Day 195, July 14

Yesterday I wrote about true women. It seems I am not quite finished with that theme. Many of you know that I am Mormon. I am proud of my heritage, proud of the men and women, especially the women, who came before.

Allow me to share another story with you, this one taken from church history. Many of you will already know this, so please bear with me. In the mid-nineteenth century, the Saints were commanded to build a temple at Nauvoo, Illinois. There was little money, but faithful members of the church followed the Lord's direction and sacrificed of their means and time to construct a place of worship.

The women served food to the workers, sewed clothing for them, and helped in every way they could. When they were asked to give their china to be chopped up in to small pieces to add to the beauty of the building, they did not hesitate. They did it with a joyful heart, grateful for this opportunity to obey the Lord.

Could I do that? Could I give up a cherished treasure, perhaps the only thing of beauty I possessed? Probably not. But these women did. Not too long later, they were called to leave Nauvoo, to leave behind their homes, their gardens, the temple for which they had sacrificed so much.

True women. Courageous women. Faithful women.

So, for today, I am, once again, grateful for true women.

Day 194, July 13

Several years back, I watched a made-for-television movie entitled TRUE WOMEN, based on the book of the same time. In it, two sisters forged a life for themselves in the harsh Texas landscape of the 19th century. They survived disease, poverty, and Indian attacks (forgive me for being politically incorrect there, but saying "Native American attacks" just sounded wrong).

I know many true women today. Chances are you do as well. Let me share with you sketches of a few of these women. A cousin, widowed early, served, at her own expense, a mission for the church in Samoa. When she returned, she took her widowed mother into her home and now cares for her. Several friends raise their grandchildren, making sure these young spirits are reared in righteousness and love. My sister-in-law cares for her nearly 90-year-old father, taking care of his most basic needs from putting on his socks to making sure he takes his medication. A dear friend writers inspirational romances, touching her readers with stories of hope, healing, and forgiveness.

These women give of themselves, making their small slice of the world a better place. Who knows how far their sphere of influence extends. Could a child, raised under the tender tutelage of his grandmother, someday discover the cure for a disease that plagues us today? Could a reader of my friend's books take away a message of hope and gather the strength necessary to find a happier life?

So, for today, I am grateful for true women.

Day 193, July 12

Several weeks ago, a friend went through a horrific health scare. One doctor was certain she had a rare form of breast cancer. My heart went out to her. And my prayers. Yesterday, she wrote that it was not cancer but an infection that could be treated. She thanked all those who had prayed for her and called us her "prayer warriors."

I love that term: prayer warriors. In our current world of war, natural disasters, and disease, would it not be great if we were all prayer warriors?

I have many faults. (Ask my husband.) But among them is not the failure to pray. I pray for individuals by name. I beg the Father for His merciful blessings upon them. I pray for our country. I pray for our world. I pray when I'm driving, when I'm walking, when I'm doing housework. Heavenly Father has given us prayer so that we can talk with Him anytime, anywhere. What a priceless gift.

We live in a high-tech world. Texting, Facebook, Linkedn, and a host of other social media keep us connected. With all this technology, though, I hope we do not forget the power and grace of a prayer. In Primary, I listen to the simply uttered prayers of the children and feel their total faith that Someone is listening. They, too, are prayer warriors.

So, for today, I am grateful for prayer warriors.

Day 192, July 11

Yesterday my husband and I arrived at church early enough to hear the prelude music. The man playing the piano segued from one beautifully played hymn to another. What is remarkable about this man is that he plays without any music. He told me once that he didn't read music, that he played by ear. What a great gift he possesses.

I've mentioned in earlier posts that often music touches my soul in ways that the spoken word cannot. Music, especially spiritual music, reaches in and squeezes my heart. Why is it that a series of notes juxtaposed with words has such power?

Could it be that the Lord Himself inspired the men and women who created the music and lyrics? Do I feel His Spirit when I hear these glorious compositions? I believe so.

One hymn in particular finds its way into my very being: "How Great Thou Art."

Let me share a few lines:

O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder

Consider all the worlds thy hands have made,

I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,

Thy pow'r throughout the universe displayed.

Perhaps it is the theme of creation that resonates within me. Perhaps it is the melding of these words and notes. Perhaps it is God Himself who seems to be speaking just to me. Whatever the reasons, this hymn brings both joy and solace to my soul.

So, for today, I am grateful for those who share with others their gift of music.

Day 191, July 10

Last week, two of my grandchildren, Reynna (11) and Christopher (8) spent the night and the following day. They are full of energy, enthusiasm, and questions. Many, many questions.

Upon waking up that morning, Christopher asked, "Grandma, what's your favorite rodent?"

I have to admit being taken aback by this. Generally, I don't have a favorite rodent. In fact, I usually try to avoid rodents. Bleary-eyed, I looked at him and said, "I don't think I have a favorite rodent."

He then proceeded to give me a discourse upon the benefits and drawbacks of having a baby mouse as opposed to a grown-up mouse. When I had gathered my few wits about me, I agreed that both had appeal.

"Grandma," he asked wistfully, "do you think I could have a rodent?"

I had to think fast. Aside from the fact that his family has a cat, Joe-Mama, I knew my daughter didn't care for rodents--of any kind. "Well," I said, "I guess it would be up to your parents."

He nodded sadly.

This conversation made a delightful beginning to my day and reminded me that time spent with, children or grandchildren, is never wasted. It is time to be savored, the precious moments taken out and relived, the memories pressed upon the mind in the same way a faded corsage is pressed between the pages of a book.

So, for today, I am grateful for conversations with an eight-year-old grandson.

Day 190, July 9

I love the sound of ice cream truck music. It transports me back to those long-ago summer days when the much-awaited ice cream truck wend its way through the narrow neighborhood streets. My sister and I, along with other children, pestered our parents for dimes to buy a treat.

The choices seemed endless: dreamsicles, with orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream swirled together, fudgesicles, and, of course, popsicles in a rainbow of colors. Who could choose between such delicacies? When I finally made my choice, I didn't immediately rip into it. I pressed the paper-wrapped frozen treat against my forehead and relished the blessed coolness. (These were the days before central air conditioning.)

After I had savored this prelude, I pulled the paper away from my treat of the day. Now another choice presented itself: should I bite into it or should I lick it? On those days when I chose to bite off a hunk, I knew I could expect brain freeze. That, too, was part of the experience.

Those were innocent days, filled with innocent pleasures, when the lemon heat of the summer sun beat down on our heads and we played cowboys and Indians, wielding our melting treats like the fiercest of weapons.

So, for today, I am grateful for ice cream trucks.

Day 189, July 8

I like pretty jewelry. It doesn't have to be costly. In fact, expensive jewelry makes me nervous. What if I were to lose it? I'd never forgive myself. So I look for my "pretties" (that is a term my Tennessee grandmother used to refer to sparkly baubles) at garage sales. When I find an especially lovely one, I snap it up. Such pieces are an easy way to bring color and style to an outfit.

How else can we adorn ourselves?

A smile rivals a Tiffany necklace. The lines that comes from laughter beat out a Harry Winston tiara any day of the week. One of my favorite people, Dorothy, celebrated her eighty-plus years with humor. She bejeweled herself with her pleasure in people and the world around her. Her face bore the lines of joyful living; her eyes shone with it. Her mouth easily tipped into a smile at my outrageous stories. She asked me to compose silly poems to send to her doctor, whom, she said, needed his sense of humor sparked. I did so gladly.

So, for today, I am grateful for the necklace of a smile and reminders of a friend.