Withdrawal from Wthdrawal

Remember that time when you took the challenge to not eat sugar for 3 weeks, and not just sugar, but gluten and milk?

What kind of self torture is that?

Remember how sad you were... and a little bored?

But you did it, thinking you would be back to sugar in no time...until the 3 weeks were up and then you were so scared to even think about eating sugar again because now you know for sure how much you depended on it to entertain you, to keep you company, to distract you from the hard things, and what if you can't just have it occasionally without eating all of it?

Yep.

And not only that, remember how it made you wonder if there were other things in your life that you could give up; other things that are a waste of time and talents?

You know...

those things that you tell yourself you deserve to do....or eat, because you've worked so hard all day and you've earned it?

How does that even make sense?

Here, you've worked incredibly hard, now go do something that is going to negate at least half of the work you've done...you deserve it.

What kind of self-hate talk is that?

Remember that?

Please, remember that.

Did it really happen

I fell asleep on the couch this morning after I dropped the kids off at school. In the middle of unpacked boxes and a kitchen buried in last nights dinner and all our life's paper work that still needs to be refiled. My stomach grumbled for my missed breakfast and I slept.

I haven't shaved my legs in three weeks, a record for even me because who has time? 

Not me.

I am buried in projects that can never be finished, things that can never be organized, and of course last nights previously mentioned dinner. 

I broke last night and cried at my kids; I don't think I've done that before. Cried with them, yes. Cried for them, yes. Cried in front of them…but not at them, blaming them for my inadequate self. 

So I slept. Maybe I really needed it, maybe I should have shaved my legs instead, or maybe I just needed an escape into nothing before I go back to everything again.

How long can it take to organize a house anyway? Week three is disappearing fast and here I am still trying to figure it out. It's not just a house after all, it's a home. One great thing about moving is the opportunity to start with a clean slate. Throw out the trash, question new bills and old schedules. Maybe get it right this time. I know it's worth the time.

I think back to a month ago to life in the hotel, or three months ago to life in Colorado and it feels foggy, distant and lost in all the emotion of moving and leaving a home that I didn't know would be a home and hoping that we can find that again. Sometimes making a new home feels disloyal to the old. 

I will always love the old. 

Buried on the couch I dreamt of walking through the woods in the rain (it always rains here) with my kids. As we came through the trees the scene opened up to a fast flowing creek making it's way down from the mountain peaks that were now right before us. The rain had turned to snow and it was beautiful. We turned in circles admiring our new surroundings and I knew it was put there for me. I also  knew it was a dream. I breathed deep, sucking it all in, daring it to be real; to prove itself to me. The snow was soft and cool, my nose was even started to feel cold. I held my kids hands and we turned around one more time as the horizon went flat again. I knew it would and I was grateful anyway. Grateful for that moment and grateful for this moment.

I just want to remember that.

The Work

"But now O Lord, thou ART our father; we ARE the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand." -Isaiah 64:8

 

Humility is more than just recognizing your weakness, your faults and your inadequate offerings; it is also seeing your divine potential in His hands.

They both can be a little scary.

No guts, no glory

There was a moment when it was all clear, but before that, the miles stretched out endlessly.

Studying the map before the race, it was clear that these miles would be hard, 9-17, where the beginning excitement would be well worn off and it would still be a l...ah....ong way from the end. It would be a mental game...

me against myself.

Who else would know if I slowed my pace, or walked a little longer through the water stops?

But I didn't. I held on, kept pushing; going faster when I wanted to go slower. Just get to mile 17.

Then I did.

Slowing for water and goo, my body felt done and my mind was tired of telling it otherwise. Then something opened in my gut and spread...up through my lungs and spread through my legs. My eyes lifted and I started to run. That was the moment of clarity, when I knew that not only would I finish, but finish well.

This week I feel like I have been stuck at a water stop at mile 17 just waiting for my gut to kick in. Finally today I had that moment of clarity and it scared me. Sometimes knowing for sure what I should do does that to me. I hope I have enough guts.

Learning Greek

“So you run 26 miles...and you get…..what?”

My friend was completely serious. A complete stranger to even a 5K, she was incredulous when I told her how long a marathon was….and that I was planning on running one.


I couldn’t tell her why; not that I didn’t have my reasons…just that it would be all greek…a language neither of us understood.

That was three weeks ago, and my 26.2 have come and gone, and I am a better person because of it. Sometimes when I think of it, it was simply something fun to do, and other times it was everything that I had to do. One thing is for sure, it was one heck of a ride, and in an attempt to cruise a little longer I will be little posting several marathon thoughts, stories, lessons and full on life metaphors...unless I decide to train for another marathon...in that case look for a post on harmful addictive behaviors and how to live happily in denial. 

Just Like That

He did it.

And then went back for more.

I have read to the child from the beginning, and it wasn't always easy; he's not a sit and listen kind of kid. I read to him as he climbed up and over and along the back of the couch. I read as he hung upside down or played with trains, and if I stopped he would look up and tell me to keep reading, so I did.

