Skinnytaste Scones

Like just about everyone, I'm trying to live a healthy life.  Lately, I've been watching my weight (like just about everyone).  Well, I've found a wonderful website that gives me great ammunition for my ongoing battle of the bulge/  The website is Skinnytaste, and the author/cook, Gina, posts some fantastic low-fat, healthy recipes.  I've made a couple of her recipes, and I've not been disappointed in anything I've made from her website. 

This morning, I made her "Lemon Cranberry Scones" for breakfast; although I didn't have a lemon to zest, so I used a Cutie (a yummy mandarin orange, and my current addiction).  The scones were so good!  A super, lower fat, way to start the morning with a smile! 

Go over to Gina's website, and check out her stuff!  It's worth the trip!

Charcoal and Cows

It was a beautiful day in Flyover Country....so we went hiking. 

While I was in Virginia helping my daughter with her beautiful twins, our good friend Mr Williams took my husband out to find some missing cows.  Mr Williams is a long-time resident of Flyover Country.  He's lived here all of the over 80 years of his life (except for a stint in the US military).  I love to ride horses with him, and the "excuse" he usually uses to ride is that he has to check on cows, or open gates, or take salt out for them.  Since it's winter, he doesn't ride horses, but still has to go check on his cows.  The best thing about going anywhere with Mr Williams is that he tells stories; about Flyover Country, about the pioneers and people who settled here, and about the Native Americans who were here before.  He knows all the stories, and it's so entertaining (and informative) to listen to him. 

So, about week or so ago, Mr Williams asked my man to go with him.  They rode around in Mr William's pickup, looking for cows and telling stories.  I'm so jealous!  Anyway, Mr Williams showed my husband one of the places where the pioneers, the "old-timers" who settled Flyover Country built a charcoal oven. Since it was so beautiful out today, we hiked up to the site of the oven. 


Although the roof has fallen in, it's really in pretty good shape; it's amazing what those "old-timers" could do.  I'm not certain what they used the oven for, or even if they made charcoal in the oven (although that's what it seemed like it was designed to do and there was some evidence of charcoal on the ground outside).  It was pretty neat to see the oven, and the countryside around it was beautiful. 

Oh yeah....we even found one of Mr William's missing cows.....

Home

Home.  If you really think about it the concept of "Home" is a powerful concept.  It carries with it all kinds of emotions, all kinds of memories, all kinds of baggage (both good and not-so-good). 

My dad was in the military, so I grew up in a lot of different places.  I had a lot of different "homes," but none of them ever kept a place in my heart...not really.  There were really great things about all the different places I lived as a kid, and my family did things to make most of the places fun, with good memories attached; but none those places was really "home."  That place where your heart yearns to return. 

When I got married and went out on my own, I tried to adopt the place my first husband grew up as "home."  It worked to a degree.  It was the place where my folks lived after my dad retired from the military.  It was where my first husband's heart was, and where his childhood friends and memories were.  I did, and do, love that place and love to visit there.  It's beautiful and the people there are special to me; especially (of course) my parents and siblings who still live there.  But it never, quite, became "home."  Since I was military, we travelled and lived in a lot of different places, and I tried to make a home for my family in each of them; but none of them became that one place where my heart wanted to be. 

For me, there has always only been one place that has touched my soul, where my spirits rise when I arrive, where I feel relaxed and more "me" than anywhere else.  Flyover Country.  When I was a kid, this is the place where we would come for one or two weeks each summer to visit with my grandparents.  I had friends here, with whom I could pick up the prior summer's conversation and friendship without pause.  I loved visiting here.  I loved the beauty of the place, the history, and the people.   I still do.  I've chosen to live here, even though it's rural and remote.  (Maybe, though, that's part of the draw for me.)  I've chosen to live here, even though there are some inconveniences.  I've chosen to live here, because it's home.  I'm so fortunate that my husband loves this place as much as I do.  


I'm so fortunate that he has chosen to adopt my home as his own.  They say that, "home is where the heart is."  For me, on many different levels, my home is here:  in Flyover Country with my man. 

There's no place like home.....

I've been away from home for 16 days.  I've loved being here with my daughter and her family.  I've loved seeing my other daughter and her husband, at least for a little bit.  I've loved being able to play with Travis, Alyssa and (for a bit) Corie.  I am so happy to have the chance to get acquainted with the two new babies, and to be able to help my daughter adjust to twins in the family.  I'm blessed, and I know it.  But....

