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.
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.
On Mondays for scripture study we work on marking the footnotes of the New Testament assignment. We mark the Joseph Smith Translation footnotes in red and the Greek footnotes in green. This takes some time, but it really helps us understand what we are reading.
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.
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.
The Finnish side of our family has been a mystery for so long that I just settled into the idea that Ida Maria was not going to have a maiden name. Today, with a few acts of faith and courage to ask someone to help me access a different website, I found my great-great grandmother’s maiden name, and traced her family back to 1760. She was one of ten siblings. I had access to all their names, the names of mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters in minutes. The Stake Family History consultant who helped me cried with me at the sight. This was a big breakthrough!
Ida Maria has been on my mind for 11 years, but more frequently in the past few months. I think she wanted to be found because I am no expert. I just showed up at a family history center and asked the questions that came to my mind. Many of us have put in effort to find her, but I got to be the one today, and that feels like one of the biggest honors of my life. I cannot sleep for the joy of it.
I enjoyed observing Mark’s Bible move around his bedroom throughout the week and seeing his study notes grow each day. His insights are unselfish and wise. At age twelve, he is a light to me.
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.
Mark and Tim had a band concert featuring middle school and high school bands. At the end, when all bands combined to play a song, we noticed our boys were able to sit close together. Mark plays the trumpet and Timothy plays the trombone. It was a great concert.
There has never been any question as to who the fun parent is at our house. That means our kids have adventures, exercise, fun times, and see beautiful places. Blessed. Richard doesn’t just do fun things. He does all the difficult things, too. He has a great sense of balance.