MY MOTHER: EILEEN JANE OWEN GIBERSON

+TAKEN FROM MY JOURNAL, OCTOBER 8, 2012+

I've read two more of my mom's journals. It's an obsession. I finished one Sunday night and started another and then stayed up half the night finishing it. After falling asleep I dreamed Amarillo Texas all night. Before going to sleep, though, I went outside on the patio where it was actually feeling a little cool (it is September in AZ after all--the nice weather is coming). I just felt I needed to pray again (I'd already said my nightly prayer) to express my appreciation for my mother. I asked for a few more blessings to be sent her way for being the amazing person she was (is).

It's so interesting to look at her life and our family's life through her eyes. To me as a child in all of it, I just think of how wonderful it was and how wonderful our family was. I know we weren't perfect, but what a fulfilling life--speaking specifically of years in Amarillo since those are the journals I've been reading. (Of course, a childhood in RICHLAND, WASH was idyllic, we all know that!) So here's a perspective shift while reading, where I am reminded that it wasn't an easy life for my mother. Okay, not pioneer-harsh, but not easy in that she was virtually sick most every day with a headache. She had 8 children going every which way and most often with only one car to do it in. She had a constant stream of church work and church meetings to attend to, as did my dad and the children, too. Besides the one-car thing, they had so many car problems. They also had so many appliance issues and breakdowns and the going without. Like how do you go 6 months without a working oven? Three plus years without a dishwasher (okay, that's doable, though highly unpleasant as I recall!) Now I love doing dishes--it's my favorite household chore--what a surprise!

That was the downside to her life, but she had a very rewarding life nonetheless. She wrote so many programs, played so many organ and piano numbers, sung in so many choirs, taught so many lessons, gave so many talks, planned so many parties and events for both church and family. She studied the gospel and nurtured a fervent testimony. She was a pillar of strength and example in the Amarillo and Lubbock stakes. And I haven't even got to the whole getting sick, being bedridden, and the subsequent heart transplant.

Seriously, you just had to know her. You had to be around her to hear her play the piano or give a talk. You had to be in her home for a party or sing-along or dinner or Family Home Evening Theater or for games. You had to receive a letter from her or read a poem she wrote. You had to hear her give a witty comment.

I hope someday you will get the chance. (Heaven won't be soon enough.)

Journals, Family History, and Sheri Dew

+THIS WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN IN 2012 FOR THE GIBERIGINAL BLOG+

A week ago Sunday, Sister Sheri Dew* came to Mesa to speak at a fireside for a Young Single Adult Stake in our area. At the time arrangements were first being talked about, the YSA branch involved in inviting Sister Dew was still part of our stake. Because of that, my stake became the host for the event and I got to be the one corresponding with Sister Dew's assistant (I served as Stake Relief Society president at the time.) (In June our little YSA singles branch was incorporated into a YSA stake.) The fireside was wonderful, and the family that was there all got to meet Sheri Dew. At the request of President Decker (our stake president and Jarom's father-in-law) I put together a little thank you gift for her and she actually hugged me after I gave it to her. :)

Anyway, fast forward a few days...Judy arrived in town in time to attend the fireside, then on Monday we started our project scanning mom's journals, personal history, and the family history. We had an awesome scanner borrowed from the Deckers which was fast and would scan both sides of a page at once. Judy returned to Utah on Wednesday and we're now working on organizing the files to get them in a fashion suitable for family consumption--personal history and family history specifically.

 

On Friday I chose a journal to read of the ones Judy left behind...

 

Mom recorded in January 1989 that Dad was in the hospital and his roommate was Charles Dew from Ulysses, Kansas. Mom and Dad became acquainted with him and his wife JoAnn and learned of their family--the oldest daughter was Sheri who had recently authored President Benson's biography. Dad was released from the hospital, but the next day or so they returned to visit Brother Dew. Sister Dew gave them a copy of President Benson's biography--signed by Sheri Dew and the Prophet. I went to my bookshelf and took out our copy of the biography and opened it to find that it was the very book given from the Dews to our parents. It has their book stamp in it. After mom's death and dad's remarriage, he gave away many things that were duplicates or wouldn't fit into Karla's house, so that is how I received the book. It was a tender moment to find that tangible connection between Mom and Dad and the Dews.

