THREE 9-1-1 CALLS TO HEAVEN

Whew! What a week! I survived, but only due to some divine intervention. 

My first emergency call to Heavenly Father came the day after Halloween. Here’s the context that led up to that blessing:

I have been working hard to be healthy this year. I’ve already lost over 50 lbs. through diet and exercise. My biggest contribution to my health plan was that I only allow myself to partake of sugary foods once a month. I followed my plan faithfully January through September. Then I messed up big in October. It started with one tiny treat. Then another. Then another. Then another. The next thing I knew, I had gained back 3 lbs. and felt like a sluggish, slow, sick roly-poly. I knew I was going to need some heavenly help.

Since my entire family spent October 31st together, I asked my husband and sons to give me a priesthood blessing. It was perfect to be surrounded by my two amazing sons and my truly wonderful husband. The blessing I received promised that I would have angelic assistance in returning to a healthy lifestyle.

This past week it has been easy for me to refrain from eating sugary concoctions. I have felt Heavenly Father’s grace, as I tracked my calories again. It was even easy to eat smaller portions this week.

Eating healthy has been a struggle for me most of my life. Apparently, repentance and God’s grace can also apply to taking care of our bodies. I repented of my October abuse to my body and God’s grace has helped me to feel better and ready to continue in this healthy lifestyle.

That SOS response was truly a gift, but Heavenly Father wasn’t finished helping me yet.

Tuesday was a presidential election. I had volunteered to work at the polls. I had been informed that it would be a looooooong day, and that due to my exuberance, I would be working at the counting machines. I would get to meet EVERY SINGLE voter and make them feel special. I was up for the challenge, although I knew that I would be completely exhausted.

The night before the big day, I prayed that I would have the energy and the positive attitude that I would need to make everyone’s voting experience a good one. For good measure, I also prayed that my smile would stay intact.

Tuesday was insane. The lines were long and never let up. We were also shorthanded at our polling precinct, which meant no breaks at all. It would have been easy to grumble, but I didn’t have any desire to do so. The only complaint I had was that after 14 hours of socializing and smiling and cheering on new voters, my cheeks hurt, and my voice was beginning to show signs of wear. I recognized the Savior’s aid as the voters continued to thank me for my positive and infectious attitude.

Apparently, I wasn’t finished calling my heavenly hotline. 

I got the call Tuesday night that the seminary needed a substitute for the very next day. I got home at 11:00 P.M. Read through the seminary lesson and crawled into bed at midnight. I managed to beg Heavenly Father for another favor by helping me with my seminary lesson the next day, since my preparation was next to nil. 

Wednesday morning, I was inspired to have the students write notes to my grandson. I showed them his picture and described him to them in detail. I asked them to give him advice, warnings, and encouragement as he navigates this confusing world, he’s growing up in. The teenagers were thrilled to write to him. Their advice was spot on. 

One young man warned him that girls were a distraction (except for his grandma).

One young lady reminded him that Heavenly Father loved him and knew him.

Many of the students encouraged him to read his scriptures, make good friends, and attend the temple. “Don’t do drugs” and “Be Good” were also included in the notes.

After we had shared some of the advice and encouragement, I explained to the students how they were just like Moroni. Moroni had never met us. They had never met my red-headed grandchild. Moroni had “seen our day.” They saw Spencer. Moroni shared advice and encouragement. So did my students. 

The whole lesson was truly inspirational. The seminary kids seemed encouraged that they could also be a warning voice to Spencer just like Moroni.

The great thing about this lesson was that I was so exhausted that I know the inspiration came from God. Heavenly Father answered my third 9-1-1 call in the space of one week: 1. He forgave me for being unhealthy and helped me get back to where I want to be. 2. He gave me strength and a smile for over fourteen hours of crazy business. And 3. He gave me the inspiration I needed to help bring some of His teenage children to Christ.

Perhaps another name for God could be My First Responder!

At least that’s they way I remember it.

COMMANDED TO DEPART

It was the middle of the night when my father urgently woke me up. At least, it felt like the middle of the night, but since bedtime was a strict 8:00 PM, it may have only been 8:30 PM. He told me to grab the most important things to me and to meet him, my mother and siblings at the truck in five minutes.

