The Zen Snorkeler

Many years ago we laughed at a line from a movie that said that Mormons could be Buddhist too.  Over the years I've come to see that there is a lot of wisdom in Buddhism that I could benefit from.

The first day Jenna and I went snorkeling we got in the water, went to the right, and almost immediately saw a turtle!  What were the odds?!?  (I mean they weren't terrible because of where we were, but it was still a surprise.)  After we snorkeled for a while we got out, had a snack, and warmed back up.  Then when we got in again and went to the left, we saw even more turtles!  So awesome.

The next morning we got up and went to a different snorkel spot.  (Dumps, henceforth to be referred to as Konahena to pay tribute to it's beauty!) I knew that we would see a lot more fish there since it was part of the marine preserve, but I also knew that if we were set on seeing turtles, all of the fish in the world wouldn't be satisfying.  So I told Jenna before we started that we needed to be a little Zen about our snorkeling, and appreciate whatever we saw each time rather than deciding that we weren't going to enjoy it unless we saw something specific.  (Meaning turtles, of course.) She agreed with me that it would be smart to think about it like that. 

Happily, we saw turtles most of the times we were snorkeling.  But we were also able to enjoy the other things because we had decided that we were going to be happy with whatever happened.

Whatever we saw was going to be amazing, which I think is a pretty good way to live.

What are you dragging behind you?

Jenna and I just got back from her senior trip in Maui.  Turns out when I'm snorkeling I have a lot of time to think deep thoughts!

Jenna and I did something that Russ and I had enjoyed doing last time we were in Maui.  We walked to Ahihi Cove from the Konahena (Dumps) parking lot wearing our water shoes and carrying fins.  Then at Ahihi Cove we put the water shoes in the mesh bag, put on our fins, and we snorkeled back to Konahena from Ahihi.  I put the drawstring of the mesh bag over my head & shoulder and snorkeled with it and could almost not tell I had it with me.  

About 15 years ago we went to the Big Island with two other couples.  One day we rented kayaks and kayaked across Kealakekua Bay to snorkel at the Captain Cook monument.  (The Big Island doesn't have as many "from the shore" snorkel spots as Maui does.) One of the couples pulled a boogie board behind them to use while snorkeling.  We were all kayaking along, and then we realized that two of us were FAR ahead of the third couple.  At first we couldn't figure out why the third couple was having a harder time, and then we realized that it was the boogie board slowing them down.  Sure enough, once they held the boogie board they started moving faster.

As I snorkeled out of Ahihi Cove with Jenna that day I marveled at how easy it was to tow the bag with the shoes along with me.  I don't think I would have predicted that.  It was completely worth doing, since having the shoes with us meant that we could have a different and unique snorkel experience.  But I also thought about how I wouldn't have guessed that a boogie board (which floats on it's own) would exert such drag on a kayak that day at Keakalekua Bay.  

The thought came to me that in life it's important to pay attention to what things are weighing us down and/or holding us back.  Sometimes things that we think are unimportant or even positive might actually be negative.  And things that might at first glance seem like they'd have a negative effect might help us and nor be negative at all.  Definitelly something to think about...

Lessons from Fall

Summer is my favorite time and every year I feel punched in the gut when I realize it’s really going to end.  But then once I reconcile myself to the change of season (especially if the skies stay blue) I am enchanted by the beauty that is Fall.  I’m also endlessly interested in the lessons (spiritual and not quite spiritual) that I learn from the things around me.

#1) The first year we were in Oregon I noticed that the leaves changed colors for a long LONG time.  First one kind of tree and then another, a succession of intensifying colors and leaves falling.  For a while I was a little cranky about this---I thought that it would be a lot more beautiful if everything turned at one in a glorious finale of color.  Like Maine, I thought.  (Not that I’ve ever been to Maine at all, much less to see the leaves.)  But then I realized that this gradual Fall had a serious benefit because it stretched out the beauty over a longer time.  Instead of one major moment there were a series of smaller moments. 
Sometimes I might want my life to feel like a (picture of a) Maine autumn looks, like the finale of a fireworks show.  But in reality it’s probably better to pace myself, to stretch out the moments of joy and fun and happiness over more time rather than experiencing them all at once. 

#2) In Hendersonville one time my dad took me for an autumn drive to show me some trees.  I can’t remember exactly how we got there, but I remember what we saw once we arrived—enormous flame colored trees around the perimeter of a factory.  He told me that every year those trees were brilliantly colored.  I’ve noticed that in the years since—that the trees that are beautiful one year are also beautiful the next. 
It was an adventure the first fall or two in Oregon (or would have been, had I been emotionally stable enough to appreciate it) learning the spots of fall beauty in the area.  The scarlet trees behind the gymnastics club, the multi-colored trees lining Evergreen, the late turning tree in the yard across the street, the red trees on the way to Glencoe, the burning bushes in the Costco Parking lot and at Intel.  Each year I watch for the now-predictable places of beauty, watch for them and cheer inwardly when they hit their peak of beauty.
I think maybe life is like this--that there are  predictable places of beauty in our lives, like a Christmas LotR marathon, family game nights, and a beach trip with friends.  Pieces of beauty small and large that dot our years, coming back every year to delight us.
That is also good for me to remember.  That the beach trip is over for this year, but it will come again.  That there are always things to look forward to, predictably beautiful moments that will bring happiness and joy.

