Happy Birthday Hannah

 Happy 19th birthday to my Hannah!
Nineteen years ago I gave birth to my third child - a girl.  I had believed this one was a boy. I was so sure of it. But I also felt that something was very wrong with this pregnancy. The doctor assured me that the baby was fine but I was convinced that this baby was handicapped in some way.  It was not until I gave birth that I figured out what was "wrong".  The doctor announced "It's a girl!".  Wait.  This was supposed to be a boy.  I was so shocked! It took me about three days to get used to the idea that she really was a girl. 

And a lovely girl she was indeed.  Hannah was a delightful baby.  She was very easy going and didn't cry very much.  I can remember people being so surprised when I'd take her to visit with friends or something.  She would sit on the floor entertaining herself. When she got hungry she would start a little fuss. I'd pick her up and feed her and then she'd entertain herself on the floor again.  She was just very happy. I do have pictures and some video of her crying so there is proof that it really happened but I don't really remember much of it.

When I looked at this picture this morning I started to laugh.  It seems that Hannah has had a love/hate relationship with food from the beginning.  Actually, Hannah started out as my least picky child but as she got older she became more and more picky.  Finally figured out in a science class at school that she has odd taste buds. Her dislikes are probably not willfulness but rather that food tastes different to her than it does to me.  

This is a picture of Hannah playing dress up. It seems she put on everything she could find in the dress up box but the real reason I like the picture is because I love her eyes.  And she'd never had so much hair.  ha ha. 








One of the things I noticed as I looked at the pictures in Hannah's album (besides my poor photography skills) is this adorable grin.  I could show you pictures all through the book of this same happy, cheesy grin. It makes me smile.






 I was trying to think what word I would use if I had to describe Hannah in one word.  At this age I would have said "bouncy".  Or perhaps "exuberant". Hannah was so full of energy and I remember she seemed to be bouncing all the time. 


Here is one more cheesy 4 year old grin.







And one last picture just because I like it.  Hannah is wearing her Mimi's hat and I always thought it was adorable with that springy dress.


 I can't quite decide what one word I would use to describe Hannah now.  She has many talents and abilities. She likes to learn for the sake of learning. She will read classics just to be able to discuss them with someone.  She is a hard worker especially when she enjoys the particular task. She likes to laugh and make others laugh. When she dislikes she is not afraid to dislike and when she loves she is not afraid to love.  And she has a little stubborn mixed in there too.



 I was with Hannah just a few days ago but went home early because I got sick.  Wish I could have stayed long enough to bake a cake for this day.

So happy birthday to my dear Hannah.  Love you.

Mom's conversion story

My niece said she wished I had posted my mother's entire conversion story so here I go. This is in Mom's own words written February 1, 1992 in Täby, Sweden

MY CONVERSION

by

Inga Kristina Edlund Morgan

Not many members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints today would hold the distinction I do. You see, with my baptism on 14 June 1950 I doubled the membership in my hometown of 16,000 citizens. But my conversion started long before that day.

I was born of good, but not "church-going", parents in Söderhamn, Sweden. We moved to Bollnäs a couple of years later. Bollnäs became very important in my life in 1991 serving part of our mission there. At six years of age we moved to Falun where all my schooling  took place.

At age eight my parents separated and were later divorced and my sister Karin and I were reared by my mother who was a very outgoing and generous person. Karin and I made at least yearly visits to Sundsvall to where my father had moved. He remarried, and we received a wonderful stepmother, whom we loved very much. Her greatest honor in life was to be called "Mrs. Lars Edlund", and next to that was to be introduced to my friends as "my stepmother". I was indeed blessed with two good mothers.

In "the olden days" in Sweden "Religion" was part of the curriculum in the schools. I loved the Bible stories and some of them made a deep impression on me. I still have my first school book in Religion, and the stories are just a dear to this day. The pictures fascinated me and made the stories very real. I never doubted the reality of the Old Testament prophets or the divinity of Jesus Christ. Angels were real to me, and I remember the terrible hurt I felt when I was a little older in my childhood and my friends started telling me that there were no angels ~ they were only a myth. It was as if my life crumbled, but I was so shy and so unsure of myself that I never disputed it. When I some year later heard about "another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth..." I had no problems accepting the reality of that scripture.

When I was old enough for high school, our religion classes consisted of reading in the Bible, both the Old and the New Testament. It was not so easy to understand everything but I enjoyed the classes. As we had none of that kind of training in our home, I believe this was a preparation for me to accept the gospel. The Lord must "have loved me best," as Brother George Durrant would have said, to prepare me so early to receive the gospel. I remember that I sometimes, not always, would pray. One time I asked my mother if it was permissible to say one's own words and not the set prayers we had learned in school. She said she was sure I could. I am sure she didn't know I prayed occasionally until that time.

