Christmas Blessing

I'm going to blog about the holiday at our house, but haven't gotten that far yet.

Late last night, at the end of a full Christmas Day, I scooped up this little person from off the boys' floor (she'd fallen asleep there while we were reading The Penderwicks on Gardam Street). 

I carried her into my room and laid her down on my bed where she always sleeps. And then I got in bed, pulled that peacefully-sleeping-bundle into my arms, and just held her for a few minutes. 

It was quiet and I felt peace and gratitude. 

I had only been lying there a second or two when I thought, 

"This. This moment of the whole day." 

And my next thought flowed to God:

"Thank you. Thank you for this."

xoxo

Comfort

There's a Deb Talan song I love called "Comfort."

One of my favorite lyrics from the song goes like this:

"In days to come, when your heart feels undone,

May you always find an open hand---

and take comfort wherever you can."

Life has been kicking my butt the last couple of weeks and there have been lots of tears around here, and not just mine.

I have felt defeated.

Exhausted.

Stressed, worried, and sad.

Sometimes I've felt like I'm failing, and I want so much to do it right - especially for my kids, because I adore them.

I've snapped, and I always hate that version of myself.

And you know what else?

It's hard to watch your people when they're struggling and going through hard things, too.

My shoulders have felt really heavy and weary.

And even though I feel assurance that current worries will work out -- it always does and God is good -- I've had a couple of weeks where I feel like it is all I can do to get through the day with anything left.

I feel so emotionally depleted, and I find myself wishing I could be more and do more, and that I always had the right answer or perpetually responded with patience and love.

I've broken down and sobbed in front of my children, and I always feel bad about that, too.

But this is life, right?

Up and down, round and round.

It's one big mix of everything: good and bad, hard and soft, happy and sad.

I suppose that's what makes it such a ride.

And I'm grateful for the (many!) pieces of comfort I find along the way.

Like on Sunday evening.

My heart had been touched that day.

And when we came out of church, it was partly cloudy and windy.

But, just 4.5 hours later, when I looked out to the street, the wind was blowing hard! and it was snowing.

The deck was fast getting a fresh blanket of white.

New friends had unexpectedly stopped by, and because we talked for a while, I found myself doing the dishes later than usual.

I turned on some music, scraped plates, rinsed dishes, loaded the dishwasher, swept the floor, wiped things down. The kids were hanging out and we were taking note of the storm.

And in the middle of the cleanup, my phone beeped.

It was a text from my sweet neighbor, Ralph.

He's 85 and one of my very favorite people, a blessing I've counted again and again in my life.

And it just said this:

It made me happy that he would text me about that; that we have conversations about the weather or food or ice cream or a gospel snippet or hot peppers or gardening or our mutual love of chocolate or books or poetry or our families or some piece of music. Sometimes we slip in a four-letter word here and there and laugh. I love him. So much.

But what he didn't know was that my dad and I would often talk about the weather---especially snow storms. It wasn't uncommon for him to call me on a snowy morning, early, to see if I'd seen the fresh flakes yet, or for us to talk on the phone about a pending storm.

Somehow getting Ralph's text felt so familiar, and like a sweet, tender mercy from a man who is another father to me. 

Even writing about it now makes me cry.

Or the gift of sunshine today.

I have had several long (and hard!) conversations with my children lately.

And at the end of yet another one, and more tears, 

we spent some time outside.

The sun was shining and I lay down on my back on a blanket in the back of the yard, closed my eyes, and felt the sun on my face. One of my sons was talking to me and this little gal promptly went in the house, grabbed a blanket and pillow, and came and parked herself beside me.

I dished up bowls of ice cream for all of them and we sat there talking. 

And I soaked in that golden peace.

And then?

I started reading To Kill A Mockingbird with the kids last week.

I haven't read it since I was a teenager, and I've pretty much forgotten everything except that I loved it.

Reading it tonight, I was laughing out loud. 

We all were. 

Harper Lee, I love your writing.

And my children are loving your writing.

And as I switched the laundry tonight, I found myself feeling peace then, too.

Even though I don't know how things will sort out, there is a familiarity in these tasks that grounds me and makes me grateful, even if the tears seem to keep coming. These simple things connect me to my heart and what really matters there, and the people I love the most.

And after everyone was tucked in tonight, I came upstairs and heated up water, brown sugar, butter and salt, and mixed it with flour and yeast. Then I added some wheat flour, turned it on to the counter, and began to knead while listening to a favorite tune in the background.

There's something really comforting about predictability:

I know that if I combine flour and yeast and water and salt, a little butter and a little sugar, turn it out and don't add too much flour, something good happens. You get a beautiful-feeling dough that's absolutely right: just sticky enough, but soft and smooth.