In reading further into 1990 I found that Sheri Dew was the guest speaker at their women's conference and spoke at Lubbock's women's conference as well. She attended church in their ward in Amarillo that Sunday. Mom was in the Stake Relief Society presidency at the time and was behind the request for Sheri to come. It was so sweet to have just met Sister Dew after the Mesa fireside the Sunday prior and then find this connection with our parents, and particularly Mom.

 

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sheri_L._Dew

February 5, 2021

 This date marks 26 years since my mom, 
your great-Grandma Giberson passed away. 

My sister Judy wrote this Life Sketch to post on FamilySearch.org. 
I hope it will help you see what an amazing person that she was.

It is impossible to describe my mother’s life into 1500 words of a life sketch and I am sure if each of my seven siblings wrote a life sketch for her, they would all be very different.  I will only highlight the key aspects of her life including the typical milestone moments normally included in these things.

Eileen Jane Owen was born on October 19, 1934 in Corvallis, Oregon. She was the fourth and youngest child of Robert Vester and Olevia Lois Purinton Owen.  She had two older siblings who were living- an older brother, Robert Vester Owen Jr. “Bob”, age 10, and an older sister, Lois Leith Owen, age 6.  Another brother, Gene Franklin Owen, had died as a baby in 1930.

The first several years of her life were spent in the hillsides of Western Oregon while her dad worked as a farmer.  She learned to love nature and exploring and loved the freedom that life in the country at that time allowed her.  She was not afraid of frogs and snakes and taught us to love and respect nature as well.  Sometime in the 1940s, her dad and brother moved to Portland to work and the family soon followed.  Mom graduated from high school in Portland, Oregon, and then spent one year at Linfield College before heading to Provo, Utah, to study home economics at Brigham Young University.  She was the only one of her siblings who attended college.

As an adult, she had dark brown hair and green eyes.  She was thin to average build most of her adulthood. She was 5’6” tall.

During the winter semester of her first year at BYU, she met and fell in love with Richard Creighton Giberson.  They got engaged before the end of the semester and spend a summer apart, writing mushy letters back and forth to each other.  Dad did make one trip to meet her parents in Portland and Mom reported that they liked him but worried he might not be talkative enough for Mom.  That did not prove to be a problem and they were married on September 14, 1954 in the Salt Lake City LDS Temple.

They spent Dad’s last year of school as poor college students at BYU where Dad graduated in chemistry.  They had their first child there—a daughter, Judith Ann Giberson on July 1, 1955 and shortly afterwards moved to Richland, Washington, where dad started his first job. The rest of their eight children were born in Richland: Todd Creighton (Oct. 18, 1956); Michael Allan (Oct. 16, 1957); Robin Eileen (Aug. 18, 1959); Valerie Kaye (Apr. 4, 1961); Lynette Rae (March 13, 1963); Richard Owen (Feb. 8, 1967); and Scott Aaron (April 22, 1969).

Eastern Washington was a stark contrast to the green of Western Oregon, but she grew to love Richland.  She was active in the Church, especially in music, drama, and serving.  She played the piano and sang in choirs.  She and Dad were so busy with Church service that she once said that one of their goals one year was to be home at least four nights a week (one of them anyway.)  I can remember playing in the Cultural Hall during many roadshow practices.  My mom was a faithful journal writer where she tracked the many daily happenings of her life and that of her family.  She also wrote her mother almost weekly who still lived in Portland.  Her writing also included things like road shows and programs for the Relief Society sisters.  She also found time to write poems.

Another love of hers was sewing.  When we were little, it was out of economic necessity that she sewed many if not most of our clothes, especially for the girls.  She continued to sew as we were older, and it was fairly common that she would sew us a new dress for special events or activities.  She told me once that she found sewing to be very relaxing.  When we were adults, she branched out into making quilts. Many of us have a quilt that she tied and finished for us. 

My mom cultivated a wide range of friends and friendships with women were very important to her.  She and dad also had couple friends and hosted fun parties and played games with their friends while we were sent to our rooms early.

They remained in Richland until 1971 when our family moved to Amarillo, Texas, for my dad to take a new position there.  Dad along with hundreds of scientists had been laid off earlier that year and was without full-time work for several months.  I remember my mom and dad having confidence that things would work out but did not think it would be a thousand miles away in Amarillo, Texas. 

