My Daughter’s Eyes

A few weeks ago a young co-worker took a day off while his wife delivered their first child. Hearing this was going to happen I congratulated him and told him, “The world changes for you on that day.” He said, “What do you mean?” and I just told him, “Wait, you’ll see.”

When he returned with news that all was well, passing around pictures of a robust and healthy little boy, I enquired after his wife and asked how he was feeling. He smiled and said, “You were right – the world is a new place.”

I felt that way with every child my wife delivered. It was always exciting and nearly breathtaking in how abrupt it was – one era ended in an instant and a new one began.

To fully understand what that feels like you just have to experience it. It is one of things that maybe you can wonder about and perhaps others will tell you. But until your moccasins walk down that path you really have no idea.

I realized over this past weekend that my children are in a state where they really have no idea when it comes to their family heritage.

That’s not an accusation, that’s not something I levy to garner guilt or shame. It’s just the way it is.

We took another long weekend trek to Dad’s famed storage unit where 55 years of accumulation still exists and that we’re slowly working. Dad just can’t afford to house all this stuff (it’s not all his either) and decisions have to be made to deal with it all.

For days Dad worked with various family members to sort things into piles. There was a pile of Christmas stuff to be sold at a yard sale, a pile of things belonging to each child, a pile of things to be donated and a pile of stuff to be preserved.

The work generated a few fun moments. We learned quickly that what a box was labeled didn’t mean that’s what was inside – or that it was what we thought it was.

My daughter Madelyn came across a curious carton labeled “Redneck Pillow”. She laughed and wondered aloud who would own such a thing. Almost instantly, I surmised the box belonged to my little sister Kris, as she was the closest thing we had to a redneck in the family.

This made everyone laugh.

Madelyn tore open the box saying, “Well I’ve got to see what a redneck pillow looks like.” As soon as the flaps were opened she burst out laughing and pulled it out of the box, holding it high in the air.

“It’s not a redneck pillow, it’s a red NECK pillow!”.

After everyone had their laugh at that one of my kids asked, “Dad, why is Aunt Kris the redneck of the family?”

It was a fair question and I found some pictures of Kris during a phase when she was big into country music, wore hats and boots and all. They took some pleasure in seeing their much younger aunt in a new light but I was quite surprised they didn’t know this about her.

My kids are pretty fond of Kris so this was somewhat of a magical moment of discovery. The “cool aunt” just became a bit more cool, even though there isn’t a one of my children who are fans of country music. They have just always loved Kris’ take-no-prisoners love of life in pursuing the things she likes.

But in a way the moment encapsulated what is so awesome about family history.

We just don’t know what we don’t know.

All through out the weekend of working on this storage unit we found bits and pieces of family past. There were things in there that none of us knew were there.

For example, my Dad found an old metal file box which contained another box. The inner container housed mementos my Grandfather had saved of his parents. It contained their wills and a few personal items which now have to be well over a century old. Neither of us knew how they ended up in the pile of stuff.

But more importantly, my Dad was the only one who had a memory of these two people. I know of them from my family history research and many conversations with those who grew up with them. But my children have no connection to these great grandparents. The file box and what was in it did nothing to hold their interest.

In such “things” it is hard for anyone to find much connection.

In contrast, my children and those of my siblings that were there were anxious to find things connected to my mother. They knew my Mom and having lost her just two years ago they are missing her more than I think they anticipated.

We found several large cartons of crochet afghans my mother made. With each discovery voices were heard saying, “I want one!” or something similar. They knew there are few precious things left that came from my mother’s hands. There is no way I’m going to allow those things to be donated or tossed – we’ll clean them up and give them out again as gifts – from my mother.

Seeing this disparity in their appreciation for family past was a little distressing for me. But after giving myself some time to think I’ve come to realize that time is all they need to grow in their appreciation for all their family.

The eyes of youth are clouded by hopeful futures that they see on an endless horizon. Only time and wisdom and experience can give them the connective longing for their family past. My children are no different than I was at their age.

What I wouldn’t give to go back in time and listen a little better to my parents and grandparents. What I wouldn’t give to gather more of their precious memories and to document better the things they were telling me.

But I wasn’t seeing the world then through their eyes. I was seeing the world through my eyes where my future seemingly had so little to do with their past.

I know differently now.

Last week my sister-in-law shared the picture you see below. On the left is Beatrice Frances Baker, my wife’s great grandmother. She was affectionately known as Grandma Trix.

This picture reminded my sister in law of my daughter, Allie. And instantly I saw it too.

Hopefully you can see it. Hopefully the rest of my children can see it.

Grandma Trix is a beloved character among the Gillens and Malones, my wife’s family. I have heard nothing but magic and love about Grandma Trix.

But I do not yet know her history.

But seeing her in my daughter’s eyes draws me to her instantly. She is, in the end, family.

Beloved. Precious. Part of us.

In a way, this picture solves a little mystery I have had within me since the day my daughter Allie was born.

I’ve told the story many times but I’ve never really done much to explain my feelings on that incredible day. That birthing experience was something of a nightmare for my dear wife but for me it was a day filled with amazing discovery, love and revelation.

Allie was born with her eyes wide open – and she hardly made a noise.

