The great cherry tree in my neighbor’s backyard, the focal point of my view out my kitchen window, suffers. One half of its leaves and branches wither, just as its owner did before his passing a few weeks ago. One half is still healthy enough to show green leaves. I have found inspiration in this tree over the years to keep going, enjoy the blossoms and red cherries, and endure long winters. Now, it reminds me of loss, and of the burden of living with half.
As eternal beings who are the offspring of God, something within us cannot be comfortable with halves. The Lord knows this about this, and has a plan to make us whole as we step forward with our fractured halves… of understanding, a partnership, ability, vision, purpose, joy, testimony, or strength.
One way he makes us whole is through the sacrament. Last Sunday, I heard the word “souls” in the sacrament prayer. We come to the sacrament table as souls, two halves of a whole: spirit and body. I learned that the emblems, blessed and sanctified, were for for the benefit of both my body and spirit. I learned that God is involved in the tangibles of toothache just as much as the imperceptible needs of the spirit, homesick for heaven, but not ready to be there.
At age four I could mimic the life I wanted as I played wedding, house, and office. My closet was my kitchen; my neighbor, my groom. I dressed and held each doll differently, as any mother does. I kept lists of things to do, places to go, and rents paid.
At age fourteen, I took my first Zoology class and this steered me to science teaching. I was also voted “most likely to become a seminary teacher’ that year.
At age twenty-four, I had a Zoology degree, a husband, two babies, and a class of teenagers who showed up at my door for my seminary lesson at 6 am every school day.
At age thirty-four, our children were all with us, and I taught home school. I also played science teacher to dozens more at a community center.
At age forty-four, my heart stretches to embrace a child living across the world, and toward a soon-to-be new son holding my daughter’s hand. I teach mostly through encouragement, whether at home or at church. I know now that there are many ways to teach.
I had the audacity at age four to act out my future. There was no fear in my play, only hope and love. I need to take a lesson from my four-year-old self: if I can hope and love, it will be enough, because God is the one who planted these desires for family and influence inside of me. He is the one enabling me to accomplish His purposes. He knows which songs I love best, and has blessed me to be able to play them because he loves me.
My four-year-old self did not foresee an end to the little house life, nor that the children would challenge us deeply. Perhaps it’s that immature self inside of me that feels some defeat in reality. But this stretching and fatigue is not how the story will end. This is the part where it gets really interesting.
The younger Timothy and I spent a lot of time each year picking out the perfect Halloween costume. Now, we spend time searching out the perfect color of tie and suit; we sift for the right fit for a shirt, and I have learned many elements of his signature style. He is wearing Mark’s shoes in these pictures because at the last minute, something about them called to his sensibilities, “dancing shoes.” Timothy is all about the details.
A bearded man came for a visit this week and he and Richard took off to the hills to meet up with family and then some friends. The leaves are late in turning this year, so the views are mostly green. And by the looks of things, we have fed Rob beef every day this week.
A fixture is something you think is necessary and useful in a house or schedule, and once it’s there, it becomes part of the landscape. You hardly think of it.
I am challenging many “fixtures” in our home and lifestyle.
The computer desk in the kitchen for kids? Not needed. They now use the kitchen table and my laptop on which I control access.
Books we own but did not enjoy and will not read again: donating those.
Fabric from the past twenty-four years: down to one box.
Cards and letters: while so meaningful to me, the objects themselves don’t bring happiness. It’s relationships that do that. I am parting with many of these pieces of paper.
Collections: what can’t be displayed and enjoyed is not needed.
Papers showing our children’s home education: I have learned most of these are not important to them, and just a few treasures are important to me.
Craft supplies: many of these have not been used since Paige was a little girl. Most can be donated.
Ultimate Frisbee: Just one night a week now, in a city league, not the school team.
Piano lesson times: changed to fit MY schedule better. This has made a huge difference in my stress levels, and we found times to make everyone happy.
