Blessings in Disguise

We had a women's meeting at church recently, where they were addressing some of the difficult things we go through.  They asked everyone to contribute a one- or two-word description of some of their hardest trials.  They gave me the list and wanted me to write the words on labels to be displayed on a wall at the meeting.  

The list was heartbreaking.  Rape.  Death of a child.  Bankruptcy.  Chronic illness.  Drug addiction.  Cheating spouse.  Depression.  Wayward children.  Widowhood.  My soul ached for these beautiful women.  Some of the challenges I know about - most I have no idea.  There were other less obvious trials that can be just as difficult and heart-wrenching: moving, difficult job, motherhood, messes, marriage, can't find joy...  I cried as I wrote the words.

Then something interesting happened.  It was surprisingly difficult to write these hard words in the beautiful script they wanted.  But as I saw the finished labels pile up, looking lovely and peaceful, I realized that some of these things that are sometimes so hard, like health or marriage or children, were actually some of my biggest blessings!  After the meeting, I asked for some of the labels and took them home.  I hung them next to my bed so I could see them often.  

It's a good reminder that it's often up to me to decide whether my challenges are trials or blessings.  They might just be two sides of the same coin!  Maybe that's some of what the Lord was talking about when He said that we need to have opposition in life.   It has made me a little more grateful for the adventures that come in my life.

Slowing Way Down

So the other day (which means a vague sometime in the past but not necessarily recently.  We're liberal with our definitions here) I wrote about getting an inspiration in the temple that I needed to slow m life down.  I tried!  I thought seriously about it and everything.

But the reality of life for me is that I am the Mama of a large family.  Six kids at home rely on me for food, clothing, love, and attention.  I am the homemaker in charge of a house and land.  It's not huge, but there are always things that need cleaning up, fixing up, taking out, and tuning up.  I am the primary caregiver to a wonderful man and his Parkinson's Disease and he's not improving.  This disease is slowly stealing him and his abilities away from us.  And not lastly (but bestly!) I am the wife of a good man.  I'm so lucky to be the one to love him.

None of this will let up.  In  spite of the fact that we cleaned the front room yesterday, it needs to be cleaned again.  The laundry does not stay folded and put away.  Kids need to go to school again.  Track practice got out late and the boys need a ride home.  He needs a new pair of shoes.  She needs her hair brushed.  They need dinner (seriously guys?  We just ate yesterday!  Can't we call that good?).

And in the middle of all this thinking about slowing down and realizing that life was just not going to make this easy for me, I got a phone call from the doctor's office.  "So sorry, sweetie (she always calls me that and I love her for it).  The blood test results came back and you have Epstein Barr.  You need to get your back on the couch and stay there until this flare settles down."  Wait, what?  What is it, exactly?  Didn't I have mono already when I was twelve?  It comes back?  How bad is that?  How long will it take?  "Probably a month until you start feeling a bit better, but the fatigue can hang on for a while."

The fatigue.  Oh, I remember that part.  I was too sick to go to sixth grade for weeks.  My mom would take me to the doctor's office for more tests and I'd still be panting when we got there from the exertion of walking out my front door to the car.  Sometimes I had to crawl down the hallway to the bathroom because I was too exhausted to walk.  I lived on the old hide-a-bed couch in the living room where Mom could keep an eye on me.  Then they got new blue couches and they moved me and my old brown plaid one under the peninsula counter in the kitchen.  I was always so tired and never even wanted to move.

And I get to do that again?  Oh goody.

So now I live on the couch again.  Sometimes in the front room, and sometimes on the squishy green couches in the back room.  And sometimes I hide in my bedroom while Trent makes dinner and David hosts his own birthday party with his friends.  Lots of times I get up and do things, which I thnk is ok - in tiny amounts.  Because if I do any more than a microscopic amount, I pay for it afterwards.

It's hard to slow down.  I appreciate my family more than ever.  Trent is a dear to take care of half of everything I can't do.  David and Eddie have each made dinner this week (er, helped, but they are getting better).  Angel unloads the dishwasher.  The twins cleaned the bathroom, and it is actually cleaner now than when they started!  Even Chris was kind and was willing to help out (when he's not at school or work or track - which is not very much).  I'm blessed with wonderful people around me.

So we'll see what lessons I get to learn from this adventure!  Patience, I'm sure.  And gratitude.  And being able to see the things in slo-mo that I miss on fast-forward.  Stay tuned... I'm not going anywhere!

