Category: Life according to Angela

Sights and Sounds this Week

We did some things. We saw some things. We read some things. I put correction tape over some ugly words. Blah, blah. I’ve been writing this blog for ten years, running out on a stage with my best words, my cutest people, and biggest achievements and the audience is mostly silent, kind of like when I play violin in church. The absence of applause screams doubt in my mind sometimes. Writing here is loneliness, multiplied by ten years. Writing here is also sanity, multiplied by ten years. This is how I feel on this tenth anniversary week.

Just little happy experiences

There are just little happy experiences that writing about doesn’t do justice. Pictures or videos don’t capture it. Memory isn’t exact enough. But there’s an eternity of those ahead… -Elder Daniel Ross

This is something Daniel expressed to me via text this week and I have thought about it again and again. Tiny interactions and connections, the evidence of humanity and goodness, can cut through differences and keep us afloat.

I walked several steps behind a little Muslim family into a store this week. The five or six-year-old son stayed behind to hold the door open for me. They weren’t speaking English, so I just smiled and gave a small wave to the boy, who had thrown his might into keeping the door open as a kindness to me. My thoughts about this family’s differences as I walked behind them in the parking lot just seconds before this interaction felt so shallow.

A different day, during school and work hours, a young father, with a daughter and a son, no older than ten years old looked at a wall of religious art. The daughter had taken an expensive framed print off the display wall and was cradling it until her arms. This was the one she loved. Later, at the cash register, I stood behind the family, the father now holding a few inexpensive prints similar to the expensive framed edition. He offered to buy a piece of candy for each child, but the children seemed content with the slips-of-paper-Jesus hugging someone. When it was my turn to step up to the register, I couldn’t speak or see clearly for a few seconds for what I had just witnessed.

The middle school kids swarmed the entrance to the public library as Mark and I drove into the parking lot after school. I offered to stay in the car as Mark found some books, since our path was through a sea of peers. He said no way. If somebody had a problem with his mom, he’d beat them up. He figured he was taller than most of them, so he had the advantage. In other words, he knew that walking with me would take courage, and he was up for it. You will be relieved to know that no violence ensued during the walk, and there were just a few loud hellos. The strong empathy in my personality made me feel insecure along with the preteens, but Mark and I made the walk together. I loved him for it.

Yesterday Tim went out to take photos of the sunset. He said he was trying to take more pictures like Daniel did. Then he mentioned that he wished he could look at Daniel’s photos of our vacations last summer, thinking there was no way he could see them. In covert sentences and expressions, Tim lets me know he misses Daniel. I pulled up Daniel’s albums on my computer and Tim was delighted, and in his understated, earnest way he enjoyed every one.

This, not this. This and this.

Some things I am thinking about: Influence, not power. Meekness, not pride. Endurance, not a sprint. Quiet, not clamor. Active, not passive. Present, not distracted. Nourished, not just full. People, not things.

Behold and love. Breathe and taste. Rest and heal. Seek and find. Lose and find. Read and learn. Swim and swim. Wait and see. Grateful and content.

What’s the Password?

My friends from childhood grow more fabled in my mind as the years go by. It’s not that I exaggerate their traits or the things we did, but as time passes, it seems more and more fantastical that we had free range around town and spent so much time watching television.

More than what we did, I remember my friends’ homes. In these wood paneled living rooms and dusty blue, goose-clad kitchens I was informed about a world where it seemed every parent but mine had a waterbed and cable television. A world where teenagers sat around listening to music and being moody. Impressions of my friends’ homes, food, games, clutter, music, family dynamics, and older siblings offered a strong contrast to my own, and they remain with me in Technicolor reels in my head.

My friend Thora was an inventor of clubs. Secret societies in tiny meeting places are common enough in childhood, but have you ever been interviewed by your best friend to join a club and failed the interview? Well, I have.

She pulled me into a dark closet, decorated snugly and in theme with the club’s charter of being glamorous and mysterious. She commenced a well-planned list of questions, probably about my likes and dislikes, which I was confident that I had answered well. It was only in the last question of the interview that I knew I was to be an outsider. “What is the password?” Thora asked. I scanned the carpet as I retraced conversations in my mind. WHEN had she told me the password? I couldn’t fathom. I gave up.

Smugly, and with triumph, she pointed to a magazine advertisement on the wall. In diamonds, the word, “Sparkle” was written in cursive on a dark background. The password had been not six inches from my head the whole time.

Her psychological experiment finished, she tidied up her papers and slid open the closet door. There was no mercy in the application process and I was excused.

