Letting Go

My dad's hands are cold, the skin blotching pink and white, and I want to take them in mine and rub them until the color comes back and the cold leaves.  His thin legs look like they need to be gently stretched and take a short walk.  I'd like to give him a cold chocolate shake to sip on and moisten his dry mouth.  His eyelids are heavy - I'm sure he just needs a nice afternoon nap.  The skin on his feet is stretched thin and dry, crying out for a little foot rub with smooth lotion.  There are thing that beg to be done - I need to get on them and go.

I'm his daughter, a caregiver, a mother.  It's my job to soothe and set right and heal and nurture.  But now, as I sit by his bedside, all I can do is listen to his raspy breathing.  He's not long for this world and there isn't anything I can do to change that.  I have to let go.

I let go of my role as caregiver.  I let go of my role as chief information-gatherer.  I let go of my role as worrier supreme.  I let go of the reins I've struggled with for so long, and hand them over to God. Hand Dad over, hand my heart over.  It's hard, but I'm learning to let go. 

Little Black Rain Clouds

It's been hard to sleep.  I lay down and my exhausted body rebels.  It's too hot.  My skin itches all over.  There are too many blankets.  It's too noisy.  The fan tickles.  My legs feel twitchy.  It's too bright.  My mind whirls with a million plans, worries, and disappointments.  Slowly, everything unravels and relaxes, and at 3 or 4 am, I sleep.

My thoughtful husband stayed home this morning and made breakfast so I could keep sleeping.  I woke up to a small boy snuggling into my bed before he ran off to play.  Then I woke up to the neighbor's muffler pointed into my bedroom window.  Then I woke up to little footsteps skittering through the kitchen.  It was glorious to fall back asleep after each interruption.  When my eyes finally opened, I felt rested, beautiful, light, and hopeful - things I haven't felt for a long time.

Within a few minutes, however, I feel the weight crushing back on my shoulders.  Life is heavy right now.  I'm struggling with the stress of an all-consuming, life-changing project foisted upon me for the convenience of others.  I think there is a little black rain cloud hovering over this part of town.  A girlfriend is dealing with her husband's invisible injury.  Another is dealing with heartbreaking family relationships.  A neighbor worries over a possible major life upset and what that means for her delicate children.

I don't know any way to go on but to just go on.  One foot goes in front of the other as we drag ourselves along.  We all have black rain cloud periods, don't we?  I'm exhausted.  But somehow we make it through.  There is nothing so wonderful as a warm summer thunderstorm, as wild and turbulent as it begins.  There is a promise of a rainbow at the end of the storm - or at least clean-washed air and a peaceful stillness.  And then we will rest.

Women's Conference

We went to General Women's Conference, Angel and I.  We have a church-wide conference twice a year, with a session just for the women a week before.  They used to have a special session just for the girls in the spring, with the rest of the women in the fall, but now they have combined the two.  Women of any age, and girls age 8 and over can attend.  We went to our local church building and watched the conference live.

Angel is always delighted to have "girls time" together, and wanted to bring a notebook just like Mom.  She took notes for the first few minutes, then just wanted to snuggle into my arm.  I'll take that!

My favorite talk was given by Linda Burton, president of the Relief Society.

"The New Testament includes accounts of [certain] women, named and unnamed, who exercised faith in Jesus Christ [and in His Atonement], learned and lived His teachings, and testified of His ministry, miracles, and majesty. These women became exemplary disciples and important witnesses in the work of salvation.

I have read and passed over the seemingly unremarkable expression "certain women" numerous times before, but recently as I pondered more carefully, those words seemed to jump off the page. Consider these synonyms of one meaning of the word certain as connected to faithful, certain women: "convinced," "positive," "confident," "firm," "definite," "assured," and "dependable." 

As I pondered those powerful descriptors, I remembered two of those New Testament certain women who bore positive, confident, firm, assured testimonies of the Savior. Though they, like us, were imperfect women, their witness is inspiring."

The whole meeting was inspiring.  I am glad to be a women, and to remember the strength that I have.  This life can be so happy!

They served ice cream afterwards, so Angel was especially happy she came.  We got to visit with many other wonderful women - we have such good, supportive neighbors!

Shining Like a Star

We acted out the nativity at a family party.  All the kids were adorable - at least mine were.  ;-)

Freddie is on the ground in the middle there, wearing a red shirt and a sheepskin.  He is a sheep and practiced his bleating very well.  Angel is the shepherd on the left in the pink pants.  Only fashion-forward shepherds could wear pink pants back in the day.  And Georgie is standing on the table, valiantly keeping his arms up as high as he can, for he is the star.

