Christmas is for Miracles

Christmas is a time for miracles. A time for love and sacrifice—of sharing and giving. It is a time when we remember the Savior and the wonderful gifts we receive at this special season.

I remember a cold Christmas morning in Alabama we shared in a tiny trailer. Ed was going through

Our 1966 homemade Christmas tree

flight school and we were so poor we didn’t have a phone and all our possessions fit in our car. We couldn’t afford a Christmas tree so Ed scrounged pieces of greenery and build a small three-foot tree of chicken wire and broken pine pieces. My dad sent us boxes of Danish Dessert for our gift, and we cut out pictures from the newspapers of all the items we’d give each other “someday” and gave them to each other as our dream gifts.

The army gave us gifts: 1. two weeks off –but we had nowhere to go so we sat in our trailer playing monopoly and other games with other poor flight students and 2. Orders for Ed to go to Vietnam as soon as he finished flight school. The water pipes in the trailer froze so we had no water, but we scrounged everywhere under seat cushions and in the car until we found 100 cents and called home for three minutes. We had each other and love and that was enough.

Our Christmas gift--Marlowe 1967

I remember the next Christmas day when I came home from the hospital with Marlowe. I had been able to talk to Ed on the phone through the Red Cross and tell him about his new son, and even though a war separated us, we had each other, Marlowe, and love; we were a family now, and that was enough.

So many Christmases throughout the year were special, but another one I remember as blessed –even a Christmas miracle—was one in Italy when Ed was in the hospital in Vicenza. His left arm was extremely sore and getting progressively worse, but the doctors couldn’t find out what was wrong with it. The doctors tried with all their medical skills to identify the problem with his arm, and failed; Ed’s arm became worse until it reached a crisis on a December night when Ed paced the hospital floor. Despite the maximum amount of pain medications given him, he was in far too much pain to rest. I talked to him by phone and realized how serious the situation was, and I was waiting only until dawn to call our home teachers to ask them to give him a priesthood blessing. 

Suddenly, about 4:30 a.m. when my daughter went out to deliver the newspapers, she came rushing back to report that our home teacher Bob DeWitt was outside our house. Bob explained he had come to pick up our neighbor to fly to Turkey, but they had just been notified that their flight was postponed. Bob contacted another priesthood holder and they went over to the hospital at 5:00 a.m. and gave Ed a priesthood blessing before Bob flew to Turkey. Bob called and told me that in his blessing he’d blessed Ed with comfort and that he’d been inspired to bless Ed that he’d recover his health, and the use of his arm completely.

 

Ed in Landstuhl for Christmas 1985

Those words shocked me. Nothing was seriously wrong with Ed, was there? Soon after that blessing the surgeon examined Ed and noticed that Ed’s hand was becoming atrophied and his fingers were curled like claws. When more x-rays did not show anything, but there was obviously something damaging the nerves in Ed’s hand, the surgeon, radiologist and flight surgeon tried something they’d never tried before--they used they prenatal ultrasound machine to examine Ed’s arm.  It detected an infectious abscess deep in the muscle of Ed’s arm, near the bone—invisible to X-rays. 

They did an emergency operation to drain the abscess and Ed was transferred immediately to the regional medical hospital in Germany. Before Ed left, the surgeon explained told me that a lot of nerve damage had already occurred in Ed’s arm and hand, and that another couple of hours without surgery could have meant that Ed would have lost the complete use of his arm. I flew with Ed to Landstuhl in the medical evacuation plane. Ed spent Christmas in Germany in the hospital, but I made it home on Christmas Eve to be with my daughters. My sons had gone elsewhere for Christmas because we didn't know whether I'd make it back to Italy. 

Nine months in army hospitals in eighteen months and multiple surgeries would occur before Ed would recover, but the priesthood blessing was fulfilled. Ed recovered his health—and the use of his hand—completely.  A postponed flight and a priesthood blessing were wonderful Christmas blessings.

In 2007 we had another Christmas miracle that we didn’t even recognize as such at first. Ed was in a

Ed in 2007 before Christmas

minor car accident a day or so before Christmas. He was hit in an intersection by a young woman who ran a red light and hit his car right in the wheel area. It knocked his car around and he hit his head on the side window and was unconscious for a few seconds.

Apparently, it turned the car around and hit the rear of his car again before he ended up on the side of the road facing 90 degrees from where he had been going. It totaled the car and he had a headache so he was advised by the paramedics and the policeman to be checked out at the emergency room. 

