(I started the draft of this post in December 2013)
I have always loved reading descriptions of my grandparents parents, or having my mom or dad tell me in detail about their parents, and last night as my parents and I sat relaxing by the fire and Christmas tree I decided I want to document how I see my parents - how I remember them now - Christmas tree lights reflecting on my mom's warm face as she gives me the best kind of council, my dad hunched over sitting on the couch, elbows on knees as he watches the BYU USU basketball game....Maybe one day my grandkids will love reading about what I saw.
My mother. Truly one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She has looked the same to me ever since I can remember (meaning she has always looked quite young). I have always had my friends tell me how pretty they think my mom is - that she is just a stunning lady. She has big, soft yet piercing brown eyes - they get green toward the middle. She has a lovely smile that couldn't be more sincere. Beautiful lips - I can still remember watching her carefully putting her lipstick on, then blotting her lips on some toilet paper. One time I walked into my parents bathroom and my dad had pulled from the garbage one of the sheets she blotted her lips on. The perfect print of her lips was accompanied by my dad's handwriting and an arrow "I love these lips." He left it for my mom to find. She has striking feminine features. Her cheek bones are high and they and her defined brow bones/perfectly shaped arched eyebrows frame her eyes perfectly. Her hair is dark. Almost black, but has a tint of auburn in it in the light. She is an angel. In fact, when she
is in the light, it literally looks like there is a gold halo resting on the crown of her dark hair. Then there is the famous streak of silver grey hair that she has in her bangs. She's had it since high school and I love it. I have always wished I had one. It fits her personality. Soft and subtle and classy with a streak of wit and moxie and pizzaz. She has a strong, fit body with olive skin that I have always been envious of - especially in the summer when it browns so nicely.
I guess that describes my mom physically...but to describe her in any other way would require words that I simply don't have, so my experiences will have to do and you can piece together what she is like. I love watching my mom sing in the church choir - she has the softest smile and her eyes light up and she glows. She believes the words she sings. She praises through song. My mom is the best back-tickler out there. She does it in a way that soothes tears and calms the heart. My mom is funny. Sometimes the comments she makes surprise me and just make me roll! She is spunky and has opinions and will surely share them...in the right time and place. My mom has always made things special. From Christmas candy and our big Yule Log dinner to family vacations or boating trips. My mom is mighty in faith. Firm in her beliefs and unmoving in her love of the Savior. She has always taken opportunities to share the truths that she knows with her children and grandchildren. In small moments, she will remind us of a scripture or a quote that will help us through the day. In other moments she full on testifies of the principles of the gospel and of the living Savior Jesus Christ. More than anything, my mom testifies through her example. She knows it. I have no doubt that she knows this gospel is true. I have been able to lean on her faith and her testimony many times through my life. If I tell my children and grandchildren one day, what the greatest thing I learned from my mother was...it would be to have faith. To hold on to the Savior, to be hopeful because He lives and loves us, to move forward in hard times because "our future is as bright as our faith." That the Lord WILL guide us, but we must be willing to move - that we must be strong on trudge on too. She has always let me cry to her, but usually at the end of some melt down she reminds me of what I need to do next, or how I can make my situation better...then leave the rest to the Lord. Then she reminds me to choose to be happy - that it is a choice. My mom is determined to keep her covenants. She would crawl to keep her covenants. I realized the other night while talking to her, that my fixedness in the gospel and my beliefs - my unmoving stances - come from her. She is steadfast. A pillar.
I remember one time when I was a teenager, my mom and I got into a bit of an argument (my fault of course), and she later told me how her mother always stayed calm. She said that if she could be half the woman her mom was she would be pleased. Well Mom, I haven't told you this, but I often think of Grandma Hazel, your mother, watching you from across the veil as you make her chocolates, sew pretty things and share your testimony, and I
know she is proud. Grandpa too. If I grow to be half the woman you are, I will consider myself pretty accomplished and talented.
Dad. First thing I think of when I think of my dad are his hands. I
love my daddy's hands. The are strong and worn from age and hard, hard work. Yet they are gentle and kind and clean. When I think of my dad's hands I think of the countless amounts of time he has spent serving others with those good, Christ-like hands. My dad serves my mom, he serves us kids, he serves the ward, he serves the people he works with, he serves strangers, thus he serves the Lord. If there is anything I think my dad has taught me and exemplified so wonderfully, it is the importance of being kind - of having charity - that tenderness and sensitivity is something to be strived for, not ashamed of as the world might believe. We cannot serve enough. Whether it is his insisting on staying after a church meeting to help put up chairs, or drive miles and miles to see me when I've had a rough college day, he always puts himself last.
Even though my dad is a tender man, he is definitely a manly man too. He works hard, long hours in our yard fixing things and trimming things and cleaning things and lifting things. Many a time I have come home from school on a Friday afternoon to find my dad sweaty with dirt marks on his face and leaf trimmings in his hair. He is tall and skinny but built and strong. His brothers have guts, but he has always stayed lean. I have always had people tell me how well he ages too. Hopefully since that is the case with both of my parents, it will be the case for me. He has calm blue eyes and light brown wavy hair. He has combed it the same way since before I can remember. In the sun, you can see hints of red in his hair - both on his head and in his facial hair if it is long enough. He has freckles on his face and arms. They come out mostly in the summer, but they aren't really speckley freckles like mine. They sort of blend together making him look like he has a nice tan. People tell me I look like my mom sometimes, but I definitely have my dad's coloring and that unmistakable "Russon look." I like that I have my dad's eyes. Apparently I have his jokes too. Oh, my dad's jokes. They are such "dad" jokes. You know the kind - punny, semi ridiculous little comments here and there. Sometimes they include a swearword or two (it's probably the most righteous swearing you'll ever hear and coming from my dad you would only be able to laugh yourself silly). Sometimes I'll roll my eyes at jokes he makes...then I'll catch myself telling the exact same one a few days later. I am my father's daughter, that's for sure.
Dad is extremely talented. He has a tenor voice that could calm you amidst the fiercest of storms. I still ask him to sing me to sleep sometimes. He shares his voice in the Tabernachle choir, but never misses an opportunity to just sing with his family. He shares his testimony through song. Truth exudes from him when he stands up and sings. He loves to cook and come up with strange concoctions - sometimes we approve of them and other times we let him know that he doesn't ever have to make that particular meal again. He is creative and clever. He is a wordsmith. My love of words and writing comes from him. He is a romantic and tells me to dream and imagine and believe in all the good magical things in the world.
I am a daddy's girl - his baby girl. He reminds me, through his love, how much my Heavenly Father must love me. Dad, you have set the standard. You will be my measuring tape. You have exemplified the kind of man I want to spend forever with. Thank you for your blessings, tender hugs, hard work, and your testimony.
I could go on and on about the different lessons my parents continuously teach me everyday, but there simply isn't enough time or space. But from the voice of their daughter, people will know that my parents, Scott Chatfield Russon and Sherry Gibb Russon are people of God and they are happy because of it. They change the world and I thank my first Father everyday that He gave me to them.
