Great Boots Boots

C'mon, Friends fans.  We all remember Rachel's less-than-successful first day on the job hunt when she enters Central Perk carrying shopping bags and explains her exciting new purchase saying, "They're my new 'I don't need a job, I don't need my parents, I've got great boots' boots!"

I think of that nearly every time I wear boots.  And definitely every time I buy boots.

And thanks to a December 2014 adventure with Amy, I now have something new to think of every time I buy boots.

Let me just start the story with this picture.

That red car in the distance is the getaway car of a shoe thief.  Yes, a SHOE THIEF.  Look closely to see how quickly they peeled out of the parking lot!

There we were, standing near the front of Famous Footwear, chattering pleasantly away about the pros and cons of the plentiful selection of boots when we heard a store employee shout, "Stop." Well, in retrospect of knowing the recipient of the yell was actually thieving shoes, it was probably more of a halfhearted shout.  Really, actually, a pretty sorry attempt at convincing someone bent toward thievery to do anything less than run.

And run the thief did.  Right out the front door without so much as a backward glance.  And guess what the store employee did?  NOTHING.  Could shoe thievery truly be such a walk in the park?  Not on my watch, I resolved.  I loaded my cell phone's camera as I ran out into the parking lot, adrenaline pumping at the prospect of helping catch a thief.  I snapped a picture as quickly as I could and...

...No license plate.

Which according to the Famous Footwear dude meant it was worthless to even call in.

But there Amy and I stood, hearts thumping with the excitement of watching someone successfully leave the story with three pair of shoes.

Now, I realize three pair of shoes is just a drop in the Famous Footwear financial bucket.  But three pair of shoes is a HUGE plop in mine.  Amy and I were standing there, trying to figure out the best way to work the BOGO and coupon to pay the least possible amount for my new boots and a pair of Vans for her son.

To think we could have just stood near the entrance and run.  And no one would have even chased us.  Except maybe some crazy lady like me, who wouldn't even get a clear picture.  And we would get off scot-free and...

...No.  Stealing is wrong.  :(

But at least we walked out of Famous Footwear with a great pair of "The Day I Almost Stopped a Shoe Thief but Instead Just Bought Boots" Boots.

The Thought Hamster's Wheel

Have you ever watched an episode of Gilmore Girls?  The fast-talking mother-and-daughter duo basically vomit a steady stream of words about every imaginable subject, growing in intensity and speed as their offbeat imaginations and witty way with words stoke the fires of the ever-running train of thought.  That's about as close as I can come to describing what it is like inside my head every day.  Unless I am talking or reading, the Gilmore-esque voices never stop.

I say voices, plural, because there are frequently more than one.  There's always my voice.  And sometimes just that.  If, for example, I am internally monologuing, that's all I need.  Or if I am writing a blog post, which my mind is frequently willing to do with or without access to a keyboard.  But much of the time, my voice is joined by others.  Kirk's.  My mom's.  Really anybody with whom I spend time and have conversations.  Of course my brain is the one supplying the dialogue for both sides, (or all sides on a particularly multi-voiced day), which really just boils down to one truth: I talk to myself.  Internally.  All. The. Time.

Usually, these voices are pretty comforting.  I have never liked being alone, and thanks to the voices in my head, I really never am.  But lately, the voices have turned on me, unable to think normally, everyday irrational thoughts.  Instead, they have turned every thought-train destination into one of two options.  The next stop is always Worse-Case-Scenario-Town or Eternal-Perspective-Ville.

To be honest, I've gotten quite sick of both, and I have been doing my best to drown the voices.  I have kept busy and surrounded myself with friends.  I have read two books in the last week.  I watch Gilmore Girls whenever the voices start (because who could think over all that conversation!).  But sometimes, these avoidance techniques fail me, and I end up at the top of the footbridge over 6200 South looking at the mountains and completely absorbed in Eternal-Perspective-Ville.  And the only choice I have then is to open my figurative mouth (and literal laptop) and share what the voices are telling me in the hopes that the stupid little hamster up there who loves to run circles in my strings of words will stop stomping all over these particular ones and maybe my thoughts can once again find some peace.

