I felt sluggish today so I hitched a ride on Mark’s enthusiasm for getting things done. I cleaned when he cleaned. I practiced the violin when he practiced the piano. I studied and wrote while he worked on school. He’s a great companion and help to me. I’m so grateful for him. In this picture he’s tied himself to the chair to keep from getting up and playing with the Legos on the floor by his desk. Now that’s self discipline!
Richard came home from a Scout camp in Goblin Valley last weekend and said he really wanted to take the family back. So we took an impromptu, quick trip with perfect weather and good company. We didn’t camp because we didn’t want all of the extra gear. We stayed in a cramped motel in Hanksville and watched super hero movies late into the night. We were gone for 31 hours, but we filled those hours full.
The boys were mountain goats. I don’t know how they had the energy to climb all day long. We loved the hike through Little Wild Horse Canyon which had slot canyons one after another, each with its own look and colors.
My floppy hat has flopped through its last trip. It’s time for a new one. I’ve said this before, though. This trip was not the same without Paige. Someone said you never stop missing them; you just get used to it. I’m not there yet. Regardless, the boys were super fun and Richard gave his all to make the trip a success, as usual. It’s good to be in this family.
I am working on getting rid of a bad habit. Whenever I am tempted to run to that familiar pattern, I try to do something else. “Do anything but [my bad habit],” I tell myself. This means that I give myself permission to do any wonderful thing that I want.
This weekend I stitched this doll to keep me from falling back to my bad habit. I did other things, too, but it’s nice to have something positive to show for my battle.
You know it’s a good time when your dinner party guests stay through breakfast the next morning… We love the Withams!
We spent a lot of time together in Arizona. In fact, the Google Maps image of our house included Melinda parking her van in front of our house. Ha!
I finished a book this week about the impact that different women have made on the world. One of the women in the book was Mother Theresa. It wasn’t the many deeds of service that she did that made the biggest impression on me. It was her words about sometimes feeling distant from God as she did good works. I have felt that way this week and other times.
In my life I expect that service and scripture study will make me feel light and happy, but that doesn’t always happen. I have learned that if we want to become like the Savior, it means that we will have days where we become acquainted with grief, a little like the Savior, who was also a “man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” And that feeling of distance from God may not always be a feeling of distance. Perhaps at times it’s a closeness to what He feels for his children, and sometimes that is grief. Of course there is always a distance between me and God, and this leads me to see how much I need the gift of grace.
I have no regrets for my time spent in the scriptures and service, even if I don’t always feel warm and fuzzy about it. I DO have regrets about my time spent doing frivolous things. 24 hours really is a lot of time each day to get things done. How much time I waste, worrying what other people think of me and following news that isn’t important!
Happy 16th! Now you can take your show on the road! We love you, Daniel.
Let’s look back on a few of the things you did when you were 15.
You learned your first concerto.
You played piano in the musical Les Miserables.
You played cello in your orchestra.
You were a freshman class officer.
You were the Teacher’s Quorum President.
You did really well in school and your AP test.
You learned to play He’s a Pirate on the piano.
You began playing the organ in church.
You went on a high adventure trip to the Grand Tetons.
You learned to drive.
You participated in bell choir.
You joined the ultimate Frisbee team.
You are smart, capable, and a good brother and son.
Timothy whipped out these drawings in a hurry last night for a book report. He is quite an artist… and reader.
Timothy is the child that surprises me the most. He goes about doing his thing very quietly. I am not successful when I ask Timothy to do things related to school or time management. He is independent, quiet, funny, and full of unheralded qualities. And he is successful. He teaches me that some people have a different pace and that he’s actually accomplishing more than I expect; his process just looks different than how I would have him work. He delights in mystery and gives the appearance of just getting by, when really he is working at his own pace on extraordinary things. I think that he makes meticulous plans in his mind before starting anything.
He’s Timothy, my young man of mystery and accomplishment.
We’ve given our hearts to many projects this week. Mark and Richard spent every evening and all day one day working on a pinewood derby car. I once went to a fireside by Noelle Picus-Pace where she talked about coming in 4th place a the Olympics and how you almost want any place but 4th. That’s the situation that Richard and Mark faced last night. Mark didn’t understand how the race was decided, and knowing that he had won all of his races, he thought he had won first place. We tried to explain that it was all about time, but in his mind, he was going to win the grand prize. He was brave, but I watched his heart break when his name wasn’t read. I watched his heart break over and over as he tried to understand what had happened. I know it’s good for kids to learn to cope with disappointment, but it hurts to watch it.
On a lighter note, Timothy played some great baseball this week and he and a partner made a model of an atom. I have never seen students take the electron cloud so literally, but I like it.
And I made quilt squares. I haven’t perfected the art of sewing a “scant” 1/4 inch seam, so 7 of my 9 squares are too small. Surprisingly, I am not too flummoxed about this. I am leaning toward just starting over rather than reworking seven more squares. It’s a good project for me, because the seams are just a few inches and I can step away and come back. Instead of long stretches of time, I have many 15-minute intervals of time in my days. I have a sewing room, so I can walk in and out of my project without having to clean up.
The project room for the rest of the family is the kitchen, and it’s a big mess. Someday I will miss the projects strewn all over the hearth, island, table, and computer desk, but today I am just getting up the courage to face it.
Last year we stopped at my parents’ round cabin in Spring Lake to say goodbye to it before it was torn down. It was late afternoon, cool and overcast. The house, no longer locked, was just a frame and some windows. All of the drywall and wiring had been taken out and demolition of the shell would begin the next week.
The only light in the house came through the windows and we could see pieces of the original construction, long hidden by carpets, drywall, and paint. I spied some tile, probably from the 1920’s arranged in a circle on the floor around the central post of the house. An intricate fish bone pattern of wood surrounded the circular pattern of tiles. I leaned down and studied the designs on the floor, which had been covered by industrial carpeting all these years. Mixed into the tile pattern were some 2×2-inch navy blue tiles with a raised daisy in each center. Daisies had been in the floor beneath our feet! I knew right away that I wanted one of those daisy tiles as a souvenir.
I found a hammer and began to chisel around a tile, only to see it crumble with my efforts to pull it up. I saw that others had had tried to harvest daisy tiles, too, because many were chipped and broken.
I really wanted to salvage some of these tiles before the cabin was destroyed. But I needed to work carefully, slowly, and patiently to extract them from their long-held positions in the cement. Large force was the worst thing I could apply, and I learned that I wouldn’t be able to salvage many in the time I had. Finally, with careful effort, I was able to pull one tile from the pretty floor, mostly intact. It is special to me.
I keep my daisy tile in a frame to remind me of the cabin, but also to be patient with myself and others. It reminds me that love must accompany any kind of rescue, or patience will fail, harming the one being rescued. It’s a reminder to focus on the beauty of people, not the deep-seated habits or ideas which hold them down. And it reminds me that each person is precious and worth the effort.
