January Harvest

One picture on Monday, one on Tuesday, three on Wednesday, none on Thursday... this is the way it goes.  My original goal was to take a picture every day of something that I found beautiful, but life frequently gets in the way of goals and I have learned that it's just best to be flexible about those sorts of things.  The important thing is the direction I'm moving; and here at the end of the month I have 31 pictures of things that I found to be beautiful this January - one per day instead of one a day?  I hardly notice the difference in those phrases and therefore deem this a success!

 1 - "Sunrise Through a Life Preserver at Post Eleven"

2 - "Gray Curls and New Talents" - Sitting in Starbucks with my peppermint hot chocolate, a lady in red sat next to me and asked the couple seated on the couch if she could sketch them. Twenty minutes later she revealed her work, and neither subject could tell which one was which... an awkward moment that turned beautiful when the artist mentioned that she had only just begun learning how to sketch and was excited for her talent to grow.  I hope I keep learning all through my life, too.
3 - "Sunset Reflecting in Puddles After Rain"
4 - "Sunrise Stillness"
5 - "Dancing Grasses"
6 - "Clean Reflection" - one great thing about having white/grey swirling tile squares all throughout the house... it sure looks clean when it's clean!
7 - "To Beaches = To Home"
8 - "Lurking.  Lurking.  Lurking."
9 - "Truffula Trees, True and Real"
10 - "A Splash of January Color"

11 - "Reach"

12 - "Expensive Fountain in an Expensive Mall" - We felt slightly out of place.  But it was beautiful...
13 - "Nothing Says Love Like This" Lots of visitors combined with Timothy's less than stellar sleeping habits as of late has meant that we frequently have to keep him entertained in our bedroom during the quiet hours of the early morning.
14 - "Finding Dory"
15 - "Heart to Heart" - we absolutely love having all of these visitors.
16 - "Dew Drop Greets the Morning Sun"
17 - "Layers of Softness"
18 - "Old Knot"
19 - "Joy of New Shoes"
20 - "Parenting with Power and Purpose" - Been thinking a lot about this lately... this idea of really nailing down some things that we want our children to take with them when they leave our home and then parenting to those means.  Brian helping me brainstorm?  Beautiful.  (Even if his brainstorm had 7 ideas and mine had 70.)

21 - "Persistence"

22 - "The Beauty of Every Morning"
23 - "A Mothers Pride"  I watched this mother lovingly dress and carry this tiny baby (2 months?) into the pool where she pulled him around in the floaty and took pictures of him with her phone.  Her joy and pride in him was almost tangible, and it was beautiful to me.
24 - "All is Quiet" - after so many nights of restless sleeping, that quiet monitor is a beautiful sight, indeed.
25 - "Children watch the Sunset" - will these kids even remember how wonderful this year has been?
26 - "Different shades of green"
27 - "Midday Rainbow"
28 - "Natural Light"
29 - "Rainy Days"
30 - "Moon Reflection"

31 - "Sailing Under Tabletop Clouds"

I've found something interesting this month.  When I started this project, I simply assumed that I would be looking for beauty with my eyes... but the things that have had the most impact on me so far have been the things I have found beautiful in my heart.   Brian's participation in our parenting goals; the grey-haired lady in Starbucks; the visitors we've had; the mother in the pool; Brian sitting up with TK in the middle of the night.... maybe I'll try looking less with my eyes and more with my heart as time goes on...

Connecting with a Child

You wake.  The rustling starts in your room - I feel it more than hear it.  And then the squeak of the hinges from your bedroom door fills the silence.  I hear your feet slapping against the tile floor before I see you.  And I don't know yet how our morning will go.  You come around the corner and stop to stare at me for a few seconds.  I drop whatever I'm doing and turn to you with a toothy smile and open arms and tell you how happy I am that you are awake.  Some mornings you climb into my lap.  Those are my favorite mornings because those mornings are easy.

Other mornings your eyebrows furrow in my direction.  Your shoulder turns as I reach for a hug and I see the anger in your eyes. On those mornings you make me work harder for that smile I love so much. But that smile comes, now.  If I work.  Always.
This is progress.

I've studied you.  For four years and seven months I've watched.
Learned.
Tried.
Failed.
Failed.
Failed.
And succeeded.

There is one lesson, one most important lesson, that I have learned about you.

You feel love through service.

It took me four years to figure out this truth in you.  Four years is much too long to find a truth as important as this, and for that I am sad.  But I am happy that it did not take longer.  I am happy I took the minutes, the hours, the days, the months, and the years to ponder about you.
Because now
I know.

It is not really in my nature to serve.  And you are good for me in that way.  You are making me into a better person because I care enough about you to change myself.  The progress is slow.  But it is moving.

