tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57775802721141739252024-02-22T04:12:47.597-08:00frazzled & frumpyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger625125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-54024577301549220782022-09-25T15:20:00.003-07:002022-09-25T15:20:39.760-07:00On Turning 56 and Leaning In<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrQaXaFwygFTfteshWaTgZPrjcFydhSM39aFuJINfjMNlnQtNW-c_6Pm0pzhwLtigMoDkRn4-L4jAAFV4p8Wvhe23wUIkAAldHvnowODts9ky98NC2baaMicgJCNKzw6gXG11x7sSABB_jYeFt9vyN3Jsjg5dQaOREF5Vt11XZNI1y9V_z9zHGwSEo/s1600/Happy_birthday_cake-8%20copy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrQaXaFwygFTfteshWaTgZPrjcFydhSM39aFuJINfjMNlnQtNW-c_6Pm0pzhwLtigMoDkRn4-L4jAAFV4p8Wvhe23wUIkAAldHvnowODts9ky98NC2baaMicgJCNKzw6gXG11x7sSABB_jYeFt9vyN3Jsjg5dQaOREF5Vt11XZNI1y9V_z9zHGwSEo/s320/Happy_birthday_cake-8%20copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The last few months, every time I thought about my birthday, I thought about </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">turning 55. Then, one day I realized–I AM 55. What? </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’ve never minded my age,</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; white-space: pre;"> never feared getting older. But this whole nope-you’re-already-55-you’ll-be-56 </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">has thrown me for a loop. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So, what does one do when they feel like they’ve lost a year? How do you </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">celebrate a birthday? What do you do with this year? </span></p><p><span id="docs-internal-guid-06cf6a29-7fff-6541-9e02-c691eb25ffb5"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’ve pondered this during the last week, wondering about goals or a theme word </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">for the year. Then, while mindlessly scrolling Instagram reels I saw a clip from </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">an interview with Brene Brown and Oprah. Brene was talking about vulnerability </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and joy. She told a story about a man who said he was always afraid of the </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">joy-filled moments because he was waiting for something bad to happen. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So, he stayed ‘in the middle’, never being too joyful so that if something bad</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> happened, he was ready. If something good happened, it was a nice surprise. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Then, in his 60’s he and his wife were in an accident and his wife was killed. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">He said that he wished he had ‘leaned into the joy’ while she was alive. </span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Oh.</span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Do you do this? Worry every time things seem to be going great? Think about</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> what might go wrong? Imagine scenarios just waiting to fall? Try not to enjoy the </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">happy times too much, just in case?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This is so me. </span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Listening to Brene Brown talk about vulnerability and leaning into joy made me </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">realize I’m missing out on amazing moments. Living ‘in the middle’ is not how life</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> was meant to be. Yes, hard times will come. Trials will arrive on our doorsteps. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And, there will be tears. BUT, there is also much joy to be had. </span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So, this, THIS is my 56-year goal, my phrase for the year. I am going to</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> ‘Lean Into the Joy’. I will embrace the happy moments and feel them fully. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I will hold my new grandbabies (I have 2 new ones, by the way) and spend time </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">playing with sweet Rory. I will savor all the times I have with all of my children </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and revel in the travel and new places I get to experience. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiy-2sPuYTFDhrs0EDm2gaEdvMfNU7qFTs8w2Ev1v2yhWAYfEK1EH4TqE4G3kRzLbSBEAM_UpKCiV4ezfgvZa30g3XUpwtVRy3Snju95Wudej5k9OH727cfXFnVTrkMH-tM1fDMblj89dnR_2erbJ9zUOjkHvbYm4tLkjmBR8qgXl2uR6QQvF1Y3-I/s1080/Lean.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiy-2sPuYTFDhrs0EDm2gaEdvMfNU7qFTs8w2Ev1v2yhWAYfEK1EH4TqE4G3kRzLbSBEAM_UpKCiV4ezfgvZa30g3XUpwtVRy3Snju95Wudej5k9OH727cfXFnVTrkMH-tM1fDMblj89dnR_2erbJ9zUOjkHvbYm4tLkjmBR8qgXl2uR6QQvF1Y3-I/w332-h320/Lean.png" width="332" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Will there be hard times and trials? Surely. But, I will get through them and look </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">for the joy on the other side.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Happy Birthday to me.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-20243436860821679562020-09-11T11:38:00.002-07:002020-09-11T13:41:32.366-07:00A Thank You Note to Oregon<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKYc0HO7Lwsf3ZLeAI38_YKd8J9vzPkisjtQ6SnAVIZvLoiiGPjRk7sHg26ICuEPb1QkOJfiC7_OOSZIQO7HuaRQBAP16vFDVhcgmViGUOWzM5GnYE7P7fEfL9w8uQAo2xZZZxmffgMNs/s2048/20200819_121556.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKYc0HO7Lwsf3ZLeAI38_YKd8J9vzPkisjtQ6SnAVIZvLoiiGPjRk7sHg26ICuEPb1QkOJfiC7_OOSZIQO7HuaRQBAP16vFDVhcgmViGUOWzM5GnYE7P7fEfL9w8uQAo2xZZZxmffgMNs/s320/20200819_121556.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dear Oregon,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Amid the chaos that has gripped our world, we decided to keep our plans and take a much needed break from everyday life. We loaded up van and cars and took a road trip of a life time. And, I'd like to thank you. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thank you for rocky lakeshores and sandy ocean beaches, breathtaking waterfalls--for trees and rain and sunshine in perfect quantities. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thank you especially for memories--</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">-of my granddaughter chasing ocean waves and running across green lawns, splashing in the hot tub and yelling "Papa" down the hall. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Af3lKhESY_gqKkanFLKha9ZLhH4mZnGVvANCuQo-FH8kV0OwJ6OIxadvtG-uFv0CzHYQN2TSAWCP-5tzRMxwH0zoc2nC4GVf9FqwrOSgFlyserPRMc0BFJRfThYkU7hEieH644tmmmM/s2048/20200819_084109.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Af3lKhESY_gqKkanFLKha9ZLhH4mZnGVvANCuQo-FH8kV0OwJ6OIxadvtG-uFv0CzHYQN2TSAWCP-5tzRMxwH0zoc2nC4GVf9FqwrOSgFlyserPRMc0BFJRfThYkU7hEieH644tmmmM/s320/20200819_084109.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCdIPtuIHqaCQ84hcKAjqLcgqJwAwxWQevGjIaGVI6ZODCZFE0DiCXvecRi3jMMiDobyjgoVcWU6fi2kgt9x_6SLM0nlR-40h5uvtY9WehBJFarT6YQeGVSwQ52NaMJJGVwMEYJRCbRs/s2048/20200820_125930.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCdIPtuIHqaCQ84hcKAjqLcgqJwAwxWQevGjIaGVI6ZODCZFE0DiCXvecRi3jMMiDobyjgoVcWU6fi2kgt9x_6SLM0nlR-40h5uvtY9WehBJFarT6YQeGVSwQ52NaMJJGVwMEYJRCbRs/s320/20200820_125930.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">-of my grown and almost-grown children talking, laughing, playing in pools and lakes and ocean.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MoWg18VPXgcYcoBnrozVU51TVSZnoRf1ur0PfFLFpNenNU4hXo_Oz1Ksx0CUnT0JreoH_CkIkLuxDlk_vAM5QxmFn-Md4aqR3Ppr5073piX4geDGHCvZlPzlAMgrq0oftcTJB1fsmE0/s2048/20200819_160508.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MoWg18VPXgcYcoBnrozVU51TVSZnoRf1ur0PfFLFpNenNU4hXo_Oz1Ksx0CUnT0JreoH_CkIkLuxDlk_vAM5QxmFn-Md4aqR3Ppr5073piX4geDGHCvZlPzlAMgrq0oftcTJB1fsmE0/s320/20200819_160508.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ3uhF4MhwPJWMYrnNmdfPNa0bCGvZdirHUIHyBtFFBiC-7wAg7M8ECk-_t53s_lbkEVCS639ateYBzcFUizaX7oO-W9r7hMQw1YDdLM1qQLfG55Qr5DDtJmdaEnp8idHnhdhNE9LYseE/s2048/20200819_160606.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ3uhF4MhwPJWMYrnNmdfPNa0bCGvZdirHUIHyBtFFBiC-7wAg7M8ECk-_t53s_lbkEVCS639ateYBzcFUizaX7oO-W9r7hMQw1YDdLM1qQLfG55Qr5DDtJmdaEnp8idHnhdhNE9LYseE/s320/20200819_160606.