Sister-daughters

It's a story I've told three girls so far and some day I'll tell it to Violet. I was raised in a loving family where I kept the company of a mother, a father, and three younger brothers. I was every good thing an older sister is suppose to be, most especially, bossy - I was quite the proficient. Although I prefer to think of myself as one possessing leadership skills instead of "boss hog", which in the eyes of a boy child is probably most accurate.

All I ever wanted was a sister. But apparently you can't control those kinds of things.

It may have taken us some time to realize it, but now, as grown adults, my siblings and I really do like each other. There was always love there, no matter how deeply it may have been buried. But now we laugh, like a lot, and wonder why we didn't get it when we were younger. But there remained a hole right raw in my heart. I longed for a sister even more than before. I saw the way women are bonded in sisterhood and longed for the same. The comfort between them, the things they talk about, and all the unspoken they share. 

And then I began having children. 18 years, 2 sons and 4 daughters later, I have been blessed beyond measure. 

It began with Noelle. I told it to her. Of the girl who pined for a sister. And that God choose, instead, to bless me with her. A sister-daughter for me to love. Then Emma, then Nya and now little Violet. And as they grow and I tell them the story again and again, I realize that it is not now only a secret wish of a fairy tale life, but that I do actually have sisters - 4 of them, really truly. Not always will they be my babies, not long will they stay small. More years will be spent together as adults, then we ever had with wee ones in pig-tales. And all that is shared will be shared between women. 

A loving Heavenly Father sent me sisters indeed. I just had to wait a little longer than some.

everything and nothing

For those of you who still read blog posts. For those who don't live in a fairy tale. For the ones who don't judge other mothers (or try hard not to). For those who love me anyway. For those who may be struggling themselves.

I was going to start this post with the age old "mothering is hard", but really it's not about mothering at all. This is about life. Real and raw and rounded out - mothering is just one part of that. That might be shocking enough for some people. To know that "mother", although a role I hold sacred, is not who I am. And if I were to be honest, some days I want something more to look forward to than housework and homemaking. I long for adventure. Today was one of those days. What I didn't want was to face the sink full of dirty dishes. I didn't want to be grown up and responsible and, well, required. Required to be here and do this and clean that, and do it all again tomorrow.

This is also not about gratitude - for there is a difference between that and happiness. Feeling sad or discouraged is not sinful. It does not mean that you are ungrateful for or have left unnoticed the things heaven sent. I can generate a lenghty list of the blessings in my life that split my heart wide open and make me weep with thanksgiving. Being grateful and being happy are not the same thing. And discouragement can strike even the most stalwart. How we feel is not always a choice, but it is ours to decide what to do about it!

I believe I am a daughter if God. I believe He created me in love and sent me here with high hopes. I believe that I have a purpose and a mission while alive on this earth. I believe that I have been abundantly blessed. I believe that part of my journey will have me writing about real things, real feelings, and real life. And real life, although beautiful, is also imperfect and hard. I believe that I was meant to write. I believe that both hope and healing can be found when I do, not only for myself but for others as well.

You see, how we feel has very little to do with the outcome of our lives, or rather it can be everything or nothing at all. These things called "feelings" can take hold of the rudder and steer up places we never intended on going, or we can hold fast and decide that no matter which way the winds blow (or our feelings compel us) we will press on in the direction of our dreams. The shocking thing that we will discover at the end of our journey is that whichever course we took we never really let go of that wheel. For better or worse the choice was ours all along. I can blame my situation on the feelings I face, even though they are present and powerful, or I can decide that even though I feel tossed to and fro and a little bit lost, I still steer the ship! We each will have moments when we feel as though we'll be lost to the raging storm and other times we drift with no sunshine on skin, nor wind in our sails. Sometimes these moments are hardest. In the midst of chaos my heart turns quickly to the Lord. But it's different in the lulls. It is quieter there and more room is left for fear and doubt and discouragement to creep in. It is then that He reminds us, if we listen and if we'll trust Him that He is right beside us and this is simply a chance for us to make our own wind! The going may be slower than those moments of smooth sailing, but we will be made stronger. Failure does not lie in the feeling; success lies in the choice we make to keep getting up, keep making dinner, keep washing those dishes and folding that laundry and kissing sweet cheeks and holding soft, sticky hands and CHOOSING to do what you don't feel like doing. In the very act of doing what we don't want to do, simply because it is the right thing to do, we gain momentum. We change the feelings from the outside in, until we are no longer just going through the motions. Until we find our adventure, looking a little different than we thought it would. Looking a lot less glamorous and a little more like life.

