Day 12: Dig In

Have you seen this? I'll give you a sum-up if you don't have time for clicking. It is a video of Elder D. Todd Christofferson explaining how just as our bodies need daily physical sustenance, our spirits need daily nourishment. He talks about how the children of Israel gathered manna in the wilderness everyday. They couldn't store it, it was only good for one day, so they had to diligently gather to gain sustenance. And as they did so, it helped them to remember the source of their blessings, to have faith in Him, and to thank Him for giving them life every single day.

Elder Christofferson goes on to explain the spiritual parallel in all of that. Hunger and thirst act as physical reminders to us to nourish our bodies, and the need for spiritual sustenance is also strong. The simple acts of praying, reading scriptures, and meditating can produce significant changes in a person's life, Elder Christofferson says. Ultimately, they can transform us.

Maybe it is because so much of my day centers around taking care of bellies, but I really like the parallel between physical nourishment and spiritual sustenance. I like that Christ called himself the "bread of life" and "living water." I like that when the resurrected Christ spoke with Peter on the shore of the Sea of Galiee, He asked him three times, "Lovest thou me?" and each time when Peter answered, "Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee," He instructed him, "Feed my lambs. . . . Feed my sheep. . . . Feed my sheep."

Natalie's belly being nourished

I love when my soul feels full and nourished. I love that the scriptures ask us to feast: to gather manna, and a lot of it, every day. I love that they ask us to taste of the good word of God. And that it is delicious.

I like that they help me feel full. 

Day 11: To You Who Came Before Me

I am tipping my hat to my mom today. And my grandmas. And my great-grandmas.

How did they handle being sick without easily accessible clips of Big Bird?

(Here is my great-grandma, Hilda Adams, 

my mom's mom's mom.

Cute, huh?)

I wasn't feeling too hot yesterday, and then this morning I felt like I couldn't open my eyes all the way for the groggy soreness. It just makes me awed at the generations of farmers and laborers and pioneers through my family line. Really, through all history, because I don't know even know all my people too well yet. But I am sure there were times when good old Artemesia Manley Harrison would have loved to stay inside with her babies (her...NINE...babies.) to watch Mormon Messages and listen to music.

It makes me hope that her husband was nice to her like mine is. And that maybe her neighbors helped her out from time to time like mine do. I am sure there was work to be done on her farm; things that couldn't wait until tomorrow--fires to light, food to prepare, tummies to fill. And I bet she did those things, even with headaches or backaches or tiny fevers. But I hope she had things that made her life fuller, and kinder, and happier, too.

I've gotten so soft in my old age. My older-than-I-was-before age.

Also, it's clear I am becoming more mysterious as evidenced by the too many links in this post.

Forgive me.

I'm sick. 

Day 10: Unexpected Joys

Howdy, night owls.

I was just about to write you a lengthy post, but then, this incredible, amazing tender mercy happened:

I found pictures of our dear, dear Josh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was hoping and hoping that I would have forgotten something like this. I went through all my iPhone pictures after he died hoping that he would at least be in the background of some pictures.

Josh did not feel too comfortable with a camera in his face. In fact, one of my favorite pictures of him is him "pretending" to sleep after I tried to snap a candid shot of him on the couch cuddling his niece, Claire. His sleeping face comes off more like, "I am uncomfortable. Please stop taking my picture."

I was so thankful to find one great picture of him on my phone. But that was it. Only one.

But then just earlier today as I was going through pictures for my nephew's birthday, I found a cute but really blurry photo of Josh and Erica that Joel took and thought, "Oh I should send that to Erica"

Then just RIGHT NOW when I was going to tell you all what an amazing boy Joel is (Happy Birthday, Joel!), I was going through old pictures and found a little Josh stash!!!!!!!

You can even see him in the background of some.

Are you crying?!?!?

We only got Josh for a little season, but he is our brother, you know? He's going to be on our welcoming committees when we pass to the other side. He's going to be married to our sister for eternity. So these little things, like seeing him in the background of pictures, mean a whole lot.

I have to do some emailing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Day 9: The Mirror

Today we were at the pediatrician for Natalie's 18-month-old well check. Natalie is on the petite side, so the doctor was recommending a couple ways to bulk up. "Remember at this age, babies are like little mirrors," she said. "You probably have seen this already--how she wants to do what you do, repeat what you say, and she will probably want to eat off your plate, so feel free to put things there you want her to eat and let her go for it."

Little did the doctor know, she was voicing my anxiety of yester...month. Year. Life. I don't know. Not about the food. The mirrors. Have you heard this before? People will say things like, "Kids can be cruel." And then other people will say, "Kids can be mirrors." (Implying that kids pick up behavior that they see and try it out for themselves).

The responsibility of that--knowing that she is seeing and absorbing all of me, even the parts I don't want her to, has freaked me out in times past. (In times present and probably future, too.) I don't expect myself to be perfect, but at the same time I was wondering where I could not be perfect, so when Natalie inevitably picks up that foible, it'd be one I'd feel okay about.

Sorry for the braces, dear. Ugh. No. Exhausting.

The thing is, I don't care if she's imperfect.

I care that she is kind. I care that she loves and knows she is loved. I care about other good things.

