#my great grandma (whom I never got to meet) to my grandma to my mama to me

[kikiknits]

WIP Progress! Had a pretty productive weekend this weekend.

Added the third band of color on this shawl; should be progressing to the colorful border soon

Also baked some of our traditional Christmas cookies!

Pictured: chocolate chip, Swedish Spritz, thumbprints (in apricot, lemon curd, blackberry, and strawberry)

[judgmentofcorruption]

Episode 6–The Sinking Story; Scene 3

Judgment of Corruption, pages 189-196

After that, Ma formally came to assist the USE allied forces as per Tony’s request.

“Though I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

Tony grinned at Ma’s remark. “That’s alright. If you need anything at all, just let these two know.” He introduced two young soldiers who had similar features to each other. “This is second lieutenant Nyoze Octo and sergeant major Gammon Octo. They’re brothers. Nyoze is the older, and Gammon is the younger. They have Jakokuan ancestry, so you might find them easier to deal with.”

The Octo brothers saluted Ma.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“—Oh yes, the pleasure is mine. I’m quite happy to have such attractive young men at my side.”

Some lodging that was one of the military facilities was set aside for Ma’s new place of residence.

.

At Gallerian’s estate, Michelle was proposing an idea to her father in the living room.

“A trip?”

“Yeah. I was thinking we could go during break. Since I’ll be really busy once college starts up.”

“Is Mama going to go with you?”

“Yeah. So—I was wondering if you could come along.”

But Gallerian regretfully shook his head.

“I can’t just take time off work. Papa has only just become the director, and he’s very busy.”

“Alriiight…I guess it can’t be helped.”

“Where are you planning to go for the trip?”

“At first I thought it would be nice to go to Maistia where Bruno’s from, but Mama said that would be too far.”

“And they’re in the middle of a civil war right now.”

“Right. So I thought we’d go instead to your homeland of Marlon, Papa. I wanna see Grandpa, since it’s been so long.”

“That sounds fine. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

“We’re planning to be there about two weeks, so we’re going next week.”

“—I’ll be lonely while you’re gone.”

“You’ll be alright. You’ll have Bruno and the other servants with you.”

“I’ll still be lonely.”

“I’ll call you every day.”

“And you better not get mixed up with any strange men over there.”

“Aw, come on. You’re always saying that, Papa.”

As the two of them laughed together, they could hear the doorbell ring outside.

After a short while, Larisa appeared before them.

“Begging your pardon, Sir—Lady ‘Ma’ has come to see you.”

“I see. Send her in.”

Michelle asked Gallerian, “Is it a visitor? Maybe I should head out.”

“No—Stay here. She might have come to see you.”

Ma appeared in the living room, brought along by Larisa.

“Good day.”

When Michelle greeted her, Ma broke into a grin.

“Good day, young miss—I’m a friend of your father’s, and the screenwriter named Kayo Sudou. I’d like it if you called me ‘Ma’.”

“Uh huh…” While making a half-hearted reply, Michelle gazed intently at Ma.

“Is there something on my face?”

“No—I mean, I’ve only seen her in photographs, but…You look a lot like my late grandma.”

“Oh my, heh heh…It’s a bit of a long story, but I changed my face out of admiration for your grandmother.”

“Wow…That’s amazing.”

Gallerian butted into the conversation, “Even so…It’s odd you haven’t aged at all, despite fourteen years going by.”

“You know of the facility ‘Lunaca Labora’, yes? This is a gift from there.”

“So you’re saying there’s a device amongst its machines that can preserve beauty.”

Being an adolescent herself, Michelle reacted sharply to the mention of the word beauty. “That’s curious. Maybe you should take me to this facility.”

“Hahaha, I think that would be unnecessary for you, Miss Michelle. You are quite lovely enough without using such means. –You look exactly as I thought you would.”

“…?”

“Though whatever the case I’d like to take a day to talk to you, if I may.”

“I’m curious about you too. Including the matter of this beauty machine. But I’m planning to leave Levianta on a trip next week.”

“That’s unfortunate. Then I suppose we’ll have to save it for another day, after you get back.” Ma then turned to Gallerian. “I did come here to see your daughter today—but I also have a favor I would like to ask of you.”

“What is it? I’m all ears.”