I guess I can't really blame my thoughts for the physical location.  For that I have to admit that only 13 days post nearly running out of gas in near St. George, I pulled a typical Andrea - and ran out of gas.  There's a back story which I could tell in the hopes of sounding less scatterbrained and more responsible, but it would it no way add to the story I am really trying to tell here, so I will leave it at that.  On the way to pick Alex up from a birthday party in West Jordan, I ran out of gas on 6200 South and Redwood Road.

I called Kirk, though I knew he was just finishing up golfing in Tooele.  And then I started to walk.  I had hoped to find a gas station but clearly had headed in the wrong direction for that.  So instead, I used Google Maps on my phone to check the walking distance between my car and Al's party.  1.3 miles.  Totally doable.

Except, of course, for the fact that it was Valentines Day, and I was dressed up for our family date tradition.  I had opted for the cuter and less practical shoes and now found myself walking down 6200 South in strappy wedges.  Even worse, the presence of a sidewalk made me look nothing at all like the damsel-in-distress I felt like, and I knew no one would be stopping to offer assistance.  And my thoughts turned dark.

I immediately thought of the phrase that is always within arms distance in my mind: "tender mercies."  I have been trained to notice them throughout the recent family trials, and it has become almost like a comforting game to me to find the little mercies that bridged the fine line between unbearable and just barely bearable.  But this time, my thought monsters jumped to looking for the absence of these mercies.  What?!  My shoes, for example.  I had nearly picked a cute pair of cream colored canvas flats.  Perfectly practical for a mile walk.  Why hadn't I chosen those?  And then there was the issue of the jacket that I had gotten out of my car an hour before I left to get Alex, then accidentally left in the house when I left for the pick up.  Now I was walking down the street wrapped in my purple emergency blanket, unable to be grateful for that, because an hour earlier I had taken an actual jacket out of my car.  That jacket had been in there for a month!  Certainly no mercy there!

How about the fact that none of this was my fault in the first place.  If Kirk hadn't gone golfing, we would have been together in his car (my original plan), and I would not even have run out of gas.  But of course Kirk was golfing.  Skye had invited him.  And Skye just lost his baby girl.  So even if it is Valentines Day and we sort of had plans, of course Kirk was golfing.  Which I know sounds REALLY horrible and selfish, but I am telling you - these voices are bad news.  And once I'd gone there, it was easy to get stuck on the fact that it was the 14th.  Which meant it had been exactly one month since Tyler died.  And even though I have tried not to dwell on little stuff like that, I love numbers and I love patterns and how could I possibly NOT be completely aware of the fact that Wednesday had been exactly 4 weeks and the 14th was exactly one month and how long will I keep counting Wednesdays and will the 14th always sting a little and I wonder how big of a deal that is to Skye or to Michelle and should I call or should I let them have their space and why IF IT MATTERED SO MUCH THAT I NOT RUN OUT OF GAS 2 WEEKS AGO AM I NOW WALKING DOWN THE STREET IN STRAPPY SANDALS AND A PURPLE EMERGENCY BLANKET, 30 MINUTES LATE TO PICK UP MY SON FROM HIS PARTY ON THE ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY OF TYLER'S DEATH?

That carried me the 10 blocks from Redwood to 27th.

The yelling voices carried me to the base of the footbridge.

Where I realized I had always wanted to walk through one of these.  Silly, I know, but I have actually always wanted to walk through this one of these. I grew up on 6200 South and always watched with envy those whose feet graced the concrete of what looked, for whatever reason, so cool to me.

And then it was like my thought train reached one of those cool spots on the railroad track that determines which direction the train will go.  And that dude who pulls the lever to make the decision pulled it as I started my ascent.  Why didn't Heavenly Father help me this time?  I thought about it now, instead of just yelling it in my mind.

