My father's Conversion Story

This is a blog post I have been meaning to write for some time. It's dear to my heart and influences my life on a daily basis. I will try to express some of the thoughts or feelings my father had in this regard, including some quotes from his personal history, but I know I will fall short. I do hope that this post will in the very least give you a taste of my father's dedication to The Gospel of Jesus Christ.

My father was raised in a devote Southern Baptist home. His mother and father were committed members of their congregation in Georgia and Florida, where my father was born and raised. My father was studying to be a preacher in their church, a vocation that was chosen I wonder, in part because of his physical disabilities.

My father said of his early life, "My mother and father loved us dearly. At one time I would not have said this, but as I have gotten older, I've learned to eat a lot of crow."

My father continued in his personal history, "I believe a story written by an individual about themselves, is generally a little tainted. I will do my best I can to stay within the facts as I know them ..."

 

When my father was was in the womb his mother contracted Rubella. He said of this, "I was very lucky! In the first two trimesters the fetus can have many different birth anomalies-- such as Spina Bifida, blindness, deafness, total retardation, etc. I do not like the term, "defectives." We are not defective-- we are different. My differences are obvious and not so obvious. I have a congenital Amputation of the right hand, a twisting scoliosis of the lumbar spine, and both right and left feet were affected."

 

Despite my father's physical limitations he had an abnormally high IQ and always had his nose in a book. The thing that I miss the most about my father was being able to ask him anything about the Gospel and the scriptures. When I started studying the Old Testament I would go back to my dad's man cave or call him and ask him what different things meant in my studies. He always had an answer that would enlighten, calm, and educate me.

 

My father continued, "My parents were as good as they could be to me and my brothers with the limited knowledge they had back in 1951 about birth-defects in children such as I had...My dear mother. She taught me from day one that I was different, but I was as good as anyone without handicaps of any manner."

"I had a father who taught me to be a man, and that as a man you can do or overcome any obstacle or challenge placed before you. My mother helped soften this fatherly attitude."

My father went on to say that his grandfather, Elisha Morgan Smith, was a Morgan Horse breeder and circuit rider. Elisha also bought and sold tobacco for R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Co. out of Alabama.

 My father said, "Generally it was a fresh cut green-leaf that the company could cure or whatever they did with the silly stuff. He was also a circuit preacher...I found out recently that Grandpa Burson was a circuit preacher. He had several small congregations throughout South Georgia and Northern Florida. His style of preaching, I'm sure,  would be somewhat "Hellfire and Brimstone."

My father said that his conversion story was a simple one. It all started when he met a girl, Mary. He knew her in high school as a "goody-two-shoes Catholic," but he respected her for her beliefs. He lost track of her after high school and didn't see her again until her was at university studying x-ray technology.

He said, "When I saw her again, the strangest feeling came over me that I had to see her. I met her again and after a few moments, I asked her out. She hesitated. I had a pretty wild past, and she remembered it. She agreed to go out with me with some stipulations. One, I would not smoke my pipe or cigars. I would not curse- and if I did, I was to take her home immediately. AND, absolutely no "getting out of hand."

Well I guess the date wasn't too bad, because Mary invited him to a party...on a Monday night (Mormons know how sneaky Mary was being...bwahaha). At the party my father was introduced to several of Mary's family members and friends. He was also introduced to two young men dressed in the same clothes- white shirts, dark ties, and slacks.

He said, "They had name tags with Elder as the first name- Elder Slausen and Elder Carpenter. They found that I was looking for a church and having a bad experience."

The missionaries told my dad about modern day prophets, seers, and revelators, and about Joseph Smith. My father said, "It made sense to me. They gave me a Book of Mormon and had marked a few scriptures for me to study. After reading them, I was hooked and I knew I was on the right road to the Lord. From that point on, I was given the lessons and was ready for baptism."

"On July 22, 1971 the ordinances were completed; this happens to be my parents' anniversary. The elders and I were invited to the meal and party. You never turn down food in the Deep South. As we were sitting and pigging out, my little brother, Rick, was cracking up. I was resting my feet on a box in the middle of the table. I read the inscription on the box, "In loving memory of our son, Lew." All this just because I had become a Latter Day Saint."