“Since I’ve returned to society after so long away, I was thinking that I might make a new movie soon. My occupation is that of a screenwriter, after all.”

“A movie, huh—But you would need a lot of money for that.”

“Indeed. Therefore…I need to ask someone wealthy to provide the funds.”

“You’re asking me to be your sponsor?”

Michelle laughed and clapped innocently, listening in from the side. “A movie! That’s great! It sounds like fun.”

“Hmm. I don’t know…” Gallerian’s brow furrowed. “It’s not like I don’t have money to spare. But in all honestly, most of it is my wife’s money—or, more accurately, it’s assistance from her family. I myself have only just become director, so I haven’t been able to save all that much yet…”

As Gallerian was faltering, Ma shoved a book before him.

“What’s this?”

“It’s the ‘Daughter of Evil’, penned by Yukina Freezis—I was wanting to use it as the basis for this movie.”

“The ‘Daughter of Evil’…That’s the story of the princess who set the stage for the Lucifenian Revolution—But I’m quite sure someone’s already made this into a movie.”

“That’s true. But the ‘Daughter of Evil’ that I have has slightly different contents than the version that is widely known. It is the true story of the ‘Daughter of Evil’, that Yukina Freezis wrote in secret—I’m positive that it will be the subject of much conversation once it’s been screened.”

“Hum…”

“In either case, this book was written pertaining to both your ancestor, ‘Kyle Marlon’, and the ‘Elluka Clockworker’ of the time, someone that I and your mother idolized. I was thinking that you might still enjoy it even as mere reading material. We’ll leave the matter of funding for after you’ve read it—just so long as you give the matter some thought.”

“…Alright. I’ll read it on my day off. Do you mind if I borrow the book?”

“Go ahead. But you must make sure to return it once you’re done reading. There are some records on ‘dead soldiers’ in the book as well, so I want to lend it to General Tony later.”

Gallerian nodded and started to flip through the book that had been handed to him.

“…This book seems to be written in Yukina Freezis’ own handwriting. It looks to have a great deal of historical value. I’ll treat it carefully.”

Michelle peered at the book from the side with great interest.

“The ‘Daughter of Evil’. I read that when I was a kid.”

Ma smiled again at the sight of that. “In the event that the movie is made, perhaps you could play a part in it, Miss Michelle. I think you’d be perfect for the role of ‘Michaela’, the woman with whom King Kyle falls in love—Now then, I’ve got some other matters to attend to, so I’ll leave it there.”

Ma bowed her head a touch, then left Gallerian’s estate.

.

--But in the end, the “Daughter of Evil” movie was never screened, nor was Michelle ever to play a role in it.

Three weeks later, an event occurred that caused a rapid transformation in Gallerian’s life.

To a man like him who led an unsatisfactory married life, his daughter Michelle was the sole person to whom he could devote his affection.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that now that he had fulfilled his personal goals to a certain degree, Michelle was everything to Gallerian.

.

Midway through its return voyage from Marlon, the ship that Michelle and her mother were riding on, the “S.S. Titanis”—

Met with an unexpected event, and sank to the bottom of the sea.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[animefan299110]

Family Matters Chapter 8: Caring For Mama

Hey guys, you know the drill. I do not own I do not own Boku no Hero Academia, its characters, or its locations. They are all owned by Kohei Horikoshi, Jump Comics, and Funimation.

"Why can't I see Mama?" Eri asked in concern. She, Midoriya, and Hagakure were standing outside Uraraka's door, which was closed.

"Because she's not feeling well and doesn't want anyone to get sick, sweetie," Hagakure said. Almost on cue, a loud sneeze echoed from the opposite side of the door.

"U-Uraraka's sick?" Midoriya asked in a worried tone. "Do we call Recovery Girl? What if it's the flu and it's serious? Maybe I could contact Iida. No, that wouldn't work since he's off having coffee with Hatsume. Maybe there's some sort of medicine we can use to help her illness go down. Let me think; we have flu medicine, pain killers, cough medicine-"

"Papa!" Eri exclaimed. "You're doing that thing again."

"S-Sorry," Midoriya said, scratching the back of his head, "force of habit."

"I wouldn't worry too much, Midoriya," Hagakure said. "She said it's just a slight fever. It should be gone within a few days."

"Well that's a relief," Midoriya said with a sigh. With that, he and Hagakure left Uraraka's door.

