Succor; a person or thing that gives help, relief and aid.

 I once heard a religion teacher say it literally means ‘to run to’. We see this word in Alma 7:12 that says, speaking of Christ, ‘…and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people…’

That word is Gaye Brown to me.  The morning our sweet Sarah died, the bishop came to our house with the police.  After they gave us the news, he asked if he could share it with you. You were the RS president at the time.  But you had also just been with Sarah on a trip to Ghana less than a year earlier. 

The next thing I knew there you were at my doorstep covered in dirt from doing yard work that morning.  You had ‘run to’ us before even changing or washing up. I remember your nails having dirt on them.  And there you sat and cried with us and shared memories of our sweet Sarah and from when you had lost your amazing Jodie the July before.  It was a special sacred time that I will never forget.  It was ‘Pure religion and undefiled….visiting (us) in (our) affliction’ (James 1:27)

You are a bright spot in the lives of everyone who knows you.  I want to be like you when I grow up.  I love you!

A CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER

The chaos had finally quieted and I was left with a sink of soapy water and the dirty dishes to go with it.  Lest you think I was feeling sorry for myself, far from it.  This is a time to slow down, think about the evening and connect with myself.  It is a time for reflection.  Almost a meditation of sorts. 

This Christmas Eve had felt more chaotic than most.  We had added 4 more bodies to our family count with Rachel engaged to Darin.  His kids are lovely and well-behaved.  It’s my own crew that got out of hand.

We had had the usual pinata with gifts and candy stuffed inside.  The littles loved hitting it with all their might to see if they could spill a few treats for themselves. 

Then there was the adult bingo with gift cards as the prizes. A chaos of its own making.

Bingo was followed by Rachel’s addition of the Saran Wrap game.  I don’t know what else to call it.  It is layer upon layer of Saran Wrap waiting to be unwrapped with candy and gifts tucked within each layer. Dice and gloves are involved which only added to the frenzy.  Screaming may have been heard coming from each person at some point in time until it was over.

We unwrapped presents.  Which took longer this year with the addition of the Teeples family. But added to our gifts that we gave, were Rachel and Darin’s gifts to each other’s kids.

I read a story from a new Christmas book by Bruce Lindsay about his father Richard. It included Heber who was his best friend at the time.  It meant a lot to me to share it with the kids.  I knew that Heber would never mention it.  It was a sweet story and when I asked Heber about it earlier, he said he remembers that Christmas and the gift from his friend Richard.

It was nearing 8:30-9:00pm which is a little on the late side for Christmas Eve.  In spite of the late hour, we packed up and headed to the cemetery for our ‘tradition of the candles’ at Sarah’s headstone.  A minimum of a dozen candles are set around Sarah’s headstone.  Some are in lanterns while others are just set around on the skirting of the headstone or even in the snow.  This year because of no snow, it was the grass.  The effect in the darkness is magical.  A stark reminder that there is light even in death.

With my hands in soapy water, as I was reviewing the reveling we had just shared with this year’s Christmas, my eyes rested upon a stained glass manger scene a dear friend had given me just that year.  Maybe even earlier that day. I had hung it on the handle of the door leading to the basement. It now lay on the counter next to the sink.  Broken.  Shattered from the middle out to its edges.  It had obviously been bumped and then stepped on amid the rush and chaos of our many activities.

Then this thought came into my mind….

“Where was I in your celebration of the season?  Was I bumped and then trampled on in your rush to accomplish what you wanted to do?”

My heart was broken.  In our frivolity and merry making I had completely forgotten the reason for the season.  The reason for the joy and laughter.  The reason for the connection called relationship.  The reason for hope, rejoicing and love.  I had trampled the gift given to me by my all-loving Father in Heaven in search of my own desires and agenda.

A vow came over me with the gratitude in knowing I could have another chance. Next year.  Next year would be different. I vowed to always make it different.  My Savior, Jesus Christ would be my focus.  Our focus.  Each year. 

Because He is the reason I live, love, have joy and peace.