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZ1D7H4jewMsi_H_rsvwl3yZjFxBP_hs4RLBbH-zFOXJUPmWkVd9sCjmPmcWTzjstGWTYJs5PtfaNJIfmi80XSp03DeDrB-si-YUW7MxWO1JrxxLj15B8xTsISy3p-jtAOmqDXYH3AUM/s320/20200819_161135.jpg" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">-of shopping and souvenirs and seafood</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1iN3ps_1hkGRE-VD_pT6reTC7Rz9e7tDy5TD90cLjDcYsE8ZjaIiWzsWcmZrNq9Zm1zxYZJlLV5DyKD21z923vqVNgm_-6SfSD94lf6kQJo8PSH9B7LPeI9giiFtt4dhujf1aC7pIKI/s2048/20200820_172706.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1iN3ps_1hkGRE-VD_pT6reTC7Rz9e7tDy5TD90cLjDcYsE8ZjaIiWzsWcmZrNq9Zm1zxYZJlLV5DyKD21z923vqVNgm_-6SfSD94lf6kQJo8PSH9B7LPeI9giiFtt4dhujf1aC7pIKI/s320/20200820_172706.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">-of scary moments that turned out okay and sad-missing-you-moments that turned into surprise arrivals.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrob3V8Vf9ysgtI7N2NOgCBdGEw3-APII1yziAVw302yc8hJ_ZbrXXbNJ29Vm3OgjFNVb0vNbnKd45cy1h5he0cvJaeMt2dWJ4qOpoRkLr_q6ix5rDdgXh5_KqBhbkzQaTOHxPJuKRAH0/s2048/20200818_134545.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrob3V8Vf9ysgtI7N2NOgCBdGEw3-APII1yziAVw302yc8hJ_ZbrXXbNJ29Vm3OgjFNVb0vNbnKd45cy1h5he0cvJaeMt2dWJ4qOpoRkLr_q6ix5rDdgXh5_KqBhbkzQaTOHxPJuKRAH0/s320/20200818_134545.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">-of lazy mornings waking when we wanted and unhurried days of exploration and adventure.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCE85INbCGRA0A_29W6R3XaYMb1SrdtYwm7FfDHzTOJ0AlgZlav9YQWGFuJQhD_JK2SKQDTYJHSfqCBWOnKvGj4aIIRXZMsVNau5izCUW0r8MhS1day3VXJGnF_zt30dHE13M0v9kOtxU/s2048/20200821_192349+-+Copy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCE85INbCGRA0A_29W6R3XaYMb1SrdtYwm7FfDHzTOJ0AlgZlav9YQWGFuJQhD_JK2SKQDTYJHSfqCBWOnKvGj4aIIRXZMsVNau5izCUW0r8MhS1day3VXJGnF_zt30dHE13M0v9kOtxU/s320/20200821_192349+-+Copy.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhfOXdF9H-tjJl_qZVQQXHAgThVH9QdVxwp8C1QALihSZCEHXb-FvZ33CTv2R6YusafU5mOKgMgT-rfZSLM_MDPUY8jQtc6c5spKuxjg5ockxx297K4xj-XZhta_Ncvo3GKDbur5Ukz0/s2048/20200821_100804.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhfOXdF9H-tjJl_qZVQQXHAgThVH9QdVxwp8C1QALihSZCEHXb-FvZ33CTv2R6YusafU5mOKgMgT-rfZSLM_MDPUY8jQtc6c5spKuxjg5ockxx297K4xj-XZhta_Ncvo3GKDbur5Ukz0/s320/20200821_100804.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">-of long drives through a canopy of trees--a thousand shades of green speeding past on both sides, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7RQB4bKKZMXBxiKX8d4pCWw9lcyOeFsTRymh0jGOXXQFDgCqv0JhPRdqOaczFjHOxDGJC23SVs0PeImIn0fKk268QC1BO7qVG6AgZlvEgRSRcvc8FxatbyTJ9eRmk_tUVF5aBljT2j8/s2048/20200820_112259.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7RQB4bKKZMXBxiKX8d4pCWw9lcyOeFsTRymh0jGOXXQFDgCqv0JhPRdqOaczFjHOxDGJC23SVs0PeImIn0fKk268QC1BO7qVG6AgZlvEgRSRcvc8FxatbyTJ9eRmk_tUVF5aBljT2j8/s320/20200820_112259.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">-and an enormous, winding river welcoming us and then bidding us farewell. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sDZamBsCkhsebmTmNh05chLNTyJRDGsnpu16KEu0Hr-XZjCJeZrJt-k0OUDt-AFFwRYAwz1vnfeHUfQuDy9N2t-iXp6Mc_DFFJNzDldJAEzi6lpwq2_Cx0gu-1zOzy7_zbV5_fwZ874/s2048/20200817_195154.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sDZamBsCkhsebmTmNh05chLNTyJRDGsnpu16KEu0Hr-XZjCJeZrJt-k0OUDt-AFFwRYAwz1vnfeHUfQuDy9N2t-iXp6Mc_DFFJNzDldJAEzi6lpwq2_Cx0gu-1zOzy7_zbV5_fwZ874/s320/20200817_195154.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thank you, Oregon, for an almost perfect vacation filled with perfect memories. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNRPwzulPNE25V98V43WrZ2_qlwaVyBH0E4m1zW93ncJ507t9V_QptLvypAXlPDUkmd70kq8BDb8oaZTyp_gn0XqCd7Z9za8J2aI8j2pV9l-IMdIR88ge5GqZ9_Y-oj7GlwK-pXsMBOU/s2048/20200818_121830.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNRPwzulPNE25V98V43WrZ2_qlwaVyBH0E4m1zW93ncJ507t9V_QptLvypAXlPDUkmd70kq8BDb8oaZTyp_gn0XqCd7Z9za8J2aI8j2pV9l-IMdIR88ge5GqZ9_Y-oj7GlwK-pXsMBOU/s320/20200818_121830.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-56143639195016653612020-05-10T08:07:00.002-07:002020-05-10T08:12:15.313-07:00Mothers and Daughters<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2Nlrv-0JjMGMNrUaanTPmgfIwhonjsAiB1Xhs1x-R-TKAVWIEClnqeqtOj03Ew3LnDkaGXKu8uJQGZ0L9TOGxmXC4rPcGR_Y7v9nu0x4xt69PT1HxBv0ueKYvjN7OUEsdDtKgD433Ig/s1600/mesadie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="376" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2Nlrv-0JjMGMNrUaanTPmgfIwhonjsAiB1Xhs1x-R-TKAVWIEClnqeqtOj03Ew3LnDkaGXKu8uJQGZ0L9TOGxmXC4rPcGR_Y7v9nu0x4xt69PT1HxBv0ueKYvjN7OUEsdDtKgD433Ig/s320/mesadie.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Sadie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I wrote this poem for a poetry class on Walt Whitman. At the time, my daughter was expecting her first child--a daughter. I decided to share this poem as a Mother's Day gift to my mother, my daughter and all the mothers and daughters. There is a unique and priceless link between mothers and their daughters, it has been that way since the beginning and will always be.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphNusHkksuzjY3xvR71omTUSA3QxLasS0nAA8-kxqpNJxj8i8FvswwOrfHGJLYfuwRbIedXmBvbBgvkosN2pDc5iCLo-mn7MX48FWxPYiY8L66adbLkNNvxiLmL8gvThmAkbL54SKEdM/s1600/julia.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="506" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphNusHkksuzjY3xvR71omTUSA3QxLasS0nAA8-kxqpNJxj8i8FvswwOrfHGJLYfuwRbIedXmBvbBgvkosN2pDc5iCLo-mn7MX48FWxPYiY8L66adbLkNNvxiLmL8gvThmAkbL54SKEdM/s320/julia.PNG" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My grandmother, Julia, with my sister Heidi, me, and my sister Ellen.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvG9x-uDWgp4ECm_rl8RX63T7S-Bat4JrSUJFHkYfuuoPv9eihdq9jFMFQyb7KreVq8M97sJ2sDdqNpVjffhe7VF2ks5KBwW73aLpuACZzESMYjbtOs0VvJQ_QIC8MpMeNzQ5zIOX8PA/s1600/4gen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvG9x-uDWgp4ECm_rl8RX63T7S-Bat4JrSUJFHkYfuuoPv9eihdq9jFMFQyb7KreVq8M97sJ2sDdqNpVjffhe7VF2ks5KBwW73aLpuACZzESMYjbtOs0VvJQ_QIC8MpMeNzQ5zIOX8PA/s320/4gen.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four generation, Me, Sadie, and my mom, Diane, holding Aurora. (Rory)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<b><span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mothers
and Daughters<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My grandmother died thirteen
years ago,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">at death, not the woman she had
been. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Julia was a gardener, she grew
petunias, raspberries and children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She loved roses and jewelry and
my grandfather…not in that order. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She was short, petite, fierce.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My mother is alive, a fighter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Diane is a baker, a singer, a
gardener. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She loves my father, her
grandchildren and sewing…in that order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She takes care of others, before herself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I see myself in both of them. I
am daughter, granddaughter, mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I grow children, but cannot
garden,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am not a singer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I love my children, my husband,
writing…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">the order depends on the day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My daughter is a young wife,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sadie is a new gardener, life
growing inside her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She loves her husband, her child,
her art…in that order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She is spiritual, and funny, and
fierce. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">The women before her have
bestowed gifts and traits,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Which she will bestow on her own
daughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The line goes on,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Golden and strong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We are mothers and daughters,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">and mothers and daughters, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">and mothers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ySey4bjEwhYtmmZ7JsEy9oS3Xts3LS-ryzYZ3Bdh99S96kwpixkUaB_JXz5vJQopXlp1us5i5AKZqFL9CjAM-ZUaJPKnjv01dP35TsAJMOGfRwoBo4bk4zaIWZ1hoR5B62jVODnwmm0/s1600/DSC_0681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1090" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ySey4bjEwhYtmmZ7JsEy9oS3Xts3LS-ryzYZ3Bdh99S96kwpixkUaB_JXz5vJQopXlp1us5i5AKZqFL9CjAM-ZUaJPKnjv01dP35TsAJMOGfRwoBo4bk4zaIWZ1hoR5B62jVODnwmm0/s320/DSC_0681.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-47635374972088869222020-03-17T20:04:00.000-07:002020-03-17T20:04:12.173-07:00What I Would Have Her Know<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCdH0Gy_ufuEq3652ypB97bCDyRGPCyycfpN3VTMjJbf9fL8Zh-ADSxoSiyvLFtNaM9cBXITByAbVBx43CQOH6JhGnHL45RnIcS1plefHgvborVlUGVRyA_nfBz8K3vgmeCzSb5sMOzP8/s1600/DSC_0786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCdH0Gy_ufuEq3652ypB97bCDyRGPCyycfpN3VTMjJbf9fL8Zh-ADSxoSiyvLFtNaM9cBXITByAbVBx43CQOH6JhGnHL45RnIcS1plefHgvborVlUGVRyA_nfBz8K3vgmeCzSb5sMOzP8/s320/DSC_0786.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I’ve thought about what to write about the world right now. I decided I would write a letter to my granddaughter who is 18 months old. She will only know about this virus and the chaos it brings through stories. She won’t remember the fear of getting sick, or the panic of shoppers clearing the shelves. She is blissfully unaware and happily cocooned in the protection of toddlerhood. Lucky girl.<br />
<br />
Dear Rory,<br />
<br />
Today you came to my house for dinner. It’s Sunday and this is what we do. Your hair fell in your face because there was no church and your mom didn’t want to bother you with pulling it back. As usual, when I held out my hands, you fell forward into my arms. This is the best part of my week.<br />
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Our world is topsy-turvy right now and I wish I had your sense of none-of-it. To you, all is the same. All is well. You are fed and played with and held by so many loving hands. Your uncles fight over who gets to shower you with attention. In the end, Noah wins because he is your favorite. (Next to me.)<br />
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This virus has shocked us all. Even those who were prepared were taken by surprise. Here’s a rundown of what is going on—<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>The store shelves are empty. People have panicked and rushed to buy all the food they can. Toilet paper is in short supply, though no one is sure why. We’re waiting for the stores to restock, and hopefully, for calmer heads to prevail.</li>
<li>Schools have closed. This means Uncle Noah and Uncle Max are home for at least 3 weeks. They think it’s a vacation, but that will change when the teachers get their schoolwork ready. Uncle Spencer is having his college classes online, which is good. His work at the school will be put on hold, which is not so good.</li>
<li>Church has gone fully home-based. We were prepared for this by our amazing prophet over a year ago. This is such a testimony to me that we are led by our Savior and that He knows the end from the beginning. I look forward to going back to regular church meetings, I miss the companionship of other members and the music. (We don’t sing much at home, though I guess we should ignore our lousy voices and do it anyway.)</li>
<li>Papa and I are still working. He can’t work from home and we are blessed that he still has work to do in a shop where they have only a handful of workers. I may end up working from home, but for now I go to the office where we are ‘socially distancing’ from one another.</li>
<li>My work in a travel agency is eye-opening right now. I would have never considered the fallout from something like this to the travel industry before this job. We have cancelled tours and may have to cancel more. People’s plans have come to an abrupt halt. It’s sad. We’re all looking forward to a return to normalcy.</li>
<li>Your great-grandparents are staying home to stay safe. This virus would be devastating to them with their age and health problems. Luckily we live in a time when we can keep in touch in other ways.</li>
<li>Your other uncles all work in fast food. So far, things are okay, but that could change. Everything could change.</li>
</ul>
I think that’s the biggest common factor here—change. We don’t know what will happen from day to day. The news is constantly updating with new developments, and right now they aren’t good.<br />
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But, in all of this there is one other common denominator—hope. We have hope in the fact that Heavenly Father loves His children. He knows what is happening and He knows what is best. He is in control. The best preparation any of us can have is faith in Him and our Elder Brother. We put our trust in Them and move forward, knowing we will get through this and, eventually, everything will be okay.<br />
<br />
So much love,<br />
<br />
MiaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-8889229543629193472019-08-19T10:17:00.000-07:002019-08-19T10:20:09.019-07:00On Hopes and Dreams and PlansAs an *ahem* older person, I have what some call "life experience". It's true. It's one of the best things about getting older. (There are a lot of not-so-great things, but we won't discuss that today.) As part of my experience, here is what I would say to all the 20-somethings out there, with all their hopes and dreams and plans—<br />
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Your life is not going to turn out like you think.<br />
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Oh, I’m not saying don’t make plans. Make them. Have dreams and do your darndest to achieve them. And hope, yes, please, have hope. You must have and do all of these things.<br />
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But, in the end, things will change. And that’s ok.<br />
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Maybe you’ll dream of having 6 kids, yes, 6 is the right number. And then you have 6. And, then, BAM! you find yourself pregnant with number 7. It wasn’t your plan. Or your dream. But, then you have that 7th child (and he’s not the girl you’d hoped for), but he turns out to be so much more. You sit now, with that baby number seven ready to enter junior high, and look at all your kids, and know that 6 was not the right number. It was 7 all along.<br />
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And, maybe, you’d always hoped to live in a really big house, with a huge basement that has an entertainment area with an enormous tv, and a big ‘grandkids’ room with bunkbeds and games and secret hiding places. But, you have an average house, with not much extra room and your entertainment area is just a whole bunch of game systems with wires all over the place (that you hate oh, so much). But, those game systems give your kids fun times, and sometimes they play together and laugh and yell and fill your house with happy noises. And the grandkids will love the rooms you do have because you are there.<br />
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And, perhaps your plan was for travel all over the world, but instead you just go on short trips to close places. But those trips are with family and you have the best time sliding into a river or playing cards till late at night. And laughing. So much laughing. And you realize that it isn’t so much where you go, but who you go with.<br />
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So, young people, have your hopes and dreams and plans. But, also, plan for change. Be flexible and learn to compromise. And realize that happiness is in the people you surround yourself with. Dream of that.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-35958791337940525452018-01-22T14:26:00.002-08:002018-01-22T14:26:46.528-08:00Just One<br />
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I have one New Year's Resolution for this year. <b>One.</b> Because I seriously suck at resolutions. I thought maybe I could do one. Because I'm really good at peer pressure and all the peers have resolutions and they're pressuring me (without even meaning to) to make one.<br />
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So, OK already. Stop pressuring me.<br />
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Ready? Here it is-<br />
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I <strike>resolute resolve determine</strike> (whatever!)<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm going to write <strike>everyday</strike> more. </span><br />
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I know blogs are sort of passe, but this is an easy place for me to write. And, yeah, no one reads them, but it's more about me, you know? Because I'm all selfish like that. (I'm not. Or I try not to be. If I am, will you tell me?)<br />
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I have about a hundred classes* and I have to write for ALL of them, which you would definitely not want to read,(technical writing-blah.) but I need some creative stuff, so yeah. Here it goes.<br />
