Things I have loved of late:
How Suze wanted to help make the pies for our annual re-Thanksgiving the Sunday after. She did a good job, too. I'm going to have to start keeping pie ingredients on hand because she wanted to bake another one this afternoon.
How K~has become Decorator in Chief around our house. He did an awesome job with Halloween and has been a super helper with Christmas as well. In fact, he's just been a super helper, also pitching in for the big turkey dinner and peeling ALL the potatoes.
Luke telling me how this girl he likes reminds him somewhat of me because she likes to read good books and also telling me (upon my appreciating his gratitude for the little things), "Thanks, I got that from you."
That Shane put in a new faucet for the kitchen when the old one fell apart and also hooking up a warming light for my chickens.
How everyone seems to be making extra efforts to keep the house in relative order.
How my co-workers keep inviting us to their parties even though we are old enough to be parents of most of them and even though our lives are, in many ways, worlds apart. Being greeted with a hug at the grocery store at at one such party, in true pleasure at my presence. I love the people with whom I work. It's nice that they love me back.
How Karolyn made me cry today when she mentioned while bearing her testimony how Zack had challenged her family to read a page of the Book of Mormon each day so they could be done by the time he gets home.
The sweetest angel-faces in the world gazing up at me with rapt attention as I told the junior Primary children how prophets had testified of Jesus' birth and assured them He knows and love them each one.
Catching up with Robin--one of my former young women from almost 20 years ago. I love seeing how happy she is and hearing more about the miracle this past year has brought her.
Lil's quilts and friendship and early-morning rides to the gym.
Nancy's consistency as a walking partner--come rain or snow and as a friend--in days dark or sunny.
My long-lost and much-missed friend Sue being spontaneous enough to join me for a Costco run now that we can't ride to the lake together each week.
Melody's perfect timing--calling me for a show, lunch, a trip to the art museum. Perfect times, perfect places, perfect days.
Not having to cook dinner today--especially after two days of cooking last week--and now having a roast leftover in the fridge for a nice dinner tomorrow night!
Spending time making Christmas for my missionary. I think he will love it, but even if he didn't there was so much love and joy in the making. It truly is better to give than receive.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
A ride a night this week. Most of them finished in the dark. But that makes way for sunsets and dusks and moons (only one per night) and stars and a view off the edge of the hill worth riding around twice for.
The handful of volleyball girls who made it a point to thank me for dinner last night (homemade pizza) and tell me how good it was (which is super nice, especially after everything went wrong). And mean it.
An opportunity to get to know one of Suze's friends a little better over the dining room table (as moms are to serve and not be seen or heard at team dinner and the girls were all outside). I don't believe it was chance that brought us together with time to talk. She works in the NICU and had enough knowledge and experience to help me wrap my head around this weekend's loss and sorrow. It was exactly what I needed.
The kind older fisherman along the Provo River who sportingly showed off his prize catch--even letting me take a picture. He enthusiastically told me exactly how to cook a catfish--despite having to sometimes search for the English version of the word. "I already promised this one to someone else or I would let you take it home for your dinner," he said. And he meant it. And after we happened to mention the mosquitoes he abandoned his live line and walked over to his car to get out a can of bug spray, which he promptly and carefully sprayed on K~ before handing it over to me.
Tender moments shared with a friend at the side of her father's death-bed. Too precious to share, but the truths in them deserves to be shouted from the rooftops. Just know this: I don't just believe. I know. And that's what keeps me going--that and those seemingly simple things I acknowledge here--even when my heart is broken or my burden seems too heavy to bear.
The handful of volleyball girls who made it a point to thank me for dinner last night (homemade pizza) and tell me how good it was (which is super nice, especially after everything went wrong). And mean it.
An opportunity to get to know one of Suze's friends a little better over the dining room table (as moms are to serve and not be seen or heard at team dinner and the girls were all outside). I don't believe it was chance that brought us together with time to talk. She works in the NICU and had enough knowledge and experience to help me wrap my head around this weekend's loss and sorrow. It was exactly what I needed.
The kind older fisherman along the Provo River who sportingly showed off his prize catch--even letting me take a picture. He enthusiastically told me exactly how to cook a catfish--despite having to sometimes search for the English version of the word. "I already promised this one to someone else or I would let you take it home for your dinner," he said. And he meant it. And after we happened to mention the mosquitoes he abandoned his live line and walked over to his car to get out a can of bug spray, which he promptly and carefully sprayed on K~ before handing it over to me.