In fact, though a little stranger to me in those first few moments of her life I saw then for the first time “the look” she gets that is uniquely hers whenever she experiences something new. Her mind was active and the wheels were spinning — and the expression on her face was one of wonder and discovery.

And then there were those big, beautiful brown eyes.

They say you can’t tell a baby’s eye color at the moment of birth. And generally I would agree because most of my children were born with grey colored eyes that eventually changed to blue or green.

Allie’s eyes were dark and they were huge.

I knew almost right away her eyes would be brown like her mother’s. It was a thrill to me, simple as this sounds, to have a brown eyed child.

But what struck me, especially in those first several hours of her life, was how those eyes spoke and expressed her feelings. Allie has the type of eyes that just communicate.

I can recall looking at my beautiful new daughter and wondering about those eyes. What came next was a sacred moment of revelation unlike any other I would have concerning my children. In an instant my entire head was filled with light and I was given knowledge about this little spirit.

I knew her and her capabilities at that very moment.

This is nearly 21 years ago now and looking back – through the perfect vision we all possess in looking back – I can see now that what I was given about Allie was perfectly accurate.

She was and remains unique among my children – not greater loved, not better, not more special than any of them. But unique – as different as those brown eyes that separate her from her siblings.

In nearly every way she is unique and different. Some joke that shouldn’t be a surprise because she is a middle child. I won’t go there because I’m a middle child myself and, well, you wouldn’t understand.

But I believe our family past has a big part in explaining what makes each of us unique.

To my daughter – who was named after my beloved Aunt Allie and after my wife – I would challenge you to get to know the Grandma Trix you see in this picture. There is a reason you have her look – and there is likely a good chance the look came from someone else in the distant past.

Do not think for a second that it is merely a coincidental thing that you share “a look”.

For example, this side-by-side picture of my daughter Maggie with a picture of my Grandmother. You’d have to be completely blind not to see the relation.

But I know both Maggie and my Grandma.

I am quite certain that if they had the chance to spend some time together they would delight in each other. I think they would find common ground beyond the things I know about them both. Both are precious to me and I feel they would be precious to each other.

Or how about these images of my Dad and my son.

My son Enoch is built like my Dad and has many of his mannerisms. There is meaning in that. And the similarities go much further.

Just as I would challenge Allie to get to know Grandma Trix and for Maggie to get to know my Grandma Westover I would invite my son to get to know my Dad more and to do it now. Your opportunity at embracing the past is only going to happen by the wiser part of the vision of your youth, son. You may not see the wisdom of it now. So trust me on this. You won’t regret getting close to your granddad while he’s still alive.

To me, that’s what I was feeling in the dusty confines of that storage unit – where the “family history pile”, as we came to call it – was the biggest of them all. There were photos and documents and keepsakes and stuff from all sides of my family.

For me, older now and wiser, I could “feel” their presence as I looked over these earthly things.

Some of it made me sad. I was, frankly, greatly missing my mother this weekend because hers was the biggest presence there, of course.

But I shared an interesting moment with my Dad.

I opened an old enveloped and inside was a stack of family group sheets. He saw them from a distance in my hands and said, “Those must be from my Grandma Westover.”

And I said, “No, Dad. These are from MY Grandma Westover – I think your mother gave you these.”

“How can you tell?” he asked.

“Well,” I said, “from the scans that Sam gave us of his Mother’s family group sheets they were all filled out by hand. These are typed. Grandma gave me a set just like this.”

Dad came over and thumbed through the sheets. “I think you’re right,” he said. Then from within the pages of these family group sheets out dropped a letter – in Grandma’s unmistakable hand writing.

In the letter, which was addressed to my father, Grandma talked about what a different year and what a different Christmas it had been for everyone and she thanked my dad for his many kindnesses to her during the course of that year.

“I think this was her last Christmas,” Dad said as he read the letter.

As he read the words that Grandma wrote about the family group sheets – “I want you to have these”, she said – I could feel so much of what my father was feeling just then.

He was missing his mom, too.

But as he carefully folded the letter back up and put it back into the envelope I thought what a wise woman my Grandma was.

Dad knew the names on those group sheets without looking at them. They were precious to him long before his mother ever gave him that for her last Christmas. They were precious to her, too.

But the real love was expressed, mother to son, in the words “I want you to have these”.

Not all of our family past can leave us something so personal.

Perhaps this why the Lord, in his wisdom, allows us to look like them, to carry on their names, and to be similar in habit and manner.

If I could tell my children anything right now it would be for them to look to their family past.

You can find answers there. You can find inspiration there.

I tell you they know you in your youth better than you know yourself. And as you explore who you are and come to terms with where you are headed and why you are here you would be wise to realize they are right here with you.

They know you and they love you.

You would be wise to know and love them too.

Family By the Numbers

An online friend asked me the other day where I have gone. He noticed that my activity on social media was much less than what it has been in the past. “All you talk about are your kids or family history”, he said.

These days I take that as a high compliment.

Among the many things I hope to accomplish this year was less time invested in things that just are not important. Social media and complaining about politics, careers, and daily living are a distraction from things that are more important.

But the pendulum can swing both ways. Sometimes we can become so absorbed with an objective that we miss other good things going on around us.