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*I'm the queen of hyperbole. I actually have 5 classes. But it feels like a hundred.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-78324635757749542972016-05-20T08:38:00.000-07:002016-05-20T08:38:11.306-07:00365 Days<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBt2dqxpkomliJE2rJbhUILH4095a2bUNdp_9SHTsMwBzu2LLkpoThvUwCJzMZF6cVIkur6ZjguLYta3FFUVmq4lSl8Z4psRoP2LCXkT-8Tb82GWkWD1HaPilp_mz5K_EA8-o5vIVFzAs/s1600/sadiemtc2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBt2dqxpkomliJE2rJbhUILH4095a2bUNdp_9SHTsMwBzu2LLkpoThvUwCJzMZF6cVIkur6ZjguLYta3FFUVmq4lSl8Z4psRoP2LCXkT-8Tb82GWkWD1HaPilp_mz5K_EA8-o5vIVFzAs/s320/sadiemtc2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sadie just minutes before entering the MTC.</td></tr>
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Our church is big on preparation. Prepare for your future. Prepare for catastrophes. Prepare for you callings. Be spiritually prepared. We are taught it all our lives.<br />
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Prepare.<br />
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Sadie was trying to prepare me. Or Someone was.<br />
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From the beginning, my girl was ok to leave me. At the tender age of two, she toddled off, holding my sister Ellen’s hand as she left for a sleepover. No looking back, no tears or requests to ‘come home’. She chatted all the way to Ellen’s house and happily spent time with her, only sad when she was returned to me.<br />
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At eight, she went to Girl Scout camp. A week with her BFF in the Utah mountains, making boondoggle and singing songs. Still no homesick tears.<br />
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I have let her go over and over. Girls camp. Youth conference. Scout camp. I should have been prepared.<br />
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We are <i>all</i> prepared, we Mormon parents. It isn’t like it’s sprung on us. A mission- SURPRISE! We know they’re going. We talk about it as they grow. (“When you go on your mission…” “Where do you hope to go?) We plan for it. The smart ones save for it. We <i>know</i> it’s going to happen.<br />
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But can anything really prepare a mother?<br />
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365 days.<br />
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Today it’s been a year. A year since I kissed and hugged my girl goodbye. A year since I watched her walk confidently away. A year since she didn’t look back.<br />
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I have longed to be there. To share in her adventure. To watch her learn. To hear her teach and testify. To carry her when she struggles. To hold her when she cries. To cheer her in her joys.<br />
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But this is her journey.<br />
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The year hasn’t been easy. She has faced rejection, illness, discouragement and even sorrow over the death of a friend. For all these things, I have been a distant observer. Emails offer little comfort or support.<br />
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But I have also seen her growth.<br />
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My shy girl has become bold. And sassy. She unflinchingly testifies of what she knows and she doesn’t back down. The girl who feared teaching a small Sunday school class, now bravely knocks on doors, teaches on porch steps, in homes and on the street. She is fearless and confident in her testimony of the Savior and His gospel. She is happy in the face of trial because she knows Whom she serves.<br />
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365 days. A year since I’ve heard her laugh. A year since she climbed onto my bed. A year since she laid her head on my shoulder.<br />
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My arms are empty but my heart is so full. My girl has grown into a woman. A Woman of faith and truth. A Woman who leads and exemplifies all that is good. A Woman of Light.<br />
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I didn’t need preparation for that.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One year later.<br />Woman of Faith and Light</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-77331886654982710722016-03-31T09:25:00.000-07:002016-03-31T09:25:14.639-07:00Can You Hear Me Now?Gah!!<br />I am so out of practice with this blog-writing thing. I start a post, then erase it. Start another and erase it too. Then I go on other blogs to get inspired and all I get is discouraged because they are obviously <i>not</i> out of practice. <div>
Sheesh. </div>
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Here's the thing- I'm going to be in <b><span style="color: #cc0000;"><a href="http://listentoyourmothershow.com/" target="_blank">Listen to Your Mother</a></span></b>. (Which, if you don't know, is a nationwide show that celebrates motherhood. It's amazing. You should go. It's May 5th.) And, if you go on the <a href="http://listentoyourmothershow.com/northernutah/2016/03/29/northern-utah-2016-cast-announcement/" target="_blank">site</a> and click on my name, it brings you here. To my blog. My very, very neglected blog. (If my blog was a kid, someone would call DCFS.) And, though I doubt tons of people will be clicking on my name, if they do, they'll see my sad blog and think I'm lame. </div>
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(I am lame, but I really don't want to have verifiable proof.)</div>
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So, I'm trying to get back into practice. </div>
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If my announcement about LTYM seems familiar, that's because I've done it before. Three years ago. It was incredible. Life-changing. (and about seven other adjectives) Doing it again is... scary. What if I'm not funny? This is a real fear for anyone who tries to be funny. Remember Marlin from Finding Nemo?</div>
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But, I'm doing it. Because I'm a mom. And what moms want is for their kids to listen to them. And if they can't have that, then they'd like anyone to listen to them.<b> </b><i><b>Anyone.</b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></i></div>
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P.S. Wanna listen to me? And twelve other fabulous people? You won't regret it, promise. You can get tickets <a href="http://www.thanksgivingpoint.org/listentoyourmother" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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P.P.S. You can watch my first video, too. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0_r5GvaepU" target="_blank">Tired Mom.</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-26396462037231211822015-12-27T09:33:00.000-08:002015-12-27T09:33:21.421-08:00Merry Social-Media Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I scrolled through my facebook and Instagram feeds this morning, I found myself feeling a bit overwhelmed. My breathing quickened, my heart raced and I thought I might be having a panic attack. What was wrong? you ask. (Thanks for asking.) But, really, nothing. Nothing was wrong. Everything was right. So. Very. Right. It was...Perfect.<br />
Yes, I'm talking about the "Christmas of 2015" posts. Holy crap! You all had a great year! And as I looked through all the pics- fancy tables, gifts piled around the tree, beaches, and Disneyland- I realized how lacking I am. I mean, seriously, I suck at Christmas.<br />
But then a little voice whispered (I hear voices, don't judge), "No one's life is like that all the time."<br />
Oh, right. It's the social media bear trap. You know, where everyone posts all the best stuff in their life while behind the scenes they're just as screwed up as the rest of us? I'm guilty of it. Yeah. I delete pictures and crop and filter the ones I post. Ain't nobody need to see my gray hairs and wrinkles! I put up our best and brightest moments, too.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(I'm not in the picture because my hair wasn't done. <br />And I didn't have a Star Wars shirt. And it's out of focus.Like me.)</td></tr>
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<br />
So, while I was thinking about all this perfection,and the guilt it creates, I decided I'd give you all a belated Christmas gift--and tell you about my failures this Christmas.<br />
<br />
<b>Fail #1- I am over this Santa thing.</b><br />
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It's been 23 years I've had to pretend about Santa. And, no, I'm not a Santa-hater, I think it's great. But after a while, you get tired of having to come up with an explanation about why your kid gets a Nerf gun from Santa when his friend down the street gets an XBox1. Noah (the only one left who believes in the Big Guy) told me a few weeks ago about a gift he wanted-<br />
