Stretching

Who doesn't love a good underdog sports story? Well, I've got a pretty funny one to tell.

My husband and I have been playing on a softball team this year. It's headed up by a guy in our ward. We have Jews, college students, old guys, young guys, married couples. We're just a mix of variety. And it definitely shows on the field. Up until last night we'd only won one game, and the only reason we won that was because they other team didn't show up.

So, the pitcher of our team, who we'll call Jimmy (because he's loud and obnoxious like coach Jimmy Dugan in League of Their Own), is a real pistol. He especially likes to razz ME. I'm don't know why, though I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I give it right back to him. Anyway...I did not play softball in high school. I was a basketball player. But one thing you need to understand about me, is that I come from a long line of speed challenged people. The other day at cub camp, my oldest son was part of a relay race. When it was his turn, the boys on his team were yelling, "Go faster, go faster!" And I said to them, "Sorry, but that IS his fast." So, Jimmy gave me a hard time last week about running so slowly. He said, and I quote, "Her speed could be measured by a sundial." Ouch. But I don't let it get me down, because the fact is, for some crazy reason that can not be explained by the universe, I get on base almost every time I get up to bat. Don't ask me how. Maybe the other team is so shocked by the fact that they have to run up to home plate to retrieve the ball after I've hit it, instead of it coming toward them, that they fumble. BUT, somehow I always get to first base, and this is more than most anyone on our team can claim. So I am treated with respect by the guys I play with.

Last night we were actually playing like a team for the first time this season, and we began to wonder if we could possibly win this game. I was thinking no, but I didn't say that outloud. Anyway, the first time I get up to bat, I strike out. I realized later it's because the pitcher on the other team stunk so bad he could hardly throw a strike. But the next time I got up to bat, I waited for my pitch. As it was sailing toward me, my brain screams, "THIS IS IT! SWING!" And I walloped that ball. It was a good hit. For me at least. I dropped that bat as fast as I could, determined not to have Jimmy teasing me about my turtle-like burst of velocity and took off toward first base.

I'm not exactly sure when it happened but somewhere between home and first I hurt myself. Like bad. I made it to base though and decided I'd worry about the throbbing in both of my quads later. Like after the game. The girl behind me swings and it's good. I take off running only to realize I'm not running. I'm hobbling. I've pulled muscles in both of my legs. When I get to second base, I start waving my arms like a crazy person and yelling, stop the game, as if the world revolved around me. But they stopped and put in a runner for me.

Okay, so the other team gets three outs and we're back out in the field. They put me in right field because I may be able to get on base, but my fielding skills aren't so good. So I tell the guy next to me, "Hey! I can't run." He says, no problem, he'll cover me and he does. We get three fast outs and I walk off the field toward the dugout. I grab Jimmy by the arm and say, "I can't hit anymore because I can't run. Can we just take my name out of the line up?" He says, "If we take your name out of the line up it's an automatic out every time we come around to you. You have to hit. Just get to first and we'll stick in a runner for you." I shake my head and say, "I'll never make it to first."

I'm panicking because I really don't want to embarrass myself, but I'm not sure what to do. All too fast, it's my turn again. The score is pretty tight and I don't want to be an out every time I come up to bat. I turn with panic filled eyes and say to Jimmy, "What should I do?" He says, "Make him pitch to you. Make him give you at least one strike (cause in this league you only get two strikes and you're out) before you swing." I nod and walk onto the field with my purple metallic bat. About halfway to the plate, I come up with a brilliant beyond brilliant plan.

I'm going to make the pitcher pitch to me. I know, I know. It sounds exactly like what Jimmy said, but it's not. It's completely different.

I tap the bag with my bat and lift the bat up like I'm going to knock one out of the park.

And then I watch.

Pitch one. Outside the bag. It's a ball.

Pitch two. Hits the plate. Ball.

Pitch three. Outside of the bag again. It's a ball. And guess stinking what? I'm walking to first base. I conned that pitcher and my whole team is cheering like I just hit a home run. My husband runs for me and I'll be darned if he didn't score a run on my walk.

So guess what? You got it. The next time I'm up, I let the dude pitch again, while I stand there looking all cute smiling at him. After two balls that pitcher looks at me, smiles and shakes his head, as if to say, "I can't believe you're getting away with this." I hear my husband laughing over by third base. And I got to first base again!

So I'll tell you the end. One guy from our ward came last night who had never played with us before. This kid probably doesn't weigh any more than me and he's about my height, but wow, could he wallop that ball. And talk about speed. I was standing in the wrong line in heaven when they handed out speed genetics. But him? He was in the super-speedy-like-a-cheetah line. He got to first, we had two outs, and I remember thinking just get home speed-boy. This game needs to end. Someone gets up and whams that ball as hard as they can and speedy boy takes off. We're screaming and waving our arms and believe it or not, he makes it all the way home on a hit that should have only been a single or at most a double. And like that, we won the game.

