Time to let go

We went to the ocean this summer. It had been calling me for so long. For a girl who was raised amongst mountain tops I wonder at the deep pull that immense salty place has on my soul. In the mountains I feel at home….they keep me oriented…I know where I am and where I need to go. I love the feeling of looking up at their depth and height and the awe of looking for miles from their towering peaks.

When we lived in the south and there wasn't a hill in sight I often felt desultory….like a stranger roaming and lost. The only comfort was at the ocean, feeling the salt on my skin and the wind on my face. It wasn't the same as my mountains that beg me to climb, to conquer, to be in them…feel the rugged path under my feet and grit under my nails.  I can't swim…not really, and the uncontrolled impulsive power of the waves scares me. Yet there I stand, as long as I can, watching the waves roll and crash; only my feet brave enough to withstand the teasing waves. It soothes my soul, clarifies my thoughts and orients my perspective. Even now as I sit here in my mountain home I feel the pull of the rolling tides.

"The Lord still moves mountains, and still calms the raging seas." I heard in church today.

It made me wonder (but not really wonder) why I find comfort in the things that only God can control.

Random Acts of Kindness...Year 5

I'm often surprised at how real, deep and even overwhelming the grief can still be. It's been five years. Five years to get used to not calling her when silly things happen. Five years to get used to not seeing her at family gatherings. Five years to get used to not sharing my life with her. I've done a lot in the last five years, but getting used to having my sister gone is not one of them.

However, I do have a better understanding of where she is and what she's doing. A better understanding of Heavenly Father's love for all his children. A better understanding of the comfort given by the Savior's atonement. A better understanding of how all life's mess can make me a better person....and that is why I love Random Acts of Kindness.

Random Act of Kindness began as a way to remember Ruth, Nick and Audrey, because that's how they lived, because that's how we were blessed during our initial loss, and because now that's how we choose to live our lives.

Now, when I feel that gaping hole threatening to rip me clear through, I can think kindness instead of pain.  Sometimes it comes on fast, when I need a quick save....hurry, smile at the next person you see.... make eye contact....say hello...ask and listen about how they are, what they need. And sometimes it is a little more deliberate, following through on a phone call or an invitation I've put off way too long. Little by little neurons are trained to be kind instead of hurt, to look out instead of in.

As the kindness habits grow it is impossible to not see the kindness I receive. A good friend taking my kids overnight, not just feeding and housing them, but caring and comforting....even taking my son to soccer practice. Ten total kids and she still manages to take mine to soccer. She is kind, I am grateful.

I notice the kindness that comes even when there wasn't a need.  The kind that comes for no other reason but that you are loved. I was up early, so happy to be spending time with my husband, but wishing just a little I could be with my family as well. We were on a morning run in a strange and beautiful park. We ran up and around huge red rocks and reached the top in time to see the sunrise. It was red from all the smoke from summer fires, and made for an amazing view. Who knew this was what my sisters were doing at the same moment...waiting for that sunrise...it wasn't planned to all be there together miles apart, but there we were. Even God couldn't resist getting in on a day of Random Acts of Kindness.

Rosalie's Eyes

I remember the last time I went to the Barrus Family Reunion. I was maybe 10 and I knew nobody. It was awkward.  There were kids running all over the park and my parents kept saying, "They're all your cousins, just go play with them." But I didn't.  I was relieved when it was finally time to go.

Twenty years later I am ready to try again. I want to know more of the woman whose eyes I share. 

It all starts the same, with so many smiling faces....familiar but unknown and I keep thinking, "They're all your cousins, just go talk to them." 

And I do, a little. Mostly, I read histories posted on the walls, trying to connect the lines from them to me and wonder at the lives behind the dates and places.

I giggle when my dad's cousin and partner in crime starts teasing my daughter...she has no idea who he is and when I tell her of the mischief he and my dad used to get into, her eyes grow wide with surprise. And this is why I came. I am just not a mom anymore than my dad is just a grandpa, just as she will not always be a little girl. I want her to know that. I want to know that. Connecting these lives adds perspective and inriches our heritage.

Later, there was an unexpected surprise from a man I had never met. He sat down next to me with a plate of food and continued a conversation with my dad. After a while he asked who I was and I pointed at my dad and said I was his. He didn't offer any introduction so I ventured a guess based on his wrinkles and a smile that looks like hers. "Are you Rosalie's brother?" My dad confirms that this is his uncle Ruel, the one he was named for.  I had assumed his name came more from his grandfather....I'm not sure I even knew he had an uncle by that name.

Then I get the story.

He had been over three months in a prison camp in Germany with conditions that left him as thin as a rail when the tanks rolled in to pull them out. "Anyone here from California? Anyone here from New York? Anyone here from Idaho? And just like that he was free again. That same month my dad was born.

