notes to self

I began a facebook fast almost a week ago. I've noticed a few things, the first being that my iPhone battery lasts an entire day. Also, since I'm not reporting to the cyber world every few hours I feel this urge to hurry and write everything down.

• We have a loaner van while we are getting our Chrysler Town and Country doctored up after some major Texas storm hail damage. It's old, makes terrible noises, and the side doors only open half of the time.  I'm not sure if I should feel more embarrassed about the old clunker van, or embarrassed that I've become a vehicle snob. I drive a mini van for crying out loud!!  But please: give me back my leather seating, DVD-playing, automatic door opening and closing, bluetooth connecting Town and Country!

• I took the kids on a walk. Ammon wore a sandal on his left foot and a blue sneaker on his right. They were both made for the left foot. 

• Logan announced to me that he has a talent for running barefoot in the grass.

• Still waiting for the house to get started. Completion date has been pushed back to December or January (it was originally October). This is called frustrating.

• I don't know that I've been any more productive with my facebook-free time, only more present in my day-to-day activities, which is good. Maybe the production will increase over time.

• I haven't raised athletic children. They are probably, in most ways, completely average and normal, and I often end up scolding myself for not being more athletic or outgoing or motivated to put them in a thousand cultivating activities. That said, I have passed down/taught/cultivated in them something very important to me: the love of words and stories. Logan and Madison have read the entire Harry Potter series over the last week. They spend hours every day reading. We gave them both a copy of the last two books so that they could read side by side and discuss their awes and opinions. I admit, I wish I were a Harry Potter book virgin, experiencing the magic for the first time, though I do find satisfaction in watching my kids devour the story. Grant, too, has become a wonderful reader, as he pushes himself to catch up with his big brother and sister. Yesterday he read two Magic Tree House books, and then announced to me that he was ready to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I'm going to let him try. (Ammon is a very proficient Look and Find picture finder.)

how i became a writer

I spent the last hour searching through a black three-inch binder packed full of papers and essays I wrote during my four years of college education. I couldn't find the one I wanted; maybe I thought, years ago, that throwing it away would make me forget it happened. It doesn't matter, I haven't forgotten--in fact, I can still see the penned words, cursive and hard to decipher, scrawled across the heading of the first page.

* * * * *

After two semesters of manual drafting and art classes with Del Parson's brother (how unfortunate a life for those with a famous sibling), I quickly realized that I lacked the physical dexterity and attention to detail to excel in the exclusive 3-year Interior Design program at Ricks College. I changed my major to English Education--English because I loved to read, and Education because what else could I do with an English degree? Writing was part of that institutional package, and so by default, I spent the next three years of my life writing every single day.

One of my first classes was Brother Samuelson's English 314 Advanced Literary Research and Analysis. As the title suggests, we learned how to research and analyze literature, and as it turns out, there are different and specific ways to analyze literature--which we call criticisms. It was all very new to me; I had never even heard of these criticisms: deconstructionism, reader-response, and formalism, to name a few. My first assignment was to write a formalist critique on Phillip Levine's "The Poem of Chalk." I did some research on Phillip Levine and researched the background of some words, and then wrote everything I could think of in order to turn in a ten-page paper.

To be honest, I'm experiencing some confusion today (I need to find that paper!), because in a formalist critique, you separate the writing from the author and from past experiences in order to analyze the writing by itself--which is exactly what I'm pretty sure I did NOT do! But I think the assignment was supposed to be a formalist criticism, and I was very, very confused.

A few class periods later, my paper was returned displaying an 82% and this hard to read comment: "Your theories are forced, your logic weak."

Imagine a pin pricking a balloon. Whoosh.

Was I in the wrong major? I was just getting started and this meant (to me) that I was a horrible writer! I had no idea what I was supposed to do!

So in my spare time (by the way, I was taking 21 credits, 15 of those credits in English classes, and working 20 hours a week as a reading tutor), I began reading literary criticisms for "fun." I visited Brother Samuelson's office frequently to ask him questions and to allow him to not-so-formally criticize the rough drafts I had written. I wrote and rewrote and then started all over again.

