My little tator tot

Well, it's been 5 years since I've had a new baby in the house. Of course, I knew before she was born that I had gotten very used to sleeping through the night, to eating dinner without being interrupted by a squalling baby, and to quiet Sundays where the older kids read and the younger ones play together (semi) nicely. I wondered how I was going to handle my plunge back into babydom, the land of ultimate (if forced) unselfishness. Here is how it has been:

Every breath she has taken, every minute that's gone by, every late night feeding and diaper changed - I want it all back, I desperately want it all to quit flying away so fast. Not a day has gone by that I haven't wished I was in the hospital again, that she had just been born, and that I could have every minute of her life to live over again. That's how much I love her.

I Was Wrong

I thought my house was cramped until I walked into your apartment, where you house a family of five in two tiny bedrooms. I have never been anywhere that felt so peaceful. Thank you for teaching me that it's not about square feet.

I thought I was broke until I saw your cupboards, empty except for a box of Saltine crackers and a jar of peanut butter. You opened your cupboards to me in faith, believing I would be able to lead you to the resources that could help. I hope I didn't fail you. Thank you for reminding me of how much I have, and for trusting me to help.

I thought I had faith until I read about you in the newspaper, just a child, buried under piles of rubble after an earthquake, singing songs you'd learned at church, patiently waiting for someone to find you. Obviously, Someone found you and took up residence in your heart a long time ago. Thank you for helping me conquer fear.

I thought it was hard to be a mother, until I heard from a friend that you send your child to school each day praying he won't be hit by a stray bullet before he gets back. When I think what I do as a mother doesn't matter, I think of you, standing in your front doorway, being a safe place for your son to come home to. Thank you for reminding me what a mother really is.

I thought teenage girls could be difficult, until I met you. I saw you sit by someone who was struggling and quietly help. I saw you turn your back on others who wanted to make her feel uncomfortable, shielding her from their laughter. You looked as beautiful as anyone has ever looked right then. Thank you for showing me what it means to be strong and of good courage.

I thought I knew a lot, but it turns out I was wrong.

Split Endings

Well, my ward was split yesterday (meaning, the boundaries that divide LDS congregations and determine who you will attend church meetings with were changed). Actually, split is probably too enthusiastic a term. More like shaved. One little edge of our boundary was shaved off, and I happen to live in that little shaving. It's too soon to say whether that is good or bad, although right now it feels decidedly bad! It's not in me to be too melodramatic about these commonplace kinds of things, but I do have a few things to say about it.

Regrets? Sure, I have them. First, I always wanted to spend more time with the young women in our ward. I've watched them from afar and they are just one huge ray of awesomeness. I feel like I missed out, not getting to know them better. Also, my kids were sick yesterday and by staying home with them I inadvertently missed out on my last day of...everything. Blah. Plus, my 8-year-old was beyond thrilled with the new teacher she just got two weeks ago, and out of everything that comes with moving to a new ward, that is what she cried about. (Luckily, her teacher got "shaved off" with us, so there's still hope!) My oldest son also just recently got the man he admires most as one of his quorum advisors, so that's a relationship I'm sad to let go.

Anyway, all wards are good and all wards have the same gospel of Jesus Christ. But not all the time do you move into a ward that just completely wraps their arms around you and teaches you by example the definition of service. Here are some of my best memories and a few long overdue thank yous:

TL, at my house, goodies in hand, within a couple hours of the U-Haul pulling up almost six years ago. When she left I looked at J and said, "My goodness, who was that woman?!" I'm glad I know, now.

PJ, who came over and taught us how to take care of our pool, we were completely helpless.

Pretty much every single woman in the ward who babysat my two girls when J was going through some rough medical stuff.

CP, who's had the misfortune of having to listen to my deepest fears and regrets, but has always listened with love.

TJ, who brought me O magazine so I wouldn't be tempted to steal it from the doctor's office

LJ, whose calm demeanor is like a lullaby to me. NC is the same way.

SSt, for remembering about the wreath for a whole year, and then bringing me one!

KK, my number one painting cheerleader, who drove by my house and honked and hollered encouraging words every day while I was painting my house. She almost made me fall off the ladder once, but I'm not holding a grudge.

The PP Ladies, who encouraged me to write.

DW, TR  & KR for being on Christmas light duty

JG & KG, who loaned me everything under the sun from their wonderfully equipped garage, and I'm sure will continue to do so ;)

The high school seniors I taught, or, who taught me. Treat buckets rule!

My never-ending stream of completely wonderful visiting teachers, who fed me spiritually, and sometimes physically too.

SN, who taught me the importance of being consistent with my own visiting teaching.

TF, who came and picked up baby AJ at least once a week just to give J a break

Pres J, who took the time to answer a young boy's prayer.