After my father's passing I asked my mother if he ever slipped up. I asked if he ever relapsed and drank alcohol or smoked, etc., after joining the church. She said that as far as she could recollect, he never had. One time shortly after he joined he took a drink of alcohol without thinking, but other than that he never slipped up.

My Nana and Papa did not support my father's decision to become a Mormon. They did not attend my parents wedding reception (my parents were married in the Oakland Temple in Oakland, California, and they met at BYU, but that's another story for another time). They were not happy about my father being damned, moving to Utah, then marrying a Mormon and moving to California- how surprising.

When my oldest brother, Josh, was born my father said, "All was forgiven! My mom still made comments...(and) dad was still touchy."

"When I had vacation time, we went to Florida to visit my parents. When we got there, the first thing we noticed were several anti-Mormon pamphlets spread about. The biggest one was "Shadow or Fiction." This is the one where the complete temple ceremony and clothing are revealed. The also had the "God Makers." My mother took my wife off to the store and my dad and I sat in the living room talking. It was here that I let it slip that I had a cousin who was a  member of the church. Joan and Durwood Foxworthy. I love them dearly."

"When we were in Florida for my mother's funeral, they let it slip that my uncle Jessie has a daughter who is also a member of the Church...It is a small world even if Satan tries to stop you. Joan and Durwood had informed me that her parents and mine spent $365.00 every three months on anti-church classes. The last thing I remember my Dad saying to me was, with his finger in my face, he could never join a church that considered Jesus Christ as their literal brother. In a way he might be right, but not in the way he meant it. We are all sons and daughters of Elohim, and His First-Born Son, Jehovah, is the God of this Earth."

My father concluded his brief life history with his testimony, "I know-- there is no doubt that Joseph Smith was and is a Prophet, as I know that Gordon B. Hinckley is today (he wrote this history while President Hinckley was still the prophet). As in the ancient days, we have Apostles today. I know this is the True Church. Not just in my intellect or my heart, but in my whole being, I know that Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world. I believe, as it states in Section 76 of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Olive Branch Section, that there are many kingdoms awaiting us, and that I choose that my family and I go to the Highest Kingdom. This is my testimony..."

My father wasn't perfect and he was very often difficult to live with, but he was an amazing man. When I consider the obstacles placed before him all throughout his life I marvel at the positivity he did have. From his birth doctors were telling him he would die at any time and yet he lived until he was 58 years old. He lived a full life. Even after he had to retire because of his disabilities he tried to serve his community in any way he could.

My father taught me to use humor in any situation. He taught me to be silly and weird. He taught me to be myself, and he always made sure that I knew how highly he thought of me. He taught me the value of good music. So many of my most cherished childhood memories were with him in the car, listening to good music.



Most importantly, my father taught me the value of the Gospel. Despite the negativity he received when he joined the church, he never faltered. My father taught me the Gospel through example. He was always available to help me with my personal religious studies, whether they were studies of our faith, or another. My father died with a firm testimony of Jesus the Christ and left me with the greatest gift a parent can leave for their child. I look forward to the day when I can see him again. I will miss his "nub," but I'm excited for him to run up to me with two hands and two feet. I'm excited to tell him I made it, and that I never faltered either.

I apologize for the length of this post, it sort of got away from me. I intended on only sharing a brief and simple story about how my father found the truth of The Gospel, despite his circumstances. I will wrap it up here though, with a small piece of my testimony. Like my father, I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Days Saints is the Savior's true Gospel in modern times, and that it is the one sure path to salvation. I also know that while we will all face many challenges in this mortal life, the Gospel can help us get through those challenges like a champ and like a saint. Amen.

American Craftsman- Laura's dream house

I have a lot of blogging to do, and hopefully what with my facebook fast this week, I can get caught up on it. Get ready for the binge of my binge and purge blogging. This first one is probably going to be one of least interesting ones. 

As much as I love gaudy things, I love simplicity- white with lots of windows

Lately I've had a few friends express an interest in what craftsman style houses looked like.

 American Craftsman architecture and design is my favorite.

