Birthday Recap

So yeah, we managed to pull off a birthday tea party.  I was quite surprised that, despite the short notice, almost all the little girls came!  What am I supposed to do with NINE extra little girls in my house?  Take deep breaths.  The twins didn't even mind being outnumbered.

Honestly, I was so busy prepping food and cleaning up and getting things ready (in the middle of the usual Saturday hubbub) that I didn't even think about little girls until quite a few had collected.  After so many boys inhabiting our home, it was a little bit shocking to see such a pile of princess dresses and fluffy outfits.  I'm laughing at myself.

I gave them free reign at a pile of polka-dot paper, sparkly pens, and my old stash of scrapbooking stickers.  After a giggly while, we set the table for the tea party.  We had a little lesson in etiquette, then poured the pink lemonade.  It was adorable to hear them demurely murmur "oh, dear," when they dropped something on the floor and hilarious to hear their pretend British accents.  I have to admit that I had a good time just watching them, and I tried really hard not to laugh so they could hear.

My birthday girl was absolutely delighted by everything, and that made all the not-very-much effort quite worth it.  Actually, I'd go to the moon and back for her if she needed it.  What mother wouldn't?

At the end of the day, Angel climbed into the top bunk early and snuggled into sleep with her favorite pictures and birthday cards taped lovingly to the rail (with the roll of tape I gave her 'cuz I was tired of losing mine to her.  Win.).  I love that the last card on the right is one Alec sent her from South Africa - last year.  It's a prized possession.  Oh, how we all love this girl!

Scout Camp

This third boy of mine is growing up.  I almost said he's getting so big,  but that makes him sound like he was 7 months, or even 7 years old instead of 17.  He's better than 6'2" now, so I definitely look up to him!

This week is scout camp for the 16 and 17 year old boys.  I took him over to the church where they were gathering and stood there aimlessly for a few minutes.  What I really wanted was a hug and a picture, but I left the camera at home and I didn't know if this big, reserved boy was willing to still hug his mama.  It's been a while.

Fortunately, he remembered that he had left his water bottle at home (it's actually Ben's water bottle, but he left it out when he went on his mission so Chris considers it fair game),  and we had to run back home to get it.  I sprinted into the house for the camera while he grabbed the water bottle.

Back at the church, he stood with the other boys, comfortably joking with them and the adult leaders.  They were willing to group together for a picture, so I got my shot.

I helped Chris throw his gear in the back of a pickup.  He'll be sleeping on the ground for the next few days as they hike and rappel around in the mountains. He passed by me and I awkwardly put my arm around him.  What is it about teenagerness that makes hugging wierd sometimes?  I told him that I loved him, because I do and I have to tell him often.  He stopped, put his arm around me and hugged me back.  Love that boy. 

Even through the awkward teenage parts.

Selfie Day 2

I'm not sure what caused the sad eyes, the drooping head, or the knuckles dragging on the floor, That's what "I'm hurt" looks like among the younger set of our home.  I'm sure I didn't teach them to do that, but even their oldest brothers hunched their backs, hung their heads, leaden arms hanging limply from the shoulders, slowly slinking away when they felt bad.  It's pretty pathetic looking, and it certainly tugs at my mother-heart.

I was working at the counter, trying to do some paperwork, when this little one of mine moped around the corner.  His eyes on the floor, his feel shuffled along.  I'm not sure how he didn't walk into anything, but he wouldn't have hurt himself even if he had.  He came and stood beside me for a minute, then reluctantly lifted his head to show me his tear-stained face.  He lifted his arms and quietly pleaded, "Hold me, Mommy."  What else could I do?  I lifted him into my arms and held him, heart to heart, for a long, long time.  I only released my embrace when he felt better and wiggled to get down.  "I'm ok now," he said, miraculously cured, and raced off to play.

And I have a record that I was a comforting mother with cozy arms.  It's a lot of what I do.

Ho'oponopono

Just typing that word is fun!  It reminds me of a song I used to teach my elementary students called Humu Humu Nuku Nuku A Pua'a, which is NOT the same version as the High School Musical one.  Anyways... but Ho'oponopono is much more awesome.