When I graduated from high school I was not sure of what I wanted to do for the "rest of my life". My dearest friend Carin Persson, and I talked about becoming elementary school teachers. For some reason we decided to wait a year and then try the difficult exam necessary to pass to be accepted. In the early part of summer the year after high school graduation I received a phone call from a cousin of mine who had a summer home in Kopparberg, a small town some miles from my hometown. She asked if I would be willing to work the summer months as a waitress for a friend of hers that had lost a worker. My mother and I thought it might be a good thing for me to do if I could get time off to go home and take the exam that I now had decided on.

The restaurant served mostly single people who came in for the same meals every day and paid by the week. Sometimes tourists came but there was not a lot of variety. One day eight young men came in for lunch. It was obvious that they had an accent, and it didn't take long to figure out they were Americans. To be friendly I asked what they were doing in Sweden. My assumption was that they had come to study something. They looked like American students with their jeans on. To my big surprise they told me they were missionaries! In Sweden??? Maybe Swedes didn't go to church more than at Christmas time, but heathens, no!! They told me about "summer tracting", whatever that was, and invited me to a street meeting that evening at the town square. I told them I would come to it, if I was through working that early. I had long working days.

I looked forward to attending the meeting mostly because there wasn't much for a single girl, a stranger, to do in Kopparberg. The meeting had just ended when I came. I saw another sight now. Here were these same young men dressed in suits talking to quite a number of people. When they spotted me a couple of them came up to me and began to talk to me about a church I had never heard of before, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I felt somewhat confused because I didn't know what they were talking about. They asked if they could come and visit me to tell me more about it. I informed them that I was in Kopparberg temporarily and would soon go back to my hometown, Falun. They told me that two of them would going back to Falun also and asked if they could visit me there. I gave them my address.

Carin and I had taken our exams and passed. We were back in school again. In those days it took two years to become an elementary school teacher, and we were enjoying the choice we had made. One evening in the fall I was in our home when the doorbell rang. To my surprised there stood the two Americans I had met in that street meeting. I had forgotten all about them, but I invited them in. We had a nice visit, and that was the beginning of many, many visits. I was "golden" but I didn't know that term then. My mother with her open arms and big heart always had dinner or refreshments for the missionaries. Thinking back on it now I suppose we were like Martha and Mary. My sister had a fiance' and was seldom there for the teachings.

I soon began to understand what the elders, which I found out they were to be called, were teaching me. There wasn't anything that seemed foreign to me. In fact, it seemed more like I had known it before. Their concept of God the Father, of Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost was the same as mine, except I had never been able to express it in words. I don't believe that I questioned anything. I have always enjoyed putting jigsaw puzzles together, and this was like a giant puzzle where all the pieces fit in perfectly till I could see the beautiful picture. The only problem that I can remember was in praying aloud and kneeling to pray.

I was ready for baptism. I had taken my time because I wanted to be sure, so very sure. I felt it was a very big step to take. My mother didn't have any objection, but she thought it would be a passing fancy and that I was more interested in the young elders than in the church. I knew that wasn't true; however I enjoyed very much my association with the missionaries. It was different to be with them than any one of my friends. My friend, Carin, and I had long talks. She was never then, and isn't now, interested in the church; but she was, and is, a true friend. She respects me for my decision and she is very understanding, and I love her for her loyalty throughout these many years. She helped me a lot over rough spots.

Because I was so immature in spiritual matters and because I didn't want to make a commitment I couldn't live up to, I decided to go to one of my teachers who I thought would understand and talk to him about my decision to be baptized. I left him in tears. He told me I would not be able to graduate from the school I was attending if I didn't belong to the state church! Perhaps that is when I realized how much the church had come to mean to me. I had one year of schooling left.

I participated in church as if I were a member. It felt good and I was not as unhappy as I had thought I would be. I was asked by the missionaries if I would play the piano for them in the meetings they held in a rented hall. I really couldn't play the piano very well, but I guess better than the Elders; so I would practice and practice for hours till I could play the hymns without making a mistake. But when it was time for the meetings I would be so scared that I still made mistakes. Shy as I was it was very embarrassing for me, but I kept doing it. A few years later after I had immigrated to the United States and I had come home for a visit, I was asked again to play the piano in a very important meeting in the branch that had been established in Borlänge, a neighboring town to Falun. The guest visitor was none other than President Spencer W. Kimball, although at that time he was one of the Twelve Apostles. The same feelings of inadequacy came over me again. Years later after reading the wonderful book about President Kimball did I learn of his love for playing the piano. I reminded him one time about that meeting and told him of my fears! With his kind disposition he would never have made me feel anything but the best. And I guess I was... the best they had at the time!