I'm ready to go home.  This is the longest I've been away from my husband since we found each other (again).  I have to say that I don't like it.  I miss him.  I used to think that I was very independent.  To my surprise, I've found out that I'm not.  I'm a lot more dependent, on him, that I ever thought I was.  Strange, that.

I've also found out that I love being home; my home.  Where my heart is.  Where my spirits soar when I look outside and see the beauty that is "Flyover Country."  Where I can relax and just "be."  Where I feel joy.  Where my man is....that's home.  I'm ready to put on my ruby slippers, and turn around three times, whispering, "there's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home....." 

Happy Birthday, Punkin'

On this day in 1981....my second daughter arrived in this world.  From the very start she was beautiful, loving, smart, and stubborn; and she still is all of those things.  I love her with all my heart.  She's a wonderful mother to four great kids....including two just-born infants.  I admire the woman that she's become.  She's my girl and my friend.  Happy Birthday, Punkin'. 

Welcome into the World!

On Tuesday, January 2, 2012, my beautiful daughter gave birth to two sweet little twins, Mr. O and Miss A.  "O" weighed in at 5 pounds 6 ounces, and "A" weighed in at 4 pounds 15 ounces.  Thankfully, both are healthy and thriving.  For the last week, I've been staying at my daughter's house to help her with the twins, and with her two older children.  Although I miss my home and husband, who is back home in Flyover Country taking care of the dog and horses, I feel so blessed to be able to spend this time with my daughter and her family.  It's been wonderful getting to know these two new little souls.  Even though they're only just over a week old, each already has a distinct personality. 
Mr. O is a cuddler.  He likes to be held; but he also has temper and isn't afraid to express it with a loud cry.  He doesn't like being wet or hungry.  He doesn't like it if Grandma has cold hands when she changes his diaper.  When he wants to eat, he wants it NOW!   Even with that temper, he's so sweet.  He likes to hold onto something (like Grandma's fingers) when he eats.  He doesn't like to take a break from eating to burp, but shivers with pleasure when he does let out a big belch.  After he eats, he wants to be held until he falls back into full-tummy-stupor.  When he's awake, he looks at you with those big, slightly-unfocused, baby eyes that feel like he's looking directly into your heart.  He loves to look at the light, and enjoys being rocked.

Miss A is also a cuddler, but she's got a laid-back temperament, compared to her twin.  She wakes up slowly; stretching and squeaking herself awake.  She doesn't cry very loudly, but she will protest if she's cold or if you take too long to feed her once she's decided it's time to eat.  She takes a while to wake up, so don't try to feed her right away....she'll just fall back asleep and then she doesn't get enough to make it to the next scheduled feeding.  When she does decide to eat, she goes about it deliberately, but slowly.  She doesn't like air-bubbles in her tummy, and will squirm until you burp her; and more often than not, she'll take a bit of a snooze until she gets the burp out.  Like Mr. O, she doesn't like cold fingers on her tummy or bottom; nor does she enjoy a baby-wipe that hasn't been warmed up first.  Also like her brother, she likes to cuddle after she eats and loves to look at bright lights.   

Right now, these preemie-twins are so little that their life consists of eating, burping, sleeping, taking care of the natural consequences of eating, and growing.  It's going to be so much fun to watch these two precious beings grow and develop.  They've already got a big place in Grandma's heart.....along with their big brother and big sister and their two cousins. 

Welcome to the world, Mr. O and Miss A!

Blogging (Again)

OK....so it's been a loooong time since I posted in this Blog.  Sorry, again, I'm not sure why.  I still see something, or read something, and think; "that would be good to talk about in the blog...." but somehow it doesn't get done.  I can blame it on being busy....there have been lots of changes in my life recently (including a new home), but if I'm totally honest with myself, my lack of posting is due to ambivalence about blogging coupled with a touch of laziness. 

When I started this blog, it was with a desire to participate in the blogging conversation going on "out there."  I supposed I needed an outlet for some reason.  I had just left the military, after serving for 23 years.  I had a job I loved, but that wasn't really challenging.  I spent a lot of time reading blogs, particularly milblogs, and wanted to add my voice to the issues addressing the military and the country.  Then my life changed....drastically. 