And I know that no matter what else is hard, when I open the page of a book and begin to read to my children, we all feel peace.

It's like what Ralph said:

Open the drapes.

Watch.

Keep your eyes open.

There is always beauty to be had.

And I find comfort there.

I love him so

 After two truly craptastic mothering days (they should fire me!) and some other current stress, I was grateful for the gift of today.

I awoke and texted my sisters, wishing our dad a happy 70th birthday.

I mixed yogurt with chopped fruit and berries and raw oats and nuts as light came in the kitchen windows. That was happy. (And yummy.)

And you know what?

Today, the sun shone. 

Even though it was cold, the sky was blue! (Blessing!)

I took valentine decorations off my mantle and put spring up in its place while listening to the Weepies and Claire requested a Tim McGraw song she loves.

(And yeah, if you're in Utah, I know what you're thinking: there's snow outside. But maybe forsythia and boxwood will encourage the outside world to follow suit.)

Late in the afternoon, the girls and I drove to dad's grave to put some flowers there.

When we got back, they headed out with their dad for a while and I went out on a run as light was slipping from the valley. It was dark by the time I got home.

I mixed cake, lit candles on the mantle, and sat down to do some work.

The kids came home, and while we waited for the cake to come out and then cool off, Claire and I sat on the couch singing "The Wheels on the Bus," and then I whistled various tunes and she'd guess the songs.

We put 4 candles in dad's cake (cuz...70!), sang Happy Birthday, dished it up with ice cream, and read together.

And as I go to sleep tonight, I'll talk with God about how grateful I am for a gentler day: for those bright yellow rays that brought hope and joy, for my children, for the opportunity to learn and try again and apologize, the chance to be humbled and see my faults, and for being able to run and move my body. I'll express gratitude for a warm house and food to eat.

But also, I'll thank God for the blessing of a kind and wise father and friend. 

I love him so.

Pocket of Joy

When I walked upstairs this morning, it was to blue skies and sunshine.

One of the things I love most about my little house is all of its windows.

I opened the curtains and light came spilling in.

And then, I noticed that my red geranium on the table, the same one I stuck on my father's grave last year, was opening a new bloom.

I saw the hint of it the other day, little clusters about to open.

But that red wasn't there last night.

The whole thing---the light, the new flower, the sky---felt auspicious to me, and I noticed it immediately.

It felt, somehow, like a good luck whisper---as though I'm about to round a bend and find a road beckoning with light and hope and happiness and joy. 

Then, as I was going to blow dry my hair, I overheard Claire at the kitchen table saying to Mia, "I have to get this thing situated," followed by, "I just have to situate this," and her vocabulary usage kind of made my day, too.

And when I walked out onto the deck, the girls came out and went running in the sunshine, soaking in the 50-something-degree temp and I heard Mia yell, 

"This is AMAZING!"

And it really is.

We can all feel it.

So, me? 

I just found a pocket of joy, and I'm gonna ride this wave all day and let my heart soar in that flight.

And you?

Whoever you are, and wherever you are:

I hope you're finding your happy, too.

Sometimes Miracles Happen

I have wanted something for years, and it just happened.

Sometimes miracles happen.

At the beginning of April, a friend (who is really my brother) and I tackled the last corner of my yard that has been an eyesore forever.

We turned over the ground (with Mia and Benji, too) so it could be the new home of the garden.

We (that's the royal we, cuz it was Brian) dug out the slate pavers that ran along the back side of the what-was-currently (then) the main section of lawn and replaced them as a border along the side of the new garden plot.

Then began the process of rebuilding the new lattice (Brian again), and we began leveling the old garden space to make way for sod.

Last week we spent three evenings doing prep work: getting out all the spring weeds, digging back a whole section of crabgrass and shaking as much of the dirt out as we could, and then raking.  We relocated the rhubarb plant, and my was that an experience.  I had never seen the underside of a well-established rhubarb plant before, and in a disturbing way it kind of reminded me of an octopus.  The root system that plant had was incredible, and in just six short seasons since I planted it, its rich roots were thick like huge, spongy, orangish-red carrots.  

It was a bit freakish.

Then, last Saturday, we finished the prep work of raking and leveling, and then put the new sod down.

And I haven't been able to stop staring at it whenever I've been in the yard since.

It seems surreal and somewhat miraculous that I no longer have a big, weedy patch of earth in my backyard that totally overwhelmed me.

And the real thing of things?

I've decided that miracles are the hands and hearts of those who love you.

They give, when there was no way it would have happened if you'd tried alone.

They offer without expecting a thing in return.

They ease the burden.

They make you laugh.

They help you create something beautiful.

They are the miracle.

The baffling, beautiful, surprising miracle.

And I feel completely undeserving, along with a whole heap of gratitude in my heart every time I look at that little piece of green out there.