#3) I can still remember the year in Durham that I was determined to take a picture of the perfect autumn leaf.  I looked and looked and looked.  And much to my surprise, I never found one.  Because when I looked up close, the most beautifully colored leaves were never perfect.  I finally had an a-ha moment: the colors come as the leaves are dying.  The colors are a moment of brilliance before the leaves fall from the trees and the trees go dormant. 
I thought for a long time that year about the profoundnesss of this understanding--that there can be flaws in things that are amazingly beautiful, that sometimes the process of death brings great beauty.  And I remember it every year as I scuff along the sidewalk through brightly colored leaves.

So forgive me, Autumn, for dreading your approach.  And thank you for your beauty and the lessons you teach.

Love (2.0) and Friendship

[a moment of silence please to appreciate my clever Jane Austen reference in the title...]

Last week I finished a book called "Friendship for Grownups."  It didn't say anything I didn't already know, but was a good reminder of the importance of friendships in a woman's life.  When I finished the book I started thinking about friendship in my life right now.  I feel like I'm in a strange place, caught in between the demands of my life, the needs of my family, and the amount of energy I have available.  Friendship looks different to me right now than it did before we moved to Oregon.

I decided that I would pray for guidance to know if there's more I should be doing now in the area of friendship.

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I was at work on Wednesday and two patients were waiting by my reception desk.  I had been chatting with one of them and she made a comment about not liking to backtrack when she was out running errands.  That made me laugh, because I HATE backtracking!  I've recently been fussing at myself for being so neurotic about it, and have tried to tell myself that if I have to drive in the direction that I just came from all will not be lost.  When I told her that I hated backtracking too, the other woman started laughing and said that she was the same way!  We talked for a few minutes about how crazy this thing makes us and how our husbands (mostly) don't understand, and we laughed and laughed.

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Wednesday after work I was at the dentist getting my teeth cleaned.  The hygienist was super chatty which was fun except that it's hard to have a two-way conversation when you're having your teeth cleaned!  At some point she was telling me that she has a problem with sounds, and she started describing some kinds of sounds that bother her.  (The bathroom fan, her always-drumming-on-something husband.)  When she next had her fingers out of my mouth I said, "I'm just the same way!  I hate repetitive sounds, and almost all sounds when I'm tired."  Then I told her that I had learned about a syndrome called misophonia, sometimes thought of as a hatred of sound.  We talked about the sounds that make us crazy and how frustrating this is our lives.

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When I got home and was thinking back over my day, still feeling some of the emotions of the day, I had a memory.  In the first year or so that we lived here I read a book called Love 2.0.  The author (a professor at UNC) redefines love not just as a something that we're depending on our significant others to provide for us, but also as micro-moments of connection between people—even strangers.

When that came to mind I had an ah-ha moment.  I hadn't thought of the Love 2.0 micro-moments in a long time, but I realized as this came to my mind that I'd had two significant Love 2.0 moments that day, moments that had been fun, joyous, in the one case filled with laughter (it's too hard to laugh much when someone's hand and a sharp object are in your mouth) and in both cases really satisfying.  

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I think this was an answer to my prayer--not just having these two experiences in the same day, but also having such a clear recollection of them instead of them just being rolled into the detritus of the day, and then having the memory of the Love 2.0 book.  I think this answer was showing or reminding me that there are different kinds of connection that can be emotionally satisfying in my life.  It's definitely something I need to keep praying about, but I love seeing this answer.

Answered Prayer

I am a praying person, but I have never felt like I am a good pray-er. I pray because I should and because I trust that it probably does make a difference, but usually that is more faith than certainty. From time to time, however, a specific prayer is answered in such an unmistakeable way that there is no doubt in my mind that God does, in fact, hear me.

One of those moments happened yesterday. On the way to Emerald Isle I was so troubled by a situation in my life. As I thought through one possible solution I realized that my heart was racing, leaving me almost breathless. I wasn't sure if this was fear or some kind if ego-driven excitement. Whichever it was, I wasn't sure I could go through with this plan to deal with the difficult situation. In my mind I said a little prayer, "Heavenly Father, if this is supposed to happen, *you* will have to make it happen, because I no longer trust myself to know that this is the right thing to do." And then I tried not to think about it.