I left my job, my home, and my then-husband.  I went to live in the middle of "Flyover Country."  The phrase "life changes" doesn't describe it.  After all was said and done, it was the absolutely right decision for me.  I guess I could have blogged about my thoughts and feelings during that time; but that's really not me.  I don't "share" my very innermost being easily.  Then there was the attorney-side of me that was wary of posting anything that could have somehow come back and "bite" me.  So I denied myself the blogging outlet that some folks use to express themselves.  Just not really my style. 

As 2012 starts, life has stabilized (a bit).  I still live in the middle of "Flyover Country."  I'm absolutely certain I live in one of the most beautiful spots on earth.  My home is within a 10-minute drive of two different National Forests and a National Park....yet there isn't a single US Highway in the entire County.   Don't get me wrong....we have a great road system (including Highway 12, the first highway designated a "Scenic Byway"); it's just that they're all State highways.  I love where I live.  I'm remarried to a wonderful man, who loves me as much as I love him, and who takes care of me.  I have three horses, a dog, and beautiful home.  (Actually, I have two....a 75 year old home that we remodeled and a wonderful new home we just bought....the remodeled home is for sale....).  I've started a small law practice.  I have great friends.  I love my children, and adore my grandchildren (I now have six).  Life is good. 

So now I'd like to start up this blog again.  Maybe it's the Presidential election....makes me want to discuss politics and I enjoy joining that conversation to give my thoughts and opinions.  Maybe it's because I no longer feel "threatened" that anything I say could come back to hurt me.  Maybe because life is good, and I want to share (again) with friends and family.  My husband tells me that I analyze things too much....that sometimes I should just let things "be."  It could be he's right.  For whatever reason, I want to start writing again.  So here goes.......

Sgt Dakota Meyer....a True Hero and a "Regular Guy."

Gotta love the Marines....and this true Hero is wonderful!

 

Pioneer Stories....

I love history.  I love the stories that come with studying history.  Like a lot of people, I’m interested in the stories of my family.  I love to hear stories about my parents and grandparents.  The stories “round out” what I know of them.  I also love to hear stories about more distant relatives; particularly relatives who are also "characters."  One such character was my grandfather’s grandfather, Elijah Heitt Maxfield. 

 

Elijah was an interesting man, who lived an interesting life.  He was one of Brigham Young’s “boys.”  He was involved in a number of adventures, including the traveling as a teamster for a number of immigrant companies,  working a silver mine in Cottonwood Canyon, and spying on the United States Army for Brigham Young during the bloodless "Mormon War."  He was one of the volunteers who helped to rescue the stranded Willie and Martin handcart companies after the pioneer companies crossing the plains pushing or pulling handcarts were caught in Wyoming by an early blizzard.  He rode for the Pony Express and he was one of the earliest settlers of Wayne County, Utah. 

Elijah or “Lige” was born in 1832 in Prince Edward Island, Canada, to a rather well-to-do family.  He was 12 years old when his family listened to a talk by Elder J. Skerry, a Mormon missionary.  I don’t know the exact date of his baptism into the LDS faith, but I know he followed the example of his parents and other extended family members and joined the Church.  In June 1850, when Lige was 18 years old, he joined his family as the heeded the call to journey to "Zion," which, by that time, meant a journey across the country to the Utah Territory.  Lige and his family left behind 600 acres of timbered land, an active saw mill, a horse raising business, and interest in a shipbuilding company to journey into the unknown. 

The Maxfield party journeyed to Iowa, the "stepping off place" for many Mormon immigrants, but arrived too late to travel to Utah in 1850.  So they waited until the next spring to start their journey.  Lige, at 18, was the third child of 11 born to his parents.  While they waited at Winter Quarters in Iowa, Lige’s little brother, 15-year old Jesse, went back across the Missouri river to get medicine for the smallest child, who had been sick for a while.  On the way back, Jesse slipped and fell into the river and drowned.  They found only his hat.  The baby, 3-year old Quincy Benjamin, died shortly after his brother.  I could not imagine the terrible grief that Lige's parents suffered, having two of their children die so close to each other.  What is amazing to me is that their story is not unique.  So many other pioneer families lost family members on the trip West; yet they did not give up. 