And that is why I hesitate to bring up this next topic – a number assigned to our family history.

I made it very public at the first of the year that I hoped to complete 1000 family ordinances in 2017. On the right hand margin of this page is a very visible numerical accounting of how we’re doing with that goal.

In a way my mission experience taught me the dangers of numbers. I learned that if you assign numbers to things they do motivate people. The problem is knowing what the numbers motivate people to do. At the end of the day, there is usually only one number that matters. And we usually fell short of that one number while shattering the values of lesser important numbers.

My goal number of 1000 family temple ordinances in 2017 really has little significance. Of the billions of people in world history who need temple ordinances done it is a drop in the bucket. Even out of the numbers of people through time I can call family it barely scratches the surface.

But I put the number up there to motivate me. I don’t want to lose focus of what we’re really trying to do with our family history. It is all about the temple and getting as many of our family there as we possibly can.

While what we did last year was good I figure we can do much better. It is going to come from constantly moving forward toward a goal – and by making more time for it by making less time for things that just are not important.

Of course, it would be helpful to have others engaged in the goal. It always is.

Thankfully, I do have many who are assisting the in the work. Most of them are neighbors and ward members. I am grateful I have a nearby temple where I can take the names we have ready.

But I know that if we had some help of focused family members our results would improve dramatically.

I want all our family members to take some ownership of that number. Feel free to add your names from your own family history research efforts to the tally here. Likewise, feel free to use the website to help publicize when and how you need help.

I remain frustrated with many in my family who won’t engage with me in this work. I don’t know if it is just me or just that they want to remain solitary in their efforts.

But I can only imagine how frustrated our family on the other side might be because of how little we’re doing and how unorganized that we are.
We can do better. And I dare say we MUST do better.

The Spirit of Elijah is knowing the urgency of this work.

““Think of the Savior when you meet Him. . . . He has trusted you by letting you hear the gospel in your lifetime, giving you the chance to accept the obligation to offer it to those of your ancestors who did not have your priceless opportunity. Think of the gratitude He has for those who pay the price in work and faith to find the names of their ancestors and who love them and Him enough to offer them eternal life in families, the greatest of all the gifts of God. He offered them an infinite sacrifice. He will love and appreciate those who paid whatever price they could to allow their ancestors to choose His offer of eternal life.” – President Henry B. Eyring

Sacred Coincidences

As I write this in the dark of night, my mind flooding with thoughts, I realize that I’m about to share some things with you that are deeply personal and sacred.

I recognize as well that I am about to share some history of living individuals and that I’m going to share some stories and a history that is yet unfinished. It is a story that continues to unfold.

I do it because there is a longer view to family that I think we all need to consider.

There are forces at work that we cannot see.

And there are coincidences that in time we need to recognize as something more. They are sacred, precious morsels that connect us to family past, present and future.

I’ll begin by sharing something that happened just this week. My sister-in-law, Mary Westover, sent me a Facebook message.

“I have a Family Search question,” Mary said.

I’m still getting used to that statement. That is usually how conversations begin when you get asked something as a family history consultant.

Mary is pretty knowledgeable about family history and has about as much experience as I do in family research. If she had a question for me I figured it likely had to be something of a stumper.

But I soon learned that Mary was pretty upset, too.

She had just visited Family Search and was horrified to find that someone had swapped out her great-grandmother for someone else with a similar name. Whoever did this added a bunch of children from another part of the world to her great-grandfather, listing these strangers with similar names as his children.

To make matters worse, they had initiated temple work for all these names that were similar but not really connected.

So Mary had good reason to be upset.

This is the grandmother whose name was given to her and she had invested a lot of time in working on her information.

This is a natural and good byproduct of doing Family History: you become attached. Your names become your people – family! – so it doesn’t feel good to have that changed.

Hearts that are turned can be easily broken – or at least shaken until things can get sorted out.

For Mary, it was a time of panic and tears.

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When I returned home from my mission in the spring of 1984 I had found that the world in my family –and particularly among my siblings — had changed. The 1980s were formative years for us all and in my absence the dynamics had quickly shifted.

My big brother, Jay, was likely leading the charge in change.

I do not know the details of their courtship and how Jay and Mary came together entirely. But I can recall meeting Mary for the first time at my parent’s home and sensing something about her that I couldn’t quite understand.

It was a unique feeling and one that I would only feel again when I met my wife.

Some of that feeling extended in part to meeting her daughter, Darcy, who was maybe four years old or even younger at the time.

I was quite taken with Darcy.

She was this shy little thing, almost too scared to look at me. I tried so hard to get her to trust me and I think Mary recognized that.

What I saw in Darcy was a new experience in my life – a new level to my identity.

She would become the eldest child of my big brother – the first of the next generation in our family.

Darcy made me an uncle. I wanted very much to matter to her and to be close to her and the others who would come after.

I was experiencing a lot of firsts during these years. I was struggling to find what I felt was the right kind of person to marry. That was the natural next step in my life but all around me I could only see people my age as being much the same as they were when I was in high school. But this time I had changed – and I was looking for someone who had grown some since high school, too.

Mary’s relationship to Darcy caught my attention in a significant way.