And thanks, Lord, for giving me a heads-up there at the organ.  I appreciate that.

Look for the Good

I love my family.  I am appreciative that we have a roof over our heads and sturdy walls to keep out the cold.  I have so many blessings!  That said, our living arrangements have been challenging.  Living with my dad has been two or three castes below renting, and I'm so fiercely independent that it is pathetically hard for me to have such boundaries.  I get it - this is my dad's house, and I can't make changes and improvements to it.  And he still lives here, so there is a lot of even the decor that I don't feel like I can change.  It made him crazy that I moved the silverware to a different drawer.

So I can keep sniveling about the things I can't change, or I can look somewhere else.  I get a kick out of the design blogs that show us a gorgeous homescape, and then turn around and photograph the other side of the room - where they have kicked the old papers and the dirty socks and last night's dessert dishes and the two blankets that don't match.  Thanks for keeping it real.

We can do that in real life, too.  I get to choose where I want to look.  I can look at the shelves overflowing with my mother's movie collection, or I can look at the somewhat-calmer fireplace.  "Organize yourselves" was our theme for January, so I thought I ought to tidy up the space around it.  Looking here makes me happy.  I just have to be careful to look down every now and then because this room also houses our spreading Lego collection.  Don't step on Legos.

I got myself a bag of cinnamon pine cones this year, after admiring them at the stores - but not buying them - every dang year.  I love cinnamon, and they still smell lovely.  This is what I want to be smelling, not burnt toast or eau de teenaged garcon.  Look for the good.

The best part of having a family is that I get to be Mama.  Love these kids!  Even when they rip my heart out and have growing pains and act unlovable.  Maybe I love them even more then, because I have to search and find the wonderful parts of them.  It takes practice.  But the more I work on loving someone who is difficult to love, the better I get at it.  My angel mother and my sweet husband have taught me this.

My mom loved me when I was prickly and not very loving.  I still want to curl up in her arms and have her just hold me.  And my man loves me now when I am having a less than lovely day.  Thanks for holding me together, Trent.

Thanks, Mom, for loving me, and for showing me how to be a mom.  Hope you don't mind that I moved the silverware.  If you do mind, just look somewhere else, ok?

Mother Promptings

My mother told me a story about her mother.  The family was in the living room, doing whatever the normal things were to do.  Grandma Amy was doing sitting in her chair, probably busy with some handiwork.  She embroidered and crocheted beautifully.  The three girls were there in the room, but I think the older three boys were gone.  The oldest son was in Vietnam, where he flew helicopters on rescue missions.  

Without warning, Grandma Amy jumped out of her chair, spilling everything to the floor, and ran upstairs.  My mother said she remembered looking around and seeing the surprise on her sisters' faces.  Grandma Amy just did not jump and run like that.

After quite some time, she returned to the room, her face pale and grim.  She explained that she didn't know why, but she felt compelled to pray for her boy in Vietnam.  She knew he was in some kind of bad trouble and needed to plead with the Lord to help him.

Later, she found out that he was indeed in peril at that exact moment, but had a narrow escape.  I wish I knew more details of the story, but I love the idea that Grandma Amy could importune the heavens for blessings on her children.  

While I was playing the organ at the temple today, I had a vivid flashback of a time with my oldest son.  I had gone out to Virginia to see him graduate from some of his military training.  It was our last day there, and his commanding officer had given him three hours of leave.  When it was time for him to go, however, the acting sergeant reduced it to only one hour.  Alec was furious, and disappointed.  His anger and frustration and discouragement boiled over into tears - tears he didn't want anyone to see, of course.  My mother heart broke for him, but there was nothing we could do. 

We spent the hour together and I savored the moments.  I watched him walk back to his barracks, smart and trim in his dress blues.  More tears fell, but this time they were mine and I didn't care who saw them.  I was so proud of him, and so glad that he wanted to spend time with me.

I don't know that Alec shed more tears today, or that there was something frustrating or angry or discouraging in his life at that moment.  But I still prayed for him, and I hoped he would be strong and happy.

I never knew what a mother heart would feel like.  I never understood how strongly a mother could love her children, and how physically that angst and yearning and care could express itself.

Now I get it.  And I am grateful for the legacy of strong mothers who taught me love.  What a blessing I get to be a part of!