I groggily reached around looking for my favorite doll, Starla. Mom had given her to me for my eighth birthday a few months before. I also grabbed my yellow blanket and stumbled to the truck along with my sleep walking brothers and sister. We were all confused and carrying our most important treasures.

Dad threw sleeping bags in the back of the truck, along with his backpack. Mom was dressed and comforting my little brother who was too young to understand what was going on.  We all piled into the vehicle and dad drove us to the wilderness, where we pulled over under a starry sky with few clouds. The wilderness wasn’t very far away in our small town of Grand Junction, Colorado, but it seemed far away from everything and everyone I knew.

Once we arrived at our destitute destination, we piled into the sleeping bags in the back of the truck around my mom. Confused, we watched as my dad opened his backpack and revealed a lantern and a Book of Mormon. He definitely had our attention. He turned to 1 Nephi chapter 2 and began to read: “… the Lord spake unto my father, yea, even in a dream, and… commanded my father… that he should take his family and depart into the wilderness. And it came to pass that he was obedient unto the word of the Lord….”

I knew the story well. I was raised hearing the story of Nephi and his family fleeing into the wilderness. But this was different. For the first time, I knew what it felt like to leave my home, and all the comforts it provided. When dad reached verse 4, he asked us if we had bought our favorite things? I hugged Starla tight, snuggled into my yellow blanket and felt I had chosen wisely. Then dad explained that the most important things we could have were our family, provisions and the word of God. Dad had remembered the Book of Mormon. Mom gathered us around her and spoke softly about how precious we all were.

I have lost my yellow blanket. Starla now belongs to my daughter. But I have the most important things I need in this wilderness called life: my family, provisions, my scriptures, and a testimony of Jesus Christ. I really don’t need gold, silver, and precious things. I already have everything!

At least that’s the way I remember it.

A LOVE LIKE NO OTHER

Scott and I have always struggled with staying pregnant. We wanted a large family, but Heavenly Father thought that two, beautiful girls were our limit. 

For a long time, I kept hoping for more children, but I kept being disappointed. At one point, I lost a little boy and a little girl within a year. The grief and sorrow from the loss of two precious children of God overcame me. 

I have also struggled for all my adult life with a chemical imbalance. With the two miscarriages and my depression, I hit rock bottom. Even with two young girls to take care of, I struggled getting out of bed. I was constantly crying. And I was angry with God for not letting me keep my precious babies. I wondered why Heavenly Father didn’t trust me to be a mom. 

My brain was broken. My heart was torn. My spirit yearned for peace.

Scott and the girls also struggled. They watched me in anguish, not knowing how to help. I screamed. I yelled.  Sometimes I was angry at God. I took medication. I wasn’t OK. 

Scott prayed and pleaded with me to keep living. My sweet daughters gave me hugs and tried to make me smile. I received priesthood blessings. I kept going to Church even when I didn’t want to, and I attended the temple when I could manage it. 

On one hard morning, I knelt to pray and a powerful thought entered my mind: “You have been given only two biological daughters because I need you to be a mother to them AND help ‘mother’ other children.” 

The impossible weight I had carried for a year lifted.  A rush or relief swept over me. I knew that Heavenly Father was speaking to me and reassuring me that I was needed and wanted as a mother. 

That moment was the beginning of my ‘recovery’ from a year of grief and pain. Since, I have spent my life being a mom to whomever will let me mother them. I have loved my friend’s children as my own. I have cared for my piano and voice students as my own. I have cherished my ‘kids’ in every calling I’ve had. I find peace, joy, and fulfillment in being a mom, grandmother, church mom, camp grandma, co-mom, and Kentucky mom. I love my calling as a mother in Zion! And I’m grateful that God trusts me to be a mom to everyone!

That year was abominable, but God made something beautiful come from the ashes. I discovered my divine identity. Heavenly Father answers prayers.

At least that’s the way I remember it.

I AM AN ADDICT

Hi, I’m Sundy DeGooyer, and I am an addict. I am addicted to reading. 

You know you’re an addict when you say, “only one more chapter,” and then that one chapter, a five-minute read, turns into six hours and a completed book.

Did you know that according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the average American now reads only 19 minutes per day. I read A LOT more than that per day.