After it was over, I apologized for my sad playing, but another guy said to me, "Are you kidding? We scored on your walk. We would have lost without you." It wasn't all about me, and if we won because of anyone it was because Jimmy's such an awesome pitcher, or my husband who fields so well, or the guy in the outfield with me who made up for my sad skills, or speed boy for, well, his speed.

But I'm going to enjoy the moment of victory, like it was all my doing. While I sit here and ice my leg.

My overprotective dad

You know how the people closest to you can also be the most irritating? Here's a little trick to help when you feel like someone you love is pushing you close to the edge.


Find something about them that you just adore and focus on that.


Pretty wise, huh? I'm sure someone else came up with that idea first, but I'm going to pretend like I just came up with it. I'm so brilliant.

Here's an example:

My dad. He's way overprotective, and I mean way. It used to drive me crazy as a teenager. But you know what I love about my dad? He's so tenderhearted. It's a Henshaw thing. And lucky me, I inherited it.

For example--This morning my dad calls at 8:30 and yells in the phone, "I have to speak with Emma!" That's my eight year old daughter. Oh, I need to back up. When we lived on the farm and Emma was about three, we found a calf in one of the pastures that had been abandoned by her mother. Cows are dumb like that. They can't remember anything. So apparently the momma cow had twins and after she dropped the first calf (that's farmer speak for giving birth) she went off somewhere else to drop the second calf. Then she forgot about the first one. We tried to get the momma to claim this baby but she wouldn't have anything to do with it. So we did the only thing we could do--we bottle fed.

Every day, three times a day, Emma and I would go out to the little calf-shed by our house and bottle feed this baby. After a while, this baby would get up and kick her heels when she saw us coming. One morning, I couldn't find Emma anywhere. She wasn't in the house or in the yard. I called up to my parent's house and she wasn't up there either. I took off running toward the calf-shed and sure enough, she was in there with that baby. Snuggled up. It was the cutest thing, but it made me nervous because she started doing it all the time after that. And that calf was steadily getting bigger and bigger, at a much faster rate than my daughter. But Clarabelle never hurt Emma.

And then we moved away. I think the thing Emma was saddest about, other than leaving her grandparents, was leaving Clarabelle. To this day, whenever we visit the farm, Clarabelle still recognizes Emma and comes up to her and licks her or lets Emma kiss her on the nose.

Back to my dad--so my Dad calls up and shouts into the phone, "I have to talk to Emma!"

I say, "She's not awake yet. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. Tell her she's finally a grandma!"

And then I can hear him getting choked up. About a cow. See, this cow has lost two babies and my dad was worried she wouldn't be able to birth a cow, so this was a very big deal to him.

I love that about my dad. That he's so touched about Clarabelle having a baby that he would cry. But it's more than that. It's about him loving my daughter and being excited that a creature that Emma nourished and cared for has finally done what she's supposed to do. Give life to another creature.

Back to crying.

My dad cried when he found out his mother-in-law had cancer. I remember it. I was maybe twelve. I walked in the kitchen. He was sitting on the kitchen table bench with his back was shaking, his head hung down, and the phone pressed to his ear. He didn't cry for himself. He and my grandma didn't even get along back then. He was crying for my mom, and my grandma, and my grandpa. (By the way, my tough-as-nails Grandma kicked that cancer in the rear. She's turning 93 tomorrow. I hope to be like her when I grow up. She now lives with my parents and she and my dad get along just dandy.)

My dad cried after I brought my soon-to-be husband home and he realized what an awesome person my husband is.

He sobbed the day after I got married.

He cried when I had my first miscarriage because he couldn't stand to see me so sad.

He cried the first time he held my oldest son.

He cries when me or my brothers accomplish something great, or when he talks about his deceased parents or siblings.

He cries when he tells me about how my mom almost died giving me life.

Personally, I think this one quality redeems everything else. Because what does that say about a person when they cry? It's like giving you a little peek inside their heart. It's like they're saying, "I'm not as tough as I appear." It's like saying, "I love you enough to let you see that I'm vulnerable."

So when he's being a little too suffocating, I try to remember that he won't always be around and I'll miss him, and I remember that I love it when he cries.

Doing the Dance of Joy

Because Becca gave me permission. You're completely confused? Let me clarify so you can unwrinkle your brow. Heidi Taylor, Deseret Book's Assistant Product Director, just emailed me and told me they've liked the pages I gave to Lisa Mangum and would love to read the entire manuscript.


Woot!!! Can you hear me yelling all the way here in Virginia?

Calm the sailor

Have you guys seen the movie, "The Other Side of Heaven?" The book is even better, though I love the movie so much. My favorite part is when Elder Groberg and his two counselors in the Branch Presidency are thrown overboard into a crazy storm in the middle of the ocean. It's terrifying, and overwhelming, and even cooler, it really happened because we know this movie is based on the real mission of John H. Groberg. Can you imagine how scared those guys must have been? So you're feeling their fear and gripping the edge of your seat wondering how they're going to make it through. This was one of the big spiritual experiences of Groberg's life because he was saved, when he thought he was about to die. God did that for him. And following that experience is one of my all-time favorite quotes:

"Sometimes God calms the storm. Sometimes He calms the sailor. And sometimes He makes us swim."

