Best Parents

On the subject of raising children and good parenting: I always tell people the same thing. There is no perfect way to raise kids. My parents were pretty close though. All through my childhood I frequently saw mom and dad reading their scriptures, and on their knees in prayer. What better example can a child have? I didn’t always know it, or fully appreciate how well mom and dad took care of us. Now that I am older and know a little more about life, I can see that we had it pretty good.

They made sure that we lived in an area where the church is strong, and the schools are exceptional. We received well balanced nutrition. We often ate things like stir-fry, and fajitas. As a child I didn’t ever appreciate stir-fry. Now that I know some about health and nutrition I eat stir-fry all the time. Still not a favorite, but I know it’s good for me. We always had fresh fruits on the kitchen counter.



A lot of this I took for granted for a long time. It all sounds like little things until you see kids that don’t have quality books in their schools, healthy food to eat, or enough kids their age to make the church programs enjoyable. I’m grateful for all that mom and dad have done to make sure we had the best possible childhoods. Yeah they are pretty much the best

From Sunshine Far Away But Grateful

This is parts of a talk I have given (twice now) about families:

“…I so desperately want my boys to be able to have the kind of parents I have. As I think about what my parents did to ensure that their [family] was strong and unified I realize they did so many things right.

I think the most important thing that any of us can do is to teach and lead by example. I had a boss that used to say I can’t hear what you are saying because your actions are so loud. My parents always had plenty to say but they really, really lead by example. They told us that we should read our scriptures and pray and go to church but they did those things with us. And equally important, we knew that even when we weren’t there they were reading their scriptures and praying and fulfilling their church responsibilities. believed they were slave driving us to do housework and yard work, but we learned how to weed the garden from them, we learned how to clean and organize from them, and we learned that the job isn’t done until all the tools are cleaned and put away.They told us that service is important but then they took us to the church welfare farm to pick corn and grapes at o’dark hundred hours in the morning. My mom fed the missionaries and fixed the holes in their pants. They moved into a different house so that my grandma could live with us for the last year of her life, and ensured that she was as comfortable as she could be. My mom bathed her and fed her, and changed her when she no longer had control over her bladder and bowels. They taught us with words but more importantly they taught us by example.

Another thing my parents did well was to create a safe place where we always knew-no matter what-there were people and an environment that would keep us safe. There were absolutely consequences for wrong choices and bad actions, but I think it was because there was discipline that the environment was possible. My mom was always there, always. And we always knew that our parents loved each other, many times embarrassingly so. Of course now I think it great that they still like to kiss every chance they get. I was told that I was loved every single day. I don’t know if it was a conscious effort on their part but there was no question in my mind that I was very loved. In fact I remember having debates about which kid was loved best. We were all sure it was us because my mom would say things like, “I love you more than any of my other twelve year old girls.”

…Our friends wanted to hang out at our house. I remember being annoyed that my friends wanted to hang with my mom. My parents weren’t just friends with us they were friends with our friends. I was talking to my brother a little while ago and he told me about his friends that came to stay for weeks and months. My parents live in a pretty small house. One time all the bedrooms were so filled up that one of his friends had to sleep under the dining room table. He wanted to be in the safe place my parents had made so badly that he slept under the table for months…

…An invaluable skill my parents instilled in all of their children is a strong work ethic. I believe that one of the reasons my parents made such a strong family is because we worked together…hard and often. I believe that being able to work and not give up is a more valuable skill than being super smart or having a bunch of innate talents. If you know how to work you can learn how to do anything…It is important to know how to work hard because anything worth having has to be worked for…

…I never ever knew how fiercely I would love my children. I want them to be so safe and happy always.”

Now I know how my parents feel about me. Thank you for loving me so much and teaching me the very best you knew how to be a happy, loving, hard working and giving person. I only pray that I will be able to do it for my kids.

Happy, Happy Anniversary-you deserve it! I love you forever

Hey Papa Dean and Lili Mom,

We are so happy and proud to be part of your family. Thank you for a gospel heritage and living and working under the covenant. We feel that influence in each and every aspect of our lives as we all grow in our own part of the garden...

From Bradd and Ann Brown

Dean and Lili,

Friday the 13th?

Somehow I'm not surprised. I know Lili was behind that!

I could write for quite a while but somehow I know it would all boil down to a couple of thoughts that I have when thinking about Dean and Lili. Relationships in the church are always meaningful, helpful and enjoyable. Friends in the Gospel help buoy each other up. Real friends can be trusted and counted on in times of trial. When I think of these qualities in friends, I think of Dean and Lili. The Lord has told us many times in scripture and through Prophets, the importance of having faith, hope, and charity to be more like Christlike. When I think of these qualities, I think of Dean and Lili. Just knowing that you two are always there for me is and always has been a great comfort to Ann and I. If I were ask who comes to mind when thinking of people who represent the greatest of examples of Christ, You two are at the top of my list.
Ann I love you two and are grateful to have you as true friends.