It is not really in my nature to serve, even though my days are filled with serving.  But I see now that folding your laundry means little to you today.  Much greater is the time I take away from the folding to help you reach that toy.
To fill your cup with fresh water.
To tie that string around your toy car.
To read that storybook.
To serve you in ways that you feel,
ways that you see,
ways that you understand.

So that is why, on the days when you awake with furrowed eyebrows and anger in your eyes, I dance in service circles around you.  That is why, when I see that my service has erased your furrowed eyebrows and replaced the anger in your eyes with joy and love, you see my fist pump the air.

Because I love you.
Because I want you to know that.
Because I want you to feel that.
And that moment when my heart connects with yours and I know you've felt my love?
That is a beautiful moment.

Walking in the Light

Down the sandy beach path.

Through the park.

Along the paved running trail parallel to the ocean.

This is the way to our gorgeous new (to us), coral rock church building. 

Two miles between us and the church that are full of beautiful, beautiful scenery and - on the way home - sunset lighting. I may melt from happiness.

Did I mention it overlooks the bay?

Our ward congregation split last week and formed a (smaller) ward and a brand new branch.  We, along with the other members who live up along the beach, have been put into the new branch and could not be more excited about it. I've never been part of a branch before (a congregation that is too small to qualify as a 'ward') and the quaint feelings of intimacy and the electrifying feelings of missionary work combine together in such a unique way that I am so glad my children (and Brian and I) get to be part of it for a little while.

Two miles is a bit long for little legs, but we've never been this close to a church building before (in the last decade or so) and so the pull of the Sunday walk-to-church was too strong to ignore.  McKenzie, Timothy, and I thoroughly enjoyed it and, well, we'll work on the rest of the family. 

The first Sunday of the year, our sacrament meeting held maybe 30 people in the pews.  I had 6 of them.  The other large family had 7.  And 4 of them were missionaries. 

Last Sunday the number had jumped to around 50. 

A lot of that jump had to do with people coming back into town after the holidays, but the gospel is spreading like wildfire down here, and the missionaries are working so hard (around 80 baptisms in our ward alone last year).  I've been asked to teach the adult Sunday school class and was moved close to tears last Sunday as I watched the hard faces of adults who had been through hell and back soften with the simple truth that we are children of God.  And that he loves us.  

I feel so indebted to the Lord for allowing me to grow up with these truths being whispered into my ear.  I've heard conversion story after conversion story after conversion story and they all have a ring of similarity to it: I am happier now because of this. I know who I am. I know why I'm here. And I feel so much love.

I'm not sure how I got so lucky to be able to learn and teach this beautiful gospel in such a beautiful building. 

But I'll be keeping this harvest close.

New Year, New Direction

I always take a deep breath at the beginning of each year.  It's not really something I consciously do, and I admit that it's a little bit quirky, but it's something that has become so consistent in my life that I expect it, I wait for it, and when it comes I smile through it.  It's not so much a deep breath of preparation for coming months ahead, nor is it a deep breath for the completion of months behind...  It's mostly a deep breath that fills my lungs and my soul with insight about where I am in life right now, and with promise that the coming year will bring both happiness and growth (which sometimes are the same thing and other times are not).  The deep breath smells sweetly of fresh beginnings, of no mistakes, of potential, and it finally exhales into resolutions to be a little better, to try a little harder, to pray and smile and listen a little more, and to enjoy this journey of life that I am living.

This year my deep breath came on the second of January.  I closed my eyes when I felt it tickle in the back of my throat, I let it come deeply, and as it filled my lungs I thought about my life.  So many changes, I thought.  I've been through so many changes over the past year and I have so many changes coming up in the present one.  I felt a warm sense of accomplishment for the way I've handled the changes of the past year, and at the same time a sharp sting of resolve to handle the anticipation of the coming changes with more grace than I have been.  It's been ugly, folks... the anxiety of this upcoming move has kept me awake at nights and the sadness I feel at leaving this lush east-coast for the barren desert rolls around inside of me like barbed wire.  My mind has figuratively picked apart the desert countryside of my future and has been exploring the dark crevices of my fears.  But they remain dark.  I do wish the hot sun would shine on them and take the mystery away from their shadows, but that is not possible.  I don't like the ugliness I feel, so by the time my breath slowly exhaled I had made my new years resolution.  I will harvest beauty this year.

In order to help me with this goal, I've decided to give my blog over to the idea.  I've changed the title from Turning Tomorrow into Yesterday into Harvest Beauty, and I will try to write my posts accordingly.  I've found that, even through the darkest trials of my life, there is always beauty.  Always something to hold on to, always something that shows that God is mindful of us and of our lives.  This is my resolution this year.  To remember that in every life painting, there is a brush stroke of beauty.  Sometimes it's the entire painting itself, and other times it's hidden in the painting like a clever artists name.  Regardless of its size, my goal is to find it, recognize it, harvest it, and keep it in my heart.

