Grandpa Hjertager a "Gentle-man" 1886-1967

Grandpa Hjertager was a gentle man...and a true gentleman. I wasn't around him as much as I would have liked. He was quiet and happy. He loved his den. I remember he had very interesting things in there . I especially remember a large model boat on a shelf. It was very intricate and it was wonderful with tremendous detail. It drew my attention for many years. I recently found out from a granddaughter that it was a replica of the boat on which they came from Norway to Ellis Island.
He loved to read, and when he sat down to relax he would smoke a pipe. I don't know why, but I loved the smell of his pipe. It smelled like wood, not tobacco. He was a tall slender man...never gained the little belly that some men his age would gain. He always wore a white shirt and navy pants with a tie. I don' t remember ever seeing him otherwise.
He was always respectful to Grandma Hjertager. She was a little tricky to get along with sometimes, but he just loved her and would laugh a little when she became difficult and do what she wanted to have done without complaint.
My cousin Sharon remembers: (I will finish post when Sharon sends her memories)

She may be little but don't underestimate her!

"Grandma "Beep" (Our Grandma Nellie Moore) beatin' up the kids". This picture was taken when Artie was on his mission. We missed him so much we made a 'replica' of him by blowing up his picture, cutting out the face, stuffing some of his clothes, and putting him on the couch in the front room with his guitar. Sometimes we'd have girls visiting the house put his arm around them and we'd take a picture of them. Other times we put 'him' at the table. Finally, everyone said we needed to take advantage of the "free 8X10" from Contempo Studio. This was just before Chad & Ashes got married and it had been a long time since we had a family portrait. Mom had a lot of fun that day too. She was always game for a fun picture, not unlike her mom, (Grandma Koehler).

Grandma McClain, quite a lady - 1884-1976

Grandma McClain
Grandma Brady was originally married to ‘Grandpa McClain’. I’m not sure why they got divorced but Grandma Brady married a “Brady” and Grandma Ethel McClain was, as far as I can remember, our “Grandma McClain”… and this is where everything gets complicated.

Grandma McClain was a very darling little Christian lady with an incredibly green thumb. She lived in a little town outside of Abilene called “Buffalo Gap”. She always had a garden and grew beautiful flowers. She wrote poetry, little stories, and always was humming and singing when she was in her yard. I loved her to rock me in her rocker because she was soft all over. Kinda like a human feather bed. I never thought of her as ‘fat’, just ‘soft’. She wore her silvery hair up in a loose knot just slightly back from the top of her head. It was a little curly and looked just perfect for a grandma. She had homemade quilts on her beds and everything looked and smelled like a country cottage. She had every National Geographic magazine from the very first copy ever printed.

The main thing I remember about Grandma McClain was there was always a smile on her face and her laugh just tickled me. She had a Texas accent that was really cute. She was quite well read from what mother used to tell me. Something that I remember her saying was that she assisted in the first ‘Girls Town’ in Texas. She was very pleased about that.

When we would go stay at Grandma Mac’s house in the summer, Darlene and I would go down to the “swimming hole” and swim with the other kids who lived in Buffalo Gap. They were really friendly and one time a little girl came up to me and as we were getting acquainted she asked me, “Y’all from California?” I answered, “Yes I am!” Then SHE said, “I shore’ thought so! Y’all shore’ has a POWERFUL accent!!” I never forgot that. I never thought I could have an accent being from California. It was everyone ELSE who had accents in this world.

Just before I got married I went on a trip to see all the relatives with Mom and Daddy Roy. We stopped by to see Grandma Mac and I thought it could be the last time I’d have a chance to see her. Oddly enough, Norm was transferred to San Angelo from Monterrey before we were sent to Germany. We were able to come and spend weekends there and it was a special experience. Somehow she could never remember Norm wasn’t ‘Howard’. We figured it didn’t really matter and he became ‘Howard’ to her. One time when we were there on a Sunday I noticed that her cupboards needed to be scrubbed down and I began washing them. I had never seen her angry ever before in my many visits to her house over the years. She told me in no uncertain terms that ‘today is Sunday and it is the Lord’s Day, not ours!’ I tried to tell her that we could ‘serve others’ on that day but she insisted she didn’t want to be served while making me break a commandment…so that was that.

