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.

ABUSED MUSICALLY

Dad on his mandolin.

When I was a child, I remember he was most often on his guitar.

One of my favorite movie quotes is, “I was abused as a child. It was mostly musical in nature.”  

The moment I heard this quote I called my father to share that I too had been abused musically. He laughed and agreed.

 

It began as a child. GJ, Zane and I would lie on our parents’ bed waiting for our turn to be “rocked” by dad in the rocking chair.  We each were given the opportunity to choose two songs. If we were quiet, we got to listen to all six songs as we waited for our turn.

 

We each had our favorite songs. Dad always sang, “You Are My Sunshine” to me. GJ’s song was, “I Love You A Bushel and a Peck.” And Zane loved a really obscure song called, “Give Me That Thing.” The other songs were chosen based on our moods. Usually dad sang, “Come, Come Ye Saints” and “O My Father.”  

The memories of the rocking chair are my earliest memories of music and the wonderful feelings that come with it. But, my “abuse” did not end there. Singing on vacation in the car was another wonderful memory. Dad taught us all kinds of folk tunes. We sang, “There’s a Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road,” “The Wreck of the Old 49,” “The Hunter,” and “Jug Band Music.” Sometimes, Dad would even have the words typed up for us to follow along so we could learn it easier. That really helped when we learned “To Morrow” by Bob Gibson (the Kingston Trio performed it).

 

I love folk music, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Most of my generation like country music or 80s rock. I even have friends who love classic music and new age music. My daughter adores the 70s vibe of Queen, and my other daughter rocks out to One Republic.

 

This past month, Scott and I have been “rocking out” to folk songs. I laugh to songs like, “John Henry,” sung by the Smother’s Brothers. He and I cry over songs like, “The Raven,” by Peter, Paul and Mary.  Buffy St. Marie brings back memories of Dad again with her song, “Cripple Creek.” I just love it all. Why? Well, folk music has a history to it. I can feel it in my bones. It’s timeless. It’s like a captured sunset or a firefly. I grew up singing these songs everywhere — in the car, around the campfire, and at home in our living room. And the concepts are timeless and teach wonderful life lessons. There are many songs about love or heartbreak, but there are an equal number that are fun, light, and happy.

 

I love so many types of music because of my “abusive” childhood. Music is truly incredible. Music touches us each differently, and I hope we are never ashamed of the music we love, no matter what our tastes are. There’s music out there for all of us to enjoy. But, I hope you’ll give folk songs a chance. You never know what you’ll love. 

 

At least that’s the way I remember it.

CAUGHT YA

“You’ve got this!” My mom encouraged as I struggled through another difficult contraction. I was in labor with my second child and my mom was my coach.

Two weeks earlier, my husband moved to Las Vegas, Nevada. He was to prepare a place for our little family to move to as soon as the baby was born. He was still in Vegas when Dr. King informed me that Scott needed to come right away for the birth of his second born. I called my husband, and he hit the road.

In the meantime, my mom was my pregnancy coach, and my mother-in-law was watching our 18-month-old while I gave birth.

Mom picked me up at noon to take me to the hospital. She looked beautiful. She always did. She never went anywhere without looking “put together.” She wore a bright yellow shirt, sunshine ear rings, and denim culottes. She smiled as she excitedly took me to the hospital.

My mom spent the next 6 hours giving me ice chips and holding my hand through the pain. She told me stories about her school students and their antics to take my mind off the labor.

I remember her smiling a lot in anticipation. My mom’s smile is legendary. She never showed her teeth when she smiled, but her eyes danced. Every time the doctor and nurses came to check on my progress her smile would reach almost to her ears.

At 6:00 p.m. on June 26, 2000, I told the doctor that it was time for me to push. He told me to wait for my husband, but Katia wasn’t patient. 

I began pushing. Mom continued to hold my hand and cheer me on. After two pushes, my husband walked into the delivery room. He came up to where my mother stood and took her place, taking hold of my hand. Mom moved down toward the foot of the bed to get a better view of her newest grandchild.

Earlier in the evening, Dr. King asked me if it would be alright if one of the interns delivered our baby. I assured him that would be OK. So, the intern was in position with my mom standing close by.

Katia was so excited to join the world that instead of coming out in the span of two pushes, she slid out in one. The intern was caught by surprise, and my baby girl slipped through his hands.

My mother jumped into action. She caught my precious child before she hit the floor. The yellow shirt she had adorned for my benefit was a mess, but my little girl was healthy and safe.  My mother literally saved my daughter’s life.

Since, she always reminded my daughter, “I caught ya’, Katia!”

Mothers are extraordinary! My mother has always been my role model. She’s been my cheer leader. She’s been my teacher. She’s a mentor, a confidant, a religious instructor, and a terrific grandmother. She’s been my best friend. 

Lance Conrad once wrote, “I can imagine no heroism greater than motherhood.” My mom really is my hero!

At least that’s the way I remember it.