Month: January 2018

Although Monday is not normally a “throwback” day I decided to do a repost anyway because these words written in 2008 mirror the thoughts in my heart today.

Happy birthday to my beautiful girl.

Easton’s 8th Birthday

January 15, 2008

Nearly 11 years ago I sat in my baby nursery happily taking apart the crib. I was happy because it was my first time putting it away since I had started having children. We’d move one baby out just in time to move the next one in. I felt like three small children were enough for awhile and wanted to take a little break before having my next child. It was at this moment that I heard a voice say, “I want to be born.”

Taken aback I asked, “Now?” To which she replied “Please.”

I told her to go tell her father because he was even more adamant about waiting then I was.

That evening as I stood at the stove making dinner, Rick came home from work and told me that as he was sitting at his desk that afternoon he had a very strong impression that we were supposed to have another child. Of course I burst into tears because I realized that this sweet little spirit had followed my instructions and gone to tell her father (that’s just like Easton).

I was troubled that after this wonderful experience, I was unable to get pregnant for nearly two years. I worried that perhaps I had not acted quickly enough on this prompting (I had waited a few months before trying to get pregnant) I prayed often about it and wondered if perhaps this sweet little spirit had gone elsewhere.

One night during prayer my Father in Heaven allowed me to see my beautiful daughter in the spirit form. Wow! She was magnificent! Glorious and radiant above any person I had ever seen. I was in awe of how perfect she was and became quite convinced that she would be born with some sort of physical or mental disorder, for truly she had to be too great for this world.

Shortly after this experience I became pregnant, but to my sorrow the pregnancy ended in miscarriage.

As I stood working in the kitchen one afternoon, the presence of a male spirit was there with me. I felt his love as he simply said, “Thank you.” then he departed. I felt joy that I had been able to give him this service before receiving the precious little girl that I had been waiting for.

Five months later I finally became pregnant with my wonderful Easton. She is strong in mind and body and still every bit as glorious as I had witnessed her to be. She is a choice daughter of God and I can’t wait to see all that she will accomplish here on earth.

I thank my Heavenly Father for my little butterfly and for all that I have learned and will continue to learn as her mother.

 

The unforeseen circumstance in my life that I spoke of in an earlier post was a doozy.

It took my breath, sucked it right out of me, and knocked me so off balance that I spent many days hiding in bed, secured beneath my heavy down comforter.

I desperately needed the help of my Savior.  He truly was my only hope.  So I went to the place where I knew I would be surrounded by His spirit the most.  I went to the temple.

Once there I entered the dressing room, locked the door behind me and surrendered, allowing myself to crumble, sobbing as I released my pain in the safety of my Savior’s embrace.

Much has happened since that time.  Miracles.  True miracles.  And though I no longer go to the temple for solace I find myself waking every Saturday with the anticipation of a Christmas morning because Saturday is the day I get to go to the temple.

While in the temple this morning I was so engulfed by the spirit–God’s perfect peace, His brilliant love–that I thanked Him, reverently, gratefully for allowing me to spend that time with Him.

He then left me with this message to calm a question in my heart, “You don’t have to be perfect.  You just have to testify of His perfection.”

And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

“The temple provides purpose for our lives.  It brings peace to our souls–not the peace provided by men but the peace promised by the Son of God when He said, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.  Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”    ~Thomas S. Monson

(always check the men’s section at the senior center thrift store for great retro “old man” sweaters like the one I’m wearing here.  Also–a thrift store is a gallery walls best friend)

I grew up in what was then the outskirts of Mesa, which meant that for the majority of life’s activities we had to take a trip “into town”.

“Into town”, whether it be for doctor, dentist or grocery, always included a visit to the thrift stores.  Thus my love for the search of a “lucky find” (a term I borrowed from Wallace of “Wallace and Gromit” fame) was born.

I now live in what could be called the outskirts of the hub of the White Mountains, meaning that I must travel for stores and the like in neighboring Show Low or Pinetop/Lakeside.  And just as in my childhood, these trips always include the search for a “lucky find”.

