Yesterday I was in a frenzy making a pile to go to our local charitable donations center.
It feels so good to know I'm going to shed a few clutter pounds.
Late in the afternoon, before leaving up to our friends' ranch in the mountains for dinner and a group family home evening, I gathered the kids around me to read stories. When Benji heard we were going to read he said something like, "I've been waiting for this." This kid is so spunky but often surprises me with his sweet spirit and tenderness just below the surface.
On our way up the canyon, Isaiah came out with this, "Did you know that when Jesus was put on the cross, Mary was right there?" And then he asked, "Why did they put Him on the cross?" We turned down the music and talked about how it was to fulfill prophecy, that prophets thousands of years before knew He was going to come, and knew how He would die. He could have died another way, but this was how it was foretold to happen.
Then, last night, after eating a meal, we gathered around to have a gospel discussion. After that, my favorite thing happened. We sang three Christmas carols together. We were a mix of folks -- in age, background, vocation, personality. A cattle farmer. An entrepreneur with a young, thriving business. A boutique/home decor store owner and her husband who serviced furnaces before he retired. A business manager. An accountant. A professional musician. Mothers and fathers and big kids and little kids and babies and grandkids. But everyone? Friends. Some there could carry a tune, others would say that music isn't their strong suit. I sat by my neighbor who grew up on a ranch. He's been a cowboy all his life. Wears cowboy boots and wranglers every day. Can think of ways to use and re-use things over and over, and will give you the shirt off his back. I'd never heard him sing before. It was a lovely thing to sit and hear all of us together. I felt something then. It was sweet and gentle, unifying, and strong. I knew what we were singing was true, but I was touched by the sense of brotherhood and love that was so tangible in the air.
We got home late.
Pajamas, teeth brushed, stories, scriptures, prayer.
I went and tucked in sweet little Miss.
She wanted me to sing her a song and cried until I slipped back into her room.
I sat on her bed and sang her a lullaby I learned from my sister, singing it with her daughter and her guitar.
Then I went in to check on my boys. They were still awake, one about to slip into Neverland for the night.
I sang them the same lullaby. My favorite lines?
"It's time to kick off your walkin' shoes," and "Dream that you have wings to fly."
Then I whispered that they were nincumpoops, a word I recently taught them that they find quite amusing.
"Ya little nincumpoops."
To which Isaiah responded, "You're a BIG nincumpoop."
And I said, "You're the stinkiest nincumpoop."
I walked out.
And then stuck my head back in and said, "Pee-yoooooo!"
(Eruption of giggles.)
Sometimes I enjoy them so much.
Feel so aware that this time is magical.