I can be grateful, not always for the feelings, but for the fact that, in spite of, I can get up out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, and keep on living. Because to live, simply to wake each day, good or bad, happy or sad, sour attitude or sweet disposition, all of it, the whole crazy thing, in the words of Peter Pan, is an awfully big adventure.

falling into grace

"This is not the way my life was supposed to be. This was not part of the plan." Hearts ache for what has been done, those things we cannot change. Those things we did not plan.

Small shoulders sag under the weight. How did this happen? How could this be? I was so careful in my plans.

A wet piece of paper holding up a bowling ball, this is how ones life can feel at times. What happens when the paper tears and the ball is dropped? Where do we fall? When the pain is too much, what then? At first glance it appears that we have fallen right from grace.

But such is not the case. In fact it is the self-constructed pedestal of pride from which we have fallen - and it hurts . . .

The son, not quite a man, but no longer just a boy, fishes with his father. They bait the hook, attach the lure. The trap is set. Then father teaches son all about lures. To entice is their purpose. To entice is also his, that one who truly fell from grace and wants to drag us down with him, bound with flaxen cords. "There are different kinds", he says, "For different fish like different things. But his tackle box is full, and he knows which lure to use." Beware the deceiver.

A fish is dropped between the planks of the dock, left there to die by someone else who could not be bothered - that life, so seemingly insignificant. It is only a flounder, after-all. Trapped between wood and styrofoam, unable to save itself. But the son sees purpose. His line is put down the crack in hopes that the fish will bite and then be pulled to safety. It will not take the bait. Doesn't it know we are trying to help? No. For this is the plan of the father of all lies. The lure is not safe, we have learned this. We have been burned in the past. We would rather risk the unknown than to take that lure. Sometimes something that looks like hurt is actually help. And sometimes we do not even see it anymore. Hopelessness can be so blinding.

There are many lessons for us to learn. The lessons of forgivness and tolerance and love, pure love - these are not easy lessons to learn. 

We pray for what we know, for those things we can easily understand, but God's ways are not always familiar. He takes us through depths we never asked to go. He knows what we can do, and how the seemily insurmountable task it is to be done. When fog clouds our vision, only He can see through. He shows us the way because He is the way. Some parts of us may have to die in order to make place for something so much better to live and grow.

It is at times such as these when someone so much stronger than ourselves must pull on that board - that cross and those nails - lifting it free from its hold over us. And a hand reaches down. It wraps around us, warm and strong and secure. That flounder is literally scooped up - up out of the pit - and placed back into living waters.

The Son sees purpose.

Even in this.

Even for me.

This is Christ's mission. This is what He came to earth to do, this is why He bids us to come unto Him. He is the fisher of men. He came to rescue all us flounders stuck in deep mire, unable to free ourselves. No matter the cause. Maybe we jumped in. Maybe we took the bait and bit that lure, only to be cast aside by the one who would leave us for dead. Maybe we were placed in the cracks through the actions of others. And now we cannot see the way for the way seems impossible. How will we ever get out? Can there really be one mighty enough to save?

No one can come unto the Father except by the Son.

Because there is no "supposed to be". We have only what we are given. That is all we have to work with. And all our "supposed to be's" no longer matter. It is not what was supposed to be, it is simply what is. And when tough times come bringing pain and sorrow with them, and we want to shudder and shrink from the weight of it all, we would do well to remember that we will not be left to flounder. Even when we are a fish out of water and breathing burns like fire, their is hope of rescue.

The fisher of men does not use lures. He will not bind, but sets us free. Back to sea we swim to carry on in our mission and purpose. We are lifted out of sin, out of temptations snare, even out of heartache that threatens destruction of all hope. And we fall into grace. One more soul is saved.

"Education is not the filling of a pail but the lighting of a fire." William Butler Yeats

I came home from town the other day to a house full of children and an unflushed toilet full of mess. Of course, no one would claim it. I wondered whether or not the q-tip that was also in the bowl would make it safely through the turns and bends, and what the chances were that it would get stuck and cause a greater problem than that of accepting what had to be done and sticking my hand in that bowl. I pondered my position. 

The glamour of motherhood, if there had ever been any to begin with was swallowed up in the plastic bag I wrapped tightly around my arm. 

You see,  I have this longing within to be great. I want to be super at something. I want to achieve and do and grow and be. 

As the day wore on and I went about my responsibilities God breathed wisdom into my mind: Maybe my greatness will be that of my children's. Greatness is in everyday ordinaries.

It is in the preparing of a grilled cheese lunch.

It is in the putting of a camera in little hands and seeing life through her eyes, her world.

