DH's first city on his mission was a small town on the border with Spain. Everyone there had an interesting accent which sent his newly from the MTC mind reeling. The branch was small and the branch president had been serving for 17 years. His family were the leadership of the branch--a sister serving as the RS president, another the primary, a brother the elders quorum president. Work there was difficult, the branch remained small.
Fast forward twenty years. At the end of the Sunday morning meeting, DH sees a face he thinks is this brother so he goes up to him after the meeting, saying how pleased he is to hear that his son is now the branch president. This dear brother seems confused and says, no, my son is the bishop of a ward in another stake in the south of France. I am the branch president again. Again. After 23 years as branch president, he was released for a while and then called again, now three years into his second 'term.' DH expressed amazement. But this dear faithful brother said he was happy to serve. That all his children had served missions. That they were all married in the temple. That they are all faithful and active in the gospel. That he had achieved his lifelong goal of attending the Nauvoo Temple (proudly wearing a tiny Nauvoo Temple lapel pin on his suit).
How many times does twelve months in the nursery seem too long too serve? How many times does more than a year as a primary teacher seem an eternity? How many people have expressed near pity that DH has been bishop for more than four years now? But how long would you be willing to serve in any calling, no matter how much work, no matter how arduous if, the promised result was safety for your family, faithful covenant keeping safety?
Monday, December 3, 2012
Obedience: More France
Sunday evening’s meeting was a powerful one. The current missionaries were in attendance. The training was, ostensibly, for them, but I found myself hanging on every word, knowing I am training my own band of missionaries at home.
But before the meeting even began, the training of my heart began. DH introduced me to a lovely woman—one of the ‘goldens’, he said, the large group of young adults who had been baptized while DH was there in the Bordeaux mission. One of DH’s missionary friends mused that he didn’t know why there were so many, these goldens and why they found them. But the lovely woman knew. She said. You were obedient. Obedience brings power. It brought you to us.
Later in the meeting, Elder Andersen told a story of a former elder, not in attendance, who wanted to be perfectly obedient, so even though they had no more appointments for the evening and even though it was pouring rain so meeting street contacts was unlikely, it wasn’t yet 9:30, so he wouldn’t go inside the apartment. His companion stood inside the doorway, begging his companion to come inside, but he stood out in the rain and (not so) miraculously, a man walked up to him. The elder asked what he knew about Jesus Christ, and the man’s heart was pricked: he knew this elder knew something he needed to know. He was taught and accepted the path of gospel discipleship, because an elder wouldn’t go in out of the rain until it was time.
Exact obedience is a funny thing. The world would have us believe that obedience is mindless, is a sign of cult worship, is something no thinking person would engage in without firm rewards in view. But we know different. We know that “when we obtain any blessing from God it is by obedience to that law upon which it was predicated” (D&C 130:21)
My mission president (in Brazil) often spoke of obedience. He counseled us to seek out the predicate laws for the blessings we needed. He implored us to be exactly obedient, to seek that power. Even though we served in Brazil, where the church is being accepted readily and seemingly easily, we served in the heart of historical Brazil, where the Catholic church is strongest (at one point I served in a small town with two different convents and a monastery), where people seemed most inclined to cling to tradition, even if it brought them no peace, no light. President Smith taught us that we would find power in obedience, the power to teach, the power to find those who were ready for change, for light. And to my knowledge, during my time in that mission, no one was sent home for disobedience. No one.
Those goldens in Bordeaux that were found because of the obedience of the missionaries of DH's time are now the leaders in the church of France. I could speak to many because they had served English speaking missions. One serves in the stake presidency. One works for the church in Europe. They continue being golden, finding their own blessings from their own obedience. They learned even the lessons the elders didn't know they were teaching--that obedience brings power.
But before the meeting even began, the training of my heart began. DH introduced me to a lovely woman—one of the ‘goldens’, he said, the large group of young adults who had been baptized while DH was there in the Bordeaux mission. One of DH’s missionary friends mused that he didn’t know why there were so many, these goldens and why they found them. But the lovely woman knew. She said. You were obedient. Obedience brings power. It brought you to us.
Later in the meeting, Elder Andersen told a story of a former elder, not in attendance, who wanted to be perfectly obedient, so even though they had no more appointments for the evening and even though it was pouring rain so meeting street contacts was unlikely, it wasn’t yet 9:30, so he wouldn’t go inside the apartment. His companion stood inside the doorway, begging his companion to come inside, but he stood out in the rain and (not so) miraculously, a man walked up to him. The elder asked what he knew about Jesus Christ, and the man’s heart was pricked: he knew this elder knew something he needed to know. He was taught and accepted the path of gospel discipleship, because an elder wouldn’t go in out of the rain until it was time.
Exact obedience is a funny thing. The world would have us believe that obedience is mindless, is a sign of cult worship, is something no thinking person would engage in without firm rewards in view. But we know different. We know that “when we obtain any blessing from God it is by obedience to that law upon which it was predicated” (D&C 130:21)
My mission president (in Brazil) often spoke of obedience. He counseled us to seek out the predicate laws for the blessings we needed. He implored us to be exactly obedient, to seek that power. Even though we served in Brazil, where the church is being accepted readily and seemingly easily, we served in the heart of historical Brazil, where the Catholic church is strongest (at one point I served in a small town with two different convents and a monastery), where people seemed most inclined to cling to tradition, even if it brought them no peace, no light. President Smith taught us that we would find power in obedience, the power to teach, the power to find those who were ready for change, for light. And to my knowledge, during my time in that mission, no one was sent home for disobedience. No one.
Those goldens in Bordeaux that were found because of the obedience of the missionaries of DH's time are now the leaders in the church of France. I could speak to many because they had served English speaking missions. One serves in the stake presidency. One works for the church in Europe. They continue being golden, finding their own blessings from their own obedience. They learned even the lessons the elders didn't know they were teaching--that obedience brings power.
Still his brethren in the Lord*: France
Twenty years ago, DH taught
and baptized a family.
On the last day of his mission, he attended the organization of the first stake in Bordeaux France: a stake he and those of his mission had worked diligently to prepare--finding and teaching and baptizing to create a place of stronghold, of refuge in Bordeaux. I can't imagine a better way to end a mission.
Fast forward twenty years, and DH's mission president is now an apostle (Elder Andersen) and is presiding over stake conference in Bordeaux, in the twentieth anniversary year, and invited all former Bordeaux missionaries to attend. Something sparked in DH and for many nights he could barely sleep--adding "find a way to go to France" to his list of attorney, bishop and dad duties. He found a way. We planned and found saints to come care for our kids in varying shifts.
At first, the stake conference was the reason to go, but not the excitement of the trip. We spent two days in Paris enjoying the sights and the tastes and the wonders of that city. We awoke early Saturday morning and piled into the rented car and drove the six hours to Bordeaux--through the chateaux country of the Loire valley.
We pulled into the chapel in Talance, quickly seeing it would be a standing room only meeting. It was: filled to the brim with faithful saints come to hear an apostle of the Lord, a most beloved apostle, because he had presided over the mission when the stake had been created.
After the meeting, DH began to look around for faces he knew. He found a young gentleman, the exec secretary of the stake. He began talking and found he was the younger son of that family baptized so long ago--this faithful returned missionary had been too young to be baptized by DH, but was blessed by his family's decision. He promised DH his family would be there for the stake meetings the next day.
We met the following morning for another stake meeting. There were more saints, more families, more power. People had traveled long distances, on buses and trains to be there, again, at the feet of their beloved Elder Andersen. And then, after the meeting, DH went searching for "his" family. He found the sister missionaries serving in the city and we were amazed to find that they knew who DH was because Brother Leaung had been exulting that "the missionary who baptized my family will be here!"
What a tender, powerful, reunion. Twenty years and they are still faithful and strong, expanding on their baptismal beginnings with temple covenants, a mission served, and faithful service in the Lord's kingdom.
and baptized a family.
On the last day of his mission, he attended the organization of the first stake in Bordeaux France: a stake he and those of his mission had worked diligently to prepare--finding and teaching and baptizing to create a place of stronghold, of refuge in Bordeaux. I can't imagine a better way to end a mission.
Fast forward twenty years, and DH's mission president is now an apostle (Elder Andersen) and is presiding over stake conference in Bordeaux, in the twentieth anniversary year, and invited all former Bordeaux missionaries to attend. Something sparked in DH and for many nights he could barely sleep--adding "find a way to go to France" to his list of attorney, bishop and dad duties. He found a way. We planned and found saints to come care for our kids in varying shifts.
At first, the stake conference was the reason to go, but not the excitement of the trip. We spent two days in Paris enjoying the sights and the tastes and the wonders of that city. We awoke early Saturday morning and piled into the rented car and drove the six hours to Bordeaux--through the chateaux country of the Loire valley.
We pulled into the chapel in Talance, quickly seeing it would be a standing room only meeting. It was: filled to the brim with faithful saints come to hear an apostle of the Lord, a most beloved apostle, because he had presided over the mission when the stake had been created.
After the meeting, DH began to look around for faces he knew. He found a young gentleman, the exec secretary of the stake. He began talking and found he was the younger son of that family baptized so long ago--this faithful returned missionary had been too young to be baptized by DH, but was blessed by his family's decision. He promised DH his family would be there for the stake meetings the next day.
We met the following morning for another stake meeting. There were more saints, more families, more power. People had traveled long distances, on buses and trains to be there, again, at the feet of their beloved Elder Andersen. And then, after the meeting, DH went searching for "his" family. He found the sister missionaries serving in the city and we were amazed to find that they knew who DH was because Brother Leaung had been exulting that "the missionary who baptized my family will be here!"
What a tender, powerful, reunion. Twenty years and they are still faithful and strong, expanding on their baptismal beginnings with temple covenants, a mission served, and faithful service in the Lord's kingdom.
*Alma 17:1 Now the sons of Mosiah were with Alma at the time the angel first appeared unto him; therefore Alma did rejoice exceedingly to see his brethren; and what added more to his joy, they were still his brethren in the Lord; yea and they had waxed strong in the knowledge of the truth;
Sunday, December 2, 2012
France!
(Musée ďOrsay on the Seine)In between Bam and M's birthdays, DH and I went to France for a week. It was a wonderful, enchanted trip in so many ways. Even though our luggage was lost entirely for 1 1/2 days and our coats until the last 2 days of the trip. Even though it was really really cold for our desert bodies (okay it was 40-50 degrees during the day.) We ate a lot of yummy bread; we walked and walked and walked and visited several museums and churches and monuments.
(Notre Dame)We walked the Champs-Élysées in the rain.
We climbed to the top of the Arc de Triomphe, twice. We rode the funicular to the top of the Sacré Cœer
We rode the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower and were there at dark when it starts to sparkle.
It was lovely. It was great fun to have this time with just DH, knowing our kidlets were safe and well cared for by family and watched over by friends.
I want to go back. I want to live there. We found ourselves imagining a trip, a life, in France as a family. A life that we currently have no reason to plan. But fun all the same.
