Yesterday, my kids went back to school. Tony did not. He did this instead.
This isn't necessarily a new job for Tony. He grew up on the ranch and has been spending his summers working on it for the past 13 years. It's just that it's September now, and for the past 9 Septembers, he's been welcoming kids back to school. He enjoyed teaching and was good at it. He has a special way with kids, and is especially good with the kids he worked with in his profession as a special education teacher.
But after nine years, he was ready for a change. This decision was not made hastily, and it wasn't an easy decision to make. But we've known for a long time that it is a decision we would most likely make someday. To explain how difficult and slow-coming this decision has been (for me, anyway), we need to go all the way back to my teenage years. Those who knew me in high school often get a kick out of the fact that I'm married to a rancher. That was NEVER the plan. I didn't grow up on a ranch, and I had no intention of ever living on one...or so I thought. I wasn't a city girl by any means, and I always wanted to live in a small town. I just couldn't see myself ever living on a ranch. I couldn't understand the draw and felt like it wasn't for me.
Then I met Tony. I found out right away that he grew up on a ranch, but he was going to college to be a teacher, which is the only lifestyle I knew, and I loved it. And I loved HIM. Almost immediately. We both wanted to live in a small town, and we had so much in common with our interests and our goals. I suppose I knew somewhere deep inside that I might end up on a ranch, but I married him anyway. And I am grateful every single day for that decision.
Tony began his teaching career right here in his home town, and we built a house on his family's ranch right away. It didn't take long at all for me to love living on the ranch. (You can read more about that in a post from six years ago
here.) But I was still very happy with him only working summers and continuing to teach.
A little over four years ago, Tony's dad ran for Governor of Wyoming. At that time, Tony approached me asking how I would feel about him quitting teaching and starting to ranch full time if his dad were to win the election and move to Cheyenne. It really takes at least two people to run the ranch, and they would be left very short-handed if his Dad were to move. I didn't like the idea, but agreed that we needed to think about it and pray to find out if it was right. I did pray, although hesitantly, and had an answer come to me through some song lyrics:
"Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last."
I remembered all the previous times of uncertainty in my life, and I knew that Heavenly Father had always provided a way for things to work out. I knew I had received an answer....but it wasn't the answer I really wanted. I was scared of change. I didn't know all the details. I loved my life just the way it was. I wanted to have my next ten years written out for me, every detail, before I could be okay with this big of a decision. Every time I thought about this change, I cried.
It turns out that he didn't win the election. Nothing changed. And I was grateful. But I knew this decision would come up again sometime. I decided we would think about it again once our youngest child was in school and I could get a job, maybe even one that would provide health insurance. I liked the control I felt with this type of thinking. I would be able to put it all on paper and plan for it years in advance. Then I could move ahead with the change.
Obviously, my youngest child is not in school yet. In fact, our youngest child has not even been born yet. And I don't have a job. So clearly, something changed in me during these last few years. I suppose it started as I saw Tony go through some difficult challenges in his job the past few years, both in teaching and coaching. There were many nights that he just seemed physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. He still got up every morning with a smile and headed off to work, always doing his best. But I felt like something had changed. Something was lacking.
At some point during the past school year, Tony told me that his parents would like to go on a mission sometime in the next few years. He wondered if we might be ready to take over working on the ranch when they were ready to go. I hesitantly agreed, figuring I had some time in the "next few years" to figure out some concrete plans. By spring, Tony said he was ready to make the change as soon as I was. I told him I think this needed to be a matter of prayer, and he agreed, but said he had already prayed about it and had his answer. But he also made sure I understood that he saw this as a joint decision and that we would not make this decision unless we both felt it was right. Once again, I felt overwhelmed at all the unknowns, but decided to pray about it. I understood how badly he wanted to ranch, and I did want him to be happy. But I also wanted to do what was truly best for our family, and details like income, insurance, and retirement kept me feeling uneasy about things. As I prayed, I didn't feel any answer at first. We finally got to the point where we needed to make a decision very soon so the school district would have time to hire somebody if Tony were to resign. That week, we went on vacation. I had a lot of time to think about things, and we discussed this decision from every angle. It was finally on the long drive home that I got my answer. It came in a strange, unexpected way. Tony was just talking about how much he loved the things they do in the fall on the ranch and how he hadn't been a part of those things since he was a kid. As I listened to him talk about the ranch in that way, and I looked at his face, I had an overwhelming answer. I had never felt such a strong desire for his happiness. And I also realized how much happiness I felt when he was truly happy. The emotion hit me so hard I started to cry. The decision was made that day.
I couldn't deny the answer I had received, and I knew it was right, but the controlling part of me was still struggling with all the details of it. Then I read this quote from Elder David A. Bednar.
"Assurance and hope make it possible for us to walk to the edge of the light and take a few steps into the darkness—expecting and trusting the light to move and illuminate the way. "
I knew that is what I had to do. I didn't need to see the end from the beginning. I just had to trust my answer, walk to the edge of the light, or what I knew, and step forward again. And the fulfillment of this promise has been overwhelming. The light truly has moved along with me and illuminated the way through every decision. Our biggest worries have been resolved, one by one. And each time it happens, my confidence in our decision grows even stronger. This truly is what is best for Tony and for our family, and I am grateful for the lessons I have learned through this process.
I can already see so many benefits of having Tony be a full-time rancher, none of which can be measured in any concrete way, but that are even more important to me than insurance or retirement. Perhaps this is the biggest one.
Brady LOVES to be with his dad, and now he can...a LOT! He goes out with him almost every morning, and often stays with him most of the day. He loves every minute of being with his dad. How many kids get that kind of bonding time with their dad? And since I would love for my sons to become just like their father, I can't imagine a better way for them to learn from him. I even went with them today to do chores. We talked and laughed and just enjoyed being together. And as I left the two of them to go back home, I looked in my rear view mirror. I saw Tony hoist Brady up onto his shoulders to head to the hay field, and they shared a smile that was more than a smile. It was pure joy. My assurance was strengthened yet again. Through my tears of happiness, I looked ahead into the bright sun, and my path was truly illuminated.
