A Hard Day

Yesterday morning after getting all the troops off to school, I headed out for my run. I love Tuesdays, by the way. I love being home, love working around my house, love getting errands done, love getting "caught up" and being with the kiddos. And I love that I can work out at 8:00 am when those kiddos are all safely in class instead of working out at the crack of no dawn (yes, it is still so dark and cold in those wee hours before everyone wakes). I like Fridays and Saturdays for that same reason too, but the weekend always seems to bring so much busyness along with it. So I'm pretty sure that Tuesdays are my favorite days.

Anyway....I ran hard and felt better than I have in weeks. It's nice to finally feel like my lungs are coming back. I still had to use my inhaler when I was done, but I finally feel like I can breath again. After cooling down, I came upstairs with my big glass of ice water in my favorite red cup, ready to head to the shower. As I walked by Barrett's room - conveniently located right at the top of the stairs - I noted that her door was mostly closed, which seemed a little unusual. As I opened it, I smiled knowingly at an un-made bed, assuming that was the reason for her closed door. So I decided that it was a good day to change the sheets and began stripping the bed. And then I saw it.

I'm in her room everyday for one reason or another, and I've seen her magnet board a million times, but still - as I looked at her board - really looked at it - I was overcome with a big wave of gratitude. And love. Truly, I felt blessed to be the mama of our sweet and fun-loving Barrett Ally, who is blossoming into a young woman, trying so hard to choose the right and be a good friend and make good choices. This is her board:

Of all the great young women handouts, inspiring quotes, and other things pinned up on her board my favorite attachment was undoubtedly the well-worn temple recommend, which she uses often. Most weeks, actually. Sure, she makes daily mistakes (just like we all do) and sometimes makes me crazy with her night-owl thing and then dragging so much the next morning. And sometimes I worry that I'm too hard on her or expect too much from her as our oldest child. We moms rely on our older ones so much - how would we ever survive without them? But I hope she knows how crazy I am about her and that I love her to infinity and beyond...and back. She's such a good girl. Truly, I am blessed to be her mom.

But a couldn't finish this post yesterday - as much as I wanted to. I was conflicted in my emotions and gratitude about being such a lucky mom as I tried to reconcile those feelings with how another wonderful mother in my ward must be feeling. One of my dear friends - my visiting teacher, the piano teacher of my kids, the choir director that I am blessed to work with in my calling - tragically lost her oldest son yesterday morning. I can't even imagine her grief. My friend had just gotten the news not long before I showed up for Afton's piano lesson. As I pulled up to drop Afty off, there were a few cars in front of her house and a sign on the door that we couldn't make out, but soon saw that it said, "No piano lessons today." Just then, her next door neighbor - our relief society president and a good friend of mine also - came running out to intercept me. She gave me the sad news and we cried together as we talked about what we might do to help. I was heartbroken for my friend and for the wife and and two little sons that her son left behind.

Oh my goodness, what a hard day. Just a couple of months ago during one of our monthly visits, this good mom broke down in tears as she told me about the struggles her son was facing and what a trial they were going through in their family. We cried together that day and I have prayed for her countless times in the months since then. I have thought about that sweet visit often as I see her. Even on Saturday, after my parenting class that I taught, she and I visited briefly and I again thought of our visit a couple months back. Then today, when I got into work, I listened to a voice mail message from her that she had left for me yesterday morning (before she learned of her son's death) asking me if I could bring some soup for our RS meeting next week.

I am grateful for the knowledge I have of a loving Redeemer who atoned for our sins and our grief. I am grateful to know that his mercy will have to be enough in this difficult time as he bridges the gap between our capacities and deeds and what is ultimately required to return to Him. Keep this sweet family in your prayers.

Just grateful

Sunday at church was our monthly Fast & Testimony Meeting. It's usually the first Sunday of every month, and a day when we come to our meetings fasting and more receptive to inspiration and the spirit. In our sacrament meeting, instead of hearing prepared messages from a couple members of our congregation who were asked to prepare a message on an assigned gospel topic in advance, we do something different. Of course, we still take the sacrament - which is the whole reason we come to church in the first place - but then we are all invited to share our testimonies. Unprepared, unrehearsed, heartfelt thoughts about the things we believe to be true. In our ward, every fast and testimony meeting seems great to me. I'm sure that many people feel that way, but really - we have a spectacular ward. So many incredible members. People of faith. People of character. Such strong testimonies.

