Month: January 2018

When I grow up I want to be a mother and have a family,

one little, two little, three little babies of my own.

Of all the jobs for me I’ll choose no other I’ll have a family,

four little, five little, six little babies in my home.

And I will love them all day long and give them cookies and milk

And yellow balloons,

And cuddle them when things go wrong and read them stories

And sing them pretty tunes….

~~~~~

As a little girl this song was my jam.  I wanted All. Of. It.

And now, when I look at the family picture that hangs in my kitchen, I see all of it.  I see the six little babies (plus two with my Lydia and Jaye), I see the cookies and milk moments, the yellow balloons, the cuddles and tunes.

And my heart is full.

But I also see, when I look at this picture, the 2016 Thanksgiving day from hell.

I see a family late for dinner, an unfinished turkey, chaos and complaining, the broken promise of a green bean casserole (and I take green bean casserole very seriously).  I see a mother who, in desperation, threw on her Dustin from Stranger Things emoji shirt because she couldn’t show up in her pajamas (I love my Dustin from Stranger Things emoji shirt but I’m just saying that it would be better if it wasn’t at the center of our picture) and I see the feud of the century that took place on our front driveway–because I guess we were trying to heed the counsel of President David O Mckay and not yell in our home.

But mostly, when I look at this picture, I see a family.  An imperfect yet oh so very perfect family.  A family full of forgiveness, generosity, genuine happiness and love.  So much love.

And I smile at that little girl, dancing and singing to her jam in her living room so long ago, and thank her for her dream.  Her beautiful, magical dream of motherhood.

It’s all she ever imagined it to be.  And so much more.

 

“I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.”  ~~Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

But when the very good advice comes from others I have found that it can be life changing.

The summer of my fifteenth year I attended a young woman’s conference in Flagstaff and there received advice that I’ve never forgotten.

“Don’t point out your physical flaws to others.”

One of the guest speakers told us.

“I hate this twisted tooth.”  She said, pointing inside of her mouth, “And I used to point it out to everyone I spoke to.  Until I finally realized that people weren’t thinking about my tooth and had I not pointed it out to them they probably would never have noticed it at all.”

I took that advice to heart and–other than an occasional slip or when I’ve felt prompted otherwise–I have remained fairly tight lipped about what I have perceived as my physical flaws.

A gift that in turn has helped me to heed this other very good advice,

“Don’t make others responsible for your self-esteem.”       ~~Lisa Nichols

~~~~~

A few years later I received the advice,

“Compliments are gifts.  Receive graciously and simply say, Thank you.”

I learned, though I can’t remember the source, that when someone offers a compliment they are giving a gift from their heart and if I do not receive it graciously, I selfishly take their moment of generosity and love from them.  I diminish the light that they are trying to share.

