The Last Day

I've never spent much time on the computer.  It used to be that nobody could email me because I wouldn't check it for weeks.  Over the past few months I've changed.  It's my most comfortable mode of communication.  I can express words without my puffy eyes and if I can't answer immediately because there's a catch in my voice, I can wait an hour or a day.   In learning how to blog, I've browsed.  I've even found some blogs that I think are witty and interesting.

Well, tonight I was reading a blog I've been following--anonymously--I always follow anonymously, and found myself commenting.  http://thecraigreport.blogspot.com/2011/02/carpe-what-now.html.  

It was all about living like it is your last day.  I remember living like it was Ian's last day--for years.  Making every second count.  Laughing.  Taking lots of photos.  Celebrating.  I remember his last day.  It came with no warning--no recognizable warning.  No way to say and do all the things we did a decade earlier.

Maybe the message in Carpe Diem--Seize the Day is:  Live like it's those you love's last day.  Don't leave out anything you should do or say.  Don't substitute teaching for loving.  Don't trade time for money. (Duh, I know you have to make a living.  You know what I mean.)  Don't leave yourself with the burden of regret. 

I understand all the things that the man is saying in his blog and I realize that it's supposed to be entertainment.  I also know that jobs and energy bills and mortgages are important.  I know weighing 500 pounds and irritating family members isn't appealing.  But, and this is a big one, I know losing your house or your job or needing a diet or family counseling are problems I would take on every day I have left, if I could have the last days with my son back.  I'd live them differently.  So differently.

Unexpected Wisdom

As much as I loathe the self-aggrandizement of Hollywood, I understand why my 13 year old daughter likes to watch award shows.  They're fun.  People wear cool clothes.  They say stupid things.  It gives her something to talk about at school.  So tonight I sat watching with her, never thinking anything profound could come of it.  When they did the tribute to all the people associated with movies who have died, the final photo was of someone I admire--Lena Horne.

I love listening to her on the old vinyl albums we inherited from Keith's dad.  There's so much class in her voice.  Smooth, and all talent, not synthesized in a studio.  I imagine she had quite a life.  Great and Terrible.  After Halley Berry talked about her, they put a quote from her on the screen:

"It's not the load that breaks you down;  it's how you carry it."

That's pretty smart.  I feel I'm carrying a load.  I know I have help, but I hope I'm lifting with my legs and not doing permanent damage to my back, because  I know it won't be the last burden I'm ever asked to haul around.

Christmas 1997

I miss

that arm

on my shoulder

for balance.

I wish

he was here

to steady me.

Riviera Paradise

After sleeping really late this morning, I decided I needed to accomplish something before the day was over.  Mikey and I went and got the paint for his new bedroom.  After trying to steer him many times in a neutral, conservative direction, I finally decided it was wrong to be such a control freak.  He  picked the brightest blue I've ever seen--Riviera Paradise.  I'm fairly certain that even the water on the Riviera isn't this blue.

I had flashbacks of letting Ian pick the present color of the room--his room--the room that has been all but empty for a couple of months.  He wanted a sports room.  We had a wallpaper border with all different kinds of sports balls on it--vintage balls in muted colors.   He picked the lightest highlight color on the basketball.   It was a good choice we both liked.  We found old Red Sox and Raiders pennants.  We hung antique badminton racquets on the wall with a tattered birdie.  The rod across the top of the window was a hockey stick.  There were baseball cards framed on the wall--Pete Rose and Johnny Bench; Jim Palmer and Steve Garvey;  even Hank Aaron. 

 
Ian was almost 9 when we moved into this house.  He decided that it would be fun to share his room with his 3 year old brother.  They picked the smaller bedroom because it had a walk-in closet they could play in.  It was the first room in the house to be painted and decorated.

About a year and a half ago Mikey moved out into the gameroom.  They were having a hard time and we figured Ian "the teenager" needed some privacy.  Mikey also needed some time free from his third parent.  So, even though there was no door on Mikey's space, it did give them both some distance.  Pretty ironic now that they needed distance.

