What Might Have Been

With recent old friend findings on Facebook (ooh, like that alliteration!), as mentioned recently below, my mind has reflected to ye old college days wondering what would have happened if... I'd married so and so, if I'd realized so and so was more interested earlier, I had lived in this apartment instead of that one, I'd moved out of the complex all together where I lived most of my college years...in short, if I had gotten married while I was in college.

The results of this line of thinking can be interesting to ponder. They can lead to gratitude for things one has been able to do instead. But since I never had much ambition about getting a fancy job or great travels, etc. (still haven't even travelled all that much)--I instead tend toward the line of thinking--maybe I wouldn't have this huge debt I have now, or maybe I'd have my own kids, maybe I'd have someone to cuddle with... in short, maybe my life wouldn't be so hard.

But, as a friend once told me, (not directly to me--it was a testimony, but I felt it was to me) life is actually fair. He was quoting some general authority, dont' remember the specifics, except that it made sense. If life weren't fair then God would not be just and merciful and loving and perfect, to make life easier on some than on others. Knowing of the disasterous circumstances some people live in, the shortness of some lives compared to some, it's an odd thing to consider. But we really don't know all of the facts about these lives, particularly their pre-mortal and post mortal lives or what gifts and blessings the Lord has given them to help them endure. Certainly people don't "deserve" hard lives, but at the same time, I think they will be blessed above what we are able to understand. There's another quote about God's filling our voids with blessings equal or greater to the size of the pain. Sorry, no specifics again.

But I do have one specific. I had actually been on the above line of thinking yesterday or the day before when this memory came into my head to help alleviate the downward spiral. In 1993, I was hit by a minivan while crossing the street on my way to work. I did suffer some, broke my first bone of record--the orbital bone in my right eye. I might have broken a toe or two before, but never had it verified because the doctor wouldn't have been able to do anything about it.

Anyway, I had felt particularly nervous about going to work that day, with no pinpointable reason, but I do remember feeling anxious about it, and feeling like I should get a ride or something. It was raining, but I had walked to work in the rain before. I even asked my roommate for a ride, knowing she didn't like to be the apartment cab company, and she, of course, said no. I think she had a good excuse, but I don't remember.

I even thought about not going. I don't remember the specifics of that time period, but I might have just been obligated to certain number of hours per week, rather than a daily schedule, but it was easier to go x number of hours per day. Anyway, I went anyway. And the rest is history.

After it happened, my mind had a tendency into the what might have been thinking, particularly given some comments one or two people made. Most people were sympathetic and compassionate, but there were a few who didn't understand some things, accusing me of not looking where I was going, and such like.

A new guy had moved into the ward, a nice guy, a cute guy, and I'd even talked to him a few times, and some friends had decided to do this girls-ask-guys thing, so I'd even gotten up the courage and asked him, which is really, really rare for me. Anyway, so with my little accident, that was, of course, cancelled. And before I was really well enough, he had found a girlfriend. So, how could I not help but wonder what might have happened if I hadn't left for work that day?

Well, fortunately for me, one of my professors, my grammar professor of all people, had encouraged us to read D&C 93. And these are the verses that stood out, 24 and 25: "And ^atruth is ^bknowledge of things as they are, and as they were, and as they are to come; And whatsoever is ^amore or less than this is the spirit of that wicked one who was a ^bliar from the beginning."

Where does "what might have been?" fall into this definition of truth? It isn't what is, what was or what is to come, so it must be more or less than that, and therefore a lie. Isn't that interesting?

I have brought this up to some people before and there is some argument that there are scriptures that talk about how life would have been better if so and so hadn't sinned. And that is truth. It is also true that President Monson likes to remind us of the whole picture of our lives, saying to learn from the past, live in the present and prepare for the future. So if we can learn from our sins, that life would be better if we didn't, then we can progress. But when no sin is involved, and even to a certain extent when it is, doesn't it make sense that we not dwell on what might have been but rather take those lessons and live in the present and prepare for the future? After all, we can't change the past, so it's a fruitless endeavor, and Satan is the master of fruitlessness.

Happy Birthday Mom and Dad!

My parents birthdays are ten days apart, and I was neglectful of remembering my blog on my mom's birthday, but alas my dad's has come along and I remembered, so I'll combine! They're married, so they're one anyway, right?