Well, this past Sunday, after the sacrament was finished and after our good Bishop shared his testimony and turned the remainder of the meeting over to us, there was a lull. Kind of long lull actually. No one was coming up. My dad finally got up and shared his sweet testimony and relayed a neat missionary experience he had last weekend sharing the Gila Valley Temple with some of his non-member friends. After he sat down, again there was another lull. A long lull. Strange. My heart was pounding and my eyes were already teary. Coming to a meeting fasting already makes us more susceptible to the spirit. Add to that the tender words shared earlier that morning in our ward council meeting by our bishop, and also those shared by my dear friend, Louisa, who gave us the spiritual thought. And add to all that the fact that I always cry at church anyway. Seriously, always.

I was already clutching two wet tissues and going on a third. But I got up anyway and shared my simple testimony. My voice was crack-ley like it always is when I'm teary. Nothing new. So I spoke through my tears and I shared my conviction about the things I know to be true. I also shared my thoughts about the importance of missionary work and gratitude for everthing we have in our lives. I spoke of how the gospel is so much more than a Sunday thing. It's all about us. It's part of everything we do, everything we work for, everything we teach our precious children. It guides all our actions, influences each choice we make, and shapes who we are striving to become. The gospel of Jesus Christ is about becoming like Christ. Every day. One step at time. And I'm grateful to have that incredible influence for good in my life. I'm grateful to be on the path and grateful that I can get back on it every single day, even if I flounder. So grateful.

My Garden

Yesterday was a good Sunday. Actually, they are pretty much always good for me. I love that at the end of what typically seems to be a crazy busy week, we get to have a day of rest. A day with no shopping, no errands, no email. A day with the kids all at home with us together. A day to worship and renew. A day of peace without all the normal demands of “life” pulling us in every direction. I am grateful for the precedent set in the beginning with the Creation: Christ created the world in six days, but on the seventh day – the Sabbath Day – he rested from his labors. Truly, the Plan is divine.

Perhaps now that my youngest is four and we are pretty much past the stage of wrestling with restless kids and constantly pleading for reverence, I truly enjoy all my meetings. I don’t always enjoy the hour before church as we hurry to get ourselves ready while working to ensure four peeps are fed, combed, brushed, and polished up in their Sunday best with a few minutes to spare. Miraculously, we’re almost always on time. And sure, we have the occasional Sacrament Meeting meltdown when one kid has usurped the treasured red crayon that the other was using. And there are certainly times when one clever child has successfully snuck candy into their church bag and is refusing to share with the less resourceful siblings resulting in mini-volcanic eruptions. But mostly, mostly, they sit pretty quietly and at least act like they’re listening.

I have always loved going to church. Really. Always. Even when I was a teenager and young adult when some find reason to miss at will, I just always felt like it was the place I needed to be on Sunday. There were times earlier in my life when I wasn’t always walking straight on the path that I needed to be on, but still, I’d be there on Sunday trying to fill my cup and straighten my gait.

Because I don’t have a Sunday calling now (I’m the ward activities director), I get to attend both Sunday School and Relief Society and be a sponge. I’m soaking it up. Our gospel doctrine teachers are both outstanding, so I feel like I am really progressing in my learning. And of course – I love the Relief Society lessons. They are always so good.

But yesterday, I had one of those little tender mercies that made my Sunday a little extra great. My little man, Easton, who is only four, was asked to give the talk in primary. He came home last week proudly flashing his blue slip of paper with the assignment and topic and told me he was giving the talk. Admittedly, I thought to myself, “Great. A talk. This from my guy whose shy streak runs fierce when put in the spotlight.”

So as we finalized his talk on Christ’s Atonement yesterday morning and did a couple of dry runs, I was worried that he’d freeze up and refuse to open his mouth when the moment came. He’s never given the talk before, but even when he was assigned the weekly scripture or prayer, he’s gone mute under the pressure. So I prayed a little extra Sunday morning as we walked out the door that he’d find his voice and have the courage he needed to speak up like he does at home.