It was obvious to Mikey that mind was elsewhere today.  He asked at Home Depot why I was getting so tense.  We brought the paint home and dove in.  He was a great helper.  I wish I could've kept my mind off what we were really doing--covering up Ian.  I thought (and still do) that it will be much easier for Mikey to move back into the room he shared with his big brother if it looks completely different.  It will be like a totally new room with no memories--visual ones anyway.  I hope bright blue makes Mikey happy in there.  It just made me blue.

Going Back

I must be completely out of my mind.  In about 30 minutes I'm leaving to go to a Prince concert.  That only takes me back about 25 years to a place I  probably should never revisit.  When I graduated from High School I listened to Chicago and Journey and even a little Air Supply. 

When I left home, listening to Prince was just naughty enough  to overcome the Wonder bread image I projected and I liked that.  I guess that means every time I tell Lucy that she can't download music with the parental warning on it, I'm a hypocrite.  Could there really be music nastier that Prince?  I actually do see things differently now.  I can see additional messages in songs like 1999, Sign O' the Times, and Thieves in the Temple.  That's probably rationalizing on my part though. 

We'll see.  Maybe when I come home tonight I'll have something really profound to say.

Put Up or Shut Up

So,  I've been saying for about 3 years or more that I wanted to be part of a book club.  I don't know why.  I think it's to feel like I'm still smart--still learning.  In high school I never read the assigned books.  I skimmed and faked and did OK.  I remember my senior year I made a goal to actually read the things I was supposed to.  In college I read more.  I think I was interested in more.  I had to take a lot of literature classes to get a communication degree.  Being a missionary got me reading reading.  Yes, there is supposed to be 2 readings there.  Gospel reading is great. 

That's all been so long ago.  It's been forever since I felt like a student--like I was progressing.  Keith reads like he just can't get enough.  He can block out the world if he's reading.  I've never been able to do that.  I can't block.  I'm a little autistic in that sense.  I've always wanted to be a veracious reader like Keith.  I've always felt like I'm not nearly as book-smart as he is.  It drives me wild.  I don't really think I'm all that competitive, but I want to be as smart as my husband.

Tomorrow night is the first night of my book club.  We'll see how it goes.  I'm afraid people will come just because they feel sorry for me as the pitiful grieving mother who needs support.  Like I need a project to distract me.  (Distraction is the title of a post I just can't seem to finish.)  I do need about 70 projects to distract me.  I just don't want anyone to know that.  So, anyway, I think tonight, I'm terrified.  I can't concentrate long enough to plan the food.  The house isn't as clean as I want and what if something sets me off in front of a roomful of women and I bawl?  Once again, I've taken on something that I'm not all confident I can pull off.  But, (I know, you can't start a sentence with but, but these are just my thoughts.)  I finally need to put up or shut up.  If I want to be part of a book club, then I better make it happen for myself.

Thou Shalt Not

I know I'm not supposed to covet.  It's a sin.  I feel bad about it.  Having said that, I spent a short time tonight with a family--a good family, a family I care about--and I couldn't help wishing. . .

Maybe it wasn't coveting.  I didn't want their family.  I didn't want their kids.  I wanted  my family.  I wanted my kids.  Not only do I want Ian back, I want 3 or 4 more.  I want a new baby like they have--not theirs.  I want a couple of preschoolers like they have--not theirs.  I don't know, maybe that's not it.  Maybe I just want my house to be full--full of laughing and playing and happy people. 

The idea that some families are blessed with 7 or 8 kids is enough for me to handle, but for them all to be whole and healthy and alive--yeah, alive is the big one--I can't stand it.

I wasn't just any family.  It was the family of a girl Ian adored.  It was incredibly hard to see them.   It's hard to see all the people Ian was close to.  I don't want it to be.  I'll make myself get through it.  I don't have a choice unless I want to lose more people I care about.  This coming Sunday Keith is going to ordain Ian's best friend a priest.  That should be fun.  I'm sure I'll feel more like I do tonight.

I hope this isn't coveting, but it is wanting something I can't ever have so it feels as bad as sin--every bit.

"My Thoughts are not Your Thoughts"

Isaiah 55:8-9 says,  "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

That's a relief.  It's even the prophet that is so profound and hard to understand--the prophet that all the other prophets quote, telling me that my thoughts aren't like God's.  Which is good, because they aren't.

I read in Mark about the man possessed with a legion of evil spirits today--the spirits that recognized the Savior and spoke to him and asked to be cast into the pigs.  What  a great visual this story is.  I can just imagine the pigs running off the cliff. 