Despite the tragedy of losing two children, Lige’s parents decided to continue to Utah and they left Winter Quarters the next Spring, in May 1851.  Lige’s mother, Elizabeth, started the journey five months pregnant.  As the time for the child's delivery grew near, Elizabeth became increasingly ill, so the company they travelled with delayed for two days at Ham’s Fork in Wyoming, 150 miles from the end of their journey in Utah, to see if her condition would improve.  It didn’t.  The wagon company had to move on, so the family had to decide if they would leave their mother and wife and remain with the company or stay with her in Wyoming.  Because of the dangers of a small party traveling alone the family had to choose.  They could stay with their mother until she died, and risk unfamiliar terrain or the possibility of Indian attacks, or they could continue on with the wagon company and enjoy the protection of numbers.  The family made the very tough decision to leave Elizabeth with a man and his wife who were camped at Ham's Fork.  So after making preparations for Elizabeth's burial, and saying their "final farewells," the family, including Lige, continued on their journey. 

Elizabeth gave birth to a son a couple of days later, and her health improved.  A small party of pioneers passing through Ham's Fork agreed to give her a lift into the Salt Lake Valley, and amazingly, she arrived before her family.  I can only imagine the reunion when the wagon company finally arrived in "Zion" and found not only their mother, safe and well, but a new baby brother as well. 

The Maxfield family’s story is just one of the multitude of stories of sacrifice, loss, triumph and faith that we can tell of our pioneer ancestors.  We come from amazing people. 

I often wonder if I could have taken that walk in faith; that leap into the unknown.  I don't know if I have the qualities of character that our pioneer ancestors had.  I wonder.  I know that all of us can do what needs to be done, but in today's world, we are not asked to leave everything we own and everyone we know and take a journey toward a promise.  I think that I need to find those pioneer qualities that my great-great grandfather Lige had within me. 

Elder Dalin Oaks of the LDS Church explained it best.  He said,

The foremost quality of our pioneers was faith. With faith in God, they did what every pioneer does—they stepped forward into the unknown: a new religion, a new land, a new way of doing things. With faith in their leaders and in one another, they stood fast against formidable opposition. When their leader said, “This is the right place,” they trusted, and they stayed. When other leaders said, “Do it this way,” they followed in faith.

Two companion qualities evident in the lives of our pioneers, early and modern, are unselfishness and sacrifice. Our Utah pioneers excelled at putting “the general welfare and community goals over individual gain and personal ambition.”

 

Faith, unselfishness, and sacrifice.  These are the pioneer characteristics that I need to  emulate.   I am a beneficiary of Lige's faith, his unselfishness and his willingness to sacrifice.  I want to honor him, and his family, for their courage.  What better way to do so than to remember their stories and to try to live with the same characteristics of faith, unselfishness and sacrifice? 

"My Love for You is Deathless...."

Many of the early battles of the Civil War were fought 150 years ago, including the first Battle of Manassas (or Bull Run, if you prefer).  It was a time of intense struggle for our country and its citizens.  Today, many of us (including my Happy Cousin) honor those who lived and died during that period by reenacting the time period and the battles.  The PBS series on the Civil War opened that history, and it's stories, up to all of us.  I love that series.  I think it's because I love the human stories that make up history.  One of the stories brought to the public in that series was the story of Major Sullivan Ballou.

Major Ballou was a Union soldier who fought with the 2d Rhode Island Regiment in the First Battle of Manassas (or Bull Run).  He was mortally wounded there, on July 28th, 150 years ago.  He died a few days later.  The battle was a bloody one, with over 3,500 dead and wounded, and over 1000 missing or captured.  The night before the battle, Major Ballou wrote a letter to his wife.  It was this letter, this story, that Ken Burns used in his PBS series to demonstrate the cost of the war and the internal struggle that a soldier goes through before battle. 

The famous letter is exquisitely written, and it's words touch our hearts even today.  The emotions Major Ballou describes are so poignant; perhaps because they are so real, perhaps because for anyone who has a loved one serving today....they are so timely. 

Read it for yourself.  Here's the letter:

My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days -- perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure -- and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done.

If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter.

I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing -- perfectly willing -- to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows -- when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children -- is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?

I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death -- and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.

I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles I have often advocated before the people and "the name of honor that I love more than I fear death" have called upon me, and I have obeyed.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us.

