______________The Orme Forum_______________

I come to town June 30th! Yeah!!! I am looking for a friend to run the Canyon to Canyon Half Marathon on July 12th. Dan and I did it last year. It is a beautiful dirt road trail running along a river up above Emigration Canyon. (Jane, Jodi, Marian, Alta, Jen,.....what do you think?) Summer, I know you are running 5 marathons this summer. I'm not quite there yet, but you inspire me to want to get there one day. (I'm not so sure I'll ever get there to be honest.) It would be awesome to get a big group together.

My poor neglected sister Katherine Nebeker Harvey has felt very neglected on my blog. She scolded me the other day for not having pictures of her. Here she is tenderly stroking her sweet husband Thomas. Sorry Kate, I don't really have any pictures of you. We will have to do a little photo shoot of you with all your different poses and faces.

This is Josh in his "Sidekicks" class. This is the day he received his white belt. His teacher is Miss Kim. I think Josh has a crush on her.

This is Lake St. Clair, two miles from our house. It is awesome when there are sailing races. Isn't it beautiful. It brings me back to my wind surfing days in Grenada. That may be one of the weekly activites I miss most.

Here is the swimming pool down the street from us where Josh takes swim lessons. I wish it was warmer weather right now so that we could enjoy it more. I feel like we haven't even hit summer yet and June is almost over!

I love you Dave! We had a great weekend. Jessie, James and their three beautiful children drove up from their new home in Akron, Ohio. Lynnette and Geoff also came up for some action with the grandkids. I will post pictures soon of Jessie's 1 month old, Naomi, and her favorite cousin Tyler (3 months now). Josh, Will, Jake, and Maddie tore my house apart in the first 5 minutes and it has been a whirl wind of excitement until one hour ago when they left. We LOVED it though. Jessie and James are such awesome inlaws. We are so excited they live only 3 hours from us now.