I've never understood what happens next.  This man, when the spirits are cast out, wants to go with Jesus and follow him--probably be a loyal companion forever, but is told to go home and be with his friends and tell them how great things were done for him by the Lord.  Okay, so isn't that the opposite of what Jesus tells all the other people that he heals and helps and does miracles for.  It's the opposite of what he told the man who said he'd been following all the commandments his whole life.  Jesus told him to sell everything he had and follow him. 

So why did the Savior want this particular man not to follow?  Why did he want this man to "publish" what had happened to him?  It would be nice to have the account of what this man did with the rest of his life.  Maybe he was the one who was at the right place at the right time to give the apostles the donkey, or prepare the upper room, (obviously, I don't know the geography) or maybe he later became the leader of the believers in the area where he was.  Maybe his story converted hundreds in his village.  We don't know and even if nothing spectacular came from him staying there, all we have is that his circumstances and counsel were different from all the other peoples' recorded in the New Testament.

It reminds of sister missionaries--'cause that's my reference  point.  Some sister missionaries (a lot) never  have any intention or desire to go on missions and are compelled by the Spirit to go, while others want to go, waiting throughtout their teen years, only to end up married before they turn 21.  That's just one example.  There are countless other examples of mortals thinking and planning, only to find out that what they might feel is the right thing for them isn't the appointed thing.

I guess the lesson is acceptance.  As long as I accept that my thoughts are limited in scope and that they probably won't ever match God's, I'll be okay.

Missing at the Family Get-Together?

I don't really have anything of value to say today.  That probably means I shouldn't say anything, right?  That's never really been my strong suit.  All I want to say today is that I never want to go to another family get-together again as long as I live.  In fact, I really think the term family get-together is a  phrase I never want to hear again until my family is together. 

How can my extended family get together and talk and laugh and not know that I'm weeping inside every minute?  How can members of the family, no matter how distant, not ask how we are doing?  We're down a man since the last time they saw us.  Do they honestly think if they don't say anything that it will be better?  It's not.  And it won't be for the next event either.

They say, "Wow, your kids have really grown!"  I just want to shout,  "One of 'em  hasn't.  Do you see he isn't here?  Do you care?'  It's great to cry on the way there knowing how it will be and crying when I get home because I was right.  I could cry right there in the room and they wouldn't even see it.  They don't see me.  They don't see anything they don't want to.  They never really saw Ian--not really.  Maybe that's why they talk and laugh when they get together, cause they have no idea what they should be missing.

Tie Dye

I look at blogs lately.  I go to my friends' and check them out.  I don't just read them, but I look at the design.  I try to get ideas of what a blog is supposed to be like.  I let Lucy read one of my benign posts the other day and she asked about the tie dye.  I was surprised.

I thought she would know immediately why I had tie dye in the design.  I thought she would know it wouldn't be one of my first style choices. 

Ian loves tie dye.  The brighter the better.  That was always his favorite booth when we walked through a craft fair.  He had this one tie dye shirt--a really bright, good one.  It didn't have a tag in it.  I finally had to take a sharpie and write "BACK" on the ribbing on the back of the neck, because every time he put it on, it was backwards.  I think it might be one of the shirts that's still hanging in his closet--there are a few I couldn't pack up.

He loves everything bright and wild.  Plaid Bermuda shorts.  Converse sneakers with flames.  Hawaiian shirts of all colors. Bright red or zebra print glasses.   I can't see him dressed in all white.  It doesn't seem right.  Oh, he's good enough--pure enough, but much too colorful.

That's why there's tie dye on my blog.

The Biggest Loser

We've been watching the Biggest Loser for a few seasons.  I always think that by the end, I will have lost the 15 pounds I would like to lose.  I always tease Keith for eating while he watches.  (He gets home from the church just in time for the weigh-in.)  Mostly I always wonder if pushing the participants to purge every awful thing they've ever felt about themselves and relive every negative thing  is really necessary for them to lose the weight.

It makes me wonder about myself.  Would I be better off if I somehow purged all the insecurities and issues I've dealt with, or not dealt with, my whole life?  Tonight, I just tried to purge the 'way too many chicken nuggets' I had eaten while I was watching, but there's no danger of me becoming bulimic, because I can't make myself  puke no matter how full I feel.