Several hours later we arrived at Big Bertha and we unexpectedly greeted by a houseful of smoky air. This situation set in motion changes that forced me to act on my plan. I took a big breath, started praying, and made a request, all the while feeling anxious and a big sick to my stomach.

But the plan (suggested by my wise brother Jeff) dealt with the problematic situation perfectly. I felt calm and loving. I was able to present my issue and feel compassion at the same time. And in the end I felt the resolution was (and this is a strong word, but accurate) perfect and provided a far better start to our beach week than we would have otherwise had.

Jeff laughed at me, at the thought that God provided a smoky house to force me to action. I don't know how to look at that and don't really care. What I know is that I prayed for Him to make it happen if it was important, and that it absolutely and immediately happened that way.

Moments like these keep me praying. They give me confidence that even though I rarely *feel* something amazing when I pray (and I certainly didn't yesterday in that short unspoken prayer) and rarely feel like I see results when I pray, something is happening. And that is enough.

Rainbow Thoughts & Tales

It's been a rainbow year for me.  Everywhere I go I'm seeing them and I love it.  A couple of weeks ago Russ and I went to the grocery store.  It was a dark and gloomy day with a sunbreak in the west,  and on the way home, there it was--an enormous intensely colored rainbow.  In an unusual twist of fate I didn't have *any* camera with me.  Not my purse with the purse cam, and not my phone with it's camera.  So I just looked at it.  Zoomed my eyes out to take in the whole picture, then focused in on the brightest parts.  When we got home I grabbed a camera and drove quickly over to the church where I thought I might still be able to see it, but of course the light had shifted and the brilliance had faded.  I still sat and watched for a few minutes until the sun had set and the rainbow faded away completely.  As I watched though I had a couple of interesting thoughts about rainbows, and once again I thought how true for me the scripture verse is that says that all things bear record of Christ.  

The first thought was about how truly big rainbows are.  I've had a number of cameras, but I've never had one that can take a picture of a whole rainbow.  I always have to take 2 pictures and sometimes even three.  That day in the car with Russ it seemed like the rainbow was over all of Hillsboro.  I thought how appropriate that was--the rainbow signifies God's promise to the world, and it is so large that it is over the world rather than contained in a small place.

[One day a couple of years ago I had to make an emergency trip to the dentist because of a cracked tooth.  The day was so gray--an unusual kind of flat gray.  I stopped at costco, all numbed and disgruntled about having to had to go out on this nasty afternoon, and as I pulled into parking lot I saw the beginning of a rainbow.  As it formed it was so bright that people just got out of their cars and stood and looked at it.  I took 3 pictures and stitched them together to get the picture above. Not sure why my old camera phone made them look more blue than gray though.]

[One evening this spring we went to Jared's lacrosse game.  It was gloomy and rainy and I was so grateful that the bleachers were covered!  The bleachers were facing east and the almost setting sun was behind us.  Off and on throughout the game rainbows formed and dissolved as the sun came out from behind the clouds.  It was truly amazing.]

Another thought I had was the realization that almost always, the rainbows come when it is dark.  Every now and then you see a bit of a sunny rainbow, but it's usually grey and cloudy and gloomy.  

Isn't that just like life?  When things are good and sunny we usually don't need more beauty or help.  We might not even see or notice it.  It takes darkness to be able to see and appreciate the luminescent beauty of the rainbow.  And isn't it that way with God's promises and help?  When things are good we might not notice or need God's help.  But when things are dark, oh how we see then.  Just like the rainbows, God's help and gifts stand out to us and we see their true beauty.

[When we were in Hawaii in February we saw some awesome rainbows.  This one was unusual because we were on the road to Hana, with the ocean down the mountain.  Instead of being like a half circle, this rainbow was closer to a 3/4 circle.  It went from the side of the mountain above us, all the way down to the water down the mountain.]

The last thought I had was that it's rare that a camera can truly capture the splendor of a rainbow.  We see it and grab the camera and later look at the picture and think about how much brighter, more vivid, simply splendid it had been.  Now this makes me think about how amazing our eyes are.  But it also makes me think about how amazing the things of God are, and how we can rarely represent them to someone else in their full glory.  

Don't forget to look down, too.

Last week I spent some time talking with a friend.  I knew that she'd just had a long layover in a tropical location after a business trip.  When I asked if she had other travel plans, she said that she and her husband were taking a trip to South America in a couple of weeks, and then a Carribean trip later in the summer.  I love my friend and am totally happy for her happiness, but I must admit that the little green monster reared it's ugly head a little.  (After all, I've never even been out of the United States, other than a little hop across the border at Niagara Falls.)

Later in the week I saw on Facebook that someone I know is spending the summer (the whole summer) in Europe with her family. (Her whole family.) There was the green eyed monster again, a little more insistent this time.  (After all, I've never even been out of the United States, other than a little hop across the border at Niagara Falls.)

