Keeping a journal so I'll remember I lived

Oh there's a lot to say. A lot to remember. A lot to forget. A lot to keep to yourself. A lot to hang on to and a lot to let go of. Sweet moments. Ugly thoughts. Revelation. Pure emotion. Swings, diapers, salad, cereal. Indian, PB, popcorn, apples, did I say cereal? Flying, typing, talking, earning. Headphones, car stereo, ipod. Babies, kids, heartache, victories. Soccer games, concerts, car rides, door slams, dirty floor, laughter. Harmony, kindergarten, colors. Pancakes, lullabyes. Singing, yelling, crying, whispering, kissing, holding, grasping, reaching, wanting, trying, hoping, accepting. Dancing, cleaning, walking, going. Corners, hills. Forgiving. Loving. Sleeping. Yep, that's some of the living. Remember? Remember how I've been living all this time?

Brothers

Douglas and I had a lengthy conversation about his future plans, his senior year, making money for a mission and college and all of that. (wild by the way. surreal.) David was in the next room and must have had an ear out for what we were saying. At one point he came in and said "Douglas, will you promise that you'll email me when you are away at college?" Not long after he went to bed and Douglas went down to say goodnight. David said "Douglas, I know that you have to go on a mission and I know its what God wants, but it'll stink for me."

Pie is mercy.

This is my favorite miracle in 17 Miracles. I cried every time it came around. I was surprised by that, as I became emotionally finished with most of the movie. But not this one. This is the miracle that when a mother couldn't go along the trail any further, she sat on a boulder and cried. She had given birth to twins who had both died earlier in the week and she was done. It's interesting to think that she wasn't physically unable to go forward - but she couldn't do it emotionally. Her husband left her on the boulder and told the children that he would get them to camp and then come back for her. She simply refused to go on. That's so interesting. What did she think was going to happen? What would happen if she sat on that boulder all day and night? There come times in our lives when we can't imagine a single outcome that is in any way ok. Every possibility requires more work and more emotional sacrifice than we think we are able to put forward. And we just stop. But really.... ??? Can we just stop? One of her daughters decided she would not leave her mother alone, so she chose to stay with her. And the miracle begins as this daughter kneels to pray and tells the Lord that she wants to do the right thing, but she can not see the path. Beautiful. Isn't that it? We want to do the right thing, but can't imagine it - can't picture it - can't formulate a plan - we, need, help. This is the moment of sheer desperation. Nothing more than that - out of ideas, out of time, out of hope. Please. As she gets up from her prayer, she sees a pie on the ground. A pie. The Lord left her a pie. On the ground. Comfort food. I am struck every time with the kindness of the Lord. He could have left a pheasant to be caught and cooked. He could have even left a pile of dried meat or a berry bush or a spring of water. But she didn't need these things. They hold no emotional comfort. She needed pie.

He'll abide in those moments of total desperation, when He knows we have met the limit, there will be an offering of love and knowing grace. This is when we see the promise that we won't be tested beyond what we can bear, come to light. This is where it stops. The testing ends, we beg for mercy and it comes. Pie. Pie is Mercy.

Next time I need to sit on a boulder and cry... I can expect pie. I'm sold. I'm convinced. He loves. I know.

To Percolate.

I've spent the summer in Nauvoo and spent the morning reading things online that I've missed over the last few weeks. It's an interesting balancing act,and it is important. It makes the muscles stronger.
I'm grateful that I have more than one restarting point on the calendar each year. Of course there is January 1st - the solar calendar starts over and perhaps more importantly an extended holiday from school finishes and it feels right to evaluate and reset a few things. Then there is the end of the school year and plans are made for a productive and happy summer - which will in theory launch me into a wonderful school year and if I follow those plans precisely I shouldn't have a need to reset on Jan 1st. But I do. Every year. I think I'm ready to just be grateful for restarts and not beat myself over the need of them. I feel one coming on. Home from Nauvoo. More remodeling done there, new thoughts, extra gratitude, older children, no humidity.
Do you know what can be accomplished when there is no humidity? The possibilities are endless.
Here are some indicators of how I might spend my time today:
7 large stacks of laundry in my bedroom, the laundry room and 3 in the hall at the end of the stairs.
4 piles of papers that I tucked away into the deep recesses of the desk before our English friends arrived at the house last night. Yes, to be sure - our home is uncluttered in all the right ways.
3 calls I received already this morning about the impending loss of services if bills aren't paid. Cell, electric and TV. Listed there in order of priority.
126 emails to be returned in my inbox.
A kitchen forsaken of food.
12 extra pounds on my hips after a summer of negligent eating. Negligent. Utterly negligent.
1 text from my mother wondering if I've landed in Utah yet.
Oh yeah - and that building a few blocks away where I earn a living. I can hear the halls gently calling my name. Soon it will be a panicked scream.
1,427,489 weeds that grew since June 20th.