But really, is there any real benefit to churning up old unresolved. . . stuff--for lack of a better term?  I think I'm a fan of letting the sleeping dog lie.  It's like puking. Even though your stomach feels less crowded, then  you have to deal with acid in the back of your throat and the sore muscles from heaving.  No thanks.  I'll leave vomiting for when I have food poisoning and deal with the consequences of overeating.  If the burdens I carry around everyday never give me a fever or chills or make me wish the ER was around the block, I think I'll keep them all to myself. 

Unless this blog is my purging.

Valentine's Day



This photo was taken at our 1st Heartwalk, May 1999. 
Ian rode in a wagon.


Thinking is such a pain.  Today, on Valentine's Day, I couldn't help thinking about Valentine's Day 1999.   Ian was 4 years old. That was the day he was officially listed for a heart transplant.  I say officially because it's quite a process.  Nine million medical tests for Ian and then psychological testing for Keith and me to make sure we would take care of him afterward.

It wasn't an easy decision, believe it or not.  I had huge issues--huge issues.  I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the idea of my son's heart being tossed in a bucket.  That's how I pictured it.   I couldn't get the image out of my head.  The organ that is associated with love and emotion, not to mention the place that the Holy Ghost uses to communicates with us--the organ that makes us alive--in a bucket.

I prayed and prayed and read every single reference in the scriptures with the word heart in it.  Keith even sent me to DC to the temple, so I could come to terms with it.  What I came up with is this:  "Saved by grace after all  that you can do" applies to more than repentance.  If I wanted God to step in and save my son, I had to do everything humanly possible to save him myself first.  That's how I decided--I couldn't expect a miracle unless there was no more I could do on my own.  So I put it in his hands.

So, that brings us to Valentine's Day and the official listing.  We thought it was the perfect day.  How could there be a better day to wish for a new heart? 

Maybe it would be best to not finish the story,  just leave it a happy ending and it was happy.  There are 364 other days of the year to tell the rest.

Eyes to See

Well, it's good to know I'm not perfect yet.  I wish I didn't have to show it to everyone else though.  I derailed the entire Sunday School class today.  We were talking about Christ reading in the synagogue and how everyone stared at him and thought he was crazy or possessed and then kicked him out.  Silly me, I said I had heard stories about the crazy guy in our ward before we moved in who claimed to be a prophet and that I didn't think it was all that different.  Well, you know, except for the fact that the guy the Jews mistook for  crazy was, in fact, the Christ.

I hope I would be one of the people with a heart open enough to see him and more importantly feel him for who he was.  That, after all,  is the point.  But, right now in this time, I think I probably miss really cool opportunities to see and feel because I think things should be a certain way and they just aren't.

If I were there that day, would I see Jesus as the grown son of the neighborhood girl who got herself in trouble?  Would I wonder what ridiculous thing he was going to do next to embarrass himself?  Would I wonder when  his blasphemous ways were going to catch up with him?  Would I be thinking, "My leaders aren't falling for this junk.  So he must be a fraud.  What if he can do parlor tricks and bring on a little shock and awe?  I don't see him figuring out a plan to liberate us from the Romans."

I hope not.  I'm confident that my leaders today would bow and part out of his way and be joyous in resigning their positions of  "power" to him.  I don't have to worry that they wouldn't recognize him.

I hope that I could see Him for myself and lean on my own knowledge and feelings of the Spirit.

Cool Car

We did something we haven't done for years today.  We test-drove a car.  Just for fun.  Just 'cause we wanted to.  We don't have any money to buy a new car and we are certainly hoping that the 2 cars we have will last a whole lot longer.  We just pulled in because we saw a car the 4 of us all want.  A Toyota FJ--you know the Jeepy-looking thing with the white top.

The reason we all want one is because Ian wanted one.  He thought they were the neatest looking cars.  Did we go look at them with him, when he wanted to?  No.  Now we all want one.  There aren't that many of them.  You only see them every once in a while.  This Toyota dealership only had 1 new one and 2 used ones on the whole lot.  That's Ian--unique. 

