Resonating

 I have to post two things from last Sunday, January 1st.

One today.

The other tomorrow.

I was sitting in church on Sunday listening to a lesson.  

Marcie, who was teaching, began to read this quote by President Hinckley. He is a man I deeply respect, both as a prophet and as a deeply insightful human being whose words moved me -- and continue to move me.

I choked up as I heard his words.

I thought of my Mimi.

"When you save a girl, you save generations.  She will grow in strength and righteousness.  She will marry in the house of the Lord.  She will teach her children the ways of truth. ...I see this as the one bright shining hope in a world that is marching toward self-destruction."

I have no idea what decisions she will make in her life. 

I don't know what's ahead for her.

I know she will face struggles and have to make decisions.

I know she will have times where her heart will break.

I hope she finds happiness beyond what she can fathom or imagine for herself.

Doesn't every mother want that?

I know she will have decisive moments.

But there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her and her brothers, that I don't, even unconsciously, dream big in my heart for them.

I feel the truth and power of what he said as I look at her.

She is a potent force for good.

For truth.

For goodness.

For light.

Mostly I never want her to forget who she is.

Where she came from.

That she knows things that are significant and can guide her life, can land her back on the shore after stormy waters.  Can be the compass she will need to make it through them.

I know she will need it.

 

 I want her to know and believe she is a bright, shining hope.

 

That she has truth to carry amid the darkness.

It's All About Jesus

Yesterday morning we were across the street delivering a Christmas card to an older couple we love.

I was in the kitchen talking with Deon, and Mia had walked into the front room to look at the purple balls on their Christmas tree with Ralph.

He came back in and was chuckling as he told us what Mia had said during their exchange.

They must have been looking at the baby Jesus in the manger scene, because Mia told Ralph,

"There was a real baby Jesus, actually."

Tonight as I was tucking her into bed, she was asking me questions about Jesus.

Where is He?

Was he resurrected?

We discussed who Mary was, and then she told me that Joseph was Jesus' dad.

It was December 1st. 

I got to start something with the children that I've been anticipating for a couple weeks.

After dinner, we cleaned up.

I had them grab their blankies and pillows again.

 Each picked a spot.

We turned out the lights (except for the twinkles of the tree and mantle).

I gave them each a piece from a candy cane.

We lit the pyramid and watched the design it made on the ceiling.

And I read them the first chapter of Charles Dickens' The Life of Our Lord.

Dickens wrote this book to his children, telling them all about the Savior and incidents that happened in his life.

The room was quiet while I read.

Benji asked for more after we finished.

I told them that we'd read a little bit every night, before bed.  We'll light the pyramid while we read and snuggle up and listen.

One more way for us to think again about what this is all about.

Because, as Isaiah informed me while we were driving home looking at Christmas lights tonight, "Christmas is really all about Jesus, Mom."

We'll read more tonight.

I think this might be a new tradition for every December until the children are older.

I'm so excited.

Summer Retrospective

This morning I woke up. My room was darker than normal due to the cloud cover and lovely rain outside. It reminded me of mornings when I was little. I'd wake up in the 6:00 or 7:00 hour and could hear my dad getting ready to head to work in the bathroom. I would slip out of bed and go sit on the floor in the hallway outside of the open bathroom door and watch my dad shave. I remember the Gillette shaving cream with the red cap, the way it smelled. The way he spread it evenly and the scratchy sound the razor made as it went over his face in precise lines. He'd let me come in the bathroom and put shaving cream on my face, too, and I could pretend we were shaving together. I'd follow him into his bedroom and watch him get dressed for work and spray his Calvin Klein Obsession cologne on...that smell will always remind me of my dad. I felt special and secure and warm. I was blessed with a lovely childhood...something that's more than a bit of a treasure trove of memories.

I felt a little like the woman in Nanci Griffith's song where she talks about sitting on a southbound train in the rain, thinking about her childhood and trying not to cry.

Lately I have been remembering a lot. I've thought about the way the house smelled and the expectancy in the air on Christmas Eve, among other things. Childhood is something magical I think in part because you really don't realize how quickly it will be gone and become a memory. Sometimes I wish I could go back.

I felt distinct peace and sweetness this week on a couple different occasions. One was yesterday, out working in my garden. The kids were asleep, the sky was gray which made it not so hot and it was windy. I had the sprinkler going in the backyard, and I was out weeding and raking through the rows making everything tidy. It was so quiet. Just me and the dirt. Everything stripped down to simplicity and careful, tending work.

And the other day I was folding laundry during naptime. I was listening to the recent conference talk Mothers and Daughters by Elder Ballard. It brought tears to my eyes. I thought about how much I love being a mother, how much I love my kids, how I don't want this time in my life to ever be over. It brought strength and conviction and peace. And I felt such gratitude for prophets of God. It is a truth that resonates within me over and over and over again. I'm not sure if there are many things that I am more grateful for than that.

