Author: Angela

I write so my family will always have letters from home.

Our place

The Weber property has power over memory and time. Nowhere else can I feel my grandparents’ presence and influence greater. It’s here that I feel the tangibles of my childhood so well, but also slip easily into my place in the continuum of family roles. I’m the older aunt in the kitchen now, the one on the shore and bridge watching the children float down the river. I have been the child in the river and the teen lingering on the edges of traditional family games and songs. I have been the young mother chasing children and playing in the river with them. Now I am the older mother, no longer trying to get my children to eat something new, with a heart stretched by distance between us. The balance has shifted a little during these midlife years, and I find that I look ahead a little less than I recall the past. In childhood, everything lay ahead. In the quiet of this phase of life, I feel ancestors about me, and see that they continue to shape my life, my expectations for my children, and my definition of the good life. It is a beautiful legacy to visit each summer at the cabin.

People who Elevate

I told a friend that I am reading C. S. Lewis again because I need to behave better. His writings are an elevating influence in my life.

I have many people who influence me to be a better person.

My mom: She doesn’t get distracted by worldly noise and speaks truth without fear. She is also very fun.

Richard: He knows how to serve and exercises self control. He raises the fun index in the room. He has the patience to seek the best.

My dad: He is a builder, not just a builder of things like shelves and rock walls, but people.

Paige: It’s almost impossible for me to be negative when I am with her. She is optimistic and sympathetic, willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. She fills me with light.

Daniel: He is independent and willing to stand up for those who are bullied or labeled negatively. He shows gratitude and our testimonies grow together.

Timothy: He loves without measure. He is modest about his accomplishments and is steady in his work. He follows through with his commitments and perfects his skills so patiently!

Mark: He is obedient and seeks a relationship with God without guile. He shows gratitude.

Susan: She makes everyone feel like they are her favorite.

Sarah: She models love, independence, and strength.

Lorraine: She gives and gives. She tries to build connection in many ways.

Dale: He is a Christlike man who has only ever shown me kindness. He even tried to change the way he said Fish Creek when I had a hard time saying “crick.” (I can be so difficult.)

Janine: She has positive energy and knows how to lift others. I crave her company so often.

Charlene: She loves me and mine and lifts my heart in good times and bad.

Care: She knows how to reach me when I need a friend and she creates beautiful, fun things.

Becky: Seeks to encourage everyone in their talents.

Cindy: Never criticizes.

Kristy: “Seeketh not her own.” She is a rare person.

Anne: Knows how to live, but listens to my ideas, too.

Julie: She has blessed me with her knowledge and abilities and good book suggestions.

Melinda: I feel she loves me, despite all.

Nancy: She trusts me and visits me.

Kaye: She volunteers on every sign up sheet going around church. She teaches and models good homemaking skills.

I am out of time, and there are more of you. Also, I could say so much more about everyone. But you get the idea. So much good.

Sherbet Skies

Feeling a bit low this week, I went shopping for a gift, and noticed a beautiful rug in the store. I took picture after picture and admired the price. But the thought came that buying this rug wouldn’t fix the way I felt. I remembered a friend in Arizona whose home was filled with expensive, beautiful rugs. When I complimented them, she told me that she bought them during a time of grief.

On this beautiful week of sherbet sunsets, long walks, porch conversations, and a midnight message that family traditions live on while apart, my lapse in courage does not need to be memorialized with a rug!

Finding courage is about gathering from a depth of being and experience we no longer remember. My courage this week came as I studied pictures and stories of ancestors, and from a small voice in my mind reminding me of the power within myself to handle this time in my life. It came as I trusted in my ancient and continuing relationship with God.

Wagon cookies for Pioneer Day
Paige’s wagon cookies
Spring Lake porch conversation
MMSK together
Buddies forever

Surprises

One surprise was this subtle, powerful song was the audience favorite at the Pioneer Day concert I attended.