As fun as it was to test-drive (It's a really cool car, 4 wheel drive and many other fancy things),  I couldn't help but think of Ian the whole time and how our family with 5 people wouldn't fit comfortably in that car.  Ian's growing legs would have been cramped and the three of them in the backseat would have precipitated fights on any journey longer than 30 minutes.

I can help but wonder if we didn't all just want to feel close to our boy today.  If we had been quiet, maybe we could have heard him asking when he would get to drive it, and letting us know we need to hold out for the bright yellow one.    

Confidence

One of the things nobody tells you when they're so sorry or they know how you feel or asks you if there's anything they can do is that grief robs you of your confidence.  The smallest task suddenly becomes a giant hurdle that you just can't see your way over.

Registering the Car
Hanging a Light Fixture
Taking your Child to the Doctor
Shopping for a Dress

These are just the things that tripped me up today.

Enmity

Hate.  "I hate her."  "I hate brussel sprouts."  "I hate geometry."  It's a word I tell the kids not to say.  "You don't really hate anybody, so don't say it.  You just haven't tried them enough times."  "Just because it's hard, doesn't mean you hate it."

A synonym for hate, that word I hate, is enmity.  Enmity means hate, hostility, deep-rooted ill will.  Where does that awful emotion come from?  Must be from the devil, right?  Nope.  At least I don't think so.  Genesis 3:15 says "And I will put enmity between  thee and the woman..."  That's the Father talking to Lucifer. So, the Father introduced hate into this world.  He offered it as a protection from the devil.  It was a tool we could use to distance ourselves from evil.  A good thing.

It was Satan that, then found a way to use that enmity to twist and pervert and taint;  to tear people apart.  Is it any wonder?  What could possibly work better for him?  As I look around the world, what problem doesn't involve hate in one way or another?  It is one of his best, most effective weapons.  He works this one just like he works the beautiful power of procreation.

I don't know, it is blasphemous to think God put hate in the world?  You 3 people that read my mind's dribble, let me know.

I'm a Klondike Bar

What would you do-oo-oo for a Klondike Bar?

Everybody loves those great ice cream treats of all varieties that have been dipped in the hard chocolate shell right?  Not!  I would rather not have cold, hard plasticy chocolate stuck to my teeth.  Even chocolate chips in ice cream are just horrible.  Almost anything else is a better treat for me.

I think I have a hard plasticy shell.  In fact, the other day I told Keith that I did.  We were talking about church and I said that it always takes me longer to feel the Spirit than the average person because it has to get through my tough shell.  Well, like usual, when I say something like that, the universe finds a way to teach me a lesson.  While I was waiting for Lucy in guitar class yesterday, I read,  "but as many as will not harden their hearts shall be saved in the kingdom of God."  Jacob 6:4  It sounds like having a hard heart is an action doesn't it--like I had to do something to get one.  Great.  That's what I wanted to know.  I've taken a really blessed life, albeit sprinkled with a lot of trials,  and dipped it in something hard that can potentially ruin the pleasure of all the rest.  I've done that.

Now, having said that, I don't want to be a person who shows every emotion they feel, but I do want  to have a softer heart,  a broken heart (which I've always interpreted as broken-open), which will help qualify me for the kingdom of heaven.  I have a system I use when someone else buys me a shelled ice cream treat or I buy one by accident.  I peel back the chocolate, piece by piece.  It's a messy, sticky job, but I get to enjoy what's inside.  Maybe that would work in life.  We'll see.

Contrast

I heard a news story today that made me stop and think.  It was about the astronaut, Mark Kelly, planning to go into space.  I am the first to admit that my knowledge is limited.  I don't know how Representative Giffords is doing, but I did my little Wikipedia research and found that he's already spent 38 days in space.  I found that he has 2 children.  At that point, I formed an opinion--an opinion that really only matters to me--but after all, it's my blog.

I have had the pleasure to watch a man--without hesitation or complaint--give up his dream to protect and serve his family.  Never, not one complaint.  So I'm biased.  No astronaut could ever rise to the heights of my husband.

When Keith and I got married, he was finishing his degree in political science and looking forward to an adventurous career in the diplomatic corps for the United States.  He passed the written exam on his first try after everyone told him that it would take multiple times.  His professors helped  him prepare for his orals and we went to LA.  On the morning of the exam, he wrecked the car and still did well enough that they told him the only reason they couldn't accept him was that he wasn't a minority.  He took it in stride and said he would do it again.