Here was someone my age that seemed to possess a rare talent and ability.

Of course, I had seen these attributes in lots of women in my life before and they are commonly associated with motherhood.

But I had not yet seen it in a contemporary and in Mary’s love for Darcy I saw absolute devotion, duty and endless love. It gave me a tremendous amount of respect for her.

I only stayed home after my mission for a few months. Then I left for the wilds of Utah and Idaho, not to return to California for nearly five years – except for occasional visits.

One of those visits came when Mary was baptized.

A few years ago Mary told me I had played a role in her conversion story. I’m sorry to say I do not recall doing the things she said I did. But I’m sure it was driven out of not only my love for the Gospel but also of a desire to grow closer to this new sister and my first niece.

I did not recognize then that trip, that day or that event as a huge moment in our family history. I did not see it then.

But I see it now.

In fact, I see now that room was filled with a lot of people I didn’t know then as being important to me.

In the room there that day was my future wife and my first daughter – as a baby.

Coincidence? Maybe.

Sandy and Mary had met while working in the same place. They both just happened to work for the same company that both my brother and my dad did. In fact, it was the same company – Longs Drugs — that I had once worked for in high school and the one that I would work for again some four years later.

Coincidence? Perhaps.

Looking back on it now we get good laughs from all these coincidences.

One of the great artifacts in our family archives is a certificate Sandy received from completing some training she received from Longs. That certificate bears my father’s signature. It was signed years before Sandy and I met.

Sandy and Mary were both single Moms. I would also call them kindred spirits. I wasn’t there but knowing them now I can easily imagine how quickly they took to each other.

They were not only close in age but similar in circumstance and made of the same heart – sisters in every way, a fact that has not changed from that day to this.

Sandy was at Mary’s baptism because she loved her.

Sandy, as long as I have known her, has always expressed her love and admiration for Mary.

She has told me many times that she knew then Mary would be a lifelong friend.

I don’t know at what point Sandy and Mary discussed the Church but I don’t find it any coincidence that their relationship took a deeper turn as Mary embraced the gospel.

I didn’t really enter into their association until a few years later.

I came home to California in late 1988 and returned to work at the same company. On weekends I would sometimes travel out to Modesto to visit Jay and Mary and to enjoy the company of my young nieces.

I wasn’t around much when Amy was born but I was there quite a bit when Katy was born and got quite attached to the kids.

Sandy and Mary had remained friends and, in fact, Mary was sometimes babysitting Aubree, who got on famously with her future cousins.

Mary was instrumental in Sandy and I coming together because she knew us both so very well.

I’m sure it felt to her like a long-time effort to make it happen. But it happened because Mary gently urged me to pay attention to this woman whose child she was babysitting.

The story of our courtship has become something of legend and I’m not sure if I’m getting all the details right here because I wasn’t part of the conspiracy. I was just victim to it, you could say.

But Mary showed Sandy a video that was shot during a trip to Disneyland. It included me because I was there with Jay, Mary and the girls on that trip.

The way the story goes Sandy saw me in the video, heard angels singing, called the guy she was dating to break it off and then announced to her parents that she had found her husband.

That’s the legend.

But there’s another video. And in that video you can clearly hear Mary and Sandy strategizing how to set up a “chance” meeting between us.

Whatever is truth and whatever is legend in that story doesn’t really matter at this point.

What matters is that we met – and Jay and Mary were right in the middle of it.

As Sandy and I did meet, and there was attraction there, I can recall wrestling a little bit about becoming involved with a woman who had a child.

I had never considered the idea and I wondered if I should be bothered about it.

As my feelings for Sandy developed I began to take inventory of some things.

I recalled my mother’s situation. She grew up with a step-father. And I thought of him – a man who had taken on another man’s child. That worked out – why wouldn’t it work out for me?

I thought of my brother. And, by that point, I thought of my little brother, too.

Both had married single Moms.

But mostly I thought of Mary.

Her quiet devotion to her children put her heart on public display and it was good. To me it made her stand out from most other women I knew that were my age. I saw those same sacred attributes in Sandy.

She wanted all the right things and would work and sacrifice in whatever way she needed to in order to do right by her child.

Mary taught me to see that in Sandy – and for a man who suffered in the brutal LDS dating scene of the 1980s — it was like water to a man in desert.

If it had not been for Mary I doubt very much I would have had eyes to see it.

What I was learning about Mary during these years was that she had an uncommon vision for family. That she could see me as her brother or Sandy as her sister wasn’t a far-fetched idea.

But for her to see Aubree as her niece and her children and our yet unborn children as cousins is something special.

And she saw that.

What makes that so surprising was that when I met Mary she had so few family connections of her own. Her parents were living in difficult circumstances and her siblings were scattered far and wide. She had half siblings, some that at that point I don’t think she even knew about.

Her family situation was mixed at best and hopelessly disconnected. She was largely alone.

But what I was to learn about Mary Westover was that she would gather and rebuild her family – seemingly from the ashes of disaster – one person at a time.

And she just loves them. All of them.

She leaves nobody out.

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Family Search has a “helper” feature. Using that feature I was able to log into Mary’s Family Search account this week to see what was going on with her stolen great grandmother.