Well, first of all, I didn't ask this time.  But similar to a child who doesn't ask his parents if he can go play when he already knows the answer, that may have been because I knew this wasn't the right time to ask.  I was in no danger.  And I had had ample opportunity to fill up and not be in this situation.  This was totally my fault, and I had all the tools at my disposal to fix it on my own.

But even if I had asked, I am fairly certain I would receive the same guidance I generally receive from my Heavenly Father.  "You're a smart girl.  Figure it out."

So then I started to wonder, "But why didn't He at least prompt me to choose the other shoes and to take my jacket?"

And then, as my thought train has been so wont to do, I ended up thinking about Tyler.  I hope it doesn't seem insensitive to unfold the rest of the allegory, because I in no way think that me walking down 6200 South is in any way comparable to the journey Skye and Michelle have ahead of them.  It isn't.  But these are the thoughts I thought.  And someday, when Skye and Michelle are standing at the top of the footbridge, I want to have written this down.

In the pre-mortal existence, I chose this world.  I chose it even knowing it would be filled with imperfections and pain.  I chose to have the experiences, good and bad, that come with it.  And there are times, like with my trip home from Vegas, that I can pray and the Lord will take the edge off the pain. But there are other times when the Lord needs for me to feel that pain in order for me to be able to return to live with Him again.  Because I ran out of gas, I found myself at the base of a footbridge across which I had always hoped to travel.  Would I have rather gotten there another way?  Who knows. I can picture a warm summer day with my kids when I randomly decided to pull over and walk across.  That would have been great!  But I've passed it how many times before and never stopped.  Maybe I never would have.

Would I have rather walked to it with appropriate shoes and a jacket?  Of course.  Would that have spared me the huge blister on my big toe and my barefoot walk back from the party?  Most likely.  What exactly did I gain?  I have no idea.  But as annoying as it was, it didn't stop me from getting to my destination.

Would I choose for Skye and Michelle to have to go through life without Tyler?  No, I absolutely would not.  But as hard as it is to say, I know they will have experiences now that would not have been possible before.  I don't know what those experiences will be, and I don't even yet know quite how to be grateful for them.  Losing Tyler is the hugest thing that has ever happened in my life, and even a month later, I don't feel like I've wrapped my head around it.  That's why the hamster in my head is working overtime.

But a bit of peace came to me, standing atop that footbridge and looking out at the beautiful mountains.  It will come.  Right now, I'm still somewhere on the sidewalk railing emotionally at the word.  But at some point, I'll reach a footbridge.  And my thoughts will shift.  At some moment I will stand atop the spiritual and emotional equivalent of that footbridge, and I will feel okay.

And I thought my allegory stopped there.

Until Alex and I reached the footbridge from the other side together.  I had told him we were going on an adventure.  I told him that halfway through we would cross a bridge - the best part of the journey.  We approached, hand in hand, and singing the African-American Spirituals he has been learning in class.

We made it to the top of the bridge when we spotted them: Adam and Dylan had come with Kirk to rescue us.  Adam and Dylan wanted to cross the footbridge, too.  They joined us, breathless, and Dylan shouted, "I've always wanted to walk on one of these!"  Because of an unpleasant experience that the Lord let me have, I stood atop a footbridge with all three of my sons and listened to them chatter about how they had always wanted this experience.

A blister and a silly blanket and a 2 mile walk were certainly worth all of that.

Which just makes me wonder what blessings the Lord has in store for Skye and Michelle.

And perhaps now my thought hamster can find another thought on which to spin.

Loaves and Fishes Miracle

4 miles to empty.

Apparently Kirk’s car is really specific when warning of impending doom.  And apparently I’d missed its warnings for the previous 46 miles.

But there it clearly stated my situation.  4 miles to empty, with St. George an imposing 25 miles in my future.

A barrage of thoughts competed simultaneously for top billing.

“Has Kirk ever pushed his car this far?”

“Is this one of those ‘4 miles until you really ought to fill up, but idiots like you can probably squeak out an extra 30’ type of warning or an actual, literal, 4 miles to empty?”

“Which mile marker did I most recently pass so if I have to call for help I will at least know where I am?”

