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Elya Yelnats is Stanley 's no-good-dirty-rotten-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather.

150 years ago, Elya Yelnats was in love with the empty-headed but beautiful Myra Menke . Madame Zeroni told him to forget about her "Her head's as empty as a flower pot." She suggested he go to America, where her son lived.

2 months before Myra's 15th birthday (in the novel), Igor Barkov had offered his fattest pig for her. Elya tried to woo Myra, asking Mr. Morris Menke for his daughter's hand in marriage. Unfortunately, Mr. Menke would only marry his daughter to the man who offered the biggest dowry, such as Igor Barkov's fattest pig. Elya's "Heart full of love" only made Mr. Menke laugh. "I'd rather have a fat pig!"

Madame Zeroni's own pig had given birth to several piglets but the littlest one, a runt, was too small, and the mother pig wouldn't feed it. Madame Zeroni gave that pig to Elya Yelnats, and told him to carry the pig up the mountain, let it drink from the stream, and sing it the If Only, If Only song. Also he had to do the same for her, so she herself could get healthy. Elya had to do this for 2 months. He carried the pig up to the stream and sang the song as it drank. As the pig grew stronger and bigger, Elya himself grew stronger and more built. According to the novel, Elya didn't want to carry the pig up to the stream on Myra's 15th birthday, so he took a bath instead, because didn't want to smell like a pig when he presented his offering. So the pig was the exact same size as Barkov's offering.

He brought the pig to Morris Menke. As the pig was the same size and weight as Igor's pig, Mr. Menke decided to let Myra decide which one she wanted - Elya or Igor.

Instead of being able to decide on Elya Yelnats, or Igor Barkov - Myra, being empty head and no substance, asked which pig weighed more. Since they were the same, she tried `thinking of a number' to decide.

Realizing he's wasted his time with that `flower pot', Elya declared "Marry Igor! You can keep my pig as a wedding present!" He tore up the flowers he brought her and left.

Despondent, Elya Yelnats took Madame Zeroni's advice, signed up aboard a ship as a deck hand, and got free passage to America, to meet Madame Zeroni's Son. Per Stanley Yelnats II "But the dummy forgot to go back and carry Madame Zeroni up the mountain!" By the time Elya remembered his promise, he was already halfway out to sea.

Madame Zeroni warning Elya about the curse
"If you forget to come back for Madame Zeroni,you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity."

He eventually married an American woman named Sarah Miller, and taught her the `Pig Song'.

The Yelnats family was cursed with bad luck for 150 years, but his great great grandson Stanley Yelnats IV lifted the curse by carrying Zero (Hector Zeroni) up to the stream on God's Thumb and singing If Only If Only in a soft voice.