Again, I get to know different parts of these lives I admire. What it must have been like for my grandma as a young mother, worried about her little brother in a prison so far away...what it must have been like for her little brother in a prison so far away.

Later I got to see the house where my Grandma was raised, and my dad was born,  the two huge pine trees still towering in front. My dad looks for a long time with eyes handed down from his mom and I wish I could see his thoughts.

I've seen this house before, but it seemed so much easier this time to picture my grandma there as a little girl, now that I see my own little girl playing in the ditch, making clover rings and giggling; seeing it all with eyes just like hers.

Up, Over and Around

"Hey, you want to do Skyline in the morning?" she whispered just as the meeting started.

I didn't even hesitate, I love that beast of a run. Hesitation did come later as my tired bones struggled to tuck in kids and sweep floors. 5:20 am comes pretty quick, especially on my day off.  I guess I wasn't the only one since her first words out of her car were, "Maybe we should just run the river."

Too late. I was already committed. It's been months since we've ran up, over and around our little mountain, last time she was six months pregnant; this time I felt like I was.

It was hard, and my body is soft, but they both came through in the end. It was a beautiful view from shaking legs.

I stopped at the store on the way home and as I passed by other early morning shoppers I couldn't help but think, "I've been up and down a mountain today, what have you done?"

....and truthfully, I don't know.

pause

It rained last night. Three-thirty in the morning I lay in my bed just listening. It's been a long time since it's rained, and I can't remember the last time I heard it splashing, gathering in the rain barrel. A busy spring planting and planning is pointless without rain's promise. I could tell it wasn't a lot, but it was enough for now. I didn't sleep again until it stopped.

Picture not my own (thanks Megan!) but fit well with my thoughts.

Hiccups

Scissors in hand I run,
across slick muck and fresh snow.
Risky, I know, but I can’t risk losing
tender asparagus to a Spring hiccup.

Back inside, I crank the heater up
in protest,
and eat chilled spears for breakfast
as little Sunshine looks out…

 

past forgotten bubbles on the sill…

so unimpressed.

“I don’t like this kind of spring…snow is pretty when everything is dead, not when it’s already pretty…spring pretty.”

My own eyes try to look past
drooping fruit blossoms
to a summer of rest for the growing trees.



But in the end I concur
and offer her some asparagus.

Carnal Confession

 

OK, I admit it.

I like pretty things.

Not that you’d see me dressed up for a run, or even in pantyhose at church, but I do appreciate beauty when I see it.

Have you ever been surprised at where pretty shows up?

I know my morning run will be pretty; even in the dark chill the stars are amazing.

I know the mountains can take my breath away at any given moment…and they jump at the chance.

I know my kids are adorable (and funny, and smart, and not afraid to use any or all of these traits to get out of trouble).

But yesterday, I was surprised by the pretty…didn’t see it coming…but I hit my breaks fast to take another look.

I know, just a truck. I’m not even into trucks…really…

…or so I thought.

 

But I am jonesing sure would enjoy a drive.

my word against hers

As testimony fills my heart,
It dulls the pain of days.
For one brief moment, heaven’s view
Appears before my gaze. “Testimony”



I looked her in the eye and denied her accusation. Her ice blue stare shot back disgust, proof of her disbelief. I had no alibi, no way to convince her of my innocence. I had never felt so hurt and alone.

Since that moment I have been keenly aware of my lack of vocal persuasion. I’m not one that can suggest an idea and have everyone jump on board, in fact, it usually falls flat pretty fast. So when it comes to the things that matter most, the things that I know without a doubt, it is a relief to know that I am not alone; “No man can say that Jesus is the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost” (1Corrinthians 12:3), and that the Lord has a backup plan for our unconvincing words.

“When a man has the manifestation from the Holy Ghost, it leaves an indelible impression on his soul, one that is not easily erased. It is Spirit speaking to spirit, and it comes with convincing force….”
“Through the Holy Ghost the truth is woven into the very fibre and sinews of the body so that it cannot be forgotten” ~Joseph Fielding Smith Jr.

I will continue to fumble along, blurting when silence is called for and forgetting to speak until the conversation is passed; hopefully learning this skill of vocal communication, bu always knowing when truth is concerned, He's got my back.

Sweet Invite

Choose ye this day, to serve the Lord God who made you. Behold my Spirit is upon you, wherefore all thy words will I justify; and the mountains shall flee before you, and the rivers shall turn from their course; and thou shalt abide in me, and I in you; therefore walk with me.~Moses 6:33,34

Likeness

Driving home yesterday after my run, the sun just coming up, caught the mountians in such a way...