Flash forward.  We have Ian.  Keith passes the written again.  This time he flies to DC to do the oral part.  The night before, he receives a message from God that this isn't the path that our family is to go.  He came home from that trip satisfied.  Not disappointed.  Not dejected.  Not resentful.  Satisfied.  He has been confident ever since that Ian's health dictated a secure life in this country, close to the best  hospitals in the world and that was an incredible gift for a father to give.

It was a gift for me too.  Not that I wouldn't have loved the exotic travel and unique experiences.  I would have, but the amount of worry that decision relieved me of is unmeasurable.  Not to mention how many extra years if  provided in our young man's life.

So, to the contrast.  It is unfathomable to me that this astronaut could put anything, including space in front of his wife and children.  Even if she did tell him to go.  So.  There is a very real possibility that he won't ever come home to her.  In fact, if it were calculated, I wonder what percentage of all shuttle astronauts have blown up?  She needs him.  His kids need him.  He's already been.  How full of himself can one person be?  If it comes down to what's more important,  his crew or his family, does he really even need to think?

Priorities.  My Deli-man is more heroic than an astronaut and he doesn't have to leave the atmosphere to show me.

Add-On

Today, I just want to add one thing to yesterday's  post:

Our Savior's love
Shines like the sun with perfect light.
As from above
It breaks thru clouds of strife.
Lighting our way,
It leads us back into his sight,
Where we may stay

To share eternal life.  --Edward Hart

That was the opening song in church today.  I love it.

Light

When I was thinking about what to write about today, our reading of several days ago came back to me.  I had a lot of comments that night and sometimes I think it would be better if I just wrote down what I think instead of running my stream of consciousness through the middle of my 10 and 13 year olds' scripture reading.

We are in the middle of John and we were reading about Christ saying He is the Light of the World.  He's poetic almost in his declaration and I got to thinking about how His analogy might be wasted on those of this generation.  After all, we can have light anytime we feel like it.  At midnight or after, when I can't sleep, I can flip a switch without even getting out of bed and have light to read or do my crossword puzzles.  When Keith leaves the house in the morning, even at 5 o'clock, there are street lights getting him to the car in the driveway.  When he starts the car and backs out, the first thing to hit the road is his headlights, illuminating what is before him.  We have nightlights in our hallways, so the kids don't have to walk to the bathroom in the dark when they wake up in the night.  There's mood lighting and dimmer switches;  There's lights in the refrigerator and the microwave;  There's even  flashlights and lanterns for when we go camping.  We are never without light.

In Christ's time, when the sun went down, that was it.  People were finished working.  Period.  No more repairing the fishnets or carving wood.  No more anything, except by candle light.  Even the oil lamps spoken of in the parable of the ten virgins were tiny and gave off barely enough light to find your way.  What a metaphor that must have been to the faithful at that time, to think of Jesus as lighting up the world.  Our world today pushes away the meaning of many things with it's  pace and ease, but none more than the meaning of darkness vs. light.

My first missionary companion gave me a picture of the a candle, with it's little flame.  It had a scripture laminated on the back--probably the "Let your light so shine among men..."  If I could  think of myself in the context of a place with no light, no electricity, no batteries and as the Savior as the light source, maybe I could understand better how my little piece of the light can make such a difference.

Earrings and Toenail Polish

Fridays are tricky.  The kids have home school on Fridays.  It's good for me.  I'm not alone.  I slept late today and went straight outside.  Mikey came out and did homework on the trampoline while I worked in the yard.  It was good--better than yesterday when I was alone. 

Yesterday there were seagulls circling high in the sky while I was working.  It triggered a childhood memory.  Not a good one.  For many years after my brother died, every time I saw birds flying in circles, I thought that meant someone had died.  That's what they were doing when I was told, as a 6 year old, that Stan was gone.  I don't know whether I somehow associated it with birds circling dead things in the dessert in the movies or what.  I just remember staring at the sky, mesmerized, every time I saw them.

So, today was better.  I decided to make it be.  I asked Lucy what she wanted to do today. Shop for an 8th grade graduation dress--whew!  The mall is not normally our friend.  I found a place for Mikey to hang out and we went.  It wasn't successful, but we went. 