We didn't just go to France to play though. We went for a simple two day weekend in the middle of all our sightseeing and which two days meant more than all the marvels we saw.
(Winged Victory at the Louvre)And that, I will get to, eventually.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Miss M is Five, lest we forget!
M's birthday cake requests are much simpler. I can do girlie dots!
M is so happy to be five. She has been waiting forever.
Now we are battling the problem every late-in-the-year birthday kid has--"why can't I go to kindergarten now?" Finally, we have hit upon a solution that she understands--kindergarten starts after the summer. She will definitely be ready when the time comes. She loves preschool. She is learning so much about letter sounds, numbers (including what happens when numbers plus), and the world around her. She loves to sing and dance and enjoys her dance class where each week she gets to dress up like a different Disney princess and act out the story.
One thing M does not like is to be alone. If the big kids are not home, she will follow me around wherever I go. She is happy to be near me, doing something else, but near me. She is, by far, the most social member of the family, which makes sense, since she was born into a built in party! We can't imagine life without her and her fancy dancy ways. Happy Day M!
M is so happy to be five. She has been waiting forever.
Now we are battling the problem every late-in-the-year birthday kid has--"why can't I go to kindergarten now?" Finally, we have hit upon a solution that she understands--kindergarten starts after the summer. She will definitely be ready when the time comes. She loves preschool. She is learning so much about letter sounds, numbers (including what happens when numbers plus), and the world around her. She loves to sing and dance and enjoys her dance class where each week she gets to dress up like a different Disney princess and act out the story.
One thing M does not like is to be alone. If the big kids are not home, she will follow me around wherever I go. She is happy to be near me, doing something else, but near me. She is, by far, the most social member of the family, which makes sense, since she was born into a built in party! We can't imagine life without her and her fancy dancy ways. Happy Day M!
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Bam Bam He's our Man!
Bam is seven. I can't see how this is actually possible since it was just yesterday we carried him home from the hospital. But he is big. He is in first grade, vying for "love muffin" status each week in school, reading, doing killer math and channeling the powers and personas of nearly ever superhero in existence. So it is no surprise, really that he chose an Iron Man cake for his birthday. He is the child most believing in my (non-existant) artistic abilities when it comes to cake decoration. I did my best and was just happy he could recognize the Man and that he was happy with the result. Perhaps it's a good thing that he has such a believing heart, because he can always see what he envisioned in the reality I have been able to create.
I think it was a little more difficult this year than most to recognize the subject of the cake. But he's still happy, so we'll go with it.
Bam has a killer smile and a love for all things cuddly, especially pandas. He is still captivating an ever growing collection of grown women, from his teachers, to his friends' moms, to the stylists where we get our hair cut. No one seems immune to that smile.
Happy Birthday big boy! We love you!
I think it was a little more difficult this year than most to recognize the subject of the cake. But he's still happy, so we'll go with it.
Bam has a killer smile and a love for all things cuddly, especially pandas. He is still captivating an ever growing collection of grown women, from his teachers, to his friends' moms, to the stylists where we get our hair cut. No one seems immune to that smile.
Happy Birthday big boy! We love you!
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
A fabulous birthday, the ocean and superheroes
In the last few weeks, we've had a busy and exciting time.
First, we celebrated Grandma Great's 95th birthday. In true Aunt Deb style, the festivities began with a treasure hunt for all the great grands in attendance.
The hunt was fun enough--what with riotous good time for cousins from near and far--but the kids were over the moon to find the treasure hunt resulted in actual treasure! (jewels and MONEYS). Then we shared a lovely evening, good food and even smores with family we don't always get to see much.
The next day, we drove up to beautiful Cache Valley for more cousin time and to see family we really don't see much of--all orchestrated by Deb and Sue and Marianne and Deb and Sue were both too sick to even enjoy it! But we enjoyed it all for them.
The next weekend, we headed to the Oceanside California, to see the ocean (it's been a few children ago since we'd tried) and see dear friends who'd moved there at the beginning of the summer. We had alternate activities planned, like Legoland, touring aircraft carriers and old missions, but we never got beyond the sand, the surf and good friends.
If only it weren't so expensive, and with such crazy traffic, we'd stay here forever!
And then, we came to the end of the month with its multiple Halloween festivities. Z opted out this year. He says he's too old. CE dressed up, in part because it's part of her grade in Leadership to do so for school, but she's always liked it more than Z anyway. The rest of the kids were too excited about every aspect to wait out even one second.
I was just pleased that we seem to have planned our candy purchases just right--dolling out almost all of what the kids received at DH's work trick or treat AND the ward trunk or treat to other children on our street, so that we only now have to contend with what the littles brought home from the actual trick or treating, and since only Bam and M went out tonight, that shouldn't be too bad.
First, we celebrated Grandma Great's 95th birthday. In true Aunt Deb style, the festivities began with a treasure hunt for all the great grands in attendance.
The hunt was fun enough--what with riotous good time for cousins from near and far--but the kids were over the moon to find the treasure hunt resulted in actual treasure! (jewels and MONEYS). Then we shared a lovely evening, good food and even smores with family we don't always get to see much.
The next day, we drove up to beautiful Cache Valley for more cousin time and to see family we really don't see much of--all orchestrated by Deb and Sue and Marianne and Deb and Sue were both too sick to even enjoy it! But we enjoyed it all for them.
The next weekend, we headed to the Oceanside California, to see the ocean (it's been a few children ago since we'd tried) and see dear friends who'd moved there at the beginning of the summer. We had alternate activities planned, like Legoland, touring aircraft carriers and old missions, but we never got beyond the sand, the surf and good friends.
If only it weren't so expensive, and with such crazy traffic, we'd stay here forever!
And then, we came to the end of the month with its multiple Halloween festivities. Z opted out this year. He says he's too old. CE dressed up, in part because it's part of her grade in Leadership to do so for school, but she's always liked it more than Z anyway. The rest of the kids were too excited about every aspect to wait out even one second.
I was just pleased that we seem to have planned our candy purchases just right--dolling out almost all of what the kids received at DH's work trick or treat AND the ward trunk or treat to other children on our street, so that we only now have to contend with what the littles brought home from the actual trick or treating, and since only Bam and M went out tonight, that shouldn't be too bad.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Tremendous
Two weeks ago, a recent convert from our ward entered the temple for the first time and we were able to go with her and her family to witness their sealing a few days later. Since we were only in Salt Lake City for the day, my husband and I decided to take in a session there before hopping the plane back home. The one word that filled my mind that whole trip was “tremendous.” Tremendous effort for the trip, but tremendous power in the temple, tremendous love and service flowing from the many people there with us. Tremendous.
The following weekend was General Conference. I’ve always likened sitting for those eight hours, at the feet of the prophets, to drinking from the firehose. Tremendous. Tremendous effort on the parts of the speakers and all those who bring their words to me, from the satellite operators to the people coding the HTML whatsits so I can participate over and over and over again. Tremendous gifts from heaven there for the taking. Tremendous.
This weekend, I joked that we were ordinance surfing. Friday we attended the temple with a couple for their first time. The next morning we witnessed their sealing. And the afternoon found us attending the baptism of another new member. He was confirmed and given the gift of the Holy Ghost this morning. Tremendous. Tremendous love pouring out of the temple, out of the baptismal font, out of the Heavens as those who love God are led to find Him and those who have found Him hold out their hands. Tremendous blessings to be a minor participant, almost a bystander really, in the wonder of this work.
A sister gave a talk on the Holy Ghost at the baptism. She was filled with the Spirit and loving and tender and she closed her talk with a thought about our progression about learning to trust God and reaching the point where, in gratitude we find we have become trustworthy to Him. Becoming trustworthy to God. I think the pieces of these past weeks are key points in that journey. Making covenants, receiving ordinances and holding out guiding hands to others so they may do the same. Tremendous.
The following weekend was General Conference. I’ve always likened sitting for those eight hours, at the feet of the prophets, to drinking from the firehose. Tremendous. Tremendous effort on the parts of the speakers and all those who bring their words to me, from the satellite operators to the people coding the HTML whatsits so I can participate over and over and over again. Tremendous gifts from heaven there for the taking. Tremendous.
This weekend, I joked that we were ordinance surfing. Friday we attended the temple with a couple for their first time. The next morning we witnessed their sealing. And the afternoon found us attending the baptism of another new member. He was confirmed and given the gift of the Holy Ghost this morning. Tremendous. Tremendous love pouring out of the temple, out of the baptismal font, out of the Heavens as those who love God are led to find Him and those who have found Him hold out their hands. Tremendous blessings to be a minor participant, almost a bystander really, in the wonder of this work.
A sister gave a talk on the Holy Ghost at the baptism. She was filled with the Spirit and loving and tender and she closed her talk with a thought about our progression about learning to trust God and reaching the point where, in gratitude we find we have become trustworthy to Him. Becoming trustworthy to God. I think the pieces of these past weeks are key points in that journey. Making covenants, receiving ordinances and holding out guiding hands to others so they may do the same. Tremendous.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
with Real Intent
I've been working on a new project with a group of people that have me in awe. Its' a place to talk about faith, to talk about action, to talk about being a Latter-day Saint intelligently and intentionally and faithfully. Come check us out.
with Real Intent
with Real Intent
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Look Out World! This girlie is going to SCHOOL!
Finally school time has arrived for Miss M. She's going in the afternoon this year, since she is four. And that may kill us. It very nearly did today. The rest of the family is completely gone by 8:20. M doesn't leave until 11:55 for a noon start time. Every few minutes she wanted to know if we could have lunch and get ready for school now. She was fairly certain it would never come, but all things come to preschoolers who wait and she did finally make her way to preschool as taught by Miss Jeannette. Hopefully we can get into a groove of morning things so that afternoon doesn't take so infernally long to arrive.
M loves Miss Jeannette. She loves her class full of friends. She loves learning and school and snack and playtime and everything, well except coming home at the end of the day. Mom is boring you see, really boring. Such is the life of the last in the family. How did she get so big?
Monday, September 3, 2012
Finally!
Bam's been wiggling his front tooth for weeks now. Z's lost at least one tooth (or more) effortlessly in the same amount of time. But Bam kept wiggling. All of a sudden tonight he asked me to try the dental floss for one good twist and see if it would come out. This never works for my children. They want the tooth out but they are fearful and we spend fruitless and frustrating hours with my hands in their mouth as they hem and haw and ask me to pull and then pull away before I can and I eventually vow never to have anything to do with their mouths and that they must let the teeth fall out on their own and hopefully it won't happen in the middle of the night and choke them to death. (never macabre or hyperbolic around here, never).
So, imagine my surprise when Bam, my most fearful of all children, sits patiently and lets me give his tooth one tug, one blissfully successful tug. And this is now his mouth:
Finally! He is over the moon. The tooth fairy is coming tonight!
So, imagine my surprise when Bam, my most fearful of all children, sits patiently and lets me give his tooth one tug, one blissfully successful tug. And this is now his mouth:
Finally! He is over the moon. The tooth fairy is coming tonight!