First my mom since her birthday was first.
My mom is amazing! She is the definition of organization and time management. She has charts and lists and records of everything, to help her keep track of her 8 children, her husband, and now her 19 grandchildren, I'm sure. My fond memories of her include: drawing lessons she gave me one summer when I was in elementary school (That was part of a one-on-one time project with all of her children, and I loved learning to draw from her.); Playing with her old Barbies in her bedroom; Shopping with her and sharing the handle of the buggy as we scooted around the store; Many telephone conversations; Reading her cute poems; and more recently, her visit out to see me in 2004 even though she was scared to death of the traffic and everything. I love you Mom!

And now my dad since he's second. And today!
My dad is also amazing! He has a fun sense of humor that I think I picked up on a little. And he's fun to watch with his grandchildren. They seem to love him, too. He's very easy-going and loving. Some of my favorite memories with my dad include: going to see the Princess Bride in the theater (you might not remember, but it wasn't a box office hit. To me, this was doing something a little unusual that I knew my dad would like and being pleasantly surprised that I really liked it too.); Learning how to drive in cold Colorado mornings on the way to seminary; short and sweet father messages at Family Home Evening (Be Good); Getting lost on the way home from the airport; Talking on the telephone, in the living room, in their bedroom; Getting his kind letter to me while I was on my mission; Hearing his testimony of how much he loves my mom; Learning a few Swedish words from him when I was a kid; and so many more! I love you Papa!

Memory Challenge, Childhood sickness

On one of the author blogs I follow, the blogger has a weekly memory challenge, and today's was a little interesting. Maybe I'm just anxious to write, take a break from all the re-writing I'm doing. There is really so much a difference.

The memory challenge is this--what do you remember about being sick as a kid?
I remember when I had the chicken pox I was allowed to sleep on the hide-a-bed in the living room, and that I didn't have to go to school--kindergarten I believe. Unless I'm remembering when someone else had them. But it was pretty cool to sleep on the hide-a-bed. And then stay on it all day. Right there in the middle of the living room where everyone has to see you and feel sorry for you. Those red dots all over were pretty sweet too.

Reading about kids who got ice cream and pudding and stuff made me kind of wish I could get my tonsils out or something, but I was never that lucky. I actually had a pretty healthy childhood, didn't miss much school. I did miss a day in 3rd grade though. I don't remember what it was, probably just a cold or something. But the teacher still gave me a perfect attendance award at the end of the year. And that actually made me sad--she hadn't missed me, I thought.

Then in fourth grade, I had this, um, issue, I guess. It wasn't really sickness. I had warts. I know I counted them at the time, but I don't remember exactly how many--in the range of 10, I think, though most were pretty small. Three or four were pretty big though. Getting those frozen off, though--that little "surgery" wasn't anything like getting your tonsils out. This was just embarrassing. But I still got a day off for it. And this time, I didn't want to stay on the hide-a-bed in the middle of the living room. As soon as I got home, I went straight to my own bed and cried myself to sleep. Oh that hurt really bad. I might have got pudding or something. I don't remember. I just remember it hurt, really bad.

Other things I remember about being sick was that if you stayed home from school you couldn't play with your friends later, so you'd better really be sick if you wanted the day off. Sometimes I felt better at the end of the day, but I learned to suck it up. What about you? What are you memories about being sick?


I have to add this post script that my mother emailed me: So it seems I wasn't in kindergarten. But I do remember the couch. Funny. Maybe it was coming home to it when the others had it, or maybe a combination. A three-year-old can have memories, but since it was so long ago, it also makes sense that it would be jumbled a bit:

The Quist family endured the chicken pox twice. The first time was in Canada before John was born. One child got it and two weeks later the other three did. So in about a month’s time all four of my kids had chicken pox. If you do the math, you’ll know that you had chicken pox as a three year old, more or less six months. It’s interesting that during this same month, Kim had rubella, otherwise called German measles.

The second round was in Loveland when Nancy was two months old. One child came down with it and two weeks later the other three(including Nancy) got it.

So, your hide-a-bed confinement, if it was chicken pox, would have been in Calgary.

Logic? You bet. I do sudoku.