JF and SF, for walking into Sunday School with J one day and taking me completely by surprise

My three Primary amigos, spending the last year with them has given me so many tender and wonderful memories that I can't name them all, but certainly our meeting right after J came to Sunday School was one of the best

Our primary kids for bringing me laughter and tears, but mostly for the hugs

MG, for the cake, but mostly for the note

BN, who acts like I'm the bees knees, when really the opposite is true

LT and OS, the only two ladies who came to my book exchange, and were so nice about it that I almost didn't feel like a total geek

SSc, for letting me write about her Grand Canyon adventure, that was really fun for me

CT, who called one time just because she felt like she should.

LS, for being thoughtful enough to introduce me to someone from my new ward right away yesterday

Have fun figuring out all the initials here! We've received so much service from this ward that I know I'm forgetting lots and lots, sorry about that. You've all touched my life and my kids have been so lucky to be taught by many of you. I'm going to stop now before I lose it...  Love you all!

Two Friends

Sometimes I feel myself going through life lurching from activity to activity, as if busy-ness itself were keeping me upright, rather than any particular will to live. Not that I lack the will to live, just that I forget the purpose in it sometimes.

Today two friends woke me up by doing me a service so great and so inherently risky that it was both wholly unexpected and completely endearing.

They took something I love (to despair sometimes), and wrestled it upright and gave it a moment of success, a moment of meaning that meant a great deal to me, too. It was an assist that I didn't even realize I needed until I got it, when the sense I had of gasping for air after being under water too long made me realize how necessary it truly was.

I know I'm being vague. Forgive me for that, but some things are too personal even for a half-baked blog!

Service is the handmaiden of charity, the pure love of Christ. When you give it, it changes your life. When you receive it, it changes your heart.

Thank you.

Compensating Blessings

Last year I listened as a church leader taught the principle of compensation. He said, “The Lord compensates the faithful for every loss. That which is taken away from those who love the Lord will be added unto them in His own way. While it may not come at the time we desire, the faithful will know that every tear today will eventually be returned a hundredfold with tears of rejoicing and gratitude.”

His talk caused me to reflect on my own compensating blessings, and how I first learned to look for them.

My husband’s battle with chronic pain has, for most of our marriage, made it difficult for him to take the leadership role that he would like to in our family. I try to compensate for that, but at times the burden of providing for our children financially, spiritually and emotionally has threatened to overwhelm me.

I particularly remember a time when I was drowning in self-pity. A difficult change in medication had rendered my husband temporarily unable to watch our toddler while I was at work, and so each morning I shuttled her to the homes of various church members who had volunteered to look after her for me.

I was miserable as I dropped my little girl off each morning. I felt like I was surrounded by happy homemakers, each of whom seemed blessed with the time to nurture not only their own children, but mine as well. It seemed so unfair.

One kind sister was able to change my perspective. Dropping my daughter off to her on a Monday morning, she remarked out of the blue that all of my children seemed to have been blessed with an unusually strong faith, and perhaps that was a reflection of the considerable amount of time they spent praying for their dad.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I recognized the truth of what she was saying. I drove off to work, my mind filling with thoughts of the many compensating blessings I had received, not the least of which was the loving bond I was developing with the church members who were always so willing to offer me service and encouragement. I had also recently been blessed with a new job, working for a company that was far more family-friendly than my previous employer had been. Many other blessings filled my mind as I drove.

Since then, although the basic circumstances of my life remain unchanged, it has been easier for me to focus on what I have that is good, instead of what I feel like I am missing out on. How grateful I am for the seed of hope a friend planted in me that day, and for the many compensating blessings our Heavenly Father gives us during difficult times.

Miracles

My dad has taught me many things, but today I am thinking about rhubarb and passion flowers. Rhubarb, I learned from his example, is really only good if you steep it in sugar. Dad prefers rhubarb sauce, cooked thick and bubbly on the stove and served in a bowl, ice cream optional. I preferred to pick it, lick it and stick it straight in the sugar bowl. I think my mom knew I did this - all my brothers and sisters did it too. But I never got in trouble for it. I'm not sure if I've ever allowed my own children that kind of whirling freedom to just be a child. I hope I have. My parents laughed at the funny faces we made as bit into the tart stalks, and then made them right along with us.

Passion flowers are different. They are not for hearty consumption and sour faces. They are delicate - made of purple lace, really. They grow on a vine, and they entwined the front porch of my childhood home. Passion flowers, at least the variety we had, bloom for a single day. They blossom in the early morning hours, and if you don't look you will miss it. By evening it will be dead. My dad nurtured his vines all season long, watching, tending, watching. During blossoming season he would step out on the porch every morning before work to see if the miracle was happening. Usually it was not. Isn't that how it is with miracles? You watch for it every day. Usually you do not see it. You think it might not happen. Perhaps you weren't tender enough with the vine. Maybe the weather was not just right this year. It might not be enough.

Then one day Dad yells out from the porch, "Come here! Come here!" We all know what is happening, and we rush out as a group. And there it is. One violet, lacy flower, so delicate you don't want to breathe on it, but there it is. It happened, and it is beautiful. The beauty is more intense because of the scarcity of it. I go out to look at it several times that day.

The next day it is gone.

Thanks for showing me that, Dad.