Your friends,
Bradd and Ann

Mission Poems

Almost every missionary sends a letter home at some point or another from the MTC or the Field expressing gratitude to their parents for being good ones. They realize they are homesick. They realize that not everyone had it so good...I sent mine home during the MTC. You can click on the pages or any photo in this blog to enlarge it. It was so nice to have their teachings and examples guiding me on my mission, to come home to their loving arms and to know that I am part of one awesome eternal family with a heritage of faithful men and women, chiefly, Mommy and Daddy.

Holding Hands

I like that you hold hands in Church, while driving and any other time it's handy. (Don't blame me for the corny humor...I come by it honestly...from both sides, but mostly Dad.) And even though we thought it was gross growing up, I'm glad you make-out in the kitchen and pinch eachother's rears when you think no-one is looking.
Speaking of Hand Holding etc. Here's a blog post I made to my personal blog a while back:

Large, rough and calloused, my father's hands are a study in love. From the little hours to sundown, for decades, they have labored diligently to keep a large and happy family in shoes, clothing and good health. Scars tell stories of trees and gardens expertly groomed. Cracks recount cold winters and dry sawdust. Wrinkles remind of Christmas sacrifices to craft indelible memories.
It was his hand, or rather one finger of his hand, that I held when I first walked in the Grove where Joseph saw the Lord, I looked at my father's face, and I knew it was a sacred place where we walked. As my father holds my mother's equally beautiful hand in his, I can't help but recall how those weathered, leathered hands gently and patiently helped to sculpt my faith in my Heavenly Father's love.Every summer, family outings found us piled in our '78 Chevy van, which of course, became a 4x4 with dad at the wheel. He managed to always find untouched retreats at the end of abandoned logging roads nestled in the California Sierra Nevada.

One of my favorite habits on such adventures was finding the perfect sheet of granite just under the surface of the snow melt river. I'd sit with the frigid water streaming over my dusty legs and hot feet, not caring about the numbness, rapid current or even the occasional leech. I just wanted to experience nature and make the most of the quickly ebbing summer days.

On one such occasion, I remember how excited I was to find a little niche in a naturally occurring dam. As the water poured over the slabs of granite, a small bite out of the rock formed a perfect chair. I watched as my older brothers, who insisted on testing it first, let the rush of water blast their bare backs as they sat in the perfect throne.

When my turn came, I realized right away that the water hit me more on the neck than my back. I gripped the sides of the rock that half surrounded me, but the force was too strong for a 12 year old girl. The undercurrent caught me and pulled me under as my head hit the rock where I had tried to sit. The pain made me panic and I had trouble holding my breath. Just then, I felt a large, strong hand grab my forearm and pull me out of the river entirely. “I thought I'd lost you” I heard my father say as he helped me to the shore.

Later, looking up at the universe of stars as they can only be seen high in the mountains, I remember thinking how grateful I was that my Dad was watching over me and I thanked my Father in Heaven for such loving parents.

Fast forward eight years to another summer night. I remember the look of distress and concern in my mother's eyes as she firmly expressed her disapproval of the decision I had made to date a young man she and my father knew was a poor choice for me. My dad was quieter, but equally upset. I probably said something disrespectful about being an adult and knowing how to choose for myself before storming off to my room to cry. I didn't want to hear what they thought. I was having fun and experiencing life.A quarter of an hour later, my father came in and sat beside me. He enfolded me in his arms, his hands patting my back. Gently and simply he said “We love you and want you to be happy. We know that you know better. We just want you to make the right choices.”

My rage melted and I knew that they saw the matter more clearly than I had allowed myself to see it.I broke off my relationship with the young man and again found myself thanking my Heavenly Father that my earthly father was there to watch over me. That pivotal decision, I feel, has helped to lead me on paths that have made my life so much fuller and richer than it might have been had my father not listened to the voice of the spirit in order to be a ready instrument in the Lord's hands.

Years later, I find myself happily married and raising a daughter of my own. Not long ago, however, I felt myself lagging in my spiritual growth and letting tiny doubts seep in. I called my parents and chatted about toddlerisms and siblings, new happenings and old friends. I'm not certain if Dad felt prompted to share or if he was just bubbling over with excitement as he told a story of his latest faith building moment as an ordinance worker in the Sacramento Temple. As he spoke, my heart softened and I knew what he was testifying of was true and sacred. My testimony was jump started as I found myself being rescued from the currents of life and renewed with a gulp of living water.

As with many “lifelong members”, my testimony of the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ was formed a drop at a time. So many of those drops distilled during father's blessings at the beginning of each new school year when the warm hands atop my head filled my whole spirit with warmth and understanding. Those hands baptized me and held the word of God during many a family fireside study. When I was sick and fevered, they anointed my head and afterward held me close till the pain passed. On my mission, I asked myself if I was being the kind of servant that would honor my earthly and my Heavenly Father's trust. Regardless of how far I have travelled and the trials I have faced, my father and his calloused, gentle hands have been there for me as a constant anchor and a continual manifestation of the love the Lord has for each of His children.