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Eleven times the fun
This is the cake Z wanted. He saw the idea in a cooking magazine his grandparents get. He's taken to reading these magazines late at night and then asking my opinions on diced fresh rosemary and garlic mayo and whether we have a deep fryer to make onion straws for his school lunch (no and NO). Chocolate frosted cake with m&m garnish as applied by Z is pretty easy (the candies apparently are "11" on top and his name on the sides, not that anyone could actually tell). The real novelty was in the fact that Z wanted a white cake because that's how the magazine did it. I never make white cakes. I love chocolate. My children love chocolate. But because I love Z and it was his birthday, I made him a white cake (five egg whites and all!) and everyone inhaled it on birthday party day, so we may have future white birthday cakes to celebrate (woe is me!)
Z's birthday will require a lot of patience on his part. DH is in town for just a minute; the trial isn't done yet. That means that the bike Z got for his birthday sits in a box waiting to be put together. He got a new watch with a metal band and that must wait too, because the jeweler is closed for Labor Day weekend and I don't have tools small enough to adjust it. He did get to put together the obligatory legos (the White House) and carry his new scripture case to church. But by and large, he is entering a new age of birthday gifts, where they're smaller, fewer (more expensive) and not always out-of-the-box accessible. He is trying to be mature about it; he is eleven. But even though he is a mammoth manchild (5' tall and feet as big as mine!), he is still my boy, my little boy at heart. How did my little boy get so big?
Monday, August 27, 2012
New Year, New Teachers, New Schools
I have mixed feelings about the start of the school year. Schedule and routine are good. It's good to share, for a moment, my responsibility to teach and socialize my children with other members of our community. But, everything starts all at once. It's not enough to start school, we start piano, we start meetings like open house, back to school, leadership and everything seems to begin doubling up right away.
I know it will be this way and so, even on the first day of school, I hesitate just a bit. But, my kids are such geeks; they love school. They love learning new things, seeing their friends, testing out increased independence and I can't put the brakes on that.
This year, Z moves to the middle school with CE. He has a great schedule of teachers and classes, including his former first grade teacher who now teaches math. I love this woman! She is a wonderful teacher, a wonderful human being with such light emanating from her and she teaches that light in everything she does. She especially loves math and wants her students to love it just as much. CE is in her last year of middle school and realizes how much work is ahead of her and isn't in love with any of her teachers, so the idea of school has lost the bloom off the rose a bit. CW has the same teacher Z had for 4th grade and his teaching style seems uniquely tuned to how CW approaches the world. Bam's teacher is this lovely sarcastic spitfire of a woman who has been teaching for 20+ years and loves first grade. I love anyone who loves where my children are!
Miss M will begin preschool with Miss Jeannette after Labor Day and is dying to start. She struggles with why some of her friends went to kindergarten today but she can't go till next year (pesky late birthdays and all).
I feel we are amazingly blessed to have dedicated teachers and excellent schools and safe neighborhoods for our family to grow. The new year will bring what it brings. We will grow and schedule and routine are good for us, right?
Monday, August 20, 2012
Connections to the Divine
I've been noodling on this thought for a few weeks now. Let's see if I can get it out.
Several weeks ago I got to attend a missionary discussion with DH and a family whose husband is preparing to be baptized. The husband was asked about his experience at a niece's baptism and he said that it seemed to him like baptism, like attending the baptism provided a connection to the divine. That phrase of his has stayed with me ever since. I visualized myself as a large ship, with every spiritual experience I have as an anchor tying my spiritual ship to heaven, to Home. Attending church, feasting upon the scriptures, praying and fasting and serving in the Kingdom are all things that anchor me to God a little bit more. Covenants, ordinances, seem to me to be thicker cables, anchoring me more steadily in the making and keeping of serious and sober promises. I envision my children's ships as I help them to cast their own anchors, linking their spirits to God and to us as a family. When I keep this vision in place, my efforts seem more substantial, more successful and less sisyphean, less futile. I want to increase my connection to the divine, I want my ship to be bristling with anchors connecting me to the divine, to heaven, to Home.
And then this morning, I found an old note in a bunch of church stuff that had once been stuffed in my scriptures. I remember it came from a particularly enlightening Sunday School, but I no longer remember where or when. It underscores to me this connection to the divine I'm seeking.
In the Old Testament times, they had sin, burnt and peace offerings--the Law of Moses was the filter through which they partook of the Atonement which was to come.
With the completion of the Savior's part of the Atonement, we partake of it by exercising faith, hope and charity. We follow the first principles and ordinances of the gospel: faith repentance, baptism and receipt of the Holy Ghost. We endure to the end: obedience, sacrifice, gospel living, purity, and consecration. We prepare for and make covenants in the temple and we keep those covenants to eventually enter full fellowship with God.
Somehow writing out these elements, each of them their own connection to the divine, helps me to see a map, a checklist, more anchors to get me Home.
How do you connect to the Divine?
Several weeks ago I got to attend a missionary discussion with DH and a family whose husband is preparing to be baptized. The husband was asked about his experience at a niece's baptism and he said that it seemed to him like baptism, like attending the baptism provided a connection to the divine. That phrase of his has stayed with me ever since. I visualized myself as a large ship, with every spiritual experience I have as an anchor tying my spiritual ship to heaven, to Home. Attending church, feasting upon the scriptures, praying and fasting and serving in the Kingdom are all things that anchor me to God a little bit more. Covenants, ordinances, seem to me to be thicker cables, anchoring me more steadily in the making and keeping of serious and sober promises. I envision my children's ships as I help them to cast their own anchors, linking their spirits to God and to us as a family. When I keep this vision in place, my efforts seem more substantial, more successful and less sisyphean, less futile. I want to increase my connection to the divine, I want my ship to be bristling with anchors connecting me to the divine, to heaven, to Home.
And then this morning, I found an old note in a bunch of church stuff that had once been stuffed in my scriptures. I remember it came from a particularly enlightening Sunday School, but I no longer remember where or when. It underscores to me this connection to the divine I'm seeking.
In the Old Testament times, they had sin, burnt and peace offerings--the Law of Moses was the filter through which they partook of the Atonement which was to come.
With the completion of the Savior's part of the Atonement, we partake of it by exercising faith, hope and charity. We follow the first principles and ordinances of the gospel: faith repentance, baptism and receipt of the Holy Ghost. We endure to the end: obedience, sacrifice, gospel living, purity, and consecration. We prepare for and make covenants in the temple and we keep those covenants to eventually enter full fellowship with God.
Somehow writing out these elements, each of them their own connection to the divine, helps me to see a map, a checklist, more anchors to get me Home.
How do you connect to the Divine?
Friday, July 20, 2012
Lazy Bites Back
The older I get, the more life seems to be a collection of small daily efforts that keep all the requisite balls in the air. Order, discipline and regular daily efforts are not things that come easy to me. My ADD brain gets fuzzy, fatigue sets in and I forget critical elements in the things that keep me sane. Sometimes I begin to think that I don't need these elements, these regular activities, and that I can free up time, energy, money, etc by eliminating them. I am most often wrong when I think that.
After a year or so with a neurologist, he got me on a regular regimen of vitamins and nutritional supplements to keep migraines at bay. There were drugs too, daily ones and migraine only ones too. First, I let go of the daily NSAIDs. I think I'm still okay with that decision, probably because I made it more consciously as a desire to wean myself unnecessary meds. But then, I slowly forgot to refill my days of the week pill container with all the vitamins and supplements. And then I tired of gathering them all out to take them when I hadn't refilled my container. And since I still didn't have any migraines, I lulled myself into the false security that I was okay. That maybe I didn't need them anymore, that I had passed the migraine season for now. The first symptom of my foolish neglect was sore hands. I have had sore hands since CW was born. At the time the doc said it wasn't RA and it wasn't osteo arthritis, but saying it wasn't anything didn't make the soreness go away. Usually it's just soreness, but after a while of neglecting my pills, my joints began to swell and increase in pain until there were many "no-wedding-ring days" because I couldn't get it over the middle joint and even if I could put it on in the morning, getting it off at night became an endeavor requiring lotion, cold water and twisting. Not smart. And still I didn't reevaluate my pill consumption.
The end of May, smack dab in the middle of crazy town end of school year + DH out of town for months on end, I had a migraine at the end of M's dance dress rehearsal. It took an entire day longer to shake than it usually did. I chalked it up to the stress of the months and still failed to reevaluate my pill consumption.
July brought monsoon season, not the crazy tropical stuff of weather channel videos, but the desert version which can result in 100 year floods, but more likely results in a couple of days of rain that consist of the bulk of our precipitation for the year and a few weeks of stupid (relatively, it is the desert) humidity, heavy, hazy air and wonky barometric pressure. Wonky barometric pressure is a migraine trigger for me. So, I wasn't too surprised to have a migraine last week in the midst of some rainy days. But I did refill my pill minder and begin to get on a better schedule and added joint pills to the mix. It takes a while for things like nutritional supplements to work. It took almost a year for them to get me to a place of minimal migraines the first time. I should not have been surprised that today was a double migraine day. But I was. I'm silly like that. I have to get all the balls back in the air again and hope it doesn't take another year.
I've, in the midst of crazy, been able to keep a handle on almost daily scripture study and daily family scripture study for a while now. Things are getting better, but it has to be steady. We had a better handle on FHE until I began to get lazy there too. I don't want family "migraines" to erupt because of my laxness. 2 Nephi 31:20
Pressing forward is such a daily endeavor. Reading this scripture sometimes makes me very very tired. It never ends, but it's essential and I get it, or at least I can be taught to get it. Pressing forward is taking all my daily meds, daily. It's drinking from living scriptural waters, daily. It's teaching and caring and fighting and loving, daily. It's getting out of the mindset that daily saving measures are giving me energy and life and not sapping it from me. It's not allowing lazy to bite back.
After a year or so with a neurologist, he got me on a regular regimen of vitamins and nutritional supplements to keep migraines at bay. There were drugs too, daily ones and migraine only ones too. First, I let go of the daily NSAIDs. I think I'm still okay with that decision, probably because I made it more consciously as a desire to wean myself unnecessary meds. But then, I slowly forgot to refill my days of the week pill container with all the vitamins and supplements. And then I tired of gathering them all out to take them when I hadn't refilled my container. And since I still didn't have any migraines, I lulled myself into the false security that I was okay. That maybe I didn't need them anymore, that I had passed the migraine season for now. The first symptom of my foolish neglect was sore hands. I have had sore hands since CW was born. At the time the doc said it wasn't RA and it wasn't osteo arthritis, but saying it wasn't anything didn't make the soreness go away. Usually it's just soreness, but after a while of neglecting my pills, my joints began to swell and increase in pain until there were many "no-wedding-ring days" because I couldn't get it over the middle joint and even if I could put it on in the morning, getting it off at night became an endeavor requiring lotion, cold water and twisting. Not smart. And still I didn't reevaluate my pill consumption.