You know you’re an addict when money is tight, but purchasing a book is a necessity.

My husband and I are on a tight budget right now, but Brandon Sanderson’s secret books were announced to come out this year, and I HAD to pre-order them. He is our favorite author after all.

You know you’re an addict when you take a book with you everywhere you go, just in case.

Waiting in the doctor’s office takes an average of 19 minutes and 16 seconds according to Vital’s annual “Physician Wait Time Report.” In 19 minutes I can read approximately 3 chapters in any book. It just makes sense that I should always keep one with me.

You know you’re an addict when your suitcase is filled with 5-10 unread books that you hope to read on vacation.

Much to the chagrin of my husband, I always have to check a bag just for my reading material.

And you know you’re an addict when people depend on you for their book recommendations.

That is why I created a personal book canon.

You may ask, “What’s a book canon?”  Well, let me tell you! 

A literary canon is a group of books that are considered important for a particular time, period, or place. For example, there can be a canon composed of religious books or a canon of works from a particular country or region.

I first learned about book canons from my father. I remember my dad’s office in our basement had a whole wall covered with bookshelves and books. Whenever I finished reading a book, I would ask dad what I should read next. He would take me downstairs to the book wall. It was a magical wall full of stories and imagination. I was always excited to see what book he would recommend next.

Dad’s bookshelves were full of classics, sci-fi, fantasy, westerns, murder mysteries, biographies, and every other genre a girl could imagine. I never knew which book he would choose for me, but he always introduced me to great authors and important ideas. Later when I asked him about his book wall, he explained that all the publications were books he truly loved. They were essentially a list of works that were important to him.  He never had to worry about recommending any of the books from the wall.

As I grew older, I wanted to create my own personal collection of books. And many of the books in my personal canon came because my father recommended them. My canon is comprised of books that have changed my life in some way. 

The process of building my book list was both delightful and difficult. I spent hours pulling books from shelves, rearranging them, talking to my book buddies, re-reading many, and arguing with myself about their lasting values. In the end, I chose a wide range of genres and styles, like my dad, that helped me become the person I am.

The best part of having a book canon is getting to share it. Discussing and learning from others, who have read the same book, is an extremely rewarding activity. I wish more people would create their own book canons, so I could share in their knowledge and preferences too.

Yes, I am a book addict. And, they say, that the first step to overcoming an addiction is admitting you have an addiction. The question is, do I really want to be cured? My answer: ABSOLUTELY NOT!

At least that’s the way that I remember it.

 

Here’s my book cannon as of 2-10-24.  I’ve listed the books in alphabetical order.

Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
Better Than Before by Gretchen Rubin
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl
Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White
The Chosen by Chaim Potok
The Chronicles of Narnia (series) by C.S. Lewis
Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury
Dawn of Wonder by Jonathan Renshaw
Dragon Watch (series) by Brandon Mull
Elantris by Brandon Sanderson
The Emperor’s Soul by Brandon Sanderson
Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card
Fablehaven (series) by Brandon Mull
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
The Giver by Lois Lowry
The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Harry Potter (series) by JK Rowling
The Help by Kathryn Stockett
The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom
Holes by Louis Sachar
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
The Hunger Games (series) by Suzanne Collins
Remembering Isaac (series) by Ben Behunin
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
The Kingdom and the Crown (series) by Gerald N. Lund
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Last Year of the War by Susan Meissner
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
The Lincoln Hypothesis by Tim Ballard
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
Live Not By Lies by Rod Dreher
The Lord of the Rings (series) by J.R.R. Tolkien
Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Major Decisions: Taking Charge of Your College Education by Henry J. Eyring
Make Time: How to Focus on What Matters Every Day by Jake Knapp and John Zeratsky
My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok
My Name is Malala by Malala
The Orphan Keeper by Cameron Wright
The Poet’s Corner by John Lithgow
The Rent Collector by Cameron Wright
The Riyria Chronicles (series) by Michael J. Sullivan
Saved Through His Grace by Brad Wilcox
The Screwtape Letters by CS Lewis
The Seamstress by Sara Tuvel Bernstein
Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury
Stone Tables by Orson Scott Card
Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt
Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
The Walking Man by Gary McCallister
The Stormlight Archive (series) by Brandon Sanderson
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
Women of Genesis (series) by Orson Scott Card
The Work and the Glory (series) by Gerald N. Lund
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle

PRISTIQ

I have been taking ‘happy pills’ since I was diagnosed with depression in 1993. Depression runs in my family and I was no exception to the diagnosis. As I grew up, my mom became an advocate for education and treatment of the disease. When I began to have symptoms, I was able to recognize it almost immediately and get help.