My mom faced this move with the same confidence and faith that had guided her life up to then.  She made friends, served in the Church, played the piano and later the organ, and raised her children in the plains of West Texas without “losing a step.”  She continued to write in her journal, write letters to her mom in now far away Portland, and to develop her many talents. It is in Texas when I first remember her speaking in Church and she was a great speaker.  She taught Relief Society at different times there and I can remember people telling me that she was such a great teacher when I would visit after I went away to college.  I know that she put a lot of time and effort into doing whatever she had been called to do the best that she could and in the way that God wanted it done.

As we began to get older, Mom with the help of dad began to develop some creative family nights and family activities for the family.  Two specific ones were the Family Home Evening Phantom-where we dropped off goodies on Monday nights on the doorstep and ran; and the Family Home Evening Theatre where we invited families to come over to present skits to each other- these included prizes and a traveling plaque.

My mom loved books and learning.  She taught us to love reading as well. She liked fiction as well as non-fiction.  She enjoyed studying the scriptures.

My mom had to deal with migraines and hay fever.  I am not sure exactly when they started for her, but they really became a problem in Amarillo.  After years of suffering with migraines, she discovered that she had a broader range of allergies than she even realized and avoiding many of those foods improved her migraines in her later life.  Other than that, I think my mom was a fairly healthy person.

It was a surprise in 1981 when she was diagnosed with congestive heart failure.  This made a significant impact on her life.  Her health declined and her life became more restricted.  She was unable to play the organ or lead music or serve in the ways that she expected to.  My youngest brothers were only 12 and 14 at the time.  She had to miss the wedding of my sister, Valerie, in 1982. I remember her saying at one point during this time that “It was a blessing to be at home all of the time, because with three young adult children and two junior high sons with crazy schedules, I am home when they need to talk.” That is how my mom dealt with life.  She was a ‘smell the roses’ kind of person and always was looking for the good and the growth in life.

After a family prayer and fasting, my mom and dad made the decision for my mom to seek a heart transplant in Stanford, CA.  With so many miracles, this took place in June of 1985 and with it, my mom got a new “life” and she was able to return to Texas and live for 9 ½ more years.  She lived those years such like she lived the first fifty—with faith, love, and confidence.  She loved all of the in-laws and enjoyed the many grandchildren who joined the family.  She wrote letters to us wherever we were at and kept track of our children and their special events. 

She and dad enjoyed traveling. She was able to make a trip to Hong Kong with Dad to visit us where we were living at the time. They also visited historical sites in Texas and other nearby places, went to Memphis to visit old friends, and made a couple of trips to Oregon to visit her family and enjoy Oregon.

In the last year of her life, Mom began to experience some side effects of the medications that she was taking to prevent rejection.  She was experiencing issues with her skin and other things.  Despite this she was able to make a long-planned trip to the International Balloon Festival in Albuquerque, New Mexico, with Dad for their 40^th anniversary in the fall of 1994 and then they made a trip to Utah in December to visit Valerie and her family.

In January of 1995, she had a short hospital stay due to lung issues.  A few weeks later, she fell outside and split her shin which required a hospitalization to prevent infection because her skin was too brittle and could not easily be sewed together.  A few days later, she developed problems breathing and in the early morning hours of February 5, 1995 at the age of 60, she passed away.  She was buried on February 9 in the Llano Cemetery in Amarillo, Texas.  

On her grave marker, it reads:  She wore out two hearts for us.  

As you can see, she really did.

Written by Judy Hall

 

#52 STORIES

Your great-Aunt Judy (and Gary too) is serving a church headquarters mission in Salt Lake City in the church history department. As part of that they are asked to be very involved in their own family history. Out of that has grown her idea for the Giberson siblings to participate in a FamilySearch idea called #52 STORIES. That means you follow a prompt to write a story a week for 52 weeks and by the end of the year you have a nice chunk of stories as part of your personal history. We are sharing them on our Giberiginal blog but I will post mine here too.

Share a memory of your first year in school

I remember going to some sort of Kindergarten orientation. I think Robin came too because it was customary to have someone more experienced bring you--I am not clear on this but have a faint memory of it. My teacher was Mrs. Bareth and my best friend Molly had Mrs. Bondurant so that was just wrong. My one vivid memory from the year is getting rapped on the hand with a ruler because I touched an egg the teacher was using for a lesson that day. This may sound like discipline straight out of old-timey days but this was 1966. (Of course to you that is old-timey!)