When it was his turn to speak, I walked up to assist and helped him step up on the chair so his little frame could peer above the podium. Immediately, his impulse to hide kicked in and his legs seemed to fill with concrete. But as I silently prayed he’d do it this time, he arose with head lowered a bit and one hand clinging fiercely to my back. Then we started. The children were completely reverent. I held his visual aid and he repeated the prompts. Even though his words were quiet at times, with the help of the microphone he was completely audible:

“This is my garden. When I make good choices, my flowers grow. But sometimes, I make mistakes. If I am mean to my sisters, the weeds grow. (He placed some weeds cut from green cardstock on top of the pretty flowers). When I don’t obey my parents, the weeds grow (more weeds attached). When I forget to pray, the weeds grow. If I cheat on a test, the weeds grow.

Jesus helps me get rid of the weeds. Because he sacrificed his life and atoned for my sins, he can help me get rid of my weeds. (Easton then removed all his weeds revealing the beautiful flowers). This is my garden now. It is beautiful like me. I love Jesus. I love my family. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

It was short and simple and the pure. The spirit was so strong as this small four year old boy shared his testimony of the atonement with all of us. As I left, he beamed his smile at me. I walked late into Sunday School and took my seat with moist eyes and a softened heart. Does it get any better than that?

So I’ve been thinking about my garden and the weeds that sometimes creep in. Metaphorically speaking. I want my garden to be beautiful and clutter-free. I want to get rid of the weeds. I will try harder to take advantage of that most precious gift from our Savior that was so freely given in the Garden and on the cross so many years ago. I will not take it for granted. The price was so high for Him.

Best

I had an email conversation with a very good friend of mine yesterday about our kids, their education, our school system, and our dreams. Admittedly, I haven’t really thought outside the box that much when it comes to education. I was a product of the public school system, and I think I turned out OK. Reflecting back to my formative years, I think I had a good overall experience, learned quite a bit, studied hard, got good grades, earned a scholarship and went on to get my fully-paid-for degree at a state university. I starting interviewing for my first real career job during my senior year at ASU, and had my job offers lined up before I graduated. Launch career mode and I’ve never really looked back.

Nothing too out of the box about it.

And even though I dealt with the all the normal stresses of teenage life and was subject to the influences of the world through my years in the public schools, I am still glad I went through it. Sure, I wish I would have made some different choices and bypassed some “leaning opportunities” that came via consequences of poor choices. But who wouldn’t say that? I’d be shocked if any of us now functioning, basically-on-the-right-track parents could look back to our youth and say with sincerity that they would have done it all the same. I think we all wish we’d made some different choices here and there.

But even with all that, I loved high school. (I probably could have done without junior high, but I pretty much think that’s a globally accepted view with 20+ years of hindsight.) I loved going to football games, school dances, seminary, student council, orchestra, being on the softball and volleyball teams, going out for lunch with a carload of girlfriends, dating, social life, and yes…school. I have a lot of fun memories about growing up. All of that – the good and the bad - at least in some way was part of the “coming of age” process that made me who I am today.

So when Ryan and I started our family years ago, I guess I really always thought that my kiddos would follow a similar track. Even though our children are still quite young, we have always stressed the importance of doing well in school. Study hard. Get your homework done before you play.

Do your best!
Do your best!
Do your best!

They’ve all listened to my stories about working hard in school and how it all paid off in the end. Even my 9 year old knows all about scholarships and is working hard to get one. They don’t talk about college as in “if” I go, but “when” I go and “where” I’ll go. The expectation and bar has been set high, and I’m OK with that. OK because all I can really ask and hope for is that they do their best, and if their best is outstanding, then so be it. That’s their bar. They are reaching it. God blessed them with great minds. They can do anything they put their minds to.

Now…with all that being said, I have to admit that my perspective was broadened and my “ in-the-box” thinking was challenged a bit as I listened to the perspective of my dear friend. She’s setting a new bar with her family and challenging the status quo. She’s helping her kids reach their “best” in ways I’d never even contemplated. They are learning and thriving and undoubtedly, will be successful in their endeavors. Those kids come from a great home with amazing parents and are destined for greatness.

