Trip Day 2
Road trip day 1
Little Drummer Boy
Daniel, at age 9 was invited to sing The Little Drummer Boy at a big community Christmas show at the high school auditorium in Sahuarita, Arizona. The show featured dance numbers from Paige’s dance studio and choral and instrumental performances of Christmas music between the dances. Daniel’s number was unique because he would be singing while some 3-year-olds danced with drums.
He prepared well and was serious about the opportunity to sing in front of the town. Richard and I sat on the second row so we could film his singing and Paige’s dances. Daniel had been to all of the rehearsals, including the dress rehearsal with the little girls in red and white tutus that were as wide as they were tall. However, we couldn’t have predicted what the audience of 1000 people would do when they saw these girls enter the stage in those sickly-cute tutus and overly-curled hair.
Daniel sang at the corner of the stage and the girls marched out with their red sequined drums. Audience members erupted into small chuckles and shared comments about how cute the girls were with their neighbors. Daniel sang on, despite the growing din in the auditorium. Then one little dancer decided to go rogue. She sat down and refused to stand up with her drum, which caused a comic scene on stage with at least one dancer getting angry with the non-conformist. A drum was kicked across stage. The audience, already noisy, cackled with laughter and talk. Daniel, wide-eyed and determined, continued to sing in what must have been a most baffling and difficult circumstance. How could he hear the music over all the noise? He sang perfectly, but looked bewildered. He took a bow at the end, eyes shifting uncomfortably across the laughing crowd. I hoped he didn’t think they were laughing at him.
I felt sick. My disappointment for Daniel and anger at the audience’s rudeness made my stomach tight. My inability to predict that Daniel would be singing over raucous comments and rowdy laughter and save him from it was a new kind of trial for me. I still can’t hear this song without remembering the horrible behavior of the audience that night. But Daniel was magnificent.
Betty Burns
Betty Burns, 2003-05
While we were living in Texas, we adopted local aunts, uncles, and grandparents for our children. One of our favorite adopted grandmothers was Betty Burns. Our friendship began when she was assigned to visit me every month as a visiting teacher. She will always be one of my favorites. She came every month and taught me the gospel and loved our children.
Betty lived in a small apartment and had limited means, but she lived with generosity. She joined our family activities naturally, coming to dinners, lunches, and a road trip. If the kids were a little grumpy, she was there to diffuse the situation with a grandmotherly laugh which taught me not to react in a negative way.
Paige invited Betty to her 8th birthday dinner. We have a video of Betty as Paige opened her handmade gift, an apron with ballerinas printed on the fabric. Baby Timothy pelted her with a balloon and she just laughed at the little boy’s painless attacks.
Baptisms and baby blessings can be lonely when you live far from family and they can’t make the trip to attend. Along with my parents and Rob’s family, Betty and a few other friends came to Paige’s baptism. I felt overwhelmed by support. Betty’s attendance at the baptism sealed her adoption in my heart, along with the other friends who were there.
One January day she invited the kids and me to her apartment to see her decorations. She had been sick during December and hadn’t been able to decorate her house for Christmas, so she decided to do it in January instead. We walked in to a cozy scene with nativities of many kinds everywhere. The festive decorations trailed all the way through her apartment, not just in her living room. She told us stories of where her nativities were purchased and let the kids touch them. I realized that this wasn’t just a casual visit: we were her special guests, invited to celebrate Christmas with her. She presented me with a large box and we opened it to find a beautiful porcelain and gold Nativity from Dillard’s inside. This nativity has a place in our home each year.
Betty was my ally. She cheered me on in my efforts at church and with our children. I have kept all of her notes to me during those years. They are full of encouragement, clothed in thanks. I was in my late twenties and she was in her seventies, and she could move among the roles of mentor and elder to friend and confidant. I needed this nurturing at this time in my life, especially because I was serving as the Relief Society president and had a responsibility to nurture many people in our church congregation. I think she needed our children, and our children needed her. One of their favorite memories of Betty was when Richard took the kids to her apartment to fix her computer. She fed them ice cream at dinnertime, as any good grandmother does.
What did I learn from Betty? I learned generosity in friendship and faithfulness in visiting teaching. I learned that generosity needn’t spring from a healthy bank account. She showed me in endless ways that she cared. I learned that generations need each other. With her laugh and attention to our kids, she influenced me to view them in a more precious way, not being so hasty to correct them. I learned that the important relationship with grandparents can be filled by someone who isn’t related to us.
Thank you, dear Betty.
Winter sights
Snow continues to fall often. Mark’s art on the refrigerator keeps things cheery in the house. When the sun comes out we have dazzling light, reflected off the snow, stream through the house. Today is one of those dazzling days.
Every few days I get a call about someone else that has been hospitalized. Winter has been hard on this neighborhood and my congregation. I feel grateful for health and strength to help, and see real service being rendered by so many people. It is so humbling to have a front row seat to goodness.
Counting
I have a couple of statistics counters on my blog to tell me how many visits I get on the site. My counter tells me that I have a very small handful of faithful readers. I am thankful for each person who reads. If I can be a friend to you through writing, I am glad.