I wonder now: was it the grade that was bothering me? Maybe. I was a straight-A student and I had a scholarship to maintain. I wanted to excel, yes, but I also wanted to grow as a person and as a writer.

Today, as I flip through the black binder that contains hundreds of the papers I have written, I skim through several of them, remembering the literature I read, the feelings I felt while writing. Some of the essays, with their short, choppy sentences, make me grimace. Some show great potential and growth. Just a few, those written near the end of my four-year progression, are actually pretty decent, showing real thought-process and reasoning.

The last paper I wrote for Brother Samuelson's English 314 class was a psychoanalytic criticism on Willa Cather's "Paul's Case." I kept that one; it is the very first one I see as I open the binder. It is also the one that was presented and published in the 2002 National Undergraduate Literature Conference.

crystal ball

I am glimpsing a little bit of my future tonight: 2 pre-teen boys and 3 pre-teen girls, 8 bags of popcorn, 5 sherbet floats,  Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban blaring, I just discovered, full blast. Add in the talking, the laughing, the silly noises. It's loud. 

It was a somewhat impromptu summer movie night with friends, something Madison suggested when she finally gave in to the peer pressure and started reading the Harry Potter series. She's read 3 of the books in the last week.

The little boys ate their popcorn and floats early, and then headed reluctantly upstairs. You see, the deal is that you have to read the books before you can watch the movies. That's a bummer. I promised them a movie night of their own with friends, soon. As I sat upstairs consoling them, talking about the friends they would invite over, and the movies they could watch, I felt a little bit of excitement about this thing called growing up. I am going to have a house full of kids and friends! 

It's kind of fun to sit here and listen to the stories that they tell, their personalities coming through. It's fun to see their confidence; they know that that their silly laughs, their crazy faces, their dance moves are cool. 

Also, I'm taking notes. Perhaps in the future we will just have boys OR girls over. Already, at the ages of 8-11--they are being too silly together. I see a little bit of trouble in my future. 

I am waiting impatiently for our house to be built; they haven't even started yet, which is a little discouraging. I am assigning items to rooms and closets. I am planning future movie nights with friends in the future media room. Now that will be fun! 

But tonight, I'm content to watch Harry Potter with my children in the comfort of our living room--this one was released 10 years ago, in 2004--and I know that the next 10 will pass just as quickly. 

lost and found

Augustus Douglas Goss, my frugal grandfather, grew up during the Great Depression. His large family lived in cars and traveled from city to city looking for work. Sometimes they picked fruit and cotton, other times a farmer would let them milk cows for a day—whatever work they could find in order to survive. Often, they just went hungry. Grandpa would tell me stories about going to the market with his mother, where she would ask him if he wanted beans or flour mixed with water for dinner that week—there was not enough money to buy both. He said that eventually he was unable to swallow the water-flour mixture. It made him throw up. 

Over the years, I began to embrace these stories about my migrant-working heritage. I researched the Great Depression; I examined in great depth the Dust Bowl. I began to understand how a nation coming out of the First World War would encourage farmers to take out bank loans to buy expensive tractors so that they could plow fields, planning to grow crops to sell overseas, only to find that their crops were no longer needed—not that it mattered, because the rain would not come and the crops would not grow, leaving only dust. But there were still tractor loans to pay, mortgages on homes, families to raise. I would study Dorothea Lange pictures and imagine Grandpa Goss and his family traveling across the southwestern states in an old truck, their few possessions tied down in the back, perhaps stopping at night to camp on the roadside.

Last year I began documenting my life stories, always aware that my narrative included the people who came before me.  One afternoon in early May, I quietly shut my bedroom door, crawled under my covers and silently mourned the recent loss of a pregnancy. As the sobbing stilled, I questioned the purpose of the miscarriage, mentally shaking my fist at God. “Why?” I asked, “Are you there?” I wanted to write it out; the pen and paper became a balm for the ache, but there was more to write. I called my mother and asked her to tell me everything she knew about her father’s family.  She sent me a manila envelope with a collection of 30 papers including a eulogy, church records, photocopies of newspaper articles and pictures, and a letter that my great-grandmother had written explaining why she joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. A few pieces of paper do not adequately cover 80 years of life, but that is all I had.