Turbulence

This week, we had some pretty hefty winds.  I saw a picture that someone had taken of the middle of the winds.  The current next to the ground was heading left, and the higher current is going right.  The clouds in the middle are being blown by both currents.

I am amazed at how beautiful this is.  The contrasting currents pull the clouds in opposite directions,  making graceful curves and swirls.  It couldn't be prettier if it had been sculpted.

Sometimes I feel like I am pulled in different directions.  10 different directions, to be exact.  Every child has needs.  The house has needs.  My husband has needs.  My church calling has needs.  My kitchen has needs.  Oh, and I need things too - how can I take care of everything?  And all at the same time?

I often feel stretched thin and buffeted about.  But maybe, from a different perspective, it makes lovely swirls and loops.  Maybe God is making beauty out of my chaos after all.

More Family Reunion

The reunion turned out really well, all things considered.  These are great people, and I was happy to be able to spend a few days with them.

 

We got together for a barbecue at a cousin's house and played minute to win it games.  It was fun to see the cousins all working together.  They also loved rowing in the pond and just sitting around gabbing.  That was me, catching up with 4 of my sisters-in-law who I don't get to see often enough.

  

I loved seeing the "teenager team" celebrate after wining a victory.  Shall I mention the loophole Chris cleverly found in the rules that allowed their early and easy win?  They make me laugh.

Here's our angel playing a tossing game to her daddy.  She was throwing two things at once, and he had to be careful to catch them both.  He did, and I love how worried she looks about it.  Trent is such a stellar dad - the kids and I are so lucky to have him!

 We made happy faces on yellow paper plates and got our portraits taken.  I wasn't the designated photographer of the reunion, so I only got a few pictures of my family.  Everyone's personalities were evident in the artwork, the pose, and the willingness to do it in the first place.

 

Here we are, watching a film at a museum.  I think the kids were interested in the exhibits for... about the first half hour.  This sums up my feeling after an hour perfectly!

 

We went on tours and no one got lost.  Except me.  We were a large group and didn't fit into one elevator going up - or even two. While waiting for the elevator, I saw the door to the stairs and thought I'd just run up a flight instead of standing and waiting.  I didn't realize that the door at the top would be locked.  Eddie had come with me, so we just laughed at ourselves and ran back down the stairs, only to find that door locked as well.  We had inadvertently locked ourselves in the stairwell!  Fortunately, the tour guide of the next group let us out and took us up the elevator with her group.  Next time, I'll stay with the tour guide, promise!

Freddie started not feeling well while on the tour, and so did another teenaged cousin.  I think it was just too hot in the middle of the day and we all needed a break - and some water.  In spite of all that, it was fun to be together.  I don't know when this family will be able to get together again, but I sure enjoyed being a part of everything.  I'm glad the Lord made us in families - what a blessing they are to us!

Today I...

Today I washed a load of towels.  The second time, after I had forgotten about it and let it sit in the washing machine overnight.  Then, I actually dried those towels, and got another load of towels all the way through.  I think I'll let those ones sit in the dryer overnight though, because that's ok.

Today I made four loaves of banana bread.  Trent brought a big box full of over-ripe bananas home from the store.  They sell a whole box of them for only $4 - if you get there quite early in the morning.  So now we have enough to freeze for shakes and we can make banana bread.  I would be more excited about the fruit if it wasn't the second box he's brought home in a week.  We're plum full of bananas.  So the twins and I made sweet banana bread with the yellow fruit that looked most disgusting black  ready for banana bread.

I was planning to make banana muffins too, but I ran out of flour.  I went into the laundry room/pantry/craft space/furnace room/storage area where we keep the wheat grinder.  I filled it up with wheat and turned it on to "jet takeoff."  I'm glad I can walk out of there and close the door - that wheat mill is so noisy!  I walked back in to check on it a few minutes later, only to find that I had not pushed in the lower bowl all the way.  Ai, ai ai!  The whole room looked like a scene from a bad Christmas movie!  Every visible surface was coated with white, powdery flour.  Clouds of flour were pouring out of the machine, creating a mystic flour fog that added to the ambiance.  Why didn't I take a picture?  I was too busy trying to find the mill to turn it off.  I spent the next long while cleaning up endless dusty messes.

Today I swept the floor in the laundry room - several times.  And then I decided that since I had to deep clean in there anyway, I might as well drag the compound miter saw in there and cut some wood for a project I've been wanting to do.  And then I swept the floor again.