I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me -- perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been!

How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood.

Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters.

Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them.

O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

Sullivan

Great Dogs!

If there really are such things as "dog people" and "cat people," then I'm definitely a "dog person."  I love dogs.  All types of dogs; big dogs, small dogs, furry dogs, skinny dogs.  I just love dogs.  Dogs keep your feet warm at night.  Dogs want to go with you when you go anywhere.  Dogs love you without condition.  Dogs are the definition of a best friend. 

We have a great dog, Bella.  She's a mix of Australian Sheppard and Border Collie.  We found her at the pound and rescued her.  She's the smartest dog I've ever met.  She loves to go.  Anywhere.  It doesn't matter if we're hiking or riding horses, she's right there with us.  She loves to ride in the back of the Razr (a side-by-side 4-wheeler, for those who don't know).  We take her just about everywhere we go.  She's a very polite dog.  She's also protective.  When anyone stops at our house, or comes in our yard, she'll come rushing through the doggie door to tell us someone's there.  She doesn't bark, much, but she'll tell us anyway.  When my horses got out, she kept coming in to let me know.  It just took me a bit to figure out what she was trying to tell me.  When we're travelling, she always stays between me and any stranger....which is sometimes frustrating because she'll watch the stranger instead of taking care of "business."  She's a great dog! 

So, when I read this story by Cpl Jeff Drew about "Willy Pete," I was touched by his dedication and loyalty....but then that's what dogs are about.  Here's the story (with a hat tip to Lynnis):

Afghan dog fights like a Marine

Posted by regionalcommandsouthwest on July 11, 2011

Story and photo by Cpl. Jeff Drew

COMBAT OUTPOST CASTLE, Helmand province, Islamic Republic of Afghanistan - "Willy Pete" and Marines with Company D, 2nd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, 2nd Marine Division (Forward), rest before going out on a recent patrol. Willy has gone on more than 30 combat patrols in the last 60 days.

FORWARD OPERATING BASE PAYNE, Helmand province, Afghanistan – He defends Marines and sailors with love and tenacity, protecting them as any Marine would protect a brother-in-arms. He is the epitome of man’s best friend, shielding service members from the enemy while providing companionship and camaraderie. His name is Willy Pete, and he’s a warrior, a protector, a friend. He’s also a dog.
Company D, 2nd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, 2nd Marine Division (Forward), arrived in the Khan Neshin District in the summer of 2009 for a seven-month deployment and established a coalition presence in the Southwest part of Afghanistan. The LAR Marines pushed west to gain a firm position in a town called Qal’ah-ye Now, where they found two dogs in a compound they began using as a patrol base.
The dogs were beaten and malnourished. One of them was pregnant and the Marines named her Sandy; the other dog was small and frail, and the Marines fittingly named him Scraggles. The company adopted the two dogs, who accepted the Marines as family. Sandy soon had her litter of puppies, one of which would be named Willy Pete. All the puppies went to local residents to protect their farms and herd livestock, but Willy had a different opportunity – he went to the Marines of Company D for companionship.

Scraggles and Sandy grew fond of the Marines in Qal’ah-ye Now and began to protect the patrol base, keeping unwanted dogs and suspicious people away. Willy began to demonstrate the same protective traits of his mother as he grew. He also learned how to patrol with the Marines, what a patrol formation was, and how to react when they came in contact with the enemy. Willy has gone through three complete combat rotations since then as each LAR unit has taken charge of the area in the past two years.
The veteran dog usually takes the lead when the Marines go on patrol now. He stays in front until the Marines pass through the bazaar outside the combat outpost. Local residents often look up in recognition of the dog, who seems to fancy himself a Marine. Willy relocates to a new position once he establishes a clear path for the Marines and begins moving from one side of the patrol to the other, warning Marines of anyone’s approach with a quick bark or a low growl.

The many stray dogs in the area tend to be very aggressive and travel in packs. Marines routinely spot Willy scrapping with a pack of wild dogs that approach his Marines.
“I had my squad on a local security patrol in Kala Shureh – we refer to the town as ‘Dog Town’ because of the large amount of wild dogs in the area,” said Sgt. Joshua Davis, an Auburn, Maine, native and squad leader with Weapons Platoon, 2nd LAR. “All of the dogs were overly aggressive and tried to stop the patrol’s movement by intimidating the Marines. Willy Pete single handily fought off five wild dogs to protect them. After Willy engaged the dogs, my squad was able to push through the village to complete our patrol.”