Because of this advice I have always been able to feel love toward those who selflessly offer me a compliment and simply say thank you with genuine gratitude.

~~~~~

More recently the following beautiful advice was introduced to my heart,

“I want you to say thank you.  Say thank you because you know God has put a rainbow in the clouds.”  ~~Maya Angelou

A reminder to say thank you in the midst of trial, struggle and disappointment is the very best advice of all.

When my flaws–that I don’t speak of to others–become perceptible to me I can say thank you.  Thank you for the immeasurable blessings that fill my life.

When others are less than complimentary or I find myself feeling hurt or offended I can say thank you.  Thank you that I know what it is to feel loved and that I know the source of all peace.

And when my heart gets shattered–as it recently did–I can say thank you.  Thank you for using this experience to lift me higher than I ever dreamed possible.  Thank you for using it to introduce me more deeply to your Son. Thank you for showing me my strength.

And thank you for filling this world with angels who use their voices–and their very good advice–to remind me to look up and see the rainbow that you have put in the clouds.

And bless me, that I might someday be one of them.

 

 

 

Updated intro to today’s throw back post…

While driving with Jamie last night, she and I spent the majority of the ride discussing the merits of each of the members of the K-pop group BTS (Who has the best voice?  Who’s the best looking?  And oh my gosh Jungkook can dance.  And I like R.M.’s confidence.  And Suga’s voice is seriously so good. And he is definitely my bias).

Seriously, why do I even know what a BTS bias is and more importantly, why do I have one?

And that’s when I realized…

Jamie got me again.

But this time I don’t think I’ll outlast her.

Tuesday March 29, 2011

“Ooo, what if there was a Justin Bieber Just Dance game? Now that would be something.” I asked Jamie on our ride home from school while shamelessly bopping to “Baby, baby, baby oh…” in the driver’s seat.

“Um, yeah.” She answered sheepishly. Then with a nervous smile and an apologetic tone she added, “Mom, I have to tell you something. I’ve kind of lost the Bieber fever. I’m sorry but ever since I saw Rustin Hieber on YouTube I remembered how much fun it used to be to make fun of Justin Bieber and I really want to make fun of him again with Easton, Cora and Kimmie. So I’m just over him now.”

It was at this point that I should have wiped my brow, let out a big old “Whew” of relief and switched discs (being that this Bieber fever affair had started so that Jamie and I could have something special to share together) but I didn’t. I continued to listen, sing, dance and make obnoxious tweeny-bopper hand jesters to match the painfully tweeny-bopperesque lyrics (have you ever made a heart symbol with your fingers? Now that’s a good time).

So whatever. I’ll admit it. I’ve still got the fever for the Bieber, independent of my 9 year old daughter, because–and say what you will about my sanity–his music puts me in an instant good mood.

And wouldn’t you agree that more instant good moods are exactly what’s needed in this big old crazy world of ours right now?

I think you would. So go find your instant good mood maker today. And if you don’t have one try this…

“Shawty is an eenie, meenie, miney moe lover. Shawty is an eenie, meenie, miney moe lover…”

Now that’s gold baby. Pure warm fuzzy, happy dance gold.

 

 

Some years ago I created this wall in my kitchen.

It’s covered with words, colors, inspiration, my family.  Basically all of the things that I love.

A few times through the years I have expressed the desire to take down this creation, opting instead for something a little more “normal”.  But my family has made it quite clear that this must never, ever happen.

My wall is also filled with reminders, ideas for me to ponder.  Like the one I found myself pondering this morning,

I want to be a superhero.  I want to give love, support and service and to make the world a better place.  But often during my superhero dreams I end up judging myself much like this,

I sometimes expect myself to be a tree climbing fish.  I expect myself to be a superhero in a like manner to the other superheroes I see flying all around me.  And when I fall short of this (which I always do, because I’m not a tree climbing fish or a superhero in the like manner of other superheroes I know) I wonder if I have what it takes–if I will ever have what it takes–to be a superhero at all.

“The Psychedelic Superhero” on my kitchen wall reminds me that we have each been blessed with our own brand of crazy, our own brand of quirky and our own trippy unique way of looking at and interacting with the world.  And if I embrace, stay true to and magnify my crazy, quirky, trippy uniqueness as I love, support, serve and try to make the world a better place,

I might just become a superhero yet.

“For all have not every gift given unto them; for there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God.

To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby.”

 

 

 

“I write when I’m inspired, and I see to it that I’m inspired at 9:00 every morning.”   ~~Peter DeVries

I’ve read this quote every morning for years because it’s been hanging on my bedroom wall every morning for years.  But I never let it fully sink in.  I never really lived it.