The thing is I could live in almost any style of house and make it a home and love it- there are so many fun styles of houses, but if I designed my dream house it would likely follow the craftsmen style because it samples from some of the best movements in architecture, including art nouveau, Victorian, and modern.

Think arts and crafts. Think decorative, but not in a Marie Antoinette way. Think earthy, woodsy, and colorful (natures colors). Handcrafted wood, glass/stained glass, metal, etc.

 I like this from Wikipedia, "In architecture, reacting to both Victorian architectural opulence and increasingly common mass-produced housing, the style incorporated a visible sturdy structure, of clean lines and natural materials." 

 Toss in some art deco and I might faint from sheer joy, "Emphasis on the originality of the artist/craftsman led to the later design concepts of the 1930s Art Deco movement." 

 Victorian + Art Deco + Craftsman = Laura's dream house. 

 Hello Pacific Northwest, America. AMERICA! 

Give me a Wes Anderson house! FAINT.

 Hello Eureka, California- the place that molded me into this motha amazing playa you see before you!

Be sure to include a kitten.

 Common architectural design features, as listed on Wikipedia: 

 Low-pitched roof lines, gabled or hipped roof Deeply overhanging eaves, Exposed rafters or decorative brackets under eaves Front porch beneath extension of main roof Tapered, square columns supporting roof 4-over-1 or 6-over-1 double-hung windows Frank Lloyd Wright design motifs Hand-crafted stone or woodwork Mixed materials throughout structure. HELLO DOLLY.

I don't know if this link will work, but if it does- sweet ginger beets!
http://pinterest.com/wiwabin/dream-home/

I was...bullied?

I have been meaning to post this blog for quite a while, and so I will just get right into it.

 A few weeks ago I went to the gym at Weber State to work out, something that I do (or at least try to do) on a regular basis. There was nothing special or different about this day. I wasn't dressed different or anything like that, but what happened was...weird...well, unexpected.

 Before my work out I went to the bathroom to freshen up, again, a very normal part of my routine at the gym. I was taking care of business  Now, normally I am all about being open and frank about the normal bodily functions in life (see this blog), but lately I've been attempting to be a little more lady like in regards to when and how I talk about bodily functions. However, for the purposes of this blog I must say that I was indeed pooping. It wasn't any sort of smelly atomic bomb situation, it was just an every day, normal sounds and smells, number two.

So, as I was spending some alone time prepping my body for an hour long stationary bike ride, a group of girls came into the bathroom. One or two of them went into the stalls to pee, while the others looked in the mirror- classic girl behavior.

One of the girls then said aloud to one of the girls in the stalls, "Did you just fart?!" To which one of the other girls in the stall responded with a no. Then all of the other girls in the bathroom started giggling and pointing at my stall, a delightful sight I could see through the cracks of my stall door. All of the girls were holding their mouths and giggling loudly and escaped the bathroom as quickly as they could.

Good job girls, you caught me juggling smiley face jiggly balls in my underwear while playing the newest Weird Al song- what could be more funny? Oh wait, no, I was just doing something we all do every day, and I was doing it in the appropriate place for such activities. I'm sorry for being a human being? I'm sorry for using a restroom to use...the restroom?

Okay, I'm getting off track here. Actually immaturity wasn't what really upset me. I just kinda laughed along, in my head, and went on my business. Oh wait! They weren't done. As soon as the pod of peer pressure college team athletes in matching white t-shirts left the bathroom they said things like, "Oh my gosh! What died in there?!" And made sound effects suggesting a sulfuric nuclear attack that killed off half of their team...and all of this in the gym in front of everyone.

But no, let's add a little bit of whipped cream on our butt-head sundae. All of this was on the weight lifting part of the gym, aka the man-side. Awesome. So when I leave the bathroom everyone (men with rippling muscles in a state of half-dress) who had heard the tale of stink death would know it was me. Thanks a lot ladies, that's just what I want, all of the men in the gym to think I'm a diarrhea bomb...okay, I'm doing it again, getting off track. Like I said, at this point I still wasn't very upset. I'm Laura, I don't care if people know I pooped.

 I POOPED. 

