Summer Night Wonder

You take perfect when you can get it,

and I caught it and held on tight tonight.

We went for a walk at dusk.

The western sky was gorgeous: pink and golden and dappled, and there was a breeze.

My oldest son has been loving on me lately, and tonight he grabbed my hand when we started to walk and he didn't let go.

I looked at Claire's cute outfit and watched her cute little bum as she walked in typical determined fashion in front of us.

Mia wore the shirt she made recently and sparkly shoes.

The boys were barefoot.

We were sharing some of our favorite memories, and we ran through a whole stretch of sprinklers a few blocks from our house.

(See the sprinkles of water on my shirt and Claire's?)

And then.

We walked a half mile to the river and the boys were commenting on how much lower the water is compared to in the spring. 

All of us walked over to see, and Isaiah and I saw it at the same time.

A beaver!

We've lived 5 blocks from the river for almost 8 years, and I honestly couldn't tell you how many times we've walked this exact stretch of road. 

But we've never seen a beaver before!

We watched him paddle around in the water and Claire, upon seeing him, exclaimed, 

"Oh my gosh, he's gigantic!" 

He settled in on the opposite bank with a stick. And even over the water we could hear him chewing it as we watched him, facing us, holding it in his hands, nibbling away. 

We stood there for a long time 

in complete wonder, admiring.

(Curses! that I couldn't get a good shot of him.)

And then, we walked home, resolving to drop in at his house tomorrow for another look. 

Claire requested we hit the sprinklers another time and we did.

The sky was stunning, and my son grabbed my hand again and held it all the way home.

Summer, I am loving you.

A Perfect Day

You know, once in a while, you're granted a perfect day.  

And I guess there are different perfects.  Sometimes it's the perfect where you want to shout in joy.

Other times, it is as though you are wrapped in peace, in quiet gratitude, joy and awareness.

Such was Sunday.

The morning dawned with sunshine.

We got to church, and I found my heart full -- from reflections, from the text of the music, from the beauty of faith, from sharing with people I love and the community I feel there.

I came home and shared a precious moment with one of my sons -- one of those moments you hold close in your heart, and all you can feel is gratitude and peace and joy and faith, brimming, and budding.  We both sat in the school room in tears.

After making scratch spaghetti sauce, I sat on the deck in the sunshine and eventually, about 5:00, we headed to the cemetery to walk.  It was quiet, the sun's lengthening shadows stretching across the lawns, shining brightly on some gravestones and casting shadows elsewhere.  

And it was there.

I walked along, watching Benji kick a ball all the way around the mile loop, alternately throwing it up into the air.  Sometimes it came my way and I kicked it and he'd go running.  

I watched Isaiah, swinging the arrow that he found up the canyon the other day, walking up on ledges, singing and making noises to himself.

I watched Mia push the stroller, regardless of whether Claire was in it.  She'd get in briefly, but then get out to stroll again, holding my hand, and I held her for a brief spell, too.  

I was caught up in the beauty of it -- of the quiet, the evening, the way everyone was just enjoying time together, and it was so peaceful.  I don't know how else to articulate it.

I guess I felt aware of time.

The beauty of that glorious hour.

And as I walked with them, 

it felt quiet in my heart.

And I keep looking at this photo that we asked someone to take of us and feeling happy:

these two boys who are fast gaining on me, and soon I'll be the one that's shorter, 

these boys that now offer me glimpses of the men they're going to become.

And it's crazy.  And also awesome.

I don't know how else to say it except that I can sense their masculinity.

And then there's the small one, ever the ham.  Her zest for life is contagious, and this photo of her is absolutely perfect.  

It's her.  

100%.

And on my left, there's this beautiful girl.  

I keep looking at her smile here -- so genuine and full.

She's such a beautiful person.

We came home and had warm spaghetti and then read The Lord of the Rings (we're on the third and final book -- almost there!).  

After I'd finished cleaning up, this kid came upstairs and sat down next to me on the couch.  We admired his toothless mouth, 

 and then cracked ourselves up (literally bursting out loud laughing) as we took funny selfies.

 And after they were in bed, I got to talk with an old friend, read, and write for a bit.

My house was quiet, candles and low lights and beautiful music.

Life is a series of things you tuck away in your heart,

and I'm grateful for these little bits and pieces I'm collecting. 

Favorite Places

 Lately, at night, when the house is quiet, I frequently find myself out here.  