General Conference

When we were listening to General Conference, Georgie wanted some paper so he could take notes, too.  Across the top of the page he very carefully wrote, "Things Jesus said."  He was so cute!  You can watch Conference here.

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.

Mission Monday

As the weather here moves into spring and warmer, it is growing cooler in Madagascar.  Ben told me that it's not as rainy as it has been.  Although it isn't as hot as it has been, it's still plenty warm!  I am glad he will be coming home to our summer instead of in the middle of winter.  I think he would freeze to death!

That's one of many things I can be thankful for.  I think I'll challenge the kids to write down as many blessings as they can think of in just a few minutes.  I think we would all be surprised at how many good things are all around us.  That's one thing Ben did in his last letter.  It's always interesting to see what other people are thankful for - and usually we are happy about things that we haven't always have.  Life lived too easily makes us complacent and we don't notice how good we have it.  I'm humbled by some of the things Ben mentions in his thankful list:

My stomach is not having problems.
I don't have a headache.
The power is going right now.
This cyber has GREAT internet.
I have clothes.
Food.
A roof that doesn't leak.
Washing machines and dryers
A stove.
My bed.
My parents were sealed in the temple and I was born in that covenant.
Rice.
I've been healthy enough to do everything I could possibly need to this week.

That last one really got me, especially since I haven't been particularly healthy recently.  But I think I've been healthy enough to do the things that are most important.  Thinking about our blessings really does make us realize just how many blessings we have.  I am for thankful when I count my blessings!

More Madagascar blessings here.

General Conference

We enjoyed watching General Conference last weekend.  Sometimes we make a big party of it, with an all-you-can-eat buffet of mostly indigestible food and conference games for the small fry.  This year we just sat around and watched.  So lucky to be able to see it on the big screen instead of having to... you know... get dressed and all.  We are so spoiled!

I was taking notes and Georgie came over with his "whatcha doin'?" face on.  I showed him that I was writing down the things that I liked best because they would help me to become a better person.  Next thing I know, he was asking for a paper of his own.  I tore one out of my notebook for him, and got him a pen.  Unprompted, he wrote:

"The things that Jesus said"

Through the next few talks, he wrote down a few things and I was impressed with his sober nature.  He's a deep thinker, that one.  It will be fun to watch him grow!

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.

Lessons From the Organ - Slow Down!

Before I started playing the organ at the temple, I met with the organ coordinator to make sure I could play -  I'm passable.  She took me to the temple when no one was there so I could practice a bit and get used to the organ there.  As I played, she beat the tempo with her hand.  Down, down....down...........doooown.  I was playing too fast.  I slowed down some, and then more.  But her hand wasn't down yet.  Down..................down......................................down.....................................down

Oh, that was hard!  I've always had a thing about music with a slow tempo.  I chafe at singing hymns at church that should be bright and perky but instead drag into a boring cesspool of dead tones.  Yes, I feel that strongly about it.  I don't know why church organists often feel that the correct tempo - for everything - is "moderate funeral dirge."  I work hard to learn the weekly hymns thoroughly enough that I can play them up to speed, or maybe even a little bit faster.  "Onward Christian Soldiers" should make you feel like marching, not lull you into taking a nap!  

I've been guilty of being harsh and judgmental.  I remember singing way-too-slow hymns at church and looking at my watch to figure out just how slow they were going.  Jay, always the kind one, would smile and shake his head at me and tuck my arm in his or hold my hand - covering my watch.

And now, I'm the one playing oh-so-slowly.  It's rough.  I just like to tear through a hymn and get to the end.  I like to have people sit up and take notice and sing out.  I like to play cheerfully or strongly.

Isn't this picture gorgeous?  It was taken by the uncle of Alec's girlfriend and you really ought to look at his other temple shots.  They are breathtaking and show just how I feel when I go to the temple.

In the temple, the whole mood is different.  Everything is hushed and peace reigns.  A loud, sprightly hymn would be out of place.  I love the serenity that fills my heart and smooths out all my rough spots, and I wouldn't want to spoil that tranquility for anyone else.  My job there is to add to the beautiful spirit, not draw attention to myself or encourage action.  I'm so grateful I get to go to the temple.  I love it.  I love the feeling there, and I love playing the organ.