Eri, however, had stayed behind and continued to stand outside the door. After a few minutes, Momo came by and stopped when she noticed Eri. "Eri?" she asked in concern. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, everything's fine, Auntie Momo. It's just…" Eri paused and her features saddened. "I just wish there was a way for me to help Mama get better."

Momo placed a finger underneath her lower lip and she thought about Eri's predicament. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head and a smile grew on her face. "Why not make her a get-well card?" she said.

"A get-well card?" Eri asked in confusion.

Chuckling a little at Eri's innocence, Momo explained. "It's a card you give to someone wishing them the best when they're either sick or recovering from something. You can either buy them at the store or you can make one yourself." She then leaned in and whispered, "Personally, I find that homemade cards are the best to give. It shows that you care deeply about that person and that you wish them well."

"Oh," Eri said in understanding. Just then, an idea popped into her head and she grinned. "Thanks, Auntie Momo," Eri said before she ran off downstairs. Momo only smiled back and waved back.

Eri ran to Midoriya's room, where she grabbed construction paper, markers, colored pencils, and other craft tools. She then carefully carried them down to the main floor into the living room, where she set the supplies down on the coffee table. Taking up a sheet of cardboard paper in one hand and a marker in the other, Eri began to work.

"What are you working on, Eri?" Midoriya's voice called out from the kitchen.

"I'm making Mama a get-well card," Eri said, glancing over at Midoriya. It was then that she noticed him standing over the kitchen stove looking into a pot and stirring something with a wooden spoon. "What are you doing, Papa?" she asked.

"Well," Midoriya said with a small smile, "I'm making some Zosui. It's got chicken, mushrooms, some vegetables, noodles, and a few spices. It's supposed to help you when you're sick."

"Really?" Eri stopped what she was doing and walked over to the kitchen. She then brought up a stepping stool to stand on until her head stood over the countertop.

"Yep," Midoriya said. "I'm actually using a recipe that my mom used to make whenever I was sick."

"Grandma would make that for you?" Eri pointed at the black pot. Midoriya stiffened for a second; he had almost forgotten that Eri kept calling his mother 'Grandma'.

"Y-Yes," Midoriya stuttered. "I always remember how good it tasted and it always filled me up and made me feel warm inside." He paused and he used the wooden spoon to scoop up a sliver of broth. He then sipped and tasted it with a quizzical look on his face. "Maybe it needs a few more minutes. Here," he added and he scooped another sliver before placing a hand under the spoon, blowing it, and lowering it to Eri's level. "What do you think?"

Eri leaned forward and pressed her lips to the tip of the spoon before she sipped it. It was warm and tasted really good; Grandma was without a doubt a great cook. "Another few minutes, Papa," she said, to which Midoriya nodded in agreement.

While Midoriya finished the soup, Eri returned to making her get-well card. She used a variety of markers to write out a message and even used her safety scissors to cut a sheet of pink construction paper. She then folded the main paper neatly to complete the project.

"Ready to go see Mama?" Midoriya asked. He then picked up a tray with the bowl of soup on it.

"Wait!" A voice cried out before Eri could respond. The two of them turned to see Mina standing before them holding up two sheets of fabric with strings attached to each end. "Gotta put these on before you see her."

"Oh, right." Midoriya said. He then set the tray on the counter and placed the piece over his mouth and nose and the strings over his ears. He then knelt down and placed the other fabric over Eri's mouth and nose as well.

"What is this?" Eri asked, noticing that her voice was muffled through the fabric.

"It's a surgical mask," Mina said. "It helps prevent the spread of diseases so that you don't get sick." Eri nodded in understanding. "Now you can go visit Mama," Mina added with enthusiasm.

Once Midoriya lifted the tray again, the three of them made their way up the stairs until they reached Uraraka's door on the fourth floor. Mina then knocked and called out, "Uraraka, are you still in there?" A groan came from inside followed by a weak "yeah". Taking it as an invitation to enter, Mina opened the door.

There were tissues that littered the floor and some that filled the clear trash can. The covers on the bed were ruffled and there was a noticeable bundle under it that stretched to both ends of the bed. The bundle underneath tossed the cover over to reveal a pale-faced Uraraka with a red nose and droopy eyes.

"Afternoon, sunshine," Mina said. Uraraka replied with another groan. "I've brought Midoriya and Eri with me."

