Stories – Page 5

Our Life Line

06.19.2019 by season // 8 Comments

I am the LAST person that a year ago would have thought I’d be loving family history with my whole heart. One year ago we were fresh off the heels of trauma.

The business my husband worked for & had just moved to Colorado for went under and we didn’t have a paycheck for months. Searching for a job was turning up absolutely nothing.

My husband had fallen hard on some ice that resulted in a serious concussion which led us to get a brain scan that found he had a deep-seated brain aneurysm that was unrelated to his fall.

Just weeks after this, on our way home to Colorado, our family along with our F250 truck slid off a 1000 ft. mountain cliff and were stopped only 30 feet down by an aspen tree & some heavenly assistance. Our family survived while our truck did not.

The next week we found employment!! … in Utah and one month later we landed here to start our new life.

I need to tell you here that I was barely holding things together. I felt like I was called to wade into a stormy sea & kept getting hit with waves. Each time I’d get up and catch my breath, another wave with more power and intensity would knock me off my feet, throw me into the washing machine cycle and then spit me out with sand in all the wrong places, coughing up water and sand, and gasping for air. I realize that sounds a little dramatic. But I felt like life had chewed us up and spit us out.

I had been praying for help to know how I could get my life back and figured a home improvement project would be it. I opened my Lightkeepers book for the first time & the quote with Elder Renlund’s promise about family history and temple work jumped off the page:

“You will find not only protection from the temptation and ills of the world, but you will also find personal power—power to change, power to repent, power to learn, power to be sanctified, and power to turn the hearts of your family members to each other and heal that which needs healing.”

● He promised we’d find “power

● to turn the hearts of our family together

● and heal that which needs healing.” This promise hit me with such force. As I read the words, the spirit told me: “This is your project. This will heal you.” So I pledged to figure out family history -as soon as I’d moved my family to Utah.

Once we moved to Utah a set of new challenges arose: the Utah inversion- for this Arizona girl, new job & schools, a strict budget, worries for my husband’s health, longer term effects of his concussion, and serious mom guilt over moving my kids. Again, and moving my senior for the second time this school year. Life seemed void of hope. Void of light. Even void of sleep. Garrett and I were still experiencing Post Traumatic Stress waking up in a cold sweat around 3 each morning since falling off the mountain. We were walking around in the same bodies but everything somehow seemed hollow and empty. Life moved on and we had to move along with it. It was difficult to keep up with what was expected just to run a home & run a family.

Two weeks after moving here, I was somewhat settled, and was listening to a conference talk while making breakfast. The spirit reminded me that I pledged to start family history. Panic seized my heart. Why did I promise to do that? How on earth do I do that?? It seemed an elephant of a project to take on. But how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. Family history is a spiritual work.

Since last February I took small & simple steps doing what I knew how to do and as the spirit directed when I’d ask, “what next?

I started by reading the family book I’d had kicking around for years . I took a photo with my phone of short excerpts that would strengthen my own family and texted them to my kids periodically. I knew they wouldn’t pick up a 500 page book, but they would read a text.

I became familiar with and use regularly the FamilySearch mobile app, the task feature became my favorite tool ever, which we will jump into soon

I shared with family how to read & add a story in memories. While I cooked dinner I’d ask my teens to jump on & find or add a story then share it at dinner.

I continued asking “what next” and acting. In April I was sick & got stress cold sores. I found myself a doctor & while waiting for him to come in, I read the poster about mental health. I was astonished to realize I was experiencing each one of the symptoms. I told the doctor what had recently happened & how I was waiting to feel normal again. He listened and we decided to put me on a low dose of depression medication.

As a family we were mindful & prayerful about how to incorporate little bits of family history into our life. And we found that with just a few simple tweaks, it went along with what we were already doing.

I had the joy of:

•finding my first ancestor who needed her work done, and since then have discovered numerous ancestors and am still working on their saving ordinances.

•I have upped my temple attendance considerably because of the sheer volume of people that are waiting for their temple work. And that in turn has enriched my life.

•I am happier than I ever have been.