Tell a story that includes the weather in some way

I don’t think it snowed a lot where I grew up in Richland, Washington, but when it did I remember we would make some sort of track in the snow in our front yard with intersecting points, and then play tag on it. I remember doing this when it was dark outside so I'm not sure if we did this a lot or just the one time.

Texas makes me think of thunderstorms—the big one that came when we were staying at the Howard Johnson when we first arrived in town, and the one at the campground in Lubbock when our tent fell apart. We were there I think for Mike’s patriarchal blessing and then Stake Conference the next day. (Mom wrote about this event in her book of family stories.)

Things you connect with your childhood home...Longfitt, Agnes or Carlton (This prompt will need to come up again so I can talk about Carlton)

Note: Longfitt is the street my family lived on when I was born. We moved to Agnes Street when I was 18 months old. When I was 10 we moved to Texas and lived on Carlton Drive.

Agnes Street: playing records on the record player and singing and dancing to our favorites, getting the piano, reading books from the library, playing dodge ball in the backyard, playing with Matchbox cars in a hole in the ground behind the garage, learning to skate in the basement, Mom sewing, the rough, rocky surface of Agnes Street, playing with Molly and other neighborhood friends, our phone number 939-9039 (I think I'm remembering it right), the lilac bush outside our back door, tumbleweeds, the Shelter Belt and getting in trouble for going out past the Shelter Belt, being excited about the “Mosquito Man” coming, Jim Sloman living with us, Jerry the mailman delivering the mail on a snowmobile on a snowy day, the excitement of Christmas Eve, watching The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, The Monkees, Perry Mason, Star Trek, Batman, and other shows . . .    

Grandma gave a talk...

 

TALK given Christmas Sunday, 2020

INTRO. This story was shared in the Ensign this month by a Jakob R. Jones… (January 2020, p. 31)

One November evening I arrived home to discover my children had transformed their bedroom into a Christmas wonderland. Christmas trees, sparkling garland, strings of lights, and paper snowflakes adorned the corners, bed frames, walls, and ceiling…That magnificent Christmas scene warmed our home and hearts.

Another of my favorite Christmas scenes was described by the prophet Nephi. Nephi’s father, Lehi, shared a dream wherein he saw a beautiful tree whose fruit filled his soul with joy (see 1 Nephi 8:12). Nephi desired that he too might see the tree that his father described. In answer to prayer, Nephi was shown a vision. Nephi’s account of that experience is, for me, a beautiful Christmas story.

He wrote: “And it came to pass after I had seen the tree, I said unto the Spirit: I behold thou hast shown unto me the tree which is precious above all.

“And he said unto me: What desirest thou?

“And I said unto him: To know the interpretation thereof …

“… And I beheld the city of Nazareth; and in the city of Nazareth I beheld a virgin. …

“… And I looked and beheld the virgin again, bearing a child in her arms.

“And the angel said unto me: Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father!” (1 Nephi 11:9–11, 13, 18, 20–21).

I think it is significant that when Nephi asked to know the meaning of the tree, he was shown the first Christmas. The Spirit then asked if Nephi understood the meaning of the tree. Nephi gave this inspired response: “Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.”

The Spirit added, “Yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Nephi 11:22–23).

 …the thing most desirable and joyous to our souls is to feel the love of God through His Son, Jesus Christ. That is the real gift of Christmas.

XXX

The birth of a baby is always something to celebrate, but that’s not why a multitude of the heavenly host praised God saying, “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, goodwill toward men.”

The angel that first appeared to the shepherds told them, and us, why they celebrated: “I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord.”

The Savior was born!

Surely we were part of that heavenly host. Surely we praised God because our one and only hope had begun His earthly mission.

As the beloved Christmas song, O Holy Night, declares:

“A thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn”

For a world on both sides of the veil.

This is what we celebrate at Christmas. That God so loved the world that He gave His only Begotten Son. And that Son Jesus Christ also “so loved the world” that He, a God, condescended to come to earth as a lowly babe. A child who grew in stature and wisdom, who through strict obedience followed the will of the Father to fulfill His mission.

He did ALL the Father asked of Him, and ALL that we could hope in Him. And very soon His mission would take Him to a Garden called Gethsemane.

