Legacy

Sunday morning I got a phone call from the ward organist saying she had a sick child and asking if I would fill in for her. I love to play the organ and readily agreed. The closing hymn was "Come, Come, Ye Saints." As I sat tucked behind my extra-large print hymn book playing that hopeful hymn, my heart was touched. I was overwhelmed by the spirit of those early saints and the sacrifices they made to live close to the Lord.

Tears come easily to me and this was no exception. With both my hands and feet busy and a corner of my eye committed to watching the music director keep the beat, I hardly had a second to compose myself. In the end, I couldn't. By the middle of the second verse the tears were hot and stinging and by the third verse they spilled over and streaked my face. By verse four I was lucky I could see the music at all for the abundance of tears and they began to drip down and splash onto my lap.

I suspect no one saw my moment of emotion. That moment, however, was one deep in my soul and long in the making. My pioneer heritage is one I've always treasured. I want to make sure my children know the stories that have most blessed me and have left such strong impressions on my faith. It is impossible to separate me from my forebarers. I thought I'd record a couple of my favorite stories and memories of important people in my life and family history. I'll probably do them one at a time as time and a little memory touch up allow. I am certain that one reason we are to do our family history work is that we might become more well rooted in who we are, understand where we came from and go forward armed with the knowledge of where our ancestors were going and how we, too, might get there. My stories hail from Norway, Wales, England and New Zealand and trecks West for the most part. But I think I'll also include some of those stories of my loved ones who have braved new roads in other ways. It is vital that I remember these people and their experiences.

Just this past Saturday I was sitting in the Celestial Room of the Palmyra Temple stuck in a moment of befuddlement when I quieted my mind and suddenly had the words, "all is well, all is well" enter my thoughts. I sense that recording these memories will help me sort out some of the things that are on my mind lately. So between peanut butter sandwiches, long swims in the pool, and the piles of laundry to do and floors that need mopping, strength will find me as I find the strength of those who have gone before.

Oh to be Three

There is magic when my three-and-a-half-year-old son comes in the room. He is a delight to be around and everything he touches {or laughs at} just turns to gold. I thought with only a few short weeks before A starts his days as a preschooler and things will forever change, I'd pay a little photo tribute to my boy.

Photo above: A decided he wanted to be a magician one morning when we were folding laundry and he found his cape in the closet. He insisted that he needed a magician's hat and wand. We spent the rest of the morning looking at pictures online and in books until I had the exact picture that A wanted for his magician paraphernalia.

On a side note, the beautiful cape was made by my sister-in-law, Juli, who even in the mist of her own suffering with a loosing battle with cancer made this for A's birthday. We just got word that Juli is only anticipated to live a few more weeks. What a fitting tribute from my son that he should want everyday to wear that cape made by the aunt whom he prays for in every prayer.
The Smith Farm in Palmyra, NY.
Sacred Grove, Palmyra, NY
Cousins. West Lafayette, IN
Raspberries from our garden.
J sent A into the house to give me a big fat raspberry on the first day of picking. A promptly showed it to me and ran out of the house. When J asked A how I liked the berry, A just shrugged. J asked what happened to the berry. A's response: "I think it accidentally got into my tummy!"
Korean War helicopter at a local air museum.
Happy Hollow, IN
Father and Son Campout.
Cleaning the mess hall at the Father and Son Campout.
Avoiding the rain while hiding out inside the tiny pup tent at the Father and Son Campout.
Dancing on a Thursday night at a local concert in the park.
An geologist in the making: "take a picture of my rock, Mom."
Or and archeologist: "Take a picture of this piece of glass I found."
Blowing bubbles for Dad for Father's Day
Hoggle Zoo, April 2009

A Child's Prayer

Getting A to pray can be a chore. He just doesn't want to sit still and calm down his little body. This morning he came into my bedroom while I was kneeling down to say my morning prayers. He has learned to be quite and save his questions for when I am done. Later he saw his father kneeling in the office saying his prayers as well.

He came in and told me that he'd forgotten to say his morning prayers and told me he was going to go pray. I asked him if he needed help and with an excited little "no" he ran off to kneel by his bed. I listened from the kitchen as he offered the sweetest (and longest without-help) prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help him feel the spirit at Church today, among other things.

For all the poking and prodding and reminding and asking and crying and laying prostrate rather than kneeling that happens, it is moments like this that make me think that maybe, just maybe I'm doing something right.

(Photo: Hoggle Zoo, Salt Lake City, UT April 2009)

My Mother's Laundry

One of my favorite stories my mother tells is about a day when she was drowning in laundry. She had five or six children at the time and was feeling a bit overwhelmed. She thought to herself as she sat among the mounds of laundry, "what would the Savior think if he came into my house right now?" Immediately the impression came to her that he would just sit right down and help her fold laundry.

In many ways I take after my mother. I'm not a spotless house keeper. I have a somewhat short attention span for lengthy projects. I tend to have a bit of a temper sometimes. But, I also hope that I am as kind as she is. I hope that I love the Lord as much as she does. I hope that I will always be willing to do and serve in any capacity that is required of me, just as she has and continues to do. I hope that I can learn to listen to the spirit as carefully has she has though out her life.

My mother is a joy to have in my life. Growing up she used to always tell me how important it was to be well rounded. Mostly I'd roll my eyes and head off to another piano lesson, or tennis match, or to write a story for the school paper. She really believed that talents came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. She is my inspiration in many of the decisions I've made in my life. She encouraged me to do and be anything I wanted. There was no limit to my capacity. For the most part I've taken that philosophy and run with it. I hope that when I grow up I might be like my mom and be the same kind of inspiration to my family.

Thanks, Mom, for always seeing in me what I couldn't see in myself or could only just catch a glimpse of at the time.