Today I went to the temple and breathed clean, white temple air.  It was glorious to just sit there and look at the very light carpet that I didn't have to worry about keeping clean.  I loved letting my soul breathe and be filled.

Today I drove with my neighbor's daughter who is learning how to drive.  I was not traumatized.  My friend insisted that I sit in the front seat, so she could sit in the back and play solitaire and not watch the driving.  She must play solitaire in a more gripping manner than I am used to, since she kept shrieking and gasping.  I think the daughter is coming along nicely, but I am concerned about the health of her mother.  I hope her blood pressure normalizes soon.

Today I walked my daughter to kindergarten for the last time.  The next time we go to school together, she will be a first grader.  Holy time warp, Batman!  I stopped at the front corner of the school, gave her a quick hug and told her to have a great day, and she skipped happily away.  She's come a long way since she clung to my arm and leg and insisted that I stay in line with her until her teacher came to collect her class.  I felt a little melancholy watching her go.

Today I sigh and miss my babies just a little bit.  How fast they grow!  What a blessing I have to be part of this wondrous life.

Pioneer Fail

I was working on this fluff today, and it took a long time.  Ben used to say that, in a whining way, when he was about 10.  "But it will take a loooooong tiiiiiime!"  It did.  Isn't it beautiful fluffy stuff?  It is the inside stuff of an old pillow, and we were stretching it out and pulling it into smaller pieces so it was soft again and we could use it for other things.

While we were working with the fibers - Angel and the twins were more than happy to help me - I started thinking of carding wool.  Isn't that kind of a similar idea?  You take dirty old sheep coats, wash them, and then comb the fibers out so they are soft and you can do other things with them.  

I grew up in a house with a 6-acre field out back.  It wasn't our field, but we loved it like it was.  The back neighbors kept flocks of sheep up in the mountains, and they would bring down the sheep that needed more attention and put them in The Field.  We grew up watching sheep with a limp, and sheep that were very gaunt, and sheep that just looked sick.  As far as we were concerned, they all got better and went back to the flock (I would imagine that wasn't always the case.).  In the early spring, they would bring the expectant ewes to The Field.  Every morning we would wake up and run to see if there were any new lambs.  How funny they were when they tried to run!  As they got bigger and the weather grew warmer, they would be sheared.  Poor little nekkid lambies!  

I remember walking along the back fence and picking little tufts of wool out of the barbed wire.  I had every intention to collect a whole basket full, clean it and card it and make my own clothes, just like Little House on the Prairie.

I was mildly obsessed with Little House on the Prairie, but I don't remember them actually carding wool.  Did they?  I think it might have come up in Farmer Boy, the book about Almanzo's youth.  I used to dream that I was transported back in time somehow and got to grow up in a white apron and sunbonnet.

As I watched my fingers bumble through the clean pillow fluff, I realize that I would not make a very good pioneer.  I can cook, yes - with groceries that come in boxes and meat that comes on styrofoam trays.  I can sew - with a machine.  I can crochet - slowly, with a large hook.   I can gather eggs, but so could any four-year-old pioneer girl.  I can not build a fire nor butcher a chicken nor knit socks nor write with a quill pen nor make a poultice for a sick child.

I think I'm glad I live now in the days of band-aids and ready-made clothing and refrigerators.  How lucky I am!  But I still want a cute bonnet.

What a Wonderful World

Yes, I am going to go all Armstrong over you.  Deal with it.

Did you see this?  It was stunning.  Just before I was able to get my camera out, the entire sky was  pink.  Spectacular.  And these were taken in my own yard.  On my front porch, even.  What a privilege to be here!

Thanks you, Lord, for this amazing place we get to live.

Back Home

I've been gone.  Gone from my writing, gone from my routines, gone from any shred of schedule.  It feels like I've been gone from my brain!  I've missed it.  The brain.  And everything else.  I thrive best on a regular plan of action; a flowing stream that keeps right on flowing.  My goodness, we have been disrupted!

First of all, the summer happened.  It does that every year, I'm told, and every year I'm less prepared for the change in routine than I would like to be.  That disruption is just fine.  It just means that I am spending more time with my kidlets and less time alone with my thoughts.

The next change was our missionaries.  It's been a flurry of getting ready and shopping and preparing and gathering things and packing up a childhood's worth of memories.  They will be men when those cardboard boxes are opened again.