Before I'm off to the tasks at hand, a few things I learned this summer:
In order to change, its helpful to feel loved.
My children have become my most beloved social circle.
It's hard to underestimate our desire to be helpful/important/needed. I'd like to sort those out.
I have a profound wish to study the scriptures more thoroughly.
Although always a respected skill, listening has become my new pursuit. This is something I'd like to apply particularly to prayer.
We don't feel the testimony of others. We feel our own.
Now... to percolate. To allow thoughts, desires, wishes, pursuits and feelings find a physical manifestation and become who I am.
Oh boy........ I feel Jan 1st approaching ever so quickly.

Wednesday June 8

I got up at 3:00am yesterday to travel to the Little Sahara Desert in the middle of Utah to help film a Mormon Message. I was barreling down the freeway and couldn't believe it. And it was fun, and kind of relaxing. Not what I expected really.
I got home at 8:30pm
I helped neighbor with a song for an audition.
I gave David a hug and told him he couldn't ride his bike without a helmet, and he couldn't ride it when it was getting dark.
I returned emails.
I spoke with Darren for a bit.
I went to sleep. Rich brought me medicine in the middle of the night so I would stop coughing.
I got up at 7:30 and returned emails.
I read scriptures and fell asleep trying to read Jesus The Christ.
I typed here.
I will now make crepes and balance the checking account.
I'm supposed to go to Kris's this morning, then later to Provo to sing and see friends in a show.
Alex comes this evening. Can't wait. Charly too. Can't double wait.

Summer. Blessed summer.

Sweet Things

My ancestor Anna Marie Jensen had this experience: Her husband had died, so she traveled alone with her 5 year old daughter (like Elizabeth Panting that I got to portray in 17 Miracles). They were on the plains in October and hurrying before the first snow fell when her daughter got sick. In a journal it says "Finally, she slipped a hot hand into her mother's and whispered, I'm sick Mother; I can not walk any farther." The little girl named Mina rode in the sick wagon for a few days as "Anna Marie trudged along by the wagon where the child lay, it seemed that every revolution of the wheels bore down upon her heart, and at times it seemed that the load was much too hard to bear." Mina died that night. "The next morning a short funeral was held and the child, with one of Anna Maries' patchwork quilts wrapped around her, was laid away. It all happened so suddenly that they were miles away from the grave of her loved one before the mother realized her overwhelming bereavement. Every mile she traveled was taking her farther from the sacred spot which she knew she would never visit again. A man in the company whose faith was growing cold said to her, "There can't be anything in this religion for which we are suffering so much, or God would never have permitted such a thing to happen. It was foolish to have started on such a journey." Anna Marie said "I'm glad that I came. I do not know why I should be called upon to part with my little girl, but I will trust my Savior and carry on to the end, confident in His promise that I shall meet her again." Anna Marie reached the valley and married the captain of the handcart company (!!!), Christian Christiansen. One of their two sons, Ezra Christiansen is my great, great grandfather.

There is a fly in my classroom. You know what that means?

There are leaves on the trees too.

Men's Lacrosse is a brutal sport. One of these days I'd like to choose a group of special students and play with them. And smack them on the head with my lacrosse stick. I will wear shoulder muhpads and a helmet and they will not.

Am I really that person? Am I really fantasizing about the satisfaction of carnage?

This summer from June 1- 5 is the world science festival in NYC and one of the festivities is a seminar on olfaction. Is it wierd that I'd rather go to that than any choral festival that will be held this summer?

This has been a bonkers month. Can you say roller coaster? All sorts of them ... and multiple rides. Emotional, spiritual, meteorological, professional, motherly, ... a myriad of roller coasters so to speak. Some with high drops, some with fast spins, quick jerks, free falls, hanging upside down, throwing up, all of it.

After 15 years of teaching, I am still jaw on the ground surprised at some of the things I hear come out of the mouths of these precious ones.

Mic tape sticks to carpet.

Everyone should get a chance to sing a solo.

Why do I choose a cappella music for my students to learn? Why? Every year. Why?

Biting gnats bite. For real. I will testify. Head, shoulders, knees and toes. Well, more like head, shoulders, chest and back.

Douglas will be 17 on Saturday.