She's Amazing

Just about a week ago, I took a pile of needles off my counter and headed downstairs to the laundry room where I keep our sharps container (an empty laundry detergent jug).  

I could only fit a few more inside before it was crammed full, and the others had to go into a new container.

I snapped this photo, looking down from the opening at the top.

And here's the thing.  

When I went to come back upstairs with the full one, ready to throw it in the trash, I ended up turning back around and leaving it in the laundry room next to the new one.

Funny as it may sound, I couldn't throw it away, though I will eventually.

It seemed flippant to just throw it out, cuz it represents so much more than what it physically is.

Almost seven months ago, I spent two days at the hospital with my gal.
She was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.  

The only time I saw her waver, at all, in this whole journey that has brought significant changes to her life, was that first night at the hospital.

Because the acidic levels in her body were high and dangerous, they put her on an IV to stabilize her more quickly.  And because of that process, she couldn't eat or drink until the following morning.  I watched her, lying there, trying not to cry, not complaining, and hungry.

I thought about what lay ahead of her: not being able to just eat whenever (or whatever) she wanted, not being able to just grab a cupcake at a birthday party, or eat candy with a friend.  I thought about the fact that she would never be able to put another thing in her mouth without thinking about it.  
And she was only 6.  
It made me so sad, and I worried that she didn't even realize the full implications of what was happening, of what this meant.

I wished that it was happening to me and not her.

When she was finally somewhat comfortable that first night (about 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning), I lay there on the couch-made-into-a-bed in her room, and allowed myself to quietly cry for a moment, allowed myself release to the fear and exhaustion I felt, a way of giving voice to the sadness and overwhelmingness of it all.  I didn't want her to hear me or see me.  

(in the hospital, eating ice cream and watching Mary Poppins)

And then, amazingly, 
miracles started to happen.

I thought we wouldn't get insurance---but we did, and the coverage is incredible.

I was worried about counting carbs and figuring out her doses, since I cook a lot without following a recipe.  Having to input everything for nutritional information seemed overwhelming.

But today?  I don't even really think about it, and I hardly ever input anything anymore.

But the really incredible thing?  

HER.

(Uncle Martin distracting her from being hungry and sad that first night)

I still marvel that she has not complained, EVER.

She has never cried about it, even though it would be totally understandable if she did.

She has never told me that it isn't fair or it isn't fun.
Not one time.

She's the girl that never sneaks a treat, always comes and asks me, makes sure she's dosed before she eats anything -- even candy.

She is patient and has to wait on me a lot to get her set up to eat, and she never complains.

Instead, you know what she said?  

I blogged about it here, but when we talked about what we learned at New Year's, she said this:

"This year, I learned to be brave.  And I learned about having faith that God will lead you out of the mess, whatever it is."

She has handled it with grace and I think I take it for granted just how much it has impacted her life because she makes it look so easy.

When I look at her I see strength and faith, grit and gratitude.

She is a rock, and I love her.

Her example inspires me to try harder, to be better, to not complain.

(so much love on this table from friends and family)

And so, to me, that container is...

A journey.
Faith.
Acceptance.
Miracles.
Learning.
Change.

All of those shots represent accepting--and living with--hard things.

Dealing with big changes, and moving on anyway, with happiness.

And being brave.

She has been so brave.

And she's kinda one of my heroes.

And the other thing is?  

Sometimes I wonder why I still struggle to trust God when things aren't looking exactly how I'd like. In this experience, as in so many others in my life, 
pieces fell into place at exactly the right time.

That's something I have to keep remembering.

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.

Be Kind

(leaf in my driveway, November 2014)

This morning I lay in my bed, my girlies snuggled in on either side.

I thought of something that happened last night, and a quote I discovered in the last couple of years that I love.

After we read a chapter and said prayer and the kids were settled into bed, I knelt on the floor in my room, folding laundry.  I am better these days at letting that wait, but it had become a mountain in the corner of my room, and I wanted that mountain gone.

I folded a while, and then got up and noticed (again) the super full trash bin in the downstairs bathroom.  

Decided it was time to tend to that.

I gathered all the trash in the house and headed outside to put it in the trash can.

As I opened my back gate, my trash can had already been taken out to the street.

Instantly, I felt love.

There are a couple of elderly gentlemen that live across the street from me.  

Without me asking, without a word, they have begun to do these types of things for me.

They take my trash cans out, and they bring them in.

On the few snowy mornings we have had this winter (it has been such an odd year!), I've found my driveway cleared, opened my front door to one of them shoveling my sidewalks up to my door.

One of the books I read a couple years ago was I'm Proud of You, a book about the author's friendship with Fred Rogers and I loved it.