I chewed on this occasionally over the next few days, disgruntled at the disparity of my life compared to theirs.

Then I had the little thought.  The reminder of the niggle of guilt I felt when we spent two weeks (not one, but TWO!!) in Hawaii this winter!  Sure, we haven't been for a couple of years, but we have been lucky enough to have a week long beach vacation almost every year.   And then Hawaii!

As I started thinking about all of the ways that I have been blessed more than many people, my list grew.  Lovely children.  Loving husband.  Family support.  Personal time.  Lovely home.  Beautiful yard and ability to buy many flowers.  Regular beach vacation.  Occasional Hawaiian vacation. And on, and on, and on.  And on.

There are two truths at play here.  It is true that I don't have as much money or the same opportunities as some people that I know.  But it is even more true that compared to other people that I know, and compared to most of the people in the world, I have more.  I was comparing "up," but not remembering to compare "down."

So today I'm saying thank you to all of those who haven't yet had the chance to go to Hawaii but who were excited for me when I went.  Thank you for rejoicing with me, for adding to the joy of my trip.  Let me know when you're ready to go and I'll help you plan your trip.  And I'm also saying that I'm going to do a better job at remembering just how blessed I am so that I'm able to celebrate other people's opportunities, even when (especially when?) they're opportunities that I may never have.

[disclaimer: I have used the terms "up" and "down" only to mean having more money and the opportunities money can provide.  These terms are not meant in any other way.]

Through a glass, darkly

My phone is a hand-me-down, it came from my nephew Jake who's on a mission now.  I've added a few apps to the phone in the year I've had it, but never done anything physically to the phone.  Which means that for a year it's had the case it came in, and the screen protector that came on it.

Lately it's been looking pretty scratched.  Let's be real.  For a long time it's been looking pretty scratched, and lately it's been looking terrible.  I *knew* that, but it was the kind of thing I never noticed in a moment where I could do anything about it and that never stayed in my memory for very long.

Finally there was the perfect conjunction; the stars aligned and I ordered a new screen protector.  I begged Jared (one of my tech guys) to put it on for me and I walked away.  Some time later he told me it was done and I came and got it.

All I can say is

WOW!!!!

I mean

WOW!!!!!!

It was so CLEAR!  It was so BRIGHT!  It was amazing and for the rest of the night and most of the next day I just stared at it in amazement every time I looked at it.

I can see clearly, now, I thought.  And I had no idea how un-clearly I *had* been seeing.

Then I started thinking...

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For so many years in my life I was confused by part of a verse in the New Testament,

"For now we see through a glass, darkly..."

What on earth did it mean to see through a glass darkly?  It was really annoying to me, especially as the rest of the verse made a lot of sense to me and I really liked it.  The first time I heard an explanation for this idea was such a relief to me--that it might have to do with seeing something, (or through something), but not very well.

As I looked at my phone with it's spiffy and shiny new screen protector I understood on a new level.  Now that I was seeing my phone so well, I could see that for so long I hadn't been seeing it well at all.  I could see that then I saw through a screen protector, scratched up.  Which might be a lot like seeing through a glass darkly.

The most interesting thing to me, though, was the realization that while I knew I probably needed a new screen protector,  I had no idea how bad the situation really was *until* I had the new screen protector.

Which made my brain that loves analogies wonder--where in my life am I seeing through a glass darkly without knowing it?  Where do I think I have a little problem when there's actually a much bigger problem?  Where will be the biggest surprise when I no longer see through a glass darkly??

The tree and me

4 years and 2 days ago, in the evening, the triplets and I drove into Hillsboro.  How it went, how I felt, how I handled it--all that is well recorded history.  Tonight I am celebrating being on this side, having made it through some really difficult times to get to this place.

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On the main street outside our neighborhood there is a big beautiful tree.  (Not being good at identifying trees I'm not sure what kind it is, maybe some kind of oak.) This tree has had the misfortune in it's life of growing straight up into the power lines, and over the years the tree has been pruned to accommodate the lines.  

The first winter we were here was long, dreary, and difficult.  The summer had not been so bad--there was lovely weather, fruit to pick, a family reunion, and a long trip back to the beach.  There was a house to buy and moving to do, all of which kept us busy.  But the winter, that was hard.

One day I noticed the tree.

And I thought, that tree has had it's heart ripped out, just like I have.

For a long, long time, every time I drove by the tree I silently commiserated with it.  I know how that feels, I thought.  I feel that pain.  

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It took a long time; several years, really, before I was able to move beyond those thoughts.  But eventually I was able to celebrate that even with it's middle all chopped out, the tree kept on.  Every spring it leafed out again into a beautiful stately tree.

It kept on living.  Thriving, even.

One day I had the thought that my heart was just like this tree--that if you could see it, there is a chunk out of my heart that is just the shape of the state of North Carolina.  

