Month: March 2018

My parents were artists.  So when recently asked by my son-in-law how I come up with my creative ideas, the answer was easy.  I grew up in a home where creativity flourished.  I watched my parents create, make and do my entire childhood.  Because of this I’ve never doubted or questioned my ability to do the same.

One such artistic endeavor lead my parents to create calligraphed  scripture art like the one shown on the wall behind me.

A favorite among this art was a scripture sharing these words,

Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God;

This scripture became somewhat of a family theme for us as my parents referenced it often while speaking of their desires for our family and home.

A few years after my dad died, while at a gathering at my mom’s house, my family was questioned about our choice in wall art.  “Why do you have this scripture hanging on your wall when you are clearly unorganized?”  We were asked.

It was after returning home with Rick, emotionally drained and exhausted, that I was able to understand the answer.  My parents didn’t hang that scripture on the wall because we had already mastered it.  They placed it there with the hope that it would some day be mastered.

And so it is with the goals and quotes that hang on my walls today.  There is nothing I have mastered in my life.  Not completely.  I have not mastered the thoughts and ideas on my kitchen’s inspiration wall nor have I mastered the words written on this blog.  And I don’t know that I ever will. Because I believe that even with all I may accomplish, Christ will offer me an invitation to come see more. And I want to see.  Every bit of it.

So I write and I tape and I thumbtack and glue and I read and remember.  Making no apologies for the things I’ve not mastered.  Because the journey–the gloriously imperfect, fumbly, bumbly, up and down and all around journey–well,

that’s my favorite part.

 

 

 

“I loved the quilt Grandma made for me.”  I told my mom recently.  “I slept with it and the hippo Aunt Karen made me every night.  Even through college.”  (I tried to sleep with them after I got married too but snuggling up to your own quilt and stuffed animal doesn’t work very well while a newlywed).

“I wish I still had that quilt.”  I said.  “Maybe I can find a picture of it in my college photo album.”

(If only I could move these boys. I’m certain my quilt is under them.)

 

Talking about my old quilt lead to conversations about the regret I feel for not having been closer to my Grandma.

My Aunt Karen was easy to love. She was sunshine and rainbows.  Painting ceramics and making homemade suckers. Songs and stories.  Advice and unconditional love.  And though I would sometimes see her cry when she didn’t know I was watching, and though I know she had a tremendous burden to bear,  she was my greatest example on the power of focusing on the positive.

Grandma Cooper also carried a burden.  The burden of worrying about her family.  She so badly wanted her family to turn out okay that time spent with her was often filled with lectures and lessons in good old fashioned hard work. Though these interactions didn’t sit well with my young heart, I wish I would have been more like my Aunt Karen and focused on the positive moments.  Because we did share many.

I’ve recently come to realize that there are two truths in almost every situation. While it may have been true that my grandma had an affinity for lectures and labor, she also took me on glorious vacations, cooked me delicious meals and consoled me–telling me I had every right to be angry and that I could stay at her house and be mad as long as I wanted–when I visited her one day afterschool in an attempt to hide from my boyfriend.

I have learned that my life is filled with these double truths.  And while the negative truth seems to serve no productive purpose at all, focusing on the positive truth feels me with joy, understanding, forgiveness and Christ like love.

This knowing has become a powerful tool for me when negativity threatens to spoil my fun, “That may be true,”  I tell my negative narratives, “but so is this.  And this, my positive truth, this is what makes me happy.”

And it came to pass that Moses looked upon Satan and said: Who art thou?  …where is thy glory, for it is darkness unto me? And I can judge between thee and God;

 

Driving home from school a couple of years ago, Waylon and I heard something on a news story about the passing of a 95 year old woman.  “Wow, she lived two years past what I’m going to.”  I said.

Waylon looked at me sideways.  “What?”  He said.

“I’m living to 93.”  I told him.

“How do you know that?”  He asked, clearly confused.

“It’s the age I’ve decided on and I’ve declared it to be true.  93.”

Today is my dad’s birthday.  Today he would be 76. This picture was taken at his 48th birthday party.  Already very sick with Leukemia, it would be the last birthday he would celebrate.

My father’s death took a toll on my psyche.  Acutely aware that cancer–the silent killer–could be lurking inside of my body at any time made me worry about my health and mortality.  I worried about whether I was being proactive enough in caring for my body.  I worried about missing “early warning signs”.  And I worried about leaving my children without a mother.

I worried and worried and worried.

Until…

A miraculous intervention from my Heavenly Father (a story that I will write about at a later date) changed everything for me.

It was then that I finally found peace, even declaring that I’ve decided to stay on this earth until the age of 93.

Of course I know that I ultimately don’t have control over such things.  But even if I die tomorrow I will not regret or feel disappointment in my declaration.

Deciding to live to 93 has filled me with added life, joy and health.

This picture was taken at the Sugar Bowl in Scottsdale (my favorite) on my 48th birthday, and I can honestly say that in this my 48th year I feel healthier than I ever have.  Because the funny thing about worrying about your health is, it makes you sick.  And knowing that I’m living to 93 has given me the freedom, health and peace of mind to really live.