“How on earth did I just manage to drive from Las Vegas to St. George without even once thinking of the fact that cars need fuel?”  By the way, it had something to do with my intentional decision to stop thinking because my imagination kept running away to scary places I didn’t want it to go.  Apparently when I shut down the irrational thoughts, I shut down the rational ones, too.

I would have been stuck on that last thought were it not for the fact that the warning message now read “2 miles to empty.”

I considered my options.  My very limited options.  I called Kirk to find out if he had any past experience on which I could gauge the extent to which I should be worried.  And then I remembered the recent Facebook post of a friend.  “Ran out of gas for the first time ever.  #wantedtoseehowfaricouldgo #apparentlynotquitefarenough”  As I wondered how a person made it to be 30+ years of age without ever running out of gas (as I make it a yearly occurrence, have already written about 2 such instances - 2010 and 2013 - on this very blog, and should in all fairness disclose to having a 2014 story which I have not yet chronicled), I related to her husband’s comment best.  “It’s only a problem if you run out.  The last drops of gas have just as much potential energy as the first.”

I called Logan - through the bluetooth of course.  (Kirk hadn’t answered because I called him during church).  I explained my predicament, and he asked me what my plan was.  By this point, I was dealing with “0 miles to empty,” 20 miles to St. George, and a one-lane stretch of construction zone.

“My plan?” I responded.  “To call you and ask you to pray for a loaves and fishes miracle.”

He laughed until I insisted that really was my plan.  To pray that just like in the miracles of the Bible when the Lord fed a multitude with a few loaves and fishes, somehow the last few drops of fuel would get me to St. George.

I hung up and prayed.  During some of the miles, my faith wavered a bit and added a back-up prayer.  “If not a loaves and fishes miracle, then at least a Good Samaritan?”  And knowing there was bound to be one of the latter helped me put my faith fully into the loaves.  “0 miles to empty,” the car read mile after mile.

Again my faith wavered a few miles from St. George.  “Just watch… I came this far, just to run out of gas now,” I pessimistically surmised.  Then I reminded myself that even being closer to St. George was certainly helpful; fewer miles for my Samaritan to travel for a gas can.

And then I made it.

Ta-da!  Which is almost anticlimactic, because in reality, my trip was never in any danger.  Some (read at least ½ of my brain) might say there was enough gas all along to get me those last 25 miles.  After all, Kirk does not drive his car to empty and I hope never to test the theory again.  Others might proclaim faithfully that I experienced my own little miracle on I-15.  (Hmmm… potential movie title?)  Since I really won’t ever know, I’m going to say this.

My Heavenly Father loves me.  He cares about everything I care about, even the little things.  And even though some prayers don’t get answered in quite the ways I would like, He is mindful of me and watches over me.  Whenever I fall short on my own, He is there waiting with the loaves and fishes I need.  I drove 20 miles more than the car said I could.  That’s a miracle to me.

Sound Off: Football and Theater

I was delighted to come across a viral post translating football lingo into terms theater geeks like me might be able to better relate to.  A few of the comparisons were spot-on and others were a total stretch, but it helped me fondly recall a running gag I'd developed during Adam's football season this year.

It started with the week-long tryout held at the end of July - the callbacks - if you will.  At first, I assumed this would be more like an audition, but as the boys spent time meeting the demands of the various coaches, the callback status became apparent.  And, to be honest, I got a bit jealous of the coaches who got to hold a week-long callback!  If only I had that kind of time as a director.

We were in Puerto Rico, anxiously awaiting the day when the cast list would be posted.  Adam had been working with the A team coaches quite a lot during the callbacks, and we had high hopes for him.  And thanks to one particular defensive coach who saw some potential in him, he got cast.

And so the rehearsals started.  One solid month with five rehearsals per week.  I soon learned that while it was important to practice the individual skills they would need, much of the rehearsal time was spent learning choreography.  Each boy had a specific place to be with a specific job to do and a specific pattern to run.  They practiced these over and over again until each player knew his role in the dance.

