Mor

Any attempt to express my gratitude to my mother for all she is to me will be woefully inadequate. Yet, I feel I must attempt it. 

My mother was born in Stavanger, Norway during the Second World War. The Nazi's had invaded her homeland and life was not easy for her family. My mom recollects only a little from those days. My grandparents uprooted their lives to come to the United States. I can only imagine the courage they had to muster in order to do that. Mom entered the U.S. only a few months after her sixth birthday. She can remember her first view of her new homeland: the Statue of Liberty.

My mom went to school, learned to speak English, and stayed active religiously. When she decided to serve a mission and was called to the Paris, France Mission, she had to become a citizen of the United States in order to leave the country. She did and served an honorable mission. I grew up with a desire to be a missionary because my mom was.

She met and married my dad, Mike, in 1970. They both finished their degrees at BYU in Provo, Utah. From there, they started their family and then traveled the world as a result of my father's military career. My mom is the oldest child in her family and I am the oldest of her children. (The picture above is her holding me the day I was given a name and a blessing).

My mom raised 9 children. Occasionally she spent months alone with us when my dad had to travel for work. I don't know how she did it. She has said before that she simply took one day at a time.

Here are a few things about my mom that I know:

1. She's got more patience than Gandhi ever had.

2. She knows who she is. 

3. Because of her, I know who I am.

4. She's a great cook!

5. She loves me.

6. She's proud of me.

When I grow up, I want to be just like her. If I can manage that, even half way, life will be good.

I love you, Mom!