It's All Relative

The summer before 8th Grade, I attended Oakcrest camp with our church group. Kelly Bowman was my bunkmate. My basic philosophy in life is to become best friends with the most beautiful people - inside and out. Seriously, Kelly was one of the most gorgeous people I've ever seen with my own eyes, and she was "sweet as humble pie" (as my mother would say).

Anyway...At this particular camp, you attended before 7th Grade and again before 8th Grade. This camp had bunkhouses with two counselors assigned to each house. You were guaranteed to be with your bunkmate, but the other girls were mixed in from various wards and stakes. The counselors were all college-age girls who made up silly camp names (like Banana) that, at 14-years-old, we adored and admired and pretty much wanted to pattern our lives after theirs. The main area of the camp was made up of cinder block houses, bathrooms, and a huge indoor cafeteria or "mess hall" or whatever you call a giant building dedicated to eating and singing (we sang before, during, and after every meal). To this day, I'm pretty sure I could belt out a mean "Don't Buy the Liverwurst." In fact, I wonder what my children would say if I serenaded them tomorrow at dinner. Hmmm....

During the second year of this camp, we did what was called a 2-Day. We pretty much took all of our provisions up into the mountains, built a shelter, dug a latrine, and "lived off the land" for a few days. The Pre-Reality TV version of "Man Vs. Wild." Now, I understand that for some people, this would be a piece of cake. Heck! Some people might actually label this type of activity as "fun." Allow me to explain my Outdoor Genetics. My father took my brother to the Fathers-and-Sons Campout a few times. I believe he picked up take out and opted out of the Tinfoil Dinners (pretty sure that term is not in his vocabulary). When it came time to sleep, my dad and brother hoofed it (okay, they drove) to the nearest Best Western (okay, Marriott). We are NOT campers. Any time we did "camp" as a family, we were with my grandparents. They had a Hippie Green Camper Trailer. Therefore, we always had a stove, a sink, a table, a mattress, and "indoor plumbing".

Let me put it this way: Never before, and never since, have I ever been in a situation that required me to dig my own toilet. Even on the Pioneer Trek, we were followed by a giant truck carrying countless port-a-potty's.

As we were preparing for this journey, we were each assigned tasks. I was on the Lunch-Making Committee. To this day, I remember sitting at that picnic table (the one in the front Left-hand side of the Mess Hall) assembling bologna and mustard sandwiches. The "mustard" mixture was in a squeeze device to make it easier and designed to make it look even more appetizing-if that was even possible. It was repulsive. I remember thinking, and may have even exclaimed out loud, that there was absolutely no way in you-know-where (actually, I wouldn't have said that since I was too busy pretending to be Hailey Mills from "Parent Trap") that bologna and mustard would pass through my lips. There are very few things on this planet that I despise more than bologna. In fact, I am unable to come up with anything at this moment that is higher on my list than processed meat. However, this was to be my first experience at understanding the word "Relative."

A few hours later, we started our hike. Each one of us had a 50-pound backpack on to carry our own supplies. In addition, we had to carry up tents, tarps, food, water, tools, etc. Pretty much anything we would need to survive in the wilderness for the next few days. I remember, at one point, I was on the back-end of a stick that was holding several dutch ovens. That was heavy. We had to switch off tasks so that we wouldn't get overly tired. I will never forget reaching our destination, unpacking a few essentials, and sitting down to lunch. Thankfully, each lunch had been packed with two bologna/mustard sandwiches. You see, someone much more experienced than myself, who had the foresight and understanding of the overall experience, and had gone through this activity previously, knew exactly what we would need at that point in time.

I don't believe food has ever tasted so wonderful.

It's all relative.

* * *

Last week, we were in San Francisco. On Saturday morning, we decided to head down to the trolley to do the "Tourist Thing." While we were in line, a man came up to us and was explaining how we can avoid the long lines and possibly even paying for the ride (even though the tickets were already purchased). He told us how we should walk down a few blocks and wait there for the trolley. He seemed a bit aggravated that we weren't taking his advice, and even more aggravated when we wouldn't give him money for dishing out his valuable advice. I tried explaining that we weren't really in a hurry, and we were actually having a very pleasant time.