•I enjoy clarity and peace that are constant and help me see life, people, and challenges through a heavenly lens.

I share to show just how different a life can look in one year when we ask what next, trust the Lord’s guidance and His promises and then act. Everyone’s journey will look different. My husband still has the brain aneurysm. Turns out his particular case is very unique. We have even changed employment again. My situation has not changed completely, but my perspective has. My family is closer. We are happier. We feel the spirit in our home frequently. And my home now feels like it’s filled with LIGHT. As I shared this write-up with my 18 year old daughter, she nodded at each sentence. She sees it. She feels it. We are far from perfect, but we are being sanctified through this great work.

Elder Renlund promised: God will strengthen, help, and uphold us; and He will sanctify to us our deepest distress. Family History has been my life line. Truly and literally. As I engaged in it, slowly, slowly, I began to breathe a little more, to feel again, to live again. Heavenly Father knew what I needed to do to heal that which needed healing.

Written by: Amy Miles // IG: @sorellamy

A Larger Family

06.17.2019 by season // 1 Comment

I grew up in a relatively small family with only 1 cousin (a second cousin) my age. It felt normal to me, because it’s what I knew. It wasn’t until I married my husband – who has a plethora of cousins (like, 85 FIRST COUSINS) – that I realized how much I missed out on cousins growing up. For many of his siblings, their cousins are their best friends that will remain throughout their life. In many ways I am sad I don’t have relationships like that, and have made it a point to ensure my kids get to have that kind of relationship with their cousins.

While I didn’t have close cousin relationships, I am lucky enough to have some great friendships. One of those great friendships is with Tiffany. Her husband and mine served together on their missions for our church and she and I met when my husband and I were dating. Despite the fact that we live in different states, she’s become one of my best friends – the kind of friend you call on both your best and worst days knowing they’ll be there to cry with you, laugh with you or cheer you on.

A couple years ago we decided to take a trip together – Tiff and I and our husbands – to get some kid-free time to hang out and catch up. We decided where to go (we’d fly into Boston and travel a bit around New England) and started planning our trip. As we were planning where exactly to go and what to see I mentioned visiting First Parish Church in Plymouth since I had ancestors that came on the Mayflower. She mentioned she had family on the Mayflower as well. We thought it would be SO COOL if it was a common ancestor and we would be, like, 13th cousins or something. Well, we checked our records and it WAS a common ancestor!

“Let’s keep going down the line and see where it splits” I said. So we texted names back and forth as we moved down our family lines:

“Elizabeth White is my next relative down”
“ME TOO!”

“Then Obadiah Wheeler…”
“ME TOO!”

“Then Peregrine Wheeler…”
“SAME HERE”

By this time we’re thinking this is amazing, and getting really tired because it’s super late. The next morning I wake up to a text from Tiff, “Who is your closest Wheeler ancestor?” We’re dying to know how close our lines are at this point and going generation by generation is taking too long so working back from where we’re at seems like the best bet.

“My grandpa, John Wheeler” I answer.

“THIS JOHN WHEELER?!” She texts back, along with a picture of my grandpa.

I called her immediately with a million questions. “How did you get this picture? Do you know my grandpa?! HOW ARE WE RELATED?!”

It turns out that we are second cousins once removed. Her mom and I are second cousins. My mom and her grandma are FIRST COUSINS. Her great-grandma and my grandpa are brother and sister. I knew her great grandma as a young girl. TEN YEARS we’d been best friends at this point, across different states, only meeting because our husbands served together on their missions – and we didn’t even know we were cousins.

Now, completely unexpectedly, I find myself with that close cousin relationship I’d wanted. We didn’t grow up together but we share so many common ancestral traits and stories, and we’re still close as can be.

Mine surely isn’t the only story like this. Nearly every time I’ve connected with someone on Family Search or Relative Finder, we’ve been related in some way. Even finding out someone is my 10th cousin feels so exciting and makes me feel more connected to them.