Uraraka's red eyes then turned to face Midoriya and Eri. Her gaze softened and her mouth curved into a small smile. "Hey, you two," She said weakly and in a croaky voice.

"Hey, Uraraka," Midoriya said. He made his way over with the tray in his hands. "I made you some soup." He handed her the tray.

When the tray was placed on Uraraka's lap, the steam that emitted from the bowl reached her nostrils. She inhaled deeply and smiled a little. "Thanks, Deku," she said. "It smells really good." Midoriya could only blush at her comment.

"Here, Mama," Eri said. She handed Uraraka the folded piece of paper. "I made this for you." Uraraka took the card and noticed a little cut-out heart glued onto the front of it. Giving a small smile, she then opened the card to see a message with words written in different colors. It read:

I hope you

get well soon, Mama.

Love you,

Eri

"Thank you, Eri," Uraraka said. She looked down at the little girl with a smile. "This is so sweet of you." Eri smiled upon hearing her comment.

"Maybe we ought to leave her be," Mina suggested. Eri and Midoriya nodded; they figured Uraraka would like to enjoy her soup in peace and not run the risk of making them sick as well. With that, Eri, Midoriya, and Mina left the room.

When the three of them reached the main floor, Eri began picking up her craft materials to put them away. At that moment, the front doors opened to reveal a certain boy who wore glasses. "Welcome back, Uncle Tenya!" Eri said.

"Hi, Iida!" Midoriya said upon seeing his best friend. "How was coffee with Hatsume?"

"Very well, thank you for asking," Iida said. He then took off his coat and placed it on the coat rack. "We discussed what we wanted to do when we graduated UA, I told her about my family's history as heroes, she told me about some of her inventions, and the rest was just small talk."

"So I take it the date was a success, huh?" Mina asked with a smirk, which caused Iida's cheeks to turn bright pink.

"I-It was not a date!" Iida exclaimed and gestured wildly. "It was just a casual meeting of two students, one of whom just wanted to show appreciation for what the other had done for him."

"Yeah?" Mina's eyes narrowed and her smirk grew. "That kiss imprint on your left cheek says otherwise." Upon hearing Mina's words, Iida's cheeks reddened and he ran to try and find a mirror. Midoriya and Eri, meanwhile, both had to cover a hand over their mouths to stifle their laughter while Mina looked on with an amused smile.

Bonus Content

Eri rose up from her bed in frustration; she couldn't seem to fall asleep. It had been a week since her 'Mama' had recovered from her illness and everything seemed to be back to normal. She was still doing well in school, she still hung out with Satsuki, and the other students still treated her like family.

It was while she was thinking about the students that her mind shifted to her Mama and Papa. She never thought about it in the past, but lately she had been noticing some weird things about how they reacted to each other. When one of them would make an encouraging or kind comment, the other would blush and become nervous. Whenever Auntie Mina would make some comment to them with a smirk on her face, they would both blush bright red. And whenever physical contact was made between the two of them, one of them would look like they would pass out.

There was something going on between her 'parents', but Eri couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was then that Eri remembered hearing a word called "love" from a conversation she overheard between Auntie Jiro and Auntie Momo, which had something to do with Uncle Shouto. When Auntie Momo talked about him, her face turned red and she started to sweat a bit.

'Maybe love is liking someone deeply, but you're afraid to show it.' Eri thought. 'Maybe that's what is going on with Mama and Papa.' She then put on a face of determination and stood up on her bed. 'Alright then,' she thought, 'even if it takes me forever to get it done, Mama and Papa will show their love for each other. And I know just the person to ask for help,' she concluded and a smirk grew on her face.

And with that another chapter for Family Matters is complete. Well, it certainly has been interesting these past few weeks. I recently parted ways with my beta reader Mirvana. She said she had college work and needed to focus on figuring out her career after she graduated. I told her I understood and we parted ways on good terms.

Kudos to RD1042, my new beta reader, for reviewing this chapter and giving me suggestions to make it sound better to you guys.

Next time on Family Matters...the chapter every single one of you IzuOcha shippers have been waiting for! I know you've all struggled for well over a year, but trust me it will be worth it. I promise.

Until then, this is AnimeFan299110 encouraging you all to go beyond...PLUS ULTRA!