I think I’ve secretly–subconsciously–been waiting for some sort of cosmic energy to come and whoosh through me, the planets to align, a sacred calling to summon me or an undeniable sign from above.

I’ve been waiting for the perfect, right, best most beautiful moment to write the perfect, right, best most beautiful words.  And that rarely (and I mean very rarely) happens.

But now everything has changed.

It’s changed because I found my cosmic energy, planets aligning, sacred calling, sign from above answer in one simple statement spoken by author, blogger Seth Godin when he said,

“Do I have a blog post coming out tomorrow?  Yes I do.  I pressed the buzzer on that 10 years ago.”

Seth Godin observed that those who win at life–like those who win at the game of Jeopardy–are they who press the buzzer first.

He explains,

“Press the buzzer before you’re sure you know the answer.  As your brain is thinking, maybe I can… you press the buzzer.  And in that last moment you’re going to come up with something.”

I now know that each day I am going to press the buzzer.  The decision has been made.  Then, while looking my inner Alex Trebek right in the eye, I write.

And somehow, someway…

I always come up with something.

 

Something made me mad this morning.  I mean I was feeling all the feels of ticked offness.  And I wanted HEADS. TO. ROLL.

So I referred to one of my favorite scriptures that says:

Therefore they hushed their fears, and began to cry unto the Lord…

Only I hushed my ticked offness and cried unto the Lord, telling Him that I was feeling very upset and that I either needed help knocking some heads off or softening my heart.

You know, one or the other.

So He lead me to this Maya Angelou quote which instantly softened my heart (because the knocking people’s heads off probably wasn’t going to happen)…

Reading this quote reminded me of all the beauty a new day holds.  And while it originally filled me with the desire to run outside and spin around my yard Sound of Music style, the snow on the ground turned my attention to the fun indoor joys of this bright new day.

Like making my bed in the pretty new way I discovered on Saturday,

fulfilling my goal of folding and putting away the 42 hundred (maybe 5-ish) loads of laundry that currently reside in my bedroom,

organizing the few things that have not yet gotten back to their spots since Christmas,

finding the perfect place for this cute vintage suitcase (I’m quite giddy over the possibilities),

and reindeer slippers.  Always reindeer slippers,

a crackling fire, a clean kitchen and

meeting together at the end of the day with family and friends for dinner and family night tonight.

I guess heads will have to roll some other time.  Because I’ve been blessed with a bright new beautiful day.

And we’ve got plans.

 

Though it’s never been my intention to have a working television in our living room–living rooms are for quiet reflection or visits with loved ones–I’ve often visualized the day when I would come across the perfect television for our living room.

I visualized myself rounding a corner at an antiques store or flea market to find it.  I saw where I would place it in my room.  Then I waited, knowing that one day the hunt would bring us together.

And so it did.  Last summer as I searched the upstairs loft of a Flagstaff Antiques store my vision came to fruition,uniting me at last with the love of my dreams.

I don’t use the word “love” lightly.  If I have one rule in my search for a “lucky find” it is that before I will buy anything I must be punch drunk in love with it.  I’m talking swooning head, weak in the knees, butterflies in the stomach true love.

And so it is with my living room television.  It–along with my other finds–brings joy to my heart which brings joy to my home.

“A home has to reflect the people who live there–tell the stories of who they are–and it’s not instant.  It should be assembled and layered over time.  When our homes really reflect who we are and who we aspire to be, that’s when you have a space that everyone is drawn to.”  ~~Nate Burkus

Oh how I am drawn to my home.  We are quite in love, this home and I.  And it has much to do with the careful, joy filled assembly of my lovely lucky finds.

(This antique radio sat in the living room of my childhood home.  A television sits in mine.  I wonder what my kids will display in theirs)

 

WRITER’S WORKSHOP PROMPT:
Whom did you hide from? Write about a hiding place you haven’t used for a while.

I wanted to share something really juicy for this prompt. Having a secret hiding place and a story about hiding from someone there sounds like something that could be very exciting if told right. But because I try to stay clear of the juicy stuff on this here blog, I’ll share the story of when I got caught smoking (just kidding–that’s just rolled up paper) I mean hiding with my college roommates.

My first semester away at school I lived in the dorms. This had its perks (like not having to hear my neighbors having relations at night, but I’ll save that for another post) but it also came with a curfew. Blah. Who wants a curfew when you’re in college?

Well my roommates and I certainly didn’t like it. No we did not. What we did like however were boys. Yes we did.

Boys such as these whom we stayed out late visiting one night only to find ourselves locked out of the dorms when we returned. Oops. Fortunately someone even sneakier than we had left the laundry room door propped opened and in we slid. Woo-hoo. EXCEPT…