But it is so hard to play slowly!  As I struggled to keep the tempo sedate, I wondered why it was so hard for me to slow down.  As I thought and thought and pondered and wondered, I finally learned what I needed to know today.

I need to slow down.

Yes, I CAN go fast.  Yes, it is fun to sing out.  Yes, it is invigorating to play briskly.  But right now, I need peace.  My life has enough and I'm not always coping very well.  So slow down, girl.  Breathe a little between verses.  Smell the fresh nearly-spring breeze.  Hold on to those notes.  Hug your children longer.  Notice the beauty.  Feel the sunshine on your hair.  Pause.  Slow.  Walk.  Rest.  Enjoy.

And live.

For more information about LDS temple - why we build them and what we do in them, as well as some lovely pictures inside - read this article.

Cataracts, Part I

This is a really bad image, but I suppose that takes down the gross factor, right?

I'm sitting in the eye clinic, watching my dad's eye surgery.  They have a monitor all set up so I can watch the live feed of everything they are doing.  It's pretty interesting... to anyone who didn't get squeamish during high school biology classes.  Fortunately, I never did.  I poked through the pig carcasses and cut apart the earthworms and dissected the crayfish while my partner gagged. Not even the field trip to the university cadaver lab got me down,  although the smell threatened to do me in as we approached the building.  Formaldehyde and I don't get along well. So a bloodless eye surgery is no problem for me - I watched it while munching on my breakfast muffins.

I've learned some good life lessons while working with my dad and his failing eyesight these last few months. After his retina surgeries in December and January,  his cataracts got worse.  He can barely see shadows out of his left eye and his depth perception is laughable.

I'm grateful for my eyesight.  I'm getting older and my eyes are bad and I should get bifocals, but I can see.  I can see!  Clouds, birds, a beautiful sunset, the adorable faces of my children,  my husband's grin - I can see them and I'm thankful for it.

Where Do You Put Your Feet?

I play the organ every week at church.  I'm proficient, but not splendiferous at it.  My mother, who had a 40-year tenure as the ward organist, taught me that the two most important parts of accompanying hymns were to begin the song together, and end when they end.  So I do, and anyting more than that is icing.

Now that's not to say that I am a terrible organist who is limping along.  On the contrary, I have played for many years myself and am quite comfortable with most of the hymns in the book.  Most, but not all.  So I practice.

I know what the hymns are at the beginning of the week, more or less.  The idea is that I practice them a bit every day and then I'm ready when Sunday rolls around.  Reality lives in a different world from my ideas, unfortunately.  I think about my songs at the beginning of the week, and then forget in the busyness of daily life.  About Thursday I start feeling panicky and by Friday I actually haul out the hymnbook.  I practice a lot on Friday, intend to practice more on Saturday, and brush the hymns up on Sunday morning.  And some weeks I actually do better than that!

I was practicing the other day when David came into the room.  He watched me play the songs for a few minutes, and then asked how I could practice the pedals when I was playing on a piano, not an organ.  I showed him where I put my feet as I practice, and how I pretend that the pedals are there.

I've been thinking a lot about that ever since.  How can I practice when I'm not really practicing?

First of all, I know the organ.  We had an organ at home when I was a child, and I really learned to play as a teenager.  I know that the D below middle C is directly in front of me as I sit at the organ.  I know that the F is just to the right of my right foot as I sit naturally, and that I have to stretch to the left about a foot to reach low G.

My feet feel the pedals as I play.  Officially, an organist wears special shoes while playing the organ, with a specific low heel and soft leather soles so as to feel the pedals beneath your feet.  Organ shoes are pricey, and I could never justify the expense, so I haven't ever bought any.  I remember my mother buying tap shoes and unscrewing the noisy taps for her organ shoes, but I just play barefoot. The pedals are arranged in white and clusters of black keys, just like the keyboard, and  I can feel where the pedals are, and where the black (or darker) pedals are in relation to the white pedals (which are usually light wood toned).  Low B is on the left side of the break between the the sets of black pedals, and F is on the right side of the next break.

Mostly, however, I practice the crud out of my hands before adding the pedals.  Mistakes are crud, right?  I want to practice the hand parts well enough that I don't even need to think about where they are going.  I need the brain space to pay attention to what my feet should be doing.

As I have been thinking about playing pedals, some other things have also come to mind.  I have some potentially stressful situations coming up that I've been worrying about. How can I prepare for those?  The same way.