Tender moments shared with a friend at the side of her father's death-bed. Too precious to share, but the truths in them deserves to be shouted from the rooftops. Just know this: I don't just believe. I know. And that's what keeps me going--that and those seemingly simple things I acknowledge here--even when my heart is broken or my burden seems too heavy to bear.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Here's two:
I. Backstory: In order to make up for lost time (no, actually because I want to), I've been trying to make it to the temple weekly to do initiatory work on the weeks it is not ward temple night. I used to go on Tuesdays before work, but the six-week summer closure and my recent work schedule have messed with that, so lately I've been going up early Saturday mornings. I do not believe it is by accident that ever since Zack got his mission call to England, I've had at least one name from England every week except for one. I don't think I need to explain why that tiny detail is significant and means something huge for me.
So last week I almost didn't go. (Let's be honest, almost every Friday night I think to myself, "I'm probably not going to go--I only get one Saturday morning a week and it is always a toss up to clean house and/or work out while I have the energy, or go to the temple.) But I did. There was about a 30-minute wait. I waited. Then I did my session. There were four names from Vermont and then one from England. One is always enough for me.
But then as I finished and was walking out, I noticed there was not a single sister waiting. "They need me," I thought. So I asked if it would be helpful for me to do another set of names. As always, the temple workers were gracious and grateful and I was handed another card with five names.
It wasn't until I walked back that I took a second to glance at the names. England. England. England. England. (Rounded off by somewhere random, I forget where.)
My heart was full of gratitude as tears ran down my face, but I felt like someone else was telling me, "No. Thank you."
II. Last night I was late for stake conference. We had been invited to a first birthday party for my friend Katya's daughter Alexandria. I don't need to explain why I needed to be there; I just knew I needed to be there. The party was supposed to start at five. My youngest and I arrived at 5:45, which should have been fashionably late but also given us enough time to say hello, drop off the present, eat some fabulous Haitian food. And get back in time for stake conference. Things were running late. Stake conference was at seven.
We stayed and mingled and visited. I enjoyed the luxury of watching children playing without worrying about my own and listening to the blend of English, French and Creole that could be heard through the cozy backyard. We rejoiced at the breaking news that friends of ours who've been anxiously waiting to adopt just got a beautiful baby girl. And, at some point later when it seemed appropriate, I finally expressed out loud to Katya's mom the pain I felt while standing at the foot of a hospital bed late Friday night, listening to the juxtaposition of a strong regular whoosh of a fetal heartbeat and the cold words of a doctor stating to my expectant and contracting niece, "We will work hard to save babies after 24 weeks, but you're only 22 weeks, so we won't do anything to save yours should he come." I can wrap my head around that. Sort of. But I can't quite wrap my heart around it. I needed to talk about it. Barbara was the perfect one to listen and hear.
At 6:45 the party started for reals and it was good. Good to meet new people and celebrate with long-time friends. And my first taste of Haitian food was savory and delicious.
I left at 7:25, thinking I could get home, throw on a skirt and be to stake conference by halftime. But as I arrived I found a certain child distraught over the thought of a second night without plans in the same weekend (this never happens--really). Usually one to choose the safety of anger over the vulnerability of tears, said child broke down. Usually one to push back or away, said child allowed an embrace and listening ears. Let love in. I stayed.
The moment of need passed and it was clearly time to leave said child with some space, so I went, taking youngest child to a friend's house. I had no idea what he had heard or observed; I actually thought he was outside the whole time and oblivious.
Until we got in the car. And then I reminded of the extend of this baby brother--the one who gets teased and picked on the most, who is often the brunt of the frustrations and anger of older siblings--this little brother's tender heart. "I called Katie and asked her to text Suze because she needed something fun to do tonight." 11-year-old calls 14-year-old freshman girl friend because he can't stand to watch his big sister's heart break.
Tears ran down my face (again).
I. Backstory: In order to make up for lost time (no, actually because I want to), I've been trying to make it to the temple weekly to do initiatory work on the weeks it is not ward temple night. I used to go on Tuesdays before work, but the six-week summer closure and my recent work schedule have messed with that, so lately I've been going up early Saturday mornings. I do not believe it is by accident that ever since Zack got his mission call to England, I've had at least one name from England every week except for one. I don't think I need to explain why that tiny detail is significant and means something huge for me.