[stephspencer10]

Post updated.View Post

In 2017, I bought and read Maud’s Story, a 2013 self-published/Vanity Press book written by my Aunt Charlotte LeBaron — my Mother’s brother Verlan LeBaron’s first wife. 

It’s a short book consisting mainly of letters supposedly written by Maud Lucinda McDonald LeBaron* — letters run-together in often hard-to-decipher paragraphs more akin to vignettes. 

It appears, at the time of this book’s writing, Aunt Charlotte still held fast to The Church of the First Born. This I assume because “Maud’s Story” contains a revised version/a rewrite of the history and teachings of the “Prophet Joel LeBaron” saga; wherein she turns the tale upside down and Joel into a martyred Prophet. By so doing, she shows, though not intentionally, how religious myths are made.

Maud Lucinda McDonald LeBaron is my maternal grandmother, of whom I’m “the spittin’ image” — I was always told while growing up. The above photo of her looks so much like me at that age, I look at it and think it is me. I can’t tell the difference!

When I saw, on Amazon.com, Aunt Charlotte had published my Grandma Maud LeBaron’s story, I spent $4.00  … and three hours reading it. Such was its brevity. That even includes the many times I had to re-read parts, attempting to understand what the heck had been said.

Suffice it to say, the book was no bargain! It left me wanting more. It’s supposed to be Grandmother LeBaron’s story; but missing in the biography are many tales Grandma used to tell about her life.

Nevertheless, nobody else has published anything much about Grandma Maud. So I’m glad Aunt Charlotte wrote as much as she did. “If you don’t like how the story was written, write it yourself,” they say.

Still, I resent that Aunt Charlotte used Grandmother Maud: She wrote a book “about” Grandma that was largely meant to draw in Grandma’s progeny, relatives and others; and convert them to her’s/Charlotte’s and Uncle Joel’s Church of the Firstborn doctrine — a la Charlotte LeBaron’s viewpoint, however — if they were not already members of Joel’s church. In that sense, Maud’s Story really should be “Charlotte’s Story.” 

I was disappointed “Maud’s Story” wasn’t imbued with more of Grandmother’s colorful history. And disgusted she borrowed heavily from The LeBaron Story — a book my mother Esther LeBaron Spencer largely wrote — without stating she was quoting from that book; let alone crediting my mother.

She includes in her booklet numerous “Quotes from Grandma’s Notes.” Doesn’t write much, otherwise, about Grandma. Perhaps, to get more of Grandma’s history, Charlotte expects us to read The LeBaron Story, a manuscript consisting mostly of my mom’s work that Aunt Charlotte helped her husband Verlan LeBaron compile, finish, and publish.

Both The LeBaron Story and Maud’s Story strike me as an apologist’s story written to preach the Church of the Firstborn/CotFotfot doctrine. 

In other words, Maud’s Story‘s general flavor is biased and provincial. It whitewashes and glorifies the Alma Dayer and Maud Lucinda McDonald LeBaron family, making them, the Mexico-LeBarons, look like a Godly family with a saintly mission.

I find this covert preaching of the CotFotfot dogma distasteful — especially the revising of its doctrine and history to make it more palatable than it was when my Uncles Ervil and Joel LeBaron first spawned this sect/cult in 1955—a take off from their older brothers Ross Wesley LeBaron Sr. and Ben LeBaron’s cults, as well as other Mormon fundamentalist cults.

 To summarize, Aunt Charlotte has white-washed history in The LeBaron Story and Maud’s Story so as to turn Uncle Joel into a Prophet, Saint, and Martyr. And his untimely murder into a Modern-Day Cain and Abel Story. But there’s a lot more to this dirty tale than meets the eye. So “Charlotte’s Story” is as much a myth in the making as it is a revisionist-history’s gold mine.

My final thoughts on Maud’s Story: Grandmother should have given a sermon or two in church if she was as erudite and well-versed in the cult’s dogma as she appears to be in Charlotte’s short biography where she uses Grandmother Maud to preach Joel’s dogma.

In truth, Grandmother was a musician and homemaker … no Scriptorian! She left the preaching and proselytizing up to leaders in the cult; preferred to be in the kitchen cooking and feeding people, when she wasn’t teaching piano lessons and taking care of kids and the homestead.