The last change was the one that turned our worlds upside-down.  In the space of two weeks, we went from happily living in our spacious home to paring out, packing up, and moving away.  We moved in with my dad, to care for him and his Parkinson's disease.  It was not completely unexpected, as I look back.  I was feeling a bit of wanderlust, to the point of checking out houses for sale, and I specifically wanted to find a place to live on my dad's side of town.  But the suddenness of the whole thing was dramatic enough to take my breath away.  I dragged my exhausted body out of bed every morning, hollered, "This is crazy!" to no one in particular, cried, and then packed like a mad woman.  I won't attempt write about the insanity of moving 10 people's things to a house half the size - I would not even be able to use complete sentences.  (But I did write about it in my letters to my missionary boys, and that's where many of the summer posts come from.)

After all the hubbub of moving and the logistics of building walls to accommodate our family in what was then a two-bedroom house (besides my dad's room) died down, I expected to feel cramped and distraught.  But I don't.  I am at peace.  Maybe moving back into my childhood home has something to do with it.  Maybe having lived in this neighborhood only five years ago (although in a different house) has something to do with it.  Maybe living in a quieter area, where my children play with new friends in the street in front of the house has something to do with it.  Maybe it's all of those things, combined with the quiet assurance that I'm where I ought to be, doing what I ought to be doing.  That Heaven-sent peace has been such a blessing in the middle of our chaos.

I'm back - back writing, back thinking again, trying to get back into a routine.  And back home.

Spoons my Oma collected from her native Germany, and a few here in America

P.S.  I actually have been writing over the summer - letters to my missionary boys.  I think I'll post parts of them and back-date them over the last couple of months.  Because I can.

How to Set Dishes on the Counter

During the day, it's my job to do the dishes.  The older boys are all at school or at work, and I'm home with the three little ones.  If the dishes are going to get done, it's up to me.  Some days I just let the breakfast, lunch, then snack dishes pile up on the counter, knowing that whoever is on for dinner dishes will take care of them.  Some days are not conducive to dishes-doing.

But most days, I like to get the breakfast dishes going and smile happily at my clean kitchen.  It doesn't stay that way, so I have to smile quickly.  If the dishwasher is full, I like to run it immediately because 1) the dishes get cleaner if they don't sit in their gunk for a long time; 2) then the dishwasher can be unloaded and ready for more dishes; and 3) because Trent and I have differing opinions on the proper way to load a dishwasher and if I get it run and emptied he will never know.  We make allowances for each other like that.  Unknowingly.

Angel has become a good little helper for me, and thinks it is fun to unload a dishwasher.  We want to encourage that delirium.  She takes out the utensils and piles them in an orderly-to-a-five-year-old assemblage in the silverware drawer.  She carefully stacks plates and bowls on the counter, waiting for a person of greater height to place them on the shelves.  Then she dances like crazy about the kitchen, narrowly missing several collisions with the cupboards, gleefully proud of herself.

If the dishwasher is empty, then I can, with a clean conscience, ask the boys to load their own dishes from after-school snacks.  And the counters stay clean!  In theory.  And during the week.  All the order in the universe shifts on the weekends.

I walked into the kitchen late Saturday afternoon to see that, while the dishwasher was running, someone had made a peanut butter sandwich.  Instead of opening the quietly sloshing dishwasher and adding the peanut buttery knife to the already-in-progress load, that someone had placed the knife on the counter to the right of the sink.  I'm ok with that. But later, someone had made a ham and cheese sandwich, and neatly placed the mayonnaise knife and the cheese slicer next to the peanut buttery knife.  Lined up like a dozen tin soldiers were a butter-and-toast-crumb knife, a spoon from an illicit ice cream robbery and three of his guilty friends, a pickle fork, a fork from leftover spaghetti, another butter-and-toast-crumb knife, and a spoon from hot chocolate happily making a miniature hot chocolate pool on the counter.  After this police lineup were a few plates and bowls and cups, each needing to have it's very own space on the counter.  No sharing or stacking for me, thankyouverymuch.  I was amazed at how the parade extended past the sink area, past the dishwasher, and extended all the way down the counter before making a neat turn toward the stove.

Memo to children and others living in this domicile:  If you are going to go through all the trouble to place each utensil exactly parallel and equidistant to the one previous, and line all the dishes up in perfect marching band formation, at least play some Sousa while you do it!

 Or maybe just stack the dishes?

