If the way be full if trial...

I had eggnog on my oatmeal this morning. It was lovely. It reminded me of Grandma Wanda, who once served me oatmeal with vanilla icecream when we went to visit them while they were serving a mission in Nauvoo. I wish I could call her today for some sensible advice with a touch of cantankerous-ness about this transient lifestyle I find myself living.  These first few weeks in Oshawa have been hard.  I currently have two children upstairs crying, and my mom can tell you that our once lengthy conversations are cut shorter and shorter these days by children needing me.

On the other hand, I have had my senses sharpened to seeing the kind things people do for strangers.  I guess they're easier to see when you are the stranger. I try to collect lists of these things I see people doing for me to remember that I'm not alone, even here.

I think part of the advice Grandma would give me would be a song her family sang while driving on one of their many cross country moves.  There was a lot of talk of this song leading up to her funeral, but I was a bit out of the loop as I had to miss the funeral since Elsie was born that week. One of my sisters brought it up again when the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang it at General Conference.  Since then, I find myself listening to it the way some people would drink a glass of wine at the end of a long day.  Only I don't stop at once and there is no hangover. 

Unfortunately, I'm neither techy nor patient enough to figure out how to embed the video from a mobile device, so you'll just have to click this link to get your hit.

If the Way Be Full of Trial