The end of May, smack dab in the middle of crazy town end of school year + DH out of town for months on end, I had a migraine at the end of M's dance dress rehearsal. It took an entire day longer to shake than it usually did. I chalked it up to the stress of the months and still failed to reevaluate my pill consumption.
July brought monsoon season, not the crazy tropical stuff of weather channel videos, but the desert version which can result in 100 year floods, but more likely results in a couple of days of rain that consist of the bulk of our precipitation for the year and a few weeks of stupid (relatively, it is the desert) humidity, heavy, hazy air and wonky barometric pressure. Wonky barometric pressure is a migraine trigger for me. So, I wasn't too surprised to have a migraine last week in the midst of some rainy days. But I did refill my pill minder and begin to get on a better schedule and added joint pills to the mix. It takes a while for things like nutritional supplements to work. It took almost a year for them to get me to a place of minimal migraines the first time. I should not have been surprised that today was a double migraine day. But I was. I'm silly like that. I have to get all the balls back in the air again and hope it doesn't take another year.
I've, in the midst of crazy, been able to keep a handle on almost daily scripture study and daily family scripture study for a while now. Things are getting better, but it has to be steady. We had a better handle on FHE until I began to get lazy there too. I don't want family "migraines" to erupt because of my laxness. 2 Nephi 31:20
20 Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life.
Pressing forward is such a daily endeavor. Reading this scripture sometimes makes me very very tired. It never ends, but it's essential and I get it, or at least I can be taught to get it. Pressing forward is taking all my daily meds, daily. It's drinking from living scriptural waters, daily. It's teaching and caring and fighting and loving, daily. It's getting out of the mindset that daily saving measures are giving me energy and life and not sapping it from me. It's not allowing lazy to bite back.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Sweating with Harry
I'm trying to be healthy. When I was younger and fewer of children, it was a great deal easier. I ran some miles outside in the morning and life was grand and I was thin-ish and fit. Well, age sets in. Children multiply and time diminishes and numbers I don't like expand and I am not healthy.
I have a no-frills gym membership that sometimes intimidates me but almost always fails to fit into my schedule whether it be their lack of childcare when I need it or the 30 minute travel time in which I would talk myself entirely out of exercising in the first place. What I have cobbled together currently, and which I hope leads to better health and cardiovascular fitness is a crazy compilation of things.
We have a treadmill that we inherited from a friend who inherited it from his dad, who is Harry Reid. It is old and possessed of few bells and whistles and when I use much of an incline, it squeaks like crickets live inside.
I have a resistance band that I got with a purchase of Pilates DVDs which I hate, but which works (tied to my bed post) as a pretty decent approximation of a leg extension machine.
I have a collection of hand weights. The three pounders, apparently, double as light sabers so that Bam and M can have epic battles in my room next to me while I lift.
I have a step stool that works pretty well as a weight bench, that my mother insisted DH buy for me when I was pregnant and we were moving into a new house and because I am short. It is sturdy and can withstand a great deal of jumping and stepping and activity.
I have a stability ball, well this one is the third in a series. The first two were popped. Because boys must pop large inflated things. They just must.
I have a BYU basketball which doubles as a playground ball for killer burpees and pushups and other things where a medicine ball would probably work better.
I still am able to run some miles outside with a friend. These tools help me fill in the blanks.
Probably the best part of exercising with this rag tag collection of equipment is that it is in my home. I am not at all afraid of embarrassing myself in front of my children (isn't that one of motherhood's most prized duties, anyway?). I turn my music up loud and sing louder and more off key. M gives me "exercise badges" (stickers) for my effort. I earned two this morning. I may go back to the gym on a regular basis eventually, but for now, battling fitness alongside light saber duels, rocking out to embarrass my 13 yo and sweating with Harry is hopefully going to get me where I need and want to be.
I have a no-frills gym membership that sometimes intimidates me but almost always fails to fit into my schedule whether it be their lack of childcare when I need it or the 30 minute travel time in which I would talk myself entirely out of exercising in the first place. What I have cobbled together currently, and which I hope leads to better health and cardiovascular fitness is a crazy compilation of things.
We have a treadmill that we inherited from a friend who inherited it from his dad, who is Harry Reid. It is old and possessed of few bells and whistles and when I use much of an incline, it squeaks like crickets live inside.
I have a resistance band that I got with a purchase of Pilates DVDs which I hate, but which works (tied to my bed post) as a pretty decent approximation of a leg extension machine.
I have a collection of hand weights. The three pounders, apparently, double as light sabers so that Bam and M can have epic battles in my room next to me while I lift.
I have a step stool that works pretty well as a weight bench, that my mother insisted DH buy for me when I was pregnant and we were moving into a new house and because I am short. It is sturdy and can withstand a great deal of jumping and stepping and activity.
I have a stability ball, well this one is the third in a series. The first two were popped. Because boys must pop large inflated things. They just must.
I have a BYU basketball which doubles as a playground ball for killer burpees and pushups and other things where a medicine ball would probably work better.
I still am able to run some miles outside with a friend. These tools help me fill in the blanks.
Probably the best part of exercising with this rag tag collection of equipment is that it is in my home. I am not at all afraid of embarrassing myself in front of my children (isn't that one of motherhood's most prized duties, anyway?). I turn my music up loud and sing louder and more off key. M gives me "exercise badges" (stickers) for my effort. I earned two this morning. I may go back to the gym on a regular basis eventually, but for now, battling fitness alongside light saber duels, rocking out to embarrass my 13 yo and sweating with Harry is hopefully going to get me where I need and want to be.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Wondrous Variety
On Mothers' Day I got to be in Relief Society. The squeaky, newly sustained RS presidency talked on President Uchtdorf's talk from some years back entitled Happiness, Your Heritage. One part of the lesson was about creation and a thought clicked into my head as the teacher discussed the wondrous variety of God's creation. I suddenly remembered an argument had by a few missionaries while on my mission. We were all in one of the smoothie shops prevalent in Brazil. This one was small, we were packed in on a Pday, trying to decide which delicious Brazilian fruits to have in our refreshing smoothies. Brazil is a country of extremely varied climates, from the Amazon rain forest, to coastal waters, equatorial heat to desert, to southern cooler climates. All this variety means that there are varieties of fruits that exist only in certain parts of Brazil and nowhere else in the world. Açaí and guaraná are two that have made their way onto the world nutritional stage as "super foods." But there are so many that these missionaries were comparing fruits of their home regions and discussing rather heatedly the benefits of each. I had this memory flash in my mind along with memories of some of these crazy fruit, along with other more sedate varieties I can still get like dragon fruit, star fruit, mango, papaya etc. And the thought that clicked in was that if God expressed so much variety, so much creativity in the vegetation of the earth, why should I think that He prescribes only a certain kind of motherhood, personhood, or expression of talents? The world creates so many round holes and tries to cram all our various shapes, whether they be square or star shaped into them. I don't know if this has always been so, or is a product of the industrial revolution and assembly line production. Schools teach our kids in a prescribed way that is notoriously hard on boys. They are more and more tied to standardized tests. We see our worth as mothers, as workers, and people measured and found wanting on the cover of every magazine for not being someone's ideal of air brushed perfection. It is so exhausting; so very daunting. How do I teach my children to be themselves most truly while at the same time teaching them how to get along in the world and listen to the Spirit guide them to their celestial natures? All while wrestling with my own failure to listen, to know, to be true to my truest self, to even know which that should be.
Ultimately, I just have to keep plugging, keep praying, keep creating each new day and not get too discouraged when many look more like jaca than like carambola. God truly loves wondrous variety.
Ultimately, I just have to keep plugging, keep praying, keep creating each new day and not get too discouraged when many look more like jaca than like carambola. God truly loves wondrous variety.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Family Fun in the Desert Sun
We spent last week at a family reunion. A great deal of time and effort put in by Grandpa and Grandma F yielded great fun for all. We were able to navigate stomach bugs (only a little vomiting during the family pictures--thankfully navy blue shirts masked any problems) and exhaustion, different sleep and nutritional habits (Some of my children's cousins were seen voluntarily consuming vegetables on a daily basis!)and a house filled to bursting with cousins. The place we were staying had a lovely pool with a killer slide and the kids spent as much time as possible either swimming or cajoling adults to come outside and lifeguard so they could swim. There were tennis courts and grass fields for fun games of tennis, badminton and kickball. Grandpa brought up his celebrated wagon for rides for the little set.
Some of these cousins live near.
Most live far.
We loved connecting with them all while playing, relaxing, hiking and hanging out. There's never time enough and it seemed the week was over in less than a wink. But we are so very grateful to have been able to be together in the first place!
Sunday, July 1, 2012
When Good Friends Leave
Dear family friends just moved. I truly don't know how we will do without them. The mom has been my visiting teacher since they moved in and has been a bastion of awesomeness in my life. She is a fabulous preschool teacher (she was Bam's) and her four children fit almost perfectly with four of my five children. (CE and her oldest were at girls camp, otherwise they would have their pictures here too)
Not only do these kids fit so perfectly in our family age-wise, but temperament too. For example, CW and their equivalent child are one of those kid equations where the combination is greater, much greater than the sum of the parts.
It is a wonderful thing to have a mom-friend who really, from deep personal experience, understands some of the crazy that lives at your house, because it lives at hers too.
We've lived here in Henderson for almost 12 years now. Desert life is all my children know. Unfortunately, due to the somewhat transient nature of Vegas living, moving friends is also what they know and it sucks. Perhaps it would suck less if I were better at keeping in touch. I really really need to be better so that, at the very least, and very most selfish, we don't entirely lose the awesomeness of this family in our lives.
Not only do these kids fit so perfectly in our family age-wise, but temperament too. For example, CW and their equivalent child are one of those kid equations where the combination is greater, much greater than the sum of the parts.
It is a wonderful thing to have a mom-friend who really, from deep personal experience, understands some of the crazy that lives at your house, because it lives at hers too.
We've lived here in Henderson for almost 12 years now. Desert life is all my children know. Unfortunately, due to the somewhat transient nature of Vegas living, moving friends is also what they know and it sucks. Perhaps it would suck less if I were better at keeping in touch. I really really need to be better so that, at the very least, and very most selfish, we don't entirely lose the awesomeness of this family in our lives.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Charity and the Introvert
I try. Really I try. But at my heart, I am an introvert. I can do okay in social situations, but I recharge with time alone. I need wide margins of less-planned days to feel okay and when I look at my calendar and see it filled from end to end with appointments and events, people and things for which I have responsibility, I get a little claustrophobic (I am a lot claustrophobic as it is). I'm trying to cultivate true (not grudging) charity. Frequently that charity extends to me treating people the way that seems gentlest to me, in the absence of direction to the contrary: giving them wide margins, not bombarding them with visits in times of stress and challenge. CE (and M too) is an extrovert; she thinks my "wide berths" are abandonment. She plans parties for the fun of it (that I shoot down because the idea makes me tired) She energizes with people, with visits, with parties--the more the merrier and can only imagine pulling away as punishment, when I see it as blessed cocooning. I don't want anyone to feel that I have abandoned them in their time of need, that I don't like them anymore, because I have stepped aside a bit in deference to what I would want in the same situation.