Ho'oponopono is an traditional Hawaiian practice of healing relationships through love and forgiveness.  My very wise sister-in-law introduced this to us at our adult family reunion, and we were all intrigued.

There are four steps, and you do them all in one interaction.  You express:

I love you (should be a no-brainer, but in difficult relationships we sometimes forget to say this one.)
I'm sorry (for this specific harm I have caused)
Please forgive me (be sincere)
Thank you (for bringing this to my attention, for being a positive influence in my life, whatever...)

It seems like it would go a long way to help smooth over some of the rough spots we all go through and heal the damaged parts of our relationships.  I'm sure it's not a one-time magic pill, but I can only imagine that it would help if it was kept up.

Have to try it tonight...

Love You, Grandma!

My first mother-in-law came to visit us.  We are so lucky that, even though she lives a few thousand miles away from us, she comes to visit every summer.  She spends a week with each of her children's families, travelling more than seven thousand miles to see all five homes and twenty-three grandchildren.  She is an amazing woman, and the week we have her flies by too fast.

Maybe one day, we will convince her to move closer.  We would love it!

I am so lucky to have such a loving woman for my mother-in-law.  She is incredibly loving and giving.  She raised an amazing man, the mother of my first five boys.  And even after his passing, she still loves us!  I am impressed how quickly she adopted Trent as an honorary son-in-law when I married him.  She sends birthday cards and Christmas gifts for her grandkids - all 8 of them, no matter whether they are her biological grandchildren or not.  If you asked her, they are all hers.  And I agree.  My children are so lucky to have three sets of doting grandparents.

We love you, Grandma.  You are such a gift to our family!

Gray and Yellow

My beautiful niece had a baby recently.  It is always an amazing process to get a new bundle of love from Heaven to here.  But this one was especially special.

They had a hard time getting this sweet baby here.  Last year, the new parents were so thrilled to announce their pending addition.  We all cheered.  But there was a miscarriage late in the pregnancy and we cried for her.  After the tears dried, they tried again.  Another pregnancy, and we were happy for them.  

Cautious, careful.  It is hard to rejoice when you are afraid to lose again.  The pain of a previous loss dampens, makes it harder to be happy.  The baby threatened to come early, too early.  Hospitalizations and worry finally ended in the safe arrival of a tiny baby.  She was too anxious to get to this life, to meet her sweet mother and loving daddy.  Her life was tentative, supported by teams of hospital workers.  We prayed and hoped for them.

At long last, the sweet baby could go home.  She was strong and healthy and ready to get on with living.  I made her a soft afghan to wrap up in to remind her that some days feel gray, but others are bright and sunshiny.  We all have ups and downs, but neither direction stops our progression.  Through the middles of our downs and ups, our grays and yellows, we find the white of peace.  The white of  feeling love in the heart of a storm or in the midst of joy.  That's the love that comes from Heaven to sustain us.  That's the sweet white love this new baby comes from, and brought with her.  

Welcome, Maylee.  We love you.

Hanky Panky

We woke up too early.  Either that, or the morning started too early.  Doesn't matter - it feels the same.  Don't want to get up.  I rolled over into Trent.  And smile.

Within roughly three seconds, a little person's head appeared at my side of the bed.  Georgie, grinning, climbed into the bed.  I pulled up the covers to let him in, and he snuggled into me.  Moments later, another little head appeared at Trent's side of the bed.  Freddie scrambled up and snuggled into his daddy.

The bed was getting cozy (realtor-speak for "crowded"), but I wasn't ready to get up just yet.  Trent wrapped his other arm around me and pulled me closer.  He stroked my hair, and kissed the nape of my neck.  I sighed.  He nibbled a little more.  No way was I getting up.  It wouldn't go much further with young 'us around, but it was so nice...

Suddenly, Georgie sat up.  "Daddy!" he yelled.  In my grogginess, it was startling.  Trent also sat right up when he heard the next thing out of the little guy's mouth.  "Have you sex?"

That was the end of snuggling for the morning.  "Do you think they know... do they understand...?"  Trent was worried as he hurried his clothes on.

I laughed, because I heard, "Daddy!  Are you six?"  And the next thing Georgie said, that Trent didn't hear in his quick escape from the bed, was "You are six and I am fwee."