<br />
N-I want a remote control BB8 for Christmas.<br />
Me- Um, ok. Let's look that up. (furiously typing on computer) Whoa. That thing costs $200. How do you think you can get a gift that costs that much?<br />
N- Uh, <i>Santa.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
It took every ounce of willpower I had to not say, "Yeah, Santa? That's me. Always has been. And I don't have $200 for one gift."<br />
Maybe next year he'll find out the truth.<br />
<br />
<b>Fail #2- We had help.</b><br />
Here's a little confession- we didn't have enough money for Christmas. I know, I <i>know</i>, no one wants to talk about money. It's uncomfortable, But I'm going there. We have one income, I'm in school full-time, six kids at home and a missionary out. Big surprise-money is tight. So, we had help. Some very kind and generous people helped with our Christmas. Here's the thing, we all want to <i>give</i> service at Christmas, but no one wants to acknowledge they need help and therefore, don't want to accept it. Hey, people, how can anyone give service if no one takes service??? It's ok to need help now and then, we all do. (And, if you don't need anything, but someone wants to do something for you, let them. Don't deny someone blessings because of your pride.)<br />
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<b>Fail #3- My house is not clean.</b><br />
<b></b><br /><b></b>
Nope. We straightened and I made the boys vacuum on Christmas eve, but it wasn't spotless. I don't know when's the last time the kitchen floor got mopped (all this snow? ten minutes and it'd be muddy again). We sat on Christmas morning surrounded by wrapping paper and candy wrappers and paper plates. With smiles on our faces. We can clean later, the mess isn't going anywhere.<br />
<b></b><br /><b></b>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Faces like this are more important than mopped floors.</td></tr>
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<b>Fail #4- We ate unhealthily.</b><br />
This probably isn't a big surprise, we all splurge during the holidays, right? But, our Christmas doesn't consist of a fancy-sit-down-tablecloth-and-china dinner. I made a ham. And rolls (Rhodes, because I didn't want all that work). I managed to ruin the "good Jell-o" by forgetting it was in the freezer to cool. It was a bright red mess of glop. I also forgot the veggie tray fixins. So, we had ham and rolls, and sausage and cheese, and candy. I don't think any of us ate a single vegetable all day. (Yet, somehow, we're all alive.)<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Fail #5- My kids played video games. All day.</b><br />
Hello, my name is Julie, and I let my kids play video games.<br />
They all asked for video games. So we let them play video games. All day. Guess what? It was <b>quiet</b>. All day. Yeah, now who's crazy?<b> </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Fail #6- We weren't spiritual.</b><br />
OK, this is one I do feel guilty about. We usually start Christmas day with family prayer and some reflection on the true meaning of Christmas. This year, I was tired. And excited about skyping with Sadie later. And, we skipped it. And, we didn't lose our testimonies or forget why we celebrate.<br />
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<br />
So there it is. My not-so-perfect Christmas. Don't get me wrong, I love social media and I LOVE seeing into the lives of my friends. This is just a gentle reminder not to compare our failures to the stuff we see online. Be fair. Be kind. Love yourself a little more. And give yourself a break. You're doing just fine.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"> Merry Christmas!</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-43149277540364526352015-10-06T08:16:00.000-07:002015-10-07T08:17:44.134-07:00Shallow Reflection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-60425358118732560222015-10-01T08:19:00.000-07:002015-10-02T08:21:06.989-07:00Destiny unfullfilled<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-90212806677911655922015-09-29T10:44:00.000-07:002015-09-29T10:44:05.305-07:0049 is Fabulous<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Last week was my birthday. It wasn't a "big" one that ended in a zero. All the same, it felt big. Maybe because the one ending in zero is next year. And that zero will have a 5 in front of it. Yes, it's true.<br />
I turned 49.<br />
<br />
And honestly, I'm wondering how the hell it happened. No, I'm not kidding, not being glib. I really don't understand how I'm suddenly an 'older' person. OK, maybe it wasn't so sudden. I've been 'older' for a few years now. But, this year, I feel it.<br />
<br />
I could blame it on college. I walk around campus in the ant-like crowds and can't miss the age differences. I'm fully aware of the smooth skin and tight <i>everything</i> on those kids. They're overly stylish even in their I-don't-care fashion. They talk about dating and roomates and who just got home from what mission. I walk among them as invisible as a tree--something to maneuver around.<br />
<br />
But it's more than my new-found student-status. It's my children getting older, leaving home, having babies. It's the aches that don't go away and the wrinkles that appear and mock my moisturizing routine. It's seeing movie stars my age and saying, "Wow. They've gotten old." and realizing, so have I.<br />
<br />
And it's the number.<br />
<br />
49.<br />
<br />
Over the weekend, the Handy Man and I went 'away'. I know, a few miles down I-15 to a different city may not seem exotic. (It wasn't.) But a couple days with no kids is a vacation in my book. And I had an epiphany--being older is not bad.<br />
<br />
We went to a dear friend's reception.(She's my age.) We sat in the beautiful garden, ate the tomato pesto soup and pineapple coconut cake, My friend and her new husband (who knew each other as teenagers and reconnected all these years later) grinned and held hands. Young love may be nice, but this, new love after years alone, this was bliss.<br />
<br />
We slept late because we could. We didn't worry about the kids at home because they can take care of each other. We sat in the hot tub, silently intimidating the teenage boys to vacate after just five minutes. We went to the movie in the middle of the day. We ate dinner where we talked about personality tests and where we'd really like to vacation. (Puerto Rico is at the top of the list.)<br />
<br />
And as we drove home, I thought about my age. And decided to own it. I've earned the wrinkles and the stretch marks. I've lived through happy times and moments when my world seemed to end. I've raised my children with love and the gospel. I've taught and I've learned, tried and failed and succeeded.<br />
<br />
And the thing is, I'm nowhere near done.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-41344149846840881582015-08-31T12:31:00.002-07:002015-08-31T12:31:53.561-07:00Your Mom Goes to College<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjWfDcLduDt6Zqi_jBIRZqRVfL-1UPaZG_Gr_0-e6X2A7f-Pjc-LJIcLjLDSPvqMVLWA-wpNTZjEDMdtrUM-XO5bDofUuIw3xDo6-VaExTGR_UmukclEeqs4FcF8XTEqnoPXEYbmUx2s/s1600/InstagramCapture_879c948e-2e1e-49e0-9994-95948f2a2d2c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjWfDcLduDt6Zqi_jBIRZqRVfL-1UPaZG_Gr_0-e6X2A7f-Pjc-LJIcLjLDSPvqMVLWA-wpNTZjEDMdtrUM-XO5bDofUuIw3xDo6-VaExTGR_UmukclEeqs4FcF8XTEqnoPXEYbmUx2s/s320/InstagramCapture_879c948e-2e1e-49e0-9994-95948f2a2d2c.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(One of my classes today.)</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
Today I started a new chapter in my life. It's called,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Your Mom Goes to College</span></div>
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As my first day at Weber State ended, I realized there are a few things that might happen if you return to school after twent--mffshh *ahem* a lot of years. </div>
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If your mom goes to college she might assume that buying a parking pass means she'll just arrive and find a place to park. When she spends 35 minutes trying to find a parking spot, she might start swearing. A lot. She also might almost hit another car. And then, when she realizes she's already late for class she might just park illegally on a residential street screaming "Screw it! Give me a ticket!" and then run to class. </div>
<br />
She might arrive at her first class ten minutes late. Arriving late might give her anxiety<b>*</b>. Then she might spend the next hour trying to pay attention to the teacher while also wondering how much her parking ticket will cost.<br />
