The Two Great Commandments

Spring has arrived, and I’m gonna try and articulate a thought that has been marinating in my head for several weeks. 

As a preface, let me say this: I’m a very active Latter-day Saint: church goer, temple attender, tithe payer, the whole 9 yards. I visit teach, I fast, and I serve in my callings. I LOVE my faith. And I love the organization of the church, for so many reasons.

That being said, I had two conversations back in February that are still with me. 

One was at a wedding, and the other was in the living room of a friend in the middle of the night.

I said something in both interactions that I’ve continued to think about, and I want to more fully express the thought here.

It goes like this:

At the end of my life, I don’t want to be evaluated by how many times I was in church, or whether I attended stake conference, or if General Conference was a priority in my life.

I don’t want somebody to look at my "stat sheet" and, if they see “good marks,” conclude that I must have been a good person. 

I find that completely offensive.

The Savior taught that everything hangs on two things: whether I love God, and if I love my neighbor.

I’m not saying that covenants and commandments aren’t important; Christ taught those too, and covenants, commandments, and prophets have made all the difference in my life. But as I think about my own spirituality, the piercing questions I ask myself come from pondering those two great commandments. 

Today, for example, I’m much more concerned about if I’m an ass in my interactions with other people, and if I'm actually looking out for my neighbor. Do I genuinely mourn with someone who is mourning? Have I learned to apologize when I make mistakes or hurt someone else? Do I care about another person’s feelings and perspective as much as my own? Do I try to elevate myself or focus on the contributions of others? Is my life about me, or is it about service? Do I practice honesty and live with integrity? Am I genuine in my interactions with other people? What are my motivations? Do I freely extend love, forgiveness, and compassion to others, recognizing that I desperately need those same things? Do I feed my ego, or do I live with humility?

These are the things I think about.

Questions like these expose how much I lack, and increasingly fill me with deeper gratitude for the Savior.

Christ’s example gives me one towering, upward-climbing ideal after another, and I am eternally grateful for the staggering gift of His atonement. He always inspires me to examine myself, start over, choose love and kindness, apologize, serve, humble myself, forgive, prioritize, recognize my own faults, and keep trying. His virtues are astonishing, demanding, and beautiful. But here's the thing:

His central characteristic is love. 

And at the end of the day, that's what it comes down to for me. 

At the end, I hope my life story reveals a simple woman who tried to LIVE what she believed, even though she was sometimes (frequently) an ass and she constantly fell short.

But even in the falling short,

she trusted in God's grace and found joy.

Easter Sunday

This Holy Week has been a time of reflecting with my tribe. 

Each day as we've read accounts of what happened on those same days anciently, we've filled our "Easter baskets" with tokens of remembrance: a leaf for Palm Sunday (which Claire holds and waves back and forth saying, "Hosanna! Hosanna!"); 

a temple picture that reminds us of Jesus teaching us to prize what is sacred; the piece of red cloth to remind us that He taught about the second coming during that last week---testifying that this wasn't the end, that His work spanned all time, and that He would eventually come again clothed in red; a coin because Judas agreed to betray Christ for 30 pieces of silver; a sacrament cup to remember the atonement and that it is personal; a nail to remind us of that first Good Friday and the crucifixion; 

a little Book of Mormon to remind us that, when in the spirit world, Christ organized missionary efforts so that everyone could share joy; and finally, a blossom for the resurrection, symbolizing that life returns, that death holds no eternal finality---and that ALL sorrow and ALL of the ways we feel broken are bound up and healed in Him. 

(Easter baskets!)

I know Jesus lives. 

No words can adequately articulate the feelings of my heart today, but I am so very grateful.  

(the boys in their Easter ties from their baskets -- and I LOVE! Isaiah's long hair)

(the girls and I sporting matching sandals -- Mia has wanted some ever since I got mine a couple of years ago, so the girls got them in their baskets)

Christ's light, His example, and His love make all the difference, every day, for me. 

(Egg dyeing)

 

(Homemade carrot cake with vanilla bean ice cream)

I am grateful for the peace that only He can give. 

(the flowering cherry in my front yard is killing it right now)

He is my greatest gift. 

Things I Know

One of my friends just met death in a close and personal way yesterday.

He had to say goodbye to his father.

For whatever reason, he has shared some of his feelings with me, let me in on his processing.

I've been grateful for that sharing, and for what it has prompted me to ponder again.

Over the last five days, as I anticipated, with him, the passing of his father, it brought to mind the entire experience of losing mine.