I struggle with feeling selfish and grumpy when I don't think that more is merrier, when I cannot imagine frosting a birthday cake with thirty three kids hovering around me (I'd end up doing the proportions all wrong, I don't do math in crowds!), when I need a day or two of sitting around in my jammies after too many days of insufficient margins. My guilt-brain tells me that if so-and-so is rejuvenated in the midst of a trial by having lots of little ones around, I should feel begrudging and selfish that I barely want my own children around some days, even on good days, and don't feel at all up to extras on many many days. I have been treated to such great kindnesses by people laboring under their own stresses. Why don't I derive energy and focus from serving in times of stress? Why do I need so much downtime, resting on my sword as it were, in order to get up and fight the fight again? Why am I so self-absorbed? I don't know. I also vacillate between the need to get outside myself and the need to be honest with myself and how I function best. Where is that line? How much of introversion/extroversion is natural (wo)man--an enemy to God? How much of it is a framework to be worked with in, an eternal nature of my spirit?
I don't know; I'm still working that part out, but do know if you're going through something and you need me and I seem to disappear, I'm applying the Golden Rule and it's not working out that well, because while a cocoon may be what I would want, a party may be what you want. Tell me. I can do party; I can take direction. I can be taught!
I struggle with feeling selfish and grumpy when I don't think that more is merrier, when I cannot imagine frosting a birthday cake with thirty three kids hovering around me (I'd end up doing the proportions all wrong, I don't do math in crowds!), when I need a day or two of sitting around in my jammies after too many days of insufficient margins. My guilt-brain tells me that if so-and-so is rejuvenated in the midst of a trial by having lots of little ones around, I should feel begrudging and selfish that I barely want my own children around some days, even on good days, and don't feel at all up to extras on many many days. I have been treated to such great kindnesses by people laboring under their own stresses. Why don't I derive energy and focus from serving in times of stress? Why do I need so much downtime, resting on my sword as it were, in order to get up and fight the fight again? Why am I so self-absorbed? I don't know. I also vacillate between the need to get outside myself and the need to be honest with myself and how I function best. Where is that line? How much of introversion/extroversion is natural (wo)man--an enemy to God? How much of it is a framework to be worked with in, an eternal nature of my spirit?
I don't know; I'm still working that part out, but do know if you're going through something and you need me and I seem to disappear, I'm applying the Golden Rule and it's not working out that well, because while a cocoon may be what I would want, a party may be what you want. Tell me. I can do party; I can take direction. I can be taught!
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Fifth Graders get promoted; they don't graduate
Or so my dear fifth grader told me repeatedly. So, he had no cap and gown and his "promotion" was much longer than his little brother's. It focused a great deal more on progress and skills learned and beginnings made. The middle school principal even spoke!
Z hates to pose for pictures these days. Hates even more being noticed or smiling on purpose. So it was sheer dumb luck and a fast shutter speed that I got the pictures I did. Regardless, he is promoted!
Again, his teachers were wonderful. Ms. S truly got him and all his quirks and that is such a grand blessing for this mother's heart. She put up with his ugly unfriendly "friendly" letters at the beginning of the year. She drew him out and made him learn and think and process. She encouraged him and loved him. I love my kids' teachers!
Now Z goes on to middle school with its pseudo autonomy and crazy schedules and homework and organizational needs. Organization is not Z's strong suit. Hopefully we will come out only slightly singed on the other side. We have graduations in the future to plan for!
Z hates to pose for pictures these days. Hates even more being noticed or smiling on purpose. So it was sheer dumb luck and a fast shutter speed that I got the pictures I did. Regardless, he is promoted!
Again, his teachers were wonderful. Ms. S truly got him and all his quirks and that is such a grand blessing for this mother's heart. She put up with his ugly unfriendly "friendly" letters at the beginning of the year. She drew him out and made him learn and think and process. She encouraged him and loved him. I love my kids' teachers!
Now Z goes on to middle school with its pseudo autonomy and crazy schedules and homework and organizational needs. Organization is not Z's strong suit. Hopefully we will come out only slightly singed on the other side. We have graduations in the future to plan for!
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Another kindergartener going, going gone
Here we have more "gratulations" as M would say it. Bam is done with kindergarten now. He was so excited, despite how the cap and gown picture appears.
His teachers were so so wonderful. I loved coming into his class and watching him learn with his classmates, interact with them and be so very Bam with them. I loved how excited his teachers were to teach everything to their class. We truly have an embarrassment of riches in teachers for my children!
His teachers were so so wonderful. I loved coming into his class and watching him learn with his classmates, interact with them and be so very Bam with them. I loved how excited his teachers were to teach everything to their class. We truly have an embarrassment of riches in teachers for my children!
Monday, June 4, 2012
Nine Years of Wonder
As in, I wonder how it's been nine years. In some ways, CW's arrival to our family marks the beginning of when things changed forever. Four days before he was born, DH was made the Elders' Quorum president and has never again regularly been home on Sunday mornings to help us get ready for church. Each successive calling has meant less DH for us and more responsibilities for him. So, CW's entire existence has been marked by me, his mother, losing more and more control of things.
But while I may have less control, less sanity, CW has always been more. More energy, more devilish twinkle in his eyes, more finely tuned sense of justice. Just more. The way he thinks about things is so original. In school this year, he has been involved in GATE, which is the gifted and talented enrichment program. It's more than just accelerated learning, a GATE kid has to be able to and enjoy thinking outside the box. This program has been sheer heaven in school for CW. He has loved it.
His birthday this year fell at the beginning of the last week of school. He loves electronic games, so he asked that I make him a "DS" cake, as in Nintendoo 3DS. This was not an easy concept for me. I told him I could put a frosted brownie on top of the cake and he decided he wanted to frost "the controls." Here's our combined efforts:
Thankfully my kids love tasty cakes, even when they're not so aesthetically pleasing or when they don't exactly live up to artistic visions.
We love our CW. I can't imagine our family or my life without his exuberance. Happy Birthday CW!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
A Blur
My MIL asked me recently if I felt the year was going quickly by. Quickly no, confusingly, slipping through my fingers, yes. I'm hoping to get a bit of a breather soon, so maybe I can get a handle on life and come up for air. It's been quite a ride so far.
January, the kids and I were sick, but we got better. DH was sick and never got better, leading to February when he spent that disagreeable patch in the hospital and we learned how much guess work there is in modern medicine, why doctors 'practice' and how ridiculous it is to be married to the "Mystery Man of the hospital." DH spiked his crazy fever on my birthday, was in doctors' offices and the ER most of the rest of that week and in the hospital the following week. The next few weeks, he was under strict orders to rest and heal from the mystery illness. (No, we still have no idea what he even had, aside from the lethal allergic reactions to two different antibiotics) The clue to me of how sick he actually was, was that he rested. He didn't go to work for far longer than he ever has; he didn't even check in (after that embarrassing part in the hospital where he insisted on calling and emailing and in his delirium producing incoherent 'work' product, some with no verbs whatsoever) and suddenly, it was March 21 and we realized we had lost an entire month. Gone.
After awaking from our illness induced fog, March 26th DH left for Connecticut to help out on a trial for 3 days. He came home early Easter Sunday morning (no that doesn't actually equal 3 days) for 44 hours, during which time he conducted Easter services at church, and worked remotely on the same trial for at least 24 of those hours before returning to Connecticut. He came "home" again for about a week during which time he spent 2 days in SLC and several other days conducting long conference calls to the trial site. Then on April 29, he caught the red eye back to Connecticut for most of May, returning for 20 hours here and there so that he could attend meetings, doctors' appointments (remember, he had just been in the hospital) a dance recital, Cub scout day camp (no, not Mother's Day) etc.
Easter Sunday
M in her first dance recital
M and her beloved preschool teacher at "Gratulations"
During the same time he was gone, it was May, that time of year when everything is scheduled. Most evenings I had no fewer than 2 places I was supposed to be at the same time. I got grumpy, selfish and tired and let far too many things fall through the cracks. I know plenty of people who have it harder than this on a regular basis and who do a far better job than I. DH finally came home late Tuesday night, went to the 3rd grade overnight field trip on Wed/Thursday, attended preschool graduation and conducted a funeral on Friday. And then we celebrated a largely uncomplicated Memorial Day weekend. Perhaps soon we can breathe. I realize what a blessing this is.
I say all this not to brag, to complain or really even to vent, but merely to record because if I could lose an entire month between February 21 and March 21, I could lose the first half of this year, if I'm not careful. I'm trying to remind myself of perspective. I have a dear friend whose husband and his business are having legal trouble. She has a full and crazy family and she was taking the bar exam, which is a full body mess of insanity all on its own. She was feeling a bit justifiably self-absorbed and grumpy. She sat down at her test taking table the first morning of the bar exam. These tables are shared by two people--one on either corner (I have vividnightmares memories of my own time at those tables). She asked her table mate what she had planned for after the test that first day (there are 3). Table mate said "chemo." My dear friend said all her complaints, grumps and justifiable problems left her mind at that moment. This woman was going to chemo in the middle of the three day bar exam. She was trying to stay alive. Perspective. It's a powerful tool, if you can keep it.
January, the kids and I were sick, but we got better. DH was sick and never got better, leading to February when he spent that disagreeable patch in the hospital and we learned how much guess work there is in modern medicine, why doctors 'practice' and how ridiculous it is to be married to the "Mystery Man of the hospital." DH spiked his crazy fever on my birthday, was in doctors' offices and the ER most of the rest of that week and in the hospital the following week. The next few weeks, he was under strict orders to rest and heal from the mystery illness. (No, we still have no idea what he even had, aside from the lethal allergic reactions to two different antibiotics) The clue to me of how sick he actually was, was that he rested. He didn't go to work for far longer than he ever has; he didn't even check in (after that embarrassing part in the hospital where he insisted on calling and emailing and in his delirium producing incoherent 'work' product, some with no verbs whatsoever) and suddenly, it was March 21 and we realized we had lost an entire month. Gone.
After awaking from our illness induced fog, March 26th DH left for Connecticut to help out on a trial for 3 days. He came home early Easter Sunday morning (no that doesn't actually equal 3 days) for 44 hours, during which time he conducted Easter services at church, and worked remotely on the same trial for at least 24 of those hours before returning to Connecticut. He came "home" again for about a week during which time he spent 2 days in SLC and several other days conducting long conference calls to the trial site. Then on April 29, he caught the red eye back to Connecticut for most of May, returning for 20 hours here and there so that he could attend meetings, doctors' appointments (remember, he had just been in the hospital) a dance recital, Cub scout day camp (no, not Mother's Day) etc.
Easter Sunday
M in her first dance recital
M and her beloved preschool teacher at "Gratulations"
During the same time he was gone, it was May, that time of year when everything is scheduled. Most evenings I had no fewer than 2 places I was supposed to be at the same time. I got grumpy, selfish and tired and let far too many things fall through the cracks. I know plenty of people who have it harder than this on a regular basis and who do a far better job than I. DH finally came home late Tuesday night, went to the 3rd grade overnight field trip on Wed/Thursday, attended preschool graduation and conducted a funeral on Friday. And then we celebrated a largely uncomplicated Memorial Day weekend. Perhaps soon we can breathe. I realize what a blessing this is.
