly what to do!



When someone is in your life for a REASON . . . It is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally, or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are! They are there for the reason you need them to be.



Then, without any wrongdoing on your part, or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand.



What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled, their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered. And now it is time to move on.



When people come into your life for a SEASON . . . It is usually because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn. They bring you an experience of peace, or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it! It is real. But only for a season.



LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons; things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person, and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life. It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant. 



People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you figure out which it is, you know exactly what to do!

It’s My Party, I’ll Cry If I Want To!

When I was in junior high school my friends and I often had slumber parties at each other’s houses. I remember being at my friend Judy’s house where we played records on her little RCA 45 rpm record player. Lesley Gore was popular on the radio and we played her #1 hit song, “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To,” over and over again. We sang and danced and called the radio station, dedicating the favorite song to secret friends. What girl power that was, singing, “I’ll cry if I want to!”

There are happy tears and sad tears and both are needed to heal our souls. As children we are often taught to hide our emotions. “It’s okay. Don’t cry! Everything will be all right. Be a nice girl (or boy).” We learn to bury our emotions and stuff them inside, to put on a happy face. Then we go to a sad movie and our tears come spilling out, healing our spirits, sometimes leaving us unaware of their original emotional origin.

Recently my cousin, Bonnie, and I were talking about our favorite kinds of movies. We realized we are both forever more Doris Day, “Happily Ever After” kind of girls! Just give me a little “feel good” romantic Hallmark movie with a sappy ending anytime! Don’t misunderstand. I can get into an occasional Hulk or Batman movie, but where are the happy endings people? I need my happy ending fix, where boy gets girl!

Remember the really old movies, where we breathlessly awaited the romantic build up to the big kiss at the end? Then there were the classic tear-jerker, romantic movies that left us crying uncontrollably. I can still hear the heart wrenching sobs coming from deep within my throat at the end of Gone With the Wind and my all time favorite movie, West Side Story. I was a young girl, far from any romantic experience, but I wanted to be Natalie Wood, wearing a pastel purple nightgown, singing love songs on my balcony! While I was watching the movie I was aware of the audience around me, listening to their uncontrolled tears as well. There was not a dry eye in sight. Now that was a joyful day at the movies! It makes me want to cry tears of joy just thinking about it!

There is a memorable speech about emotions and the tears we cry in the classic 1963 movie, “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father.” Following the death of his wife Helen, Tom Corbett (played by Glenn Ford) needs to adjust to a new bachelor life with his young son Eddie. The role of little Eddie is played by Ronny Howard, now famous producer and director. The comedy is absolutely hysterical and little Eddie steals the show! One woman already in the lives of Tom and Eddie is Elizabeth Marten, a volunteer nurse, divorcée and Helen's best friend who lives next door (played by Shirley Jones). Tom and Elizabeth like each other as friends, as do Eddie and Elizabeth, but Tom and Elizabeth are constantly bickering and place walls up between each other in developing anything more serious.

There is a scene in the movie that begins with Eddie screaming at the top of his lungs upon the discovery of a dead fish in his fish tank. His father rushes into his room, with Elizabeth following. Tom quickly disposes of the fish and tries to calm young Eddie. “What did you do with HIM Dad?” Eddie cries. “It wasn’t a HIM, it was an IT and I flushed IT down the drain Eddie,” his father screams.

Attentively, Elizabeth begins taking Eddie’s pulse, trying to comfort him by saying, “You were thinking of your mother weren’t you Eddie. Weren’t you Eddie?” Afterward Tom and Elizabeth argue.

Tom: “A fish is a fish, and his mother’s his mother!”
Elizabeth: “That isn’t the point!”
Tom: “He doesn’t even care about those dam fish! I have to tell him to feed them half the time!”
Elizabeth: “He needed to cry Tom.”
Tom: “Well let him cry according to the size of things!”
Elizabeth: “It doesn’t work that way.”
Tom: “Well I don’t agree. Look, if your sad, you cry. You don’t save up your tears and go to a sad movie do you?”
Elizabeth: “We do! We all do! Where do you think we get the tears we cry in a movie?”

Tom: “Tears for a mother cannot be the same as tears for a fish!”

Tears for a dead fish CAN come to the surface unexpectedly because of the death of a loved one. It’s an emotional healing release we all need, and often we are not even aware of it.

Several years ago my 80-year-old mother went to the movie, “Finding Neverland,” about the life of J. M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan. Mom went with my sister, Vicki and some of her great grandchildren. At that time it had been almost twenty years since my sister, Judy, had died at the age of 40. Suddenly, without warning, the movie brought tender feelings to the surface, as each woman remembered how Judy had played the lead role of Peter Pan in high school. As they left the movie theater my mother turned her face away from the younger children, not wanting to explain. “What’s wrong with Grandma Shirley?” Vicki’s grandchildren asked. “She’s missing her daughter,” Vicki said as her own eyes filled with tears. Sometimes we all need to cry! We save up our tears and then suddenly release them in a sad movie. It’s our party, so lets cry if we want to!

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!