While in the laundry room we heard a search party going on in the courtyard, a search party looking for us. Our absence had already been discovered. Dang. We hid in the laundry room as long as we could then, coming up with the perfect plan, we ran out in a giddy, giggly fashion. And when asked where we had been we explained,

“We were just playing hide and seek in the laundry room.”

*Insert the chirping of crickets here.*

They looked at us like we were the lamest goofballs ever, but at least we were able to hide the fact that we were late and avoid getting into trouble. So whatever snooty girls who never play hide and seek or stay out late carousing with boys. What-ev-er.

P.S. Rick and I have since found the laundry room to be a great hiding place.  But then that would fit into the juicy category…

 

 

Two years ago I posted these words on Facebook,

“It’s late and it’s cold.” I told Waylon as we settled in after a long day of activities. “Why don’t you just shoot extra baskets tomorrow?”
But a goal’s a goal. And Waylon has set one to make at least 100 baskets a day. And neither dark, nor cold, nor hour of night could keep him from it.

In the course of the two years since I wrote that post, Waylon has remained as driven as ever.

So when I listened to Tony Robbins this morning and heard him explain that to achieve optimal success in any given goal one must,

“Obsess about what you want.  Focus on it continuously.  Have so much emotion about it that you’ll take massive action. Keep changing your approach.  Model someone great.  Then–after you take the first steps–rely on some grace.”

I thought of Waylon as I check, check, checked each of these items off of his path to achievement.  He loves the game of basketball and he is willing to do whatever it takes to ensure that it remains a part of his life.

I also wrote in that Facebook post,

Can I please be just like him someday? Pretty, pretty please.

Though I cannot say that I’m just like Waylon–it’s been some time since I’ve walked with that obsessed, focused, fire of emotion–there has been a change in my life that is driving me with a quiet yet firm determination to move in the direction of my goals.

And who knows, maybe if I keep it up I’ll meet with the same success as my incredibly driven boy.

But seriously.  Can I please be just like him someday?

(Waylon’s first game as part of his 7th grade team)

 

“One of the worst things about losing my mother at the age I did was how very much there was to regret.”   ~Cheryl Strayed

My father passed away when I was 21.  21 and full of the “faith as a grain of mustard seed” which meant that I could remove the mountain of my father’s cancer.  At least that’s what I told myself.

At that age my perception of faith–as pure and good intentioned as it may have been–was lacking in understanding.  For I believed that in order to “prove” my grain of mustard seed faith meant that I had to plant my feet firmly in the knowledge that my God would cure my father, never deviating from that truth in thought, word or deed.  I would show absolute faith at all times and never, never “let them see me sweat”.

I did not yet fully understand the example of my Savior when He said,

“Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me:  nevertheless not my will but thine, be done.”

Because of this, my relationship with my father at the end of his life–what had been the most authentic relationship I had ever experienced with anyone–became one that was filled with formality and artificial pleasantries.

Only after his death–with my façade shattered–did I recognized that I had been fighting so desperately to make lemonade that I was actually drowning in it.

Such has been a pattern in my life.  In times of trial, disappointment or sorrow I have been quick to break out my juicer and Pollyanna my way through it.  Because I have an absolute testimony in an eternal plan and “I know in whom I have trusted”.  My Savior is my salvation and “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me”.

But in all of this I failed to recognize one of my Savior’s greatest examples, a gift, tucked within the pages of John…

“Jesus wept.”

Jesus, the very pinnacle of faith, the author of eternity, the keeper of His Father’s will… wept.

Through His example I have learned that though it my be true that I have an absolute testimony in an eternal plan and that”I know in whom I have trusted”. That my Savior is my salvation and that “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me”, I can still hurt and mourn and grieve and weep.

So when (as I mentioned in an earlier post) I recently found myself spending most days unable to leave my bed, I knew that I was not running away from my trials–to have pulled up my bootstraps and painted on my best Pollyanna would have been to run away from my trials–I was facing them in the purest truth possible.

I wept.

I wept until I could feel His arms around me.  I wept until I could receive His teachings and understand His will with added clarity.  I wept until I heard Him cry–as He had with Lazarus–“come forth”.

And then I took up my bed,

and walked.

I cannot go back and weep with my father, tell him how scared I am or talk to him about his fears but I can go forward in new found faith–even as a grain of mustard seed–in the will of my God.

And with added patience and empathy for myself and others I now remember that, before the rising,

Jesus wept.