The world today is so different than when I was in school, and that wasn’t even that long ago. It was just 20 years ago that I graduated from high school, which in the grand scheme of things, isn’t that long ago at all. With public displays of homosexuality being generally accepted as “normal” on many high school campuses today, rampant drug use, widespread pornography, tattoos and body piercings abounding, foul language, and all other sorts of indecency that is part of today’s socially accepted pop culture, it made me really start to wonder.

Wonder if my kids will have what it takes to withstand the temptations of the world as they make their way through their teenage years.

Wonder if we are teaching them enough.

Wonder if we are bearing enough testimony of gospel truths.

Wonder if they’ll find good friends to help keep them on the straight and narrow.

Wonder if the educational “track” we are on is the best one for our children.

Wonder if my “best” as a parent will be enough to help them become their best.

So as I contemplated all these things as I drove to the temple this morning in the dark, quiet hours, and then sat in that beautiful room at the end of my session, I offered one of the most earnest prayers I can remember offering in quite a long time. It wasn’t long or complex. But the tears flowed as I poured out my heart in gratitude for our children and asked for help as I strive to be my best for them.

Deep Thoughts

I've always been told that when inspiration comes or when you have a strong testimony strengthening experience, you should write it down. And write it down right away before you forget the vividness of the moment...

Last night as Ryan and I were winding down from a busy weekend, getting ready for bed and talking about the week ahead, we started talking about church. Specifically, what an awesome day at church it was. And then he said, "Man, hasn't it been a power-packed 4th quarter? It seems like every Sunday we come home talking about how great church was."

I couldn't agree more. I don't know if it's us just being extra receptive lately, or if everyone is leaving with the same feeling, but I have been so touched every week. My heart has been softened and my emotions are running so close to the surface when it comes to spiritual things. We've had great testimonies, powerful return missionary addresses, a phenomenal primary program, and awesome talks and lessons. As I was sharing my thoughts with Ryan last night about our Relief Society lesson, I started crying as I told him about the lesson and how strongly I felt the spirit in that room. I bore my testimony to him about my love for Joseph Smith and the amazing sacrifices he made so many years ago to bring to pass the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ in these latter days.

In sacrament meeting, the young men and young women sang a beautiful musical number and tears started flowing right away. I looked up at those boys standing proud and singing loud, and I immediately had the strong impression that that will be Easton one day before I know it. And then I scanned the beautiful young women up there and realized that in 10 short months, Barrett will be joining them. Holy cow!
Corinne & J.R. were on for talks yesterday. I was giving them some grief last week that they'd been in the ward two whole months and hadn't even had to speak yet. We got asked to speak the first day we were at church. And I had a calling before I even went to church in our new ward. No joke.

I knew they'd get their turn soon. Corinne's talk was on the 13th Article of Faith. Her remarks were all tied together with a Superhero motif, which was very clever and articulate and perfect. She made analogies about superhero powers, duties, responsibilities, virtues, strengths, adversaries, and weaknesses, and tied them into the virtues spoken of in the 13th article of faith:

"We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men. Indeed we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul. We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things."

I typed that from memory...I'm pretty sure I got it right.

Anyway, it was an awesome talk! J.R. was next. His assigned topic: favorite stories of the prophet Joseph Smith. What a power-packed and testimony-filled talk he gave! I, of course, cried again (go figure), as he talked about the love of this prophet, the sacrifices he made, the busy devoted life he led from the time he was just a young boy, and the cruel death he suffered as a martyr. As soon as J.R. said "Amen," Ryan leaned over with glossy eyes and said, "Wow."

Exactly.

How appropriate it was that our Relief Society lesson was also on Joseph Smith this week. Specifically, his martyrdom. Faie Solheim gave the lesson and did a good job, but the real impact for me came when she talked about the time when Joseph & Hyrum Smith were in Carthidge jail in Illinois along with John Taylor, who later became the third prophet of the church. It was a hot, sultry day and the jailsman finally agreed to move the prisoners into another room with a window so that they could get a small breeze and breath of fresh air. With the window open, John Taylor began singing a cappela "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief," one of the hymns now in our hymn book. Faie then said that John Taylor was with us today, and introduced Eric Shumway in our ward who came up and sang that same song for us.

A cappela.
Beautiful.
He teared up in the final verse and I was bawling.
What a day.