So if you find yourself with nothing to do when August of 2062 rolls around, meet me at the Sugar Bowl for a grand celebration.  I’ll be the one with lots of wrinkles and a giant banana split.

 

 

These thoughts written in 2009 still ring very true to me today.  It is still my greatest desire to master my tongue and keep the name of others safe.

Which is why I was moved when I recently heard the following words spoken by Maya Angelou…

“You can put some words together and make people want to go to war. Take another few words and make them long for peace.”

These words pierced my soul. Not just from pondering the power of words to send nations to war, but also on a much more personal level as I realized that the words I choose to speak have the power to stir up hearts for either good or evil–compassion or contempt.

And I long, with all of my heart, to speak words of peace.

~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve gotcha…

June 30, 2009

He wanted to go down the water slide again and again today and each time he shot round the curve I’d see his look of terror turn into a beaming smile when he saw me there, waiting at the bottom to catch him. It made my heart overflow to know that to him I mean security, a soft place to land. I make him feel safe, what an honor that is.
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At a recent funeral I attended it was said of this man that he would “keep your name safe”. In other words he would not talk badly of others. I loved the idea of keeping someone’s name safe. What a beautiful thought this is. Of all of my goals (and I have many) I think this is the one that I desire to master the very most.

I long for the day when I will have complete control over my tongue and never speak ill of another person. I had several chances to speak unkindly about others today. For some I passed, becoming a champion of their causes, and for others I crumbled, letting my two cents drool out with little control.
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I liked talking nice so much better. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy about myself and the people I worked to defend.
We all want (and need) someone on our side, and I want to be the person that makes people smile when they come round the curve because they’ll know, when they see me waiting there, that they just found a soft place to land.

 

Mrs. Bucket: “In all the years you’ve been saying your going to get out of that bed, I’ve yet to see you set foot on the floor.”

Grandpa Joe: “Maybe if the floor wasn’t so cold.”

 

These words posted on my kitchen inspiration wall have been calling to me lately.  Especially after my long bout with the flu, I–like Grandpa Joe to Charlie’s golden ticket–needed something to latch on to.  Something to get me out.  Something to give me life.

So I made a pact with myself.  A pact to say yes. If anyone asked or if anything seemed even remotely interesting to me, my answer was decided.  And though there were times I wanted to answer with, “Maybe if the floor wasn’t so cold.”  I  said yes.

Which lead me–last Saturday–to the Phoenix Flea Market.  I said yes.  A decision that then lead to an impromptu family reunion of sorts when Rick, some of our kids, my mom, and two of my sisters with some of their family members said yes too.

(not everyone made it into the picture)

Though the flea market didn’t turn out to be everything that I hoped it would, saying yes has taught me that things don’t have to turn out perfectly to make it worth turning out.  I loved being outside (in the warm weather), I loved seeing my family, and I loved looking at all of the vintage clothing (there were a lot of vintage clothing booths at the market).

And learning that clothes from my youth are now considered “vintage”, was kind of funny and didn’t bother me a bit.

Especially because I got to haggle for this Breakfast Club t-shirt and haggling’s my favorite sport.

This morning my sister texted me an ad for another flea market later this month.  And instead of the usual, “That sounds fun.  I don’t know.  Let me see if I can work it out.”  I said yes.

Because cold floor or not, life’s too short to wait around for golden tickets.

 

 

 

I’ve discovered that someday–as in someday I’ll revise my novel or someday I’ll clean my closet (oh my blessed closet)–is a faraway, magical land where streams are made of lemonade and unicorns dwell.

When my kids were little and afraid of having nightmares, I’d tell them to think about happy things while falling asleep.  “Think about Disneyland, magical pony rides, or a room full of ice cream and candy.”  I’d say,
“Then maybe you can make your dreams be happy.”

I think “someday” is a little like that.  “Someday” keeps me focused on the happy part of my dreams, the magical wonder of my goals, while keeping me securely tucked away from the nightmarish hard work, planning, sacrifice and pain part of accomplishment.

Oh “someday”,  you’ve made me some beautiful promises through the years and I appreciate those butterflies in my tummy, giddy with excitement moments we’ve shared.  I really do.  But the follow-through part?  I mean, it’s lacking.  I can never seem to make it to you.  And my closet–seriously–my closet is driving me crazy.

I guess what I’m trying to say, “someday”, is that I’m ending our relationship, trading it in for lists and deadlines.  I know those are hard words for souls like us and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little afraid of the nightmares I might face (because my closet… Whoa!) but I’ve found that the only way I ever accomplish anything is through list and deadlines.

Take the kitchen “menu board” for example.  If I wake up and write down the evening menu each morning you can bet, come dinnertime, we will be enjoying everything listed.  Right down to the homemade bread and delicious dessert.  If I don’t write it down… well, there’s always cold cereal or Ramen.

But the thing is, “someday”, I don’t want a cold cereal and Ramen life.  I don’t.  And I can see that that is exactly where all of your promises lead.  Cold cereal and Ramen.  And I’m sorry but I can’t follow you anymore. I just can’t.

But now this notebook on the other hand…

This handy dandy “to do list” notebook…

I mean, he’s pretty cute.