A long-time friend and I spent the better part of June refinishing the deck---sanding for hours, laughing a lot, and then staining it one night, racing against the light.  Then, we hung new deck lights.

It's my new escape place.

Last week I sat out there talking late with my mom one night, both of us wrapped up in blankets during a fantastic windstorm.  We talked above the wind running through the huge trees and laughed, too.  She said a one liner that had me in stitches.  It felt good to laugh like that.

A couple of nights later, a friend of mine wanted to talk, and she and I stayed out there til almost 1:00.  We talked about life and some struggles with her son and his wife, about trying to recognize your best efforts, about being kind to yourself.

I frequently sit out there and play guitar, and have done that with friends too.

Sometimes we're out there talking.  

Sometimes the sprinkler is going in the background.

The kids and I have loved reading out there, and ice cream cones.

Or, like last night, when I escaped to the back lawn with a couple of blankets and a pillow and lay there.  Eventually I pulled the plugs on the lights, and lay there in the dark.  I was feeling really low, and I had some questions for God as I wiped tears from my eyes.  

And then, it was punctuated with some encouraging texts from a friend, and some texts that were timely because they made me laugh out loud.   

I don't think you need a lot to be happy.

I don't need a big house or lots of money or lots of things.

I need beautiful, peaceful places.

Time for quiet.

People I love.

Ideas.

Music.

And maybe some good food.

Peace In That Room

Every day is crazy.

There's noise and chaos, laughter, impatience, lots of cleaning up -- lots of sweeping the floor, putting stuff away, preparing food.

There are conversations that matter and conversations that don't.

Soft voices and loud voices.

Moments you could repeat again and again, and moments you'd prefer to forget.

I can see ways I am blessing my children, and ways I am sure I am ruining them.

It's a big, beautiful mess that just keeps moving.

But sometimes that crazy focuses, even for just a minute.

Last night I had some friends over for book club.

We didn't discuss one word of the book, but we talked a lot about other things.

And when they left, my boys ran upstairs, still not asleep -- tho they should have been.

It was after 10:00.  

They pilfered from the snacks on the table and ate a red candy heart.

I turned off all the lights, except for the candles that were burning in the front room.

I wanted to listen to a piece again that I was introduced to at Christmas time -- one that has stopped me with its beauty.  When I sit and listen to it, it lulls me into stillness.

I got to share that with my boys last night.

They ended up grabbing their pillows and blankets.

One of them sacked on the floor, the other on the couch.

I turned it on and we sat there, in the dark, with flickering light, and listened to this gorgeous piece with Latin text.

They were silent, and so was I.

I went down to get my pajamas on and the baby woke up.  She came back upstairs to nurse on my lap and I replayed the piece again.  I told them we would listen one more time and then go to bed.  

By the time it was over, I looked at my sons.

They were both fast asleep.

I watched them sleeping,

sat there soaking it in.

And, above all the other beauty that filled my day, 

that was the moment.

That time with my sons.

Enjoying beauty together.

Peace.

Peace was so thick in that room.

Beautiful music, quiet, wonderings and musings, reflecting on my people I came from, and then looking at my people after me, wondering what they will remember about their lives at home.

Feeling gratitude for the journey, with all its seasons.

Waiting on the Lord

I know.

I've said this before.

But.

I really love Sundays.

Sometimes, I feel like if I can just hang on with my hands or even my nails and teeth and barely skate into Sunday, my cup will be filled again.

I'm telling you -- I think it's my favorite day of the week.

 Last night I sat by the fire for a long time, writing and reflecting.

I listened to carols and felt totally hugged by them.

Elder Scott talks about how individual scriptures "...can become stalwart friends that are not limited by geography or calendar.  They are always available when needed. ...To memorize a scripture is to forge a new friendship.  It is like discovering a new individual who can help in time of need, give inspiration and comfort, and be a source of motivation for needed change."  (for more, see this talk)

I thought of that last night as I was cleaning up dinner in the quiet, and then as I sat there, writing.

Some of those carols are so familiar in my heart that they are old friends.  And the text of their message has lifted my heart and brought joy and peace to my soul on so many occasions that I couldn't count them.

The last several months have, possibly, been the hardest of my life thus far---while also, ironically, feeling undeservedly blessed in many, many, ways,

I have felt exhausted.

Discouraged.

Overwhelmed.

Sorrow.

Loss.

Evaluation of mistakes and regrets.

Painful introspection.

Cleansing.

Faith.

Struggle.

