The Harwards: Part One

When I moved to Arizona from Utah I was 11 or 12. We moved into a ward that was probably one of the most amazing forces of good that Heavenly Father had on earth in
1989. In that ward there was a family. The mom was a cookbook writer, crafter, dynamic teacher, easy crier, great conversationalist, young women’s president, wife, and mother to many. One of my favorite memories of her is a funny one. She was driving me somewhere. They had a beater of a car. The vibration in the back seat was like a pedicure chair on steroids. It turned out to be quite the massage. The volume in that little car was comparable to a jet. While driving down a busy street, the steering wheel came off in her hands. Right off. I was terrified. She wasn't even phased. She calmly put it back on as if it was no big deal. The other passengers in the car were also unaffected by the fact that we almost died. That still makes me laugh and I would love to know what ever happened to that little maroon car. My very favorite memory of her, though, was at girl’s camp. I was only 12 or 13 at the time. We had just finished testimony meeting. I saw her standing under a pine tree and longed to hug her with all of my might. And so I did. She in turn, held me with all of a mother’s love. In that moment, I loved her so much that it hurt. Probably because she served me with such selflessness. That is still one of my favorite hugs I have ever received.

This mother of many had children that have also influenced my life. I will touch on a few of them in no particular order. Matt was my Sunday school teacher. He entertained and maybe even appreciated my curiosity. With him, it felt more comfortable to ask all of the questions I have ever wanted to ask about doctrine than it has ever felt before. I looked forward all week to him teaching me. I knew that it was a privilege to have him teach me for a season and I soaked it up until he got married and moved on. Inspiring teacher.

Next came Pepper. Pepper was my friend. He was obnoxious, like most teenage boys are (but more-so). But he was my friend through thick and thin. I was shy and backward, he was not. I always wondered what kept him reaching out to me for friendship because I was slow to open up and when I did, it was fairly short lived. Silliness wasn’t my strong suit. It was his. I was much too serious for my own good. He had a hollow chest cavity and would fill it with cereal and milk. Built in bowl. He had the worst singing voice you could ever imagine, yet he belted out ANYTHING the karaoke machine threw his way, especially Garth Brooks, Callin’ Baton Rouge. He spent hours entertaining our entire family. He was a good friend. In large part, because of him always being willing to include me, I have so many great experiences and fond memories of adolescence.

Then there was Brooke. She was a little bit younger than me. She was a lot like her mom; A great conversationalist, talent oozing from her being, easy crier and devoted friend. Brooke could sing, cook, and sew. She was smart, cute and ever the little sister to her obnoxious, spot light stealing brother whom I just mentioned. One of my most stand-out memories of Brooke turned into a life lesson for me. I was in the hall in the church. It was a mutual night and we had just wrapped up an activity. Brooke was talking to Amye Godfrey. I don’t remember exactly what they were talking when I joined the conversation, but I remember that I paid Brooke a compliment. I believe it went something like this: “Brooke, you are amazing. You are so talented. I wish that I had a tiny portion of your talents.”

Brooke replied: “You are talented. You do a really good job on your make up.”

The only problem was that I didn’t wear any make up besides mascara. I wanted to cry. Not because Brooke hurt my feelings but because I wanted to be more than that. I wanted to be a girl that had real talent: The kind that could yield an outstanding vocal performance, a beautiful meal, or a work of art in any medium, on command. One that could win the game, lead the debate or play the lead. Those talents were not me. I was not those talents. Fantastic mascara application was not on my list of desired skills and abilities. After that conversation, I had an epiphany. I don’t remember how it came or where or when but I do know that I gained an acceptance that my talents are different. I am gifted with the talent of being kind. I am gifted with the ability to be peaceful. I have the talent of seeing and creating beauty where beauty was not to be seen in people and in spaces. I came to the realization after that conversation that while I would love to have obvious talent, I am not void of unique talents. They are different than most conventional talents but they are mine, and I’ll take them. It has been a continuous effort to be at ease with the talents I have and continue to develop. But I often think back to that time with Brooke when a simple conversation in the hall helped me learn to be okay with me.

P.S. I have since learned that excellent mascara application is a gift as well. Brooke was right all along.

*My brain has shut down from exhaustion, so this post is going to be two parts. come back tomorrow to meet the final two inspiring siblings (including the only one i originally sat down to write about) (i have a problem staying on task) (and also finishing what i start) (i think i am on the brink of a break through and that could all change tomorrow). The lessons that i have learned from her this year are life changing.