 Okay, we have the sundae and we added some whipped cream , now for the cherry on top. One of the girls apparently rushed out in such a hurry that she forgot to wash her hands, and so she rushed back in with her t-shirt covering the lower half of her face and washed her hands. When she hurried out, consumed by giggles, she shouted, "What died in there?!" Okay, we're finally to the part where I get upset.

 I was sitting there, obviously, and I started thinking. I'm okay. I'm going to strut out in the gym like nobodies business because I don't care. But then I thought of some of my shy friends. I thought of how they get red in the face when any attention is brought to them. I thought of how they would die of embarrassment if they farted in public or accidentally burped aloud. I thought of myself, about a year ago when I was too scared to go to the bathroom in public restrooms. I was afraid of something like this.

My thoughts continued and I thought of people who slit their wrists for much less. I thought about people struggling to pull themselves through the day. Then I thought about them being in my position. I was going to be okay, but how would it have hurt those who have a hard enough time just getting by. I got angry. I felt like these girls were representing their sports team; they should be examples of good citizens on their campus. They shouldn't pressure each other into being jerks, they should build each other up and be kind to their fellow students.

I realize that we can't go around horrified to speak, lest we send someone over the edge. But I think we have to have a certain amount of awareness and respect for the general public. There's a difference between unintentionally hurting someone and straight up trying to make them feel bad. I can only assume that these girls were just giggling because one of them made a mistake about their friend stinking up a bathroom, and they were innocent in all of this to a point. However, when they left the bathroom, announcing to the whole gym that someone stunk up the bathroom they crossed the line.

I'm not suggesting that this is bullying in the traditional sense, or in other words, a group of girls didn't gather around my stall shouting, "PERIOD! PERIOD! PERIOD!" And toss tampons at me. Nobody shoved me into a locker or stole my lunch money. But I was in a university gym...being bullied by a group of women who are supposed to be leaders (I would suggest any athlete for a school automatically becomes a role model, whether good or bad).

Weird, it was weird. When I finished (by the way this all happened in a matter of minutes in real life- this story made it sound like I was in there for an hour, haha) I strolled out of that bathroom standing up straight, unashamed...but I'm Laura. I am glad it was me and not someone who was struggling to make friends or who was struggling to be in public situations.

The moral of the story is to be more aware of how your actions might hurt someone. Take a moment to consider your audience. What might their story be? What trials or anxieties could they be facing? The end. Whew.

Thoughts of late

Most of the time when I'm at the gym the money channel is on in front of me, and so I watch it. I find it interesting that all of the money experts seem to think Romney should be our new president...just saying. It's like how the cyclists think Lance Armstrong souped up, but the fans think he won all of those Tour de France's on human spirit and grit or something (if you ask me, even if he souped up, it's pretty damn impressive). The point, an argument based on the authority of others isn't the best, but sometimes it's a pretty intelligent place to start.


This is hilarious:

 I love children and no matter what i do in this life, I want to help them!

 Music means everything. I can't keep a beat to save my life. I am a terrible guitar player. I'm not the best singer. But I LOVE music. When a guy I'm chatting up starts telling about his musical tastes and they're not to my liking he suddenly becomes an UGO. Music is everything. So, here's some good music:

Peace. Calm. Joy. Assurance.

Lately I have felt some old and good feelings. Feelings that remind me that I am Laura.

 I love art. (Warning, this video says the F bomb twice).

I love good music, it's one of my greatest passions.

I love fun outfits.

I love the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
I am loveable and pale and I have amazing legs and I can rock a dress and my hair is frizzy and I am not skinny and I am loveable.

I love sitting around, enjoying mother Earth and father sky, in my car, in my room, on the streets, all around.
 I love reading.

I am so blessed. I love my job, even if it gets tiring and frustrating sometimes. Love and dating is really confusing, but I suppose it should be considering eternal marriage is the ultimate ultimate. The things most worth while should challenge us the most, right? I have great friends. I love my life. I know of all of the times places in the world, I'm where God wants me to be, right now and right here.

A few things about me, and a preview.