Of what I've come to know.

What I depend on.

What I trust in.

What I hold to.

And I guess that it's this:

Going through hard things intensifies your focus on what really matters.

The people you love the most.

The things that need to be said.

The memories you will cherish.

The moments that have defined you, made you who you are.

One of the things that really surprised me was the realization, once my dad was gone, that our relationship was absolutely intact.

An invisible barrier between worlds might be between us, but there was no barrier to the love that we share, to the strength of the relationship.

This brought incredible comfort.  
It was something that could never be taken away or changed.

And I realized that, because of Christ -- because of what He offers me -- I never had to ultimately say goodbye anyway.  

On Easter morning last week, I sat with my kids and read my favorite account of that long ago morning.

John chapter 20.

I read it every Easter Sunday, as morning light spills in.

But this time, as I read of Mary's encounter with the Savior, it felt really personal, as if I were Mary and He was talking to me.
Just as He did with her, I believe He would ask me similar questions: 
Why my weeping? 
What do I ultimately want?

I love how the simple declaration of her name brought recognition, and I imagine that astonishment, disbelief, and joy came flooding all at once.

But here's the thing:

I believe that He comes to my life, right now, with that same light, healing, and hope.

His gifts fill me with gratitude and praise and peace.

I stagger with astonishment and awe.

But, ultimately, my goodness.

I feel joy.

Joy because He is there to stop my weeping, and yours.

Joy because He knows us personally.

Joy because He lives, and that makes all the difference.
Death in all of its forms -- along with crushing disappointments, heartache, pain, sorrow and brokenness --- these things won't last.  

Despair will give way to light and life and possibility and joy.  
I know this.

Food for belly and heart

Easter combined with conference weekend this year.

Lovely pairing.

Conference means spiritual and physical feasting.

It's a feast to me for body and soul, words and calories that soothe my insides, my belly and my heart.

Saturday morning began with eggs and orange slices and homemade cinnamon bread and Bircher Mueslix, a Swiss thing involving yogurt and fruit and oats and nuts.

(We eat a lot of it around here.)

We gathered round the table to eat, just as the radio brought the Tab Choir right into our kitchen, as 10:00 a.m. rolled around.  

 She has serious orange love these days.

 Then, our front room turned into this as the kids engaged in various activities and we listened.

That evening, after the second session and dinner, we gathered round the table to dye eggs, the first time participating for the smallest nugget in these parts.

That night, before I went to bed, I set out what they would find in the morning, and took a few minutes to write each of them a note.

My kids know what I believe -- we talk about faith on a daily basis.

But I wanted them to know of my conviction of Jesus Christ on Easter morning. 

He's the reason; He's the celebration.

 Easter morning was Belgian waffles with cream and berries, bananas and nuts, orange slices on the side.

After the second session, we headed down to my sister's house for a family BBQ and a hunt for the kiddos.

We hung out and talked, played some cards, enjoyed being together.

Good things.

Happy things.

Traditions -- these roots we send down in action, memories that become some of who we are.

(And, it must be said...I personally love Claire's little red salt water sandals.  They're my fave.)

Holy Week

Folks that have read my blog for a while know that all the days leading up to Christmas, beginning December 1, are full of readings.

We do something similar around here for the week leading up to Easter.

I've blogged about that before, too, but have never listed readings.

Here's what we're doing this year, for those that have asked for it.

Eric Huntsman is a freakin' fantastic resource for this week.

Go to this post of his here.

If you scroll down to the heading in that link where it says "The Passion Week and the Resurrection," you will find links for each day.  I've chosen what we're going to do from this, but underneath the optional readings for each day, he also gives really great ideas for discussion questions related to the readings.  

I plan to use some of those ideas.

In any case, here's what we are doing:

Palm Sunday: Matthew 21: 1-11

Monday: Matthew 21:18-22, Mark 11:15-19, and Luke 19:47-48

Tuesday: Mark 11:20-26, Mark 13

Wednesday: Matthew 26:1-5, 14-16 (the plot to kill Christ, and Judas taking on the role of betrayer)

Thursday: Matthew 26:17-75 (The Last Supper/Gethsemane)

Good Friday: Matthew 27 (Being taken before Pilate, crucifixion, burial)

Saturday: D&C 138 (Christ visits the Spirit World)

Easter Sunday: John 20, Luke 24:13-40

I also love to watch the accompanying new LDS Church Bible videos after our reading and discussion.  The kids really like this too.  