I say all this not to brag, to complain or really even to vent, but merely to record because if I could lose an entire month between February 21 and March 21, I could lose the first half of this year, if I'm not careful. I'm trying to remind myself of perspective. I have a dear friend whose husband and his business are having legal trouble. She has a full and crazy family and she was taking the bar exam, which is a full body mess of insanity all on its own. She was feeling a bit justifiably self-absorbed and grumpy. She sat down at her test taking table the first morning of the bar exam. These tables are shared by two people--one on either corner (I have vivid
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Getting Stuck
I get stuck a lot. Stuck commenting on a thought provoking article, stuck reading one more chapter in a book, stuck on FB, just stuck. Most of the time I just battle trying not to get stuck and feeling frustrated at all the things I don't get done and the time that seeps through my fingers as a result.
I've been feeling like I need to get up earlier (yes, this is a recurring theme). It's always a battle with me, and a battle with my children who invariably have nightmares, illnesses and growing pains that get them up in the night (or that prevent them from going to bed in a timely fashion in the first place) and it's even more of a battle when DH is out of town because I get stuck, again, and don't go to sleep in a timely fashion either. But there's that feeling, niggling, telling me I need to get up earlier. Yesterday, I got up a little earlier, enough so that I was dressed before family scripture study (not ready, just dressed to drive kidlets hither and yon). That helped. The day went a little more smoothly. Then, to add to my quest for health and to encourage me to be tired enough to go to bed decently, I've been trying to exercise at night--just a little, maybe fifteen minutes of weights, thirty minutes of yoga, a little samba/capoeira DVD I have. I did that; it helped.
So, this morning, I got up even a little bit earlier, sufficiently to encourage CE to stop ignoring her alarm and finish her homework, sufficiently to get dressed AND read my own personal scriptures before family scripture time AND time to meander a bit, checking all the blogs that make me think, the FB that I check in with and email--all the places that I often get stuck on. I got a little stuck, but not too bad. Then, the morning collected itself, I took the kidlets hither and yon and because I had already allowed myself some wandering time, I listened to the responsible part of my brain that said "make bread, practice your piano, exercise" (all with the "help" of 4yo M to keep it interesting). And here I sit now, with two loaves of pretty whole wheat bread, made with freshly ground wheat (yes, I feel a little like the little red hen), piano practiced (well as much as stupid sore hands will allow), boot camp exercise DVD done, M fed snacks and placed in front of Phineas and Ferb so that I can take a shower. And it's not even lunch time yet. I don't feel frazzled. There may be something to this getting up earlier, if only that I can feed that part of me that needs to get stuck a little, first thing and then move on to necessary and productive pursuits.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Weekend Whirlpool
Something happens on the weekends. Our schedule gets turned sideways. We want to sleep in. We have chores that need doing, but the kids fight them, so we fight with the kids. There are errands to run, and sometimes sports games or piano recitals. And then there's Sunday, with church, meetings, firesides and exhaustion. All of this results in Monday mornings where I busily slide everyone out the door and then sit and wonder what happened to our house, what happened to our weekend? A common casualty of this weekend whirlpool is our family scripture study. We do okay getting into a groove during the week--there is resistance and some fighting, but by Friday things are almost non-ugly. Then Saturday with its schedule-lite comes and more often than not scriptures get forgotten and then Sunday with early meetings, church, naps, firesides etc and we have forgotten again. And then it's Monday, and we are at the beginning again, with resistance and fighting and ugly. I keep reminding myself that trying is worth something. We keep trying. But I get so discouraged that we can never seem to keep our groove.
Something amazing happened this weekend. When the Spirit whispered to me on Saturday, "now would be a good time for scriptures," we read them. When we were almost ready to leave for church on Sunday, again the Spirit whispered, "what about now?" And so we did. The whirlpool still happened. My house is trashed, but scriptures this morning were a marvel to me. Everyone came with a minimum of difficulty. There was no ugly. People followed along. We kept our groove. Amazing. There really is something to that consistency argument you always hear. We did not miraculously morph into a family of erudite scriptorians just because we didn't let the habit die over the weekend. But we kept our groove. Amazing what a couple of days can do when you don't entirely lose them!
Something amazing happened this weekend. When the Spirit whispered to me on Saturday, "now would be a good time for scriptures," we read them. When we were almost ready to leave for church on Sunday, again the Spirit whispered, "what about now?" And so we did. The whirlpool still happened. My house is trashed, but scriptures this morning were a marvel to me. Everyone came with a minimum of difficulty. There was no ugly. People followed along. We kept our groove. Amazing. There really is something to that consistency argument you always hear. We did not miraculously morph into a family of erudite scriptorians just because we didn't let the habit die over the weekend. But we kept our groove. Amazing what a couple of days can do when you don't entirely lose them!
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Learning to Know
Sister Julie B. Beck was released this weekend as General Relief Society President, the leader of the women of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I remember sitting in my family room when Sister Beck gave her talk entitled Mothers who Know. I felt a call to action, an urging to be such a mother.
Perhaps my most profound memory of a Sister Beck talk, though, was from a BYU Women's Conference in 2010 entitled Choose Ye this day to Serve the Lord. I watched it in my family room, alone after everyone had gone to sleep. I was transfixed, scribbling notes furiously. Perhaps I was touched at the urgency of the message because Sister Beck was giving it just days after her father had passed away. You could see that she was grieving, but that her message was more important than her grief, than the fact that she had lost her voice, if I remember right. That talk was many things and there are many touching and tender principles taught, but the thing that struck me most that night was the pattern: to prioritize our lives by what is essential, what is necessary and what is nice to do. Her first paragraph under "essential" is:
I am always looking for patterns, for lists, for help. This pattern from Sister Beck has been the clearest pattern for me, so essential, so tender, so pointed as to how to get where I need to be, how to get back to where I should never have left.
There are many things, many thoughts, many calls to action I will remember from Sister Beck, but that pattern, combined with the idea that knowing the mind and will of God for me, for my family was essential, was possible, was--is--empowering. It reminded my spirit that God is my Father, that He wants to teach me, to help me teach my children, His children. That this roller coaster of motherhood is not meant to be a solitary job, that I "can hear His voice and receive His guidance in all aspects of my life." Simple. powerful.
Perhaps my most profound memory of a Sister Beck talk, though, was from a BYU Women's Conference in 2010 entitled Choose Ye this day to Serve the Lord. I watched it in my family room, alone after everyone had gone to sleep. I was transfixed, scribbling notes furiously. Perhaps I was touched at the urgency of the message because Sister Beck was giving it just days after her father had passed away. You could see that she was grieving, but that her message was more important than her grief, than the fact that she had lost her voice, if I remember right. That talk was many things and there are many touching and tender principles taught, but the thing that struck me most that night was the pattern: to prioritize our lives by what is essential, what is necessary and what is nice to do. Her first paragraph under "essential" is:
I wrote at the top of the essential list revelation. I have to be able to know the mind and will of God. Therefore, I have to do the things in my life that put me in a position to hear His voice. Reading the scriptures then became an essential for me because the scriptures contain the mind and will of God, and by reading and studying from them, I can hear His voice and receive His guidance in all aspects of my life. I came up with a simple rule that was easy for me to keep: Every day I will spend some time in the scriptures. The accumulative power and learning of that commitment has changed my life and helped me learn daily the mind and will of God.
I am always looking for patterns, for lists, for help. This pattern from Sister Beck has been the clearest pattern for me, so essential, so tender, so pointed as to how to get where I need to be, how to get back to where I should never have left.
There are many things, many thoughts, many calls to action I will remember from Sister Beck, but that pattern, combined with the idea that knowing the mind and will of God for me, for my family was essential, was possible, was--is--empowering. It reminded my spirit that God is my Father, that He wants to teach me, to help me teach my children, His children. That this roller coaster of motherhood is not meant to be a solitary job, that I "can hear His voice and receive His guidance in all aspects of my life." Simple. powerful.
Not exactly how I planned
I had a vision for this weekend. We would watch all sessions of General Conference; we would color and play bingo, and learn and feel the Spirit. We would celebrate DH's birthday with Raspberry Tiramisu. We would eat chile verde, crepes, and french dip sandwiches. We would spend time with friends as a last hurrah before they moved. I was trying so hard to prepare my family and myself. How did it really go down?
We made tents.
Day One
Day Two
DH ended up being stuck in Connecticut for work. He'll be home next Thursday. So, we didn't make the Raspberry Tiramisu. We had pizza and mexican food for dinner and in far away CT, DH had Popeye's chicken and went to the Priesthood session.
Dreading the weekend without DH and a family of picky kids, I shelved the chile verde idea and postponed the crepes. We did have waffles, french dip and way too much easter candy with our bingo. We hung out at the park with our friends between Sunday sessions, but a family emergency precluded them actually watching conference with us or assisting us in our tent construction or bingo playing. We watched conference, some of us paying more attention than others. I had prayed a great deal about how to teach and prepare my family. I feel, as usual, like the whole conference was aimed directly at me, like a fire hose. There were talks I missed because of tent and bingo mishaps, others that I heard, but need to revisit. I looked to the part of lds.org where it says when talks will be available in various formats. 24 hours I was told I would need to wait to be able to re-watch talks. But, I also watched talks pop up far quicker than that. Perhaps this is the first time I am sufficiently cognizant of the monumental work involved in bringing the words of prophets and apostles to millions of people in as many formats as possible. I don't have the skill set to do their job at all, but I am in awe and in debt that they do it, so quickly, so well.
Conference with my mangy brood is also a great deal of work (though not on the scale of producing and broadcasting the entire conference for worldwide consumption over multiple formats and in multiple languages). I'm getting better at planning for it, preparing us for it. The smaller parts of our bunch are also getting older, so that helps. In some ways, I wish we could have church like this every week, sitting at the feet of of our leaders, drinking from the fire hose. But then I realize that we need the opportunity to practice what they preach, to do what we're learning, to lead, and teach and learn and follow and that doesn't all happen in our living rooms under a tent made of quilts with a bingo card filled with pretzels and jelly beans. It happens when the husband is working all weekend, when there are family emergencies and general mayhem. Some days, some glorious days, are respites, days for passive learning, days for direct heavenly answers. But most days are workdays, days for on-the-job training, take home tests, teaching on the fly. I couldn't do the second without the first and the first would be meaningless without the opportunity for the second.
We made tents.
Day One
Day Two
DH ended up being stuck in Connecticut for work. He'll be home next Thursday. So, we didn't make the Raspberry Tiramisu. We had pizza and mexican food for dinner and in far away CT, DH had Popeye's chicken and went to the Priesthood session.