Funny how things sound differently when you aren't quite awake.

Dandelions

I dreamed of having a flower garden, with bunches of flowers to smell and enjoy.  My mother had one; her mother had one; all the other ladies seemed to have one.  It looked effortless.  All you do is plant seeds and wait.  The waiting is the hardest part, isn't it?  Oh, and water.  I'll be such a good waterer.

And the Lord gave me dandelions.  At first, I was mad.  This was not what I wanted.  I wanted roses and daisies and poppies, their colorful heads nodding in a light breeze.  Dandelions are weeds.  No one likes them.  I don't like them.  I dug them out of my garden and waited for the real flowers to grow.

And I got more dandelions.  I sat near my flower-less garden and wondered.  Had I done something wrong?  Did the Lord not think I would be a very good gardener?  Why can't I have flowers when everyone else has them?  I was agitated.  But something told me to sit just a little bit longer.  Hush.  Be still.

I do want you to have flowers, my dear.  And these are the flowers I've picked out for you.  Aren't they lovely? I made them, you know.  I knew that you had a big enough heart to see more than what others see.  You can love what others might despise.  You are a gardener.  You are.  You can take good care of my dandelions.  You can love dandelions.

He was right.  I can love dandelions.  And I do.  They make me happy.

Love My House

In January, I decided that I wanted to be more whole-hearted, more on-purpose about loving.

In February, I got better at loving my husband by not letting his stuff mess with me.  We all have stuff.  I hope my mental and emotional baggage doesn't mess with him too much.  We've been working on it together.

In March, I'll be focusing on not letting my other stuff mess with me.  I mean the stuff in my house.  I've already been thinking about it here and here, and doing some work on decluttering here.  I want to first declutter, clean, organize, and prettify (that's a real word!).  And I need to give up some of my negative thoughts, too.  So instead of thinking about the massive stone fireplace that I'm not fond of every time I walk in the family room, I'll practice letting it go.  I'll replace those thoughts with happier, more loving thoughts as I do the work to have more that is truly lovely.

I think it would help me make it more of a priority if I had to give more frequent updates.  Maybe weekly (just not weakly)?  Need something catchy...  Moving it Mondays?  Throw it out Thursdays?  I'll put it on the back burner and mull it over...

Love My Husband, Reprise

At the beginning of this month, I wrote this nice little thought:

This month, I will work on loving my husband, without asterisks. Without fine print. Without inserting any "yeah, but..." comments....My new choice, then, is to not get bothered.

And then, on Valentine's Day (Valentine's Day! Of all days!), I typed out this gem:

It was nice to have a break from cooking - even if dinner was much later than I'd intended.

With shame, I must admit that the comment about the timing of dinner constitutes an asterisk, fine print, a negation of the previous positive words. Dang. I guess I'm not perfect after all.

To say that this month has been all lovey and roses (although there have been plenty of both - and more than usual) would be a blatant lie. Or I would be living on some other planet. Here on Earth, I live in Realityville and I know that I screw up. Often. And my husband sometimes makes mistakes. And my kids are not perfect.

In retrospect, my February goal was a good one. I did better on being less snarky and having fewer sarcastic thoughts. Not that I'm a terrible wife! At least, I don't think I am. But I do have room to improve. Don't we all?  My husbands's quirks don't bother me anywhere near as much as they used to.  I've been ever so much better at not depending on him for my happiness.  I give that one to the Lord, who helps me keep a more even keel (assuming my body is healthy and working properly).

 I want to love with everything I've got and have an amazing relationship and be one of those old grandmas who is still holding hands with her sweetheart while she is falling over.

And I'm getting closer to that. The loving part, not the falling over dead part. (Trent sighs, relieved)

Bluntly, Please

My good friend came over the other day.  After some conversation, she nervously admitted that she had an ulterior motive for visiting with me.  She wondered how she should proceed.  With bluntness, please.  It's nice to have a friend who loves you enough to tell you when you are being stupid.  And then still loves you.