Soon after that, we were transferred to Germany and I remember writing to her several times through the next few years and her always writing right back. Then her letters began to slack off and eventually I didn’t hear from her. One day, when Artie was about 6 months old, Mother came to me and said that she felt really strongly that we need to take a trip to see Grandma Mac. She told me she had been in a rest home and she had important information about the family that would be lost when she died so we needed to make a trip as soon as possible. Before we left on the trip, mother got a blessing from her home teacher to be able to make this trip a success with genealogy. I left Norm with Chad & Brandon and made arrangements with Jean Larson to pick up the slack while I was gone.

We drove straight through to Abilene. It took about 2 days. Both Kevin & Artie were with us. We arrived there just before visiting hours were over. Grandma didn’t have any idea who we were. We tried to jog her memory but with no recollection in her hazy eyes. Here we had driven over 1500 miles for nothing. Mother and I looked at each other, clearly disappointed and heartsick and were about to leave when she suddenly became totally coherent. She said, “…who you need to see is Mr. Coleman He lives in the next city down the road.”

That was the only, and last thing she said to us. That one statement took us through the next 8 days where we found one clue after another, relative after relative and where we finally found a man who had been collecting information on the family his whole life and had research clear back to the 1700’s. All the genealogy we found on that trip wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for her one statement and Mom’s insistence that we take that trip when we did.

Two weeks after we made the trip, Grandma McClain passed away. I often think of that adorable little lady with so much inside her to give…so kind, so happy, so thrilled with life, nature and growing things.

Grandchildren are the best

It's amazing the love I feel for our grandkids

Just looking at this picture makes me smile. What a great experience it's been living close by so many of our grandkids. I love being able to go to their programs and games when we can. Usually once a month we get together at someone's house for a Sunday dinner or holiday of some kind. I wish Kevin & Lori's families lived closer but it could be much worse. As it is, Kevin & Leora come once a month to go to the Temple and stay with us. We probably spend more quality time with them than anyone because they actually stay with us.

Maybe 2 or 3 times a year Lori & Trevor come here but we all love to go and stay with them, cool off in the summer, and go to the beach. It's the best!

Grandma Brady, a true lady 1876-1961

Grandma Brady was a little southern bell. She was very soft-spoken with kind of a low, southern drawl that was adorable. She was like an ‘out of a storybook grandma’, perpetually pleasant, never grumpy. Not ever. She was always with her daughter who was my Aunt Eva. They both had pure white hair and I thought they were sisters. They were so sweet and good to me. Aunt Eva’s husband had passed away and she and Grandma lived in Waco Texas together at “908 N. 15th St.” That address is still in my mind after all these years. We wrote letters back and forth my whole childhood, and every Christmas we would get a big box of wonderful little presents wrapped individually in white tissue paper and red ribbon. The day that the mailman would bring that great box was a day I would look forward to every Christmas. We didn’t see them real often because they weren’t able to travel. Neither one of them drove. Once in awhile Mom would send train tickets to them and they would come and stay. In the summers we would go to Texas to see them on our way to Missouri to see my (step)Dads' family (Roy). They had no air conditioning in their house. (We’re talking Texas here, in the middle of the summer). I remember a tiny little oscillating fan about 6” in diameter trying desperately to cool a whole room full of people and not having much, if any, success. Sweat was part of their lives and they were used to a lot of it. We would always stay in a motel with a swimming pool and Aunt Eva, Grandma, & her sisters, Dolly, & Jimmie would come over and watch us swim. I can remember how excited they were when we would show off all we had learned in swimming lessons. They were great sports!

My Aunt Eva was a wonderful concert pianist in her day, but because of either shyness or arthritis she always declined playing whenever asked, so I don’t remember her ever playing. All I knew was she played wonderfully in her earlier years and every time we would come to see them everyone always tried to coax her to play and she never would. I thought that was odd.

I don’t remember how, but Aunt Eva passed away and Grandma Brady came to live with us when I was in about 8th grade. Now this was tricky, as I look back. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time because I was young and didn’t understand about a few things that would be a big deal now. First of all, Grandma Koehler was already living with us. Grandma Brady was my real father’s mother…not my stepfather’s mother who was my mother’s husband now. Got all that? Read it real slow and it will come. My stepfather, or “Roy”, was always better to Grandma Brady than her own son “Brady”. He would always be sure we went to see her on our trips and was totally in favor of her coming to live with us at this time, even though his mother-in-law was already with us.

