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I learned in my youth that summer cottages in Babylon are very easy to come by.  And though my stay there was short lived, even a brief stint in “the midst of wickedness” can cause a lot of damage.

So when I say I believe in Christ I mean it.  But more importantly than believing in Christ is that I believe Christ.  I believe Him when He says He has ransomed me.  I believe Him when He says that I am free and that I am His.

“I will never say, think or do anything to suggest that I am less than any other person.”  I wrote from my college apartment. “To do so would be to deny Christ and that is something I simply cannot do.”

“When something is over and done with, when it has been repented of as fully as it can be repented of, when life has moved on as it should and a lot of other wonderfully good things have happened since then, it is not right to go back and open some ancient wound that the Son of God Himself died to heal.”  ~~Jeffrey R Holland

The Son of God died to heal me and I have never gone back to reopen the wound of my sins.  But when a new wound was created through the sins of another I was forced to more deeply consider the question,

Do I believe Christ?

Do I believe Christ when He says He has ransomed all?  Do I believe Him when He says that all are free and that all are His?

Do I believe the Son of God died to heal even those who hurt me?

Through the sins of another I was left to decide if I could open my heart to one who–escaping Babylon–came to me for refuge.  Could I deny asylum to another, knowing it is only through the grace of my Lord that I have found shelter myself?

To do so would be to deny Christ and that is something I simply cannot do.

So to all those who give up their cottage in Babylon–and even those who don’t–come on over.  There’s room for you here.

 

 

To be honest I felt excited when, in 2006 my husband and I packed up our lives and moved to a small town.  I thought the change would be good.  I thought I would love it.  I thought wrong.

I sabotaged my happiness by not letting go of the past.  By keeping one foot (along with my heart, body, mind and soul) firmly planted in the city, I could never fully embrace the glorious “now” offered in my new home.

Until, completely fed up with myself, I wrote the following words and began to make a change.

I’m missing and have been since I left the city
To live the small town, country life.
I thought I could pack myself up
Right along with the books, linens, and fine china.
As if moving all of my worldly treasures
Would be enough to make me want to go,
But it wasn’t.
I dug in my heels and stayed behind.
Trying to live my new life without me has been hard,
Very hard.
Occasionally I go back to fetch myself,
And what fun we have.
Eating at our favorite restaurants,
Visiting the museums,
And shopping.
Oh the shoes!
We bond when we buy shoes,
And I believe that maybe this time
It will be enough to keep us together.
But I always go back to the country alone,
Empty.
Longing for myself is killing me,
Robbing me of joy.
It’s time for me to move on,
To dump myself for someone new.
Someone who will share this slow paced,
Simple life without complaint,
Someone who will fill my life with new breath
Instead of choking me with reminders of the old.
Yes, I’m dumping myself,
But we can still buy shoes together, okay?

On Instagram this morning I stumbled upon a feed that made me realize that I have again been resisting change in my life.  That I have again been longing for myself–a different, past self–and in turn have robbed myself of joy, choking on reminders of the past.

I then sought out more Instagram feeds designed to strengthen and encourage until, empowered, I felt ready to do what must be done. I’m ready to embrace the glorious “now”. I’m ready to breakup with me.

It’s nothing personal we just want different things these days.  I need someone new. Someone who will share this new chapter of my life without complaint. And I’m excited.  So excited. To finally meet the me I’ve worked a lifetime to become.

But I will still need new shoes.  You know, from time to time.

 

 

It was my senior year of high school when I saw people in the trees outside my house, an event I’ve never talked about since.

“I see people standing in the trees.”  I told my boyfriend, burying my face in his shoulder.

“What are you talking about?”  He asked.

People, too numerous to differentiate, stood at the level of the tall cottonwoods that lined the ditch and no matter how often I averted my eyes, when I looked up they were still there.

I’ve never spoken of this event because at the time I felt certain I was crazy.

Adding to this feeling of insanity was the fact that I felt a strong impression that Benjamin Franklin was among those in the trees.  Benjamin Franklin?  Why would he be there?  Yet the name came so clearly to my mind that I couldn’t deny it.