And also, rhubarb makes a yummy pie.

Just sayin.

Saturday Blessings

On Saturday I got up and ran five miles and then went to choir practice.

After choir practice, the rest of Saturday ensued: Costco, grocery store, making the mortgage payment, stopping at the orchard.

Back home, I began the process of putting everything away and dumping some things in my fridge, but not before putting these lovelies in a vase and making a home for them on my table.

The sun was shining and it was warm (for February) out.  I opened my back door and the French doors in the living room, some Civil Wars playing as background music through my phone.

I kept looking around me at the golden light filtering in through the windows, and those tulips.

Those tulips!

I've always loved fresh flowers.

Always.

But at this time of year, tulips remind me of my dad.

He often brought tulips in the springtime, for no reason at all, and they graced our table.

The snow was (basically) melted off the deck and my heart felt light.

And then, I filled my fruit bowl: with clementines, orchard apples, avocados, kiwi, lemons, pears, and mangoes.  

The bananas wouldn't even fit in the bowl.

And the word that came to mind was abundance.

Oh, wait.  

Two.

Abundance and beautiful.

And then?

Gratitude.

But these tulips?

I've been looking at them all week, every time I turn around, savoring.

I'm grateful for their bright, simple, elegant gorgeousness.

(!!!!!)

In fact, it's reminding me of a scriptural phrase we read this morning around this same table, that even Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these.

But it was talking about lilies of the field.

But whatever.  Same diff.

And, for the record, I totes agree.

Joy

I drove home tonight with a full heart.

I had been at a rehearsal where I felt joy and so much gratitude, and afterward, found myself in conversation with a woman I'd never met before, who approached me to tell me how much they had loved my dad.

I cried, and she cried.

And as I drove home in the dark, back to my neighborhood to pick up my kids from some friends, the two beautiful things of the evening blended into one.

In a very pointed way, I felt like other hands, specific hands, are both involved and hovering.

And, in a way I haven't felt since he has been gone, I found myself wishing I could call my dad.

I wanted to share my joy.

I wanted to share my heart.

I wanted him to know how lucky I feel, how grateful I am.

I wanted to thank him, hug him, shout in my excitement.

I can't adequately articulate the feeling.

And in a way, I felt that he knows, and that he feels it, too.

And it was all in joy for this.

Isaiah spent a good couple of hours yesterday sketching this and then painting it after we'd talked about it that morning.

I love this painting.  

So much.

This building has special significance for me from when I was a child.

We were there for conferences, like so many others, and I remember always sitting up in the balcony.

It also was home to some late night Christmas Eve services, letting out at midnight, those first early, early minutes of Christmas mornings.

I remember the day that it burned down, being so dismayed and sad.

And I also remember being in dad's basement when President Monson announced that it would be completely restored and dedicated as the second temple in Provo City.

I remember we sat there, looking at each other in astonishment upon hearing that news.

And here we are, just a couple of months away from its dedication. 

When I watched this movie that the church put out about the project, I was moved. 

The interior (from what I could see of it) was stunning.

It recalls, in so many ways, the style of the original building -- the woodwork, especially, caught my heart.

There is so much that I don't even begin to understand about temples.  And really what I understand mostly comes from what I have felt in my heart and not something I know in my head.

But, I'll say this.

I absolutely believe in hovering hands.

I believe that love is constantly active, on both sides of the veil.

I know those hands and that love, are real -- not just something sweet that we talk about.

And I believe that these structures are symbols of that love.

Life Moves On

Last Friday, we spent a good chunk of time outside cleaning up leaves.

 Benji and I were busy raking the backyard, and Little Miss was watching us and walking around, occasionally dragging a rake across the yard.  The others helped too, and everyone jumped.

As we were working, I found myself thinking back to these photos from two years ago.

And when I look at these photos, I see my baby who was only almost 1.

And I know my heart was still breaking because my dad had just died.

There was evidence of death all around me as the leaves swirled to the ground to rest.

And the children played in them, which was (is) beautiful, the living and the dead still entangled.

And I held Claire's hands as she toddled around.

And I can't really figure out how it is that holes heal, but somehow they do, even though they leave you changed.

And I can't handle the sting that my baby is going to be three.  Because, truth is, I yearn for another one.  And feel so much gratitude to God, who sent this baby at a time that has maybe been the most excruciating of my life.  My, the sunshine she has brought.  I know, at least in part, why she didn't come when we had initially hoped for her.  

She was needed now.  

For everyone.

And all I really have to say is that all of it, all of this, all of these thoughts, make me wistful and happy and sad and grateful, all at the same time.

To Guide Us In These Latter Days

Just over a week ago, we got to listen to a general conference of the church.

It happens twice a year, and these weekends have become places of rest for me---rest, renewal, peace, strength, and love.