I was lucky. I got help early.  And ‘happy pills’ have been part of my existence for the past 30 years. I’ve learned a lot through my experience. I learned to turn to God and trust in Him. He loves us no matter what.  My depression required me to talk to a doctor and be open to taking medication. I’ve learned that not every medication works the same way for everyone. And I learned the importance of therapy/therapists.

God, doctors and therapists have truly been blessings in my life, but I need to add one more type of person to this list: friends who care.

Occasionally, throughout my ordeal, I have had to change medications. A few times, my body built up an immunity to the medication. And, at other times, medications aren’t the ‘right fit.’

A few years ago, I needed to change my medication. I had tried something that didn’t work, so my doctor and I decided to try a new medication called Pristiq. I was excited to try this pill because I thought the name was incredible. It made me feel like I was an X-Man – perhaps because it rhymed with Mistique. Things like that amuse me.

I began taking Pristiq. I didn’t notice a difference right away, but then I suffered a panic attack. I’ve heard about panic attacks, and I’d been stressed before, but it is not the same thing.

The Mayo Clinic describes a panic attack as “a sudden episode of intense fear that triggers sever physical reactions when there is no real danger or apparent cause. Often, a person in the midst of a panic attack feels as if they are losing control, or even dying.”

My panic attack was at church. My family always arrives at church 30 minutes early, just so I can have ‘my’ spot. This Sunday, another family was sitting in our location. Suddenly, without warning, I began crying uncontrollably. I began shaking and sweating. My heart was pounding. It was frightening and humiliating. I missed sacrament meeting that week, and hid in an empty classroom. 

My husband and daughters were completely bewildered at the irrational behavior of their wife and mother. They didn’t know how to handle the crazy situation.

My best friend Amy also recognized that for the past week I had been out of sorts. She noticed that I was easily irritated and withdrawn. So, she went to work. She did what she does best: research. She remembered that I had changed medication recently and looked up symptoms of Pristiq. Sure enough, one of the side effects was panic attacks.

Amy brought her concerns to Scott and together they confronted me. They kindly asked me to go back to the doctor. I did. And they gave me a new prescription. Within a month, I was back to ‘normal.’

How do you respond when mental challenges confront you or those you love? As Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explains, “Above all, never lose faith in your Father in Heaven. … Believe in miracles. … Hope is never lost, … Seek the advice of reputable people with certified training, professional skills, and good values. … [And remember] Our Father in Heaven expects us to use ALL of the marvelous gifts He has provided in this glorious dispensation.” 

ALL of our marvelous gifts include loving spouses, children and friends who come to our rescue.

At least that’s the way I remember it.

POLAR OPPOSITE

 

Sundy and G.J.

Pioneer Day

My sister, G.J., is my polar opposite, and that is a good thing.  Opposites cannot exist without each other.  We work as background for each other. And we are better because of it. Throughout my life, G.J. has had my back, even when we were asked to sing in church. 

I love singing. I love performing. I love being the center of attention. I love being indoors. G.J. does not love singing, she’s rather be gardening. G.J. does not love performing, she’d rather be behind the scenes. G.J. loves the outdoors.

As children, G.J. and I often were asked to sing in sacrament meeting. One year, in July, my sister and I were asked to sing for Pioneer Day. Grandma T. made us beautiful purple and white dresses with bonnets for the occasion. I gracefully climbed the stairs to the front of the chapel to sing. G.J. nearly ran to the podium. We sang “Pioneer Children Sang as They Walked, and Walked, and Walked, and Walked.” The congregation smiled up at us, and I knew we were the stars of the “show!”  After the last ‘walked,’ I elegantly began the retreat back to sit with my parents. G.J. took one look at the walk around the short wall dividing us from the congregation and leaped over the divider with all the agility of a gazelle. No one remembered our beautiful singing. No one remembered our precious outfits. Everyone laughed at G.J.’s audacity to high jump in the middle of sacrament meeting.