* * * * *

William McNeill Goss’s first wife died, leaving him with two children, and on December 27, 1926, Reverend C.L. Sansing married William, age 40, to his second wife, Eva Edith Raven, age 20, in her family’s home on 106 W. 34^th Street in Austin, Texas.

Eva grew up in a religious home in Bertram, Texas. Her father, a carpenter, was on the local Baptist Sunday School board, and her mother was a Sunday school teacher. She writes,

One night after we had got home from the [revival] meeting, I was lying awake and I realized I had the need of a Savior.  I prayed to God that I might be saved.  The following night we attended the meeting again.  At the close of service I went forward and accepted Christ as my Savior and joined the Baptist Church and was baptized the following Sunday evening.  But it was a mystery to me why I joined the Baptist Church.  One day I went to my mother and asked her why was she a Baptist.  And she asked me why was I Baptist.  I told her I was a Baptist because her and father reared us children up in the Baptist Church.  I suppose I could see no other reason why.

Eva’s new husband, William, was a Baptist minister, and he made a decent living in the 1920’s around the Austin, Texas area. Known for his inspiring sermons, he was invited to travel town to town in 1930 with a gospel group as a Baptist revival speaker. After preaching a sermon in Del Rio, Texas, a man came to compliment William on his sermon and to inquire about the Baptist faith. His last question was, “By what authority do you speak in the Lord’s name?” William explained that he had been trained as a minister in the Baptist seminaries. The man probably nodded before asking, “But where did the seminaries get that authority?” William must have hesitated for just a moment as he admitted to the stranger that he did not know the answer, but encouraged the man to return on Sunday to hear his next sermon, which he promised would be on the topic of authority.

I imagine William studying his Bible and praying all through the week, but he could not find an answer, and on that promised Sunday he stood up at the pulpit and publicly resigned his ecclesiastical position because he did not know by what authority he preached in the Lord’s name. Eva writes, “My husband told me that the Baptist church could not be the right church of God, as God’s church was not a church of confusion, and he and I both prayed that God would direct us and lead us in the right way.”

I wonder how Eva felt. Did they discuss his resignation throughout that week? Did she support his decision, or did she beg him to continue preaching in order to feed their growing family? There must have been tears, sobs in fact, as William and Eva counted their change; surely they knew that there was a shortage of work and little money to be made throughout the country when they made the decision to end a stable career.

It is quite easy for me to imagine how I might respond; first, disbelief, shock, and discussion as we assign dollars to obligations. Time passes, dollars dwindle, hope falters. Eva surely grieved for what was lost, and William most likely felt guilty failure when he was unable to provide for his wife and children the basic necessities of life. I know all of this, these feelings, the movement of thoughts,

because my husband, Joseph, along with over 30 attorneys at Roetzel and Andress, lost his job in Cleveland, Ohio on February 18, 2009 during the worst recession since the Great Depression. We, too, lost our home, and moved our family of five across the country in search of employment. Ironically, we ended up in Dallas, Texas—not far from where Eva and William’s story began—and we hoped to make our own work by opening a law practice. We watched our diminishing savings account until we finally plundered through our retirement money and hoped that we could survive a few more months. Joseph would come home each day, tired and frustrated, to send out more resumes, to listen to his wife cry about the things they had left behind.

So ended William’s stable career, and in its place a life of uncertainty and instability. They moved to College Station, Texas on December 28, 1930, where William would walk many miles each day in search of work. His family would continue to grow as more children were born into their impoverished home: William, Edith Josephine, Rosalee, Augustus, Nehemiah, Eva, John, and Fae.