Working through these objects and activities is also making me work through my history, my dreams, and my insecurities. It’s no surprise that a home is the best place to find out what a person is really dealing with. Apparently, I have real issues letting go of reminders of my children when they were young. This is silly because while they were adorable and smart and fun back then, they are even more interesting now. I love the new depth possible in relationships with my adults and teens, and it is so exciting to watch them soar. I am also learning to stand up for my personal needs when it comes to scheduling the kids and taking on obligations. I cannot run the pace that others run. For my gifts to flourish, I require a lot of stillness and order, and a good, real, in person conversation with someone every single day.
The dog is healing. He finds comfort in the boys after school and Richard in the evenings. During the day, he is stuck with me, the mean one who forces down medicines, locks him in the mudroom during errands, gags at the smell of his food, and cleans up his messes while muttering threats at him. I have never been a dog person because they scare me. This experience taught me that I like our dog a little bit, after all.
I finished my study of an important topic to me in the Book of Mormon in the early morning hours on Monday. This has been my steady work for months, and considering what it has given me, it seems funny it is only 16 pages. It is my record of reconciling some things I heard in a lesson at church and what the scriptures have to say on the topic. This study helped me see how things really are… And they are not what the teacher said, and not what I thought. Still, I could feel something was off, and now I know. And the Book of Mormon is, as ever, absolutely true, and a perfect manual for life. Amen.
“We are perplexed to see misfortune falling on decent, inoffensive, worthy people….Let me implore the reader to try to believe, if only for the moment, that God, who made these deserving people, may really be right when He thinks their modest prosperity and the happiness of their children are not enough to make them blessed: that all this must fall from them in the end, and if they have not learned to know Him they will be wretched. And therefore he troubles them…” -C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain
In a stake meeting last night, we sat in a circle with the leaders of a ward that had been through a lot in the past few years, including recently, the unexpected passing of a member of their bishopric. Our Stake President asked, “What have you learned?” The answers were poignant and it was clear that each person had wrestled with difficult questions and had learned something unique.
One thing our Stake President taught was that we need to show gratitude for trials and the lessons they teach.
Earlier in the week, I wrote in my gratitude journal that I was struggling to find anything to write. Here is a list of things I could have been thankful for this week:
I am thankful to be able to visit my friends with bruises, bandages, arthritic hands, blindness, and pain to learn from them how to endure. I am thankful for their gracious welcome and when they laugh at my jokes. While their suffering makes me sad, I have learned through my visits that connection is the best source of joy in my life.
I am thankful for the 4! barking dogs behind my house because they keep strangers from lurking in our yards. They remind me how to keep friendship separate from annoyances.
I am thankful for the increase of love I feel for someone when they are suffering.
I am thankful for my own physical pain, because it helps me to slow down. It also helps me to appreciate the joy of pain-free days.
I am thankful for the struggles my children are facing because it is evidence that they are growing. I am thankful for specific understanding about a child’s struggles that came while I read the Book of Mormon this week.
I am thankful for a gracious God.
For all the blessings life has brought, For all the sorrowing hours have taught, For all we mourn, for all we keep, The hands we clasp, the loved that sleep…
verse 3 of Thou Gracious God, Whose Mercy Lends, words by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., 1869
I have posted this piece before, but I love the words.
In recent years, I have measured success in projects completed and books read, people visited and words written. By most of these measures, I failed this summer, seriously failed. However, the days were full. I did what I thought I should do each day. I put aside some things to do the invisible and unnamed. Some days I wasted time, other days I did too much. I learned that my goal to read one book a week is not a good goal. The goal should be to keep reading.
So, the lesson of summer 2019 is to keep going, even when it seems like it doesn’t make a dent. Eventually, I will finish that 900-page book, and hope to see that these days of unremarkable tasks were the making of me.
(Photos are from our Labor Day hike to Twin Lakes, which took us past Solitude Lake and Silver Lake)