And fall is creeping into my thoughts and coming around the corner. I am oh so ready for 75 degree weather in the middle of the day instead of 95. But I'm not ready for garden harvest to be over...so I can wait. I am excited to decorate for fall. And, of course, for the holidays. I am finding that they are more and more fun as the kids get older. Returns me to my own childhood. I feel alive again from the brightness of their eyes and their excitement, energy, expectancy and wonder. It is a lovely, magical, beautiful thing. I baked zucchini bread recently and smelling the cinnamon and cloves baking just about did me in and made me want a wide selection of fall candles to burn and fill my house with delicious aromas. You see what this does to me.

So yes...I am anxious, oh so anxious for fall...but looking back on a summer that has gone too fast. A small selection of photos, in no particular order.

Goofing around before bed

Bedtime stories. This guy is a very committed, great dad. He doesn't give himself enough credit. I don't tell him enough how great a dad he is.

This view I love so much when I look back when we're in the car. These are the best days of my life, and I know it.

Before bedtime.

Our sweet boy.

Wheelbarrow rides

Watching the "cul-de-sac of fire" --- lighting off fireworks in Scott's brother's family's street.

Snuggling during the parade for the 4th

Me and these sister-in-laws of mine that I love

Cousins visit from Arizona and stay with us

Love these bright yellow flowers in one of the flower gardens in the backyard

My garden -- love love LOVE!

Camping -- took my sister's girls with us, too

Summer mantel

Scott and I cracked up over this picture. Isaiah had the camera and we didn't know when he was taking it. We laugh every time we look at this pic.

LOVE

I love this pic...but it makes me sad...she looks so grown up!

Playing before bedtime with her daddy. Love this pic.

Hiking to some lovely falls in beautiful mountains and here we're crouched around the water, tucked back in a small little cave.

I got to go to girls camp because I am in young women. I love these women that I serve with and have gotten to know. They are lots of fun.

Hot air balloons for the 4th. Love this tradition. Someone told me that they had to double take looking at me because they thought I was Julia Roberts. Far too high a compliment, but not too shabby considering it was like 6:45 am and I was unshowered, no makeup (which isn't uncommon no matter what time of the day) and in my pajamas. ;)

Visiting the Salt Lake Temple with sister-in-law and her kids

My sis-in-law and I after going to the pool with the kids

Family shot at my dad's house

Sunday band concerts in the park in June

Sparklers

Cute, cute baby

My sisters -- my favorite women in the whole wide world.

Honest.

The People That Make It Matter

I feel compelled to write.

There has been so much on my mind though, that sorting it all out seems a bit confusing. So, here's my attempt.

Ever since Nienie's crash (see here to follow updates), I have been quietly thinking and praying and evaluating. I have been surprised and blessed to see how much a woman that I have never physically "met" has influenced my life. I remember seeing her in high school but we never knew each other then.

I have thought essentially about three things: my belief in the power of prayer, the power of example, and the power of family.

I know I have been prayed for my entire life. I have been blessed with great parents and grandparents, to say nothing of joining yet another family and getting another set of parents who care when I got married. I know all of these people have prayed for me. They have prayed for my success and my happiness. I know, because I now know, personally, what it is like to love a child and to dream for them -- and to pray in their behalf because of that love. And I do this because I know my voice and influence are small, and that there is a greater Power beyond myself who has an infinite ability and reserve to bless and to heal and to lead. I feel connected in these prayers.

But I also was just thinking a week or so ago about specifically asking a friend of mine to pray for me about a year ago now when I felt pretty emotionally destitute. I think I have probably asked others in times past as well when I have needed added comfort and strength. But now, as I have added Stephanie and Christian to my prayers, along with other people in my life who mean a great deal to me, I have thought about the special privilege it is to raise your voice and exercise your faith for someone else. It is a sacred trust and privilege and it feels sweet. It feels like the world is a better place, like our hearts are coming together. It is wonderful to ask for blessings and wrestle with faith, knowing that prayers are heard, that we have a Heavenly Father who is in control.

These prayers are real.

This is something that brings a lot of comfort to me.

I've thought about example and about what a small, simple person like me can contribute to the world. In this case, though I've never met Stephanie, I have admired from afar and learned a great deal from her, and have felt inspired to try to send good out into the world, the way she does -- more positive, more love, more kindness. One person can make a difference. And it also makes me grateful for the people that have made a difference in my little life.

And then, I've thought about the people that make it matter for me.

I married my husband almost four and a half years ago. I am more committed to him now than I ever was then, and I love him more. He has made life dreams come true, been my best friend, and allowed me to not have to be any different than what I am. He doesn't expect more, and he encourages me in any thing that I may want to accomplish. I find myself wherever he is, and I am grateful, more and more, that I have someone who loves me. At the end of the day, flaws and weaknesses and imperfections and all, I have a companion, a friend, a lover, another perspective, and strength beyond my own. This blessing has a beautiful song of its own. And the amazing thing is, the melody keeps going and I catch a note here and a note there. With each of these glimpses, each faint lingering of song, comes understanding, depth, gratitude and commitment.