It wasn’t until years, maybe decades later that it dawned on me.  While it seemed quite unlikely that Benjamin Franklin the founding father was watching over me that night, finding a guardian angel in Benjamin Franklin Johnson my three times great grandfather made me feel that perhaps I wasn’t so crazy after all.  Perhaps there really had been people standing in the trees.

“We have no idea what family really means.”  My friend’s husband told her after his near death experience.  “Family is everything.”

And I believe him.

So when I received a message from an old friend recently, telling me that his parents wanted to gift me with an original painting they had received from my father, I felt a thrill of excitement.

I want my dad’s energy–pieces of who he was–in my home.  I want my kids to think of and know a little something about the grandpa they never met.  I want them to feel the strength of family.

It’s for this reason that I–after all these years–decided to share the story of the people in the cottonwood trees.

I want my children to know that those same guardian angels that came forth at a very critical time in my youth are watching over them now.  I want them to know that among those guardian angels are their grandpas, cheering from the front row.  And I want to ask them, should they ever see people in the trees, to keep their eyes wide open and to wave hello for me.

Because they’ll be seeing their family.

And family is everything.

 

 

I prayed for guidance this morning.  Prayed to be filled with understanding and the discernment needed to see God’s truth in a world of deception.

I prayed and was guided to my grandmother’s message– found in this throwback post from 2012–a message so profound that I paused while writing it, unable to capture the words. A message of God’s truth, powerful enough to block out all deception.

~~~~~~~~~~

The gloves are coming off…

August 30, 2012

It was while scrubbing my shower this morning that the thought flowed through me, “There are many people on the other side who love you very much.” I then thought of all of those on the other side who do love me. I saw my Grandpa’s face and felt empowered by the army of loved ones buoying me up each day.

My phone rang and after a nice conversation with my dearest love I lay back and thought more about my army of loved ones. I thought of my Grandma and smiled as I remembered a time she showed me the burn scars on her fingers and said, “These really suck.” She was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s and my sister and I giggled at hearing her use the word “suck”.

Remembering that story I whispered, “You understand don’t you Grandma? You understand what it feels like to be a woman. To be so hard on yourself and to continuously believe that something about you sucks.”

It was then that her love washed over me and I sobbed in her warm embrace.

I opened my eyes and marveled as the ceiling above me seemed to expand higher and higher opening to a feeling of vast limitlessness. Then I heard my Grandma say, “If you had any idea of who you really are, you would never waiver. If you KNEW who you really are…”

I sobbed and trembled as her words penetrated my soul and I knew at that moment that I was sent here for a great purpose, a purpose worth fighting for.

So I will fight. I will fight everyday to overcome the deceptions of this world. Deceptions that put such life-shattering, debilitating false value on things that are of no worth. I will fight to not become ensnared by it. I will fight to walk uprightly with boldness and power. And I will fight to always remember who I really am–because apparently I’m pretty special.

My Grandma told me so.

 

I declared the Christmas season of 2010 to be a time of service, setting a goal to perform at least one act of service each day.  I marveled at the opportunities for service the Lord placed in my path when I asked for His help in fulfilling my goal.

One afternoon, realizing that I had not yet found an opportunity to serve, I prayed that the Lord would give me eyes to see someone in need.

Shortly after my prayer I got into my car and headed out to get my kids from school.  Rounding the corner by my house, I noticed my neighbor had slid off the icy road into a shallow ditch.

Seeing that she was already on her cell phone and knowing that my kids were waiting for me and that I lacked the skills needed to pull her from the ditch, I waved to her with a sympathetic furrow of my brow as I drove past.

“Look deeper.”  The spirit then whispered.  “What can you do to help?”

Turning my car around I pulled up beside her and asked if I could pick her son up from school.

During the LDS General Conference this Easter weekend (or GenCon as my kids like to call it) I was asked to minister to those in need.  I was asked to abandon plans and assignments and to serve as Jesus taught.  I was asked to look deeper and to ask myself what I could do to help.

I felt excited about this call and hopeful that I would learn to walk as Jesus walked, succoring the weak, lifting up the hands which hang down and strengthening the feeble knees.

