Words For This Day

My dad looked at me with a gleam in his eye.  A gleam that told me I was important, that I was loved.

At the viewing before his funeral many people approached me, offering their love and condolences.  I felt grateful for the support, but I also felt numb and lost.

Until, with a tap on my shoulder, I turned to meet that same love filled gleam in the eye of another.

When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!

Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home.

A flood of peace washed over me as I fell into the embrace of a man who–though he had only been a part of my life for a short time–looked at me the same way my father had.  He made me feel important, he made me feel loved and he made me feel safe.

 

I felt the spirit whisper, “Behold thy Father” and I knew–with the sweetest comfort–I wasn’t alone.

My father-in-law’s death, sixteen years later, was sudden and surreal.  He–like my dad–left way too soon.

As I lay in his bed that night after he died, his spirit washed over me, engulfing me–with the sweetest comfort–in the warmth of his love.

I miss him.  Especially on days like today, his 75th birthday.  I imagine what it would be like to have him here.  To bake him a cake.  To sing a song.  And to hear his laughter.

I want my kids to have their grandpa, both of their grandpas, and I want my dads.

But though they are gone, I still feel them sometimes.  With that familiar tap on my shoulder and spirit embrace.  And I know they’re looking after me–the love filled gleam still shining in their eyes–reminding me I’m not alone.

 

 

My desire to view the world with childlike wonder reminded me of this throw back post from 2012.  Trying to embrace everything I experience as a “special mug” moment has really opened me up to the magic all around me.

I’m so grateful for the example children set.

~~~~~~~~~~~

So Special

March 1, 2012

I bought four mugs. We have seven people currently living in our home, but I bought four mugs. It’s all the thrift store had. Four. I debated, but they were cute. So I bought them.

I set the table with my four new mugs. We have seven people currently eating at our table, but I only had four new mugs. So I alternated them with complimenting white mugs. It looked cute. I felt satisfied.

“Why don’t I get a special mug?” I heard Jamie say. Followed by, “Ooo, I want a special mug.” Coming from Waylon. So we adjusted and did some rearranging until all who wanted “special mugs” had one.

And I thought, “I love children.” I love how their precious little minds take the simplest of things and make them “special” and exciting. If only we could remember this as mothers. Oh the world we could create for these wide-eyed, magical little souls. And oh the world we would create for ourselves in the process.

Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass;
Alma 37:6

It was like some sort of a bad dream hangover, the way I felt when I woke up a few days ago.  I don’t remember what I had dreamt about but there was no other explanation for the darkness I felt.

I sat tick, tick, ticking off–from a list in my head–all of the reasons I wasn’t an adequate mother or overall human being.  “I haven’t done it ‘right’.”  I told myself.  “The way it’s ‘supposed to’ be done.”

“Right” and “Supposed to”.  Oh how these ideals have conspired against me trough the years.  I have read, studied, watched, asked, learned and tried to mimic those who seem to have mastered “right” and “supposed to”.  I’ve tried to follow their examples to no lasting avail.  Because as it turns out, another’s “right” and “supposed to” are often quite different than my own.

“But at the end of the day, your intuition as a guardian should govern your action. Don’t let any study or opinion keep you from listening to the heart of your home. Your home has a rhythm, a flow and a voice that is unique to your family.  Trust it.”

~Brooke Hampton

I’ve come to embrace and often thrive in my own rhythm of “right” and “supposed to”.  But for  years I struggled, calling my rights wrong–compared to those of others.

I think my bad dream must have taken me back to that place, tempting me to forget all I’ve learned, to forget who I am and to silence the voice that’s uniquely my own.  But I can’t forget.  I’ve come too far.

So I’ll shake off the darkness, tear up the list, and continue down this path I’m supposed to be on .

Trusting that the Lord will take what I offer,

and make everything right.

 

 

2017 was the year of Disneyland.  After a family meeting and an agreement to forgo all birthday and Christmas presents that year, we bought annual passes to the happiest place on earth.

Though Disneyland truly is my happy place and has been since my childhood, there were times throughout the year when I found myself thinking, “I’ve seen all there is to see.”  Knowing–with Disneyland’s attention to detail–this couldn’t possibly be true, I began the “find something new” game.  Everyday looking, with childlike wonder, for something I’d never noticed before.

Last Saturday, after strapping a walking boot onto my poor damaged foot, we decided to check out the Arizona Renaissance Festival.  I’ve always been curious about the festival and with a spring break in desperate need of repair, I figured it was as good a time as any.

Disappointment–for several reasons that I won’t dwell on now–set in shortly after entering the gates and though I tried to remind myself of my new motto, “things don’t have to turn out perfectly to make it worth turning out”, it wasn’t until I sat down to watch a bell show that my heart began to change.

With the same childlike wonder I had summoned in Disneyland I felt a smile rise up and fill my whole body.  “I’ve never seen a birdman play a giant bell instrument before.”  I reminded myself.

My smile remained the entire performance as I not only pondered the wonder of this beautiful world I live in but also my ability to perceive it in any way I choose.  I can choose as easily as the flip of a switch to see the secret pockets of magic that swirl all around me or I can stay in a place of, “I’ve seen all there is to see”.  Knowing the latter–with my Father in Heaven’s attention to detail–couldn’t possibly be true.

During the economic crash of 2008 we, like so many others, almost lost everything–even having an auction date for two days after Christmas placed on our house.

It was a very stressful, scary time.  But as I sat crying, praying in my parked car in my dark garage one evening, wondering how we were ever going to survive this mess, these words entered my heart, “If I told you everything was going to work out would you believe me?” I felt the Lord ask, “If I told you everything was going to work out would you find peace?”

After pondering for a moment I answered, “Yes.  I would believe you.”

Then, filling me with a gentle yet firm assurance he said, “Everything is going to work out.”

A short time later we were able to secure a modification on our mortgage and our house was saved.

Tuesday night, after deciding to break several toes and my foot by running full force (trying to outrun being attacked with purple chalk powder) into a door jamb, I was able to find peace–even knowing all plans for spring break were now ruined–by applying this lesson.  “Everything is going to work out.”  I told myself.

But yesterday, after realizing that I had somehow misplaced (completely and utterly lost) all of Jamie’s official documents, I dismissed the Lord’s promise and wallowed in anguish all day.  I had my focus set on the one outcome I believed would make everything work out and it wasn’t until I surrendered to other possibilities–less appealing as they may be–and put my trust in the Lord that I was able to find peace.

I believe this is what the Lord wanted to teach me that night in my dark garage so many years ago. Though I’m certain He knew before hand the positive outcome concerning our mortgage, I believe what He really wanted me to understand is that even when things don’t go quite in the way we envision and even had we ended up living in a van down by the river,  He has a plan for us and in that plan–one way or another–

everything always works out.

 

 

Today I thought about what life would be like had we continued forward, leaning on our own understanding.

What life would be like had we stopped at four kids or even five as we’d planned.

I don’t know what life would be like had God not blessed us in spite of ourselves.

But I do know I’m grateful I didn’t miss out on moments like these.