She has been worried about my health.  "Your depression has been getting worse," she explained.  "You need to do something about it."  Has it?  No, I'm sure I've been fine.  I've been sick...  But you don't normally get sick.  And never for so long.  And I've been a bit down from the winter blues... Since before the winter started?  And I've been so tired, but it's because I haven't been exercising...  Is that really why?  I've been so cold - it's been a hard winter...  Not that much different than usual.  I have been crying a lot...  Don't think it's depression yet?  OK, ok.  I concede.

I'll make an appointment with my doctor to get my thyroid levels checked.  That would explain the tired, the cold, and the dry.  And my friend brought me over a smattering of vitamins to see if that would help bring up the cheer quotient.  It has been helping.  And thanks for noticing.  And thanks for being brave enough to say it bluntly.  (Yeah, I swallowed that in one gulp.  Yum.)

Happy Heats Day

I've been helping my dad go through the boxes in my mother's office.  Right now, we are sorting out boxes of random family memorabilia.  I found a love letter my Opa wrote to my Oma when they had been married for 40 years.  My dad's dad, a native of Rostock Germany, was on an LDS mission in another area in Germany when he met his future wife.  Per mission standards, missionaries aren't allowed to date or cavort (what a great word!) with members of the opposite sex, but that didn't stop him from falling head over heels in love with this pretty girl.

Before he was finished with his mission, she left for America, and he followed after her as quickly as he could.  They were married in New York as soon as he arrived.  To honor their German heritage, we called them Opa and Oma.  I love how in love he was, and the tender way he tells their story.  (All spelling and punctuation is in the original)

Fourty Years Ago

I could not say: "I love You,"

   I could not ask: "Do You?"

   Nor place my arms around her

   Or touch her lips - Would You?

I could not nest her head close,

   or softly stroke her hair

   I could not say sweet nothings

   Or snuggle close to her

I only could do dreaming,

   Could only look afar.

   I only could Keep hoping

   To hold what I but saw

I only could be looking

   And squeeze her hand awhile

   I only could be near her

   To share her girlish smile

Mine was a higher calling

   To serve the Lord of Old

   Mine was to love God's children

   And lead them to the fold.

My life was secondary

   My mission was at hand

   My calling was to wander

   Wherever I was sent.

I longed for just the moment

   A chance for which I'd prayed.

   I longed to vent my passion

   But not from right be swayed.

I longed to know her feelings - 

   But at the proper place.

   I longed to plan my future

   But not my life efface.

My prayers, I'm sure were answered,

   The day arrived at last

   My prayers walked right beside me

   When I her hand held fast.

It was a small Branch outing

   For all, the young and old

   We wandered through the mountains

   And soon we found our mold.

My heart beat loud and heaving,

   My thoughts could not be hid.

   At last a burst of sighing

   Gave voice to feelings deep.

I asked: "Will you be willing

   To wait a year or two

   When I complete my mission

   And can return to you?"

My heart stood still, if wondering:

   "Was this the proper place?

   'mid pines and rocks and sunshine

   To start such noble race?"

But now my part was over.

   'twas now her turn to say.

   I'm sure she too was thinking:

   "Is there no other way?"

And true to girlish candor

   Her choice must yet be free - 

   She hedged - she squirmed - she halted

   But quietly lisped: "Maybe."

I did not then Knew women,

   I do not Know them now,

   But in my heart the answer

   Was clearly a loud "JA."

A tender bridge was a-building

   Between two different souls.

   But time has added firmness,

   Part by the furnace coal.

This little tale was simple,

   But out of it grew a tree

   The fruits of which are pleasant

   As anyone can see

In time we knelt together

   Around the altar free

   To be as one, united

   For all eternity

As children came to linger

   In our home awhile,

   They shared with us the blessings

   Which we felt in our soul.

Then one by one they entered

   One life's eternal way.

   They too found mates to cherish

   And tales they like to say.

We started out a two-some

   Were blessed with six souls more.

   They multiplied to twenty -

   Who knows the final score?

All this had it's beginning

   On the 26th of May,

   When two youths walked together

   Some fourty years ago.

To my eternal sweetheart

May 26, 1967

Today I

Today I started a nice breakfast, but rushed through the last of the cooking and the kids only got to eat half of it because I started too late.  I buckled three youngsters into frozen car seats with fingers stiff from scraping the windows.  I drove the carpool to school and got the boys there on time.  Hurrah!  I didn't clean up the breakfast dishes until lunchtime because I didn't feel like it.