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Stop being a butthole wife. No, I’m serious. End it.
Let’s start with the laundry angst. I get it, the guy can’t find the hamper. It’s maddening. It’s insanity. Why, why , must he leave piles of clothes scattered, the same way that the toddler does, right? I mean, grow up and help out around here, man. There is no laundry fairy.
What if that pile of laundry is a gift in disguise from a God you can’t (yet) see? Don’t roll your eyes, hear me out on this one.
The day my husband left earth for Heaven, all of my marriage problems vanished. There was no one to fuss at, negotiate with, or play possum at bedtime (you know, when you pretend you’re asleep to bypass sex).
Marriage is designed to be a reflection of Christ’s love for His people. It’s supposed to be beautifully harmonious and intimate . How often I screwed that up with bickering and manipulating. I wanted a perfect husband who acted how I wanted, and if that didn’t happen, well, butthole wife was in full effect. If only he could understand how right I was and how wrong he’d always be. I needed to instruct him, question him, and remind him of his shortcomings. After all, I was his “helpmate”.
The reality is, I wasn’t helping him or our marriage.
By pointing out each fault, I was poisoning the relationship. Oh, it was still a good marriage and we deeply loved each other, but it was not what it could have been.
Days after his funeral, I stared at our dirty clothes basket that sat atop our dryer, knowing his clothes were inside. I sighed so deeply. Before me was the last load of laundry I would ever wash for that sweet man. There would be no more dirty socks to pick up around the house. Ever.
A week before I would have rolled my eyes at that basket. But now, it held priceless treasures. I waited weeks to wash those clothes. My heart ached for dirty socks to once more be a part of my days.
Those messes dotted around the house are reminders of God’s gifts to us. Like Jesus, we have the opportunity to demonstrate love by serving those we live with. And the last time I checked, not a single person is perfect. How many times had my husband kept quiet, listened, and endured? He shared no list of ways that I needed refinement. He simply loved me.
Those clothes were painfully cleaned and boxed away or donated. The tears countless.
But God, the Lover of my soul , in His infinite mercy, later gave me a special gift. He has allowed me to love again, to wear a second wedding dress, and to be a better wife.
I married a wonderful man. I am still a butthole wife, but I am working on edifying the man who provides for my sons and me. I now strive to hug more and nag less. My goal is to make him feel respected, important, valued. I want to live love.
Recently, I walked into the master bedroom and I stopped, nearly bursting into tears.
As I stared at the pile, I smiled. I knew he had hurried to change out of work clothes into comfy clothes so he could spend time with his new family. He had chosen what is more important. I happily scooped the treasures into my arms and carried them to the washing machine.
I get to do this! I get to serve! I get to live with a wonderful man who ditches laundry for people.
“Let us not become weary in doing good.” Galatians 6:9
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Debbie is a mom to 4 boys (Paul, Brad, Andrew, and Joshua, or “PBAndJ” for short). Unexpectedly widowed in 2012, Debbie’s world was turned upside down. Clinging to God, her stay-at-home mom days in suburbia now demanded a paying job. Instead of returning to the classroom, she decided that Chapter 2 of life meant pursuing her passion of all things fitness and nutrition. She enjoys helping women look and feel their best. Debbie remarried in 2014 and lives in North Carolina.
This picture came up in my Facebook memories today. It took my breath away for a moment, just like it has for nine years now. It was the last picture taken of me before my midwife found the lump and my life changed forever. The first time I saw that photo, I realized I didn’t know that woman anymore. She was naive. Laying there in the sun without any inkling that a cancer was growing inside her. Look at her—unafraid and without anxiety. Less than 48 hours later, she would be gone, replaced by someone who was afraid of each...
When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness, and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys. -Baroness Orczy I sat in the sand at the edge of the shore, looked out at the vast Atlantic Ocean, and watched the waves change the landscape with each crash. I absentmindedly dug a hole in the sand next to me, but then a wave came. The hole filled first with water. Then, wet sand caved in. The surface of...
Dear Noah, Caleb, and Micah: I can’t believe it’s been nine years since I held you in my arms. My sweet sons, losing you broke me in a way that I never thought was possible. I have loved you every second of every day since we first heard of your pending arrival. RELATED: A Letter to my Daughter in Heaven With each day that you have spent in eternity, my love for you has grown exponentially. I have a vision of the day we will hug once more. I imagine that by then, my heart will have expanded so much...
I attempt to swallow. My heart is in my throat. I hold back tears. The woman who stands before me is 36 and looks a lot like me, but is not me. I squeeze my arms, pinch my thigh to make sure. I don’t wake up. “Hello.” Her voice is soprano and nasally like mine. Her black, Farrah Fawcett hair frames her round face. We are the same height. We share the same eyes. The same smile. The same white teeth. The same nose. The same long legs. She wears a baggy t-shirt with white-washed jeans, the kind that are...
She couldn’t speak, yet her life spoke to so many. 317 days she was on this earth. She couldn’t speak . . . only one word she said before she passed. One precious word: “Mama.” I can still hear it clear as day. I remember the moment she was born. I looked at her daddy with tear-streaked cheeks, shaking as I heard her cry. The nurse said, “You have a baby girl!” and I was in such awe. I looked at her daddy whispering, “We have a baby girl.” I was in complete adoration. From her dainty little fingers to...
My husband has been married to at least five different women—and they’re all versions of me. His first wife was the 21-year-old version of me, who was a fit and focused college athlete. She was a driven, perfectionist dream-chaser. She was ready to push and sacrifice to chase the dream. No challenge was too hard—but then again, the hardest thing in her life was her organic chemistry final. She had the eternal optimism that comes with naivety and innocence. She loved him with eagerness and couldn’t wait to build a life with him. He often still daydreams of this first...
Each phase of life since my mom died has brought different struggles, triumphs, and varieties of emotion. I always knew that grief was lifelong and complicated, however, I definitely underestimated the ways in which it changes as time goes on. I remember the beginning years as survival mode. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through each day until that day had passed and I was on to the next one. It was figuring out who I was and what my life was going to become during this awful new normal. Some days were harder than others and...
“I think we can all agree that this is not fair.” My sister, Kari, was referring to our elderly mother as she addressed my oldest daughter, Chelsea, and me. Chelsea was holding both of her grandmother’s hands with her own as my mother slept fitfully. My mother was terrified of being alone, and this was pretty much the only way she was able to rest. “There is pain that is physical and pain that is psychic,” she continued, “and one is not worse than the other.” Our mother was in mental pain, and we wanted it to stop. When my...
Life after dealing with death is hard. I’m no longer the person I used to be. I’m motherless. This motherless life is hard. I need time to grieve, but I also need time to find myself again. I need time to mourn the life I’ll never have anymore. I need time to process. I need time to process the fact that my mother is gone. I’ll never have new memories. My kids will never have new memories and people expect us to pick ourselves back up. I can’t pick myself back up quickly after losing my mom. I’m still trying...
That was not the plan. What just happened in there? We walked out a bit defeated. More than a bit. I felt deflated. Things were supposed to be different by now. This wasn’t what I asked for or expected. This wasn’t even what they told me would happen. We cross the street in silence. Headed to the car and as soon as I shut the car door, I could no longer hold it in. I let the tears flow. All this unknown. I don’t understand. This is life. This is foster care. This is what we chose. That doesn’t make...

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