The big thing--I put on earrings and painted my toenails so I could wear sandals.  That's big.  When Keith came home I could tell it wasn't a good day for him.  A sad day.  I'm glad that when he asked about my day, I could say,  "It was good enough for earrings and toenail polish."

Being Cut Back

It was beautiful by afternoon today--blue sky, no wind and about 65 degrees.  After I  picked up the kids, I decided to go out and putter in the yard.  It got entirely neglected last summer and fall and the gophers have taken it over this winter.  I started by putting the last pile of leaves in the green waste can and  pulling some weeds.  Then I noticed something encouraging.  There were little buds all over my plum tree.  While that's a great thing, it's also a sign that I need to jump.  If it isn't sprayed with dormant spray before the blossoms and leaves open, then it can't be sprayed and it has horribly misshapen leaves for the whole year.  It's really ugly. 

Before spraying, I needed to prune.  It has gotten way too tall and I figure whatever I can't reach on the ladder has to go.  Well, I just can't prune a tree without thinking of  the parables of pruning the fig trees in the scriptures.  I don't know if  I'm that thoughtful on my own or if it is my dad coming through.  He loves to prune his orchard.  Anyway,  every time I cut back one of the trees, I think about God cutting us back to help us grow in the direction he wants us to and how painful it is. 

I personify the tree and imagine how disappointed he is when, every time he grows tall, I cut him back.  He's probably thinking how much more fruit he could produce if I just left him alone.  I'm sure he hates the way the spray feels on his branches and the smell he's left with long after I'm gone.  He doesn't realize I'm doing it so he won't have curly, ugly leaves all year and be besieged by bugs.  He probably only sees an awful creature leaving him bare and vulnerable.

Maybe that's the way some people see God.  Maybe that's why some people don't believe in him at all.  I like to remember in those times that I'm God's plum tree.  (Yes, I know I'm more than a tree to him--go with it.)  He loves me.  He doesn't like it when I'm reaching for the wrong things.  He likes me to stay focused on what's best for me and on how I can help those around me--the fruit, right?  He also gets excited and encouraged when he sees little buds on me.  I wish I could say my long cold winter was over and I was ready to bloom.  I don't feel that way, but it would be great if God could see the potential and wanted to do everything He could to make sure I have a happy spring and a great  harvest in the summer.

6 Months

Ian,
If you were gone on your mission it would be 1/4 over today.  I could think, "Wow, time really flies, even though you're away--we're down to 18 months."   I could email you once a week and remind myself that even though you aren't here, you are learning and growing and drawing closer to God.   I could focus on all the  people you're teaching and affecting.  You could email me and tell be not to worry, that you have lots of exciting stories you can only share when we are  back together.  I could send you care packages.

If you were away at college you could call me by now and tell me about your first semester grades.  I could hear about the girls that are breaking your heart and how weird your roommates are.  I could be counting down the days 'til you came home and spent the summer with me.  I could be figuring out to pay for the coming semesters' tuition.  You could be emailing me to ask for care packages.

If you were away starting a new job, you would have benefits by now.  I could hear how confident you are getting in your skills as a chef, or sports commentator, or movie  producer or animator.  I could brag about how successful you are to all my friends.  We could be making plans to come visit you for the weekend and you could be emailing me to say that you don't need a care package because you're making such good money.

You're not in any of those places, but you aren't here either.  I can't hear from you or send you care packages.  It makes me mad that the time has gone so fast--even though days go slow, time has flown by.  You'd be taller still and wanting to shave and charming even more girls.  I hope you would still be telling me everything--even about the girls.  We'd be in the car with you practicing behind the wheel by now.  You'd have your eagle project picked out and Mikey wouldn't be so frustrated by fractions because you'd be helping him.

I miss you.  I'm trying to believe that what you are doing is as exciting and as important as what you would be doing here now, and in your future.  I'm holding to the belief that I will see you and hear about your adventures and you will want to tell me everything.  I even bought some books for you the other day--for some sort of fantasy care package.  I hope the time has flown for you Buddy.  I hope you are happy and confident and surrounded by people who are as engaged by you as all those here who miss your wit and smile and surprising wisdom.

I love you.  6 months closer to seeing you...

Mom