I need to know me.  I've lived in me a long time, and I know where my boundaries are.  I know what comes easily, and what kinds of things I have to stretch the accomplish.  I need to respect myself and my strengths and not be afraid to shine.

There is strength in being sensitive.  I am able to feel out a situation, listening as I go, to play the right parts and correct it when it gets disharmonious.  I need to trust my gut feel.

Mostly, I need to make sure that the other parts of my life are in harmony.  Do the things well that I know how to do well.  Keep a schedule.  Get enough sleep.  Eat nourishing food.  Read my scriptures and do the things that fill my heart with happiness and goodness.  Then I will have the space to think and respond to new things as they come up.

Thanks, David, for asking the questions that helped me to answer my own wonderings. Love this family and the things I can learn from them!

And maybe I should even go to the church occasionally and really practice on an organ.  For real.

Mission Monday

We've had some bad weather lately.  It's been murky and foggy and the air has been bad.  I'd rather not have to chew my air before I breathe it, thanks.  After about a week of this, it snowed lightly for a day, and then the sun came out!  We hadn't had sunshine for a while, so the sunshine felt so good!  Sometimes we have feel our way around in the dark before we appreciate the light again.

Ben wrote this week about how we can shine in the dark and be an example for each other.  It's a good lesson, and a good reminder.

Catch up on our missionary rambles from Madagascar and South Africa!

Mission Monday

I love January.  After the hustle of the holidays, I'm ready to spend a month snowed in with a cup of warm ginger tea by the fireplace.  Or cinnamon tea - I'm not picky.  I could just sit and watch the storms blow in, comfortable as long as there is food in the pantry and I have a warm blanket around my shoulders.  At least, that's how I spent this January, and it was nice.  But now it's February and there is still snow.  It is still cold outside and I have to go out in it.  It's still winter, but I'm done.

My boys, however, are enjoying summertime.  Alec is sitting in sunshine and 83 degrees, while Ben is sweating it out in 94 degrees.  I could do without their humidity (70% and 63%, respectively), and I do have plenty of sunshine here, but it's not the warm kind of sun.  I'm ready for warm.

Look at that sunshine.  You don't know whether it is warm, and the drifting clouds provide a bit of a respite from the heat, or if the blue sky is reflecting on the icy ground below.  For the comfort of my internal thermometer, I'll choose the former.  And that's what we do.  We get to choose how we react to the circumstances we find ourselves in.  Hopefully, we'll learn to have a good attitude about things, like what I found in Ben's letter this week.

I don't feel like God expects us to be super pumped about hard things, I don't think God was disappointed with his two prophets for being a little bit bummed about being imprisoned and starved and about to be killed. But He helped them. And He always helps us if we're willing to let him do that. I love that. I know he loves us and He's always got our backs.

Read the rest of what he said here, and keep up with Alec here.

Happy Monday!

This Game We Play

Last night, my sweet niece posted this little witticism.

Yes, yes!  I still feel like I'm running around with no clue about what I am really supposed to be doing.  Or more recently, I have a pretty good idea (or sometimes just a vague understanding) of where I need to be ending up, but I haven't the foggiest how to get there from here.  Or that I know where I am going, but every path takes me further from my end goal.  Sigh.  I think we're all on the same page in this game of life.  But it does get different as you get older.

25 to 35 - still no tutorial, but you figure out how to level up. On the 4th level you realize you've been going in circles on the 1st level this whole time.  And everyone is yelling at you that you are going the wrong way, no matter which way you turn.

35 to 45 - found some online tutorials, but they all say different things and none of them actually work for you.  And they still say you are going the wrong way.

45 to 55 - realize that when you thought you've been accidentally killing your teammates, you've actually been helping them. They are not hurt, but do not appreciate your help.  And you quit reading the online tutorials.

55 to 65 - wonder why you keep playing this game, but you keep going because you have made it to the 27th level!

75 to 85 - finally get the notice with the game tutorial. It says, "There are no levels. The only way to rack up points is to help people and love."

85 plus - you win!  Hopefully.

I'm actually glad I didn't make up this game.  And I'm glad I didn't make up the rules.  Every time I think I have my life all planned out properly, something happens to show me that my plan just wasn't a good idea.  And that the Lord has a better one for me.  

It's taken me a while of running in circles, but I think I've finally gotten it figured out.  If I follow the Lord's plan, it just works out better for me.  Not easier, but better.