Dreading the weekend without DH and a family of picky kids, I shelved the chile verde idea and postponed the crepes. We did have waffles, french dip and way too much easter candy with our bingo. We hung out at the park with our friends between Sunday sessions, but a family emergency precluded them actually watching conference with us or assisting us in our tent construction or bingo playing. We watched conference, some of us paying more attention than others. I had prayed a great deal about how to teach and prepare my family. I feel, as usual, like the whole conference was aimed directly at me, like a fire hose. There were talks I missed because of tent and bingo mishaps, others that I heard, but need to revisit. I looked to the part of lds.org where it says when talks will be available in various formats. 24 hours I was told I would need to wait to be able to re-watch talks. But, I also watched talks pop up far quicker than that. Perhaps this is the first time I am sufficiently cognizant of the monumental work involved in bringing the words of prophets and apostles to millions of people in as many formats as possible. I don't have the skill set to do their job at all, but I am in awe and in debt that they do it, so quickly, so well.
Conference with my mangy brood is also a great deal of work (though not on the scale of producing and broadcasting the entire conference for worldwide consumption over multiple formats and in multiple languages). I'm getting better at planning for it, preparing us for it. The smaller parts of our bunch are also getting older, so that helps. In some ways, I wish we could have church like this every week, sitting at the feet of of our leaders, drinking from the fire hose. But then I realize that we need the opportunity to practice what they preach, to do what we're learning, to lead, and teach and learn and follow and that doesn't all happen in our living rooms under a tent made of quilts with a bingo card filled with pretzels and jelly beans. It happens when the husband is working all weekend, when there are family emergencies and general mayhem. Some days, some glorious days, are respites, days for passive learning, days for direct heavenly answers. But most days are workdays, days for on-the-job training, take home tests, teaching on the fly. I couldn't do the second without the first and the first would be meaningless without the opportunity for the second.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
He is Risen!
I was talking to a friend last night about not "doing Easter." We participate in Easter egg hunts and enjoy the full complement of Easter candy. But that's where it ends. My children know nothing of the Easter bunny; he has never come to our house. The only easter baskets we have are the ones MIL gives out for her annual day before Easter egg hunt. I have always said that we did this to focus on the Savior, on the good news of the gospel, that Christ was crucified and lives again. Sometimes though, I fear I've done it only to have one less commercialization hungry holiday take over our family. I want to do better.
I love this quote by Elder Bednar, a living modern day apostle of the Lord.
A favorite pattern of mine in the Book of Mormon is 2 Nephi 25:26. It reminds me of the whole point, really, to everything I teach my children. I love that this Easter season begins, instead of ends, with General Conference this year. My hope and my prayer is that I can be ready, that our home can be conducive to really listening to what the Lord, through His apostles and prophets wants us to be doing right now to know Him, to follow Him better.
I love this quote by Elder Bednar, a living modern day apostle of the Lord.
"The Father's gift to us was His son. The gift from the Son to us is His atonement. Perhaps the only thing that we could give Them is a growing conviction, a deepening conversion of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and what it means in our lives. Perhaps the only thing we could give would be a more diligent desire and commensurate study, to not just know about the atonement, but to know Him who brought the atonement and to more fully understand the blessings of the atonement in our lives." David A. Bednar
A favorite pattern of mine in the Book of Mormon is 2 Nephi 25:26. It reminds me of the whole point, really, to everything I teach my children. I love that this Easter season begins, instead of ends, with General Conference this year. My hope and my prayer is that I can be ready, that our home can be conducive to really listening to what the Lord, through His apostles and prophets wants us to be doing right now to know Him, to follow Him better.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Return to Real Life
DH is home from the hospital, mostly well and no, we have no idea (nor will we likely ever) what it was that he had. My faith in "modern" medicine isn't at an all time high right now.
Re-entry is not pretty. While DH came home from the hospital and rested quietly at home for about a week, followed by days of late starts and early returns until returning to full steam, life as the mom returned immediately and with a vengeance. Perhaps we should call it post traumatic motherhood. Each of the kids has weathered these lost weeks in a different way. M was more clingy, but chafed at the inactivity of quiet time at home with mom and dad. Bam quietly carried his blankie in his back pack to school every day for a while (something we had left behind in preschool). Z became VERY conciliatory and CE alternated between being extremely helpful and extremely 13 in a bit of a whiplashy fashion. CW was just more. More frenetic, more competitive, more pesky, more impatient (MUST do the book report the night it's assigned, even though there's a month lead time, no waiting for anything, even dinner), more drop at the hat emotional, more inexplicable headaches that send him quietly to bed, more. Each seemed to be crying out for reassurance and attention in their own non-verbal way. I'm grateful that our brush with critical illness was just that, a brush and I can reassure them that dad is home and safe and well.
But life goes on. People we love are very ill, having far worse episodes of critical illness than DH did. In fact, it's causing a bit of vertigo for me when people ask me how DH is doing when my mind has moved on, in so many ways, to others who are far more sick, far more uncertain of future wellness. People we love have uncertain employment horizons, tearful and fearful family changes. As real and as scary and strange as it was for us, we really lost only about a month, we know too many people hurting, struggling trying so hard not to lose far more than a few measly weeks. That is real life. Maybe there are many elements of this realness I wouldn't know about if DH were not the bishop, or didn't know the stories of lasting grief and loss that I already knew. I feel we dodged a bullet, somehow skirted actual danger in a disingenuous way, like DH getting well was cheating notions of fair play and substantial justice. While I know this to be untrue, it's still very much a vertiginous situation, but I don't have the luxury of acting out or walking around with a blankie like my kids. Unfortunately, I have resorted to oreos and TJ's chocolate raspberry sticks. Blankie probably would have been the healthier choice.
Re-entry is still good though, and definitely preferable to the alternative. And my chocolate consumption can probably be chalked up to my part in helping the GDP or something like that. Here's to keeping it real.
Re-entry is not pretty. While DH came home from the hospital and rested quietly at home for about a week, followed by days of late starts and early returns until returning to full steam, life as the mom returned immediately and with a vengeance. Perhaps we should call it post traumatic motherhood. Each of the kids has weathered these lost weeks in a different way. M was more clingy, but chafed at the inactivity of quiet time at home with mom and dad. Bam quietly carried his blankie in his back pack to school every day for a while (something we had left behind in preschool). Z became VERY conciliatory and CE alternated between being extremely helpful and extremely 13 in a bit of a whiplashy fashion. CW was just more. More frenetic, more competitive, more pesky, more impatient (MUST do the book report the night it's assigned, even though there's a month lead time, no waiting for anything, even dinner), more drop at the hat emotional, more inexplicable headaches that send him quietly to bed, more. Each seemed to be crying out for reassurance and attention in their own non-verbal way. I'm grateful that our brush with critical illness was just that, a brush and I can reassure them that dad is home and safe and well.
But life goes on. People we love are very ill, having far worse episodes of critical illness than DH did. In fact, it's causing a bit of vertigo for me when people ask me how DH is doing when my mind has moved on, in so many ways, to others who are far more sick, far more uncertain of future wellness. People we love have uncertain employment horizons, tearful and fearful family changes. As real and as scary and strange as it was for us, we really lost only about a month, we know too many people hurting, struggling trying so hard not to lose far more than a few measly weeks. That is real life. Maybe there are many elements of this realness I wouldn't know about if DH were not the bishop, or didn't know the stories of lasting grief and loss that I already knew. I feel we dodged a bullet, somehow skirted actual danger in a disingenuous way, like DH getting well was cheating notions of fair play and substantial justice. While I know this to be untrue, it's still very much a vertiginous situation, but I don't have the luxury of acting out or walking around with a blankie like my kids. Unfortunately, I have resorted to oreos and TJ's chocolate raspberry sticks. Blankie probably would have been the healthier choice.
Re-entry is still good though, and definitely preferable to the alternative. And my chocolate consumption can probably be chalked up to my part in helping the GDP or something like that. Here's to keeping it real.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Tender Mercies
Didn't think I would be sitting in an ICU room with my snoring husband as February wound down, but here we are. I've been trying to sort out the last week, with little success. But I feel I have to write out the tender mercies that have been flooding over me, even as inartfully as I can currently do it.
We don't know what is wrong with DH. The infectious doc called him the mystery man of the hospital yesterday. Sounds like more of a graphic novel character than what we had planned for this week. Because we started visiting the ER last Wednesday and they finally let us stay on Sunday, I am being forced to let people help me. I am not good at this. I am trying to learn. I am embarrassed to let people do my laundry or clean and tidy my home, but I am grateful for the weight lifted and the peace that brings. And my children are grateful for clean socks, underwear and that I am not nagging them about cleaning their bathrooms. I am finding, however, that my spoken and unspoken prayers are being answered (even though not the most oft prayed one for answers, not yet) with lightning speed. Someone will ask me what help I need and I will have a stupor of thought, and then a little bit later, I will suddenly know what would be best and that person will call me or text me, that exact moment, giving me and my little ones exactly what is needed, whether it be boys to play with, a whiz math teacher to help with the homework or even a softy of a home teacher who will whip up german pancakes just because my boys (the pickiest children on the planet) said they liked german pancakes better than the chicken enchiladas they'd prepared for us. Even the providence that a friend started a new business selling cute bags and I bought one and it is THE perfect hospital bag for all the things I need to carry back and forth for the sitting and waiting. I am able to see God's hand in every detail, His arms all around me. He seems to be saying, "I've got this." The bigger answers we want about what is wrong, when will DH get better and come home from the hospital are still forthcoming, but feeling care and concern from the Lord, seeing it and feeling it from all those around us is immeasurably comforting. So many blessings come in unexpected ways. The Old Testament quotes God as saying "My ways are not your ways". I believe that. I know that. But I also know that there are times in life when it is rather difficult to swallow. I only know to have faith that the Lord knows the end from the beginning, even though I can't see it. He is the Mapmaker, (not sure that one is in the scriptures, but it feels like it should be) and I can trust in His better perspective.
Sometimes it's not so easy, and that is when more tender mercies seem to rain down. Like last night when I was driving home from the hospital late. I was discouraged and frustrated and wanted to talk to someone but it was too late to call. Except for I have a dear friend who has insomnia problems, so she is a major night owl, so I talked to her. Kind of strange to say my friend's insomnia is my tender mercy, but having that knowledge come to my mind at that moment definitely was. A rather big tender mercy is a dear friend whose husband has been very sick for a long time. Her family is about the same size as mine, with children similar ages. She knows exactly the things I'm going through, down to where there are places to eat near the hospital we're at. She's acting as a voice of wisdom, walking me through the wrenching balance between sick husband and kids who need me, how and what to let go when. I know she knows. Having someone so dear who has been exactly here is HUGE. No, I don't selfishly believe her husband is sick because I needed someone to hold my hand, but her experience is a tender mercy for me.