Our family lived in Israel for a few years in the late 90’s. I remember our first visit to the Garden of Gethsemane. There is a church built around a huge rock as if to imply that this is where Jesus knelt and performed the Atonement. People line up to touch the rock, some literally fall to their knees and kiss the rock. After our visit my oldest daughter asked if it really was THE rock. I said, probably not, who would know for sure. But maybe it doesn’t matter if it is if it causes people to think about their Savior and what He has done for them.

Today we are a weary world…

A few years ago I was serving in a busy church calling…after reading about Nephi in the book of Helaman—how he was praised for working with unwearyingness. That word stuck with me: unwearyingness (I can’t even do it justice, you have to read it. You’ll have to look it up--verses 4 and 5 of chapter 10) 

Finally I wrote on a sticky note BE UNWEARY! And I stuck it to my bathroom mirror. The next day my husband had added another sticky note that said: DON’T WEARY, BE HAPPY! If you didn’t laugh at that then you are too young to remember that popular song—Don’t Worry, Be Happy. --he thought he was cute.

But the sentiment is true—we don’t need to weary and we don’t need to worry…be happy. Joy to the world, the Lord is come.

3 Nephi 27:14: “And my Father sent me that I might be lifted up upon the cross; and after that I had been lifted up upon the cross, that I might draw all men unto me, that as I have been lifted up by men even so should men be lifted up…”

My faith in Jesus Christ is what sustains me and lifts me each and every day. Some of you might think I’m new to the ward, truth is my family moved into this ward in 1999. We filled a whole bench with our eight kids back in the day. For 3 1/2 years my husband served as bishop in the Pueblo ward until his unexpected death last July so that is what brings me back to my home ward.

Anyway, two stories to close with, both about death. I know, what is all this talk of death at Christmastime?—it’s supposed to be a celebration of birth. It’s because birth, death, resurrection—every step of the plan of salvation has the hand of our Savior in it. 

As mentioned we lived in Israel. My mom passed away six weeks before we moved there. I was grieving her death and my greatest desire became to visit the Garden Tomb. It may not be the actual tomb of Christ, but it’s a symbol of it and I longed to be in that place. After a few months the logistics with travel and the Sabbath and when things are open worked out for us to go. The tomb, of course, is empty. They’ve attached a door to it that is open when visitors are there. On the door is a sign that says HE IS NOT HERE, HE IS RISEN. As I placed my hand on that door, only two words came to my mind: THANK YOU. I was filled with gratitude for the Resurrection and what Christ had done so that I would see my mom again.

Fast forward to last September, six weeks after the death of my husband. I took a trip to Utah and my greatest desire was to see the Jordan River Temple where we were married. I was worried—I knew it would be hard and emotional, but I longed to be in that place. It was closed but the gates were open. I went up by myself and I touched the door of the temple. Instead of sadness, though, I felt JOY. It consumed me—joy and gratitude that we were sealed for eternity.

CHRIST MADE THIS POSSIBLE. Christ made all of this possible.

CONCLUSION:

We are a weary world right now. I know I’m weary.

But maybe, possibly, for the very first time, we’ll celebrate the true meaning of Christmas. Yes, a glorious child was born but this baby became the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords. He became our Redeemer, who performed His Atonement in our behalf—the Atonement that even now lifts me and sustains me in my grief, and I know it lifts and sustains you everyday. He accomplished the Resurrection which holds the promise of life beyond death—a promise we cling to like never before when we have lost loved ones. He offers Eternal Life, a life with Him, and with our families, which for some, like me, can’t come too soon.

So fall on your knees, hear the angel voices…

This is worth celebrating.

Thoughts from my Mom in Her Own Words

read by Megan at the funeral

One of the fortune cookie fortunes from our last Panda Express takeout order said “You will soon find new adventure…” I can’t remember now if it was mine or his—but it fits either way.

The autopsy indicated that his heart was enlarged and overworked…yes and yes. Over the last several days I have been reminded of all the stupid conversations we had about death, even as recent as two days before his passing, and I can’t help wondering if it was a kind of preparation.

Years ago the family was standing around the piano singing “Be Still My Soul.” The second verse reads:

Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: The waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

God guides the future just as He does the past. When we sang those words the spirit impressed upon me their truth. I decided there was going to come a day when I would need to remember that. This is that day.