It works.

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!

Mission Monday

I wonder how much the holidays sets the missionaries back by switching their concentration from what they are doing back to what we are doing at home.  I remember Ben said it was a bit hard and homesick last year for a day or two.  Good thing they bounce back!

Ben had a neat experience recently:

Just a real quick story for this week about S. and O. We found them my first couple of days here when we were waiting at a time and this guy next door heckled us a little and was very surprised when we responded to him in Malagasy. So then he talked to us a little bit, found out why we were wearing white shirts and ties and wondering around his neightborhood and he wanted us to come visit him. So we go to his house and teach him. His wife had just left him with his kid, he had a drinking problem and was out of money and had no job. Turns out his wife's parents had her and wouldn't let her go back until he had 40,000 ariary, about 13 dollars to his name so they knew that he could take care of her. So we kept coming, then they got together, they're reading the scriptures, they are way happy all of the time, and we went to pick them up and take them to church yesterday (they hadn't been yet) and we show up and he's dressed up like a blackjack dealer in Vegas, got a black shiny button up shirt, looking so good! Then we walk back to his house, his wife's all ready, and nailed next to the front door is the Family: A Proclamation to the World that we gave to him. They loved church, made some great friends, it was fantastic!

Read more on Ben's blog here, and you can keep up on Alec here.

Sharing Christ's Light

 

As we pause this Christmas Eve to remember the birth of a baby in a stable, we want to extend warmest wishes to you and your family.  I wish we would light a candle from the happiness in our hearts and hand it to you, to help you light your part of the world.

Merry Christmas.

Mission Monday

So this week I get to see my missionary boys!  No, this Mama is not excited at all.  And that's a lie.

One will be skyping  Christmas morning, and the other on Christmas night.  Somehow I'm thinking Christmas will be a longer day than usual, but I'll take it!  I love that on the very day we celebrate Christ's birth, we can visit with two missionaries who are devoting their lives right now to serving Christ in the best ways they know.

I like how Ben put it in his letter today:

But now we'll just go to Malagasy Morsel time. It's Jesoa Kristy. Guess what that means. It means Jesus Christ. I'm sure that was a hard one. And that's what Christmas is all about. I love it.But I just kind of had a cool story from yesterday that I wanted to share with y'all. We got home from church and were watching Mormon Messages on Elder Snell's USB while we were making our delicious spaghetti. And there was this one video that had a little clip of Jesus walking with his disciples and I just thought to myself, "What I would give to get to walk with Him and learn from Him every day." And as soon as I thought that, the next thought came into my head, "That's exactly what you're doing right now." I get to do his work and I get to learn from Him from the scriptures every day and we all get to do that! I love it so much! That just made my day.

So I'd like to wish you all a fantastic Christmas and don't forget to do some things that our Savior would have you do to let you come unto Him while you're all celebrating Christmas.

And as always, you can see the South African blog here and the Madagascar blog here.

I Need a Nap

I am so tired.  So really, really tired.  That is a big reason why my writing has faltered over the past several months.  My health has been failing.  Failing.  I pause over that word.  It sounds so dreadful and dead-full.  I'm not dead, and I won't be for a long, long time.  I'm too stubborn to go ,I've too much work still to do, and God's not done with me yet.

But as I think of the word "failing," it works for me.  I often fail.  And I often get back up again.  Sometimes it takes me a while to get back on my feet, and sometimes I'm quicker.  But there should be no shame in failing - only in the refusal to try again. 

So yes, my health was failing.  My body was not functioning properly.  There is no shame in that.  I'm working on making better- and different - health choices, and am under the care of a few good health providers, so I'm getting better.  Slowly, but surely, I am healing.  But it all makes me so tired.

To my credit, nearly all the Christmas shopping is done.  I just have to pick up the gifts for my man and we're there.  I've started wrapping.  The tree is up and has lights on.  Maybe we'll even put some ornaments on one day.  Maybe.  The lights are up on the front of the house.  I successfully navigated two Holiday parties without falling apart.  We've gone to one Christmas concert (David's choir was absolutely angelic.  I don't usually expect that from a junior high chorus, but they sang straight to my heart this year.), and we'll hit another one tonight (Eddie's beginning band concert.  Should be fun.).  My kids are well fed and happy for the most part.  I finished the laundry.  My house is passably clean.  Everyone made it to school on time this morning.

And now, I shall go take a nap.