Clearly someone had not done even the most basic of research and attached the wrong names to the wrong people.

This happens a lot with common names and there likely is no more common couple pairing in family research than the names Thomas and Mary Brown.

These are the names of Mary’s great, great grandparents. They came from Scotland.

The people who had hijacked her family names all hailed from Canada.

I was able to detach those names and the “sources” associated with them and restore Mary’s grandmother using information that Mary was feeding me.

I peppered her with questions about her Grandma Mary.

Where was she born? Who were her parents? What were the names of her children? Do you have dates and names for them?

All these questions and more Mary knew and instantly answered me as I asked them.

I was amazed.

I asked Mary where she had found all and was keeping all this information if it wasn’t on Family Search. She told me she was using Ancestry.

That’s pretty common.

Many use Family Search just as another resource in searching for family names. It isn’t their primary family history venue.

That is a mistake.

Family Search needs your constant attention for one reason and one reason alone: that is where temple work is centered.

In the end, that is all that matters.

When you don’t keep Family Search as your primary record keeping location you will run into situations like Mary’s. And it can be heart breaking.

I like Ancestry and I use Ancestry.

But Ancestry, for all of its tools and resources, has the same problem with public information sharing as Family Search does. Much of it is wrong.

What makes Family Search better is the fact that it is infinitely better staffed to catch and deal with wrong information than Ancestry or any other paid-for resource ever can be.

After all, there are tens of thousands of Temple and Family History Consultants out there and who knows how many thousands of volunteers constantly keeping watch and helping on Family Search.

Family Search has one central goal – to have one tree for the entire family of man and to take them ALL to the temple.

Ancestry and other resources online take a different approach.

Instead of one tree they deal with millions of trees.

On Ancestry you can make your family tree public and many people do because they are looking for information from other people who might help them make their trees more complete.

In fact, you can link one tree to another in Ancestry.

That can be a good thing or a bad thing – depending on the quality of research that goes into each tree.

On Family Search we’re all together working on one world family tree.

Anyone can add to it – and anyone can take away from it.

The way you keep information from changing is to keep vigilant watch over your ancestors and keep adding sources, pictures, documents and supplementary information that strengthens the record.

Over time, with many people adding source material to the names of their family the more solid the tree becomes.

I’m not saying to get rid of Ancestry. I’m saying to use it for what it is and make Family Search your #1 priority.

Put all your information there. Sources get listed and linked there. Upload photos, stories and histories there.

Don’t leave your family alone EVER on Family Search.

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My first clue that something was “going on” with our family on the other side came when Jay and Mary went to the temple to be sealed.

I don’t recall the exact date but I’m certain it came after my Grandpa passed away in 1988.

They went to the Los Angeles Temple, I think because the Oakland Temple was closed at the time. There were not a lot of family members that could be there because of that fact but I was a single guy with a lot of time on my hands so I traveled to LA for the event.

My brother and I were both a bit surprised to run into my Great Uncle Gordon at the temple in the dressing room. Jay had invited him, as he had several other family members, and Gordon came.

To be honest, neither Jay nor I knew Uncle Gordon well. We had only had a few scant opportunities to interact with him during our growing up years.

But he came out of love and kindness. He came because we are family. He came out of respect not only for what was happening in the temple that day but also out of concern for his brother’s grandchildren.

I can never forget him for that.

I can recall how he sat us both down in that dressing room and expressed love for us and on behalf of his brother he expressed pride and gave counsel.

Jay and I then had a very spiritual experience that I dare not recount here. But we talked of it later with wonder and gratitude. It was a moment that was appropriate for the Temple and one that demonstrated plainly how connected we remain as family even after death.

After the day was over and I began a long drive home I had hours and hours to contemplate what had transpired.

It was a humbling moment of revelation that made me both giddy and breathless. But I struggled to determine what it meant and why we were given that vision.

For days I prayed over it and contemplated it.

It was only after a long period of pondering that it came to me.

This all happened because of Mary.

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I was able to get Mary’s great grandmother back in pretty short order.

Once done, I decided to see what I could quickly find on Mary’s Thomas and Mary Brown and their children.

My goal was to just pick the low hanging fruit that is so freely available on Family Search, just to solidify their records so that others who might come along and try to hijack them again would have something in front of them to give them pause.

I spent about an hour linking what records I could quickly find.

I learned that Thomas and Mary lived at least into the 1930s and their eldest son, also named Thomas, was known as Reverend Thomas Murray Brown – and he lived and died nearby and had a large family of his own.

These new bits of information, combined with the good work Mary had already done, went a long way to strengthening the Brown family record on Family Search.

This family history “incident”, common as it is, also yielded some uncommon observations for me personally – and they have kept me up the past several nights.

Mary’s family back in the early 20th century was located within a short distance of where my mother’s family lived during the same time frame.

Coincidence? Maybe.

But all the evidence we were using to re-connect her Mary Jenkins Brown to Thomas Murray Brown suggested that Tom Brown was a coal miner in Scotland who came to work the coal mines in northwestern Pennsylvania and eastern Ohio.

That was the same situation for my wife’s family.

All of Sandy’s father’s family are from that very same area in the early 20th century – and were coal miners as well.

Coincidence? Perhaps.