I installed a new counter last week. I didn’t know this would be the outcome, but this counter shows me how many malicious login attempts are made on my blog. In less than a week, there have been hundreds of attempts by computers all over the world. I am shocked. My blog is not a worthy target. I have no economic power, no sponsors, no voice in important circles, and only a few people would notice if someone took down my site or filled it with malicious links. Perhaps this is another illustration of the truth that there are no unimportant people.
Wouldn’t it be interesting/alarming if we had “counters” for all the malicious attempts made toward us by the adversary each day? Would our counters spike high when we turned on the television or computer? Would we see a decrease in malicious intent as we stepped into our churches and temples, served our neighbors, and gathered our families to pray? I think so.
Conversely, wouldn’t it be interesting to have a “counter” for the number of times people were thinking kind thoughts about us, or praying for us, or speaking about us in a positive way? What about a measure for the divine influence around us? I think we would be amazed at the effort, love, protection, and power that surrounds us, especially when we seek it. Good not only outnumbers and outlasts evil, but it is more powerful.
And when the servant of the man of God was risen early, and gone forth, behold, an host compassed the city both with horses and chariots. And his servant said unto him, Alas, my master! how shall we do?
16 And he answered, Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.
17 And Elisha prayed, and said, Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see. And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.
-2 Kings 6:15-17
Looking back
It’s amazing that out of all the billions of people who had ever lived, no one has had a heartbeat exactly like yours.
In the same way, God has given each of us a unique emotional heartbeat that races when we think about the subjects, activities, or circumstances that interest us. We instinctively care about some things and not about others. These are the clues to where you should be serving.
…Don’t ignore your interests; consider how they might be used for God’s glory. There is a reason that you love those things.
-Rick Warren, “The Clues to Where you Should be Serving,” RickWarren.org, September 26, 2015
Last January my friend Heather shared this quote in a lesson at church about making goals for the New Year. This quote inspired me to make some specific goals according to my interests.
My goal to make dolls was my favorite from last year. It only brought joy…and empathy…and love…and friends.
I realized that writing is a way I can serve. I gave myself permission to write, from little pieces about family and motherhood, to letters and journal entries. I learned that people enjoy a great letter; that sometimes a piece of writing is just the right thing to help someone through a confusing or heartbreaking time. I have loved writing our family stories to share with the kids and Richard.
I focused on music, resolving to always have a piece or two ready to perform on my violin. I wanted to be more prepared for last minute requests to play. I played only two times in public last year, but I was calm and prepared. The extra practice made a difference.
There were other goals, met with varying success, but I learned that our interests ARE an indication of where we can focus our efforts and serve people best. So many New Year’s resolutions are about improving what we can’t do well. Last year I learned to make goals that emphasized my strengths and interests to help others. It was a good year.
They Looked to their Mothers
Our children perform piano pieces in front of judges once or twice a year. I think it makes the piano teachers happy to have some validation for their efforts. I also think that these events push the kids to work harder and achieve a higher level of mastery. I’ve seen my children blossom under pressure and falter under pressure. I experience it with them, whatever the result.
One year at a judging event, I sat in a different place in the audience than I ever had before. Normally the audience faces a profile of the student and if you’re lucky, you can be on the side of the audience where you can watch their fingers fly over the keys. At this school where the judging was taking place, the audience surrounded the piano in a half circle in a choir room. I watched the pianists play through a window created by the raised grand piano lid. Framed by a wooden support and lid, I had a full view of their faces.
I watched many children perform through this new window and I noticed something I hadn’t seen from a profile view. Almost without exception, when a child ended his piece, he looked immediately to his mother.
They looked to their mothers, not the judges, not their peers. I met my two boys’ looks with silent, fervent approval and encouragement to carry them through the long pause while the judges made their notes between pieces. My inaudible support included a pantomime to remind them to breathe. I watched the other parents in their silent motions and expressions do the same.
I’ll always believe that the best honors go to mothers, and it’s not in the usual form of great accolades or certificates. It’s in the form of hastily-crayoned words on a lopsided, handmade heart; it’s being the person the child runs to when in danger, during sickness, or in times of worry; it’s being the person they want to talk to when something goes really well; it’s in their looks of vulnerable hope, framed under the piano lid, hoping to find encouragement. It’s enough for me to see my children look to me in times of trouble or excitement to know how important my job is.
Room transformations
We have transformed a couple of rooms during the past few months. Decorating is hard for me. I need to agonize over things for months, even years before I do something new. The other day when my visiting teachers came over, they were so kind and raved about the changes. Now I have some confidence to share some pictures. A lot of the changes are just rearrangements and repurposing of things we already had.
The living room just off the kitchen has never been very good for accommodating guests and conversation, so we bought a couple of inexpensive sofas, broke up the 3-piece entertainment center into two units, and hung some mirrors over a really scarred wall we were hiding behind the television. The television is no longer the focal point. We have it tucked away behind doors in the corner. This room is a better gathering place now.
Yes, my red rug is very Downton Abbey.
Over the past year our invisible projects with wiring have made some transformations possible in the upstairs bedrooms. Our master bedroom was the summer project.
I am old fashioned and traditional. Period.
We decided it was time to get a larger table in the dining room. Richard and I had an adventure buying it, racing to get the last one left in town. We moved the smaller table downstairs for a school table. Mark was growing out of his little desk.
Phew. This may be silly to post these, but I have learned that I like watching our houses evolve into homes through pictures. This post is for me.