This morning–already elbow deep in my plans for today–I received a phone call.  “Would you like to go to the store with me this morning?”  I was asked.  “It’s senior discount day and I can get you some things if you need groceries.”

“Oh thank you.”  I said.  “But I don’t really need anything right now and I’m trying to tackle my dirty dishes.”

A few minutes later, understanding pierced my heart and tears filled my eyes as I realized that I had failed to look deeper.  I saw my plans for the day, I saw my dirty dishes and I saw that I didn’t really need anything from the store.  But what I didn’t see was what I could have done to help.

Had I looked deeper I would have recognized that the offer to take me to the store was really a request. A request made by someone with a lonely heart, looking for company.

Though today I failed to see, I’m still hopeful that God will continue to open my eyes as I learn to walk as Jesus walked, succoring the weak, lifting up the hands which hang down and strengthening the feeble knees.

So if you happen to be free next week, come see me at the grocery store. I’ll be the one getting in on that Senior Discount while enjoying the company of a friend.

And Jesus stood still, and called them, and said, What will ye that I shall do unto you?
They say unto him, Lord, that our eyes may be opened.
So Jesus had compassion on them, and touched their eyes: and immediately their eyes received sight, and they followed him.

 

 

 

Just days after Landon left to serve a mission in South Carolina, we took our kids to see Toy Story 3–where Rick and I promptly died!  We sobbed so bitterly that I contemplated rolling around the isles in an attempt to extinguish my grief.

The movie was a painful reminder that we too had watched our “Andy” pack up his childhood and walk away.  I desperately longed for a do-over.  More time to laugh play and explore together.  More time to listen, experience and learn.  More snuggles, stories and songs.  More.  Lots more.

“Did I do enough?” I wondered.  “Did he know that he was my everything?  That he was my world?”  I wanted more time to make sure that he did.

I experience similar emotions–though far less intensely–when I visit my old blog.  Reading the stories of my young family fills me with the desire for a do-over.  I want to go back and hold tighter, longer and more attentively to each moment. And I want to live more of the moments we loved.

My recent #tbt post about the Welcome Home Snack especially pinged my heart as I  found myself wrestling with feelings of guilt for not continuing a tradition that brought my children–and me–so much joy.

Until, remembering a blessing I received the day before, a blessing that reminded me of my continued influence over all of my children and the need to use, to the very fullest, the remaining time I have with my kids still at home, I shook off that guilt and developed a plan.

“Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.”

With the same enthusiasm I used to create a world of wonder and whimsy for my kids while they were young, I brought back the Welcome Home Snack.

And just as I suspected,

no one’s ever too old for a plate full of love,

after a long day at school.

 

 

Reading this throwback post today, I was reminded of all the special moments of motherhood. I love the creative side of being a mom.

Reading this post also made me wish that I had continued the Welcome Home Snack tradition much longer than I did.  My kids loved it so much.

But before I could get too down on myself I thought of yesterday’s post and of how the Welcome Home Snack was just one of many of The Stories that I’ve shared with my children. We have a lifetime of moments like these to string together into the most amazing tale.

And we’re not done yet. There’s still plenty of whimsy, wonder and adventure to be found.

Who knows, maybe I’ll even bring back the Welcome Home Snack.

~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome home surprises…

September 4, 2008

Yesterday’s welcome home snack started with this note that led the kids on a treasure hunt throughout the house. I hid several clue scrolls that had them running up and down the stairs, laughing and squealing, “this is fun” the whole time. After a long search they finally ended up in the pantry where they found this:

Yummy welcome home snickerdoodles.

It was so fun to watch their excitement. How wonderful it is that with just a little preparation you can make a child’s whole day.
I went ahead and re-hid everything to surprise the older girls when they got home, and if you think that kids get too old for these kinds of things, you should have seen them running through the house trying to discover the prize. It was a great way to welcome everyone home.

When I picked Jamie up from school today she said that all day she kept wondering what snack she would find waiting for her this time. So cute.
Today I didn’t have much time so I quickly whipped up a batch of Paula Deen’s microwave peanut brittle, arranged it on our official after school snack cake plate and placed it next to a vase of fresh flowers and our welcome home sign. The kids were as thrilled as ever to find it and their smiles made my day.

It truly is the simple things that make life worthwhile. I love being a mom. I couldn’t ask for a better job or better kids.