I'm reminded of the story of Joseph of Egypt who harvested and stocked and saved for seven years while the crops were plentiful, and when the seven years of famine came he was ready and did not suffer. 

I will keep as much of the harvest here as I can so that it will be readily available to me (and to you if you want) when beauty is in short supply. 


Here's to a beautiful 2014.

Heart Attack Reflections

Eyeballs...  Balloons...  Sharks... 

To the average person, these three words would have little, if anything, in common.  But to me, they all evoke the same feeling in my heart.  Fear.  I don't recall the exact moment any of these things started haunting my existence, but it was long before the man I married decided to make his profession one of slicing eyeballs; long before I had children who require balloons at every single birthday; and long, long before I moved to an apartment right on the beach where sharks are swimming entirely too close to me.  Facing these fears on a regular basis has not curbed their intensity... in fact, if anything the intensity has been inflated.  I now have rules about how much Brian can share about his day with me (no hand motions to describe procedures (only words), and I do not look into ANY eyes as he's talking about it).  I have rules about the presence of balloons in my house (ONLY on birthdays and NEVER in the car).  And I have rules about when I will and will not enter into the ocean.  My family and I laugh at the irrationality of these fears (mostly my family), but the laughter doesn't seem to curb their intensity either.

In addition to these silly and rather irrational fears, I have one very real and rational fear.  One that I don't laugh about (ever), sometimes cry about when I even think about it, and can actually remember the exact moment it hit my heart and latched itself there like a leech.  It was early spring.  I had just gotten engaged and heard a terrible story of a newlywed couple who, on their way on their honeymoon, got in a car accident which killed the groom.  (Why do people even share these stories?)  That was it.  A new fear had been born because I all the sudden had someone in my life that I loved in a whole new way and that I simply couldn't imagine living without.  And with each passing anniversary, each new child, each rocky path conquered, that fear of losing this man I love has only grown because now he's that person in my life that I love even more. And more. And more.

We have had a few kind notes and phone calls this past month from friends and family who are remembering the events of last Christmas.  Their messages are so appreciated and all have the same wonderful tone: thinking of you, and so happy you are all healthy together this Christmas season.  Of course, I've been reflecting about the last year because, that's what I do, and one memory keeps working its way to the front of my mind.  It was Christmas Eve, and the day had been so very emotional. After tucking the children into bed and leaving them in the care of Grandma and Grandpa, I drove to the hospital with a suitcase full of presents to set up in the hospital room.  (I must have looked terrible because more than one group of people stopped and asked if I was alright. No, I wanted to say.  My 32 year old husband had a severe heart attack a couple of days ago, I'm 7 months pregnant, and I have three small children at home, so... I'm scared... and I don't know what my future looks like. But of course I just smiled and nodded.  They smiled back and we shared a silent understanding.  You're here on Christmas Eve, too...)  I walked into Brian's room, so happy he'd been moved from the ICU that morning, and tried quite unsuccessfully to hide my emotional face.  I felt it so important to not worry him with my own feelings quite yet because I wanted him to focus on himself, so I explained them away by simply saying that I felt a bit overwhelmed.  I tried to set Christmas up quickly but, being the perfectionist that I am, I ended up staying too long and felt supremely guilty when Brian admitted that my preparations were stressing him out.  I left the rest 'undone', kissed him, and tearfully made my way to the door to leave him alone to rest.  As I opened the door I heard him say, "Oh, Linds," his tone was gentle and sounded as if he'd just realized something important. "I'm so sorry." I looked back at him, laying in that hospital bed and he continued, emphasizing each word, "This is your biggest fear."

I waved my hand to dismiss it, again, not wanting him to worry for me just yet.  "I'm fine, dear," I said.  Though, I most certainly was not and I'm sure my tears blew my cover.  "Get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning.  I love you."

Of course, I'm lucky that I didn't actually have to live through my biggest fear last Christmas.  But boy did I have to stare that ugly thing down face to face.  It came much too close.  Close enough to touch, to smell, to taste and, worst of all, to feel.

But, now I see that an unexpected thing has happened. 

Unlike my fears of eyeballs, balloons and sharks that intensify when faced, facing the fear of losing Brian has interestingly diminished it.  To be clear, it is still my biggest fear, and I pray every single morning that the Lord will protect him and keep him safe because that is certainly a trial I never want to live through.  But.  I'm not so afraid of it as I once was.  And it's because, through those indescribable hours where I wasn't sure he would ever be coming home with me again, I dug to the root of myself and somehow knew that I would be okay.  Call it faith or madness, but it is perhaps the most empowering feeling I've ever felt... the feeling of knowing that, even if my biggest fear happened... I would be okay. 