Then, some time later, stumbled on this quote.

It has stuck with me ever since; it's one of my favorites.  

"There are three ways to ultimate success:

The first way is to be kind.

The second way is to be kind.

The third way is to be kind."

(Fred Rogers)

The kindness of my friends warmed my heart as I walked out to the street in the dark last night.

Never a word to me.

Always quiet, and I miss them most times.

They come and give love, and then they go.

But their gift isn't wasted.

I feel it deep inside.

I am stirred by their simple service.

Makes me recommit, in my heart, to wanting to live a life of goodness, of sharing love.

I fall short, and I mess up, but Fred Rogers' simple words inspire me forward.

Living With Hope

A year ago, I said goodbye to my Dad.

I said goodbye to being able to physically interact with him.

I said goodbye to conversations and laughs, 

traditions, working together, late night phone calls just because.

When I look at these photos, I remember climbing into bed beside him.

And I remember always being able to go to him as a little girl when I was afraid in the night.  He would let me snuggle up next to him for as long as I needed.

Or take me downstairs to get a snack of bread and butter with honey 

in the middle of the night.

He was there, always.  

Tender, quiet, gentle, concerned.  

He gave the gifts of strength and confidence and love.  

Always love.

These are really the last photos I have where I can see my father there -- a trace of his smile, his knowing, quiet eyes, the concern and love that he always had for others.  

Time was short.

He died just four days later, on a Friday afternoon.

Looking at these today, I am reminded of something 

Elder Wirthlin said in General Conference 8 years ago.

He referenced Good Friday, that Friday of Fridays, long ago, 

when the Savior was crucified.

He says "it was a Friday filled with devastating, consuming sorrow that gnawed at the souls of those who loved and honored the Son of God." 

And then he continues with this:

"But the doom of that day did not endure.

The despair did not linger because on Sunday, 

the resurrected Lord burst the bonds of death. ...

And in an instant the eyes that had been filled with ever-flowing tears dried.  

The lips that had whispered prayers of distress and grief 

now filled the air with wondrous praise."

Then, after pointing us to thinking about the resurrection, 

he makes greater application for every aspect of life, 

not just when we are facing death.  

"Each of us will have our own Fridays---those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces.  We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again.  

We will all have our Fridays.

But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death---Sunday will come.  

In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.

No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. 

...I testify to you that the Resurrection is not a fable."

I love this so much.

Whether you have kissed someone goodbye, watching life slip from their body, 

or just have encountered, 

as we all do, 

crushing disappointment and sorrow and hardship, 

there is hope.

And we all have times where we have to believe that.

My life, over the past year, has been full of many difficult surprises and turns.  

There have been so many emotions.

I have had to say goodbye more than once,

and in more than one way or circumstance.

I have felt broken.

I have felt beside myself, not knowing what to do.

I have felt angry and hurt.

I have struggled to feel at peace with myself, 

to forgive myself, to move forward.

My heart has ached with sadness.

But.

Even in those Fridays, I have noticed Sunday all throughout.

That is what I am thinking about today.

God doesn't leave us alone.

He sends angels -- in the form of people, and blessings, and comfort, and peace.

He gives you so many reasons to laugh.

In quiet moments, He reassures and steadies.

He blesses you in ways that you feel you don't deserve.

He cleanses and calms your heart by letting you know that Sunday is real.

His great gift is that we can trust Him; we can have hope.

And what I love about it is that hope propels us forward. 

It doesn't allow me to sit still and stagnant, 

stranded, without a way home.

No.

Hope whispers that all will be well,

that we are in God's tender care,

that we are experiencing exactly those things that we need to.

And, the secret I have found?

That in the moments that you feel you are broken, those cracks become filled with joy and peace and knowledge that doesn't come any other way.

It is there that God offers you "beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." (Isaiah 61:3)

God lives.

I know this.

His matchless gifts of peace and love fill me with joy.

Timeless Grace

Sunday morning I got up and it was rainy, wet and gray outside.  The air smelled clean and I got ready to go to a rededication session for the Ogden Utah temple.

In that session, the temple was described as "a place of timeless grace."

When I hear that word, I think of beauty, gentleness, stillness, holiness.  

And I think of help I so desperately need -- heavenly attending, of power beyond my own that comes to aid me in overcoming, seeing more clearly, and being made free.

I may not always see that in measurable ways -- but I believe in it, and I believe in promises I have felt in my heart.

For me, the temple hasn't always been familiar. There was a time when it was new and a little strange and it felt different.  I wanted to have deep experiences of peace and revelation there.  Over time, I have found that the more I go, the greater the quiet in my heart, the more love and peace I feel -- the more aware I am of it being an intersection between heaven and earth.  