Even then I doubt if he would have gone if I hadn’t come to pick him up and I insisted that since I was driving that’s where we were going--to the ER.  Since he had been knocked unconscious the emergency room personnel insisted on a CT scan even if Ed didn't think it was necessary and we walked over and got the CT scan and walked back. We were getting ready to leave, thinking everything was normal when the doctor returned and reported that there appeared to be no damage from the accident, but that the CT scan had shown a medium to large-sized aneurysm.

From that point on, Ed got royal treatment—rushed to the University of Utah hospital in an ambulance with a paramedical and EMT, sent directly to a trauma room where he was treated like he was in danger of dying, with neck brace, backboard, IVs in both arms. He kept saying, “I’m okay. I just have a headache and an aneurysm.” After further CT scans and tests by more neurosurgeons, they reported that the aneurysm hadn’t ruptured due to the trauma of the accident, but they wanted to keep him in an observation room until 12 hours after the accident to make sure. Finally, about 3:00 a.m. they took the backboard off, but he had the neck brace on all night. The neurosurgeons made sure he was okay and had an appointment to be seen in the neurosurgery clinic in January for follow up on what to do about the aneurysm before they released him. 

But the real miracle was that the aneurysm was found and located before it burst and that it could be

Ed after aneurysm surgery

taken care of. It wasn’t fun to have an aneurysm, but it was better to find one before it ruptured and could be taken care of than after it ruptured. I felt it was truly a Christmas miracle that he had the minor accident that made it necessary for him to get a CT scan, even if it wasted a good Christmas shopping night and day and he was  stiff and sore and had a headache. And the car he totaled was the old 1993 Nissan that Diana and Bryan used forever. Ed had been wanting an excuse to get a new car and there it was! The surgery to fix the aneurysm in January went well!

Ed's last Christmas

In 2014 we had another miracle with Ed's health. In 2010, Ed's emphysema became so bad that he received a lung transplant which gave him four and a half good years. During that time, Ed and I traveled to Australia, New Zealand, Denmark, England, Ireland, Scotland, and did many other memorable things. We had gained three grandchildren and life was good. Then Ed had some problems with his bad lung collapsing, and he grew worse and worse. After many operations, illnesses, treatments, December 2014 found Ed very weak and ill. Then on Christmas day, we realized he had the flu. He'd had the flu shot, but apparently it wasn't a good match and didn't work well. 

All Christmas day, Ed was so sick and struggling so hard to breathe that I wanted him to go to the hospital. But his grandson, James, was on a mission in Costa Rica and was supposed to call home. Athena's family was at our house and we were awaiting the call from Costa Rica. It came as a Skype call which was broadcast on our large-screen TV. Ed was able to hear from James, although Ed couldn't talk by that time. The day after Christmas, Ed was so weak he couldn't walk, so he was carried to the car to be transported to the hospital where he died two weeks later. But he had been able to spend his last Christmas with his family and to Skype with his grandson as he had wanted to. 

Sometimes Miracles are large and obvious; other times they are small and sweet. Ed's last Christmas was the last. 

Visits from Heaven

My Danish grandmother, Grandma Hendrickson, lived 18 years after her husband died. She

My Grandmother Hendrickson who said her deceased husband comforted her 

was poor and in very poor health during those years, with most of their 10 children to raise alone. She didn’t speak English as well as he had, and she suffered from increasingly more severe anxiety attacks which gradually developed into Agoraphobia. My aunt who lived with her for many years said that sometimes in the most difficult years, Grandmother said the spirit of her husband “visited” her and she could feel his spirit comforting for an hour or so. She never saw him or was able to talk to him, but just feeling his spirit near her calmed and consoled her, and helped her face her troubles more bravely.


One of the times I knew he had planned ahead for me was such a little thing, but it meant so very much. The last four or five months of Ed’s life were very difficult. He was in hospitals and in ICU a lot of the time; he lost 30 to 40 pounds and was very weak. But towards the end, around November and December, they were able to identify one of the infections that had laid him low, and he had got a little bit better. Around Thanksgiving we flew to Los Angeles to consult with his lung specialists there and he perked up a bit. The two weeks before Christmas, he was the best he’d been in six months and he was able to go to Costco and Cabella’s and ride the carts there and do a little shopping.

He kept saying he wanted to buy me a nice dress for our anniversary (which fell on Thanksgiving that year), and later insisted he wanted to buy me a nice outfit for me for Christmas. But there was never time, and he just was never up to it. So it never happened.