Perhaps Aunt Charlotte didn’t know it but William Preston Tucker (my now-deceased husband) and my Uncle Ervil LeBaron put their heads together to write those letters Charlotte says Grandma wrote to Spencer W. Kimball!

I was there at the time. I recall these two leaders of the LeBaron Church/cult talking about how they could use Grandma Maud as a ploy to get the President of the LDS church to read their [LeBaron cult] literature because she had grown up with Spencer W. Kimball.

They figured he would read a letter from Maud, his childhood friend, though not literature from her sons and their LeBaron cult. (So they were sneaking up on Pres. Kimball by way of Maud.)*

Suffice it to say, Aunt Charlotte wasn’t honest about the story of how my Uncle Joel became the self-proclaimed One Mighty and Strong. Therefore, I don’t trust much of what she relates in her book. I know for sure, for example, Grandmother Maud DID NOT write most of those letters Charlotte credits her with.

You only have to look at Grandma’s “Notes ‘n’ Quotes” Charlotte wrote “in Grandma’s own words” to get a good example of how Grandmother wrote. When you carefully compare “Grandma’s words” to those eruditely-written letters to Spencer W. Kimball, you can see they were NOT written by Grandma LeBaron.

A final word: Should anyone consider doing a reprint of Maud’s Story, please get a good Editor to go over it beforehand. Also, do not run Grandmother’s “Notes ‘n’ Quotes” together as if they were one organized piece. They’re not!

They are short vignettes, and should be separated as such; so the reader isn’t hoping to find the rest of the tale in the next paragraph, only to be left hanging by the tail — for a whole new tale takes up in the next paragraph!

*”Ghost writing“/deception was the name of the game when I was sequestered in the LeBaron cult in the 1960s. The sect’s two leading Scriptorians My Uncle Ervil LeBaron and my husband William Preston Tucker would write the exposé or such. Then publish it with whatever name or signature they thought would be most impressive and most likely to convert those receiving the literature.

(Comments transferred from Facebook”:)

Says Moira Blackmore:

I knew Maud, she went out of her busy days by visiting me all alone in Galeana with my 4 baby girls, and when their were shooting guns in my back neighborhood… thank you Steff … I love you, Maud, I love Charlotte as well, years later … 

  My response to Moira: I appreciate your feedback, Moira, and your attempts to always be positive and loving. That’s what makes the world go around. I’m so happy Grandma visited you and helped lift your spirits during a very bad time.

I remember her being concerned about your being over there alone; and her begging someone to take her over to visit you. I do not remember who she got to do the driving as she could not drive.

And now I’m getting off onto a bunny trail: I know she visited you out of care and concern for you and your situation. But she was also often there for visitors and people she was trying to help convert to the cult. Converts meant more people saved, more tithing money — and consecrations of all their wealth to the Bishop’s storehouse!

Such money was largely how Grandma and her sons managed to survive down in the Mexico-LeBaron colony. Especially was more money needed as each of her sons married more and more wives who bore more and more children. 

Given her help with the church’s conversion of new members, it seems aging Grandma Maud had no energy and time left over for her own hundreds of grand, great-grand, great-great, and great-great-great-grandchildren, and so on and on … not to mention her thousands of other relatives ad infinitum.

During the two years I lived at home, before I was married off at age 16, I recall only a few times after we moved to the LeBaron colony that she ever came by her daughter/my mother Esther LeBaron Spencer’s place to visit; even though we lived within walking distance of Grandmother Maud.

 Nor did my Grandmother Maud ever visit me, once I was married, even in my hours of need and desperation; although I lived within walking distance of her.

I may as well have not had a grandmother. But she did help Mother a lot after my father died. By then I was 18 and married — no longer living with my mom. 

When I was fourteen and we moved from the United States to where Grandmother Maud lived in Mexico, I had thought: Now I will finally have one of those grandmothers I have so often read about in children’s literature and so longed to have as I was growing up. 

But Grandmother Maud, though she had favored and spoiled my mama when she was raising her, was never emotionally there for me nor the rest of my mother’s thirteen other children, as far as I know. Not much, anyway.

For me, she never was a grandma that made cookies for her grandkids, let alone did she give us grandchildren any other gifts. Nor even hugs. She always had a big twinkling smile for me and her other grandchildren, though; whenever we saw her at church or elsewhere.