I am still friends with Thora today, and have learned the wisdom to avoid exclusivity. Still, I find the memory of the word, “sparkle” a little bit grating.

In Quilting News


This quilt is for the Quilts of Valor Foundation. This week we learned where our quilt will be sent and that it will be displayed with other quilts until it is chosen by a wounded veteran. The picture is included with the quilt so the person can see who made it.

There were more people who worked on this than are pictured, but I am thankful for the memory a picture holds.

The quilt group in my neighborhood has been a joy to me. Now that our leader is moving, I find myself feeling very sentimental about all those meetings in Kaye’s home over the years. I think of the things I have learned, the funny things people said, the beautiful quilts, and the oohs and aaahs when someone would show her finished quilt. I am thankful that Kaye not only taught me how to quilt, but provided such beautiful inspiration from her own projects. She is an artist and she is immensely generous. There are happy, happy memories in her home which goes up for sale tomorrow. Sigh.

With a Smile

I think when I look back on this time in my life, I will be thankful that I was present when Tim came home from Frisbee practice, muddy and smiling. I will not regret being home and available to video chat with Daniel for the first time since Christmas. I will smile when I think of the jokes I made with Mark about the DWISBA as I drove him home from school. I will remember the texture of each boy’s hair in my fingers as I gave haircuts and the smell of starch while ironing shirts. I will smile at the memory of the beautiful home I worked to create. I will remember the souls I loved and the ones who loved me. I will remember that this was a sweet time. Sometimes I feel weary, unwanted, and stagnant, too, but that will not be the melody when I look back at this time with the perspective of age. I can see myself looking back with a smile. These little moments make me smile today.

Forgiving

Someone did a thoughtless thing, not an abusive or violent thing, just thoughtless. I needed to forgive. I tried praying for the person. This seemed a noble thing, and I righteously persevered. I was praying this person would have a nice day when all I could think of was the pain I felt. How good of me.

This went on for a long time. Months and months. I got a different bandage solution now and then that would make me forget or at least laugh off the person’s ignorant behavior. Sometimes it helped to separate the good qualities from the behavior that wounded me. Sometimes it helped to know I was loved by God. Still, I found myself stewing over my feelings of indignity and injustice and this person’s ignorance and ineptitude. Praying this person would have a good day was not enough. In fact, it was a symptom of what was really the cause of my pain. I was hurting because I was full of pride and wanted to feel superior to this person.

Wound my pride and I will remember it forever was my plan, a mystery even to myself until one moment when I finally asked God how to forgive. It became clear to me that the Sermon on the Mount has many solutions, and I had chosen the wrong one. This person was not my enemy and therefore did not need my sanctimonious, I’ll-take-the-high-ground prayers. My problem was a beam, right in the eye. It turns out I am the one who needed to ask forgiveness for some vain repetition in prayer and a lot of pride.

I am learning that asking the right questions in prayer is the way out of trouble.

To the person who

…drives the band in the school bus to and from state basketball tournament games safely…

…sees me and talks to me while checking my groceries…

…gives my sons rides home from church activities…

…stays up a little later to make a lesson plan a little more engaging…

…donates money so our daughter can have scholarships and art grants…

…feeds our missionary son and asks for the recipe of his favorite dessert, even though it is in a different language and has different standard measurements…

…takes time to visit the school to speak encouragement and tell fun stories to my middle schooler…

…reads my self centered words…

…takes time to write to me…

…remembers important days and acknowledges them…

…shares talents…

…RSVP’s to a party invitation even when I don’t ask for it…

…shares a real life experience with me, not a contrived version she thinks would be more palatable…

…inspires me to seek deeper meanings in my study of scripture…

…inspires me to be myself…

…notices when we are missing…

…sees that we are trying…

…asks good questions and listens to the answers…

…doesn’t try to define us as just one thing…

…delivers mail in the snow…

…takes away our trash every week…

…selected our piano for their showroom so we could find it in Tucson…

…planted the trees in the yard…

…selected our white kitchen cabinets…

…wrote the book I finished today…

…shared the Book of Mormon with my family/ancestors…

I feel gratitude for you and many, many more.

Hello, Elder Ross!

We had a nice text exchange with our missionary for the first time today.

With a home centered focus at church, it makes sense that home and missionary work should mingle more often. Home and family are central to God’s plan. They can add strength. If they don’t, we can trust the missionaries and mission presidents and families to figure things out.

A few weeks ago, Daniel wrote to me, expressing that he wished he had talked to me more. What a blessing it is that we can now. Who else is excited in our house about this? His two brothers. This will bless their lives. Amen.