By RaeJean Spencer Hasenoehrl
“Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven
Blossomed the forget-me-knots of the angels.”
These words, written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in 1849, first captured my attention when I was a freshman in high school. My imagination fancied angels dancing through fields of green, with blue forget-me-knots magically filling the footsteps the angels left behind. My vision was fanciful — fitting for a young teenager.
A few short years later, as a teenager on the brink of adulthood, my innocence began to open its eyes to the impact others have on our lives. I began to realize how beautiful and true Longfellow’s words really are.
On a sweltering day in September, 1987, I moved into my first apartment at Weber State College (now Weber State University) in Ogden, Utah. As a brand new college student I was excited to start a new scholastic adventure and elated to finally be living on my own. I loved my parents and my sister, but at the ripe old age of 18, it was time to be on my own.
My feelings of joyful independence lasted until approximately 9:17 p.m. that same day. Sure, during the earlier daylight hours the thought of living on my own was exciting and I had enthusiastically helped my poor parents trudge up and down several flights of stairs as we brought my precious belongings from my little girl home in the country to my grown-up home in the city. But after the goodbyes were said, the nighttime hours brought my heart and mind to a brand new place. A brand new, very lonely, very scary, very homesick place.
My new home housed five appartment-mates. I had met two of them that day. One was a residence assistant who had her own bedroom and was working that night at the main office. The second lived in the bedroom next to mine. She was off visiting a friend in another apartment. A third appartment-mate was expected the next day. As for my roommate, well, her belongings were present, but she had yet to make an appearance. I was left on my own in a new place, bound by a sudden shyness that kept me confined to my room.
As the evening droned on, I fluffed my pillows, rearranged the pencils in my desk, checked the telephone to be sure there was a dial tone, then checked the phone again. I organized my sock drawer, checked my class schedule, counted paperclips, and finally gave in to homesickness.
Pajama clad and lonely, I shut off the lights, cuddled into my quilt and allowed myself a good cry. Homesickness was a terrible thing, especially when your family lived a whole 35 minutes away.
That’s when Lynda, a college senior and my new roommate, entered my world. Shortly before midnight, this whirlwind of a woman reworked my homesick life.
I don’t remember Lynda’s exact words to me that night, but I do remember that her words formed the longest and fastest run-on sentence I had ever heard: “Hi I’m Lynda and I’m your roommate sorry I wasn’t here earlier but I had a babysitting job what are you doing in bed it’s not even midnight we should go meet all the rest of the girls in the building so get out of bed get dressed let’s make Kool-Aid.”
After I processed her lightning-speed introduction, we headed to the kitchen, whipped up some lemonade, and went on a Kool-Aid Run throughout our building.
After delivering Kool-Aid to the rest of the girls who had moved into the building that day, Lynda and I returned to our room, sugar rushing through our veins. It was well into the early morning hours and, despite the euphoric effects of meeting new people, I was completely exhausted. We chatted a few minutes longer and prepared for bed. As I drifted off to sleep I marveled at how this vibrant young woman knew just how to make me and several other new college students forget our anxieties and feel welcome in our new neighborhood.
Within the space of two hours, Little Miss Lynda had planted dozens of forget-me-knots in the meadows of heaven and in the meadows of Weber State’s campus.
The next day I learned that Lynda’s family had nicknamed her Cherub. I had known the girl for only a few hours and could already see her nickname was a perfect fit. My new roommate had a sparkle in her eye that naturally drew people to her. Before noon, several people dropped by our apartment for a fun reunion with Lynda. By week’s end, it was obvious how Lynda’s compassionate nature influenced those around her.
A few weeks later, I returned from class to learn that a girl from another apartment was meeting with Lynda in our bedroom. No problem. I grabbed a snack from the pantry, headed for the kitchen and, like any dedicated collegiate, commenced playing a game of Uno with my friends. Two hours later, when my legs were numb from sitting so long, I decided it was time to study. Unfortunately, the books I needed were in my bedroom and Lynda was still in there talking with the girl. I could hear crying and didn’t want to disturb their discussion, so I found something else to study. Namely, the dinner menu. At long last, my roommate and her new friend, Sharaun, came out of the room. I could tell they had both shed tears. I later learned that Sharaun’s grandfather had passed away that morning and she had been devastated by the news. Her roommate had tried to comfort her and suggested she meet with Lynda.
The two met and Lynda comforted Sharaun with words from the scriptures, words of her own experiences, and words of simple love. She helped a total stranger bare the intense pain of grief. Lynda planted more forget-me-knots in heaven. And in a new friend’s heart.
Lynda’s pattern of compassion continued on. There were countless times that she set aside her studies to help a friend with a problem. Sometimes she offered a solution to a concern. Sometimes she offered words of encouragement or comfort. Most importantly, she offered her time to simply listen.
By now, the fields of Weber State’s campus were filled with Lynda’s forget-me-knots.
To this day, Lynda plants forget-me-knots in the lives of others. She spent several months serving an L.D.S. mission, dealt with the death of her father, married a fine young man, gave birth prematurely to a beautiful little girl, learned that she will never be able to conceive more children, made plans to adopt children, and continues to serve in her church and her community. Throughout all this, Lynda has suffered terrible pain from a chronic illness. Yet she endures, planting seeds in God’s many gardens.
Lynda’s forget-me-knots continue to blossom in my mind. When I feel discouraged or see someone who could use a lift, I dust off my precious memories of my dear friend and try to plant a few forget-me-knots of my own. I may never measure up to Lynda’s beautiful example, but it’s nice to know that I can share her seeds of love, compassion, and respect in my own little corner of God’s eternal garden.