Thankfully I am leafing out and thriving again.  Thankfully (oh so thankfully!) we're still connected to our dear friends from North Carolina; some that are still there and some now in other places.  Thankfully I feel like I have real friends here in Oregon, now, as well.

But this tree will always speak to a part of me, a reminder of pain and time and healing.

Maybe not for naught

My memorizer is broke.

I suspected this for many years, and in the last 5 am certain. 

I've gone from being a prolific and easy memorizer of anything and everything (music, poetry, scripture) to bring a frustrated never memorizer, not even of one measure of music. 

All I can assume is that the triplets broke me.  😉

(Regardless of the cause, the situation exists.)

Several years ago I decided I wanted to memorize scriptures, and that I wanted to start with Paul's verses on charity.  They are beautiful to me, and since I struggle to have charity in my daily life, I thought it a good place to start.

I printed out a full sheet of paper with these verses on it.

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long, and is kind;
charity envieth not;
charity vaunteth not itself,
is not puffed up,
Doth not behave itself unseemly,
seeketh not her own,
is not easily provoked,
thinketh no evil;
Rejoiceth not in iniquity,
but rejoiceth in the truth;
Beareth all things,
believeth all things,
hopeth all things,
endureth all things.
Charity never faileth.

Every day for a year I read and reread these verses as I stood in front if the bathroom mirror.  It sounds pathetic, but at the end of the year I couldn't recite the whole thing--only small bits and pieces, and not in any good order.  I pronounced my experiment a failure.

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Today's topic in sacrament meeting was charity.  The first adult speaker was going along with her talk, and then she said that she wanted to"read words from Paul."

Immediately (far quicker than my conscious mind could have responded) there was an upwelling of joy from my heart.  She was going to read my beautiful verses!  Verses that my heart loves!!

As she read each line I felt my heart grow warm and warmer until I felt filled with joy.

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Can you imagine how surprised I felt?

All I can say is--perhaps my failed project

Wasn't.

And perhaps it's time for a new scripture on the mirror.

Rebel that I am

Gretchen Rubin, one of my favorite non-fiction authors, came up with a new way to evaluate people.  She divides them into four groups based in how they respond to expectations. One group responds readily to both outer and inner expectations.  One group responds to external expectations but not inner.  One group questions everything, then if they decide in favor of the expectation they meet it.  The last group rebels against all expectations, both outer and inner.

When I first heard her talk about her "framework," as she calls it, I assumed I was a questioner.  After all I ask a lot of questions.  About everything.  But when I talked to someone else who was a questioner I could see that I was really quite different than her.  

And then one day on Gretchen's podcast she had people send in mottos they had made up for their tendency.  She read a bunch, and then read off this one:

I'm a rebel: you can't make me, and neither can I.

I can't tell you what a light bulb moment that was, and how confusing at the same time.  After all, I don't LOOK like a rebel.  I look like a normal middle aged Mormon woman.  But from the moment I heard that motto I started seeing the signs in myself.  Want to shut me down? Tell me I *must* do something.  Want to get me to actually do something?  Tell me it probably can't be done!  And on, and on.

This makes so much sense with the rest of my life, especially when you combine this rebel tendency with the fact that I don't transition from one activity to another very well.  (Something I realized about my kids when they were young and I've known about myself for years now.)  Even things that I want to do are difficult to actually get myself to do.  Remember, "neither can I."  I've found that I have to be strategic to get things done that I want to do--either by sliding into them sideways or by putting myself in the correct place first instead of expecting that I'll be able to transition from one activity to another.  It's still a work in progress, but at least I feel like I have a grasp of what the issue is for the first time ever.

One last funny bit.  I realized after the first couple of days at work that I was feeling very uncomfortable ending phone calls.  As I thought about it I realized that this was the problem--I would end the phone call by saying "Have a great day," but then I felt like I was "bossing" the person around!  Because they might not like to be told what to do!  Not sure how that will end up, but at least I know that it's ridiculous.  Mostly.  ;)

A new calling

For months I had this ticking clock in my head--an awareness that time was counting down to the 3 year anniversary of my calling as a Relief Society teacher. My assumption was that that meant that the relief society presidency was also paying attention and would want to release me then. Three years is long enough to listen to anyone, right?

It happened just as I had expected--I taught that 36th lesson and a member of the bishopric called me for an interview and released me.

But it also happened differently than I had expected. The newish Relief Society actually had no idea how long I had been teaching and were very sad to lose me as a teacher. And the brand new bishopric had no idea how long I had been teaching. But they had been told that the current primary pianist wanted to be released, and they decided I was the one to replace her.