Today Easton and I took one such trip to visit her orthodontist.  Then, with our breakfast of Super Nachos in hand (trips into town also always mean food), We waited patiently for my particular favorite type of thrift store to open.  The beloved Senior Center.

Senior Centers are the best for “lucky finds” of the vintage variety and I am a little bit into (read obsessed) with the vintage variety.

After scoring these salt and pepper shakers

(because I remember them from my grandparents’ house and if I remember them from my grandparents’ house then Rick will surely remember them from his grandparents’ house which will cause us to gaze at them together as we wax nostalgic and tell stories of our youth and smile.  It’s so good and so worth a dollar)  I turned my attention to the sale they were having on all things winter.

“We’re having trouble moving our winter merchandise this year.”  The nice thrift store lady told us.

“Oh we’ll be happy to help you with that.”  I told her.  “Even without snow we’re still cold.”

“Are you from the valley?”  She asked.

“Well, I did grow up in Mesa but we’ve been here almost 12 years.”  I said.

“And you still haven’t acclimated?”  She seemed surprised.

I never will nice thrift store lady.  I never, never will. (see post here)

It wasn’t until we returned home that I made the connection (even though I’ve been doing this forever) that this–my love for thrift stores–is not simply about the pursuit of a “lucky find”.  It’s a tradition carried forth from my childhood.  It’s a mother and daughter walking side by side in an exciting journey of discovery and creativity.  It’s pure, perfect–nostalgic salt and pepper shaker–joy.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

WRITER’S WORKSHOP PROMPT:  Describe your worst winter weather story.

A letter to Dad from my college aged self–stuck in very cold Idaho:
Dear Dad—

This… that… the other…
….blah, blah, blah yakkedy, shmackkedy…

…but as far as marriage goes—I don’t think it is going to happen here. I have a very strong felling that I need to come home and see what happens. I can’t say it’s because of Rick—I do enjoy being with him and I’d like to see him again—but I don’t know if that is why I feel this way. I just think that Arizona is where I need to be again. Maybe I’m wrong, but I won’t worry myself about it. But I do know that I could never endure living my life in the cold country. It would cause marital strife. It would—I have never been so miserable! I love this school but I hate the weather and it causes unhappiness in my life. I’d much rather live where it gets to be 110 plus. I like that, it’s in my blood.

My counselor asked me if I was coming back next year and I said No Way!!! He said that I shouldn’t choose a school based on the fact that I don’t like the weather. Ask me if I wanted to hit him! It is not a matter of disliking it a bit—I have never been so uncomfortable! Now why would I make myself suffer like this again on purpose?
…If I have my way I’ll never live near the snow again.

Fast forward 20 years…

I live near the snow again!
Though I can happily say that it is not causing marital strife, I still HATE it. It still causes me to feel uncomfortable, unhappy and very miserable and I’d still rather be living in 110 plus temperatures right now.
So you see, every winter weather story is my WORST winter weather story because
I HATE WINTER!
But at least I still have my Arizona boy to help keep me warm. Now that’s something.

 

I read a post on Instagram this morning that reminded me that I had not yet written of the experience of my 30 days of reflection without my reflection.

Though the project only lasted–due to unforeseen circumstances in my life–for 17 of those planned 30 days, its insights deeply changed and blessed my life in ways that I hope will forever remain with me.

I will not speak of everything I learned but I will share that my main take away from this experience–and the reason I was reminded of it from the Instagram post–is that the culprit for much of life’s dissatisfaction is perfectionism.

I realized this in the early days of my experiment’s end when–feeling like a guilty child engaging in a forbidden activity–I still only looked at myself briefly with side-eyed glances just long enough to see that my makeup and hair were done properly and that I was

Beautiful.

Truly beautiful.

Because without the hypnotic pull into perfectionism that (I’ve decided) is orchestrated by demons that live just beyond the looking glass,  I had no flaws.  Without perfectionism I saw the light of Christ reflected in me. Without perfectionism I saw His truth.  Without perfectionism I saw His love.