Finally, the performances came.  Opening night was particularly fun, since it was the fundraising game.  Adam had lots of fans in the audience including grandparents and even Nick and Hunter.  Alex and Dylan always particularly enjoyed intermission when we would let them run around and take a break from watching their brother play.

Adam started out as a lead, but when his effort didn't quite match the expectations, his coaches demoted him to understudy.  He didn't get to be on the stage quite as frequently, but I still enjoyed watching as many of his performances as I was able to attend.

I wasn't there for closing night, but Adam told me that several of his teammates cried.  Their season was over (and they lost in the playoffs).  All that was left to look forward to was the cast party, when we would get to watch a slideshow, Adam would receive memorabilia to commemorate his participation in the group.  No one parties like theater people - but those football kids came pretty close!  And although Adam says he doesn't plan to audition this year, I am excited to see what kind of role Alex might get.

Considering Tears

I am not traditionally one who cries.  In fact, previous to this week, I think I have cried only a few types of tears, which I have conveniently listed in order from most frequent to least frequent.

Tears of frustration
Tears of exhaustion
Tears of remorse
Hormone induced tears
Tears from physical pain

Oh, how blissfully unaware I was of the incredible depth and range of this perfectly natural, physical human reaction.

In fact, oh, how blissfully unaware I was of so much.

And then, on January 14th, 2015, my world changed forever.  Mostly it changed in one really big way: my beautiful niece - known affectionately as Princess Ty in our home - died.  I would try to say it in a prettier, easier to handle way, but the harsh reality I had to break to my sons just can't be sugar coated, and it feels like I am hiding from it when I try to say it any other way.

There is so much about that night that I want desperately to forget.  I truly pray that the pain and fear will fade, although I expect it to be a terribly long process.  But there is also so much about that night and the ensuing week that I desperately want to remember.  I've been replaying those moments in my mind over and over again in an attempt to preserve them.  But I know my memories are fleeting, and I know that for me, writing is therapeutic, and I know that I have stories to tell - even if they are just for me to read and re-read for the rest of my life.

I also know I will probably have more to say.  Right now, the only thing that helps me is to talk about Tyler.  To tell stories about her life.  To tell stories about her death.  To tell stories about the things that remind me of her.  Thankfully, Kirk is an excellent listener and has thus far been willing to receive the constant flow of words.  But I have to start somewhere, and right now, I want to talk about tears.

Apparently, there are all sorts of kinds of tears.  Some I have cried myself.  Some I have watched others cry.  All I have learned from and grown from.

The first type to surprise me must have been tears of shock.  These are the types of tears that spring immediately to ones eyes with absolutely no warning in response to a giant slap in the face just dealt by a sudden reminder of the fleeting nature of mortality.  I watched as the first neighbor with whom I personally explained the loss responded first with eyes brimming with tears and second with words.  I saw the process repeated over and over again each time I blindsided an unwitting conversational partner with news they could never have fathomed.

Amy pointed it out most specifically when she showed me our text conversation from that evening.  We had been texting about the possibility of taking our kids on a joint camping trip this summer.  Amy had texted shortly after 5:00 pm: "We should go to Palisades camping!  It's so fun!"  I didn't respond on my drive home.  My next contact was to call her frantically looking for someone to take Ryder, but she was unfortunately out eating with her family.  The next text, and many after that, were Amy's offers of help and comfort, and we never made it back to what now seems like such an inconsequential conversation. When your world goes from planning a camping trip to receiving the news that a little girl is gone, those are tears of shock.

Perhaps the most common tears I saw were tears of empathy.  These tears flowed freely on Michelle's front lawn, cried by ward and neighborhood members connected to Tyler, Michelle, or me in various degrees.  I saw them again at the funeral, cried by those who couldn't help but imagine the loss of their own precious children.  I watched our Bishop cry these tears as he bore his testimony during the special Sunday service held for those who needed to express a testimony of the Lord's plan for each of us.  I saw him cry them again as he spoke of the Plan of Salvation at Tyler's funeral.  These are the tears referred to in the commandment that we "mourn with those who mourn."