This time as I listened, I felt conviction, and I felt God's love in personal ways.

I heard messages that strengthened me, words I needed to hear.

Here are some pictures from our conference weekend, complete with waffles, conference books to take notes in, activities as we listened, fried chicken and mashed potatoes, caramel apples, lighting our first fire of the season to sit by while we read Summer of the Monkeys in the cool darkness of night, with the door open so we could hear the wind rustling out in the trees outside.

And, interspersed between the photos, I've put just a portion of my favorite quotes from conference, with links to the talks that they came from.

"Scripture says, 'Search diligently, pray always, and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good.' This doesn't mean all things are good, but for the meek and faithful, things---both positive and negative---work together for good, and the timing is the Lord's.  We wait on Him, sometimes like Job in his suffering, knowing that God 'maketh sore, and bindeth up: he woundeth, and his hands make whole.' A meek heart accepts the trial and the waiting for that time of healing and wholeness to come. ...in order to have a healed and faithful heart, we must first allow it to break before the Lord. 'Ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit,' the Lord declares.  The result of sacrificing our heart, or our will, to the Lord is that we receive the spiritual guidance we need."  (Sister Neill F. Marriott -- for full talk, go here)

(she has a new-found love of dumping out glue)

"The Holy Ghost doesn't tell us to improve everything at once.  If He did, we would become discouraged and give up.  The Spirit works with us at our own speed, one step at a time, or as the Lord has taught, 'line upon line, precept upon precept,...and blessed are those who hearken unto my precepts,...for unto him that receiveth I will give more.'...Humbly ask the Lord the following question: 'What is keeping me from progressing?'  In other words: 'What lack I yet?'  Then wait quietly for a response.  If you are sincere, the answer will soon become clear.  It will be revelation intended just for you. ...The Spirit can show us our weaknesses, but He is also able to show us our strengths.  Sometimes we need to ask what we are doing right so that the Lord can lift and encourage us."  (Elder Larry R. Lawrence -- for full talk, go here)

"Dating is the opportunity for lengthy conversations.  When you date, learn everything you can about each other.  Get to know each other's families when possible.  Are your goals compatible?  Do you share the same feelings about the commandments, the Savior, the priesthood, the temple, parenting, callings in the Church, and serving others?  Have you observed one another under stress, responding to success and failure, resisting anger, and dealing with setbacks?  Does the person you are dating tear others down or build them up?  Is his or her attitude and language and conduct what you would like to live with every day?  That said, none of us marry perfection; we marry potential.  The right marriage is not only about what I want; it's also about what [he]---who's going to be my companion---wants and needs me to be."

(p.s. Loved this quote.  But, it also is strange to be in a situation where dating counsel applies to me again.)

"A wonderful Church member recently told me, 

'I didn't raise my children on money; 

I raised them on faith.'"

(both of those quotations were from Elder Hales' talk -- for full talk, go here)

(Activities: note taking, snacking, drawing, engino building, Mia and I making mosaic trees with construction paper)

"It is not only the prenatal carrying but the lifelong carrying that makes mothering such a staggering feat. ...most mothers know intuitively, instinctively that this is a sacred trust of the highest order. ...To all of our mothers everywhere, past, present, or future, I say, 'Thank you.  Thank you for giving birth, for shaping souls, for forming character, and for demonstrating the pure love of Christ.'  To all mothers in every circumstance, including those who struggle---and all will---I say, 'Be peaceful.  Believe in God and yourself.  You are doing better than you think you are. ...I can pay no higher tribute to anyone."  (Elder Jeffrey R. Holland -- for full talk, go here)

"...to effectively serve others we must see them through a parent's eyes, through Heavenly Father's eyes.  Only then can we begin to comprehend the true worth of a soul.  Only then can we sense the love that Heavenly Father has for all of His children.  Only then can we sense the Savior's caring concern for them.  We cannot completely fulfill our covenant obligation to mourn with those who mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort unless we see them through God's eyes.  This expanded perspective will open our hearts to the disappointments, fears, and heartaches of others."

(Elder Dale G. Renlund -- for full talk, go here)

"...we need women who know how to make important things happen by their faith and who are courageous defenders of morality and families in a sin-sick world.  We need women who are devoted to shepherding God's children along the covenant path toward exaltation; women who know how to receive personal revelation, who understand the power and peace of the temple endowment; women who know how to call upon the powers of heaven to protect and strengthen children and families; women who teach fearlessly."  (Elder Russell M. Nelson -- for full talk, go here)

There are lots of things I'm not sure about, many questions I can't answer.  But one thing I feel positive about, deep down into my bones?  

There are prophets of God on earth today.

I know this.

I feel it when they speak.

Their words bring peace, light, direction, truth, and blessing to my heart.