We made the jump into chapter books with "Where the Red Fern Grows" reading hours at a time in the summer shade on the trampoline and then again on the couch that night, his excited rubbing hands at his nose. Naturally I thought he would eventually pick up a book on his own, get lost in the pages and ignore me when I called...years slipped by as we meandered through book after book. Occasionally, I would have him read a page or two of every chapter, and he read well....and he still would hand the book back to me, content to just listen.

I worried he would never pick up a book on his own, that this one who lives life to the fullest might miss this life opportunity. I worry too much.

Tonight he finished his very first chapter book, only stopping to tell me the funny parts, and then when it was my turn to read, and he was already deep in a second book he asked me to wait while he finished, so I did. I just sat there and watched him as he read silently on the couch turning pages 'til he got to the end of the chapter and then sneaking a look at the next page.

Hmm...just like that.

My heart stopped for a second as it realized what we had been working towards for so long happened in it's own time anyway, and I felt happy and amazed, and a little left out.

In This Shape

As a young wife, before stretch marks and nursing bras, I ran. On a trail through cedar and sage, miles stretching out behind, I made plans with a friend.  With tight abs and short shorts we exposed our naivete as we planned it all out, it was simply really, run a marathon between each baby, just to make sure we stayed in shape.

And so I ran a marathon.

It was the hardest thing I had ever done....until about six hours before the birth of my oldest child, at that point I looked back on those miles run for strength and found they were marathons short of what I was about to experience.



I haven't run a marathon since...had no desire to really, suprisingly content to stay in the shape of a mother. But now that mother shape is changing, my youngest is now three and sleeps in late...

so I run again.

I find friends who like to run and who read books about running marthons, and again we plan. And now I run miles and miles on Saturday morning and try to ignore little aches and pains, not wanting to give them encouragement, and I wonder just a little bit how hard it will be....

A marthon in this shape that I am in.

Layton Marathon, October 9, 2010

Where's the Line?

How far would you go to show your love and support for your spouse?

Would you give up an entire day (plus babysitting) just to show them?

Would you sit uncomfortably in the sun for hours just to obtain a minute of glory for them?

Would you stretch your body far beyond what it has done in the last five or ten years just because your effort is important to them?

Would you give up an entire Saturday afternoon of working in the garden with perfect weather just to show that you're all a team?

Would you????

I would....

...and did. This week was like an extended company party at my husbands' work. It involved a lot of different competitions and hubs, being a part of a very competitive group, signed me up to compete. I'm sure he was thinking, "My wife played competitive sports in high school, (16 years ago) surely she can be an asset to the team." How flattering for me...really...my husband still values my high school achievements.

Now that it's done I can't complain too much; just because my body aches in ways I never new possible, and my fingers shake as I try to type, and my pride is slightly wounded from getting out 5 times in 3 innings...really, I was glad to help. There were some high moments too, not so much in softball, but the 5K was fun and my body did remember a trick or two involving a volleyball.

Now I need my bed...and maybe a chiropractor.

Just thankful he didn't sign me up for football...even if he had, a girl's got to draw the line somewhere.

Story Time

One of the major reasons I blog is to keep a record. I'm never the same person two days in a row, yet morphing by such small degrees I would hardly notice unless I had a written record of my previous self.

This blog is probably the closest to a journal I have ever come, but I have always thought that there are several different ways to leave a record of your life.

We live in an old house...not just an old house but an old house with character; keep in mind here, not all character is good. Many people have lived on this property before us and they have all left little stories about themselves built into this house, piled in the dirt, and even a few...a very few, planted in the soil. Mostly tales about horses, cattle, and chickens. Little narratives of how to make do with what you have are nailed in the barns and strung on the fence posts. Written in the fenced front yard with lawn, (a rarity it these parts) is the possibility of childhood adventures. The one lone lilac in the back, though weak and unpruned when we found it, is a small chapter of someone, at sometime that desired more than livestock.

This week my fingers have been distant from my computer keys and etched with dirt, but I have left little blog posts all over. These are some of my favorites.

A new row of lilacs from a neighbor who had too many.

Three tomato patches...with 5 different kinds of tomatoes, most from seed. No doubt these are a short story, but sometimes those are the best kind.

Day lilies....for free.

Nine grape vines, eight for only the price of digging the holes.

Honeylocust tree, so pretty and NOT an elm, and I had better mention...for free.

So even if my posts are far and few between this summer, I continue to tell my stories. Maybe this winter I will actually get some in print.

*I have a great friend who is redoing her yard...resulting in a lot of  free transplants and a lot of happy work for me :)

Pass it on

Running is contagious, and I love seeing people get sick catch the fever. People who you would never think...all of a sudden asking to meet at the track for a little speed, or braving the dark and cold just to get a few miles in, or sprinting even though they "hate" running.

