This was a hike from Alta to Brighton, with encounters with high mountain lakes and spectacular views… or so these photos indicate. I dropped the family off in one canyon and picked them up in the other. They were smiling as I picked them up.
Seven months ago, before the pandemic impacted our lives, I had an idea to create an emotional tool kit, with physical objects to inspire and comfort. I wrote down a list on a post-it note, and began to move the note in my day planner, putting it off for another time. Maybe I was in denial. “Oh, I won’t need this,” or, “If I make it, something will happen that will make me need this.”
Then came new levels of isolation, earthquakes, uncertainty about the evacuation of missionaries, challenges from distance learning in schools, canceled plans, discomfort and disfigurement from abdominal surgery, and the secluded hospital stay. And so on.
I have been comforted, even without my little tool kit, no doubt about that. Still, this week, I remembered that I hadn’t compiled it, and decided it was time. It wasn’t difficult. I gathered things into an old hat box and slid it beneath my bed. Who knows if I will ever use it as I envision I might. If nothing else, it is a time capsule, and a reminder of my faith that comfort can be found in Christ, always.
The objects are small and have personal meaning. Some things are soft; others spur memories; on the bottom of the box are the scripture notes I have taken this year, which follow my 2020 spiritual journey even better than my journal. I tucked in a Michael Buble album that I love.
At times, everyone needs reminders that things are going to be okay.
If you are doing well, share your energy with others. If you are doing poorly, consider handling some physical reminders that Heavenly Father loves you and sent His Son for you. Allow the Spirit to bring joyful things to your remembrance. (John 14:26)
This week, I picked up a few things at the store to add to the “college set” of dishes and silverware passed down from Paige to Daniel. (Where did all the teaspoons go???) I can’t think of much I should do to help him, but the impulse is to think about details such as, “Oh, he is going to need some spices!” The truth is, he grew up long ago, in South America, and he can navigate the spice aisles in Provo, Utah just fine without me.
I remember this ache. I have felt it before. Each child’s imprint is different, so the the ache for each child has its own quality. It’s terrible and precious at the same time. I don’t know why I am not thinking about Covid-19 tonight. I suppose it could spoil university plans very quickly, but we’ll deal with whatever comes.
When Paige was young, we would often do crafts to celebrate her birthday. I thought it would be fun to do something like that again. Mark and I set up an array of succulent plants and ordered lots of little woodland animals and buildings to populate the pots.
Squee! So cute.
And then Paige and I watched this movie. Happy day!
Tim and Daniel have some new projects. Tim bought a mini jeep, and Daniel claimed a free piano. At the appearance of the mini jeep, our next-door neighbor said incredulously, “Another vehicle?”
Daniel is gutting the old piano to make an electric keyboard desk with speakers, lights, and a place to put a computer. One night in the garage, he removed all the keys but those from a jazz chord progression so he and Mark could do some improv, worry-free, since only the notes they needed were available.
Tim installed more lights on the jeep and ordered a pretty fine helmet and *chrome* goggles to wear as he drives. He offers rides around the neighborhood to our family.
These guys teach me new levels of fun and creativity.
I have decided to shift the way I think and talk about school restrictions and realities for our kids. This is not a time to paint our children as victims, but a time to help them know they can be resilient. Just imagine how much stronger these kids can be because they have been challenged to find new ways of connecting, finding fun, and working to become educated. I think we can remind them they are stronger than they know, especially as they rely upon God. We can look for possibilities more than limitations, because new ideas await. This is a time for creativity and resilience!
Profound.
I’ve been focusing on preparing food, really good food, to serve my family. It’s gone almost this quickly, so I keep cooking nearly every day, every day, every day. It’s a big part of my life. Good job, me.
I didn’t post much about family life in April. Days are smudged in my memory, all about the same. Sundays we gathered for dinner and to watch old home movies. Richard worked an unconscionable demand of hours, mostly from home, thankful to be employed. I have watched the clock for entertainment since my surgery, content to do almost nothing. We watched a movie almost every evening. Daniel has been a primary care giver to me, and we have had some good talks. Tim has worked outdoors, mowing and aerating, and has been faithful in completing school work. I learned quickly that I should not ask him about school. He manages his life like a boss. Mark was most content to be home, with days uncluttered by middle school nonsense. He talks through each assignment aloud, frustrations and triumphs sounding in my ears. We have eaten more takeout than usual, hoping to keep our favorite restaurants alive. Also, friends have provided a lot of meals since my surgery. I finished reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy and watched the movies. That was a good choice. April was the best and the worst. I know you can relate.
These weeks have not been easy. The not knowing, the not-so-good news, the waiting, painful conversations with people who heard Daniel was home when he was not, the constant school emails, and the work stress were rough. Things were complicated in Chile. Daniel helped print four different release certificates for himself in the mission office as his evacuation date moved several times. I prayed for peace constantly. One night, out of words to pray, I lay in bed praying the words to “Bring Him Home,” which was one of my more effective prayers.
Neither Richard nor I slept well the night before Daniel’s flight, and Richard tracked that plane constantly throughout the day. I kept busy, but felt my chest tighten as the day progressed. We drove to the airport together, two nervous wrecks. No, we didn’t think he would come home sick or harmed, but we were embarking into an unknown. Daniel arrived, full of light and reassurance. That night, I had my best sleep in years.
It’s not that we lacked faith. It’s that faith sometimes needs to be tested. Would we complain? Would we push our needs ahead of others who were suffering in different ways? Would we keep turning to God? Would we be overly dramatic about circumstances? Would we neglect the needs of our other children as we hyper-focused on our worries about international travel for Daniel? Would we stop acknowledging the blessings that flowed because Daniel was serving a mission? Would we forget hope? Would we neglect the little things like family prayer and scripture study in this sickly, dense fog?
There is much more to live before the resolution of this story. I don’t want to forget the comfort that only came through prayer. I don’t want to forget the light in Daniel’s missionary face. I don’t want to forget that there was a continual flow of understanding and concrete instructions as I read the Book of Mormon each day, pen in hand. These have been precious, soul-expanding days leading up to his return. Now that he is home, I am giving myself permission to breathe, rejoice, rest, and just look at Daniel’s face, in line with the rest of our children, all gathered together again.
Dear Daniel,
Did you ever look through a kaleidoscope? That’s what life feels like right now. We get used to looking at a beautiful pattern through the lens, but it’s only temporary; the world rotates, and little pieces of our lives shuffle to different places. For a time, there is a grating noise, and some resistance to rotating the scope. It feels chaotic and uncomfortable, but another pattern emerges from the shuffling of pieces. Beauty and order always find a way. There are beautiful patterns emerging from this time of upheaval. We don’t know how our little pieces will rearrange themselves, but they will, all under the direction of a loving Heavenly Father.
We love you and we are proud of you. I choose to celebrate who you are, and not focus on the “change of plans” so much. Coming home a little early will not change the impact you have had on people in Chile. It will not change who you are, and who you have become. Your love for the gospel is needed here, and the Lord will use you, wherever you are. I feel gratitude to the members in Chile for their loving care of you. My heart goes out to your president and his family. I pray for everyone.
I am filled with hope and peace, and it will all work out. A silver lining for me is that I will have you around again to talk to. We’ll enjoy the next pattern in the kaleidoscope soon.
Love,
Mom