Then there are tears of gratitude, a type I learned personally to cry.  The list of things for which I am grateful and which caused tears to spring to my eyes is incredibly lengthy, and the specifics are already fading.  But here are a few:

• Purple ribbons tied around the trees, mailboxes, and lampposts in our neighborhood
• The crowd of people singing hymns and primary songs on Michelle's lawn for three straight nights
• The women who received inspiration while decorating the cultural hall for the luncheon (and decorated with snowflakes without prior knowledge of their significance)
• Visiting teachers and neighbors who took over Adam's birthday cake 
• Peczuh Printing who ran copies of Tyler's program with absolutely no notice during their busy Sundance Film Festival schedule and refused to accept payment for the 295 copies of the program
• Nick and Diana's light display honoring Tyler
• Amy and Janene for including my boys in the acts of kindness by bringing them teddy bears to remind them of their Princess Ty

Similar to those are the tears of love.  I remarked to Kirk one morning that my cold heart simply didn't know how to receive so much love.  Continuous outpouring of love and concern via email, Facebook, and text messages sustained me when it seemed nothing else could.  I know it was the same for others.  My sister Lisa told me she installed Facebook on her phone because reading the messages and seeing the pictures others posted helped her feel comforted.  Then there were the hugs, the rearranged work schedules, the meals, the flowers, the prayers.  Some of the love shown wasn't even related to Tyler.  Kirk and I had gone to the young men's basketball game to watch them play with purple bands worn in tribute to Tyler.  I watched during the 4th quarter as the entire team threw the ball to one somewhat awkward boy who was the only member of the team to not score.  They passed to him 9 plays in a row, setting screens and clearing a straight path to the basket play after play until he finally made it.  Even their love for each other made me cry.  I told Kirk that people needed to stop being so nice to each other.  I just couldn't handle it!  I have recently learned that an outpouring of love can cause me to cry.

I was worried for awhile that I may not ever shed tears of loss.  I had seen them already on the cheeks of my sister, brother-in-law, parents, and husband.  But because of the trying circumstances of Wednesday evening, I had chosen to close my feelings off and be someone with whom the emergency personnel could communicate.  It wasn't until noon on Thursday when I read Kirk's post on Facebook that I was able to cry these important tears.  "As most of you know my niece passed away last night.  Tyler was two years old and she was more than a niece to me.  I had a chance to spend a lot of time with her and raise her as one of my own.  I was her second dad and being a dad of all boys she was my daughter.  I feel so honored to have the time with her I had.  I am thankful for the gospel and the knowledge that I will see her again.  God be with you Tyler until we meet again."  I shut myself in the principal's office at school and finally found my own tears of loss.

Kirk, on the other hand, cried his immediately.  I hope to never forget the tender emotions he displayed for nearly 48 hours after Tyler's death.  This was not something I had ever seen before from him, and it helped me to understand the depth of love he must have for me and for our boys.  But what Kirk found immediately, it took Adam a week to feel.  He did not cry when we told him about Tyler, and he refused the blessing of comfort Kirk offered to he kids.  He behaved in a stoic and reserved manner over the next few days, offering comfort to me whenever possible.  In fact, on Thursday, he gave up his afternoon recess to come to my classroom and see how I was doing.  He frequently said things like, "Mom, my goal is to make you laugh at least one time every day," or "I am going to hug you until you stop crying."  He discussed a few memories of Tyler in preparation for speaking at her funeral and and never once even paused.  Thankfully, on the day of the funeral, Adam finally found his own tears of loss.

A few times, I shed beauty-induced tears.  I looked at the things around me and just couldn't process their beauty through any other means.  This happened first when I finished Tyler's program.  Michelle and I were up until midnight finalizing font sizes and polka dot spacing when I finally deemed it ready for a test print.  I printed it at my house, then had to walk back to Michelle's.  When I looked at the final product, tears once again brimmed over my eyelids.  It was just so beautiful.  She was just so beautiful.  I opened Michelle's front door.  When she saw my tears, she looked at me with a bit of evident exasperation and said, "What are you crying about now?"  I withheld the program from her as I explained, "It should have been a birthday invitation.  Or a baptism announcement."  Some days it just hurt that the beautiful things were all being prepared for a devastating day.