Photo of our grandson, James (Elder VanderMeyden)
skyping on Christmas Day

Three days before Christmas he caught the flu and became critically ill. He refused to go into the hospital until he was able to “Skype” with his missionary grandson in Costa Rica (missionaries can call home only twice a year—on Mother’s Day and on Christmas). Ed was able to skype with all his grandchildren and children in Nashville, Tennessee; Issaquah, Washington; and Chicago, Illinois, as well as visit with the children and grandchildren who lived locally. The day after Christmas Ed was too sick to even stand up and my youngest son carried him into the car and I took him to the hospital. The following day he was so sick they had to intubate him and put him on a respirator. He died about 10 days later.

My daughters insisted on was taking me down to my favorite dress store and helping me find a nice dress for the viewing and one for the funeral. They kept reminding me that these were the dresses that Ed had wanted to get me for my anniversary and Christmas, so I was just doing what he wanted. But later I thought I really should not have spent the money on clothes for me when there were so many other expenses to be met.

After the funeral, we were going through Ed’s things and sorting which of Ed’s things to see which things needed to be given to charity and which things other people could use.
My daughter Diana opened a “Mag-light” case in Ed’s drawer and gasped, “Mom, there is money in here.” She counted it and said, “Mom, you won’t believe it but the amount here is exactly what you paid for your dresses, less about $10.00 or $15.00.”

I was immediately suspicious and thought that one of my more well-to-do children had overheard my comments about my regrets about spending the money on the funeral dresses, and had “left” the money to be found as a gift for me. I was blaming the box of money on this child or that child and feeling like they were taking pity on me, when my older daughter, Athena, who lives near us walked into the room.

Here I am wearing one of the outfits 

Ed had bought for me posthumously 

“Oh, you found Dad’s stash of emergency money,” she said. “Before you went to California in November he got some money out of the bank and put it in the “mag-light” box in his drawer. He wanted to leave some emergency money for Bryan (our youngest son who lives in our house with us) but he didn’t want to leave it in the regular places he normally puts it because Bryan then finds an emergency to use it. He put in more than usual because he didn’t know how long you’d be in Los Angeles.”

When Athena counted how much money was in the box she was shocked how closely it matched the amount I had paid for my dresses.

“Well, it looks like Dad left you the money to buy you the dresses he never got to buy you for your anniversary and for Christmas,” Diana said.

You never know when and how Ed’s influence will be felt. Our youngest son, Bryan, was performing as the lead in a play, “Is He Dead” at the local community theater at the time Ed died. The play is a comedy about 

Bryan (left) in the newspaper’s publicity
photo of “Is He Dead?”

death, and funerals, and at one point in the show, Bryan even jumps up on the coffin and dances on it. It was hard for Bryan to perform after Ed’s death so all of the family who were there for the funeral went to the show he was doing for the first time after Ed’s death to support him and let him know we were there for him.

Bryan did really well, and at intermission, we all gathered together, and just as Ed had always done, everyone started critiquing the play and pointing out the best parts of the show. It wasn’t done in a mean spirit—it was just what our family of performers had always done and what Ed had taught them to do! I looked around at them talking about the performance, and I suddenly felt Ed was right there critiquing it right with them—just as he was with all of us seeing Bryan’s show and supporting Bryan in this difficult time.

Diana who sang "I Did It My Way" for Ed

Our daughter Diana is a skilled and talented vocalist and when Ed had planned his funeral he had written that he wanted Diana to sing “I Did It My Way.” Diana had wondered how she could sing it without crying, but she had prepared and prayed that she would be able to get through it; she wanted to sing it like Ed wanted it sung. And so she did. But we all felt as she stood up there singing—perfectly just as he wanted—that Ed was up there holding her and supporting her so she could perform it as he wanted her to. She was not alone up there at the pulpit. He was there with her.

 One last experience that I want to share. Last week I talked to one of Ed’s church friends who usually sat with Ed in the back row of their High Priest Quorum class each Sunday. He was saying how much he missed Ed’s teasing, joking and saying funny things to liven up the class.

“This Sunday in high priest class, we passed around a signup sheet for a work project. Those who could help were instructed to sign their names and phone numbers on the paper,” he said. “But instead of writing their name, someone had just written on the line instead of their name, ‘yes,’ indicating their willingness to help, but not letting anyone know who they were. As I looked at it, I knew that was the type of joke Ed would have done if he had been in class, so I marked him present on the class roll.”

Where do spirits go after they die? I know they are busy in paradise, but I think sometimes, they get a chance to visit with us, to uplift us and to strengthen us—or sometimes, to just joke a little to remind us of them. 

In Memoriam
Edward O. Dayley
4 April 1941-8 January 2015

In Memoriam: Elegy to an Automobile

 [This was written years ago when we were young and laughed at life]

 

 Betsy died violently in a raging inferno of fire. At her death, she was in the prime of her life, with another hundred thousand miles or more left in her. Betsy was far more than just a car; Betsy was a member of our family.