Let It Snow

Nope, not a Christmas carol post, just a comment about the suddenly-winter we have.  This fall has been gloriously autumny.  The leaves have turned brilliant shades and clung to their branches long enough to really take a good breath of the gorgeous.  Our miniature maple turned crimson, and the contrast with the green and the yellow of our honey locust was lovely.  I love watching golden leaves dance on a tree with the sunlight shining through them.  Quaking aspens in the canyon are some of my all-time favorite things to see.  This was one of our super-tall cottonwoods, which are a close enough relative to the aspens to take care of my yearly quakie longings.

I know I posted this before, but it was so golden and happy!

Some years the leaves just turn brown, then fall into soggy heaps in the yard that need to be scraped off before they kill the grass.  This year the weather was crisp and dry, with lots of crunchy leaves for kicking and raking into mammoth piles and dumping into the chicken run where they can scratch through them.  It really was a beautiful autumn, all the way through Thanksgiving weekend.

And now this.

Overnight, winter was coming.  I got a weather alert early Monday morning and Trent took the day off work to winterize the chicken coop and button up the yard.  He worked hard.  What a great man he is.  The storm rolled in with wind and snow and the little ones spent the day in and out of coats and mittens.  They couldn't get enough of the snow.

The storm blew away but left the cold.  We haven't been above freezing since, and the nighttime lows are in the single digits.  The biting air takes your breath away.  We'll be cold, cold, cold baby for another week at least.  We stay inside and drink herbal tea.  I think it's casserole night - again.  Or maybe hot soup and scones.  Do I have time to make chili?

And in all the bitter cold, there is so much to be thankful for.  Freddie and Georgie have taken to saying gratitude prayers.  Hemmy Fader, dank you for mine socks and bweakwast, and dank you for this and this and those and these and that over there... as they point to different things in the room.  The other morning Trent and I endured a particularly long breakfast prayer when there happened to be a grocery store ad on the counter and they had to point to every. single.  item and express thanks for it.  The twin not praying helped the prayer to not forget anything.  It took a long time!  But Trent and I were stifling laughter because it was so cute.

How often do we look around and say THANKS! for every single thing we see?  Made me think that maybe we ought to take a moment every now and then to do it.  Warms your heart.  And keep your toes warm too, willya?

Love to See the Temple

Just have to share some cute pictures, because I love these little people.  I can't believe I have been so blessed to actually have them!  And keep them.  And take care of them.  Lucky mom, me.

They love to play together.  Makes my mother-heart happy.

She wouldn't smile for me, but I think I love this face better.  Those haunting eyes just bring back sad memories of her falling out the window.  So glad she's all together now!

Don't Give Up

My mother loved music.  She played the organ at church from when she was in high school until just recently.  She taught us and half the neighborhood to play the piano.  She encouraged and paid for percussionists, trombonists, a violinist, and singing in choirs.  And marching band.  That one deserves its own sentence.

She loved to listen to music around the house, too.  She and my dad had lots of vinyl records, then cassette tapes, then CDs, and then she put it all on iTunes.  Josh Groban was one of her favorites.  She loved his music so much that she inadvertently bought two copies of one of his CDs.  When she realized her doubling up, she laughed and gave the spare to me.  I loved it, but only listened to the songs a time or two before the CD disappeared.  Things do get lost around here.

As we have been packing up Alec's room, somehow the CD resurfaced.  I guess my boy loved the music, too.  I couldn't wait for a quiet moment to listen to it again, but things were so busy - so crazy.

It had been a demanding day, and I was worn out from giving.  It was one of those days that you can't seem to end soon enough, and you dread having to repeat in the morning.  I didn't know if I had the strength to face everything again.  I popped the CD into my stereo as I was getting ready for bed.  The first song is breathtakingly gorgeous.  But the second song made me grind to a halt.  I sank into a chair and just sat and cried.

"You Are Loved (Don't Give Up)" Josh Groban

Don't give up.  It's just the weight of the world.

When your heart's heavy, I will lift it for you.

Don't give up because you want to be heard.

If silence keeps you, I will break it for you.

Everybody wants to be understood; well I can hear you.

Everybody wants to be loved.

Don't give up because you are loved

Don't give up.  It's just the hurt that you hide.

When you're lost inside I will be there to find you.

Don't give up because you want to burn bright.

If darkness blinds you, I will shine to guide you.

Everybody wants to be understood; well I can hear you.

Everybody wants to be loved.