Finding hope.

Clinging to it.

Dependence on the Lord.

A lot of quiet.

Over the last week, I have found myself pondering this message:

"In the scriptures, the word wait means to hope, to anticipate, and to trust....To wait upon the Lord means planting the seed of faith and nourishing it...it means praying as the Savior did---to God, our Heavenly Father---saying...'Thy will be done'...Waiting upon the Lord means pondering in our hearts and 'receiving the Holy Ghost' so that we can know 'all things what [we] should do...[it] means to 'stand fast' and 'press forward' in faith, 'having a perfect brightness of hope.' It means 'relying alone upon the merits of Christ' and 'with [His] grace assisting [us, saying]: Thy will be done, O Lord, and not ours.'...In my life I have learned that sometimes I do not receive an answer to a prayer because the Lord knows I am not ready.  When he does answer, it is often 'here a little and there a little' because that is all that I can bear or all I am willing to do. ...We may not know when or how the Lord's answers will be given, but in His time and His way, I testify, His answers will come. ...Every one of us is more beloved to the Lord than we can possibly understand or imagine.  Let us therefore be kinder to one another and kinder toward ourselves. ...I express gratitude that 'in my Gethsemane' and yours, we are not alone.  He that watches over us 'shall neither slumber nor sleep.' His angels here and beyond the veil are 'round about [us], to bear [us] up.'"

---Elder Robert D. Hales, from his talk titled "Waiting Upon the Lord: Thy Will Be Done"

(For the full talk, go here.  It's a good one.)

I know that all of us have seasons like this in life.

In all of my processing, I have come around to these beautiful truths, again and again.

Ultimately, they are the place that I find rest.

God is kind and gentle.

The Savior's atonement is real and personal.

The things I have learned over the past year are deeply meaningful to me.

God is letting me learn, from my own experience.

Seriously...what a gift.

It's something I can't fully express adequate gratitude for.

Something I can't put a price tag on. 

Something I am consistently humbled by.

Indeed, He that keepeth Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. (Psalm 121:4)

December Traditions

We're expecting our own nativity around here any day, and it's pretty much all I can think about.

Today was spent cleaning my house: folding laundry, vacuuming, mopping the floor, cleaning the bathrooms, watering plants.

I love a clean house.

Mr. C. was out in the yard chainsawing fallen limbs from a snow storm a few weeks back.  The boys were happily helping him all afternoon: hauling wood, playing in a makeshift clubhouse he'd built them this morning in the yard while they were yet sleeping.  I am reminded quite often that he's a great dad.

Little Miss mostly followed me around and chatted throughout the afternoon.  Then we went out to walk for a half hour after I'd put dinner in the oven.  Isaiah went with us.  We walked our neighborhood streets and looked at the Christmas lights and chatted with each other.  It was peaceful and calm and I couldn't help but say aloud, 

"I love this time of year."

Last year, at the beginning of December, we started this tradition.

This year we're doing it again, but also adding something else into the mix.

Which necessitated my project of the last few weeks.

Made the pockets.

Covered each one with different Christmas papers.

Cut out squares for numbering 1 thru 24.

Glued on the numbers and hole punched each pocket.

Strung them together with raffia.

Strung it up underneath the holiday mantle.

 Selected advent readings for each day -- beginning with Christ being chosen as the Savior in the preexistence.

Tucked the readings inside.

Viola: the finished product!

The truly sweet part is what happens as we do this.

The natural questions that result, the testimonies that are borne, the spirit that is so strong in a room aglow with soft lights and warm, listening hearts.

It truly is magical.

After our scriptural reading, we read the first chapter from Dickens' book.

And you know what?

I remembered why this quiet evening ritual was my favorite part of December last year.

So happy to be doing it again.

Warm July Sunday

I love Summer Sundays.

I guess I heart Sundays in general, but this particular picture belongs to a warm July Sunday memory.

A few weeks back, after dinner, Mr. C. was cleaning up dishes and I was reading to the children on our bed.

After a book or two, my eyelids were so heavy I told him I just had to lie down for a few minutes.

He took the kiddos downstairs to read some more to them and tuck them in bed, but returned an hour or so later with this little Miss.

She wanted to lie down with me and he wanted her to let me sleep.

I called her over and let her lay down with me and she was out in about two minutes.

I loved laying there with her in the crook of my arm, right close to my body, watching her sleep, feeling the peace.

Summer Sundays and the peace that accompanies them is worth just about any price.