Then take these people and put them in a race. Once you get past the "why would I pay $20 to run this trail when I can run it for free" comments, something crazy sick happens as they find themselves pushing past old limits and feeling high and wasted and.....completely happy.

I'm running the 5 mile Blossom Day race this Saturday, and it's supposed to be rainy and and a little cold and perfect at the same time. I'm running with some of the newly infected, and can't wait to see them at the finish line. Of course, I've had the disease for several years now and so I'm looking for something beyond compeltely happy, and that would be a specific time...really I'm flexible, as long as it's under 40 min. Last year I came in at 41 something and...well, faster would make me smile.

243/1000

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.

Put Up or Shut Up

Seriously.

Times are tough. Like everyone else we've been looking for ways to trim costs, save more and live well within our means. So when the garden produces more than expected, peaches arrive by the box load, neighbors offer trees of bounty, and friends unload ripening fruit you say thank you and get busy.

First, it was peppers. These I chop and freeze, dry or can. If canning you should use a pressure cooker since they have low acidity. I don't have one and I have just used a water bath, but it's not recommended.

Next there were peaches. What we didn't eat I simply cut up into slices, added a little sugar and froze in quart freezer bags. Growing up, Mom would always can LOADS of peaches....rows and rows of the peachy fruit lined our storage room shelves. It was pretty, but my kids don't really care for canned peaches; they do love peach smoothies, so I froze most of them with just a little sugar to keep them pretty. I also made peach jam, that turned out quite tasty, by following my apricot jam recipe.

Before I was even half way through the peaches, my neighbor offered her apple and plum trees. So we (and by we, I mean me and Laser Boy) made applesauce, plum applesauce, apple pie filling and plum jelly; still too many apples left on the tree....with such cute help, I'm sure I'll just have to make more.

In the middle of all this, another neighbor calls offering three large boxes of pears that are going rotten faster than she could get to them. Hmmm, let's see, wasn't that me just praying for solutions to lower the ol'e grocery bill.....

k, I'll take 'em.

Turns out they went rotten faster than I could get them to my house (Hubs said they smelled like hooch), not sure what my well intentioned neighbor had in mind, but they did make an excellent addition to my compost pile, and with all my extra time I was able to freeze my corn before it went too mushy.

Now, I think the rush is over and I'm just dilly dallying with more peppers, green beans, basil and tomatoes; hoping it doesn't freeze until I can stock up on canned tomatoes and tomato sauce.

To be honest, I'm surprised by it all. Not that I am well taken care of, that I have come to trust, but the fact that I can.....um, can. All those Labor Day weekends spent in hard labor, helping my mom can everything you could imagine and in amounts that are now unimaginable, must have paid off.

Food on Fridays with Ann Kroeker

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

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.

..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

New Year's Indulgence

There is a reason Thanksgiving comes first in a season of celebration. The opportunity to look around with wide eyes and be amazed at all our blessings; even discovering love where before had only been pain. With eyes lifted, acknowledging the fount of every blessing, we are prepared to fully celebrate the the Father's gift of his son; the birth of our Savior. Like the magi, we spend the season coming to Christ. Instead of offering gold and fragrance, we give up our sins to know Him more completely, setting the stage for a New Year striving to become more like Him.

For myself the struggle to be like Him begins with loving like Him. During Thanksgiving I wrote this in my journal:

"I am thankful for all things. For every moment and every breath. Now I will show my gratitude by being present in every moment. Look into their eyes, hear what they need, share their joy and pain, and be so happy to be the one they chose as their mother."

This may be a little selfish, as little effort pays big dividends, but I'll be the first to admit my tendency to get caught up in the goal of getting things done; with the best of intentions and missing too much of the important.

To flip the coin, I want to strengthen my resolve to reach those in my life who seem unreachable. To not be hurt when I am blocked out again. To celebrate every crack of light....every word, touch and glance that is real.

To give structure and even hope to my goals, I want to be more consistent in searching His word. Not just a set time or place, but to completely indulge in whatever time or place I am in.

Every moment's opportunity

As we started our "Thankful list" last week, all sorts of things came to mind, my favorite being the simple ones.

A glimpse of little toes...always growing, takes my breath and holds on to the moment as if to stop time for an instant.

Catching my daughter's eye...smile, and her unexpected hug.

Faint herbal aroma from summer's potted flavor.

There were some that were more complex...that didn't fit in a tidy list..but that continue to shape me.

I often think of a call to gratitude...when everything seemed broken on the ground....at the time I could only see it, but the clairity of the moment was enough to start the experiment...the desire to feel it swell.

...gratitude in all things....when the unfixable lies before you...finding gratitude, not just finding some thing, somewhere hidden amongst all the wreckage, that could bring happiness...but feeling gratitude for all of it.

Gratitude in the moment...for every moment...brings humility to the soul and allows progression toward what He is. It allows the mending of the broken, bringing sweetness to the bitter, and restoring of what was lost.