Our new normal over the last few months became him working from home and saying “I’m never going back”—meaning he learned he could do the work from home just fine. There were the constant Home Depot deliveries and pickups, and the date nights at home with takeout and a movie. What a blessing that we seriously were together 24/7.

Lance was proud to be a miner. It was his high school mascot and he worked for a mining company here in Arizona. He learned all about the process of mining copper and he would tell you about it if given the chance. He would get very excited about it and I would often remind him, “You know you’re the accountant, right?”

As much as he loved being a miner he wanted to be a farmer. Lately he’d been wanting to buy overalls online, and for some reason men’s overalls started popping up on my side bar. He wanted to be a simple man, wanted eggs from his own chickens and to grow a garden, even in the Arizona heat. He never felt completely comfortable in our 5-bedroom house on Faith St. He didn’t feel like that was him. He was the guy with the acre of land and a thousand projects out back to keep him happy. The overalls would have completed the look.

He loved working. Not once did he not have a job during our entire 38½ years of marriage except when he chose retirement. But he was restless, anxious for a more important work—serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He spoke of it more and more over the years and would go on the mission site almost everyday and tell me what the needs were throughout the world for senior couples. In case you’re wondering, the picture on the program cover is his missionary photo. He asked Darr Moore to take pictures of us in the traditional missionary couple style. Of course, this was taken last December, well before we could even get serious about going since he was serving as bishop. He would be happy to know that his sister and brother-in-law are not here, they are watching from their mission in Australia. He would not have wanted them to come home for this. He was diligent, especially this year, in working to improve his health. He didn’t want there to be any restrictions to his mission call. He wanted the Lord to be able to use him anywhere in the world.

Lance was unselfish—like, extremely unselfish. He would not like me telling you this--not at all, so pretend you didn’t hear it from me--but he kept a stein bought in Germany on his dresser that was filled with 100’s, 50’s and 20 dollar bills. He liked having that cash on hand to be able to give away at a moment’s notice to someone in need. Sometimes he would slip it into the hands of one of his children, give it to me in an envelope to pass along or to leave on a doorstep. He much preferred being anonymous. I checked the stein and there is one last 20 dollar bill. Through the years, that stein has been replenished many times, and given away.

He put God first, me second, and the children next. I never felt second, of course, our shared love for our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ united us. He was a huge proponent of marriage and I knew he didn’t just believe in our marriage, but he believed in marriage as a sacred, fundamental principle for God’s children here upon the earth.

Maybe it goes without saying, but Lance wanted children—how ever many the Lord would send. He loved that his children grew to be good, responsible people and it sometimes surprised him because he felt strongly his lack as a father.

He loved the temple. He loved his ancestors. He loved family history. He loved church history. He read scriptures everyday in the wee hours of the morning. He would read the four standard works every year.

Lance served pretty much exclusively in church leadership positions during our time in Arizona, but he would say, “Can I just be a family history consultant?” He loved serving but he’d always say “Why me? I’m just a normal guy.” He loved to serve but he did it because he loved the Lord and it was what the Lord asked of him.

To the Pueblo Ward I want you to know that he loved you. One of his greatest thrills was using his Spanish in his employment and his church calling, but serving you and with you went way beyond the language. I wish I could express in Spanish what you meant to him so you could feel my words more fully. I’m so happy you can listen to this service in Spanish at the other building but I am sorry not to see your faces today. And Brother Ponce, Brother Villalba, and Brother Lopez—oh, how he loved you and respected you—so, so much.

Lance would not be happy that any funeral remarks painted him as perfect, so I’ll state for the record that he wasn’t. Only one man on this earth ever was. And that was the man that my husband strived to be like—the Savior, Jesus Christ.

All of the kind words expressed, all the food and flowers shared, all the tears and laughter that have filled our home the past few days are a testament to who Lance was. As an extension of that they serve as a testimony of Jesus Christ, and he would want you to know that.

He wanted to be simple, he wanted to be normal. You form your own conclusions.

In his journal he wrote about speaking to my dad on the phone to tell him of our engagement—after the fact. We were at BYU, my parents in Texas. It was an awkward conversation because fresh in my parents’ minds was my obsession with a different boy who was on a mission. Lance wrote: “I guess they’re wondering how she changed her mind about the missionary that she was so set on marrying. Oh, well—as soon as they meet me they’ll understand.”