That primary pianist is also the person who cuts my hair, so I learned fairly quickly that she actually *hadn't* wanted to be released and was kind of sad about it. Boy how this irritated me. I'd been on such a roll in the last year of teaching Relief Society--my lessons were really impactful. (And I say that with full awareness that the gift of teaching is totally and completely a blessing that comes from Heavenly Father had only has to do with me in that I put in the time to prepare to teach.) I was sad for that to end because of a bunch of second and third hand information that wasn't even accurate, and I felt like the calling was probably a mistake.

To be quite honest, I'm bored by playing the piano in primary much of the time. It's a bad combination of some of my personality traits combined with the particular characteristics of this primary chorister. So for the first several weeks I sat and played (and not even that well) and grumped in my mind.

A couple of weeks in, though, I noticed something interesting. At random times throughout the week I would find the words or melody of the previous week's primary song caught in my mind.

...as I search the scriptures
I can feel his words of peace...

...listen with my heart
I hear the Savior's voice...

and after last week when they were singing the chorus of a song that's new to me,

Press forward, press forward,
with steadfastness in Christ...

...and a love of all man...

...feasting upon the word,
and enduring to the end...

As these melodies and words have gone through my brain, their little snippets on endless repeat loops, they have brought surprising peace into my heart and mind. And in the second or third week that I realized it was happening I thought to myself, hmm...maybe this was actually exactly right.

The dead plant

I was working out in the yard today, enjoying the beautiful day after way too many days of rain.  I've noticed that some of my clematis (in this their third year) have sprung into vigorous growth, which excites me to the tips of my muddy fingernails.  Others aren't quite as vigorous but are also green and growing.

As I went from trellis to trellis I noticed that one part of a plant was dead.  I grabbed the clippers so that I could trim away the dead parts.


But then as I lifted the long vine to cut it, I noticed something unexpected.  This is what was on the other end of the vine.


It was new growth, vibrant and vivid, with even the beginnings of flower buds starting.

It startled me so much that I stood there looking back and forth from the "dead" vine to the live part.  Dead, not dead.  Dead, not dead at all.

As I carefully and gently wound the vine around the trellis, I felt the spirit pointing to an important lesson, reminding me that things are not always as they seem, and that I need to be holding space for this understanding in my life.  Things are not always as they seem.  People are not always as they seem.  And what sometimes seems dead might not be.

Please "talk" me

Without a doubt Kate's favorite thing to do is to "talk" things.  Beanie babies and other stuffed animals, to be sure.  But also completely inanimate objects like forks or cups; anything can be "talked" in Kate's world.  (Her very favorite activity is to bring several things over to Cindy Lynn, or Jenna, or me, and demand like the pint-sized dictator she is, that we "talk" something too.

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Mahon and Cindy Lynn are going to go do some training at the pediatrician's office in hopes that they can work better with some of Kate's outbursts.  It sounds incredibly high tech: the psychologist will sit behind a 2 way mirror and watch them interact with Kate.  They will be wearing earpieces and she will tell them exactly what to do or say to help them learn this technique.

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Sometimes I get so frustrated--that I said something too harshly, that I couldn't think of the right response in the right moment, that I just can't bring myself to reach out in a loving way in a situation where I've felt hurt.  After Cindy Lynn told me about this training I started thinking--I want that!  Except not just for parenting, I want it for my whole life!  I want to have an earpiece in my ear. I want them to tell me what to say and when to say it, to give me the gracious words I resist, to give be a verbal kick in the butt when that's what I need, to caution me when they can see I'm headed in a direction I'll regret later.

I just need someone to "talk" me!

The whipped cream and the mousse

I shake the whipped cream can (yes sometimes we do eat whipped cream out of a can and actually my kids love it so much that they will spray whipped cream out of the can straight into their mouths if you can believe that!) and try to spray it on my pie, but even though it sounds like there is still whipped cream in there, nothing comes out. It must be empty, even though it doesn't sound that way.

My hair styling mousse, on the other hand, is just the opposite. I have been sure for 3 months now that it was empty.  Each time I shake the can there is a pathetic little rattle, & I think "it is surely gone, and I will have to break out that new can," but then I give it one last try, and much to my surprise out comes enough mousse to do my hair for the day.  I am astonished every time.

It occurred to me this week that there is a life lesson in this for me, in the whipped cream and in the mousse. And the lesson is this: that some situations in life are like the whipped cream. Sometimes it seems like there is something left, but that is deceptive, because it really is all gone. And sometimes situations in life are like the mousse. It seems forever like it is all gone, but there is still more left. 

I think the message for me here is about openness, about accepting that there is so much that I just don't know.  And about having a heart that is open enough to allow each situation to be what it is without judgement in the moment. That some things will end sooner than expected, and some things will go on for longer than they appear to be able to. 

My new goal: to receive what I receive with gratefulness and to focus on gratitude when something is over.  But also to realize that things are not always as they appear and those endings may not be as obvious as I am inclined to think.  Lastly, to rejoice about the extra mousse, the unexpected gift. 