So last week I almost didn't go. (Let's be honest, almost every Friday night I think to myself, "I'm probably not going to go--I only get one Saturday morning a week and it is always a toss up to clean house and/or work out while I have the energy, or go to the temple.) But I did. There was about a 30-minute wait. I waited. Then I did my session. There were four names from Vermont and then one from England. One is always enough for me.
But then as I finished and was walking out, I noticed there was not a single sister waiting. "They need me," I thought. So I asked if it would be helpful for me to do another set of names. As always, the temple workers were gracious and grateful and I was handed another card with five names.
It wasn't until I walked back that I took a second to glance at the names. England. England. England. England. (Rounded off by somewhere random, I forget where.)
My heart was full of gratitude as tears ran down my face, but I felt like someone else was telling me, "No. Thank you."
II. Last night I was late for stake conference. We had been invited to a first birthday party for my friend Katya's daughter Alexandria. I don't need to explain why I needed to be there; I just knew I needed to be there. The party was supposed to start at five. My youngest and I arrived at 5:45, which should have been fashionably late but also given us enough time to say hello, drop off the present, eat some fabulous Haitian food. And get back in time for stake conference. Things were running late. Stake conference was at seven.
We stayed and mingled and visited. I enjoyed the luxury of watching children playing without worrying about my own and listening to the blend of English, French and Creole that could be heard through the cozy backyard. We rejoiced at the breaking news that friends of ours who've been anxiously waiting to adopt just got a beautiful baby girl. And, at some point later when it seemed appropriate, I finally expressed out loud to Katya's mom the pain I felt while standing at the foot of a hospital bed late Friday night, listening to the juxtaposition of a strong regular whoosh of a fetal heartbeat and the cold words of a doctor stating to my expectant and contracting niece, "We will work hard to save babies after 24 weeks, but you're only 22 weeks, so we won't do anything to save yours should he come." I can wrap my head around that. Sort of. But I can't quite wrap my heart around it. I needed to talk about it. Barbara was the perfect one to listen and hear.
At 6:45 the party started for reals and it was good. Good to meet new people and celebrate with long-time friends. And my first taste of Haitian food was savory and delicious.
I left at 7:25, thinking I could get home, throw on a skirt and be to stake conference by halftime. But as I arrived I found a certain child distraught over the thought of a second night without plans in the same weekend (this never happens--really). Usually one to choose the safety of anger over the vulnerability of tears, said child broke down. Usually one to push back or away, said child allowed an embrace and listening ears. Let love in. I stayed.
The moment of need passed and it was clearly time to leave said child with some space, so I went, taking youngest child to a friend's house. I had no idea what he had heard or observed; I actually thought he was outside the whole time and oblivious.
Until we got in the car. And then I reminded of the extend of this baby brother--the one who gets teased and picked on the most, who is often the brunt of the frustrations and anger of older siblings--this little brother's tender heart. "I called Katie and asked her to text Suze because she needed something fun to do tonight." 11-year-old calls 14-year-old freshman girl friend because he can't stand to watch his big sister's heart break.
Tears ran down my face (again).
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
there i was. solemnly bearing the heavy load of overwhelmth (not a word, but it should be). overwhelmed at my to-do list:
to-do
to-find
to-fix
to-file
to-put-away
to-dump
to-worry-about
to-buy-with-money-we-don't-have
my former excitement about meeting up for lunch with friends today turned to fear and dread. i can't go. i feel so low. buried.
i can't find what i need for pack meeting tonight and at every turn in my search i'm confronted with another pile of things i need to-do-something-about.
i want to go back to bed. too little sleep make all the rest of the tos feel even more heavy, more hopeless. i want to curl up in a ball and wake up to no more tos.
and then it happens.
i walk past the laundry basket brimming with to-files and i see a little brown corner of something. i tug at it and out comes the scout shirt i desperately needed so my youngest (you know, the one who also needs new church shoes, new regular shoes and a new church shirt and with whom i have been supposed to practicing math facts all summer) can get his arrow of light tonight and transition from blue to brown without once more being humiliated for not being offspring to one of those with-it moms who have a scout shirt for every child (neatly pressed and with all the requisite badges and bandelos and etc. neatly sewn on in perfect tiny stitches).
the phrase may be overused, but there are no other words.
i smile and send up a little thank-you prayer. i have walked past that basket hundreds of times. i've looked everywhere for the shirt, even dragging out the two adult shirts from my husband's closet to see if perhaps one of them is really the one i've been looking for.