Last Sunday, when I made my trusty plan for the week, I thought my highlight would be a small Primary Presidents’ luncheon for twelve women. It was to be a good, but basic week. But then, invitations came. All week, I have been surprised by the expansion of my plans.

One big change in plans was I was asked to accompany someone in church on the violin, only the music was written for the cello. Richard watched me trying to transpose music by hand and took charge and produced the music I needed using the computer. He intervened quickly, without my asking, and this was so helpful!

Another small surprise was being invited to perform our song at two family gatherings last night after playing the song in church. It was an honor to be invited to these two homes for a few minutes.

Do we know how powerful a home and family feel to someone stepping in? Even though I came from my own cozy evening with family, I felt honored and gifted by the family feeling (the Spirit of the Lord) in each of these homes.

Friends, I am certain that your brand of hospitality and your family, even if it’s one person, have power and goodness. That may be a surprise to you, but I know it is true. Invite someone to your home for lemonade or music or a meal. They will not forget it.

High Adventure 2019

Tim came home from high adventure with MANY beautiful photos of landscapes. He climbs every rock face he sees, so his perspective on hikes is unique. The photo taken high above the camp is typical of him. In the wilderness, you see Timothy as a silhouette against the bright sky as you look up to find him.

Angie in July

Summer is my season of sludge, my own wrestle in quicksand. It’s silly that summer ennui still surprises me. Childhood summers were very different.

I was a child who memorized the quality of every square of cement on our block through the wheels of roller skates. I could eat a whole 3-foot licorice rope while riding home on my bike after a day at the swimming pool with no regrets. I felt accomplished after reading several Nancy Drew mysteries in a day, curled up in my playhouse. I took time to taste nectar from honeysuckle blossoms in the evenings, and spent hours on the backyard swing. I danced on the front lawn. I recall the cool feel of mud pies, molded to satisfaction, and the buzzing of insects in a jar that I collected from the tall grass. I remember the slip of the slime on the river rocks beneath my feet as I waded beneath the bridge. I named my favorite trees in the neighborhood. I had a love for the shiny petals of buttercups and penny candy from the pharmacy. Strawberries grew outside my window, as did grape vines, and I know their scents and the feel of their leaves. I studied the faces in the rock of Y mountain so often that 40 years later, the memory of their features is clear. I sat in the park under ancient sycamores on Sunday evenings to hear a band play.

I think of these times with some longing, especially during the lonely week of scout camp while everyone is away. My “lonely week” is almost over, and my summer memories have kept me company.

I have this letter taped to the inside of my recipe cabinet.

Letter from Elder Daniel Ross, serving in Chile, July 2, 2019

When I was younger I was a pretty picky eater. Broccoli soup was the wrong color, texture, flavor, and I just couldn’t do it. My mom tried serving it with crackers, goldfish, I took small bites with big drinks, hot or cold, it didn’t matter. I was quite sure I wanted nothing to do with it and was firmly set in my ways. Patiently my parents explained that it can take as many as 12 tries to learn to eat a food and that I had to keep trying it. Over the course of several years I did, though I didn’t notice a change for a long time.

Another statistic (I heard this a few years ago, I don’t know how accurate it is now) is that the average person who joins the Church of Jesus Christ through full-time or member missionary efforts has had at least 7 distinct/separate experiences with missionaries. In the winters here in Chile (And everywhere else in the world, I imagine) the work slows down a lot. Very few people answer the door, and rejection is much more common. We’ve been working hard as a companionship to find ways to finish every contact well so that no matter how the person acts, we can walk away at the end and they will remember us as friendly and professional. Sometimes we harvest here, but a lot of the time we’re just planting seeds. We’re continuing in faith, hoping that some of the results come during our time here. 
Does it work? 

(A huge thanks to a nice sister in the ward that learned in a past lunch that I have fond memories of my mom’s soups and had her husband deliver some broccoli soup to us at 10:00 one night. My favorite meal this week.) -Elder Ross