 

            To some people (specifically my husband), Betsy didn't look that elegant. She was just a small, brown, Datsun station wagon, but she fit my image. She was short, stocky and very square, but then I am too. She projected an image of solid, suburban matron-liness, but then so do I! She wasn't fast or showy, but she was steady and persistent—just like me!

           
             It took me 14 years, four kids and a Cub Scout den to convince my husband that I needed a car like Betsy--a station wagon. He thought it might tarnish his image as a dashing, young aviator to be seen in something so conservative. But after my husband bought a sporty Toyota Celica, (that couldn't hold the whole family, let alone our dog) he ran out of excuses and allowed me to adopt Betsy. He pretended that she was just visiting us! 

            Betsy was just what I wanted and I loved her dearly. She was good‑natured and dependable. She awakened quickly and easily every morning no matter how cold the weather or how early the hour; she was never cranky or obstinate. She never stranded me or quit unexpectedly, and she never ever ran out of gas for me. (She ran out of gas occasionally for my husband, when he had to drive her, but that was only because he didn't like her and she knew it).

           

Betsy was not flashy or glamorous, and yes, she showed her age despite a new wax job and new tires. But her dents were signs of character; her scratches were ribbons of valor.

            There was the gouge in the upholstery where Marc had tried to attack Athena and missed. There was the sagging spring in the back seat where my oldest son Marlowe always sat before he got his driver's license. (His name was written in indelible ink on the back of the seat, in case someone didn't realize that was his designated seat!) There was the rubbed spot from the infant car seat and there was the light cover that always fell off and hit you on the head if you slammed the door.

            But Betsy's imperfections only made her dearer to us. She maneuvered so nicely on rainy roads and took curves so sweetly. She didn't have a tiger in her tank, and yes, you had to encourage her when she was trying to pass another car, or when ascending a steep hill. But that was only to prevent us from missing the breath-taking scenery around us. She was just like the little train in children's story-books. We chanted "I think she can! I think she can!" all the way up the hill and cheer her all the way down! She always pulled through, somehow, but that may have been due to all our prayers in her behalf.

            Betsy drove us safely through blizzards in Nebraska; she joyfully took us home for Christmas and to family reunions. She scaled Mauna Kea's heights with aplomb and loved nothing better than running down to the beach in Hawaii. Most of all Betsy loved the Texas freeways with their peaceful rolling hills, and open spaces, yet she gladly gave them up for the two‑lane country roads of rural Alabama. Betsy was a real trouper!

            How do you tell your husband that your car has been incinerated? I tried, in vain, to think of a way to break the news to him gently.

            "Sweetheart, I fried our car."

            "Which do you want me to buy this week, a new car or a used car?"

            "You know how you never really cared for Betsy? Well, you don't have her to kick around any more."

Finally I chickened out! I left a message for him to meet me at the paint shop where Betsy had been getting a new paint job when the shop burned down cremating Betsy. I picked armfuls of wild flowers, and awaited his arrival. When he pulled up in a cloud of dust and a squeal of wheels, I was throwing the flowers on Betsy's funeral pyre and mournfully singing her praises. I don't care what my husband thought (or said); Betsy was a real lady and I'm glad she went out in a blaze of glory!

Until the Twelfth of Never

You ask how much I need you
Must I explain?
I need you, oh, my darling

 Like roses need rain

You ask how long, I'll love you
I'll tell you true
Until the twelfth of never
I'll still be loving you

Hold me close
Never let me go

Hold me close
Melt my heart like April snow

I'll love you 'til the blue bells forget to bloom
I'll love you 'til the clover has lost its perfume
I'll love you 'til the poets run out of rhyme

Until the twelfth of never
And that's a long long time
Until the twelfth of never
And that's a long long time

 
My husband and I are celebrating our 50^th anniversary and I remember the song that was popular in our  day—“The Twelfth of Never.” It is a beautiful ballad where he pledges to love her “until the twelfth of never. . . and that’s a long, long time.” This is supposed to mean a time that can’t be counted, infinity. Many other love songs sing of eternal love, a love beyond the bounds of this earth, a never-ending love. 

When my husband and I married 50 years ago in the Logan Temple, our marriage was “sealed” not just until death parts us, but for time and all eternity. This indeed is a marriage that lasts “until the twelfth of never” or for infinity. 

What is a Temple or Eternal Marriage? Why would one want such a marriage? 