It's so true, and not just when you're in the water. But yesterday, I could really relate. My family and I were definitely in the water.

Let me preface all of this by letting you know that I have a lung disease. Usually, it doesn't cause me much trouble but occasionally it flares up and makes me down right miserable. If you've ever had pneumonia then you understand what this feels like for me. In the morning I can be totally fine, but by that night, if I haven't taken any antibiotics, I can be curled up on the couch crying, wishing I could die. Yesterday when I stepped out of the car and bent over to help Bryan pick up our kayak, I realized I was getting an infection. All my antibiotics were back at home.

Back to the story, my husband and I thought it would be fun to take some Kayak's down the New River, and tow our kids behind us in tubes. Once we'd gotten son number two over his fear of thinking he was going to drown in that river, we were having a great time. Son and daughter numbers one jumped in intermittently and swam. Husband fished. I paddled my heart out, got a nice tan, and some sleek muscles in my upper arms. All around, a good day.

Until the last mile.

Out of nowhere a huge thunderstorm comes rolling in. I look back at Bryan to see if he heard the thunder, which he did, and we agree that it's time to paddle like our life depends on it. It's one thing to get caught on the New River in your kayak when a storm rolls in. It's a wholly other thing to have it happen when you're responsible for the four precious children God gave you to raise and keep safe.

It is also one thing to kayak down the New River in, well, a kayak. It's a wholly other thing to kayak down the New River in a kayak that is towing children behind it, if you get what I'm saying. (If you don't--it means those cute kids are heavy)

So we're paddling like crazy, and I'm praying my heart out that we can get to the pull out point before this storm busts wide open. More thunder and a nice black cloud settle in right over us. I'm praying harder, and paddling harder, but it's just so slow going with Daughter number one in that tube behind me, and I can only imagine how crazy it is for my amazing husband who's towing two kids and has our toddler on his lap. And he's still beating me.

And then the sky opens up and it begins to pour.

He's making us swim.

It had been 85 degrees up to this point, but now--it is cold. And I'm still praying. Daughter number one and I struggle to get her out of the tube and into my boat to see if that's faster. We get stuck on some rocks. I look ahead to see my second son watching, and bawling. I also see my toddler flipped over with her head shoved into her dad's lap, and I care barely hear her crying as the water pelts her.

"This feels like hail," daughter number one says with anxiety in her voice.

I assure her it's not, though she's right, the water has a little sting to it. I was wet before, but I'm a drowned rat now. And I'm cold. My lung is aching, and my body is definitely spent. But I'm still paddling with all my might, no matter that the wind is blowing against me. I'm praying and trying to feel out whether or not we're safe, and I feel that we are. The Lord is calming the sailor. And that's great, but I'm still miserable and I can only imagine how my kids must feel.


It starts raining even harder and I look up to see my husband laughing and shaking his head. At that moment, I love him so much. I see a huge oak tree and point to it. If nothing else, we can huddle and wait it out for a few minutes, but we're still going to be miserable.

I look up at the bank to see a lady waving frantically for us to come up to her deck. I take it. We all climb out of the boats, and the kids and I race up the wet grass to her house. First thing that makes me believe she's an angel--she runs down in the pouring rain and helps my husband pull the boats and tubes out. Next, when she gets back up to the house, she gives all six of us a towel. She gives us good southern conversation for about a half hour until we realize this storm is not going to quit anytime soon. Then she drives my husband in her golf cart down the road to our van. Once they're back, she helps us pack up, and she brings out a load of snacks for my kids who are complaining about being hungry.

The Lord calmed our storm yesterday, but not in the way I'd been praying for. Instead, we got to meet a super nice lady and make a happy memory. She has no idea that my second son was so scared of the water. He told me later on, "Mom, when you got stuck on that rock, the water was rising, and I started crying, because I thought you were going to die." That lady had no idea that her German Chocolate Little Debbie snack cakes made him happy and helped him forget all about his fear. I love how my Father in Heaven sends help through other people, and teaches me that I need to be one of those people.

We drove off happy, and warm, and laughing. And I have a secret. I did a little investigative work while she was driving my husband to our car. This Angel Lady works with my sister in law just a few miles from our house. Now we can take her some cookies, or some other treat and let her know we appreciated that nice thing she did for us.

Don't forget to try to help calm someone's storm today.

Oh, and the other big thing I learned yesterday--next time we decide to go kayaking/tubing--check the forecast first.

Why

Why don't we appreciate people until they're not around to be appreciated?

Why do we lose our patience with our children even though we know it defeats the purpose of what we're trying to do (raise calm, confident, loving kids)?

Why do we let scripture reading fade off into the distance and ask why our life is falling apart?

And why are we blinded by people's flaws instead of being able to see everything they have to offer?

Why do I continue to ask these why's when in theory I know the answers?

I'm a little frustrated with my human frailties at the moment. Do you have any whys?