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If your mom goes to college she might search through the crowds trying to find someone, <i>anyone</i>, who isn't young enough for her to have given birth to. She might not succeed.<b>**</b><br />
<br />
She might wonder if she's the only one whose feet hurt because she wore those damn flip-flops. Because they were cute. Then she might notice that about 89% of the students wore flip-flops. She might try to ignore the fact that the 89% have young-enough-to-be-your-kid, non-plantar-faciitis feet.<br />
<br />
If your mom goes to college, she might run to her car after class, prayingthat she didn't get a ticket. She might see a parking meter-maid (who is not a maid, but an old, gray-haired man) just three cars away from her minivan. Upon seeing said meter-man, she might run to her van to get there before he does. Then she might jump in and drive away as fast as possible, laughing and thanking heaven for small miracles.<br />
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If your mom goes to college, she might arrive home ready for a nap and hopeful that day two will be less stressful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>*</b>I am a habitually punctual person. Like OCD-punctuality. Being 5 minutes early is late. Being ten minutes late--I might die.<br />
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<b>**</b>With the exception of my second professor. His salt and pepper beard comforted me.<br />
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(If you don't get the Napoleon Dynamite reference, I highly recommend you to find the movie and watch it, preferably late at night when you're punchy.)</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-44762173275685882132015-06-10T20:24:00.000-07:002015-06-10T20:24:50.690-07:00Hold On<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There has been a lot of tragedy in our lovely state this week. Several families were altered forever. Lives were changed. Futures suddenly uncertain and dark. The story of the <a href="http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=34949728" target="_blank">Bear Lake accident</a> was all over the media, both locally and nationally. It broke our hearts and made us all hold our loved ones closer.<br />
<br />
Thing is, tragedies happen everyday--quietly, without any fanfare or notice, except by those affected. Whether public or private, one thing remains the same--we all experience heartache.<br />
<br />
As a member of the human race we all go through trying times. We try to avoid it, but Heartache is the master at hide-and-seek. It finds us. It squeezes our hearts, wringing them out till we feel drained and lifeless. But, it isn't so. It is the pain that reveals how very alive we are. It is the intense, immense love in our lives that allows for the ache, fosters it.<br />
<br />
It is hard. It is hurtful. It is meant to be.<br />
<br />
Grief and sadness, trials of all kinds, are the things that make us who we are. Because we love, we hurt. Because our lives are full, we feel the emptiness when it comes. We must taste to bitter to appreciate the sweet.<br />
<br />
And, these things, this agony, link us to each other. We may not all have the same experience, but we all experience suffering. We can hold hands and hold each other. We can show up, give hugs, pray.<br />
<br />
These are also the things that link us to the Savior, the One who bowed below all. He who knows the most about love and pain has paved the way for us. He is the One who understands. He is the source of our Hope.<br />
<br />
The hope He offers is a shining beacon of light. It is a life preserver thrown just within our reach. Grab on. <i>Hold on</i>. He will keep us afloat. He will pull us to safety. <br />
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He alone understands the tears and the heaviness. He has experienced the lonely hours and endless nights. He will share our burdens and lift up the hands that hang down. He is the light of a new day.<br />
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So hold on, the Light will come.<br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-49689237580238613172015-05-29T08:30:00.000-07:002015-05-29T08:30:00.774-07:0080's Music RocksToday's all-alone-at-7am-on-the-freeway-so-no-one-can-hear-me-sing-at-the-top-of-my-lungs songs-<br />
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<br />
You should have heard me. I was awesome. Well, not really. I think I had a pack of dogs following me.<br />
<br />
I love 80's music.<br />
That is all.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-1861199489206452472015-05-27T08:30:00.000-07:002015-05-27T08:30:01.401-07:00Frazzled Confessions<br />
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The Handy Man came home from work today, took one look at our room and said,<br />
<br />
"It looks like the dryer threw up on our bed."<br />
<br />
(Maybe I should fold some laundry.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-79394485290630272372015-05-11T06:30:00.000-07:002015-05-11T06:30:01.913-07:00A Better Day<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(This was originally written four years ago. Funny how time passes, but the feelings about motherhood stay the same.)</span><br />
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<a href="http://jenapincott.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/sunshine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://jenapincott.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/sunshine.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This afternoon, Noah begged me to push him on the swing. I dragged myself outside to help him. No underdog, he informed me. I complied . It only took a couple pushes because (hooray!)he’s learned to pump. I stepped back and laid on the warm, black surface of the tramp. The backs of my eyelids blazed red as I soaked up some much needed vitamin D. I laid there, listening to the creak of the swing, taking deep breaths, thinking about my day and how much more relaxed I felt than the day before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I’m not made for being a chauffer. I counted a total of 7 trips I made on Wednesday. (Almost a half tank of gas! Ga!) I came home angry and frustrated. I growled at my kids and was prickly to my husband. Once dinner had been served, I parked my car-seat-shaped-butt on my bed, announcing that I was <i>not</i> moving for the rest of the night. I didn’t. When I said my prayers, I’m ashamed to say, I was still cranky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Lucky for me, we have a Father who knows and loves us, even when we’re grouchy. He knows what we need, even when we don’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I was supposed to have another day of running back and forth, but things turned out differently. I was able to be home. I cleaned , I vaccumed, I laundered. Funny how the things I complain about were the very things I needed to do to feel normal again. I sat with Noah on my lap to watch cartoons. Heavenly day- we both took a nap! When the kids arrived from their next-to-last day of school, I was <i>there</i> and happy to see them, to listen to their stories and admire their artwork and serve up less-than-nutritous snacks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Today, my loving Father gave me what I needed. A day of home. A day to be a mom. A day to rest. Tender mercies to remind me that I’m known and loved and watched over.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-11754461886712500322015-05-08T06:20:00.000-07:002015-05-08T06:20:00.052-07:00My Mother's Day Card for You<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://th02.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2012/342/0/b/_rotg_mother_nature_by_joscomie-d5ne3su.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://th02.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2012/342/0/b/_rotg_mother_nature_by_joscomie-d5ne3su.jpg" height="320" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Original <a href="http://wavesheep.deviantart.com/art/RotG-Mother-Nature-341620158" target="_blank">here</a>.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>She</u></b><br />
<br />
She is not hidden, silent or withdrawn.<br />
She is there, if I seek Her.<br />
<br />
She is in the craggy mountain peaks,<br />
Snow covered, tree lined majesty.<br />
I see her in the brilliant blue of sky,<br />
She lives in the curve of my body,<br />
And, the soft lines on my face.<br />
<br />
I hear her voice in the song of wind<br />
Lifting poplar leaves.<br />
She is in the call of hawks, grand and resonant,<br />
She echoes in the sweet, simple sound<br />
of my child’s laughter.<br />
<br />
I smell her when the breeze<br />
Carries the scent of spring,<br />
Cherry blossoms, lilacs, petunias.<br />
She is there in fall,<br />
In the crisp air, the fragrance of earth preparing to rest,<br />