And behold, all things have their likeness, and all things are created and made to bear record of me, both things which are temporal, and things which are spiritual; things which are in the heavens above, and things which are on the earth, and things which are in the earth, and things which are under the earth, both above and beneath: all things bear record of me>.~Moses 6:62

The Dare

It was cold this morning,
running in the half light of the moon.

It's winter, I know, it's supposed to be cold...but there was something in the wind

the cold wind
that felt like a breeze...something springish.


It's supposed to snow on Sunday, but I couldn't resist. I fed the animals in my shirtsleeves grinning at the not-so-slanted sun...
and dared it to be spring.

Have You Heard?

Is it so strange to feel connected to a tree? Scraggly, hanging bark, mere sticks in the ground..."just part of the yard"...could it be more?

Farmer payers answered with weighty blessings...too much of a good thing? "No, never...but oh, we will miss that tree."

Circled rings, shaded rest, horses, huts and high places. Even before coming alive with giggling grand kids, it was ours.

We stood on branches too thin to grin at the whole world from it's very top, rode it's horse branches and shelled pea mountains in it's shade. We mowed under it's branches as it scratched at bare arms, dozed, laughed and could hardly wait to share it with our kids...adding one more circled ring.

Good times, good memories, and if that was all it would be enough...but I've always felt more...heard more...maybe I'm just feeling sentimental, or waxing poetic, but how do you explain a language to one who has never heard? And if you have, then my words are inadequate.

I have heard whispered peace as I walked under pine boughs...a homesick college girl. I have heard branches beseeching to be climbed every time I ran by, until I finally succumbed, to the surprise of my fiance. I have quietly conversed with willowy treetops as I nursed my babies. I heard live oaks gently awakening my hibernating soul.

Spiritual connection with nature is not a new thought, as Eliza R. Snow wrote of the sacrifice of the Savior, she included the human reactions of the elements.

"The sun in shame withdrew it light!

Earth trembled, and all nature sighed

In dread response, "A God has died!"

~Eliza R. Snow, Behold the Great Redeemer Die

I remember a family grieving for a mountain on fire; more than just fear of lost crops, but the knowledge that a dear friend would never be the same again.

I hear trees, they speak to me, but I believe all nature can encourage, comfort and lift our eyes heavenward; visual symbols of reaching branches and elevated mountain peaks or simple words of praise only our hearts can understand, it is all a simple conversation of gratitude, dependence and love...just waiting to be had.

". . . as long as there are movement and harmony, there are words."~Shannon Hale

Stubborn Beauty

This tree has caught my eye all week. It's our cherry tree that we planted just over a year ago. While all the other trees are busy undressing, preparing for winter bed, it stands defiant; clinging to it's autumn negligee, refusing to go unnoticed.

Yesterday, as the sun lay low, I could resist no longer. Putting my house on self-pilot, I grabbed my camera and ran out to catch the last bit of light glowing through it's leaves before the early winter dim cooled the show.

I spent the night up and down with sick kids and once, as I again sought slumber, I thought about the tree and connected. This was not just any tree.

This was her tree.

Snow blew in hard through the night and covered the still covered tree beautifully, and I smile.

Three trees were planted to visually remind that they are still close; roots mingled in our soil and branches reaching to the sun.

The kids laughed and named this one Audrey, after the youngest.
She was stubborn just like her mom.

Ongoing gratitude list, #5.

New Window

I pulled back the lace curtain,
not to let the light in,
but to let my vision pass

Without obstruction through
the new glass,

wrapped in unfinished pane.

Clean blankets laundered and

aired where neighbors can see

fragrant the room.

It seems so long ago,

the broken glass

and the escape in the wind.

What happened in between

forgotten....almost;

unfinished pain.

Laundered but still hanging,

softly lifted by the wind.

Are the neighbors still watching?

Wondering if we'll ever

bring it in, before the fresh air

fragrance turns stale.

Surprised by the Light unknowingly

let in, I go loosen the pins

and gather arms full.

Trek was fun, I knew it would be, why else would so many youth continue past the cringe of tennis shoes and a skirt just to experience this adventure? Maybe it also had something to do with the hunger. Not the life stealing, 4 ounces of flour a day kind of hunger the pioneers experienced, but just as real. Pres. Mcconkie hit it on the head when he said these youth are hungry for spiritual knowledge. Some of them have been living on so much less than 4 ounces a day that they are willing to "lick the empty flour sacks" just to get a taste. On this trip there were plenty of snacks to be had, and for those who came prepared they left with tummys full and future provisions. I just feel honored to have witnessed it.