First, a few random things about me:

1. I don't respond well to people who come on strong before they know me.

I don't care if we're new girl-friends, or you're a guy who's interested in me. If you come on strong I will pull away. We just met and you're texting me the next day...5...10 times. Obviously you're stalking me and my gut reaction is to run like hell. Shudder.

A few months ago a casual friend of mine obviously wanted to be best friends, and she wanted it now. She texted constantly. She invited me over all of the time. So I stopped answering her calls and texts. I can't handle it. It took me a year to say I love Jernae and I lived with her! It took me 2-3 years to say I love you to some of my best friends, KKKJ, but I was younger and much more afraid of that kind of affection back then. I don't develop best friends over night.

Don't even get me started with men. Yes, ask me out. Yes, flirt with me. Yes, text and call me. No, don't do any of those things all the time. No, don't comment on my facebook photos from two years ago when we don't ever talk in real life. No, don't shower me with affection or gifts when you haven't even asked me out.

This is from Just Like Heaven, such a cute movie! This is the skanky neighbor. Sometimes when you come on too strong it just makes you extremely undesirable

I guess that's the worst part. Guys who like me, but don't have the balls to ask me out. I bet if half of the guys I say I am not interested in just grew a set and asked me out, I'd say yes and reconsider. But being a chicken + a creeper = no good.

2. I am allergic to bell peppers...well let's just say they make me so miserable and sick that I tell people I'm allergic. It's awful. But, I discovered recently that I like certain hot sauces...just not Tabasco sauce...bleh.

3. Uncleanliness makes me anxious. I really figured this out this year and it explains a lot about my youth and my moods. I don't think I'm a neat freak. I can handle dishes in the sink...but when there is mess or filth in my living space it makes me nervous, anxious, and even depressed. Cleanliness helps me organize my mind, mood, and life in general.

4.Today I wore a pair of pants that I bought in the 8th grade. At the time they fit me like a sausage with a mega muffin top. Today I decided that I have to get rid of the pants because they're too big. VICTORY!

And now for that preview...
JUST KIDDING!

In 10 pounds I will have reached a huge weight loss mile stone. When I reach that weight I will tell my readers how much I weigh. I will talk about my weight loss journey thus far, and I will tell you about my plans to lose the rest of the weight. I will probably also have some sort of photo weight loss time line. The sooner I lose those 10 pounds the sooner I blog, wahoo!

It's tough to have a crush...

It's tough to have a crush, we all know that, but guess what? It's also tough to be crushed on.

Let me explain. I think I have mentioned this before, some guys have crushes on me. It's weird. Me. Crushes, as in like liking, me! Other than it being foreign and weird, it makes me feel bad...I mean, how fun is it to know someone wants to date you, but you don't want to date them. It's not fun, that's the point. It makes me feel terrible! So there's the feeling guilty that someone wants you and you don't want them, which is dumb because I've complained about not having someone so much. And then you just feel bad because you feel like a jerk for not reciprocating those feelings. Okay, so I feel bad, but what might be worse than feeling bad is feeling awkward. I'm Laura, Queen of Awkward, but I don't want to rule this country of awkwardness...it's the bad kind of awkward. When you know someone likes you and you don't like them you feel bad and you feel uncomfortable. Every second you're with them you wonder, "What are they thinking about me?! Are they imagining us getting married or some creepy crap!?...Is he leering?! I think he's leering! Is he thinking about kissing me?! Stop it you mind perv!" (Like I don't think about making out with plenty of men!) Shudder.

Now, you may ask, "Why would feeling awkward be worse than feeling bad?" This is why. When they're your friend. It's the pits. You have this creeper thinking romantic thoughts about you, and this creeper was your friend! This person you used to be able to talk to. This person you used to feel good around and have fun with, now suddenly is this person you don't want to say anything around. Now you don't even want to be around them because you feel bad. 

It's the pits. It's tough to have a crush. It's tough to be crushed on. It's tough when you have a crush on someone and you know they know and now you're the creeper and you feel bad because you have made them feel bad because they know you like them! Uggggh.

But one day I will crush on someone who crushes on me and it will be a fiesta of two creepers creeping on each other and IT WILL BE AWESOME.