First to want an eternal marriage, you must believe in a life beyond this mortal temporal life—a life before birth and a life after death—an eternal life. As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (also referred to as Mormons), we believe that our existence on the earth today is only one part of our eternal progression; that we lived as spirit beings before we came to earth; we are living on earth to obtain mortal bodies and to test us; that after death we will once again live in a spiritual realm until we are resurrected and receive an immortal body.

If you believe in life after this, (as Mormons do) then you want to preserve family ties into the next life. 

If you believe only in this life and that when you die, your existence as a soul, spirit or any kind of conscious being or entity is wiped out, then there is no need for a marriage past death; there is nothing past death. Many people believe this way, and when family members die, it is indeed a devastating thought that their existence is gone.

Many Christians do believe in life after death and look forward to rejoining deceased family members when they die. The idea of living together in family units after death is especially appealing if your family life was happy.

My mother died over 49 years ago, soon after we were married. I was very close to her, and I yearned to have a mother to turn to as a young mother for guidance and support. Several times during the years when I have needed her, I have felt my mother’s spirit and her love and know that the veil between this world and the next can be very thin. Another time when I was going through a difficult illness and felt overwhelmed, I often felt my maternal grandparents nearby—I felt they were right behind me and if I turned quickly enough I would see them; I felt that they knew of my struggle and were there to support me. Those times I felt their spirit, I was uplifted, knowing I wasn’t alone, and I felt encouraged to keep going.

A very dear sister of mine died twelve years ago of cancer. Her husband sat with her often before her death; one day they were discussing Coleen’s mother, who had also died young of cancer. Coleen’s husband asked her if she thought that her deceased mother’s spirit had been around during the busy years that he and Coleen were raising their nine children. Coleen smiled and replied, oh yes, her mother had been there watching them raise their children and her grandchildren.

Coleen’s husband asked her how she knew that. Coleen was very peaceful replied; her mother’s spirit was sitting over in the corner of the room. When he had asked Coleen that question, her mother nodded her head, indicating, yes, she had been there.

If you believe in a post-mortal life, and want to be with your family after death, you need to know how you can. Who can promise such a thing? 

I believe that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has the authority to promise a marriage union that will last beyond this life. I believe that Christ’s church was restored to the earth by Christ’s apostles, and with it the power to seal couples in heaven and on earth.

On April 3, 1836, in the newly dedicated temple in Kirtland, Ohio, the Lord Jehovah appeared to the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. Then Moses, Elias, and Elijah each appeared and committed the keys of vital and eternal works to earthly leaders once more.

Elijah’s appearance was in fulfillment of the prophecy made in Malachi 4:5–6:

“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord:

“And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.”

The keys and power of the priesthood Elijah restored on that day in the Kirtland Temple are described in Doctrine and Covenants 132:46: “And verily, verily, I say unto you, that whatsoever you seal on earth shall be sealed in heaven; and whatsoever you bind on earth, in my name and by my word, saith the Lord, it shall be eternally bound in the heavens.”

These sealing ordinances, which bind families together for eternity, can be performed only in holy temples by those having the proper priesthood authority.[i]

Who then would want a temple marriage? A young couple who believe in eternal life, who believe in the authority of the church which promises the power to unite them eternally, and who love each other enough to want to be sealed eternally would want a temple marriage.  A young couple who were not sure about their love, who were thinking (even unconsciously) that if it didn’t work they could always get a divorce and try again, wouldn’t want an eternal commitment that would be harder to cancel or break. 

The commitment a couple who want an eternal marriage is far more than a couple who just wants to get married. 

They must keep all the commandments of the church for a year prior to marriage, including chastity until marriage. And the commitment to keeping the commandments of the church, to be faithful in all things is a lifetime obligation. A “happily ever after” marriage only begins on the wedding day; an eternal marriage begins the same day. A wedding sealed in the temple may never become eternal if it becomes based on anger, dishonesty, unfaithfulness, or selfishness. But living the gospel, loving and helping perfect each other, working toward becoming an eternal family is worth it. It doesn’t happen overnight (it may take a lifetime), but think of the rewards.

To be sealed as a family, knowing that you will be united as a family after death is infinitely precious. In our fifty years of marriage my husband and I have lost three grandchildren and there have been several times when my husband has been so ill we were fearful that he wasn’t long for this life. My husband served two tours in Vietnam as a helicopter pilot and I worried daily if he would survive the war or not. But the confidence of the resurrection and the knowledge that we would be a family again helps make these trials more bearable. 

As we celebrate our fifty years together, they haven’t always been easy. But I love him just as much as I did when I heard that song many years ago, “Until the twelfth of never, I’ll still be loving you.” With temple marriage, even after death, we’ll still be able to love each other as a couple with our family, forever.

---

[i] Ensign, April 2007, p. 40