I tackled the laundry pile, huge and Mount Washmore sized, due to all the clothing I pulled out of David and Eddie's room.  We're cleaning out their closet.  It's no wonder they can't keep their room clean if they have so many clothes!  Most of it is old stuff that doesn't fit and has been stuffed in the back of the closet, or to-be-grown-into hand-me-downs that have fallen off the top closet shelf.  I think I'll have them empty their dressers too, wash everything, and start over by picking out a manageable number of clean clothes that fit.  It will be like shopping!  But not.

I put my three youngun's down for a nap, then I snuggled with them until they all fell asleep.  I may have dozed a little bit, too.  It's the only way I can get them to sleep instead of play - when I lay down and pull the "big bankie" over all of us -  but I really don't mind.  It's a slower, peaceful break from the rest of the day.

I went to two parent-teacher conferences.  David and Eddie are smart and friendly.  They read a lot (even when they aren't supposed to).  They are getting better at turning in the homework, but they still need to work on being "finishers."  The message from each teacher was basically a repeat.  I could have just gone to the first one, and listened to it a few times while changing out the names.  BUT, due to the things I have been learning in counseling this past year, I had a different outlook to parent-teacher conferences this time.  I love my children, but I don't control them.  Love and control do not have to be connected.  They have their agency to do whatever, and I have my agency to not have to react, to assign consequences without anger, and to love them anyway. In short, I could listen to a critique of my son - my own flesh and blood! - without feeling defensive or offended.  Because his actions are not mine.  It was satisfying, and so much easier to go home and have that little "Here's what your teacher said and here's what we need to work on" chat with the boys when I got home.  I'm learning!

I went to a band concert and enjoyed it.  I was present, and didn't take pictures or film or anything.  I just enjoyed it.  Of course I got a kick out of seeing Chris on stage (first time I've seen him play since he switched from tenor saxophone to the baritone - it's big!).  But I also liked listening to the other bands - odd rhythms, random squeaks, and all.  One of my favorite parts of a junior high band concert was the time when the trombonist over-greased his slide and it fell out with a clatter.  I remember mortifying moments like that in my awkward years, too.

Knowing that it would be an odd evening, I cooked up a roast in the crockpot.  A big bowl of slightly-too-soft mashed potatoes, a pan of rolls, and a bowl of buttery cooked corn stayed warm in the oven for much of the evening.  We almost always have dinner together, and I love it that way, but tonight, of the ten of us, I don't think more than three ate at the same time.  I put a note on the counter about what was where, and everyone helped themselves when they had time.  Crazy, but it worked.

Today was a busier day than normal, but I managed to get a bunch done anyway.  Go figure.  If I know it's going to be hectic, then I can plan for it, and things still run mostly smoothly.  Some days are just like that.

Love Mind Map

I think I need to get out my magnifying glass to see this better.  My eyes are dimming, I know.  But there is a whole lotta good stuff here.  I especially like the "to do" area (top left corner, in green).

I think maybe I'll make one of these.  Maybe as a Valentine's Day card?

Getting Rid of the Minor Details

I wrote last week about how I was working on loving my husband, and getting rid of all the little details that bug me and bog down my love.  So how to throw out all that garbage?

Decide 
that you want to change the way you feel about your relationship.

Forgive 
because your spouse is worth forgiving, and you are worth more than having to carry around a load of resentment.   And forgive yourself, because we all make a ton of mistakes, too.

Focus
on all the good things about your relationship, because there are lots of things you love about this your spouse.  You married him, after all!

Realize 
how much worth you have - and how much worth your spouse has.  Or maybe just try to.  Because knowing how truly magnificent you are changes everything.  And understanding a little bit of their inherent awesomeness changes everything.  It helps me a great deal when I sing "I Am a Child of God" by replacing "I" with his name:  "Trent is a child of God..."  The whole world shifts.  Here is a snippet from A Blog About Love (a blog I highly recommend!)