The Sabbath vs. the Fabric

I cut out a bunch of things the other night, taking advantage of a moment where no one needed me and I felt motivated.  I'd purchased this cute cuddly flannel fabric the afternoon before to make a dress for Kate.  She's gotten bigger and the last time I made her a dress I made a mental note that the next time I'd need more fabric.  But the more I bought wasn't enough, and I found myself on Saturday evening out of fabric still needing to cut out the bodice pieces.  

I drove down to JoAnn's with only minutes to spare and then looked for my bolt of snowman flannel.  Up one aisle and down the other, through all of the Christmas fabric, and then again.  I even spied on other people's baskets and went to the cutting counter to make sure it wasn't in their "just cut" pile, but with no luck.  I searched their website online so that I could show the worker what I was after but it was sold out online too.

I left the fabric store at 9pm in a quandry.  Hillsboro has 2 JoAnn's--isn't that great?!?  So there was a possibility that the other one would have my fabric.  But--Sunday.  

I went back and forth.  We don't shop on Sunday, and unless we're traveling and there are no other options, we hold a firm line on that.  But clearly this fabric was super popular--out in my regular store and online too!  What if one more day was all it took for the rest of the fabric to be sold?  The rationalizer in my head started in: the workers were already going to be there!  I could at least call and get them to hold the fabric!  Lucky for me my conscience was also going strong with it's mantra, "Not on Sunday."

I told everyone about it yesterday when the home teachers were here.  That I was visibly making my stand before the Lord, showing that He is more important that fabric.  Even more important than fabric that's already all cut out and just waiting for a few more inches.  I planned how I would still make the dress if I couldn't get more fabric, because I was sure that's what would happen.  My plans didn't really make my heart happy because I just couldn't see how I could make it still look good.  But it was better than nothing.

As soon as it was 9 this morning I called the other JoAnn's and described my dilemma.  The lady put me on hold to go look for the bolt of fabric and was back a few minutes later.  "Do your snowmen have green scarves and red scarves on?"  "YES!!!" I told her, absolutely thrilled.  And then Kate and I drove down there a while later and picked up the fabric, which I'm hoping will turn out to be a cute dress.

But one thing it will be, regardless of how cute it is or isn't, is a visible symbol. A symbol that in a moment where a big part of me wanted a pass, the other part of me held the line, knowing that integrity and obedience are far more important than cute snowman dresses.

PS--I can't take all of the credit for this decision, or even most of the credit.  Here's something I put on instagram last week:  

I've been thinking a lot recently that we are in many ways the beneficiaries of habits instilled by our parents. Sure, we have to make the decision to keep doing these things. But it's so much easier to continue what we've done our whole lives rather than to have to learn a new habit. Today I'm grateful that we both came to our marriage with the "church is what we do on Sunday" habit. I think it blesses our lives in many ways...

Dahlia lessons: Enjoy the view from where you are

This year I'm picking dahlias all the time...anything that gets too heavy for it's plant, any time it's been windy and some stems have gotten broken, anything (last year's decision) that has the audacity to bloom facing the fence.  It's been delightful to have so much beauty in my kitchen.

One of the surprises has been this big dahlia I got on clearance a few weeks ago at a nearby nursery.  I didn't want to resist because the price on these end-of-season plants was great but I wasn't absolutely sure I loved the flowers.

Ha.  They are A-Maz-Ing.  Some of my very favorite.  (Yes, I do have less favorite in case you were wondering, much to my surprise.)

One day one of these amazing red spiky flowers needed to be cut.  It had grown oddly on its stem and I just could not figure out a way to get the front and center of the flower to face out.  I tried stuffing support things into the neck of the vase, tried different vases, even tried taping the stem to the edge of the vase to keep it in the "right" place.  

All to no avail.

One day I was doing the dishes and glanced over at my badly angled flower.  But then I noticed something.  From this sidewise view of the flower I could see into the center, see the yellow at the inside of all of the petals.  From this sidewise view the flower was big and full.  This sidewise view was actually beautiful.  And then I got curious.  I moved over in front of the flower and bent down so that I could look at the proper "front" of the flower.  And it was just kind of messy.  

All that time I'd been frustrated with the flower for not staying in a position to show it's front, and it turned out that the front wasn't that great.  It was one of those moments that I really could hear the spirit inside of my head, saying, "Just enjoy the view FROM WHERE YOU ARE.  Stop wishing you were somewhere else, or the situation was in some other way different.  Enjoy the view, because it is actually BEAUTIFUL."

And ye would not...

The picture I do not have: Rachel sitting at the end of the church bench, head resting on her legs after getting back from yesterday's band competition at 3:30AM this morning.  I told her--come and sit by me and you can lean against me.  But not my oft prickly teenager who rarely is willing to sit by me in church anymore; she was fine where she was.