It was a drizzly early morning on 14 June 1950. There was still some ice left on the lake where I was to be baptized. I had not slept at all during the night realizing the seriousness of the commitment I was making. A makeshift shelter of cloth was set up where I changed my clothes into white clothing. It was cold and I realized it would get colder when I was wet. When Elder Doyle Anderson and I stepped into the ice-cold water I shuddered, but suddenly it didn't seem so cold. The sun broke through the clouds for a brief while and I was baptized. I knew it was the right thing to do, and it became a lifelong commitment. I did not know it then, but I have learned throughout the years and have had it reaffirmed at other baptismal services the consequences for good that started that morning. For the many wrongs I have done in my life, I did one thing right that day for the children that were to be mine. I hope they will always know the correctness of the choice their mother made that day.

After having dressed in warm clothes again, the Elders laid their hands on my head and Elder Rex Olson confirmed me a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later-day Saints. It seemed I had waited a long time for that to come about.
My conversion story is not complete without mentioning Sister Berta Lindborg. She was my tutor in spirituality. A more faithful sister can hardly be found. How come it takes  some maturity on our part before we realize learning opportunities the Lord provides for us?

Sister Lindborg was about 60 years old when I joined the church at age 21. She had been the only member in Falun for over 30 years and remained as faithful as she possibly could with a nonmember husband who would forbid her at times to see the missionaries or go to meetings. Can you imagine the joy she must have felt when she witnessed my baptism? There is strength in numbers, but few would have considered this strength. She did. She was so happy, and she really took me under her wing and wanted me to learn. In her home we would hold Relief Society meetings, the two of us, a neighbor who enjoyed coming, and the missionaries, if they were permitted by her husband. I can't remember what we studied or what we did because it was all so new to me, but study we did.

Sister Lindborg was so kind. Her eyes were warm and loving and she was always optimistic. Nothing seemed impossible for her and the Lord. She was eager for me to learn of "a better way" and corrected me if needed. The missionaries and I were invited to her home late in the afternoon one Saturday. As was quite customary in Sweden then when you went to visit someone you knew well enough, I had brought my knitting. After all,  it was not a meeting we were attending. I was eager to get my knitting done, so I proceeded to bring my work out. Gently but firmly she informed me that we don't work on the Lord's day, and for her the Sabbath Day started at six o'clock on Saturday! I put away my knitting somewhat embarrassed but not hurt, and we studied the scriptures instead. What a lesson! I can't say that I have kept the Sabbath from Saturday afternoon since then, but it taught me sacredness of the things we believe in.

After I left for America Sister Lindborg chose to leave her husband to go on a mission. She served in Luleå, way up north in Sweden, for, as I remember, six months. Perhaps it was longer. When she returned to Falun she served faithfully in the church till she died. I believe she was 90 years old when she passed away. She took delight in serving the Lord even when it wasn't easy. What an example for all of us! I am so thankful for the influence she has had on my life. I can say without hesitation that she and my husband Keith have had the greatest impact on building and nourishing my faith. How blessed I have been!

I call my conversion the miracle in my life. It is a miracle to me how the Lord will help direct a person's life to the gospel. I was not looking for a better life, a church, or a religion when the traveling Elders "found" me. Why did they choose this place to eat where I worked? Why did they follow up on a contact with remote possibilities of leading to a chance to teach? The reason must be that "the Lord loves me best". And I love Him best for His goodness to me.

"...and I will take you one of a city, and two of a family, and I will bring you to Zion.
And I will give you pastors according to mine heart, which shall feed you with knowledge and understanding.                     Jeremiah 3:14-15

A Mighty Change in Your Heart

In November 2010 I gave a talk in church that centered on implanting the gospel in our hearts. I used my mother's life as an example. After the talk, I wrote down much of what I said to send it to my son who was serving a mission. I'm taking from that letter to write this entry about my mother.