You see, if YOU have worth that is inherent and intrinsic to who you are (see Step 1), you know that so does everyone else.  Even if they make mistakes, they still have worth.  Seeing them in that light frees you to to love them as a human being, regardless of whether or not they are capable of returning love to you, regardless of whether or not your love is received.  You are free to seek to build someone else's worth regardless if they receive it or are grateful for it.  Again, if you already own your own worth, you aren't looking for anything from them.  You are simply hoping for someone else to know their own worth, too.  Period.  This is the essence of love.  It is knowing that someone is worth your patience.  Your kindness.  Your forgiveness.  Your compassion.  Not because they are doing anything to deserve it.  But because they inherently have worth, just like you do.  And so your goal is to bring it out in them.  And if you don't succeed, then you will be ok.  You don't "need" to succeed, but you offer what you can out of love, and then you let each person carry out their own life and their own path.

And then
Love
because you can.  Because really, getting rid of the little things that drive you crazy i more about getting rid of your own garbage, and seeing life as good and loving, than it is about changing them.  Your can love.  And I can, and I want to.

Love My Husband

I had some ideas about love in smaller, more chewable chunks, but this one fit best for this month.  It is the pink heart month, after all.  This month, I will work on loving my husband, without asterisks.  Without fine print.  Without inserting any "yeah, but..." comments.

When I was younger, I didn't understand why people would say marriage was so hard.  Yes, I do remember listening intently to the low murmur of voices at my parents' closed door after I knew it had been a tense day.  I was always worried that they were fighting.  I'm sure they had their disagreements.  We all do.  Much later, my mom told me about the grooves in her tongue that happened from biting it so hard during difficult moments.  We all have those, don't we?

To me, one of the biggest roadblocks to loving my husband is me getting annoyed.  That's pretty sad, I know.  But when I let his (fill in the blank annoying habit) bug me, then it is my problem, not his.  I had a really hard time with this at first.  After all, it wasn't my annoying habit.  I'm not in the wrong.  Right?

Wrong.  It's my problem when I get annoyed.

His action is still his.  He still gets to be responsible for the things he does.  I don't own that.  I can feel sorrow for bad choices he makes, sure.  But I create a new problem by choosing to get bothered about it.  And that is what I am responsible for.  See, when I am annoyed, or bothered, or angry, then I lose that loving feeling.  I can't come to the discussion table with a sense of love and appreciation and really wanting to solve a difficulty for the best of both of us.

By letting him get under my skin, I add to the problem and become less able to help solve it.  Lose, lose.  And he doesn't want to be around me.  More lose.

My new choice, then, is to not get bothered.  I'm in charge of how I feel, no matter what.  I love him.  He's my man.  I chose him years ago, and I still do.  This month, I'll work on getting rid of the minor details that bug me so I can get on with the big picture of loving him.  Because I can.  And because I want to.

How do I get rid of the minor details?  Stay tuned...

Loving Without Fine Print

One month into the year - how am I doing on my 2013 theme / idea / goal?

Better than I had been, but not nearly what I was hoping for.  I think I'll need to break it up and give myself some more specific guidelines, or smaller goals.  That might help me to focus better.  I'll have a smaller bite to think about for tomorrow.

The Word of the Year

No New Year's resolutions for me.  I have a hard time planning ahead right now, and it's discouraging to not be making progress on goals I know I should make but will have a hard time working on or seeing progress. So no resolutions.

Instead, I'll focus on a word, or a phrase.  I tried it last year (read about JOY here and CONTENT here), and I found that it helped me to draw my life into the places I most wanted to be.  It worked for me.  But what for this year?

This year, I will love without asterisks, and without fine print.

That means that when I get a compliment, I don't say, "Oh, this old thing?"  Or when someone is unexpectedly nice, I don't think, "Yeah, sure."  Or when I tell my children they did a good job, I don't make a mental note that I would, however, appreciate the job more if they did it a different way.

When I love, I will learn to do it with my whole heart, without holding some back, without standing on the fence, without building walls.  Just love.  That's all.

I think it will make for a happier new year.

Canning Season II

I love this picture of a handy housewife during World War I, preserving the goodness of what she grew at home instead of relying on the nation to help her take care of her family.  Now think of that in an emotional and spiritual sense, rather than a physical one.