Again, I think about Eva, large and uncomfortably pregnant much of their early years of marriage, and I remember. We moved to Garland, Texas in January 2010. I would see newborn babies and want to hold them; I would stare at the round bellies of pregnant women, and envy the movement they felt from within. Unlike Eva’s generation, we had easy access to birth control, and therefore perhaps more pressure to be “responsible” about getting pregnant. How could I justify bringing another child into the world when it felt like we could barely provide for the three we already had? I am sure that similar thoughts passed through Eva’s head as she watched her children play and felt her belly grow. But oh! I wanted a baby! I prayed to my Heavenly Father and asked him for faith. In my lowest moments, I graciously bargained with Him: I will accept another spirit and give him a good home, just promise me that You will provide my family with the things that we need! And I wonder—I know—that Eva did the same. She must have prayed to God for courage and faith, promising to do His will in exchange for—not even comfort—but basic survival needs.

Did their trials shake their faith, or only increase it? Did they, like us, pray more than they ever had before; did they do all they could to grow in favor of the Lord? Did they in weak moments feel like they had been betrayed for making the leap of faith into the unknown as they searched for truth?

           

In April 1931, two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, Elder Ariel N. Benson and Elder Clarence R. Bennion, walked through William and Eva’s neighborhood, distributing papers on the Mormon Church. Eva asked about their authority to preach, and the young men explained that their authority came from God, and then invited them to come to learn more at a meeting they were holding 16 miles away.

           

At this time, William was employed, working twelve hours a day applying creosote tar on telephone poles. The tar worked as a wood preservative, and we now know it is a carcinogen. The job was smelly and messy, and it burned and stained William’s skin, but it was work. William was interested in learning more about the Mormon Church, so he told his family that after he finished work that day, he would walk the sixteen miles to talk to the Mormon missionaries, and then walk the sixteen miles back home.

           

William did not reach the town until 10:30 p.m. that night, and he asked a stranger on the street where he could find the Mormon missionaries. He was directed to where the missionaries were staying, and I imagine him knocking on their door, and then asking these two tired young men his questions. Arrangements were made for two other missionaries, Elder Porter M. Gooch and Elder George W. Gasser, to come to the Goss home to teach this Baptist minister and his family.

           

William and Eva thoroughly investigated the Mormon religion. Eva writes,

We had been deceived into believing that the Baptist Church was a church erected of God until God in his mercy let us understand that the Baptist Church could not be erected of God.  For in the Book of Doctrine and Covenant Section 132:8 reads “Behold mine house is a house of order, and not a house of confusion.”  Therefore, pondering over the claims of the Mormon and of the Book of Mormon and also the teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as to if it was in reality the works of God and how to know to my understanding if it was divine origin.  I was taken very sick with chills and fever and as I had been troubled for the past two years various times knowing the course of chills and fever that it had always been necessary to take something to stop them.  My husband had gone to town after medicine for me to take, but the chill was so severe and me being home just with our three little children it looked as if I just could not stand it. 

So I turned over in my bed and began to pray to God to heal me.  While in that attitude I was moved upon by the Power of God and he wanted to heal me.  I was healed without the aid of medicine could I accept that as enough to accept the Book of Mormon and the word of the church as divine origin.  I answered with all of my heart that I would and I _________ and arose out of my bed and my oldest child said, “Mother, do you feel better?”  I said “Yes, dear.  God has healed me.” My children were so glad to see me.

When my husband came in I was rejoicing and told him of my experience that I would not have anymore chills and fever and that I knew that the Mormons were right.  Thanks be to God I did not have anymore chills or fever since.

My husband told me he had been pondering over those things and that he didn’t want to make anymore mistakes getting tied up with something that God hadn’t set up, went out to pray to God to hear and that God moved upon him and told him could he accept that miracle of Joseph Smith as a sure prophet and that he translated the Book of Mormon by the Power of God.

Eva and William were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints on October 15, 1931.