But how many loose connections over time start to form a visible structure?

Just how many coincidences do you have to experience before you start to suspect something greater is going on?

After all, Mary had many close brushes with the Westover family long before she ever met Jay.

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Mary’s childhood years were spent in Northern California and she lived for long period of time in the Concord area.

Coincidence? Not at all.

But she first attended school for a few years where Aunt Evie was teaching and she lived within walking distance to where we would live later as a family.

Coincidence? Ummm…hard to say.

Mary tells me that she grew up wanting to work at Longs. She loved the women’s uniform smock, the white one with the green piping. Is it any wonder that’s where she ended up?

I’m not sure where her interest in family history took root. I’m sure it came with her development in the knowledge of the gospel.

I can recall listening to an exchange between Mary and my Mom years ago when my folks were in Concord.

Mom was advising Mary on how to find out military information about her father. I can recall Mary very anxiously wanting to know about her father’s service record and Mom being a little fearful of what Mary might learn.

I never asked my Mom why she felt that way and now I kind of regret it. All I know is that in the ensuing years Mary did learn about her father and that through whatever she learned of his history it caused her to see her father with greater respect and love.

I met Mary’s father a couple of times – oddly enough, in the company of Mary’s brother.

By the time I met him he was old and living alone. His condition and his circumstances were pretty rough. I can recall talking with Mary about him after she would visit him, too.

When he later passed away it was Mary who made arrangements for his burial with military recognition and it was Mary who started to tell the stories of her father’s life to her family.

As her mother aged and had health issues it was Mary who would travel to be there for her. Her mother’s situation was not ideal either but Mary did all she could to help.

I don’t get the impression that life was always happy between Mary’s parents or that her childhood was filled with many great family moments. All I know is that in their waning days it was

Mary who went to the rescue and since their passing it has been Mary who has honored their memory.

She has also gathered her siblings and made efforts to get to know them and their lives.

When I think of the “welding link” that the Prophet Joseph spoke of in regards to family history and temple work I think of people like Mary and my Mom – lone agents in their families with the vision of what an eternal thing the family is.

Hundreds of years from now, when Mary is someone’s great, great grandmother visible on Family Search, will they know the savior she is on Mount Zion?

Indeed, they will.

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How was what happened in the Los Angeles temple that day because of Mary?

Well, I want to be careful here. I don’t want to speak for my brother.

But let’s be honest.

Jay would not be the man he is without her.

We can all say that. I see that in my wife. I saw that in my Mom. And I see that in JoAnn now with my father. I see it in most men I know who are happily married.

I know the dark paths my brother was on during the years I was gone on my mission. He had a real rough go during those days until he met Mary.

I know that day at the temple came as a result of a lot of hard things. And Mary was the light behind it all.

God said, rather plainly, “It is not good for man to be alone.”

And that is because when we’re alone we’re lost. Nearly worthless.

That day in the temple happened because Mary gave Jay all the right reasons to be there. Those reasons are the very same ones, by the way, that draw us to do our family work in the temple too.

We are no different than they are.

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When my mother passed away two years ago we witnessed her transition from this life to the next. At one point during her final days Mom said that she could see her mother and my sister encouraged Mom to go to her.

We watched in amazement as Mom reached out with her arms fully extended, smiled and then…thought better of the whole thing.

She wasn’t yet ready to leave the family she was with for the family she knew that awaited her.

There are those who scoff at the idea that loved ones are there when you die or that the visions of family are just vivid memories brought on by a sick and dying brain.

But with my Mother I had seen the difference.

I spent many nights with my Mom at the hospital and more than once her condition was precarious. I can recall an incident in the summer of 2012 when Mom was in the hospital and saying and doing the craziest things.

I remember the fear I felt as I considered never being able to have a lucid conversation with my mother again. This came on a night when she thought she was at the San Diego Zoo and wanted to bring home a pet chicken. When she came around, days later, she had a good laugh about that.

But I’m convinced those long, desperate nights for me as her son were to teach me the difference between a mind that was sick – and one that was dying.

On my mother’s death bed she was all there – for days her physical body failed but her mind never left her.

Some 10 hours before she died she made a very concentrated effort to communicate and her message was simple and meaningful. Her last words were “I love you”.

Of course, my mother’s passing was not unique in any way. Many, many people have similar and even more compelling exchanges with family on the other side during the dying process. Ask anyone of any faith or even of no faith at all – and chances are you’ll hear a story or two of it happening. It is very common.

But I’ve also learned that you need not be on death’s door to have such sacred encounters with departed family members.

Sandy, for example, once had a very vivid exchange with her grandfather – and experience that was unknowingly shared with her sister nearly a thousand miles away on the same night.

These things happen to seemingly all kinds of people – even the famous.

I recently read a great story about Martin Harris that I had never heard about before. It was the story of how he came to Utah very late in his life.

After arriving in Utah his heart had softened to the point where he wanted to be re-baptized and fully reconciled with the Church. On the night before his baptism he had a dream. In the dream he saw his father, standing on a ladder. He asked his father why he was on the ladder and his father said that he could not take his next step until Martin had acted in his behalf.