It was decided that she would share a room with me and I loved it. She loved me and I loved her. She even kept our room clean and that was an added bonus. She made both of our beds every day. One of my favorite memories of her was when one of my friends came over and was throwing rocks at my window and trying to get me to sneak out. She woke me up with the cutest enthusiasm saying, “Wake up honey! There’s someone down there to see ya!” She was so excited and happy to tell me you’da thought it was a good idea to sneak out! I didn’t though, but it would have been okay with her. I could do no wrong in her eyes and I didn’t ever want to disappoint her.

She lived with us a couple of years and it was wonderful. At one point Mother and Grandma Koehler joined the Mormon Church and Grandma Brady and Darlene joined a few months later. Soon after that, Grandma Brady went to visit with her sisters and while she was staying at Aunt Jimmie’s house she tripped on a suitcase and fell and broke her hip. Mother made arrangements for me to fly out to Morrilton, Arkansas and meet with a relative named “Patti Sumeril”(or something like that) and she would see that I could go back and forth to visit with Grandma in the hospital. Patti arranged for me to stay in a guest house of some people she knew. It was located a couple of blocks from the hospital so it was a nice walk every day. I was there a week. Mother had given me enough money to take care of eating out and a place to stay and it seemed like a lot of cash…more than I had ever had in my own purse ever. I felt very grown up.

About the time I was feeling a little lonely, a cute little puppy began to follow me on my way to the hospital. I had no idea where he came from or who he belonged to. I tried to find an owner without any luck, so he became my little buddy for the week. I met a man who owned the café on Main Street and he would save scraps for my little pup each day.The puppy would wait patiently for me when I would go to see Grandma and after visiting hours were over we would join up and gad about town.

Grandma was in terrible shape. I didn’t realize how serious it was to break a hip. Every day I would go visit her and she seemed to get worse and worse, and weaker and weaker. I was scared. I talked to Mom on the phone and my flight would be the next day. She was dying and there was nothing I could do. "Today, she didn’t know me". Mother convinced me it was time to say good-bye. On my way home from the hospital that day, two little boys saw me walking with the puppy and came running up to find out where I got it. It had been lost for about a week. What a special gift he was for those few days alone in Morrilton Arkansas.

A few days after I got home we received word that Grandma had passed. I would miss her so much. She had been a dear friend to me, and I will have loving memories of her forever.

Homestead memories...

The Homestead has meant so many things to us as a family. When we lived in Holbrook we spent a lot more time up there with the kids because it was only 1 ½ hrs away. I would take them up there and stay the week and Norm would come up on the weekend. It worked out so well and the kids loved it. Although it seemed like a quiet place with nothing to do when we arrived, the kids would bring it to life within minutes with their enthusiasm and love of the freedom of the outdoors and being at the Homestead. They would play in the woods, pick wild flowers, swing on the rope swing, do nature-based crafts, see wild life like deer and antelope and chipmunks and squirrels. Sometimes see blue jays and all kinds of birds that don’t live in the city. They would climb Sierra Trego, catch horny toads, carve their names on trees on the road to Greens Peak, go to the observatory at Greens Peak, climb down Greens Peak, go to Little Giant Springs, and always meet new cousins. It was always a treat when it had rained and there was a tiny stream running in the field between Grandpa’s cabin and the cultural hall. They would make tiny vessels of twigs to sail and race down the little trickle of water. Sometimes when Norm would come up on the weekend they would go fishing at Big Lake. About the time that Artie was born, we got a small motor home and would take it everywhere. It had a “insy” kitchen, a “teensy” bathroom, and would sleep the whole family. It was great to take on fishing trips to Big Lake. I would stay at the shore with the babies and watch them fish with binoculars off and on while I made breakfast for them. When it was ready, I would flash the lights and they would come in and eat. While I was cleaning up they would go back out and fish. I read and made crafts in the motor home and it felt so good knowing they were all having fun with their daddy. They always caught something it seems.

As the years went on and the kids got older, they have always enjoyed taking friends to the Homestead. Everyone they took loved it too. We had several “All Friends Day” and everyone would invite a couple of friends to come with us in the motor home. They would play in the pond and learn to swing on the rope swing. We’d pitch tents or build shelters and come back home after a couple of days of wearing everyone out on Greens Peak and all parts in between. Those were the best years...or so I thought until we had all these grandchildren and tripled the fun at the Homestead. It just thrills me to watch them and feel their love for this great place.