I have to admit that I was adequately fed also, some I'm still chewing on. To be in a place that felt so alive with the faithful who died there was more powerful than I expected. While we were at Martin's Cove, the weather was beautiful. It has been a very wet spring and everything was lush and green, completely oppisite to what the pioneers must have experienced, except for the solid mass of rock that sheltered the cove on the east, and the wind....not the freezing, biting wind that brought that early winter in 1856, but the sound of it as it blew over the cove seemed to carry so much more than fresh spring air. Several times it stopped me in my tracks, listening for what I thought I had heard. Then, at the Willie Handcart Memorial site, as I pulled the cart with just my girls up the hill and passed between the men with their hats off and heads bowed, I felt physical pressure all around me, like every woman who has been left to pull on their own was there. The honor was for them, and I was just a decorative whitness standing proxy, amazed by their courage to do what had to be done. These experiences would have been enough but mixed in with all the history of faith and perserverence there was still time for my own questions to be answered as I felt His peace "distil upon (my) soul as the dews from heaven."

Of course I was snapping photos all along, these are just a few....I hope the music doesn't feel irreverent, considering the quarter mile swamp littered with cow pies we trekked through it seemed appropiriate.

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Camping Views

Something I brought home in my pocket from our last camping trip.

where do you live?

Where I Live

We went for a little walk on Sunday....perfect weather (not anymore, now it's roastin' hot, or as Sunshine would say, "It feels like hot lava out here!"). This is one of my favorite views of the mountains...minus the wires.

Where do you live?

Just Inhale

Again and again, every day air rushes through my nose and fills my lungs and body with necessary life, making all things possible.


Inspiration gives hope, keeps things fresh and vibrant, functioning and purposeful.



The view from my parents kitchen window, the branches of the live oaks in the south with their dark bark and hanging moss, looking out at the ocean as the waves philander with my feet. More than just a view, it is a complete moment of beauty that fills my soul with fresh air and cleans out the cluttered paths of my intellect, but the real beauty of inspiration is that it can come from anywhere. A song, a thought, a memory.....all that is required is a willingness to breathe.

During my last visit home I was able to live such a moment. Something that has been going on for a long time but I hadn't been open enough to be inspired until now.

My neighbor (technically, my parents neighbor, as I have moved away, but will always be my neighbor) many years ago was inspired to take a leap of faith and save a company from going under. The company he saved by mortgaging his own farm is the National Center for Constitutional Studies (NCCS). The NCCS was created to help support and preserve the Constitution by encouraging the public to be educated in the principals that have made the US such a strong country, and how to preserve these fundamental ideals. This is from their web page.

"A primary object should be the education of our youth in the science of government. In a republic, what species of knowledge can be equally important? And what duty more pressing...that...communicating it to those who are to be the future guardians of the liberties of the country?" ~ George Washington

Through the years, my neighbor has been steadily working to educate the public about the Constitution and the founding principals that make it possible....the very things we must know if we want it to continue. Not an easy task and pretty slow going at times, until recently when he received a little help from Glenn Beck, who mentioned some NCCS books (The 5000 Year Leap, The Real George Washington, The Real Thomas Jefferson, and The Real Benjamin Franklin) on his program. Since then, NCCS has been flooded with orders...more than they could keep up with. Friends, neighbors and other supporters have been volunteering a lot of time but they are still swamped. While I was visiting my parents I had the opportunity to go spend a few hours in NCCS headquarters (my neighbors home) and help out. It was an impressive operation. I put together boxes, packaged some books, organized a few invoices....a drop in the bucket I know, but I have never been thanked so many times in my life. It was truly inspiring to see a bunch farmers working together on a snowy day to protect the natural standards they could never take for granted. Who would have thought that such a far reaching, important work was going on from a simple farm house in the middle of nowhere USA?

Now I too share the word, with anyone who will listen, to not just be an active participant, but an inspired and educated participant. Inspiration has little effect if it just lingers around us. Old ideas and idle ways need to be expelled to make room for new possibilities to be inhaled, to sustain, and build something stronger.



Take a deep breath of inspiration and join Wordfull Wednesday at Chololateonmycranium.

Where I live

This picture seems to fit my view today. As much as I try to lift my eyes and focus on the distant range, I remain tangled in the rusting barbs.....

...searching for the gate.

..and then there was Light

I have never enjoyed that part of the drive, coming up over the desolate hill only to view the prison. It is modern and well kept, but the stark walls and towers laced together with rolls and rolls of barbed wire always make me shiver.

This morning as I crested the hill, I sucked in my breath with awe. The prison was drenched in deep sunrise hues. The early rays catching the lengths of wire and increasing their brightness as they scattered their light on the gray walls. Instantly I fell in to an incredulous conversation with God.

"Really?" I said, and without waiting for an answer, I continued, "Beauty, here?"

I slowed and looked again, this time listening as He whispered, "Imagine what I can do with you."

Hearken and listen to the voice of him who is from all eternity to all eternity, the Great I Am, even Jesus Christ—
The light and the life of the world; a light which shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehendeth it not; ~D&C 39:1-2