Don't give up because you are loved.

You are loved.  Don't give up.

It's just the weight of the world.

Don't give up.

Every one needs to be heard.

You are loved!

I heard my mother as I listened - loving me, encouraging me.  She spoke right through to my heart.  She was always my biggest cheerleader.  But as I listened more closely, I could hear that she was just quoting our Savior, as if they were saying the words straight to me.

"Keep going.  I know what you are going through.  I have infinite love for you.  Follow Me and I will show you the way."

And I think I will continue to press forward.  Because now I have the strength again.  Thanks, Mom.  Thanks, Lord.  I needed that.

The Rebel

I took Santa Claus my dad over to the barbershop today.  He's been growing out his beard since my mother died.  Before we left, he wanted me to take a picture of the beard, because it was time to shave it off.  "Are you getting sick of it?" I asked.  He thoughtfully replied that he had been tired of it a while ago, but that since he had made his point, he could shave it off now.

As I talked to him, I learned that he had been growing the beard because my mother didn't like it.  Now that she is gone, he can grow one if he wants to.  That was the point he felt like he had to make.  He said he was a little bit of a rebel with it on.

My sweet, gentle, model-train-playing dad - a rebel?  The thought makes me smile.  But I nod my head with love and understanding because I've been a rebel, too.  After my husband, Jay, died, I did a lot of things I didn't do when he was with us.  We ordered in pizza.  We went out for dinner and ate greasy burgers at fast food joints.  I even let the boys have races up and down the hallway in the wheelchair he wouldn't let them touch.

I don't know that I was acting like that because I was angry with him, or to spite him.  It's just that when someone leaves - especially someone you have spent a lot of energy caring for - you naturally expand a little bit.  Don't we go out to dinner more after our babies are old enough to have a babysitter?  Don't we stay up a little bit later (or maybe a lot later) after we aren't under our parents' curfew?

Or maybe we are naturally a little bit rebellious.  We like to do things our own way, and chafe when we can't.  We rebel a bit against the speed limit, or the 20 items limit at the checkout, or the amount on our property tax bill, or the spouse who doesn't do things the way we like it.  And we rebel against God, by telling Him that our way of living is just fine, thankyouverymuch.

Maybe it's time to shave off the rebel beard.  Yes, I an choose what it is that I want to do each day.  My agency is one of God's greatest gifts to me.  But I can do what I do because I choose to - because I want to - instead of in reaction to anything or anyone else.

Yup, clean shaven and in full use of my own ability to choose feels real nice.  And Dad looks great, too.

It's Autumn Time

We went up into the mountains to have an autumn picnic.  The leaves were beginning to turn, and it was lovely.

The fresh, crisp air made even our simple ham sandwiches taste superb.  The kidlets had a great time playing - the little ones on the playground, and the older ones hiking up the hill.  I enjoyed visiting with my dad.

And then we marveled again at the beautiful world as we drove back home.

Very peaceful.  Very satisfying.  I'm more than content.  I am in awe with the Master Plan of the Creator.  Thank you, Lord, for filling my soul.

Angel Angelee

our Angel a few weeks before her fall

A year and a half ago, our little Angel thought her wings were grown.  At a few days past her second birthday, she tried to fly out of our back window.  She landed - on the left side of her head  - onto the cement patio two stories below.  The end result was an awful traumatic brain injury, several hospital stays, a synthetic skull, and a strengthening of my faith.  I look at her now and am absolutely amazed.  I spent some time last night, re-reading the blog I wrote about the ordeal.  I have a hard time believing it was all real.  And I have a hard time believing that what she is now is real.  

Her fall changed our lives, suddenly, permanently.  I hope I never again take my child's breathing for granted.  Every day is a bit more precious, and more worthy of thankfulness.

<sigh>  I really hope I never have to do it again.  I hope you don't either.  It was horrible.  And it was amazing, to see the string of miracles that happened.

You can run over to AngelAngelee if you want the whole story.  I'm ever so glad I wrote it down, and I'm ever so glad I still have my little Angel.  Thanks, Lord.