Grandpa [Art] Whiting wrote the letter included in this 'post'

Turning Points...Experiences that make a difference

**Commitment to be happy and make the best of my life’s circumstances

When I was 13 my sister, my friend and I were in a very serious car accident. My sister was home from college for the holidays and we were so excited to go Christmas shopping. As we went around a corner near our home, we saw a boy we both knew and I said, “Honk the horn, there’s Scott!” My sister looked off to see Scott and as I turned around there was a tree in front of us. There wasn’t time to do anything about it and we plowed into the tree. As a result, I went through the windshield. I don’t ever remember passing out. My sister saw my face and did…I leaned over my girlfriend to grab the mirror to see what was going on with all this blood pouring out of my face – I could see my teeth through the rip in my cheek and under my nose…in the meantime, she saw all the blood on her and cried, “I’m bleeding to death!!!” and promptly passed out. My sister would come to every once in awhile and take a look at me and pass out again, then my friend would wake up and look at the blood all over her and think she was bleeding to death and pass out again. I don’t know why, but it struck me funny. There was a crowd by now forming all around our totaled car and I couldn’t figure out why no one else could see the humor in this situation. When the ambulance came they laid me down in the back and we took the hysterical ride to the hospital with sirens and running lights – dodging cars and individuals. As we passed by the theater on University Ave., there were people lined up around the block for a blockbuster movie. I turned over towards the window and sat up on my elbow to see if I recognized anyone in the line. This started a chain reaction of pointing and horrified looks. Again, it struck me funny. I somehow knew everything would be fine.

After we arrived at the hospital there was a flurry of nurses and doctors hooking me up to machines and cleaning off the wounds and sewing up my face. It took over 250 stitches. (They were little ones) I looked pretty awful I guess because no one would let me see a mirror. There was a fear that the tissue in my lip wouldn’t live. I really didn’t realize what that even meant. For the next week it was touch and go…my upper lip was purple and didn’t show too much promise. I finally got to see a mirror – not good. I looked like Frankenstein’s daughter! Now came the moment of truth. My sister was driving the car and felt like she had ruined my life. Was I going to let her feel that kind of guilt or would I take responsibility for causing her to take her attention off the road. Try as I would, I never could convince Darlene that it really wasn’t her fault. I overheard my mother talking to my grandma and saying that if I didn’t want to go back to school she wasn’t going to make me. (That was tempting…)My grandmother told her that that might be a big mistake. She didn’t say more to mother about why, but grandma was wise and I later learned HOW wise.

I learned who my friends were. By the time I came home from the hospital my face was purple, green, and yellow, from the bruising. Because I wasn’t allowed to wash my hair, it was still full of dried blood after two weeks in intensive care, and all the delicate stitchery in my head and face. I looked very awful. I wasn’t allowed to laugh for fear of ripping the stitches above my lip…so I had to laugh like a ventriloquist without even moving my mouth or face. That alone was hilarious.

There was a boy down the street who was quite popular who came to visit me. It really was nice of him. Since it was around Christmas time, he decided to take me Christmas shopping to get me out of the house. Soon after we arrived at the mall, it was evident that I was really scaring little kids with my face. He could see that I was feeling a little upset about the reactions of all these people so he said he had a fun idea. He took me to the elevator in a large department store and we spent the rest of the night, until the stores closed, with me right in front of the opening on the doors. I just stood there stiff, staring way off as the elevator doors would open. No one rode the elevator all night and it was a serious Christmas shopping night – about 2 days before Christmas. I had to laugh with that silly 'no expression laugh’ when I was absolutely bursting inside.

I’ll never in my life forget that wonderful night. I learned to really laugh at myself and to never take life so seriously that I can’t make a hard situation fun. I’ve often looked back on the whole experience of that accident. I learned more from it than most experiences I’ve had in my life. An interesting comment was made by Farrell Lewis, ( head of the Family Psychology dept. at BYU and also my brother in law.) When Darlene and I stayed at their home for Womens Conference. he told me, “You may have been injured in that accident, but Darlene wears the scars.” That observation has caused me years of reflection. I hope Darlene realizes that I am truly grateful for the insights I gained through that whole experience, and still am learning.