Apparently, our friends and family did not learn their lesson from that experience, because 10 years later, we were asked to sing for our best friend’s mission farewell. I chose a beautiful song called, “Oh, That I Were an Angel.” The message was perfect for a future missionary. G.J. trusted my judgement, because I was a musician. We practiced. We were ready. We smiled at Damon as we went to the podium to sing. The first part of the song was perfect. I felt that angels were singing with us, as we declared that we wanted to share the gospel. BUT then G.J. started laughing. Apparently, she freaked out over the high D in the song. (Which wasn’t really that high.) She continued to laugh, and her laugh was contagious. I began to laugh too. We tried to pull it together. We couldn’t. We didn’t finish. I slunk off the stage completely humiliated. G.J. continued to guffaw when we got to our seats. It was after the meeting that I learned how different we were. Everyone came up to G.J. sympathetically and expressed how proud they were of her bravery in singing. Then they would turn to me. “How could you not hold it together?” they would ask. “You’re a musician,” they accused. I was so embarrassed.

Yes, G.J. and I are opposites. And often that is a good thing. I still sing and love the spotlight. G.J. still plays sports and loves being an introvert. I believe that opposites are not contradictory, but complimentary… except when singing in public.

At least that’s the way I remember it.

TEACHER MODE: ON

 

TEACHER MODE: ON

“McCallister’s residence, Sundy speaking,” I recited, as I answered the phone for the first time. 

My mother had spent most of the day before, teaching my siblings and I how to answer a phone correctly.  Zane, G.J., and I sat in front of clunky borrowed phones while Mom pretended to call us.  She would pick up the phone in front of her and then point to one of us as she made a ringing sound.  In turns, we would answer with the correct phrase, “McCallister’s residence, ______ speaking.” 

Once we all answered correctly, we were able to graduate to the real land-line phone with an extra-long chord.

Mom was a natural teacher.  Before she had children of her own, she taught elementary school.  She considered her students her kids.  She was born to teach and was good at it. 

When I was born, she willingly left her chosen profession to stay home with me.  But she never stopped teaching.  Her new classroom was our dining room table and my siblings and I were her eager students.

Mom loved to read novels to her students.  She  believed in the benefits of reading aloud to kids.

Mom was a great storyteller.  She read aloud with amazing expression and always used different voices for the various characters.  My siblings and I would sit at her feet – hanging on every word.  When she read “Where the Red Fern Grows” by Wilson Rawls, Zane, G.J. and I cried.

“A Wrinkle in Time” by Madeleine L’Engle was my first foray into fantasy books.  I was intrigued by the supernatural beings who teleported Meg, Charles Wallace, and Calvin through the universe. 

Mom let us eat a few chocolate chips every time she sat down to read to us “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” by Roald Dahl.

I loved her reading to me so much that I begged her to read to my own daughters years later when we took a trip to Disneyland with her.  On that vacation, my mother read “Charlotte’s Web” aloud to my girls.  I felt nostalgic and sentimental as I listened to my mother read to my girls and use special voices for Charlotte and Templeton.  The book was one of my childhood favorites – my mother had read it to me.

Mom also started a small business with a friend called The Woodchuck.  She and Lynn Mortenson made wooden gifts to sell at craft fairs.  The Woodchuck quickly became a learning experience for her children as well.  Mom taught me how to stain, spray paint and dot paint.  I learned how to pick out #2 pine wood.  She taught me to pray before using the power tools, and she even allowed me to use the bandsaws and sander.  These skills have enriched my life.  Every time I use power tools, I think of my mom and her life lessons.

My mom went back to teaching fourth grade when I was in college.  Every year she allowed me to come to her classroom to teach, direct, and produce a performance with her students.  She taught me through example and experience how to be a patient, kind, and dedicated teacher.  It was because of mom that I knew I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up.

“Always be teachable” my mother reminded me.  I wish I could still be her students.  She loved learning.  She loved teaching. 

She taught me many valuable life lessons.  One of the most memorable: We are all students and teachers.  We should often ask ourselves, “What did I come here to learn?  What did I come here to teach?” 

At least that’s the way I remember it.