Just a Primary Teacher

In 2005 I was asked to serve on the Primary Board, teaching one of two Valiant 10 classes. Having served recently as Elders Quorum President and Ward Clerk, I really looked forward to being just a Primary teacher.

I took my new role seriously, but I did enjoy the easing on my schedule. It was three months into my second class when my MS issues began. I discussed it with them, but at that time the issues were not too visible, and certainly not audible.

The class comprised of ten children of inestimable potential and I was honored just to be a small part of their developmental fabric. I would do my best to teach them, to share my testimony with them, and to assure them that I cared about them. In the coming “tween” years, they might need an extra testimony to lean on, right? I hoped that somehow I could bless their lives.

I didn’t foresee that they would bless my life, in rich, direct, and immediate ways. Three of them have moved away and three more live on the other side of a new ward boundary, leaving only four that I see regularly. They have turned 12 this year.

One girl gave a talk in sacrament meeting. Because she was one of “my” students, I perked up and really paid close attention. I know, I should always pay close attention, sorry. She taught easy and practical ways to make progress on family history work. It was exactly what I needed to resuscitate my own dormant efforts.

While I am on great terms with each of the four kids, one boy goes out of his way to check on me and my capricious health. I try to reassure him that I’m OK, but given my vocal issues, I don’t sound very convincing. One Sunday last month, I was enduring a spell of utter exhaustion accompanied by a severe headache during church. The fatigue probably was related to my illness, but the headache probably wasn’t. Headaches happen to everyone, right? Fortunately, these bouts of fatigue are infrequent, but when they hit, especially with a headache, everything is worse, including walking and balance. When priesthood meeting ended, I decided to let the room clear out a bit before making my unsteady way to the exit. I didn’t want to cause undue concern, or fall on anyone! (It is just the first few steps that can be an adventure if I try to hurry the process.)

While seated, this boy came to me and asked how I was. The class was not on the way to anywhere; he had obviously come in just to greet me. I reported the headache and I’m sure he could see the fatigue. As I rose, he asked if he could help me. He is of very slight build, but he carried man-sized sincerity and concern. I took him up on the offer, figuring better to steady myself on his shoulder than to make him watch me struggle and maybe stumble. As we walked together slowly to the door I considered the irony. I thought they would be leaning on me.

Just a Primary teacher. Hah. Everyone should be so fortunate.

Uncle David

I know the Christmas season is in full swing but I have another story from Thanksgiving. I am almost done. Soon after I arrived at my parents’ home in California last month, I learned that my aunt Nancy and Uncle David would be coming and staying a few days. This was good news. I had not seen them since 2004.

Aunt Nancy did not disappoint with her endless supply of anecdotes about growing up with Dad. Uncle David treated us all to music from a dulcimer that he made. It was a delight getting caught up with them. They seemed to be doing well in every regard.

Therefore, I was puzzled when during a family prayer my nephew prayed that “Uncle David would feel better.” Was he not feeling well? How did this boy know about something that I didn’t?

Then it dawned on me that he wasn’t referring to my uncle, but to his.

It engendered a curious feeling in me. I am extremely humbled by and grateful for the many prayers in my behalf offered by family and friends, but my natural instinct is to defer. I’m fine. I mean I have a long list of medical issues and limitations, but I feel pretty good. Well, most of the time. Most days. Some days I don’t. Maybe I’d better keep the divine petitions going!

Hearing

Today I had my long-awaited social security disability hearing before a judge in Dallas. It was not what I expected. A court reporter showed us (my attorney and I) into a small room, and soon the judge came in. I prepared to rise but there wasn’t a bailiff and no one else rose. The judge did sit at an elevated station, was wearing judicial robes, and my attorney said, “Your Honor” a lot but other than that it seemed like a somewhat informal chat about my health.

I think it went well. The attorney thought so too. I found it interesting that the first thing the judge said was that he had reviewed my earnings history from IRS records and could not see why I would leave a job making $X per year to go on disability, unless I were truly disabled. Yeah. I’m not faking. I know, some people do, and it is his job to determine who is and who isn’t. After the hearing the attorney told me that income level, work history, and job stability are big factors, and that my situation seemed golden. Well, except for the disease and all. (I guess it is golden for her.)

In another positive exchange, after reviewing my medical file, complete with reports from a half dozen doctors, the judge asked my attorney, “Didn’t DARS (local Social Security that has denied me twice) have all these records?”

She said, “Yes, they did.”

He then asked, “Why did they deny him?”

His question may have been a bit rhetorical but she offered a theory, “Probably because of his age.”

He seemed to concur. I interpreted “his age” as being young, and for the first time in months I felt young!

By the way, we should have a ruling in a month or so.