 

My mom was born into the Lutheran church in Sweden but raised in a non church going home. She learned about the bible stories in school. Religious studies is part of the curriculum in Sweden. Mom loved the stories and was fascinated by angels. It was her love of the Bible stories that prepared her to listen to the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She didn’t know it at the time but she was a golden investigator accepting everything the elders taught her. She knew it was a serious step to take so she went to talk the decision over with one of her school teachers (she was studying to be a teacher) and when the teacher informed her that if she joined the LDS church she wouldn’t be able to graduate since she would no longer be a member of the state church, she was devastated. It was then that she realized how much the gospel meant to her.  She waited the year she had until graduation and then was baptized.  When she was baptized she literally doubled the membership of the LDS church in her town.  The only other member was a 60 year old woman. Mom was almost 21 when she was baptized.

 Mom would wait until the Elders would come to visit their town and pay her tithing which is how my dad met her.  He figured anyone that was so stalwart as to pay tithing even without priesthood leadership there to check up on her deserved to be married in the temple and she had no prospects there so he proposed to her. (mission rules were a little different back then).  Dad tells the story quite clinically but it probably didn’t hurt that Mom was very beautiful and Dad looked like Clark Gable.  So Mom left her home and family thinking she would never see them again and came to America. A true pioneer.   

" And according to his faith there was a mighty change wrought in his heart. Behold I say unto you that this is all true. 

"And behold, he preached the word unto your fathers, and a mighty change was also wrought in their hearts, and they humbled themselves and put their trust in the true and living God. And behold, they were faithful until the end;therefore they were saved. 

"And now behold, I ask of you, my brethren of the church, have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts? 

"And now behold, I say unto you, my brethren, if ye have experienced a change of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?"  

Alma 5: 12-14, 26"

My mom engraved the gospel in her heart and strived to live a consecrated life of labor.  She spent her life in service, laboring in the home and for the gospel.  She was Relief Society President three times among other callings, served three missions with my dad and then put herself on a family history mission full time.  She labored to research as many  Swedish names as possible since it was easier for her to read the information than anyone else.  Dad spent years putting those names in the computer.

Mom never sat around idle at home. She was always working. Now as her diseased brain takes away her abilities both mentally and physically the one thing I think she still holds on to is that love of the gospel. When we moved her here to an assisted living facility,  she thought she was still on a mission.  She would gather the residents around the table for prayer meeting before going to work at the "temple". She would go with another resident around to visit all the other women in the buildings with cookies to do their visiting teaching. She still wants to serve and to work even if her brain perverts what those things are. Fiddling with her blanket is now what her brain calls work. If you ask her what she is doing with the blanket she might say something like she is ironing or fixing it. She has sent me over to see if someone needs help or tells Dad she needs to go see who is in need. Or sometimes she will spend time coloring and if you ask her what she is doing she will say she is getting ready for class.   All these things are so ingrained in her being that it has been one of the last things to be taken from her.  I have written about a Mother’s day before where I witnessed her reverence for the sacrament. You can read about that here. 

The gospel must be as deeply engrained in each of us as it has been in my mother.  It must be engraved on our hearts just like it is in my mother’s.  Missionaries are headed out to share the gospel with others and give that gift that my mother has treasured her entire life.  She has kept in contact with at least one of those elders that taught her the gospel. We must have that mighty change in our hearts too and strive to live that consecrated life.

Patience is hard

Sometimes it is hard to be patient and wait for the Lord's due time.  Mom is 10 days without sustenance. But she just can't seem to go home.  We all want her to. We've told her it is okay for her to go. Each day I think she can't continue without food and water but she does. My sister and I both stayed all night last night instead of doing shifts.  We didn't think she'd make it through the night. But she did. I do not understand God's purpose for prolonging this.  We've watched the sequence of events for a lot of people dying here in the last 4 1/2 years. The people disappear from the dining table and are gone in just a few days. This has all blurred in my head so I can't remember when Mom stopped eating at the table. It has been at least 2 1/2 weeks and I'm thinking a good three weeks or more.

So why has she had to wait all this time? I do not know. Am I supposed to learn a specific lesson from this experience? Is it for my dad's experience? My siblings? I haven't figured this one out yet. Perhaps it is simply to teach me patience. 

I prayed for Mom to be able to go all day yesterday but the sun is coming up on yet another new day. We continue to give her morphine in the hopes of keeping her comfortable but she is breathing through her mouth so I know it is incredibly dry.  My sister tried to swab her mouth a bit ago and it didn't go well. I can't imagine this to be comfortable even with morphine. I tried to hold her hand yesterday but she indicated discomfort immediately so I let it go. Perhaps sensing our presence is enough. Perhaps morphine is enough. We don't have to hold hands.

So in our sleep deprived state we will continue with another day of watch care, of feeling useless, of praying for her release. And I hope today my prayer will be answered. I hope it will at last be the Lord's due time.