Larry

Lest we forget… November 4, 2007
I’ve had many occasions lately to ‘remember’ the relatives who have past on to the next world. Haunted by the fact that maybe there is no one else TO remember them or pass their memory on to the next generations, I feel compelled by loving memories to write about them.

Larry – my brother… My memories of Larry are vivid and real. He was tall, about 6’2”, blonde…EXTREMELY blonde in the summer…even his eyebrows and leg & arm hair would bleach out in the sun…he was so tan that it would make his teeth look like they were under ‘black lights’ in the dark. He had a slender build and looked great in his wardrobe… ANYthing he wore. He had a great sense of humor…everyone loved him…he had so many friends who would come to visit all the time. I loved it. He had a piano in his room…a “rumpus room”. His room doubled for a family room…only it was his and his friends’ They would play jazz, sing, everything when they would get together. I remember it was a jam session all the time. I don’t remember Larry ever getting mad at me…except one time when he had come in late the night before and I woke him up ‘too early’ the next day. He was always very good and kind to me. He taught me the ‘jitter-bug’. After dinner he would take me into the front room and teach me new steps until we could dance together. There was 13 years between us. There was no competition, just a common bond. He also taught me how to play the ukulele. I learned that when I was 7 or 8. It brought me years of pleasure in entertaining, my alone hours, time with family & friends and now time with my Grandchildren.

Early in Larry’s life he was diagnosed with osteomyelitis , a bone disease. For therapy he would swim daily. They had him in a convalescent home for quite awhile. It affected his legs. As he grew up he continued to swim. He was a wonderful swimmer and played water polo on his high-school team. Naturally he was the star player on his squad. I remember going to those games with mother many times. Another time I remember going to Lake Shasta where he swam the length of the Lake. He loved to snow and water ski too and was quite expert in them as well. He was what his friends called a “Hot-dogger” when snow skiing. I didn’t understand what that meant until a couple of years later when I started skiing and saw for myself…with other skiers.

Larry decided to go to law school and went to college nearby at Cal. He lived in an 'A' framed, 'modern' house on the side of a hill with a bunch of guys. Two of his room-mates were returned Mormon Missionaries. They had taught him about the church and he had wanted to be baptized. I remember one weekend he came home and mother and he had quite an argument about it. She had said that his grandparents would disown him if he joined the Mormon Church and they were paying for his education in college and he needed to really think about that decision. I guess he did, because he never was baptized.

Larry married Lynne Williams when she was around 18 years old and he was maybe 20. They were so young. She was the daughter of the wealthy mayor of Redding, California and Larry was completely spoiled by his grandparents, so both of them were pretty used to having everything given to them and were in for some hard times learning about what marriage meant.

They lived first at the Hjertager saw mill in Yreka, in the same little house Mom & Heine lived in when they first were married. He worked at the saw mill prior to going back to school at the University of California at Berkley.

Once back to school, they moved into a comfortable little apartment and seemed to be quite happy when we went to visit. Little by little we did start to notice the strain between them and soon after decided to divorce. I loved Lynne. So did Larry. They just were too young to know what they were doing I guess.

I'm not sure if Larry was drafted or he just joined the Army, but the next thing I remember he was IN the Army and stationed at Ft. Ord ready to go to Germany. We went as a family up to Ft. Ord to visit him before he left. It was overcast and a rather dreary day. We drove to a hamburger place on base and he got out to go get food with Dad. He wouldn't let any of the "girls" out of the car. He made us all stay in until they brought it back. He said the troops were all "women starved" and he didn't want them looking at any of us. Mind you, I was 10...so I really didn't understand much, but somehow it made me feel special in his eyes.