The taste of tart apples, sweet plums,<br />
A bountiful harvest.<br />
She is in the taste of salty tears<br />
Filled with sorrow or joy.<br />
<br />
I feel her in the cool of rain on my skin,<br />
In the warm sun, the tingle of breeze,<br />
A lover’s touch.<br />
She is in my heart, each and every beat,<br />
I feel her reflected in the love I have<br />
For family, friends,<br />
Nature.<br />
<br />
She is not hidden, silent or withdrawn,<br />
She is everywhere and everything,<br />
She is around me, beside me,<br />
Inside me.<br />
<br />
She is Mother.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-89420822540582206422015-05-06T06:07:00.000-07:002015-05-06T06:32:27.476-07:00Feral ThoughtsSome days, ideas come to me like a spring rainstorm. Thoughts drop and pelt my brain until they flow over into my fingers and onto my screen. I cannot type fast enough as my thoughts race ahead of me, looking back, urging me to hurry.<br />
<br />
<br />
Other day, ideas avoid me- wild, feral cats who want nothing to do with my tame brain. I chase them, getting oh, so close. Just as I'm about to touch one, grab it's striped tail, it scurries away and hides beneath a rock. Then, I sit, hands still, hoping one of them will wander over and join me. They stay back, watching me warily, sending an occasional hiss my way.<br />
<br />
Today is a cat kind of day. And, I really don't like cats.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyE_kSyVXfEgVVg9j9D3bnaGEmo6JEpqPeFtEtA-AEZaCHF38eQmFmSyXn81MDoruahZnUz_kAXUP2HqLKn605i3Txxfk3JhIt3apl1Gf4VWOsfpLdanyL61T0ztY0rmgjLdD1SNEfP4/s1600/DSCF8914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyE_kSyVXfEgVVg9j9D3bnaGEmo6JEpqPeFtEtA-AEZaCHF38eQmFmSyXn81MDoruahZnUz_kAXUP2HqLKn605i3Txxfk3JhIt3apl1Gf4VWOsfpLdanyL61T0ztY0rmgjLdD1SNEfP4/s320/DSCF8914.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(I'm definitely a dog person.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-77366516255589075082015-04-17T07:00:00.000-07:002015-04-17T07:00:06.947-07:00Random FridayIf my dog ever runs away, I'll know it's because when he tries to jump on our bed and fails, we laugh at him. (It really is funny.)<br />
<br />
My son volunteered to wash dishes last night. (*ahem* teenage son) This makes me so happy I can hardly stand it.<br />
<br />
As soon as I leave the room, the Handy Man turns the TV to ESPN or some other sport-report-clip-thing. When he leaves, I turn it to news. Or search to find an episode of The Big Bang Theory. Or Friends.<br />
<br />
All the times that I've gotten a flat tire, only once has it happened on the road. Every other time, it's been at home. I'm just lucky that way.<br />
<br />
Maverick now has styrofoam cups for my diet Coke. I feel a bit like they did this just for me. Because I'm probably their best customer.<br />
<br />
I am obsessed with Sam Smith. Ob. Sessed. I have four of his songs on my phone and I listen to them daily. It makes me feel a bit less 'out of it' and old. (This one is my favorite!)<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-18809924897556915702015-04-16T12:48:00.000-07:002015-04-16T20:04:54.497-07:00My Heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLYEluX5jzRxtzjepubd6WNB_LIre4oD0tf6OS4OpndygBPGA3CjdGDb1ZicoyVkIBoUiIhx2X7llI3j79bqRolsNHSZxGdYEljQ-ZshHuUq-gaQ60jElv4um2PRZD5RVmQGRgSY2Wl4/s1600/WP_20150409_004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLYEluX5jzRxtzjepubd6WNB_LIre4oD0tf6OS4OpndygBPGA3CjdGDb1ZicoyVkIBoUiIhx2X7llI3j79bqRolsNHSZxGdYEljQ-ZshHuUq-gaQ60jElv4um2PRZD5RVmQGRgSY2Wl4/s1600/WP_20150409_004.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
This girl has my heart. (Yes, all of my children do. Of course.) But there is something undeniable about the connection between female hearts and minds. Our spirits are entwined in eternities. A golden thread binds us. From the moment the ultrasound tech said those magical words, "It's a girl." my soul has known her. My daughter. My sister. My friend.<br />
<br />
A couple of years ago Sadie decided to go on a mission. Often, when people heard this, their reactions were heavily seasoned with doubt.<br />
"Oh, you're <i>thinking</i> of going?"<br />
"Yeah, we'll see."<br />
Or her favorite, "You'll be married by then."<br />
<br />
Others may have doubted. I never did. And neither did she.<br />
<br />
After months of getting 'stuff' done, including getting her wisdom teeth pulled, her papers were finally submitted three weeks ago. And then we waited.<br />
<br />
One week ago, the big white envelope arrived.<br />
<br />
Now, most missionaries have some place they hope to go. Most of them are wishing for exotic locations and new languages to learn. My girl was no different. I worried silently that her call would be a disappointment if she stayed in the states. I prayed that she would know, no matter where, that she'd been called to the right place.<br />
<br />
That night we gathered, my kids, my parents, a couple of friends, and watched with bated breath for her to tear open the envelope and begin to read.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93rnWi-kDH4Mb12MD0igZwyulEww-gI9bgIS65mPykM5bxgAT3rSfIT3-rDya8NCWLr0llqsE0bh-LY7ypAOXWsPLK7pKVXZ7f5zO0QlNFQ5RTLPcTuf3YcFSn59vZ3KEV-xOLTGoeNw/s1600/WP_20150409_002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93rnWi-kDH4Mb12MD0igZwyulEww-gI9bgIS65mPykM5bxgAT3rSfIT3-rDya8NCWLr0llqsE0bh-LY7ypAOXWsPLK7pKVXZ7f5zO0QlNFQ5RTLPcTuf3YcFSn59vZ3KEV-xOLTGoeNw/s1600/WP_20150409_002.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
"Sister Sadie Diane DeMille, You are hereby called to serve in the Pennsylvania, Pittsburgh mission."<br />
<br />
<br />
It isn't a foreign mission, but for a girl who hasn't traveled much, it is a world away. She's thrilled. And, she got one other wish--to leave soon. She departs on May 20th. A short forty days away.<br />
<br />
The next month will be filled with preparations, shopping, packing and trying to fit in all those movies we wanted to watch together (and almost an entire season of Downton Abby!) I haven't cried. Yet. I'm reveling in the newness and the excitement. I'm forcing thoughts of her being gone for 18 months from my mind. There will be time for tears later.<br />
<br />
For now I will spend as much time as possible with her. I will soak her in, her smiles, her laughter, her kindness, her testimony. I will try to store up as much of her as I can to keep me going when she's not just a door away. And when she leaves, I will let her go and I will wait patiently for my heart to return.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-34491956464429650022015-04-09T06:41:00.001-07:002015-04-09T06:41:15.502-07:00Spring Break in My HeadThe school's spring break happened last week-- we all stayed home. Which of course is no break for me. I spent a lot of time on social media and got to see all the people who did fun things during the kids' week off. A couple friends took their families to southern Utah, and some went to California. Someone even went to Hawaii.<br />
<br />
<b>Hawaii?</b><br />
<br />
You know, that's not so great. I hear Hawaii is highly overrated. Palm trees and beaches. Whatever.<br />
I mean, we're cool, too. We did <i>lots</i> of fun things during our week. I loved it. I wish it had lasted longer. Yeah, like a whole other week, cuz, you wouldn't believe what we did.<br />
<br />
My kids played video games...I mean, they played in a video game tournament. Yeah. And they won. And it was just the state level and now we get to go to nationals. Yeah. That's it.<br />
<br />
And, we watched TV, uh, no, we were <i>on </i>TV. Yeah. They were filming High School Musical- the Ten Year Reunion and we were, you know, extras. We danced and... we sang. I'm a really good singer, Zac Ephron said so. Yep, when the movie comes out, look for us.<br />
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<br />
Also, we colored eggs, er, I mean, we dipped our eggs in gold. Yeah. Pure gold. And we donated them to the less fortunate kids who only get regular eggs. We're really philanthropic like that.<br />
<br />
One day, we went swimming<strike> in the pool</strike> with dolphins... and sharks. Yeah. In fact, we fed dolphins to the sharks. And, I got this really cool shark tooth when one of them bit my chain mail suit. Yeah. I made it into a necklace. I'm wearing it right now. Too bad you can't see it.<br />
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And, to top it all off, I got a massage. From...Michael Buble, yep, Michael. He's a really good masseuse and he sang to me while he massaged. It was very relaxing.<br />