Go HERE for those.

(Claire, after finding the egg earlier this evening.  She looked in the pitcher, saw it, and said, "I found it!"  

As an aside? I kind of wish I could just pinch myself and her cute blond bunches of hair would stay and that contagious smile would stay burned in my consciousness.  Forever.)

In any case...

Enjoy!

This is one of my favorite things.

Fills my heart with quiet, jubilant praise.

xoxo

Birthday Tea and Cathedral Going

Yesterday we gave thanks via celebration for this 

 thoughtful, 

quiet, 

faith-filled,

kind-hearted, 

sensitive,

good-to-the-core,

and loving girl.

It was the perfect day for birthday tea.

I made chocolate cake with mint icing, 

dusted with crushed peppermints.

The girls got in their finest and ate this while 

drinking hot chocolate with cream.

Last night, she and I headed to dinner 

and then to a Christmas Carol Service.

 It is one of my favorite traditions in December.

I was thinking this morning about how we call the week leading up to Easter "Holy Week."

At our house, it is a week of readings and focus, listening to a Bach passion, anticipating Easter morning.

I feel that this last week before Christmas 

also needs the title of "Holy Week."

It is easy to let December become a frenzy.

I want less commitments, less of a schedule.

Last night provided just such an occasion, 

even tho we were away from home.

Being in a cathedral, walls covered in gorgeous murals, 

the church all a hush and washed in low light.

Even though they sung some familiar favorites, 

this piece was probably my favorite that the choir sung.

The translation reads: 

Light, 

warm and heavy as pure gold, 

and angels sing softly to the new-born babe.

The other day I was listening to an old talk by Elder Maxwell 

and got this great reminder: 

"Each of us is an innkeeper who decides if there is room for Jesus!"

Amid the gatherings and the food (the chocolate!), 

lights and presents and preparations, 

I crave quiet---precious hours 

to reflect and process, my own moments to worship and praise and adore.

Claireberry Blue Eyes

Her daddy calls her 

Claireberry Blue Eyes,and oh my. 

Those eyes.

Yes.

This one.

I've had a lot of thoughts swirling as her birth day approached.

The other night, sitting at a Christmas concert, 

a memory came to me that I had forgotten from two years ago.

I had left everyone else at home and drove 10 minutes on a cold late-November night. 

Just me and this little one, my belly swollen and tight and expectant.

She was tucked in warm and I wanted her to come out.

I had gone home to help my dad decorate his Christmas tree.

He didn't know I was coming and I walked in the back door and called to let him know I was there. He was delighted I had come and we worked in the quiet together for a couple of hours.

We listened to carols---the comforting, familiar background soundtrack that accompanied all my childhood Christmases.  

(That house, that place, my people, my memories, my faith.)

In my mind's eye I can see my pregnant self, up on the stool, helping Dad string the lights around the tree.

Afterward, I sat stringing ornaments at the dining room table, 

the lights low in the house.

Just the two of us.

I had no idea, then, that it would be the last Christmas we would have---together, in the flesh.

It washes me in a beautiful, sad warmth as I think about it now.

And sitting there at the concert thinking, and in the days since, I have reflected on how I had no idea what was headed my way over the next couple of years that would be her first two on earth.  

The dam broke loose when this beautiful baby girl entered the world. 

One by one, struggle after struggle came, 

practically on top of each other.

But.

My goodness.

This little woman has been like a bright ray of sunshine

through so much pain and sorrow.

I know it's not on a global scale---but, like Mary, I feel like, at Christmas time two years ago, 

God sent me a beautiful baby that has lit up my world. 

She brought good cheer.

Because of her, I was pleading to God shortly after her birth, as we worried for her life.

Thinking about it now, it seems to foreshadow many 

tearful conversations He and I would have 

in the many difficult months ahead.

She was preparing the way and the pattern, and she has been our beautiful companion through it all -- for ALL of us, 

our entire family.

She is optimism and spunk and sass and joy.

She has been nothing but a bright, lovely light.

Amid the birthday streamers and presents and chocolate cake with buttercream Nutella frosting (Ummmmm...hello!!),

I'm overwhelmed -- and in awe -- at how the Savior performs miracles. 

They are personal and calculated to bless, for particular circumstances and specific people.

He ministers in ways you can't always understand or see.

He gives you more than you knew you needed -- like in the way He has let this beautiful soul grace ours.

I don't know how this happens; I just know that it does.

I'm humbled by it, and really grateful.