Willy also remains an integral part of security when the Marines and sailors return to the patrol base. He tours the grounds with the sergeant of the guard, chasing stray dogs out of friendly lines and warning the watch standers if anyone approaches the outpost.
The Marines said they appreciate Willy’s dedication, as he provides them companionship and demonstrates his loyalty each day by returning to the fight.
“Willy never walks in the other direction or tries to hide when he sees a squad heading out for a patrol,” said Lance Cpl. Philip Bulford, an Alabaster, Ala., native and mortar gunner with the company. “I believe that Willy believes it’s his duty and an honor to protect us from what may lie ahead.”

Willy bears the scars from the explosion of an improvised explosive device and a gunshot wound from an enemy insurgent due to his relentless enthusiasm and unyielding vigor to protect the Marines. Still, his loyalty to the Marines is unrelenting.
“He is a proven veteran and a wounded warrior,” said Staff Sgt. Anthony J. Eichler, a Pittsburgh native and the platoon sergeant for Weapons Platoon. “Willy is always tirelessly watching over what I would assume he considers ‘his’ Marines. He is a friend of all Marines, and he works hard every day on patrol and for the security of [the outpost]. He’s been knocked down a few times, but continues on with the mission just like any Marine would be expected to do.”

4th of July Weekend

I went to church today.  That, in and of itself wasn't so unusual; I go to church just about every Sunday.  But today was something pretty special.  First of all, it was the first Sunday of the month, which meant it was the Sunday reserved for members of the congregation to bear their testimonies.  The members of my church congregation are pretty eloquent when publicly expressing their love for their Savior.  Fast and Testimony meeting at our Ward is always filled with the Lord's Spirit, as the members of the congregation publicly express their gratitude for blessings and their belief in the Gospel. 

What made this Sunday a bit different was the number of people who attended today's services.  I live in a very small town, in a very rural county.  My church's congregation draws its membership from two very small towns, one with a population of 191, and the other with a population of  171.  Today, we had just over 500 people join our services.  Most of the people were visitors to the area, who had come to enjoy our natural resources (we may not have a lot a people, but we have a National Park and two National Forests within a 10 mile radius) or who were visiting family for the 4th of July weekend.  Some of these visitors also were moved to publicly declare their testimonies, as were some of the "locals."  It was extremely special to hear heartfelt thanks and declarations of belief.  It was interesting that so many of the visitors talked about how special this place is.  How they felt "renewed" by coming here.  How they came back year after year.  How they felt closer to our Heavenly Father here. 

It was interesting, because that's exactly how I feel.  I am so lucky to live here.  There is such natural beauty in the land around this place.  It reminds me, every day, of the greatness of our Creator.  Of course, the people here are part of what makes this place so special.  They are "real" here.  They know what is important:  family, friends, freedom, the land, and the Gospel. 

It was also pretty special to hear the voices of that many people raised in song.  Because it is the 4th of July weekend, our chorister chose "The Star Spangled Banner" as the opening hymn.  (Yes, it's in our official hymn book.)  For a long time now, I tend to tear up when our National Anthem is sung.  I don't know why, it just happens.  It was a real problem when I was on active duty, wearing a uniform, and was rendering a salute during the Anthem.  Trying to wipe a tear away while at attention is not easy.  Anyway, I still tear up.  Today was no different.  As the extended congregation of 500-plus voices sang this wonderful song, I cried.  I cried for those families who have lost loved ones, who gave their lives for our Nation.  I cried for those families who are not able to have BBQ, go to the lake, or go camping this weekend, because their loved one is serving overseas.  I cried for the beauty of the song and the love I hold for this Nation.  I especially cried during the third verse of the hymn: 

Oh thus be it ever, where free men shall stand

Between their loved homes and war's desolation

Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n rescued land

Promise the pow'r that hath made and preserved us a nation!

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just

And this be our motto: "In God is our trust!"

And the star spangled banner in triumph shall wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

I wish that everyone could have the chance to sing all the verses of our National Anthem on this 4th of July weekend.  Perhaps we'd all remember....and shed at least one tear.