i know it is a simple thing. but i also know it is not by accident. i needed some glimpse of light, some hope that somehow i could make my way through this.
sent, received and duly noted.
thank you.
to-do
to-find
to-fix
to-file
to-put-away
to-dump
to-worry-about
to-buy-with-money-we-don't-have
my former excitement about meeting up for lunch with friends today turned to fear and dread. i can't go. i feel so low. buried.
i can't find what i need for pack meeting tonight and at every turn in my search i'm confronted with another pile of things i need to-do-something-about.
i want to go back to bed. too little sleep make all the rest of the tos feel even more heavy, more hopeless. i want to curl up in a ball and wake up to no more tos.
and then it happens.
i walk past the laundry basket brimming with to-files and i see a little brown corner of something. i tug at it and out comes the scout shirt i desperately needed so my youngest (you know, the one who also needs new church shoes, new regular shoes and a new church shirt and with whom i have been supposed to practicing math facts all summer) can get his arrow of light tonight and transition from blue to brown without once more being humiliated for not being offspring to one of those with-it moms who have a scout shirt for every child (neatly pressed and with all the requisite badges and bandelos and etc. neatly sewn on in perfect tiny stitches).
the phrase may be overused, but there are no other words.
i smile and send up a little thank-you prayer. i have walked past that basket hundreds of times. i've looked everywhere for the shirt, even dragging out the two adult shirts from my husband's closet to see if perhaps one of them is really the one i've been looking for.
i know it is a simple thing. but i also know it is not by accident. i needed some glimpse of light, some hope that somehow i could make my way through this.
sent, received and duly noted.
thank you.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Toying with the idea of turning this to a journal of sorts. Please don't feel obligated to keep reading. (But of course you're welcome to stay if you'd like.)
Love walking the river trail in the mornings with my good friend Nancy. It's like free therapy with a view. And sound effects.
Rode my bike to yoga today. It was so great to be back after a month away. And to stretch. And sweat. And breathe. Lacee told me she was grateful to have me back because she said I bring a good energy to the class that she misses when I'm not there. "It's a positive and so honest." That truly is one of most meaningful compliments I have ever received.
Took my grandmother to see my mother in the transitional rehabilitation place today. I've been updating my grandmother regularly on Mom's condition, but it wasn't she said something today that I realized that in her head Grandma imagined that "hip replacement" meant they would cut away my mom's hip and replace it with some sort of prosthetic like those for an amputee. I was so sad I hadn't known this before and been able to reassure her. The look of delight and relief on Grandma's face when she saw Mom--and especially as she saw her walking (albeit slowly and with a walker) was so tender and sweet.
Love writing to my missionaries twice a week now--one day for each. Love the anticipation of news--however long or short, detailed or vague--in my inbox in the morning.
I am tired. My neglected house is a wreck. But life is full and good.
Love walking the river trail in the mornings with my good friend Nancy. It's like free therapy with a view. And sound effects.
Rode my bike to yoga today. It was so great to be back after a month away. And to stretch. And sweat. And breathe. Lacee told me she was grateful to have me back because she said I bring a good energy to the class that she misses when I'm not there. "It's a positive and so honest." That truly is one of most meaningful compliments I have ever received.
Took my grandmother to see my mother in the transitional rehabilitation place today. I've been updating my grandmother regularly on Mom's condition, but it wasn't she said something today that I realized that in her head Grandma imagined that "hip replacement" meant they would cut away my mom's hip and replace it with some sort of prosthetic like those for an amputee. I was so sad I hadn't known this before and been able to reassure her. The look of delight and relief on Grandma's face when she saw Mom--and especially as she saw her walking (albeit slowly and with a walker) was so tender and sweet.
Love writing to my missionaries twice a week now--one day for each. Love the anticipation of news--however long or short, detailed or vague--in my inbox in the morning.
I am tired. My neglected house is a wreck. But life is full and good.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Friday, January 01, 2010
words--nor even a photograph--would do it justice, but the morning sky today looked like an ocean.
i wanted to run out and fly up to dip my toes in it.
i'm glad that i live in this beautiful world...
heavenly father created for me.
i am grateful for:
a new year.
a new day.
and an ocean sky with with to start them both.
happy new year!
i wanted to run out and fly up to dip my toes in it.
i'm glad that i live in this beautiful world...
heavenly father created for me.
i am grateful for:
a new year.
a new day.
and an ocean sky with with to start them both.
happy new year!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