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What did you do on your break? Bet it wasn't as cool as ours.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-18182440816085790542015-04-06T13:18:00.000-07:002015-04-06T13:18:28.333-07:00I Am a Soul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://patriciamasar.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/19th-century-painting-of-women-dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://patriciamasar.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/19th-century-painting-of-women-dancing.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.25em;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.25em;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: static;">"You don't have a soul. You <i><b>are</b></i> a soul. You have a body."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: static;">(C.S. Lewis)</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: static;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: static;">I am a soul, or a spirit. And, as a spirit, I am eternal and glorious. I was given a body to house that spirit, and, someday, my body will be as eternal and glorious as the celestial soul it encompasses. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">This is one of those truths that I have to relearn over and over. So I think it bears repeating. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: static;">Our bodies are important. If not, Satan wouldn't care what we did with them. But he does. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: static;">If Satan had a 'hit list' of the things he attacks, we could agree that the family is at the top. I believe that our bodies run a close second for a couple of reasons-</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: static;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><u>Firs</u>t- he doesn't have one. He's quite the jealous type, you know. Our bodies are something he will NEVER have. Man, that has got to tick him off. And, if you can't have something, and you're basically a hot-head, you don't want those who do have that something to enjoy it. You'd like nothing more than for them to dislike or even despise it. You'd want them to think badly about it, to abuse it, to put it down and try all kinds of drastic means to change it. You'd use drugs, alcohol, sex, plastic surgery, food and peer </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">pressure to get people to destroy their temples. And, if you have the media to help you, all the better.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><u>Second</u>- Our bodies have power. We have the power to<b> create</b>. We can create art and literature, music and dance, buildings, technology, really, the possibilities are endless. Most importantly, we can create <b>life</b>. Living, breathing human temples to house more glorious spirits. And, through that, we create <b>families</b>. Which brings us right back to number one on his hit list. He can't create anything, except turmoil, which doesn't really count. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">I am a soul. I have a body. I am choosing to love this body, faults and all. I pledge to care for it and give it the respect it deserves. It may not be glorious, yet, but it has the potential and the promise that someday it will be. </span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-7129334550391041092015-03-18T21:07:00.001-07:002015-03-18T21:07:14.820-07:00Keep Your Hands and Arms Inside at All Times<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.foreverwriters.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/easy-chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.foreverwriters.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/easy-chair.jpg" height="273" width="320" /></a></div>
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Have you ever had those times, when life is like an easy chair? All comfy and soft and warm. You are relaxed and happy and-- gosh! why not put your feet up? Sigh. Easy.<br />
<br />
What you may not have noticed, as you sit there with your chips and diet Coke, is the five-point harness strapped around you. And the click-click-click of the track beneath you. Oh, and the fact that you're view is suddenly filled with sky and clouds.<br />
<br />
Hang on, hon, because this ride is about to get real.<br />
<br />
I started my day like usual with a few of my kids hanging out on my bed. I was on my laptop and from the corner of my awareness, I heard my son, Max, making a weird sound.<br />
<br />
"Stop it. Please." (I was being very calm and patient.)<br />
<br />
"I can't."<br />
<br />
I turned to look at him and my heart dropped. His head kept making involuntary jerks while his mouth made a 'tch' sound.<br />
<br />
"I don't know why I'm doing it."<br />
<br />
Stroke. Seizure. Tourrettes. A lifetime of teasing. All these possibilities ran through my head. My calm ran away from me like a feral cat. So, I did what any self-respecting non-medical person does. I googled it. Apparantly, motor tics are common in children. Really? Do you know any kids who have them? I don't.<br />
<br />
I let him stay home from school, wondering if I'd set a terrible precident. If this continued, he couldn't stay home everyday. I don't have either the patience or the skill set to homeschool. And Max is a social kid. He needs his friends.<br />
<br />
I called the doctor. We went in and his exam was completely normal. (With the exceptions of the head jerks, which had calmed somewhat.) The pediatrician suggested he go off his ADHD meds for a couple of days. Perhaps a change in doseage, or a change in medication would help. Mostly, we're at a point of 'wait and see'.<br />
<br />
So, my Lazy-boy is now screaming down the incline and into a dark tunnel. Wind in my hair, stomach in my throat, I am holding on for dear life. I can't see the way ahead, but because I've been on this ride for a while, I know there are plenty of twists and turns to come. It's terrifying and thrilling at the same time. But hey, it's life, meant to be lived, struggles and pain, success and joy.<br />
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Besides, sitting all comfy and warm just leads to a wider seat. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777580272114173925.post-66841906723428190952015-03-16T09:25:00.000-07:002015-03-16T09:25:23.513-07:00My Imperfect Faith<br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"In moments of fear or doubt or troubling times, hold the ground you have already won, even if that ground is limited...hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes."</span></div>
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General Conference is in 20 days. (Twenty!) I love conference. It's the highlight of my year..half year? It happens twice a year, so whatever. It's a highlight. We get to stay home in our jammies and, as my kids say, "Watch church on TV." As I say- I get to sit at the feet of prophets and hear what they know I need.<br />
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And I need it. Every time. Each talk is good. Each one inspired. But, there's always one or two that seem to have been written <i>just for me</i>. And when I hear that talk, and it touches the depths of my soul, and my question is answered, then I know- He's listening.<br />
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In preparation for conference, I decided to watch a previous talk everyday. Today's talk was by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland on faith. I remember when he gave this talk. I remember his impassioned voice and the way he got emotional. I got emotional too. Because he spoke of faith and how we don't have to have 'perfect faith', that there is nothing wrong with admitting we have doubts, but that it is imperative that we lead with the faith we possess.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> "I am not asking you to pretend to faith you do not have. I am asking you to be true to the faith you do have." </span><br />
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I have faith. It isn't perfect. Sometimes I think it's small compared to others. But, it's okay. I have to cling to the faith I have and 'journey on', knowing that each day as I work and pray and do the things I know are right, my faith will grow.<br />
My faith is enough.<br />
It's enough to get me out of bed each day, knowing there will be struggles. It's enough to teach my children truth. It's enough for them to lean on until they have faith of their own. It's enough to give of myself when I feel like there's no more to give. It's enough to help me be patient in waiting, trusting that the answers will come.<br />
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It is enough.<br />
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(Click <a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/04/lord-i-believe?lang=eng#watch=video" target="_blank">HERE</a> for the talk by Elder Holland.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0