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