           

Eva and William moved many places, including San Antonio, Hempstead, Del Rio, Aransas Pass, Hagerman, and Bryan, Texas, which is where my grandfather, Augustus Douglas, was born, the fourth of their eight children together. Grandpa tells a story from his early childhood, about cold mornings when his mother, Eva, would get up to send the older children to school and William to work, and then she would get back in bed with Augustus to stay warm, as there was no heat in their one-room home. They stayed in bed together until they heard the hen cackle outside—this was the sign that the hen had laid an egg, and then Eva would get up to collect that egg, which she and Grandpa would share for breakfast. 

           

William and his family spent their years migrating in two old cars across Texas, New Mexico, and finally Arizona, breaking down periodically, always looking for work, always hoping that they would be able to feed their family that day. Eventually, their car would break down near Pomerene, Arizona, a predominantly Mormon community in 1950. Eldon Barney, a dairy farmer in the area who was a member of their church, offered them a small shack to live in and work on his dairy farm. That is where my grandfather would complete high school, waking early in the morning to feed and milk the cows. I remember visiting his home in Phoenix, Arizona, where we ate oatmeal for breakfast. Grandma stuck his hot bowl in the fridge and explained that he wouldn’t eat it hot—he had gotten used to eating it cold, with evaporated milk, after completing his chores on the farm. It was in Benson, Arizona that Augustus would meet my grandmother, Roberta Cates, at a graduation party. She was invited into the Goss’ humble two-room home and offered a seat on the only stool they owned.

* * * * *

As I finished piecing together the material I had been given, I read, once again, the letter that Eva wrote, pausing on the names of the missionaries who were sent to teach them the gospel, and stopping when I came to the name “George W. Gasser.” I sent my best friend, whose maiden name is Gasser, a message asking if she had a relative named George Gasser. Yes, she had an Uncle George. Did he serve a mission in Texas in the early 1930’s, and did his middle name start with a “W?” She conferred with her family, and then called me a few minutes later. Yes, her grandfather had a brother named George Walter Gasser, and he served in the LDS Southwest mission in 1930—Texas was probably included in that mission. Together we laughed, and I cried, not knowing quite how to vocalize the tightness in my throat.

All my life I have been a member of this Mormon Church. I have come to rely upon the teachings of my childhood in times of hardship and disappointment—even when I yell at God in despair. Not once have I really, really considered how I got here. An entire family hungry, moving, sacrificing because they wanted truth. All of that poverty and hardship was a conscious choice—and in a way, they did it for me.

If I could send a fortune-telling memo back to William and Eva, I wouldn’t need to reassure them that everything would be ok, that they would make it and eventually settle down; they did just fine on their own. But I might tell them that because of their sacrifice and faith, Augustus would raise seven living children in their church, one of them my mother. I would explain that I am working diligently to raise a fifth generation of righteous children in the church they joined. If I could talk to William and Eva, we might laugh at the not-really-a-coincidence fact that their missionary was related to my best friend, and we wouldn’t have found each other without him, and them. If I could talk to William and Eva, I would tell them thank-you.

And in that moment of appreciation, I knew that my God had not abandoned me. I knew that He was with Eva and William as they migrated across the country, and that He had been with me through our loss of a job, a home, an unwanted move, and now the sudden disappointment of a baby not born.

Through all of these things, He was with us,  shaping and molding, giving us the opportunity to grow into our full potential.

Joseph’s law practice is growing; my worries no longer include paying the bills and providing for our children. We recently committed to building a house, and each Sunday afternoon we drive by to check its progress. Our marriage, our family, isn’t perfect, but there is a sense of security. Life is good. 

William and Eva lived the rest of their lives near Pomerene, Arizona. Eventually, Eva was placed in a mental institution in Phoenix, Arizona, though I do not know if it was because of mental illness or diabetes left untreated. She died on June 20, 1967, and William died, his family claims of a broken heart, just a few weeks later on July 02, 1967.
 

On his deathbed, William McNeill Goss gathered his children around him and shared his last worldly wisdom. He explained that though he had not been able to provide for them the many riches of this world, he had been able to provide one thing for his family: he had found the true church with the proper authority from God.