Martin was re-baptized in the Endowment House in Salt Lake City and Brigham Young was there. He asked Brigham what the dream meant and he told Martin his father was telling Martin to do his temple work. After Martin was baptized, he then was baptized again, both for his father and for another family member.

These very personal family encounters are not chance meetings. They are not reunions. They are targeted experiences designed to get results – and the result is ALWAYS action that makes a family stronger and an individual progress.

Whether they come to us through dreams, visions, thoughts or promptings – or we go to them through doing family history, genealogy, photos and temple work – the end result is the same.

Together we work towards making covenants that will help us progress in the next life. We cannot do it without them and they most certainly need us as well.

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Okay – I’ll confess. I took one more peek at Mary’s Family Search account.

Another coincidence had made me curious.

Her great, great grandparents came over from Scotland in 1922 – nearly 80 years after my 4th-great grandparents, William and Lindsay Findley, came over from Scotland.

William Findley was a coal miner.

He lived about 90 miles from where Mary’s great grandfather was born.

Coincidence?

Maybe. Or maybe not.

I go back a little further on Lindsay’s line and what is the family name I see?

Brown.

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Last weekend I got a brief email from my Dad. Attached was a PDF edition of a Cottam family history volume – the work of JoAnn’s family.

I’m thrilled to receive it. It is 280 pages of wonderfully detailed stories and history of a stalwart family.

I include it in our document archives because Westover/Cottam history has been made. They are a part of us and we are now a part of their glorious heritage.

I haven’t had a chance to get through much it. However, I can see rather quickly that their history has a strong connection to a place named St. George.

That’s funny.

So does ours.

The coincidences just never stop.

Memories of Mom — Sandy Westover

Editor’s Note: I did ask a few of my children to try to contribute some memories on audio for Mother’s Day knowing full well they had some great stories to tell. Every family does.

While that didn’t exactly happen they did go to social media today to publicly express their feelings about their Mom. And funny how what they ended up doing was what I was hoping for in the first place. So, being the sneaky Dad that I am I lifted what they posted and archive those comments here. Some day they may prove to be valuable insight not only by providing a glimpse of their mother but also a bit of themselves through a couple of snapshots in time: those moments they recall, and the time now they have taken to record them. Here they are, unedited:

sew2Enoch: “My favorite memory of my mom had to be back when I was in high school playing baseball. She was my personal coach. She did research on how I could be stronger and feel better with my current diet at the time. (If I’m being honest it was not very good. But she made it work) She played catch with me on occasion. She’d take me to my early morning work outs without complaining. While driving to those work outs she’d give me a motivational speech every time out. Which really lit a spark for me personally. I wasn’t very confident in myself cause I was some random home schooled kid no one expected to make an impression and ultimately make the team. She helped me in making my protein shakes every time before and after work outs. It finally came time for the coaches to post results for who made the team. And I’ll be honest. I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to play, bad. My mom was up with me that night and some time around 2 or 3 in the morning, again without complaining she took me to the school where the final rosters were posted outside the door. I remember the drive there like it was yesterday. Shaking like hell. My mom jamming out to Colbie Calet or however the hell you spell it. And when we finally got there (after 5 minutes) I saw that I made the team. We celebtated the whole car ride home and even days after that. As much as I would like to brag and say I did that all myself, I can’t. My mom is probably 90% responsible for me making that team. Even after games started she treated me like a king. Went to every game. Continued to motivate me. Supported me in everything. Helped me keep a level head and a somewhat healthy diet. Though I do remember getting a baconator at Wendy’s after almost every game… Yes she’s been my coach my entire life. She’s been my best friend. And that’s something that I’ll never forget and something I’ll treasure till the day I die.”

sew6Maggie: “Hi mom, thanks for birthing me and saying funny things that I don’t understand and for supporting me through so much and so many mess ups and for often tolerating my humor. You’re totally hip. I love you so much.”

Allie: “I’ve never seen eye to eye with my mom on everything, but never have I known a person who loves and encourages as unconditionally as she does. She crazy, she tells weird jokes, doesn’t make sense 98% of the time, doesn’t understand any of the jokes we tell, but above all who really needs her to do any of those things when she’s who she is? My mom makes me laugh hysterically because she’s a goofball and she doesn’t realize it. It’s who she is.

One of my favorite memories is when I was younger. I wanna say 10 or 11. I was homeschooled at the time and my mom set some rules, if you don’t finish your homework, you can’t go out and play with your friends. Simple as that. My mom taught me everything I know in terms of academics. Math, English, reading, writing, proper use of their, there, and they’re. The works. How she managed to do it with 7 kids is beyond me. Anyway, one day my mom gave me this pretty intense (intense at the time and for my age) math exercise. I remember it really well…it was 3 full pages, 16 problems on each page, long division on all 3 of those pages. I hated them with a passion then, and I still dislike them to this day. The only difference is I actually know what I’m doing now. All thanks to momma.