Of course, my head was pounding in the afternoon as it typically is on Sundays. Tears tend to do that. I'm sure that being extraordinarily tired had a little something to do with that too :)

Last night, since we already had all our family room furniture moved out for our Christmas party and the garage was already set up with tables, we had planned to do the annual Brown Family Christmas night.

A perfect combo of leftover Christmas party Mexican food delights, a very professional and super high quality re-enactment of the beloved Nativity (with all the kiddos in full costume), and...the 2nd annual gingerbread house throwdown.

Trifecta.

Such good times. I'll post the pictures and blog about that soon. I feel like I need a vacation to recover from the weekend though. Or maybe just a nice long nap!

Measuring Up

Some days are better than others. Some days, the little tender mercies of the Lord are more evident and our souls seem a little more “in tune.” Some days, it seems like my “cup runneth over.” Yesterday, Sunday, was one of those great days for me. Every one of our meetings was good and inspiring and what I needed to hear. I especially loved our sacrament meeting. Because of the upcoming General Conference this weekend, we had fast and testimony a week early. And even though I don’t love to fast, it’s so good for me spiritually. It helps me realize that I can be strong even when I am weak. It helps me feel a little more humble, a little more teachable, a little closer to the spirit. Sometimes we all need that I think.

Bishop Uncle Jim was back at church yesterday. He looked good and said he felt good. He finished his first round of treatment (8 days in the hospital) followed by a week of recovery. Round two will start in early October. At the end of our sacrament meeting, he stood and took about 5-10 minutes and shared some thoughts and testimony with our congregation. As always, he was humble and grateful, but so powerful in his message to us. My heart was full and my eyes were wet as I listened. Just what I needed to hear.

I was also really touched by the words of Craig Pulver, who is currently serving as first counselor in the bishopric. He is such a good man. He’s an avid bike rider, so he began his testimony talking about his Saturday morning bike ride and how he wasn’t really feeling up to par. He decided that he didn’t want to ride at the fast pace of his group, so he fell back and decided to ride alone that day. He plugged in his earphones and ipod, but said that he never turned them on. Instead, as he rode, he found that he had time to think with a clear head, with no distracting voices. He began singing some of his favorite church hymns. Then he recited the articles of faith. Then some of his favorite scriptures. All outloud, all while he was biking, all while he was alone on his ride. Craig said it was such an out of the ordinary thing for him. He talked about how he started to think a little more about his testimony of Christ and the gospel, and wondered how he “measured up.” He talked about how we seem to measure everything in this world with numbers (e.g., our sales goals, our home teaching, our finances, our weight, etc.). But our testimonies and faith can’t possibly be measured under such a test. And that is what God intended. We need to do our own self-evaluation and see how we “measure up” against the person we are striving to be. Again, just what I needed.

His anecdote rang so familiar. So many times as I am out running in the early morning hours, all by myself, no iPod or distractions, my mind roams free. I think of all kinds of things. I make lists in my head, I recite things I know, I plan for the day. I love it. Time for reflection and re-commitment is essential. I always know I can be better.

At the end of our meeting, our closing hymn was “Secret Prayer.” My parents were sitting in the pew right behind us. As I listened to my mom’s beautiful voice singing loud and perfect, I had the craziest flashback to my young childhood days. I vividly recalled being in the old chapel of the Lehi building where we attended church during my childhood years (before our current church was built). I remember laying on my mom’s lap while winding her fabric belt around and around my tiny fingers. She was gently stroking my hair and playing with my ear, which I love. And as I laid there, she sang “Secret Prayer” aloud with the congregation in that same perfect, simple, clear voice that I heard yesterday. I love to listen to my mom sing. I love the echo in the chorus of that song. First the women, then the men. Every phrase is an echo.

May my heart,
Be turned to pray.
Pray in secret, day by day.
That this boon,
To mortals giv’n,
May unite my soul with heav’n.

I smiled as I sat there yesterday, singing aloud with the congregation, remembering my church going days from long ago, loving listening to my mother sing. I am so grateful to have my parents in the same ward. I am grateful that they taught us the gospel and encouraged us to be our best. And I am most grateful that no matter what, I always have the opportunity to try a little harder to be a little better.

I know that it’s nowhere near Mother’s Day, but as I was typing these thoughts about my wonderful mom, I thought of the pictures that my mom and I took together on Mother’s Day this year.