Maybe that's what the Lord wanted to teach me through all of this.  To have faith in myself.  To have faith in Him and to know that I could get through anything... anything... with His help.  How blessed I feel that the Lord could teach me that lesson without making me live through the real thing.

Oh gosh.  How blessed I feel in that.

 Sometimes the rest of the picture is just so great that your poo-face just has to take one for the team.

This past year has been shoved full of so many experiences and memories that, because of our humble feelings of mortality, have been absolutely cherished.  We have lived this year and I have a folder bursting full of pictures to show it.  Of course, we have struggled and cried and wrestled and woken up exhausted just as much or more than other years because, evidently that's just life, but we have also laughed and loved and played and dreamed. We've hugged more and listened more and navigated through our disagreements with more love.  Brian and I are having very different experiences this year - me living a sort of dream, and him living a sort of nightmare - and for all the friction that could cause in our lives, we've still managed to respect each others feelings, to stick together and to feel part of the same team through it all. 

He is such a good man, guys.  And I am one lucky lady.

Don't Judge the Bird

I watched the seabird struggle against the wind.  His wings flap, flap, flapped and I could see from below the backwards progress he was making.  He was tilting from side to side and then in a moment of decision, folded his wings into his body and dove - beak first - into the choppy waters below.  He came up empty handed and the wind blew him back over the sand and the dunes.  His flight became more staggered and his elevation dropped and rose and dropped and rose as if he were being jerked around by a cruel and invisible puppeteer.  That is the most ungraceful bird I have ever seen I thought to myself.  His brothers in the air were able to maintain their level of grace and composure despite the high winds... what a funny bird.

He seemed so unsure of himself, so confused at how to use his wings that he kept my attention.  And then, just like that, I was surprised to see him open broadly his magnificent wings and use the winds to soar beautifully, gracefully, majestically through the air directly above my head.  As he passed above, I saw what had been hidden to me from the distance.  He hadn't come up empty handed after all; a giant, floppy fish hung from his tight talons.  A bigger fish than I'd ever seen a bird that size carry.  And as I watched him soar gracefully down the beach to find a place to feed, I realized that he had never been ungraceful.  He had been struggling.  With the fish.


This was interesting to me.  You know, I thought sadly, I wonder how often I've done that to other people.  It seems to me like we're all wrestling in mid-air with sometimes invisible-to-others issues that could make us appear ungraceful, or curt, or unfeeling, or snooty, or fillintheblank.  A problematic car with no money or time to fix it might make me prone to snap at my kids.  A friendship that is falling apart might cause me to appear distant to my husband.  A child who is struggling in school might make me unwilling to help a friend (okay, confession: all of those things have happened).  But most of us are good people who care about others, and who are trying the best we can.  And, thankfully, we all have moments when we soar through life majestically, too.  This bird made me resolve to look deeper, as I continue on through life and its ever changing making-friends-and-keeping-them cycles, and try to be the kind of friend who will look at another with understanding and compassion.  The kind of friend that will be more careful about not letting an impression hide the truth.

Because, as I learned today, someone who might seem ungraceful might actually be very graceful, but struggling instead.

Defying Gravity

The fun thing about school this year is that I get to teach whatever I want for science.  For example, I could take a whole month and teach my kids about the science of glass blowing if I wanted.  But I don't.  We chose space instead.  Nothing warms a homeschooling mama's heart more than seeing her children dress up like Neil Armstrong and crew during their free play.

After we finished our unit, we pulled out the butcher paper, glitter, glue and markers and went to town drawing whatever we could think of.  We thought up a lot of spacy stuff.

And then, coincidence!  We happen to live kinda close to the Kennedy Space Center, so... field trip!

These kids are nerds.  They loved everything about the museum and ran from one exhibit to the next shouting, "Hey!  I know about this!  That's ...."  They sounded so smart they must have a really awesome teacher this year.

This was also the first time I decided to leave the big camera at home and just rely on my little camera phone to capture the memories.  She did a great job and I've grown fond of her since.

Some of our favorite things from the day included the Atlantis Exhibit, the Angry Birds Exhibit (which really had not-so-much to do with space, but had so many ipads and games that the kids could hardly be torn away) and, of course for Carson, food.

The kids even got to meet a real astronaut.  Though, Miles hid behind the safety of Daddy's leg the whole time.  Astronauts are scary.

We learned a bunch more about space.  And entered into massive giggling fits when we read through this exhibit.

Let's just say that there are cameras involved inside the toilet bowl so the astronauts can make sure everything is aligned properly before letting loose.  No one wants poor aim when there's no gravity... I think I want one for my boys.

Everyone was exhausted by the end of the day which, in my opinion, is pretty great.

 And after the day, who knows?  Maybe we'll have an astronaut in the family someday. (But they'll have to work on their aim first.)