sew3I remember her giving me the assignment and explaining to me the step-by-step rules of long division. For the life of me I couldn’t figure it out, I would skip a step and not know which one. I loved doing the single digit problems because I felt like the smartest kid on the block, but when those numbers doubled up I considered myself doomed. I became angry and frustrated because I wanted to go play and be done with math, but I didnt know what I was doing. So I asked my mom for help, I pointed out the problem I couldn’t solve and she walked me through it again, she told me to take another swing at it and then she would watch me and see what step I was missing. “Allie you keep forgetting to bring that number down. If you don’t do that you wont find your answer.” So I did it again, skipped the same stupid step. My mom being the patient woman she is, wrote out PEMDAS at the top of the page and said “follow these steps and you will find your answer.”. Tried. Failed. Again. But my mom STILL sat there until I got it right. Back then it took about 10 minutes a problem because my mom was very thorough in her explanations. So I finished that problem and expected her to help with the rest, but she didn’t. ” Nope, I want you to do EXACTLY what we did with this one, and do it to the rest of them. If you get stuck again, let me know. But I want you to know how to do this.”. I was tired, I was fed up, the kids were outside livin’it up having a blast with their water guns out on the front lawn, and here I was stuck inside doing long division. Worst mom ever.

sew4Not. Looking back I realize if my mom didn’t push me to learn that stuff, I wouldn’t be confident in those things like I am today. I didn’t see the importance of knowing how to do math when I was 10 year-old. But now I do. Because whenever I do anything math related, my mind immediately reverts back to what my mom taught me when I was a kid. She was loving but firm in teaching us things. It’s helped all of is grow into useful and educated kids. Because of the things our mom taught us before we went to school, we have been successful in our academics and in our jobs. My freshman year was my first year of school…ever. I made the honor roll every single trimester throughout that year. And I have my mom to thank for that. Most kids are able to be successful at the freshman age because they went to preschool, kindergarten, and elementary school. I had none of that, and I don’t regret it because I had the best teacher. To homeschool 7 of your kids…is just about as patient as a person can get. I applaud my mom for her efforts in helping each of us learn. Granted there were times I wanted to be in school for other things, my mom taught us the basics. I’ve been successful in my education lately because of things I learned being in school, and also because of the things my mom taught me as a kid. Things keep going uphill and I will be forever grateful to her for taking the time to love and teach me.
Thanks for everything, momma”

Abby: ”One of my favorite memories of my mom was when she got sick of talking to us so she pretended she lost her voice for a whole day. She’s the greatest.”

“Ooh I almost forgot about this one. My mom on one of her sleep deprived Benadryl trips. I know you hate this, Mom, but we hold these moments dear.”

Madelyn: “The happiest of mothers days to my dearest mom Sandy Gillen Westover

sew5She is the walking definition of “age is just a number” and she’s my hero. Mom, you really have no idea how much you mean to me. I know I’m not the best daughter and I don’t deserve a mom as perfect as you. But I love you so so much and I’m so lucky I have you in my life not only as a mother, but also a supporter, and mentor, and a best friend. I love you so so much.
I have a ton of favorite mom memories ranging from frozen yogurt dates to doing the dishes together. But here’s one that’s one of my personal favorites.
On Christmas Eve a last year, me and my sisters made the mistake of watching the mid season finale of season four of the walking dead. (Spoiler someone beloved to me died in this episode) after this episode I was a complete mess. A pathetic human cucumber drowning in the tears over grief from the death of a person that never actually existed. But honestly I cried for hours. And it was Christmas Eve. Me being me, I went to go find my mother in search of comfort because I believed she’d make it all better. She did. I walked into my parents room with a blanket wrapped around me and a tissue shoved up my nose and I plopped my sad excuse of a self on their bed. My mom saw me in distress and frantically asked me what happened. I explained to her the situation and she hugged me and rubbed my back and told me everything was going to be ok. She even threw in a sympathetic “awh honey” in there. I looked up with tears in my eyes while my mom held me. I looked over at my dad and he gave me the most FED UP LOOK OF HIS LIFE. He looked me dead in the face and said “are you kidding me? That’s what you’re crying about? GET A LIFE.” This made me laugh because Its true. This was the life I was leading, but aye it’s a very emotionally involved show. This made my mom feel even more sympathetic for me. So, it being Christmas Eve, she grabbed a half eaten chocolate bar and got a Christmas bow from her closet and carefully put the bow on the chocolate to give to me. This is just one example of the extent of my mothers love. How ridiculous was this situation? Probably broke the scale of pathetic but my mother didn’t care because she loves everything and everyone so much. Happy Mother’s Day to my hero. (Sorry for the sad pathetic story. Thanks for loving me anyways mom) “

Memories of Mom — Grandma’s Laugh

Someone once said, “Grandmas are moms with lots of frosting!” This story is a great example of that.

Paul and Katee

Paul and Katee

In this “Memories of Mom” installment Paul Westover, son of Kim and Pam and a grandson to Darrell and Evie, shares a reunion memory that centers on his Grandma Evie.

Now, this covers a little ground we’ve shared already a little this week when Evie shared a giggling memory of her mother. And all that Paul independently verifies is that the laughter has never stopped.

We’ve asked dozens of people if they had time to share a memory of Mom this week. But we didn’t coordinate or direct a thing with these stories. (And we’re pretty sure Paul and Evie didn’t coordinate things either.) It is a delightful reminder of how spontaneously consist the love of family can be.

Paul, in his wisdom, added a little musical element to his story — and for that we’re grateful, too. Enjoy: