The Mormon People

For such a large religious group with members all over the world, Mormonism is really a small community. So when I heard through the grapevine that my favorite local indie bookstore One More Page Books would host a book signing and Q&A about the latest historical analysis of my church, I wanted to be sure to be there. Matthew Bowman, author of The Mormon People: The Making of an American Faith, is a local congregant and religious historian, a combination sure to make for an interesting evening.

I showed up a little late because of other obligations, and I was shocked to see how full the bookstore was. I honestly expected to see mostly people I know from church and maybe a few curious patrons who decided to stay and see what all the fuss was about. Instead I found the store filled with people—mostly strangers with no ties to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—who had heard that a Mormon with a doctorate in American religious history from Georgetown University would be answering questions about the seemingly mysterious history of the Mormon church.

And Matt didn't disappoint. He answered every question thrown at him and was incredibly honest about the "middle class religion" that "changes more" than its members like to admit. He talked about the difference between secret and sacred temple worship and what the current GOP race might mean for the church. I appreciated Matt's perspective and look forward to reading his book.

He Is Risen

It's been a beautiful start to spring in DC. Even all the rain we've been getting can't dampen the mood the cherry blossoms bring. One of my favorite things about spring is Easter. I pretty much love any holiday, but I especially love this one that allows me to reflect upon my faith and new beginnings and forgiveness.

Although I didn't have a basket full of sweets waiting for my this morning, I received a special treat during the Easter service at church when my friend Lisa spoke about her faith in Christ and shared a beautiful message of hope with the congregation.

After the service, Lisa and our friend Dave came to my place to enjoy Easter dinner with all the trimmings. None of us have family in the area, so we made everything ourselves.

While I've made deviled eggs a few times, I tried a new baked ham recipe with rosemary and pineapple, which turned out really well. There was a couple minutes of panic when I realized I had no salad dressing, but thanks to the internet, I found a rosemary-dijon dressing I happened to have all the ingredients for.

And lisa made an incredible mince meat pie. This was the first time I've even had mince meat, but I'm a fan.

After way too much food, we decided to to take Dave on a tour of the monuments. (Dave's visiting from LA and leaves early tomorrow morning.) Unfortunately, it started pouring as soon as we got down to the Tidal Basin, so we only made it through the FDR Memorial and walked about halfway to the Jefferson Memorial before we were too cold and wet to do the walking tour. So we drove around the city and pointed to distant, rain-obscured buildings.

Overall, it was a great holiday. I missed my family and Aunt Chris' big Easter bash, but I look forward to heading to Chicago for my cousin's wedding next month. I hope your holiday was filled with good memories, good food and good reflections on the season. On to new beginnings and new blessings in the year to come.

Two Different Faces

Only one more day, and then I get to be with my sister Gwen, one of my favorite people in the entire world. We talk on the phone almost every day and keep in touch through blogs and facebook and emails, but there is nothing like being able to having her right there next to me on our adventures. I love talking to her and laughing with her and just hanging out with her.

But things haven't always gone that smoothly between us. We're not even two years apart in age, so we often got thrown together when we were kids. Our parents would make her include me in many of her adolescent activities, and I felt as if I was trying to come out from under her shadow all through high school. We argued about who had more ice cream, stole each others clothes and spent a lot of time trying to outdistance each other. We were your typical sisters.

I'm really not sure when all that began to change, but somehow the unbelievable statement "you don't want to be around each other now, but you'll be best friends when you're older" became a reality. Maybe it was while I was away for a year and a half as a missionary for our church and she was my most faithful correspondent. Or maybe it was when we began talking about books and movies and found out how much we have in common. Or maybe it was in the six months I lived with her after graduating college when we had time to get to know each other, not as little girls, but as the unique adults we had become.

Living so far away from Gwen isn't easy. Although we see each other at least three times a year, it never seems like enough. I can't wait to pick her up at the airport and give her a huge hug. I want to stay up all night and find out about everything she hasn't been able to tell me about over the phone. I want to see her new hair cut. I want to hear her voice in person. I want to look into her eyes to see for myself that she is well and happy and still my big sister.

God really knew what he was doing when he gave me my sister. It might have taken me a few years to figure it out, but I wouldn't trade her for anyone (or anything) else.

The Best Dad in the World

I know pretty much everyone thinks their dad is the best dad in the world, but really, that title goes to my dad. I can't imagine having any other dad, and if I'd been raised by anyone else, I wouldn't be me. So this Fathers' Day, I share with you ten of my best memories of my father to prove that he really is The Best Dad in the World.

1. Mom has this picture of the three of us kids, all of us in our pajamas, piled on top of Dad. The best part of the picture is that it's a real moment in our lives, not posed or a special occasion. Every Saturday morning my brother, sister and I would fight for the best seat in the house--on top of Dad--to watch Saturday morning cartoons. He loved The Tick best, so of course, we loved it best, too. I really need to get a copy of that picture from my mom.

2. I think Dad was a little disappointed he had to wait six years to have a boy, so he pretty much treated my sister and me like boys our entire childhood. But boy or girl, what kid doesn't love camping and fishing and shooting? I learned how to drive a boat, gut a fish and nock an arrow all from Dad. And though Mom hates camping, she put up with it just so we could have these adventures as a family.

3. One of my favorite chores growing up was tending our vegetable garden, mostly because that is where you'd find Dad on the weekends (after cartoons were over, of course). I remember one summer he put me in charge of the carrots. I tilled the patch, planted the seeds, watered, weeded and harvested. I was so proud of those carrots and insisted Mom use them in every salad, vegetable platter and stir fry she made that summer. Dad instilled in me a love for gardening that continues today, although it is much harder now that I live in an apartment with no balcony.

4. Baseball is life, thanks to Dad. He taught me how to throw, catch, hit and spectate. From pro games to little league, Dad watched them all. He also made sure we understood the importance of being die-hard White Sox fans, a tradition that continues today. I miss watching games with Dad, but every time I check the stats and see the Sox have won, I think of Dad and hope he's happy, too.

5. I have a proud Sicilian heritage, but I'm also proud to be Polish, Alsatian and Scots-Irish. Dad (and Mom) made sure we learned about every side of our family and knew where we came from. Dad told me stories about his dad being blacklisted in the 50's for his connections to unions and how his mother's parents came through Ellis Island. But he also made sure we knew the stories of Mom's family and how they fought with Lafayette in the American Revolution and were some of the first settlers in Northern Illinois.

6. Dad had this secret code that all of us thought Mom didn't know. He'd ask who wanted to go with him to the hardware store, which was code for "got get ice cream." He made sure to spend individual time with each of us kids so we knew he loved us.

7. Despite my current profession, I have a head for numbers, and much of that is thanks to Dad. I loved counting, so Dad encouraged me by giving me the change in his pockets and letting me count it every night. He taught me to balance a check book, invest in the future and save for the important things in life. I know it sounds kind of lame, but Dad taught me how to be a financially responsible adult long before I left home.

8. I know I posted about this just a few months ago, but Dad is one of my biggest cheerleaders. When I told him I wanted to be a writer, I could see he was thinking "How will she ever make a living doing that?" Okay, he actually said that a time or two. But even old dogs can learn new tricks, and Dad has really come around to this whole writing thing. Now he's the one who tells me, "Keep at it, I KNOW you will achieve your dream as long as you don't give up on it."

9. Hugs and kisses and "I love you"s were never skimped on by Dad. He wasn't too much of "a man" to show us his affection, and there were plenty of times when he cried with us as we cried on his shoulder. I remember one time in particular when Dad cried with me. I was a senior in high school, doing an internship and living away from home. All the interns were supposed to meet for a class, but one didn't show up. She had been in a car accident and died. It was the most horrible experience I had ever faced. I called Dad and couldn't stop crying long enough to tell him what happened. I was finally able to tell him, "Daddy, I need you." He and Mom hopped in a car, and four hours later they were at the place I was staying, giving me hugs and telling me how much they love me.

10. Dad is my greatest example of faith. Throughout my entire childhood, we would eat together as a family and then read scriptures. I first heard the story of the creation and the words of the ancient prophets from my father's mouth. He could make even the Old Testament exciting and funny and applicable. Every night, we'd say a family prayer and then be carried over Dad's shoulder "like a sack of potatoes" off to bed. We'd attend church every Sunday as a family, and though I am far from home, I continue to honor the Sabbath and faith of my father.

After all that, there's no way you can't see my dad really is The Best Dad in the World. And my dad can beat up anyone who says otherwise.

Warning: this post is an emotional dumping ground

In some ways, this has been one of the most difficult weekends of my life, and in other ways, it has been an experience I wouldn't trade for anything.

I am the type of person you want to have around in a bad situation. I respond well in emergencies because I can control my emotions and keep a level head. This very much comes from my father who is a former volunteer firefighter and hospital chaplain. From him I learned how to recognize needs and see a way to fulfill them. But I also have equal parts of my mom in me. My mother is the most soft-hearted person I know. Every action she takes is motivated by compassion, so I have learned to emulate that by example.

Being with the (Walquist) Winn family this weekend afforded me the opportunity to put both of these traits into action. Ashley has three little brothers and eight cousins along with five aunts and four uncles on her mom's side, which made for a very full house at grandma's. I spent much of my time cooking, cleaning and wrangling kids, all tasks that made me feel useful in a situation I felt so helpless about.

I come from a rather large family, so I'm used to cooking and cleaning for a small army. The food basically took care of itself as Paul, Idaho, a town of 998 people, rallied around the family and filled the house to the rafters with meals and snakes for the kids. All I had to do was make sure the kids ate more than just fruit roll-ups and that the appropriate food was heated and on the counter before people got too hungry. I've also had a lot of practice making lists and then making sure everything gets done on those lists, which came in handy Monday morning when kids needed baths, last-minute items needed to be picked up at the store and everyone needed to be on time for the funeral.

Being with the kids so much also meant I had a pretty much constant supply of hugs and kisses as long as I didn't mind being run into the ground by adolescent boys, answering endless questions about death and dealing with a wide array of extremely strong emotions coming from children who didn't know what to do with their grief. But they were as much a comfort to me as I hope I was to them. We spent a lot of time together both talking about Ashley and trying to keep our minds off what was going on around us.

So from fingers stuck in an elevator door to 30 helium balloons attempting to escape before the appropriate time to a very lonely puppy licking my feet at 5 a.m., I managed to keep pretty busy this weekend. And while the thought of giving the service invocation made me sick to my stomach, I got through it with minimal mascara-runnage while still being able to take comfort in the words that were spoken by the people who loved Ashley best.

Now that I've had a chance to sit still and be alone with my thoughts for a few moments, I can't believe Ashley is really gone. I already miss her smile and laugh and complete love for life. She was my dear little friend who taught me more than she could possibly know. I feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to love Ashley and be loved by her in return.

The next few weeks and months (and possibly years) will be extremely difficult for her family, but knowing them like I do, they will come away from this a stronger family. Her three little brothers will learn that Ashley wasn't just a gift to them, but they were also a gift to her. They have so much love and joy yet to give this world, and I know I will enjoy watching them grow into the amazing young men I know they will become. Connie and Jason are also two of the most incredible people I have even had the pleasure of knowing. The love that binds that family is a rare gift that was not given to them by chance.

As I make my 2,000-mile return trip today, my heart breaks a little knowing I am leaving so many people I love so much behind. I wish I could stay to cook and clean and tend them back to happiness. If only life were that simple. A little piece of me will always be buried in the Paul, Idaho, cemetery, but the next time I am there, I will be able to place a little bouquet of flowers tied in a purple ribbon on Ashley's grave, knowing that she is in a better place without the pain and suffering she felt on this earth. I will see Ashley again. I will hear her laugh once more. I will be greeted by that great, big smile of hers and know that she is happy to see me again, too.

Until then, I have faith in the Lord's promise: "I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you to bear you up" (D&C 84:88). That little angel is still with us. Our hearts might be failing in this moment, but I truly believe that joy comes in the morning (Psalms 30:5).

In Loving Memory

We lost our little angel this morning. She passed away with her mother by her side and her faith in God carrying her through. Please keep her family in your thoughts and prayers.


In loving memory of Ashley Marie Winn: July 19, 1997-March 2, 2010.