It’s bliss I tells ya, pure BLISS!

 

When we find ourselves in Flagstaff, we like to visit the historic Riordan Mansion.  What I love most about the property is the example of family togetherness found in the story of two brothers who married two sisters deciding to build a mansion together, each having mirror image homes of their own on either side with a common gathering room joining them in the middle.

Seeing the Riordan Mansion made me long for a family compound–seven separate houses with a great room in the middle–of my own.

So when Marlee and Jaye recently decided to live in our backyard–in their own private bungalow–while finishing school, I did a little happy dance. It might not be a family compound but it’s a start.

Walking through their trailer made me long for a camper of my own.  A cute vintage one–just big enough for an adventure–with a kitchen and a bed.

“When I asked Adam what he wanted to name his boat he said, ‘I want to name her The Story.’ I realized that Adam saw this tattered sailboat completely different than most people would. Most would see an old jalopy of a sailboat better sunk than sailed.  For Adam, though, The Story wouldn’t be a sailing machine; it would be a story machine.  To him it was filled with whimsy, wonder, and adventure even before he untied it from the dock.”  ~~Bob Goff

Growing up, my dad bought our family’s version of The Story in the form of an old motorhome.  A story machine that filled my life with adventures that stretched across this entire nation.

Through the years variations of The Story have come and gone.  And I’ve found that it doesn’t really matter what form it takes–a vintage camper, a sailboat or even that family compound with a great room in the middle–as long as I’m awake, alive and aware of the stories it offers.

When I think about it, each new day can be named The Story because honestly, with a little whimsy, wonder and adventure,

that’s all I really need.

 

 

When I was a little girl I told my Aunt that one of our family members smoked.  “Don’t tell Grandma.”  She said.  “It will break her heart.”

I shrunk inside myself, knowing that her warning had come too late.  I had already broken my grandmother’s heart.

It was then that I learned the damaging effects of gossip (though I didn’t quite know how to define it at the time).  I learned that telling the secrets of others–true or not–wasn’t fun or helpful.  And that maybe smoking wasn’t the worst thing a person could do after all.  Maybe it was hurting others with our words.

This morning, while driving with Easton, I saw someone I know.  I waved to this someone I know.  Then I talked about this someone I know.  Expressing my opinions about some choices he’s made.

Again, I chose to be careless with my words.  Again, I committed the greater sin.

I quickly repented, telling Easton that I had no right to an opinion on a life I have not walked.

“The sin in question is one which I have never been tempted to commit.  I will not indulge in futile philippics against enemies I never met in battle.”  ~~C.S. Lewis

When I’ve studied the ten commandments, I’ve never found a passage admonishing me to make sure my neighbor is living them correctly.  But I have read that among the greatest commandments–second only to loving God–is that I love the someones I know, and even the someones I don’t know, even as I love myself.

Simply love.  Nothing more.

So next time I drive past someone I know, I’ll wave to that someone I know then I’ll talk about that someone I know.  Expressing the love I feel toward him or her.

And I won’t say another word about it–true or not–not even to my Grandma.

 

 

Twenty-seven years ago today Landon arrived, helping to fulfill my dream of motherhood and what I hoped would be the beginning of my nine boy dream family.

I soon learned that God had a different plan for me as one, two, three then four daughters followed Landon into our family.  Deciding our family was complete, I resigned to the fact that Landon would be my one and only son.

The divine interventions that then took place to insure the birth of our son Waylon are miraculous and are something I thank my Father in Heaven for everyday.

So when I recently cried unto the Lord telling Him that I didn’t want Him to help make my dreams come true, I meant it.  “You see things that I can’t see.” I told Him. “Please make your dreams for me come true.”

“Tell me about the God you love; tell me about what He has inspired uniquely in you; tell me about what you’re going to do about it, and a plan for your life will be pretty easy to figure out from there.”  ~~Bob Goff

I know I have to start with a plan–guided by the inspirations God has placed into my heart–and that I must decide what I’m going to do about setting that plan in motion.  But just as God helped to tweak my plan for motherhood, replacing my dream of nine sons for something that was a much better fit for me, I know He can do the same for me now.

Which is why–after becoming bogged down with the what next, what-ifs and  whys of my recent plans–I surrendered to the Lord, asking Him to guide me to His dreams,  “Your dreams for me are always better than my own.”  I said.

So much better.