Here's to you on this Mother's Day. Here's to all the laundry that never got folded. Here's to the moments that will be sweet in my memory because I let the laundry slide. Here's to the most noble calling a woman can have. And I learned it all from my mother.

You Might Need a Haircut When...

About six weeks ago I lost my favorite hairclip. It's torteous shell. It holds my hair well. I tried to buy some news ones and the Target I went to didn't have any. Then I went on vacation for a few weeks. I took a hairdryer and didn't even take it out of my suitcase. I rarely dry my hair. I don't usually need to because I like taking night showers and have naturally curly hair. Last Sunday I had to take a morning shower and got out the hairdryer to dry my hair for Church and found that the hairdry was broken. In that moment I realized that between my missing hairclip and my broken blowdryer, I have worn my hair in a ponytail every single day for nearly two months. It is probably time to get a haircut. I always say when all I ever do is put my hair in a ponytail, it is time to get it cut. Maybe that will motivate me to get a better start on my day and get my feet under me a little better so I feel a little more forward-looking on tackling the tasks of the day. Thanks, Tisha, for the reminder that doing your hair can make a big difference.

13.1 in 2:24

The SLC Half Marathon was so much fun. I ran 13.1 miles in just over 2 hours and 24 minutes, a little slower than I had planned, but I finished. (That was the first question my primary class asked me today, "Did you finish?") I ended up running the 1/2 marathon with two sisters, one brother, one-brother-in-law, and one (and only) husband and, somewhere in the crowd, my good friend Maren who got me started in this whole business. My sister-in-law ran the 5K. My brother ran the 1K with five of my nieces and nephews. Two other sister and two other brother-in-laws along with my kids my parents and a few other nieces were fantastic cheerleaders throughout the race course. My Colorado sister planned on coming, but she got snowed in and couldn't get out of town due to the three feet of snow that fell.

My parents were at the bottom of one giant hill at about about mile 11. I was about ready to walk the rest of the way and then I saw them with my two boys and that got me motivated to push through and keep going. By that point my arms of all things were just aching. Next time I'll work on upper body training.

All the way up the hill I just kept thinking that when I turned the corner onto South Temple I'd be right there at the Salt Lake Temple. When I saw the temple I started to cry. For anyone who has read my previous blog entries about running when I cry, you'll remember that I tend to hyperventilate. This was no exception. I had to calm my self down and just breath. I was about a half a mile from the finish line and felt so grateful that I'd come so far and was almost there. It was like this great metaphor for life. We work hard, we prepare and we pass through difficult moments, but, seeing the temple reminded me that, just like in the race, life is so worth the effort.

J and I crossed the finish line together and it was so great to finish with him (he hardly broke a sweat, by the way). I thought I might die for the hour following. But I think it was just lack of sleep and eating the wrong food before I ran (and the night before, and well frankly, the whole week before). It was amazing. It was a stretch physically and mentally. I learned a lot and will do a few things differently next time... and yes I plan on there being a next time. Who wants to do it next year? Hopefully there will be other chances for races later this summer and fall that are closer to home.

I am so sorry to those of you we planned on seeing and didn't get a chance to see. Having the two boys by myself for two weeks turned out to be way more stressful and exhausting than I imagined. We do love you and hope you will still be our friends anyway.

I feel a little like Paul when he wrote to Timothy, "I have fought the good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith."

Whatcha' Reading?

"I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think that decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves." -Anna Quindlen

In my free time lately I've been doing a lot of reading (that amounts to about twenty minutes or so a day, by the way). I've just read and am reading two books that have compelled me to take a deeper look at how I'm doing to truly live my religion as a practicing Christian. I just finished Three Cups of Tea and am currently reading The Robe.

Three Cups of Tea is a true story of one man who fights poverty, illiteracy, and terrorism by building schools and doing other humanitarian projects in Pakistan and Afghanistan. The book focuses on educating girls in particular. We must never underestimate the role a bright and confidant woman can have in the lives of her children and those around her. More than anything the book has made me take a hard look at this war that we are fighting. I think I've all but ignored it mostly out of habit. I took and interest to it when I read the fantastic book A Thousand Splenid Suns and then the interest waned. This story, however, is true and really give me hope that good will prevail. It also forces me to face the idea that I do very little community service. I tell myself that my family and my church responsibilities keep me busy enough. But I feel like those are just excuses some times. There is more to me and I would do well is get out of my comfort zone.

The Robe is an entirely different book. It is the fictitious story of the Roman soldier that got Jesus Christ's robe after the Savior's death. I'm still working through this book, but so far I'm intrigued by what Christianity must look like to one who has not been raised in the Judeo-Christian tradition. The philosophical exchanges between characters show how there are questions and problems like who we are, where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going that resonate with every religious, and irreligious, tradition and culture.

The book also makes me think about my outward oblations as they compare to my inward commitments and covenants. The church to which I belong has a number of rites and rituals that are a physical outward reminder of our personal covenants. This was a way of life--to the extreme--for the Jews 2,000 years ago. I often find my mind wandering and wondering about the sincerity of my outward worship. As do most people, I believe that my actions are sincere. I avoid hypocrisy, but also acknowledge that I am far from perfect and too often give in to my lesser human nature (like the way I just polished off half a package of cinnamon graham crackers while writing this blog entry). The author paints a remarkably ugly picture of the Sanhedrin in particular. They embody and define hypocrisy. On the other hand, Christ is a real and super-read being in this book. People can identify with him, yet he is so much more than a leader and a king. I think I forget what a personal connection that is well maintained with Christ himself can do for my soul.

Both books have made me look more introspectively into how I spend my time, who I am helping and how I live what I know to be true. Both are good reads and worth the time and effort.