I saw this same beauty in the Instagram post I read this morning.  The beauty of a loving family.  Yet the author saw flaws.  Her flaws.  She spoke of how she nearly didn’t post the picture until… she changed her focus.  From flaws to truth.  From flaws to light.  From flaws to love.  The love of her beautiful family.

Though I dare not claim that my 17 days of reflection without my reflection has freed me from the pull of perfectionism, covetousness and comparison (perhaps in this world of orchestrating demons I will never fully be free of such things) the understanding I have gained grants me a reprieve, a quick escape back to a place of truth.  Back to a place of light.  Back to a place of profound gratitude instead of a place of “Why hast thou made me thus?”

Back to a place where I am His.

And I am loved.

(When I watch my daughter Easton create I see my dad. Such beautiful magic.)

About five minutes into “The Greatest Showman” I began to tear up and continued to do so until the movie’s end.

But it was during the car ride home, while my girls and I discussed the magnificence that was “The Greatest Showman”, that I really let my tears flow as I expressed to my girls the gratitude I felt for all of the people who don’t let their fears stop them from creating works of genius for the rest of us to enjoy.

“We are all capable.”  I told them, “Each and every one of us has the power within us to create something amazing in this world but most of us will never do it.  Most of us will let fear win.  And I’m so grateful for those who don’t listen to their fears because it is they who create such beautiful magic for the rest of us.”

Although the magic I create will never show up in the form of an epic musical–because epic musicals are not in my particular area of genius–I still want to allow it to show up.  In any form it chooses to take.

Because I know that if I give my magic room to show up it will continue to grow until…

“Every night I lie in bed
The brightest colors fill my head
A million dreams are keeping me awake
I think of what the world could be
A vision of the one I see
A million dreams is all it’s gonna take
A million dreams for the world we’re gonna make”

And that–the magic of our own dreams–is the greatest joy of all.

(This quote found on my inspiration wall reminds me that I was born with not only the right but also the responsibility to create.  As was every other child of God. So let the magic flow.)

 

 

For many years I have lived after the wisdom of the great and powerful Mary Poppins when she taught,

“Well begun is half done.”

In other words–much like the Banks children when compelled to clean their messy nursery–I needed a game, a spoonful of sugar if you will in order to get tasks done.

Thus the 5 minute mambo was born.  Oh blessed 5 minute mambo how do I love thee?

The 5 minute mambo simply states that I only have to stay focused on cleaning for 5 minutes in any given room before I can break free and begin a new 5 minutes of cleaning in a different room.

Apparently I have commitment issues or a fear of being trapped or whatever else one might call it. But it’s okay. Because I have found salvation in the 5 minute mambo.

Depending on the day and the state of my house, the 5 minute mambo may require several rotations before it is completed.  But throughout the course of those rotations the entire house begins to look all spiffy and shiny and loved instead of only one room getting all of the glory.

It pleases me.

So during this the season of resolutions, when many of us rise up in remembrance that we were created for greatness, I (having little desire to work toward that greatness) presented a plan to my non-committal, fear of being trapped, feeling blah about greatness self and said,

“What if you were only required to commit 5 minutes a day to your greatness goals?  What if your entire life could be a series of 5 minute mambos?”

What if indeed?

Thus the 5 minute success was born.  Oh blessed 5 minute success how do I love thee?

Because

take this morning for instance…

“I’m not working out today.”  Is what my morning self said.  “I don’t have time and frankly I don’t want to.  So there.”

But after completing my 5 minute yoga stretch and my 5 minute meditation my morning self said, “Well, I guess it is only 5 minutes.”  Leading me to complete a whopping 5 minutes of pushups and crunches. Which some might say is pointless though I would argue that 5 minutes toward greatness is a whole lot better than 5 minutes toward nothing special.

Besides

it’s all about well begun is half done after all…

and oftentimes–but please don’t tell my inner Banks child this–I get so caught up in the work of my 5 minute mambo and 5 minute success rotations that I forget about time all together.

Which leads me to believe that in time–with a few of these small commitment successes under my belt–I’ll be back to my, “Look what I can do with my bad self.” self in no time.

It pleases me.