I sat there for a minute feeling sad about the situation (her fatigue, her need to be separate from me, etc) when a scripture came into my mind.  I wonder if this is how Christ feels when he is so ready to help us with our problems and we resist his aid.  Perhaps through a need for independence, like Rachel, or because we are so distracted, which is usually more my problem.  This morning in sacrament meeting I felt a little the longing I would imagine Christ and our Heavenly Father feel: Won't you please let us help?  We are here for you, just right down the bench.  All we want is to help you feel better, to be here for and with you in your moment of need.

4…how oft have I gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and have nourished you.
 5 And again, how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, who have fallen; yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, ye that dwell at Jerusalem, as ye that have fallen; yea, how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens, and ye would not.
 6 O ye house of Israel whom I have spared, how oft will I gather you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, if ye will repent and return unto me with full purpose of heart.  3 Ne 10:4-6

PS--I so wanted to snap a picture of her.  I could have done it so carefully no one would have known.  I had to restrain myself pretty forcefully!   

Balancing energy for shift work at the shrunken crossroads

I am frequently reminded (inside my own brain) that Julie Beck said several times in women's meetings that a person can work one or one and a half shifts, but not two.  Maybe I just remember this because I like to assuage my guilt that I don't have a two-shift body.  But I think I remember it because of what it means in my life right now.

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Many years ago then-church president Ezra Taft Benson gave a talk encouraging mothers to be at the "crossroads" for their children.  He suggested that it was important to be available to talk with their children before and after school, before and after dates, etc.  When he gave this talk I wasn't yet a mother, and when I thought about it in later years I figured it didn't really apply to me because our home was all crossroads, all the time.  It was ok for me to be a mom who checked out after dinner, because I'd already spent the whole day with all of my kids.  It was ok for me to take a nap in the afternoon because I was spending all day with my kids.  It was ok for me to go to Utah for a week because normally I was spending all day every day with my kids.  Etc.

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Now I find myself in the moment that is the junction of these two ideas.  The one, that no person can work two shifts.  The other, the importance of being at the crossroads, maybe even with cookies.  And all of a sudden our crossroads have gone from all day, every day to before school, after school, and some days not until 9pm after school.  I suddenly feel an imperative to really BE THERE!  But the THERE involves the beginning of the first shift and then the second shift, or maybe the beginning of the first shift, a few minutes at the beginning of the second shift and then the end of the second shift.

It's tempting now that I have days to myself do just DO WHAT I WANT.  What I have wished I could be doing for all of these years.  (Though let's be real, sadly I don't have the energy to do half of what I wanted to do all of these years.)  Instead I find myself trying to figure out the pacing puzzle every day.  Today the kids will be home then, and then, and then.  How will I order my day to have energy at the right moments???

Some days I succeed.  Success ALWAYS includes a nap.  I was a napper before, but in this "now I have to be on in the evenings" lifestyle naps are crucial.  When I don't get them I don't succeed.  When I don't get them I notice something, usually be 7 or 7:30, and that is that my face stops being able to smile.  Seriously.  Sometimes my failure has good reasons.  Sometimes it's because I've helped someone out or spent time with another person instead of getting the nap I need.  But the fact remains that I have to pace myself; allocate energy precisely if I'm going to hit the important marks.

All of this is just a reminder to myself to keep trying, to keep working on it.  Yesterday wasn't too great.  Today wasn't either.  If I keep trying, hopefully I'll get better at the balance of it all.  Crossing my fingers...

ps...best nonsense title that actually does make sense ever, right?

This stage

Several times in the last year I've been able to spend time with my friend Susan, and each time we've talked about how great this stage is with it's increased freedom and flexibility.  Both of our oldest are married, we both have college kids, she has one on a mission, and our youngest are all in high school.  There is so much to love about this stage.

The funny thing is that I've spent my whole life dreading it, sure that I would be miserable without my houseful of little kids.  Despite the fact that said houseful always exhausted me and sometimes made me miserable!  But change is change, and as I have now come to realize I dread all of it.

This weekend Lindsay and Katie came to visit.  We had a terrific time.  Segways and desserts and rain and waterfalls and beautiful vistas and endless conversation.  Not much sleep at any point, of course.  And then they flew off home yesterday, I drove back to church and taught my Relief Society lesson, and came home to take a 2.5 hour nap.  Then I was actually in bed by 10:30 (a rarity for bedtime-hating me) and decided at 9:30 this morning (still in my pajamas) that I was ready for another nap, which feeling I did not fight.  

When I got up from my nap I ate and then decided to put this puzzle together that's been sitting around for almost a year.  It was easier than I'd realized and went together quickly, and I enjoyed the peace of working on it in the living room.  Still in my pajamas.

I'm loving this stage.  I need to remember this--that the dread turned out to be needless in the end. (This time and so many others.)  That life keeps being good, and in some ways gets even better.