 Our Family was not a hugging-touching family. But pioneer-woman Grandmother was also simply overwhelmed and overworked, given her primitive lifestyle and her monumental duties; including being the church pianist and the colony’s piano teacher.

To put it succinctly, there was simply no way my ever-aging grandmother could muster all the time and energy needed to keep up with her exponentially growing progeny. She was already 68 years old when my family moved to the LeBaron colony; I was 14 years old then.

I had always lived within walking distance of her, while in the LeBaron colony; so she did come by three or four times, after I was married, to give me some piano lessons. She was around seventy-three years old then! Thanks, Grandma! 

But, other than that, in the four years I lived near her, and on my own, after I was married at sixteen, Grandmother dropped by one other time — though not to see her new grandchild, my first child, that I had almost died giving birth to, at age seventeen. My baby and I were simply taken for granted, as was generally the custom there!

 The reason she came by that one other time was to take back a piece of piano sheet music she had given me that she now wanted to turn around and take away from me to give to an investigator of our cult who was a pianist! I told Grandma, “No! You gave the music to me!! It’s mine now! I want it. You can’t take it back to give to somebody else!”

Grandmom was furious with me for not giving it back to her so she could gift it to the investigator of our “Church”! Getting converts — new people into God’s work — was part of her and her sons’ bread and butter. So that investigator was more important than I, her granddaughter. On top of that, she treated me as if the music still belonged to her, though she had given it to me the year before. Such “Indian trading”! 

Now I know where Mother learned this taking-back what she had given me, as if she still had tabs on it; so could turn around, whenever she wanted to, and give it to somebody else — even though I still very much wanted it and it belonged to me!

I never knew what to depend on. Then you wonder what causes schizophrenic kids? I’m at least sure this behavior did not help any. 

Bottom line: When there are lots of kids and relatives, they are not highly valued. They get taken for granted. They are pawns in the hands of the powers that be and regularly sacrificed for “the cause”!

     Rachel LeBaron Anderson:

 The BIG question: “Will what you are going to say improve the world by being said?”

    Steph Spencer Good question, Rachel! I ask myself that important question all the time as I write my Memoirs!

  Rachel LeBaron Anderson You are bringing healing to the younger generations trying to make sense of everything, building strong roots, many generations will be glad someone wrote things down.

  Steph Spencer Thanks so much for this insightful response and feedback! As always, Rachel, you show wisdom and intellect. Your remarks are much appreciated and will help me as I take time to make sense of everything on my end. That is certainly one of my goals!

    Dena McLean I enjoyed reading this book, not only to learn about family but specifically learn more about my Great Grandmother Maud. I know the story is all in perspective but I like to hear all perspectives.

Even if I don’t agree with the religious views, I find it fascinating how they chose Joel LeBaron, Alma’s priesthood keys and all the people connected to each story and then trying to find them in genealogy. Right now, I’m trying to discover if the man who baptized Maud was John Smith, as in Joseph Smith’s brother’s son or another John Smith. I hope to find some truth.

Steph Spencer Thank you for this valuable feedback. As always, I’m impressed with your scholarliness. To be sure, Charlotte’s Maud’s Story is skewed: It attempts to convert people to the belief that Joel was a true Prophet, etc.

Aunt Charlotte Kunz LeBaron was there pretty much from the beginning of Joel and Ervil’s “Church,” but chose to change how Joel got the “priesthood keys,” et cetera. Newcomers to the story believe her fabrications. That’s how myths are built.

Review of Charlotte LeBaron’s “Maud’s Story” Post updated.View Post In 2017, I bought and read Maud's Story, a 2013 self-published/Vanity Press…

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Why I'm still Catholic: My father's death

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Why I'm still Catholic: My father's death

Copyright 2019 Roxane Salonen. All rights reserved.

There was perhaps no time I felt more grateful to still be Catholic than at my father’s death.

Perhaps the easiest explanation is that he grew up in a faithful Catholic home, the youngest son of nine children, with a mother devoted to God and her family, in that order. Though I never got to meet Grandma Mary, or “Daught” as they called her, I have heard the stories of her deep faith, and know that she’s been praying for me — and her baby boy — all these years. Even during the 35 years he left the faith, a time that likely left her, for a while, weeping.