Just last week, I attended the temple on Thursday with a friend.

Before getting ready to leave the temple and head for home, I sat in a quiet room where the stillness was tangible.  As I let that quiet envelop me, I started to feel other things -- thoughts that came as from wings, from some other place, touching me and gone again.

I run up against a perennial challenge, tho, and it is this.

While I'm there, I can kind of zone in on thinking about holiness and purpose.  I can think about my questions.  I can ask them in my mind and sometimes have a conversation of sorts, with answers coming -- more of those wings.  I can feel and have experiences in that intensity of focus and quiet.

But then I come home.  

Lately, I have felt frequently frustrated in my mothering of my boys particularly -- and I am longing to feel more of that holiness and peace with them, more confident in the job I am doing in mothering them.  Wanting more intersections between 

heaven and earth in these four walls.

Less yelling and frustration and contention in exchange for more selfless service, love, beauty, unity and respect.

I need the temple because of the powerful reminders of 

covenants and forgiveness and faith.

I need it because it keeps me looking forward, and upward. 

I need it because of what I learn there, of the blessings and promises I have been taught about there -- those things that keep me holding on and believing and striving.

Those blessings and promises respond to the 

deepest yearnings of my frail and faulty heart.

And they are taught there, alongside the acknowledgement of my not being perfect, and of astonishing love for me and for those I love.

I go there, because I can remember -- and feel sustained by -- eternal truth.

I am reminded of this quote by Rene Daumal:

“You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.”

Mmm hmm.  

Yes.

When I come away, back into my very imperfect, very faltering, stumbling offering of my day-to-day life, I can still seek and strive for:

holiness,

purity,

stillness,

selflessness,

service,

revelation,

quiet,

beauty,

and love,

because of what I've seen and felt there.

And when I stumble and mess up, like I do every single day, I exercise faith in that "timeless grace," asking God to let it wash over me and urge me forward.

Finding Joy

I woke up this morning and could hear the children playing downstairs.  

I could tell from the light against the white curtains that it was beautiful out.

Blue sky, sunshine, light waiting, anxiously, to spill into my room, onto my bed, across the carpet, cheerful to warm my heart and skin. 

For some reason as I lay there, I thought about the last comment I made in my post yesterday -- about parenting being a gift beyond gifts.

(Because they make me happy.)

But it's so good because it's so hard.

I sat there and thought about one of my favorite musings from 2 Nephi chapter 2.  

We frequently quote verse 25 where it says:

"Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy."

(Doesn't he look like joy?)

I often hear people site this verse and follow it up by talking about how God wants us to be happy.

I believe that.  And I believe the way He has set before us is merciful, life-giving, soul-filling.

But every time I read that verse, and especially in the context of the chapter in which it is given, I always feel like the underlying message I'm being taught is more than that.

That my Heavenly Father wants me to experience joy.  True joy.

To me joy is so much deeper than just being happy.  Or having fun.  Or getting what I want in the moment or in a certain situation.
Joy, to me, implies depth and knowledge and understanding and comprehension.

Something that is a footing for all my purpose.

It's the why behind it all.

And to know that, to understand that, I have to learn from my own experience.

I have to be allowed to feel broken at times, to feel hurt, despair, discouragement and any other number of emotions we may not initially link with joy, and certainly not with being "happy."

But they are inseparably connected, two sides of the same coin.

I believe that God gives us these character and soul defining experiences.  Things that shape us.  Things that shape our relationships, particularly family relationships and marriages -- and moving further outward.

This is where we figure it out.  As Elder Maxwell once said, "We are each other's clinical material."

When God says He wants us to have joy, I think He's also letting us know, up front, that there will be great measures of sorrow, too.
Not-so-comfortable-or-so-welcome-stretching.

We each have to walk our own path.  

We each have to come to know for ourselves.  That brings me joy.

He doesn't just want me to be happy.  

He wants me to understand it, to know what it is, to have tried it on for size.

One of my all-time favorite quotes?  

Comes from Elder Holland, also one of my favorites.

"On some of your more difficult or disappointing days you will ask, 'Why is it so hard . . . ?'  Answer: Because salvation is not a cheap experience. It is achieved out of the anguish of the human heart, reflecting at least in some small part Christ's suffering and sacrifice in our behalf. No one who understands the Savior's agony can think sin and error are overcome easily. But when we are making our best effort, that's when the angels come. Our success is as certain as it is difficult."

I'm grateful for the teaching, the learning and stretching, and especially for those angels.

I believe heaven is right close by -- tending, encouraging, aiding us gently in our learning, picking you and me up along the way, deepening our wells to hold the joy that's being carved out in abundance.  One day the awakening will make all these things sure.

I believe that.