Peaceful Morning

It was a rough night.  Some nights are like that.  It started out with an argument, then another disagreement.  Then getting to bed late, followed by worrying.  The baby wakes and needs comforting.  After he is returned to his crib, all possible shreds of sleep have fled.  Lay still, turn quietly so as not to disturb anyone.  Too hot - push off covers.  Too cold - pull them back up.  Now both babies are at the bedside, pulling down pillows to stand on so they are tall enough to climb up and in.  Before they are settled, the girl comes in, hair wild, eyes wild.  "I just wanted you," she slurs -  sleepy, terrified.  She slides in, I slide out.  Put the drooping babies back to bed, hold her cold little body until she warms and relaxes.  Carry her back to her bed, crawl back into mine.  The alarm goes off - it's 5:30.  Too tired to be bothered or angry about it.  Read scriptures with the family, get the early boys headed off to school, stumble back to bed.  This time, the sleep is deep and longer.  My sweet man takes care of breakfast and lets me sleep.  And sleep.

When I wake, I feel better - alive again, even a bit refreshed.  The sun is already climbing up in the sky, and I breathe a prayer of thankfulness that I have enough strength to face life.  It won't be a high-energy kind of day, but my slowness forces me to be methodical, purposeful, intent.  I notice more, think more.  Perhaps I ought to slow down more...

and go to bed earlier tonight.

Quiet?

It's unusually quiet around here.  The very air is thick with silence, and it feels strange.  Normally, afternoons are a wild hodge-podge of boyish horseplay, mother-reminders of chores, questions about available edibles, pencil-finding homeworkers, doors opening with coming-home traffic and closing again with out-goers.  It's a veritable Grand Central Station, and although I become harried by the relentless motion, there is nowhere I'd rather be than in the midst of my children's lives.

For now, I wonder at, and revel in the stillness.  Trent is quiet in his office.  Alec is at his after-school job.  Ben is at Latin Club (I think).  Cub Scouts claims Chris, David, and Eddy, as den chief, Webelos, and Bear respectively.  The Angel and the babies are taking a late nap after our mid-day outing to the bi-monthly Aunts of the Knapp Family Luncheon.  So still.  Whatever shall I do with myself?  For a moment I am a lost empty nester.  Then I slip into a deliciously stolen nap.  Bliss!

Now the phone rings, then the sliding door moves aside to allow entrance.  The hush is broken by the den chief coming home from a busy meeting of making bird posters.  The Scrub Sprouts start straggling in, treasuring a bit of obsidian and a homemade catapult.  I hear Trent making calls behind the office door.  A sleeping baby rolls drowsily off the couch.  The timer beeps on the baking bread.  I wonder what I can whip up for dinner, and the world resumes its usual pace.  I head into the kitchen with a smile on my face, functional again because

I snuck a nap today.

Loose Outlets

I was vacuuming with my little dust sucker when the plug pulled out of the wall and the vacuum stopped.  I was tempted to let slip mild cursings for the short cord, and for the loose electrical outlet (Bad words, vacuum; bad words, plug!).  But rather than letting it irritate me for more than just a moment, it made me thankful for my dad.

Several years ago, my little family was in the middle of some difficult circumstances.  My sweet dad called to let us know his next door neighbors were selling their house, and gently suggested that we might want to consider buying it.  Thinking of moving back to my hometown filled me with more peace than I'd felt for a long time.  Even my husband was happy about the prospect of moving in next door to his in-laws - I grilled him about it, wanting to be sure of his wishes.

I packed up our things, sent the sick husband ahead on a plane, and loaded the moving truck with the help of our wonderful neighbors.  That was a crazy busy day, gray and drizzly, and although I held my 6-week old baby close to me in his cozy sling, we both ended up soaked.  The little tyke was warm, and it took me a while to realize that he was helping with the wetting, but all our dry clothes were packed.

My dad and two of my brothers flew up to help.  Between the four of us, we managed to drive the new baby, four other little boys under nine, our minivan and the moving truck a thousand miles across the country.

As we stepped into our new home, I didn't realize how much my parents and brothers had done to get the place ready for us.  The had tightened a loose railings, added folding doors in front of the laundry nook in the kitchen, changed out the old crystal-ball-on-a-chain light fixtures in the bathrooms, updated the lighting in other rooms, and replaced a non-functional sliding glass door.  My mother coordinated the whole house being cleaned, and kind sisters-in-law wiped fresh stain on the old kitchen cabinets.  My dad spent hours, down on his knees, replacing old electrical outlets that were too loose to hold a plug.

Ever since, when I plug in an appliance only to have the plug fall right back out, I have a little flashback to those times when I was in need and others were there to help.  I am so blessed (and I can say good words for that!).