Walking Uprightly

Several years ago my father decided to combine his woodworking hobby with his burgeoning role as grandfather by making walking sticks for several of his grandchildren. These are no ordinary sticks; not only are they customized to the child’s height, they are stained, varnished, and fitted with a leather handgrip that has the child’s name. It is clear that they are each made with as much love as wood. Everyone loves grandpa’s sticks.

There is one problem, however. He now has 37 grandchildren. Not only do they all walk, they grow! Ryan has outgrown his stick by at least a foot. Due to two missions and because Dad enjoys doing other things too (like eating, sleeping, etc.) there is a backlog for new or replacement sticks.

Owing to this situation, it was with some hesitancy that I got in line. I could really use one on my walks, especially for the last few hundred feet. However, I did not want to use my illness to bump a hopeful child down the cue. These are, after all, for the grandchildren, not their parents. In fact, two of my girls are waiting. The “original” grandchild (Amanda) has not made a request, but I think she may need one to beat boys from her! When I arrived at parents a couple days before Thanksgiving, I did get in line as tactfully and unassumingly as possible. Of course, despite hosting (literally) dozens of out-of-town guests, within 24 hours of my request, it was done.

In addition to the leather grip there was a tag bearing this verse from the 84^th Psalm:

For the Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.

I know that the author and the crafter meant “walk uprightly” in a metaphorical or spiritual sense, not in a physical sense, but I'll try my best to do both.  This will definitely help.

Thanksgiving

I enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving week at my parents home. During the week I saw 7 of 9 siblings, their 6 spouses, an aunt, an uncle, a cousin and 25 of my 33 nieces and nephews (on my side). It was awesome. Add to that a scrumptious feast, lots of laughter, an impromptu dulcimer concert, and a nephew’s Eagle Court and the week was unforgettable.

After the Thanksgiving meal, we retired to the living room and each person listed four things for which they are grateful. I don’t plan on listing all the responses, or even all of mine, but I did want to comment on one of mine that may have sounded incongruous at best. But it isn’t. I said, “My health.” It was not said tongue-in-cheek or sarcastically. In fact, I got a little choked up.

I am grateful for my health. I know, I’m not well, but there is something about loss that makes you more appreciative of what you still have. I know I have a lot of stuff wrong with me right now, but there is much more that is right. My joints all work, pain-free. Blood pressure? Great. Insulin? Great. Cholesterol? Better. Aches and pains? None. I don’t speak well, but I CAN talk. I don’t walk great, but I still walk whenever I want to. Vision may be at 90%, but the other senses are fine. (Kara thinks my hearing is bad but what wife doesn’t?) I won’t go on. You get the picture. Something magic happens with whole or partial loss.

I am grateful for my health.

Girls

This week, I delivered an envelope marked “Natalie Hixon” at the elementary school’s front office. (She had forgotten her homework.) I only said, “This is for my daughter.”

As I walked back to my car, I reflected just for a moment on those two words “my” and “daughter.” These two words mean so much more together than when used separately. Think about it: There is no magic in the phrases “My ham sandwich.” or “Whose daughter is this?” But when I say “my daughter” there is a tingle. A spark.  Anyone who has a daughter knows what I am talking about.

When I had my first child, a beautiful daughter, I was in awe. The emotions within me were overpowering, but contained, at least until I called Mom and choked out another set of magical words: “It’s a girl.”

This was Mom’s first grandchild, but I remember her being more concerned than delighted because I was temporarily unable to speak after saying this. “David? Are you OK? Is everyone OK?!” Yes Mom. Everything is perfect. Couldn’t be better.

I will forever be grateful for girls. I marvel that I was entrusted  with not one, not two, but THREE daughters. In each one I have a priceless treasure and feelings of gratitude that far exceed my expressive vocabulary.

The next time we need to take something to the school, maybe Kara better do it.

Miracle Girl

I recently was found (through FaceBook) by an old mission companion. Learning of my MS, he put me in contact with a woman in his ward that had a much more severe MS case several years ago, but has since experienced miraculous healing.

She wrote me a candid, thorough e-mail message from which I am taking new hope and adopting new therapy options. I won’t get into those now, or breach her confidence, but I really appreciated an opinion of hers that I have been unable to verbalize. With respect to the disease itself she said, “I think MS is a series of different diseases that share a diagnostic profile.” Yes! How she was affected is very different (way worse) than my challenges. The causes are different, so it follows that the cures would vary also. Although the path to restored health may be unique for each person, there are certain principles that promote health for anyone.

Her thoughts on the Word of Wisdom were profound and also pointed out a key difference between healing and curing. (“Miracle Girl”- if you read this and would like to share any details of your story or some of your insights, feel free. Or if you have a blog, please provide the URL. Excellent writer, amazing story.)