~~~~~

Sugar, spice and a side of snails

July 2009

“Why are you dressed like that?” I asked. And I wasn’t referring to the fact that they looked like hoochie mamas. What I was really trying to get to the bottom of is why my son was dressed like a girl.

“I’m teaching Waylon how to be a girl.” Jamie explained. “Can we have some lipstick or nail polish to put in our purses?”

“No. Absolutely no makeup.” I had to drawn the line somewhere.

“Okay.” They said as Waylon sneakily grabbed something off of my vanity and headed for the door.

“You’d better not be sneaking makeup.” I warned him.

“Sorry.” He said with a sheepish grin, putting the stolen nail polish back where he had found it.

“Thank you for telling the truth honey. I’m very proud of you.” I told him.

With pride of his own he raced after Jamie and asked, “Hey Jamie, do girls do that? Do girls tell the truth?”

“Yes Waylon girls sometimes always tell the truth.” She informed him. Then continuing her tutorship she explained to him that girls love to talk, “So we need to sit down on the couch and have a talk.” she said.

“So,” Waylon began, “have you ever seen a dead dog?”

“No Waylon.” Jamie snapped in disgust, “Girls do not talk like that.”

“Oh.”

“And girls always sit with their legs crossed like this.” Jamie modeled daintily.

Waylon sat copying her for a moment before announcing, “Yeah, but this squishes my penis a little.”

Then after a picture and a request by Jamie to put it on my blog, “Girls always put things on their blogs.” She explained. The two of them ran off to change for the “how to be a boy” portion of the evening.

I didn’t catch as much of this conversation but I did learn, along with Jamie, that boys like to sit like this, that they always drink their sodas with no lid or straw, and when Jamie laughed too enthusiastically at something he said Waylon informed her that, “No Jamie, boys do not laugh as much as girls do.”

It wasn’t until I learned from one of my older kids that Waylon was upstairs smashing one of my baskets because, “Boys like to break things” that I put a stop to their education and sent them to get ready for bed.

I’m constantly shaking my head with these two, but they do keep me laughing.

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.