OK, now, about Father's Day.....Dave assigned ME to speak in Sacrament today. In fact, I was the only speaker. Oh well, it was an honor to speak about my father. I thought I would share some of my talk on my blog. Those of you who know me, know that I love my dad very much. And those of you who knew him, know why I love him so much. Feel free to skim through it because it is quite long.
My father was born in 1953.
He grew up in SLC, his early childhood was in a house on Capital Hill. They then moved onto 2nd Ave and my grandma still lives in that home today. My grandmother had 9 kids. She had three girls before my dad came along. He was named Richard after his father. His middle name is Kimball after his great grandfather Heber C. Kimball. My grandfather, who went by the nickname Dick, came from a Mormon heritage, although his parents did not remain active in the church. My grandfather never served a mission in his early years because he was sent to Switzerland to fight in WW2 in the 10th Mountain Division. The experiences he had there changed him as a person forever. He watched many of his very best friends die, and he had a difficult time talking about the war when he returned. He was a strong, courageous, and hard working man and returned from war deaf in one ear from being too close to an explosion. He met my grandmother soon after he returned and they were married in Jackson Hole Wyoming. My grandma is a Smith from the Hyrum Smith line. Her father, Andrew Smith was son of Joseph F. Smith, son of Joseph Fielding Smith, son of Hyrum Smith. My grandma’s mother died when she was just a little girl, and her father died when she was 19 years old. My grandma Ann is perhaps the greatest example of the type of woman I want to be. She has dedicated her life to her family, the gospel, and to serving people each day of her life.
My father was always taught to go to church as a child. He loved his parents very much. He told me that as a child he never remembers getting toys on Christmas, usually just some socks and shoes. There were a lot of mouths to feed and kids to clothe, but despite any financial strain, there were a lot of wonderful memories. The Nebeker’s who came out west with the Latter-day Saints were asked to settle the region of Bear Lake. My family still owns a large portion of the land on the north east side of the lake. That is where my father spent most of his summers at the ranch working with the family. Richard’s younger brother recalled, “Richard hoed beets, hauled rocks and cleared sagebrush harder than anyone else in the family.” His brother went on to say, “The Nebekers of Bear Lake were known for hard work and unlimited energy- Richard embodied that work ethic to his dying day.”
My grandfather’s greatest passion was skiing and snow caving. He would drive up to the top of Little Cottonwood canyon and hike all day and spend the night in a snow cave in what is now known as Albion Basin. As he skied down those slopes (this is long before there were any chairlifts or the Alta resort) he told himself, somehow, he was going to build a cabin in Albion Basin. A few years later there was a terrible tragedy in the family. His 2 year old daughter was run over by a taxi cab driver and killed. The Nebeker family was granted enough money in the law suit to build this dream cabin. The cabin is dedicated to my father’s deceased sister named Elisabeth. Our Alta cabin is perhaps my favorite place on earth. It is also one of the very first cabins built in Albion Basin and to this day still does not have a flushing toilet…just a scary black hole.
My father was a wild and rebellious teenager. He shared his father’s passion for skiing and spent many years ski racing at Snowbird. My father Richard had no fear when it came to skiing. He loved the thrill and excitement of flying down the mountain. The faster, the better. When he was in Jr. High, he took a jump up at Alta that landed him 170 feet from his take off. He didn’t anticipate that much distance or speed and when he landed, there was no more slope, just hard packed snow on the trail. He landed flat on his back. When my grandma received the phone call from the ski patrolman my grandma said in a tired voice, “So which one did he break, his arm or his leg?” There was a very long silence and the patrolmen said, “I’m sorry Mrs. Nebeker, it is his back.” He had a compression fracture of several vertebrae and was put in a cast that went from his neck to below his hips. He spent several weeks in the hospital and had his cast on for about 4 months. That sounds like it could have been the end of his skiing career, but it was only the beginning.
Although he was probably one of the most wild and troublesome boys at East High School, somehow he managed to date one of the most wholesome and naïve girls…my mom. They fell in love when she was only 15 and he was one year older. They dated all through their high school years and were married shortly after his mission. My mom was the one who helped keep him in line most of the time. He would be out drinking and partying with his friends, but he knew if he did something really stupid, he was going to have to deal with her the next day. I can’t imagine my mom dating someone like that. She never had a taste of alcohol or did anything that was not in line with the gospel. Despite the poor choices my father made, and the friends he chose to party with, she couldn’t resist loving his cute and teasing personality. She fell in love with his red hair, freckles, and sense of adventure. And that is where Tyler gets his red hair.
As high school was drawing to an end, my father told his mother one day, “Mother, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think I will ever serve a mission.” Although he went to church nearly every week, his heart was not into it. Around this time, his mother said to him before Sunday school in a gentle way, “Richard, every week during the Sacrament service and during Sunday school, you sit on the very back row. When you sit on the back row, you are not really a part of the meeting.” She said, “Just try sitting up front and tell me what you think.” After church that day he said, “Mom, you are right. It is a whole different experience sitting in the front rather the back. I actually felt like I was learning something and a part of the meeting.” She said from that day, he never sat in the back of church.