We were married for time and all eternity, but what is eternity? Sometimes it doesn’t mean a lot when you’re just trying to get through the day, or even the hour. It’s not until they’re gone, maybe, that you realize how very much you want eternity with them. I have an inkling now of what forever is because it will feel that long until I see him again.

So to the boy still obsessing over his mission to Spain when I met him at the ward dance, who asked where I was from and said, “It’s not Amarillo, it’s ama-reo;” the one I danced with and because we didn’t stop talking, we danced again. To the boy who listened to me and my never ending questions because like I always told you, Lance, you are the smartest person I know. To the boy who would laugh and talk with me no matter the hour...

...I’m not done talking to you.

Grandchildren Thoughts & Memories

 read by Kara at the funeral

One of my dad’s favorite names was Grandpa. He was adored by 17 grandkids. He especially loved going out back with them to see the chickens and the tortoise, and to show them the garden. When he visited his Grandpa Edwards as a child, his grandpa would give him a quarter, so our dad decided he wanted to give his grandkids a dollar coin every Sunday when they came for dinner. Our mom was like, really? A dollar? Every time? But he insisted, so the grandkids have been filling their piggy banks with coins from Grandpa. Today at the gravesite, each grandchild will put one coin on his casket. 

 Sometimes when the rest of us were involved in playing a game, we would look over at the kid’s table or the living room floor and Grandpa would be playing Uno or Candyland with the grandkids. He was often found rolling around on the floor with grandkids all over him. It reminded us of playing a game as kids called “Jump on Dad” where it was us against him in a tickle fight. We always seemed to lose, and when someone started crying, Mom would make us stop. 

Each grandchild shared a favorite thing or memory about him:

Eileen age 10’s favorite memory is giving him special artwork they made for him on Father’s Day that he really liked. 

Evie, age 10, says, “He always came to every soccer game and was always positive and congratulated us even if we did a bad job or lost the game.”

Morgan, age 8, says, “I loved playing rock, paper, scissors, pickle with him.”

Evanie age 7’s favorite memory was every time we would sleep over at his house, he would wake up early and make us eggs for breakfast—eggs from his chickens. 

Emmy, age 6, says, “I like that Grandpa always checked on us when we were swimming in his swimming pool.”

Parker, age 6, says, “I liked looking at his plants and picking grapefruit from his trees.” 

After finding out about his death, Elena, age 5, said, “Is Grandpa going to be the tooth fairy now?” 

Whenever he was told he was going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, Jayden, age 4, would ask, “Which grandpa? The one with the chickens?” 

Dottie, age 4, says, “He let me go with him through the maze of his backyard and we saw lots of little yellow flowers and we went under a pointy bush so we wouldn’t get poked.” 

Greyson, age 4, says, “I’m excited to get a pumpkin from Grandpa’s pumpkin patch, and carving a monster in it on Halloween day.” 

One time when Grandpa gave Lachlan, age 3, a coin Grandpa showed him how he could put it in a little pocket on his shirt. Every time after that when he got a coin, Lachlan would try to put it in his shirt pocket and when he didn’t have a pocket, he would just put the coin down his shirt.

This is a conversation my sister, Kristen, had with her son, Blake, age 3, after Grandpa’s death:

“We are going to Grandma’s house now but Grandpa isn’t there anymore, he is in heaven.”  

Blake said: “In heaven with Jesus? I saw Jesus at Grandma Ipson’s house.” 

Kristen replied: “Okay, but there is going to be no more Grandpa, no more chickens, no more eggs, and no more coins.” 

Blake said: “Is there going to be dinner?” 

Kristen said, “Yes.” 

And Blake said, “Okay, lets go!” 

Kendall, age 3, called Grandpa’s house “Grandpa and Grandpa’s house” instead of including Grandma.

Brigdon, age 2, loved holding Grandpa’s hand to go outside to see his chickens. 

Aslin, who is about to turn 2, loved playing games with Grandpa and called him “Baylo” instead of the Spanish word for Grandpa which is “Abuelo.” 

And Carson and Kolton, age 10 and 7 months, loved staring at Grandpa and grabbing his glasses when he held them.

There is no doubt in my mind that he loved each one and they loved him.