When we realize just how close we are, how interconnected we are to those around us, we start to see the world a little bit differently. We feel, more tangibly, part of something larger. We are reminded that, “[We are] not forgotten or alone because we are all part of a larger family.” -Neil L. Andersen

SARAH GARNER

thekindredpress.com
IG: @thekindredpress

Love, Food & Family History

06.13.2019 by season // 1 Comment

When people hear our love story it is just a bit too dreamy and well, Italian. My Love caught my attention with a bowl of spaghetti. Our date was set, we would meet at his apartment, he would cook for me, we would go to the opera.

I arrived at his apartment and he greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and before starting, He TIED MY APRON on! Then we started cooking–or should I say, he started cooking and I watched. I mainly watched his hands. They moved quickly, methodically and gracefully. Chopping parsley, smashing the garlic and then quickly mincing it faster than I knew was possible. He gave me one assignment–dice the tomatoes. As I diced the tomatoes, he managed to boil the water, set the table, finish prepping everything else and I had only finished two tomatoes. He came over and asked if I would like any help. I handed him the knife. He took it and I watched this man dice the tomatoes like someone dicing butter. It was fast, smooth, and I wished I had not offered to dice the tomatoes. I also wished he had not stopped. It was so attractive! I guess you can say he had me at first dice, not first bite. This man had skills and I couldn’t wait to get to know him better!

Within 20 minutes he managed to make us a gourmet Italian meal. Spaghetti aglio e olio con i gamberi , and salad. There was no need for dessert, it was that amazing! I had no idea Italian food could be so delicious, refreshing, and full of flavor and with so few ingredients.

That night we drove “come i pirati” (like pirates–which is to say blazing) to the opera, we held hands, and when I got home I downloaded an app to learn Italian. I never looked back.

This first dish on this first date was the beginning of my culinary journey into the land of Italian cuisine. I am now a self-proclaimed olive oil snob and gelato obsessed American. My taste buds and cellular structure have continued to evolve and change to the point that I look more Italian than my husband and I cook and relish in wholesome, love-filled, homey southern Italian dishes.

I have to give credit where credit is due. My love is who I learned to cook Italian cuisine from. He is the brains, the heart, the hands and the home of my knowledge. His mother is his culinary tutor and her mother was hers and so the story continues back and back. Cuisine, food, family and friends are the heart of Italy. Everyday when I cook I am cooking a piece of our heritage and family history. When I write the recipes I am preserving generations of stories passed down through little speech; and mainly gestures and taste. I teach classes to give others the ability to see, savor, and feel what I experienced that first time I put into my mouth spaghetti made the correct way. The way my husband’s great-great-great grandmother would have made it. I honor all of his ancestors when I make a dish correctly. I honor them when I feed my children their dishes, their recipes, their beautiful culinary creations that are not just full of flavor, but full of nutrients that bring life and sustenance and joy.

Everyday that we teach our children how to cook we honor nonna (grandma) and we save a piece of our heritage. We help our children and family and friends experience our ancestor’s life. As simple as a piece of bread in milk and sugar, or as elaborate as lasagne made the Napolitan way….We honor our family’s heritage.

Buona Forchetta UT’s main purpose is to bring family and friends together—with amazing food and to help preserve our Italian heritage and culture through the recipes that were passed down through generations. This way, when our Grandchildren ask what their bis-nonna (great grandma) ate when she was young; my son will make them a bowl of spaghetti and all will know it came from Nonna’s life in Italy such was and is the tradition.

We are the last link for my mother-in-law’s family and my love and I have decided to make it our quest to preserve the heritage and untold stories that were passed down through the hands and kitchens of the nonnas of our family.

Isn’t it amazing that just by eating a bowl of spaghetti on a first date my life could turn into saving the culinary heritage of the Vinci and Petrucci family! I am and will forever be grateful for the beautiful Italian culture and for stories told over and through a bowl of spaghetti!

Kristin Petrucci is the founder of @buonaforchettaut and @KristinPSpeaks. She is the mother of 5 children and resides in Utah. Her husband David is from Terni, Italy. All of his immediate family resides in Italy. They both love to cook and eat Italian food and share with others their passion for life, friendship and food.