How does my voice even make a stab at giving resonance to that sound?

Last night, I was looking at one of my boys that had fallen asleep on our bed. As I watched him, I saw the same little face that is captured in some of his early baby pictures. I couldn't help but feel emotional as I lay down next to him and watched his face. When I moved him into his bed, I was noticing how quickly he has changed. When they were born, I could hold them up next to me, and their little bodies, head to food, weren't wider than my chest. Now, their legs hang over my arm if I hold them when they are asleep. They are heavy, talking, walking, busy boys. And not a week ago, with the other son, I had a similar experience. Before coming to bed I had been looking at photos of them since birth and felt that familiar pang of time and realizing how precious these moments are. I cried as he lay in bed, asleep, next to me.

In that darkness, I understood the way my parents loved me, the way grandparents loved them, this chain of parents-children-parents-children growing and strengthening into something I am just barely beginning to understand.

And just this past weeked, Scott and the boys and I went to Boise to see my grandparents again. We were up late into the evenings talking, and some of the stories that came up involved stories of my siblings and I when we were younger. The funny thing is that those memories seem like a long time ago, but also, like Jacob says -- almost "...like a dream" -- like they are floating in my past, almost simultaneous with now. And then I have the realization that although to spirit, time is all one and these things shall never pass, time in this existence is real. My grandparents are getting older, just like I am. We have measured time with each other, measured time to love and be impacted and learn what we have to learn from each other.

And I find myself thinking about how these moments are simply without value and the desire swells in me to make the most of everything I have, of each moment I can spend with whoever I am spending it with.

Last night, watching my son, I found myself thinking this thought:

When I look around or think about all the things I could do with my life right now, or when I wonder if I could be anything -- if I had my choice of influence, where would I be?

Right here.

Exactly where I am.

It doesn't get any better than this.

THIS is what family feels like

This is what family feels like. That phrase has been running around in my head all day. Forthcoming personal essay on the title (Honest). I'll tell you what happened last night when these words came into my head. We had company over last night: my inlaws, along with my husband's brother and his wife. I had gone all out and been really excited to have everyone over to eat and host people at our house. (Very fun for me, since we still don't have any kids and have a small house and we're not as established as some of the other siblings. It's nice when you can contribute, too.) After dinner, I was in the kitchen doing dishes. My brother-in-law, Brent, and my father-in-law were in the kitchen talking with me. Brent started talking about some incredible stress that they've been struggling with in regard to one of their sons. This has been a topic that we've discussed many times with them, and something that Scott and I have watched and admired them many times over for how they deal with the situation. How they do it I'll never know. In any case, as the conversation went on, Scott, his mom, and Allison (Brent's wife) also came to the kitchen, and everyone was involved in the conversation. I witnessed such a beautiful, wonderful moment. Right after a telling comment about the seriousness of the situation, Scott looked at Brent and asked him what the next step was. I watched, quietly, as Brent's face changed. The desperation came out. His face went red and he quietly said, "I don't know," and began to cry. For a few silent moments, the feeling in the room was sacred. And, for some reason, in that very moment, the thought that came to my mind was, "This is what family feels like." I was so profoundly touched by being able to be there, to be part of a situation where someone's most difficult and tender feelings come right out on the sleeve. I was able to share in it. I can't really descibe what it is that happened, but it's been in my head all morning. I found myself thinking about it last night, and thinking of other "this" moments that I have shared with those that I love, where it feels like you're really let inside, like the walls come down, like we actually accept each other as human beings with imperfections and put our arms around each other no matter what. And not even necessarily always with sad things. The feeling is different, but something similar approaches the "this" feeling when someone you love makes you laugh so hard you cry, or when you realize that you're both having the same reaction, were thinking the same thought, were responding the same way---essentially when you're walking two different bridges and then realize you're on the same one.
The other side of this thought was wondering how often I actually let people into my voids...my fears, my struggles, my need for help at times. How often do I just put on a happy face, and deny those who love me the opportunity to experience what I felt last night? (Not that I'm saying, BTW, that we should always feel that way. There's a reason that we feel private most of the time on these things I think.) But, I wonder, how often do I want the rest of the world to just think that everything is always fine, even if I'm not feeling particularly fine on some day, particularly with those that I love...? For me, when someone opens up to me and shares their heartaches, I feel, for some reason, a portion of me cleansed. Like a renewal. Like something unique and special that is bridging us; letting me see that other people are human, too, and we struggle. One other thought on this: I recall a quote by Elder Nelson (I think?) on communication. He says, in essence, that we don't speak sometimes because we are afraid of being misunderstood. I've thought a lot about that, and I really think it's true. I think we're afraid that we're not going to be heard how it was meant. We want to be treated gently, to be understood and validated. Maybe that's why we have a hard time breaking the walls down. ???

In any case, last night was sacred, a linking, the tangibility of the emotion and love weighing delightfully heavy on my heart.