And yet, her prayers were powerful, and he did return, fully. My father died a man still in need of physical healing, but I believe spiritually he was the fittest of his life. Though I pray for him often, I have little doubt he is with God, the communion of saints and his loved ones that have gone on before us — including his little grandson, our son who died in miscarriage, Gabriel. The moment Dad died, I said, “You get to see your Mama now.” And I believe the tear that came from him was his response. “Yes.” Yes to God. Yes to love. Yes to the reunion spreading before him.

I realized then that though I, too, had wandered away for some time, not fully gone but not completely convinced I was in the right place, I, too, had found my way back. We’d both returned home to the blessed place where we’d begun our Christian journey, in Jesus’ Church. This brought an immense amount of comfort, aided by all the wonderful Catholic devotions and practices that were ours to utilize and appreciate.

Namely, the Divine Mercy Chaplet, a devotion inspired by Jesus through St. Faustina Kowalska, a humble Polish nun who reminded us of Jesus’ great mercy for us. The prayer, recited on rosary beads, is especially efficacious at death, or in the presence of someone gravely ill. My memory of my mother and I singing this prayer at my father’s deathbed will always be a treasured remembrance and source of comfort.

In tending to my dying father, I was tending to the suffering Christ -@peacegardenmama Click To Tweet

I had the great privilege and grace to be with Dad not only in his final days, but his final hours, and the experience can only be described, then and now, as holy. In tending to my dying father, I was tending to the suffering Christ, and so Christ was everywhere in that room. I felt it palpably, and deeply. It was a sacred time, even if, yes, extremely sad. My tears were dried by Jesus’ mother, whom I know was near, too.

Last night, on the eve of the anniversary of my daddy’s death six years ago, in the crisp winter night, I stole away to the Our Lady of Guadalupe Adoration Chapel here in Fargo, one of my favorite places to be — a place where the presence of God floods the air like sweet incense — and spent time with Jesus in the Eucharistic host. There, I rested in the memory of that day, when I held my father’s hand as he took his very last breath here, right before he left to fulfill his most important earthly mission, to be with God.

Even six years later, I am overcome with gratitude for the way God arranged things; how I was able to make a temporary home in his hospital room and just love him, to help gently usher his soul into the eternal. His death was early, at 77, and not initially expected, but by the time I reached him in those final days, we saw that his body was shutting down. And so there was nothing left to do, nothing at all, but to love.

In the Adoration chapel last night, I wrote the following reflection about that last hour with Dad:

“Dear Lord … 6 years ago … I was camped out at the deathbed of my father, almost like now, here at Adoration. And in a way, I was adoring you — in the suffering Christ, in the tomb of my father. Unable to speak, he was yours already. And yet you, in your great love for us, gave us that gift of time. Of love. Pure love … There was nothing really but love, going in, coming out. It was the first time I’d experienced love like that, in such a primal way. It was a holy time…Our dad did not leave this world a man of influence. His brilliant pen had long gone still. He had nothing to offer, Lord. … He was in a sense a beggar. But he was rich in you! He had you back. He had broken through the chains and could see you there, loving him. And because of that – because he believed once more that he was loved purely — he could love us that way too, at least in his heart. Physical limitations made perfect love impossible, but we knew, because you relayed the message, and it was known to us. Love, pure and deep. Thank you, Lord. Please welcome my daddy into your eternal bliss. Love, Rock.”

Being able to share my faith with Dad in those final moments, to be comforted by the sheer beauty of the Catholic Mass that followed at the Holy Spirit Cathedral in Bismarck, N.D. — even to have the courage and grace to sing at it — will always be a gift. Death is not happy. To lose someone we love is a breach of something beautiful. And yet when we die in faith, or lose those we love in the state of grace, it can be sublime.

Because of my dad’s death, how it went down, and how deeply I was able to access heaven itself through being right there with this man who had already been resurrected in faith in life, and to share a glimpse of the glory with him as offered in particular through our beautiful Catholic faith, I find all this one more shining reason why, despite all the scandal, tumult and everything else affecting our faith in this time in history, I am still Catholic, thanks be to God.

Additional “Why are you still Catholic?” posts, a series I began in November on my blog, Peace Garden Passage, include: Confession, relics, Mary, The Eucharist, Christmas, and the saints.

Q4U: When has God revealed heaven to you?

Copyright 2019 Roxane Salonen

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