So noooooow, when I try to harangue myself about anything--about putting too many vowels in woooords when I am wriiiiiting, about anything at all--it is hard not to think, "would I say this to me if I were her?"

She's ruined my haranguing.

Thank goodness.

And as she was running around the house shouting, "Heeeeyyy guuuuuuysss!" and "Happy baby!" I was feeling so grateful for that little mirror. Because guuuuuuysss! I may not be perfect, but I have good things, too.

Thanks for helping me like myself better, little.

Love you.

Day 8: Of Oats and Horses

Gung hey fat choi!

My mom was a preschool teacher when we were little and she would always prepare red penny packets and fortune cookies for her students on Chinese New Year. They made me feel lucky.

I love fresh starts. Sometimes I will start my day out with a hearty helping of self-pity and then think I have to keep dragging my feet all day because I already ate the oatmeal of despair. There is nooooo going back, my heavy feet say. You have to wait until tomorrow to feel better. Until then, let’s eat cookies and waaaallllllooooooooww. Have you seen the Nutri-grain commercial on this wise: one right choice leads to another, they say, so start your day off right with Nutri-grain?

I love you Nutri-grain, and you’ve got a point, but I gotta say, sometimes your day begins with the disparaging oats and then instantly brightens after a quick hello from your quirky Irish neighbor, or a walk out in the misty world, or just hearing about consoling emails, or learning about a local ape that predicts the Super Bowl!

Suddenly all those little points of light seem to poke brilliant holes in your overcast morning and renew your faith that today can be miraculous.

Gung hey fat choi!

Day 7: Joy Ride

Once when I was in Ghana, I was walking up a city street with my two companions when we heard someone shrieking. The road was very wide, with spaces for two buses to go up the hill and veer right on one side, and the same amount of space allocated for buses to come down from the left on the opposite side. As we looked around, we saw coming from the left side, far from where we stood, a large wagon plummeting down the hill with its owner caught helplessly on its front. I assume the owner had lost control of the heavy cart as she navigated it down the steep hill and in her efforts to stop it, she had been swept up by it. Her arms were stretched out over the front of the cart, gripped to either side, and even from how far away we were, I could see the whites of her eyes as she sped screaming down the hill.

Mercifully, before hitting any people or cars, the cart crashed into the corner of a curb. One wheel jumped the curb, and the imbalance caused the cart to overturn, throwing its passenger to ground unharmed. I realized as soon as the cart stopped that I had been frozen for the last 10 seconds, as had all of the people around me. We watched the street unfreeze and resume the normal practices of buying and selling. A few people helped the girl return her cart to a standing position, after which, she picked up the handle and kept walking on down the hill.

Maybe I have PTSD from this tiny fraction of my life from so long ago, because sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see how the girl's clothes billowed out around her as she flew down that steep slope. It makes me sick to my stomach. There was nothing I could do to stop it, but (Thank God! Thank God!) the Lord did provide.

What always amazes me about this experience is how the girl just got up and kept walking. She was unharmed and her cart didn't break, and she had work to do, so she just got up and kept going. That was a common trait of people I met in Ghana: they did not spend a long time bemoaning their trials. And here was another big common trait: there was lots of praising God. My friends out there remind me of the saints represented in that hymn, "Come, Come ye Saints." They "wend their way" with joy. 

So here is a good thing: I have been writing for a week. Hooray! I feel happy of myself. And you know what else, much of the terror of putting my blog address on Facebook and trying to respond to people's comments has lessened. I feel like I hit the curb. A whole lot of that has been due to your positive feedback and encouragement and protection of my nougatty center. Thank you. 

Also, an invitation: if you have been reading along and thinking to yourself, "Man, I can't believe she's been writing about good things and hasn't mentioned _______ yet!" Let me know, man! You can even private message me on Facebook if public comments aren't your style. I totes get that.

Until then, I am going to pick up my wagon and keep on walking down my hill.

All the best to you.

Day 6: Broken Things to Mend

One of my favorite lessons of my college years came from my medieval literature teacher, Zina "Warrior Princess" Petersen. And it is about Satan. Yipes. But it was really helpful, life changing knowledge for me.

She said that the name "Lucifer" comes from the root words "lux" which means light and "ferous" which means to bear or carry. So Satan is the "light bearer," which seems almost like a nice title. But then he goes and tries to shine light on and expose the worst parts of ourselves:

"I did something terrible."

"I am not good enough."

"Life is too hard for me."

This is all in an effort to make us fall into despair. "This is the way you are," that old serpent whispers. And then because he is the father of lies he adds, "And there is nothing you can do about it." 

But we know that is not true! Christ gives us the answer, "Come unto me," he says, "all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give ye rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me: for I am meek and lowly of heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls."

Zina said something like this:

"It is too easy to tear things down. You spend all this time and effort building things, which is hard work, and then all of the sudden it is knocked down. Now rebuilding something that's already been broken--that's Jesus."

I wish you could have seen how she said it, too. She was looking upward like she was thinking and then kind of shouted it out like the idea had just flipped on in her head. 

Druids and Boadicea and medieval soaps are all really interesting, but this was the best thing I learned in that class.