Months went by and letters went back and forth. It was exciting every time a letter would come from him. Then came the day when a telegram came. It was from Germany. Mom was in Mt. View at 'the court' they owned where Grandpa Koehler lived. I knew she wouldn't be home soon because she was collecting rent there. The suspense of the telegram was tough. I was sure that Larry was sending something to us that would be fun news. Telegrams were always important information being sent. They were expensive and every word cost a certain amount of money. Darlene and I were the only ones home and she thought we ought to wait until Mom came home. I wasn't convinced. I was more curious than all that, and besides,"what could it hurt to open it?" I was 11 and was big enough to take matters into my own hands. I went into Dad's bathroom, and locked the door. I opened the envelope carefully so Darlene couldn't hear me and began reading..."It is to our deepest regret, that your son, Lawrence J. Hjertager, has drowned due to a heart attack in Korsor Germany, July 6th... There were more words, but I didn't read them...all I could do was scream and cry. My stomach was paralized and a knot formed there that wouldn't leave for months. Darlene came immediately and we both became two very hysterical little girls. We called Grandpa and told him and he even cried. We all decided that it would be best if Mom didn't know until she came home, so he said he wouldn't tell her. We were afraid she would have an accident on her way home if she knew...but Grandpa wouldn't be able to keep anything like that from Mother. When Mom came home it was like a terrible nightmare had convened. A never ending lump in my throat with all of us involved. One sketchy memory after another. The day his body arrived and the viewing...not looking like him...the limmo to the funeral...my dark, plaid dress with tear marks all over it...another memorial in Yreka, Grandma Hjertager's house and the friend who was with him when he died, Lynne and her puffy face from crying, the Lieutenant who brought his body back and the pall bearers...a letter Grandma Koehler received from him a month after he had died...a little Dutch porcelain shoe he had sent to Mother days before he had died... so many things...it's all a blur and part of an amazing unfolding over the years. How he had influenced me... I would miss him terribly. There are times when the knot returns and stays for hours even now. Mother tried to be brave for all of us. She always was and I don't know how.

Mother seemed to be "Anti-Mormon" by faith, and so when the Mormon Missionaries came by when we lived there on Del Norte, I was surprised to find them in our living room when I came home from school one day, a couple of years later. I was shocked as I peered in as one of them looked for all the world like Larry. It was a gift to Mother.

She spent a lot of time studying and actually trying to prove them wrong. She was quite an intelligent woman and eventually exhausted all of her sources of qualms, rendering herself completely helpless in her arguments. She finally decided to pray for an answer and received a meaningful testimony of the Book of Mormon and all of the things the missionaries had taught her. She had been smoking 2 packs of cigarettes and drinking several cups of coffee a day. She had tried to quit several times before but with her new faith, she was able to finally quit for good. It was virtually amazing to all of us.

In the beginning...

Hi!

I guess this is easier than I thought! My girls keep saying I need to 'blog' for my grandkiddos at least, so I suppose that's what I'll do. At first, I think I'll blog about 'turning points' and 'lessons learned'.

Maybe some of the grandkiddos ought to have a 'blog' so I can see what they're up to from their prospective...at least the ones that could, like the older children 6 and up...??? That would be fun to see what's in their minds at this age.

Today I taught again the Gospel Doctrine class in our ward. I've had this calling for a couple of years and from the first day I ever taught, I felt the overwhelming inadaquacy of my preparation no matter how much studying I might have done. I had never really studied the Old Testament, but found myself teaching it. It turned out to be one of the most wonderful of all my callings in the church. It's forced me to study in depth the Old Testament and I've learned to love it. This year we've been studying the New Testament and I have learned to love it too. It always seemed to be so over my head to study too much in the Bible, maybe because I was never encouraged to do it before I was baptized when I was in the Catholic Church. There was always the idea that no one but the 'higher ups' could figure out what the prophets were trying to say...so trust them, and they will let us know what that is. Anyway, an incredible world has opened up to me and I am so grateful for this calling. Believe me, I thought they had the wrong girl when they asked me to do it 2 years ago. I'm finding that the Lord blesses me every time I teach to be able to understand what I should from the lesson material. Every calling I've ever had, I feel inadequate at first and I've learned to just trust that there is a reason for the calling and that reason eventually shows itself. I learned a very valuable lesson. When I was a fairly new member of the church and at BYU, I was asked to be the secretary in Young Womens. I told them I didn't know anything about doing that and I turned them down. Later when I was on my mission in Texas and was transferred to the Mission Office, the girl I replaced told me that the one calling she had before her mission that helped her the most in the Mission Office was being secretary in Young Womens. It was a struggle for me in the Mission Office for awhile. All of the records for every organization in the church in every stake came through the mission office and I had to record them and keep track of them and send them to SLC. Needless to say, I never turned down a calling again. The Lord knows the preparation you'll need for every station in life and makes that possible wherever He can. Lesson learned.