When he graduated from East, all of his friends wanted to go to Mexico and have a huge celebration. My mom asked him, “You really want to go with those wild friends down there? You know what they are going to be doing the whole time. Are you going to be good? I can not trust you when you are with those guys.” Despite my mom’s efforts, he went to Mexico and lived on the beach for a week. Something happened to him though. My grandma could not explain it exactly, but when he returned, he was different. One morning in Mexico on the beach, he started cooking pancakes. As he was cooking pancakes for his friends, these little Mexican boys and girls would come and peek and he knew that they were very hungry. He invited them to come over and have a pancake and he would pour syrup and butter on it. The next day there were three or four little children eager for a pancake. Each day more and more children came back and my father fell more and more in love with these beautiful children. He went down to Mexico with the intention to party and mess around. But instead, he absolutely fell in love with the people, the language, the culture, and in a lot of ways, it opened his eyes to a whole new world. My grandma said he came home with a more loving heart, a desire to be better, and more of a focus in life. It was shortly after that he announced to her his decision to serve a mission. He left on his mission only 3 months after high school graduation. It was as if his life turned completely upside down overnight. None of his friends had the desire to serve. He left all of his past behind him and truly dedicated himself to the Lord for two years.
My dad’s passion for missionary work far exceeded that of skiing or anything else he had done in his life. He gained a powerful testimony of the Book of Mormon. At last he had found himself spiritually and just as the sons of Mosiah, his only desire was to share the truth with all who would hear it.
My father spent two years serving in the Toronto, Canada mission. His last companion remained a close friend with my dad for the remainder of his life. I love this story that this companion, Mike Glauser illustrated at my father’s funeral. This occurred a year of so after his mission.
“One summer day we drove up to the Highline Trail near Mirror Lake and began hiking into the Rocky C Pass. It is a sheer granite face, it’s one mile from top to bottom, and to ascend it you have to zig zag along a series of very steep switch-backs. Richard started off this hike just as furious and fast as he could go and I kept up with him wondering how long he could keep this pace up. A couple of hours later we got to the Rocky C Pass and Richard didn’t stop. I said, “Richard, it’s been a couple hours, maybe we could sit down and look at some of these beautiful trees and rest before climbing up this one mile mountain.” I will never forget his response as I was behind him and he was in front. He said, “We are not stopping. You’ve got to finish anything you start in life stronger than you start out.” He then drew a marvelous analogy between hiking up the Rocky C Pass and making the goal of the celestial kingdom. He said that the last part of our eternal journey would be the very toughest and most people would want to sit down and rest and they would thus miss the opportunity. He said if he did everything in life hard to the very end, he felt like he would be able to develop the character necessary to achieve that ultimate eternal goal.
Mike Glauser and my father had the opportunity to be assistants to the President of the mission. His mission president was Elder Russel M. Ballard. Elder Ballard kept a watchful eye on my father through out his life. My father turned to him during some of his most challenging times later in life. My dad truly could not have had a better mission president.
At my father’s mission homecoming, all of my dad’s high school friends who still could not believe that he would serve a mission, came to church to see the “new” Richard. My grandma told me that my father spoke plain and bold words directly to his old friends. He said, “There is no drug or substance that can give you the high that comes from the Spirit. If you want to go on a real high, go on a mission and you will experience a greater feeling than anything you can imagine.” The majority of my dad’s friends never did turn their lives around, and that was sort of a reminder of where he would have been, had he not served.
My dad’s love for missionary work and the gospel continued strong for the remainder of his life. He never lost the adventurous and fun loving side to his character, but he now had a deep love for his Savior that he shared openly with all who knew him. A few Sunday’s ago, I gave the Sunday school lesson on Alma the Younger. At the close of my lesson, I shared my testimony that related to my father. Just as Alma the Younger had sinned in his youth and had a shocking and sudden turn around, my father also had a powerful conversion that took place in a very short period of time. I wish my dad was still around so that I could ask him in more detail about what changed his heart. However, I do have 4 journals that he kept through out his life that bare witness of his love and devotion to our Lord Jesus Christ. How priceless is that to be able to read his words as often as I would like and be strengthened through his testimony??! His journals have been a great source of peace and strength in my life. It keeps my memory of him strong in my mind.