I can't forget the other tears.  The hard tears.  Skye's tears as he hugged me just before leaving for the hospital and said over and over again, "Pray.  Just pray."  Michelle's tears when she got the phone call from Kirk and crumpled in my arms saying, "She's gone?  How can she be gone?  She was just here."  Kirk's tears as he sobbed uncontrollably during "Lullaby" as he watched footage of his sleeping Princess.  My mom's tears before she left to put Lisa, Brett and John back on a plane and explained, "I just want to put you all in one big house and never let you go."  

But it isn't all sadness.  There have definitely been tears of joy as well.  These tears tend to come when we sit around and tell our happy memories.  Tyler's shoes.  Her somewhat destructive nature.  Her incessant desire to be "pretty?"  These are the types of tears I cry when I look at her pictures or watch the video of her life that I was honored to compile.  These are the tears I cried when I realized the bagpipes were playing "Do You Want to Build a Snowman" at the cemetery.  These are the tears I cry when I remember that Tyler has a reserved seat for the Celestial Kingdom and that she will never have to endure the pains of this world.

When the tears come, I think of three things:

My first thought is, "If Michelle can do it, I can do it."

And my second thought is of the quote Michelle chose for the back of the funeral program.  I know that it is her testimony, and I know it is the why she can do it.  Joseph Smith said, "The Lord takes many away, even in infancy, that they may escape the envy of man, and the sorrows and evils of this present world; they were too pure, too lovely, to live on earth; therefore, if rightly considered, instead of mourning we have reason to rejoice as they are delivered from evil, and we shall soon have them again."  When the tears come in force, I try to remind myself that I have a reason to rejoice.

My final thought is of my family standing shoulder to shoulder at Tyler's funeral, singing the testimony Skye and Michelle chose for us to sing.  I think of my sister who, although she sang through tears on the first verse, held her chin up and clearly sang, "And when you don't understand the purpose of His plan, in the presence of your King, bow the knee."  (listen to the song here)

And remembering that moment now I remember to be grateful for one last type of tears: the tears that come when I am filled with the spirit of the Holy Ghost, here to comfort all of us in our times of need.  I know the tears are far from over.  But I also know my Savior, Jesus Christ, suffered not only for the sins of the world but suffered also every pain we will have to bear.  I know the Lord's plan truly is one of happiness, and I know that if I choose to live righteously, I will see Tyler reunited with her parents, her Uncle Kirk, her boys, and the host of others who love her so much.  I have never seen so many tears, but I also have never felt so much love.  I know that through all of these tears, we will be okay.

Some People Don't Like Me

I have been through a painful process over the last few years of realizing:

Some people don't like me.

I try to be friendly and cheerful all the time.  The consequence has been that throughout my life, most of the people that I have enjoyed being around have also liked me.  This has given me a somewhat delusional sense that all people like me.

But I have had plenty of opportunities, especially since entering my 30's, to realize that some people don't like me.

I have mostly realized this because they have told me so.  Point blank.  To my face.  Specifically informed me of the reasons why they don't like me.

Interestingly, the reasons some people tend not to like me have turned out to be some of the very same reasons why I like myself.

And that has been hard to handle.

I won't go into specifics, partly because three of the people who have had the courage to explain face to face why they don't like me are still friends of mine on Facebook and two others (who only explained why they sometimes don't like me) are related to me.  Also, I won't go into specifics because that isn't the point of this post.

Not only have I realized that some people don't like me, I have realized that some people won't like me.

I met a new person who doesn't like me this last week.  He also had the courage to tell me to my face exactly what he didn't like.  However, unlike the others who expressed themselves privately and whom I respect and continue to consider friends (despite their not always liking me), this person told me in front of my Dickens bosses, my cast, my sons, and his camera crew.  And as shockingly uncomfortable as the ensuing minutes were, I also got to realize something else.

Some people do like me.