I fervently believe that all these puzzles, warts, illnesses, problems and disasters of mortality serve many purposes. Sometimes they are to reorient our eyes heavenward. Sometimes they are to humble us and teach us to let others help, to wear away stubbornness, to remind us that we are not alone. A lot of times I think they are the angel training ground the Lord uses to make us into His messengers, into the beings we need and want to be, less selfish, more outside our small spheres and willing to open hands and arms, bend knees and be His answers to our prayers. It's a pretty good system, if inexplicable and painful at times. Sometimes I don't know the answers, yet. Sometimes they aren't forthcoming for a long time. Feeling, hearing that divine "wait and "not now, not yet" is so hard, but it inevitably teaches me more faith, more trust in Him as Mapmaker, as I see how it all fits together in hindsight. Yes, hindsight in real time would be nice, but it wouldn't be hindsight then, would it?
Perhaps the most tender of mercies is the gift of seeing the mercies themselves. I feel like I went to the eye doctor and got a new prescription for blessings and they are in infinitely sharper focus now. I imagine God is also the Master Ophthalmologist too, again
not exactly scriptural, but the scriptures do say He is the Master Physician.
Years ago, the wife of Rex Lee, president of my alma mater wrote a wonderful article about challenges and perspectives. I often think about it. She eventually lost her husband to cancer, and while she said she wished he had not had to go through that particular trial, she wouldn't trade back the pain and suffering if it meant giving back the enlightenment and growth gained from going through it. I try to look at life, especially at the pesky parts, as a sort of eternal weight lifting program. I believe God is sculpting our spirits into true gods and goddesses, not the mere Mr. and Ms. Universe of the pageant variety. But like working with any personal trainer, we have to do the lifting to gain the benefit. He knows better than I do how best to grow me into what I can be. I can trust that.
And so here we sit, me and my Mystery Man. Thank you, deep thank you for all who have a hand in this training program, who pray, who think kindly of us, who help. Bless you. Quite literally, I pray for blessings of the tenderest sort upon your heads. I can see them. Look for yourself. They are REAL.
We don't know what is wrong with DH. The infectious doc called him the mystery man of the hospital yesterday. Sounds like more of a graphic novel character than what we had planned for this week. Because we started visiting the ER last Wednesday and they finally let us stay on Sunday, I am being forced to let people help me. I am not good at this. I am trying to learn. I am embarrassed to let people do my laundry or clean and tidy my home, but I am grateful for the weight lifted and the peace that brings. And my children are grateful for clean socks, underwear and that I am not nagging them about cleaning their bathrooms. I am finding, however, that my spoken and unspoken prayers are being answered (even though not the most oft prayed one for answers, not yet) with lightning speed. Someone will ask me what help I need and I will have a stupor of thought, and then a little bit later, I will suddenly know what would be best and that person will call me or text me, that exact moment, giving me and my little ones exactly what is needed, whether it be boys to play with, a whiz math teacher to help with the homework or even a softy of a home teacher who will whip up german pancakes just because my boys (the pickiest children on the planet) said they liked german pancakes better than the chicken enchiladas they'd prepared for us. Even the providence that a friend started a new business selling cute bags and I bought one and it is THE perfect hospital bag for all the things I need to carry back and forth for the sitting and waiting. I am able to see God's hand in every detail, His arms all around me. He seems to be saying, "I've got this." The bigger answers we want about what is wrong, when will DH get better and come home from the hospital are still forthcoming, but feeling care and concern from the Lord, seeing it and feeling it from all those around us is immeasurably comforting. So many blessings come in unexpected ways. The Old Testament quotes God as saying "My ways are not your ways". I believe that. I know that. But I also know that there are times in life when it is rather difficult to swallow. I only know to have faith that the Lord knows the end from the beginning, even though I can't see it. He is the Mapmaker, (not sure that one is in the scriptures, but it feels like it should be) and I can trust in His better perspective.
Sometimes it's not so easy, and that is when more tender mercies seem to rain down. Like last night when I was driving home from the hospital late. I was discouraged and frustrated and wanted to talk to someone but it was too late to call. Except for I have a dear friend who has insomnia problems, so she is a major night owl, so I talked to her. Kind of strange to say my friend's insomnia is my tender mercy, but having that knowledge come to my mind at that moment definitely was. A rather big tender mercy is a dear friend whose husband has been very sick for a long time. Her family is about the same size as mine, with children similar ages. She knows exactly the things I'm going through, down to where there are places to eat near the hospital we're at. She's acting as a voice of wisdom, walking me through the wrenching balance between sick husband and kids who need me, how and what to let go when. I know she knows. Having someone so dear who has been exactly here is HUGE. No, I don't selfishly believe her husband is sick because I needed someone to hold my hand, but her experience is a tender mercy for me.
I fervently believe that all these puzzles, warts, illnesses, problems and disasters of mortality serve many purposes. Sometimes they are to reorient our eyes heavenward. Sometimes they are to humble us and teach us to let others help, to wear away stubbornness, to remind us that we are not alone. A lot of times I think they are the angel training ground the Lord uses to make us into His messengers, into the beings we need and want to be, less selfish, more outside our small spheres and willing to open hands and arms, bend knees and be His answers to our prayers. It's a pretty good system, if inexplicable and painful at times. Sometimes I don't know the answers, yet. Sometimes they aren't forthcoming for a long time. Feeling, hearing that divine "wait and "not now, not yet" is so hard, but it inevitably teaches me more faith, more trust in Him as Mapmaker, as I see how it all fits together in hindsight. Yes, hindsight in real time would be nice, but it wouldn't be hindsight then, would it?
Perhaps the most tender of mercies is the gift of seeing the mercies themselves. I feel like I went to the eye doctor and got a new prescription for blessings and they are in infinitely sharper focus now. I imagine God is also the Master Ophthalmologist too, again
not exactly scriptural, but the scriptures do say He is the Master Physician.
Years ago, the wife of Rex Lee, president of my alma mater wrote a wonderful article about challenges and perspectives. I often think about it. She eventually lost her husband to cancer, and while she said she wished he had not had to go through that particular trial, she wouldn't trade back the pain and suffering if it meant giving back the enlightenment and growth gained from going through it. I try to look at life, especially at the pesky parts, as a sort of eternal weight lifting program. I believe God is sculpting our spirits into true gods and goddesses, not the mere Mr. and Ms. Universe of the pageant variety. But like working with any personal trainer, we have to do the lifting to gain the benefit. He knows better than I do how best to grow me into what I can be. I can trust that.
And so here we sit, me and my Mystery Man. Thank you, deep thank you for all who have a hand in this training program, who pray, who think kindly of us, who help. Bless you. Quite literally, I pray for blessings of the tenderest sort upon your heads. I can see them. Look for yourself. They are REAL.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Thirty Days
Thirty days ago, I decided to try an experiment. I stopped eating sugar. At first it wasn't really a big deal. Perhaps because I was getting sick and couldn't taste anything, not eating sugar wasn't that big of a deal. I continued, freezing the beautiful sugar cookie my visiting teacher brought me, freezing a piece of CE's birthday cake and even avoiding the continual stores of M&Ms DH brings in the house. I didn't drink a single soda and I didn't even eat frozen yogurt when we took the kids for a treat last weekend. I wish I could say I didn't still want it, but I'm looking forward to breaking those sweets out of the freezer tomorrow. I wish I could say I dropped oodles of weight, but I didn't. I lost a bit, but I'm still outside the healthy range I'm seeking. The biggest thing I've gained from the experience is learning something for sure that I've always sort of guessed. All my best rewards are sweets. When life is crazy and my children send me around the bend, I deserve a lot of things, but sugar is what I reach for. Sugar is shorthand for me in a world where I have neither the time nor the money for the massage or pedicure that would be a healthier reward (and a nap is out of the question). Sugar is the compensation for another day when I failed to anticipate just how inexplicable life could really be. Sugar is my decadent treat of choice. I have noticed sweet where I never thought it was before--in wheat thins, in bread, even in Idaho potatoes, baked and ready to eat. I've always had a high tolerance for sweet. I wonder if that will change, if, when I break out that frozen cookie, will it seem too sweet to finish?
I have been listening to my body more. Realizing, in addition to my tendency to reward all highs, lows and crazies with sugar, that I engage is some boredom sweet eating. I have picky children who will eat next to nothing normal. DH is also pretty picky. Each day I must choose which proclivities to cook for and most days it's not my own, because the blowback is too much. Sweet eating had become how I infuse something interesting in my intake. That part must change for good. I found that the times I most craved something sweet was when I was most bored with the other things I was eating. I wonder, if there is more variety in the rest of my eating, will I be able to let go of the sweetness crutch?
I don't want to go back to mindless sweet eating, but I think it's okay that my tastebuds run sweet, that sometimes, I indulge them. Interesting experiment. Glad it's over.
I have been listening to my body more. Realizing, in addition to my tendency to reward all highs, lows and crazies with sugar, that I engage is some boredom sweet eating. I have picky children who will eat next to nothing normal. DH is also pretty picky. Each day I must choose which proclivities to cook for and most days it's not my own, because the blowback is too much. Sweet eating had become how I infuse something interesting in my intake. That part must change for good. I found that the times I most craved something sweet was when I was most bored with the other things I was eating. I wonder, if there is more variety in the rest of my eating, will I be able to let go of the sweetness crutch?
I don't want to go back to mindless sweet eating, but I think it's okay that my tastebuds run sweet, that sometimes, I indulge them. Interesting experiment. Glad it's over.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Thirteen can be lucky, right?
Dear CE, you are a bonafide teenager now. You decorated your own cake again, enjoying every minute of it:
You got your ears pierced yesterday, with a minimum of trembling:
Birthdays get less magical as you get older. You had to spend the night of your birthday doing homework. School and piano lessons continued unabated and so did family chores and other responsibilities you have in school, church and our family. I can't believe it's been thirteen years since that snowy Utah day you were born. You are nearly as tall as me and have plans, dreams and growing skills. You must really be thirteen. It will be lucky, right?
You got your ears pierced yesterday, with a minimum of trembling:
Birthdays get less magical as you get older. You had to spend the night of your birthday doing homework. School and piano lessons continued unabated and so did family chores and other responsibilities you have in school, church and our family. I can't believe it's been thirteen years since that snowy Utah day you were born. You are nearly as tall as me and have plans, dreams and growing skills. You must really be thirteen. It will be lucky, right?
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Pinewood Derby: Twice is Nice
This year, Z and CW designed and assembled their cars in the wood shop of DH's bishopric counselor, and then spent hours with Grandpa F weighing and graphiting and all other things that are important in a block of racing wood.
Morning dawned on race day and we made our way to the Stake Center (in all honesty, I shouldn't have gone. I was dead sick. It was the only thing I did that day and it very nearly killed me.) We have a VERY large Cub Scout pack, so the event lasted a few hours. Neither of our boys won the event, but both their cars raced well in more than one heat, so they weren't dead last either. It's fun for me, as mom, to watch the boys and their dad make the plans and execute them, especially because it's special time they don't otherwise get much of with dad. I am so grateful that our ward doesn't have any of "those" dads who overtake their sons' cars in some misplaced hunt for lost glory. Each car bore the mark of the boys and fun (and treats) were had by all.
That said, I'm glad it's over till next year :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