It is in the making of lemon Jell-o.

It is in the strokes of a paint brush.

It is in the workbooks, the math, and even in the frustration.

(Tate is attempting to "disarm" me with his "wand" as I attempt to instruct him in math. Expelliarmus!)

It is in the cutting of oranges . . .

 and the folding of dishcloths.

My greatness may never be awarded or noticed. It will not be in fame or fortune. Instead, I have the opportunity to be the catalyst in the lives of these children who call me mom. I am the cheerleader, the catapult. I am the one on the sidelines who calls out their names, who jumps for joy at their victories, and praises their attempts. I am the one who wipes the tears and comforts the sadness. These children will grow in the knowledge that their mom is quite often a big ol' mess. They will see me at my worst, as well as my best. Through me they will come to understand that life is hard and hearts can hurt so bad. They will become acquainted with perseverance. They will learn to pick themselves up and to be of good cheer. They will hear, over and over, as long as I live that NOTHING is impossible, and to never say can't. And even though life does not always look like the vision we had planned it is beautiful beyond measure in its imperfection. Greatness is in never giving up, even when you feel a failure. My greatness will live in the hearts of my children. I cannot imagine a purpose more noble nor a greatness that is bigger than that.

weekending

Friday morning I took a ride in an ambulance, not for pleasure. 

But don't worry, really. I am just fine. 

But because of said ambulance ride, Darren stayed home from work. 

He and the boys spent a good part of the day working on a bike trail they are constructing out behind our house.  

Bergen is getting pretty confident on his bike, while Tate doesn't need a bike at all. 

He got some pretty good air!

Saturday evening minutes before Darren walked out the door for a Priesthood meeting, and already feeling worn out, I hit peak frustration. I wanted nothing more than to go to bed with a good book. That was not an option. So instead of losing my cool and tearing my hair out, I packed our bags with swimsuits and towels, piled the kids in the van and against every feeling in my bones I took them out. Our first stop, the grocery store to get popcorn kernels, so that after swimming we could pop some corn and watch a movie together. The craziness continued on just as it had at home. I was not feeling very successful at this thing called parenthood. By the time we finally got to the pool I was exhausted.

I stayed within my obligatory arms reach of Nya, playing with the girls, while trying to catch glimpses of the boys who had gone off together to swim. And what I saw melted my heart and filled a deflated soul right back up again. Two boys, thick as thieves, not fighting, as is the usual lately, but playing and laughing. Older brother piggy-backing younger. Then I looked down, and there at my side, the same thing was happening with sisters. Tension melted away, leaving behind tender new sprouts of hope and a renewed sense of determination.

Sunday afternoon between sessions, I was in great need of some fresh air and a view beyond these four walls. I announced that I was going on a walk and that anyone who wished to join me was more than welcome. Fifteen minutes later the seven of us were piled in the van and on our way to Eves Park. 

Counting rings. Darren's guess - 65. My guess - 45. The real answer - 43.

Bergen thinks I cheated. Not so, I'm just good!

Emma - she is my hippie at heart. 

Everyday she reminds me that if you like it, than forget the opinions of others. 

Be happy in the skin you're in, is her unspoken message.

Whenever we go on walks I am sure to hear, "MOM, come here!" more times than I can count. Whether it is to see a heart shaped leaf, fungus growing on a tree, new buds, tiny flowers, rocks or pine cones, these kids will always find plenty of natures treasures in the great outdoors. This is what they teach me - Don't overlook the every day wonders God has placed here for us. Be grateful, watchful, and observant. Nature heals the heart.

Emma, who is obsessed with anything lemony, was on "treats" for Family Night, so Monday afternoon we scoured pinterest for lemon recipes. 

We found these - Lemon Crinkles.

They looked good and sounded easy, so away we went. 

I have it on good authority that they are delicious!

( you can find the recipe through the link above)

They don't ask a lot, not really. They just want my time. And that is all I can offer anyhow.

Play a game, bake some cookies, listen to them talk, even if, and especially when, I don't feel like it.

Because they can tell. They can feel my disconnect. 

And I understand - If I am too busy to bake cookies or blow bubbles than I am too busy.

Later that night we went out back to roast marshmallows. 

(We have learned that when it comes to roasting marshmallows hair is better piled up on top and out of the way.) 

A little unexpected mixed with a whole lot of ordinary, that was my weekend.

And at the end of it all, these words were whispered in my ear as little four-year-old arms wrapped tight around my neck, "Momma, I was so worried about you." 

My heartstrings were tugged. 

I reflected back over the last few days and I knew - all is well.