Some people like me for ALL the exact reasons why a few people don't like me.

A recent Facebook quiz got it dead on:

Big Buddha, I am really sorry I cut you off.  I didn't mean to be rude; I was just looking for the efficient solution to the quandary in which we found ourselves.  Yes, I guess I do often respond quickly.  Yes, I speak very directly.  Yes, your pointing this out in front of everyone bothered me a whole lot more than I let on.

Some people don't like me.  It saddens me to see this list grow.  I'll do what I can to take your destructive criticism and make positive changes to how I interact, especially with strangers.  

But I like me.  So I won't change much.

The Night After Dickens

I get asked in nearly every radio and television interview, "You've been with the Dickens Festival for a long time now.  What makes you stay year after year?"

My answer for me is easy: family.

And yeah, I'm definitely talking about this one:

Gen 1: Mom and Dad; Gen 2: Michelle, Andrea, Jack; Gen 3: Alex, Dylan, Adam

But I am also talking about this one.

Some of them came to Dickens because they were my students. Some were already practically family. Some followed me over from other theater projects. Some joined their own family after watching the fun. Others truly just showed up the auditions hoping for a positive experience. But no matter where they came from, each of them ended up in the same place.  A Dickens family.

Which made the decision to trade this 44 person family for the 5 person one that lives within my same walls particularly difficult.  But last night I resigned, in my own quirky style, via poem.

The Night After Dickens
by Andrea K. Fife

‘Twas the night after Dickens and all through the streets
All the vendors were boxing their wares and their treats
And the boxes were wheeled through a room now so bare
It was hard to believe London had ever been there.
The orphans were headed straight home to their beds
With leftover soot still anointing their heads.
And having checked in every apron and cap,
I started to dream of my own winter’s nap.
I thought of five nights in consecutive years
When saying goodbye had brought nary a tear.
No “farewell,” no “so long”, no “pip cheerio”
For in only nine months, I’d be ready to go!
I would hold the auditions; I’d see my old friends.
I’d teach that old shuffle-step combo again.
But this year was different, I’d already decided
To leave this dear project o’er which I’d presided.
These five years were perfect, each one a delight,
But five years is five years.  Six wouldn’t seem right.
And so then I’d stay on for years seven and eight,
I’d get clear to ten without taking a break.
I’d be worn out and busy at Christmas each year,
And though I would certainly hold memories dear,
I’d miss out on football, I’d miss school productions,
I’d miss family parties, I’d miss my church functions.
I’d miss… well, I’d miss a lot more than I honestly know.
I have to step back and just watch my kids grow.
And so with great fondness for each of you now,
I take my own quiet last Dickens’ year bow.
Thank you for making this last year just right.
Happy Christmas to all!  And to all a good night.

I cried when I read the poem aloud to Kirk.  Alex cried when he asked me to read it to him.  It's an emotional departure for us all.  Which is why an incredible gift, orchestrated by my mom and given by the cast, means so much to me.

Some women have their fine china.  A prized possession they hope to someday pass on to posterity.  I don't have china, or quilts, or a cedar chest, but now I have a hand-painted porcelain nativity set purchased at the Dickens Festival by my very last cast.  I have wanted a nice nativity set since marrying 13 years ago, and this one is perfect.  The picture doesn't do justice to the reverence of the animals - one of my favorite features.  It doesn't highlight the tiny details - the lantern, the pottery, the baskets.  It doesn't capture the tears I shed when I realized what a gigantic gesture this family of mine had made for me.

I look forward to a lifetime of carefully unwrapping each delicate piece and placing it near the handcrafted stable.  Of picking up one particular Wise Man to see the insignia, "Dickens 2014."  Of remembering the people who were a part of not only my life, but the lives of my children.  Me from 29 to 33, Adam from 5 to 9, Alex from 3 to 7, and now Dylan at 5 - we have lived Dickens.  And I know our lives will forever be better for it.



Thank you not only to the cast of 2014, but to 2013, 2012, 2011, and 2010 as well.

In fact,

"Thank you very much."