So what kinds of things should we be growing and preserving, in order to take care of the relationship needs of our families - particularly our marriage relationships?  I've been learning some good things.

A caveat: I'm not marriage expert, but I do have some reasonably good experience at practicing.  I've had two husbands, and they each have had different strengths and contributions to our relationship.  Heck, I'm even a different flavor now than when I was younger!  But mostly, I was at an amazing conference last weekend where I heard tremendously helpful advice.  Listening is the easy part.  Practicing is the hard part.

Things I learned:

The barometer of our spirituality is how loving we are to those closest to us.  If we truly believe in being good, in being loving, then wouldn't we want to show that?  Especially to our families?  Especially to our beloveds?

When you wrap your emotional life around another person, particularly your spouse, and depend on them for your sense of happiness and fulfillment, you give up your agency to really love.  Your ability to chose to love must not be dependent on whether someone else has been nice to you today. That's why we depend on an always-loving and infallible God to fill our spiritual reservoirs, instead of relying on other people who are just as imperfect as we are.

Let's quit pointing fingers at "the other guy."  It is MY job to be happy - MY job to be validated.  I don't need to assign that essential job to my sweet husband, who already has a lot on his plate.  I choose to love him because I choose to - not because of anything he does.  Because sometimes he doesn't do the things I like.  Then do I not love him?  I get to choose.  And my stores of love come from the love I receive from my Heavenly Father, who will always love me, no matter what.  Happiness in marriage has very little to do with your spouse and everything to do with you and your relationship to God.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning's sonnet "How Do I Love Thee" deserves a deeper pondering than what we usually give.  How do I love my husband?  Really, how?  What do I do to show my love?  Lounging around on the couch, feeling love for my sweetheart doesn't do him a lot of good, nor does it strengthen our relationship.

We can love more by thinking the best about each other.  We can assume the good and doubt the bad.  We can hope.  We can love each other like Christ has loved us.

Watch this video, then go and love.  Because we can.

Canning Season

Do you know how hard it is to type, one-handed, with peach juice dribbling down your forearm?  I'm trying really hard to hold this amazingly delicious fruit away from the keyboard so I don't juice the computer.  Somehow I think bad things would happen.

I tucked in all of the kidlets.  The kitchen is clean.  Trent is watching a ball game with his dad.  The house is quiet.  It has been such an incredible day, and my heart is full to bursting.  All of the above means that I deserve a treat.  I wander into the kitchen and find vegetable soup from dinner, some leftover pasta that wasn't really good the first time, a few cold waffles, and half a tub of Cool Whip.  Tempting...  But as I walk over to the drawer to get me a big spoon, I saw the fruit bowl holding these huge, luscious-smelling, ripe-to-perfection peaches.  Sold on the peaches.

I love peaches.  I love them fresh, I love them in jam, I love them bottled.  There is not much more beautiful than rows of freshly-bottled sunshine sitting on the counter.  It's a lot of work to pick and wash the fruit.  I actually hate blanching and peeling the slippery devils, but the slicing and pitting isn't too bad.  The whole kitchen gets hot and muggy and miserable.  But it is so worth it, on a cold, bleak winter day, to open a bottle of peaches and savor the taste of summer again.

I had the opportunity to go to a conference tonight and hear a speaker talk about how marriage was like bottling fruit.  He told us that the Lord gives us an amazing gift when we are married: an empty bottle.  He will seal it for us, to keep our love forever fresh and our marriage delicious through the eternities.  But first we have to fill the bottle.

I think I first filled my bottle with twitterpation and excitement.  After that comes a gradual torrent of shared experiences.  But is my fruit sweet?  Am I trying to bottle up resentment or martyrdom?  Have I included the green fruit of unrealistic expectations, or the over-ripe mush of anger?  Even a little bit of bitterness will ruin my preserves.

Tonight, I'm taking careful inventory of my marriage recipe.  I think it needs some adjusting.  I'll put on my apron, roll up my sleeves, and get to work.  I'm sure I can find more natural sweetness around here somewhere!  And when I'm done, the Lord will seal it up and keep it pure forever.

It's canning season - what are you preserving?

(edit:  I found another story of the empty jar here - it's worth a read!)