There I was, in the middle of a gorgeous city, talking and laughing with my amazing husband and two of our best friends, having just finished a scrumptious breakfast (California fruit...Ahhhh...Nothing better), standing outside in what was possibly the most beautiful weather I have ever experienced in San Francisco (seriously-it was perfect with a capital "P"), WITHOUT my five kids. As much as I adore each and every one of them, waiting patiently takes on a whole new meaning when I don't have to yell at anyone to stay in line, or get out of the street, or stop crying, or stop whining, or stop touching each other, or stop breathing on each other, or...well, you get the picture.

B.L.I.S.S.

It's all relative.

* * *

Over the past month, I have had the opportunity to revisit this word again: Relative. As many of you know, my brother-in-law and niece and nephew were in a horrific car accident. In fact, my sister said that the police report actually called it a "Fatal" accident. My niece and nephew walked away from the accident with bumps and bruises and a broken arm thanks to their car seats. (Please, please, please...I am begging all you parents out there to always buckle your children in their car seats. They save lives!!! It is definitely a fight worth fighting!) My sister and I had the opportunity to get them replacement car seats. We entered the store, walked right up to the biggest, sturdiest car seats ever invented, and purchased two without hesitation. We refer to them as "capsules" now. It's almost as if you should push a button and a giant shield would reveal itself and encompass the child. It's comical. I never thought I would become so invested in car seat safety. It's all relative.

My brother-in-law, on the other hand, has had quite the month. He pretty much spent the entire month of August in the ICU or Critical Care Unit of the hospital. He has had several surgeries (apparently, you don't really need your spleen-It's all relative), countless medical procedures, and has been on a roller-coaster ride filled with all sorts of infections, medications, complications, etc. He is now looking forward to a few fun-filled months of in-patient therapy as he "fights like Hell" to function again.

Relativity is synonymous with Appreciation.

I have a greater appreciation for the word "Pain." I have a greater appreciation for the word "Patience." I have a greater appreciation for the word "Normal." I also have a greater appreciation for the miracle of our bodies and admiration for the individual cells of the body as they work together to repair, heal, and (in some cases) compensate for areas that may not heal completely. I have a much deeper appreciation for the gift of prayer and the power of the priesthood and the blessing of the Holy Ghost. This is how the Lord speaks to us. This is how he expresses his love for us. I know it to be true.

My sister is learning a lot about relativity, and her husband is living it. I have spent the past four weeks contemplating...a lot. What is this life really about? I have come to realize that it is less about the "why" and more about the "how." There is an endless stream of questions that begin with "why," and very few of those lead to concrete answers.

One of my favorite talks is "Come What May" by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin. I used to think I knew what he meant when he quoted his mother by stating, "Come what may, and love it." It's all relative. The entire talk is wonderful, but I want to point out one line: "How can we love days that are filled with sorrow? We can't-at least not in the moment. I don't think my mother was suggesting that we suppress discouragement or deny the reality of pain. I don't think she was suggesting that we smother unpleasant truths beneath a cloak of pretended happiness. But I do believe that the way we react to adversity can be a major factor in how happy and successful we can be in life."

I'm not trying to tell my sister or her husband how to handle this trial. In fact, I have nothing but admiration for both of them. They are not only handling things "the best they can," they are tackling every obstacle gracefully - in a very determined manner. This is more of a lecture for myself. This much I know: I cannot always determine what happens to me, but I can choose my reaction. We get one shot at this life, and whether or not we do it with a fully functioning body or not, we have to live it to the fullest and do our best to "find joy." No matter what happens, there is a Father in Heaven who loves us deeply and knows us deeply. He loves us so much that he gave us the gift of the Savior to help us through those darkest days. I have often thought of Lehi's Dream. We have to walk through the darkness to reach the light. To quote my favorite children's book: "We can't go over it. We can't go under it. I guess we'll have to go through it."

It's all relative.

* * *

My brother-in-law took these photos about a month before the accident. We went up Millcreek Canyon for breakfast. We found these butterflies by the stream. We could go right up to them and they wouldn't fly away. They moved around a bit in a small area. It was amazing. I know the quote talks about "feathers," but I loved the quote.