My parents raised three children, myself as the oldest. My parents went through a lot of ups and downs in their marriage, but they worked hard to make it work, and I know without a doubt that they always loved each other despite the challenges. My mom became very sick when we were just little kids. It took a few years to figure out what was wrong, but she was then diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Because of her illness, it actually drew me closer to my dad. My dad played Mr. Mom most of the time. I vividly remember him making our breakfast in the morning, getting us ready for school, and somehow squeezing in a chapter or just a few verses of the book of Mormon before we headed out the door. My father took the 3 of us skiing nearly every Saturday, and it was on the chairlifts when he would teach us valuable lessons of life. My dad loved my friends as if they were some of his own daughters. While in high school, he took us on some of the most memorable vacations I have ever had. Mountain biking in Moab, hiking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, Lake Powell trips on our houseboat, and ski trips at Sun Valley Idaho and Jackson Hole Wyoming.
My father had more enthusiasm, energy and creativity than any person I knew. In my eyes, he was on top of the world and totally invincible. Then came the shocking announcement that my father had Leukemia. There are moments in our lives that always remain perfectly vivid, and this was one of those moments for me. How in the world could my father have cancer? I never remember him having a sick day in his life. Our family went through a whirl wind of emotions as we saw him go through Chemotherapy, Radiation treatment, and a Bone Marrow Transplant. Something that I haven’t mentioned in this talk which was a huge part of who Richard Nebeker is; is his jovial sense of humor, and love for practical jokes. Even when my dad was so sick, he still loved to make other people laugh. Instead of watching his hair fall out slowly, he went to the barber and had the woman shave around his head to write the words JAZZ. Then she dyed his hair bright purple. That night my dad went to the Utah Jazz Basketball game during the playoffs and cheered for his favorite team on the 3rd row. He made the news that night and shared briefly his experience with Leukemia. After shaving his head completely, he thought it would be funny to get a shocking reaction from neighbors that came to our door by attaching rubber darts to his bald head. They would come in and see him in his chair with 5 darts stuck to his head. They would ask in a confused and nervous tone, “Richard, how are you doing?” He would point to his head and say, “I am having a rather bad day.” Then, he started to laugh. This was his way to lighten the load as well as everyone else’s.
The transplant was successful, but in the end it was the graft virus host that got the best of him. He died on January 24, 1997, less than a year from the time he was diagnosed. In his obituary it stated, “Richard had such a passion for life that it was said of him, “he packed 150 years of life into 43.” I truly believe that.
My father’s last days in LDS hospital were shared by Elder Neal A. Maxwell who was also undergoing Chemotherapy just down the hall from my dad. Elder Maxwell regained his strength and lived for another 7 years. During that time he showed my mother love and kindness through cards, gift basket’s every Christmas, and occasionally would stop by our house to say hello and see how she was doing. We as a family felt so blessed to see first hand what a caring and sensitive apostle of the Lord he was. David and I also felt honored to have him be the man to seal us in the temple together as husband and wife.
Last January was the 10 year mark of my father’s passing. I have grown a lot in that time period. Life goes on, and I stillfeel a closeness to my father as if he were still here. I feel close to him through his journals, letters and pictures. I feel close to him when I am up in the mountains, or skiing down our favorite runs. I feel especially close to him during times when the spirit is strong, either in the temple, through music, or through my personal prayers. Just as my Savior Jesus Christ lives, my father also lives and we will meet again.
As I mentioned earlier in my talk, my father was devoted to missionary work his entire life. Earlier in the week I called my mom and asked her to share some missionary stories with me of my father, or thoughts relating to his mission. As she started reading letters he had written and notes from his mission journals, at first I was frantically jotting down notes trying to capture his inspiring words. I couldn’t keep up and I became frustrated trying to write it all down, so I sat back and started to really listen. All of a sudden I was overcome by the spirit and deeply touched. There was something that became crystal clear to me; perhaps the greatest of all my dad’s qualities, was this... my dad loved people. He loved all people. That is what made him an outstanding missionary and friend. It didn’t matter the age of an adult or child, the color of skin, the language, the financial or social status, the educational background, the culture or spiritual differences, or the clothes they were wearing. He looked at people and saw their unique potential and he truly and deeply loved them. As my mom continued to read, I became humbled. I thought, “I need to be more like my dad in this way.” I do love people, but not to the degree that he loved people. Without charity and the pure love of Christ, we are nothing. I committed myself to have more love for each person I come in contact with daily.
I do not feel I was cheated by losing my dad when I was only 18. I feel tremendously blessed to have the father I have. I have even come to the realization that I am grateful that he passed away. That is a very hard statement to make and truly mean it. Sure, I wish more than anything that he was here to play with my kids, and to be close to my husband. But most of all, I wish he was around to talk with. But, I know that I am who I am because of my father’s life. And, I am who I am because of his death. I do not know how I would be different if I never had to learn and grow without him over the last 10 years. I know that I would not be who I am today if I did not experience the pain and heartache of losing my father. I am grateful for all that I have and all that I am. I owe so much of that to the lasting influence and example of my father. I can’t wait to see my dad again.