Talk from 31 May 2015 on the Book of Mormon

(I know we all have different beliefs and faiths, I love it!  In our worship meeting (Sacrament Meeting), 2-3 members of the congregation are asked to speak each week (including youth starting at age 12!) and this was the assigned topic I was given a few weeks back.   Very interesting circumstances.  I remember distinctly sitting in the congregation and telling Heavenly Father I needed something big to get me back on track, I'd even agree to speak in Sacrament Meeting if that would help.  Later that evening my friend called and asked me to speak on this very topic.  I'm not the right person for any of this, and I wasn't even able to deliver my whole talk, so I know it was a blessing specific to me, that it may not have done anyone else in the whole congregation a bit of good, but having to think about it for two weeks really changed me and got me back where I wanted to be.  A huge blessing.  I just thought this would be a good place to file this talk.)

As a kid two fears stand out: being caught in a fire overnight because we lived on the second floor of our apartment building and had only one exit.  The other, of course, was quicksand.  As a grown-up my fear is just as far-fetched but still just as real to me: being called to the Gen RS presidency and being in an interview on live tv and someone asking me about a BOM story or character I should know about…

I’m in no way an expert on the Book of Mormon or a scriptorian by any stretch.  Although I have to admit I want to be. I don’t know the story lines well at all, I get everyone mixed up, I mostly like to underline quotes I like and I make smiley faces and frowny faces to help me know who’s good and who’s bad.  I’ve only done the Iron Man once in my life, just to be obedient and to see if I could.

I have no idea how many times I’ve read it, but I probably started sometime when I was in YW.   I’m just regular.  I have times in the year when I’m really good at this and am excited about what I’m learning because I find new symbolism and applications.  Other times I feel like I hardly make the time, I’m running from the second I wake up, and it’s the last thing I do before I collapse at night.  But I know we’re blessed as a family simply by trying again and again.  

So I guess my only real qualification is that I know it’s true, I know it’s inspired, that it is all the prophets say it is, that it really is to help us with today’s issues.  I know that it blesses my family and my home and my life.  I know I feel the Spirit when I read it and I get answers when I look for them.  And nothing has helped me know and get closer to my Savior than the Book of Mormon.

Today I want to share a few lessons that I’ve learned from reading the Book of Mormon over the years and then I’ll end with some thoughts from a couple of our young friends.

—The first lesson I’ve learned is that we need it constantly, daily, regardless of what that looks like.  There’s something compelling about it.  It draws us in.  If we invest just a few minutes, I know other parts of our day will work out.  Start small.  Start anywhere.  Just look up a topic in the back.  Read one verse and all the cross references for it.  Start with a question.  Ask Heavenly Father for creative ways to find time.  Tell Him you want to but you just can’t seem to make it happen.  He will absolutely help you, but you also have to do it when He gives you a little thought like, “This would be a good time to read.” :) Heavenly Father never asks us to do something without blessing us with so much more than we sacrificed.  You’ll remember what Elders Scott and Person have told us in conference:

“Don’t yield to Satan’s lie that you don’t have time to study the scriptures. Choose to take time to study them. Feasting on the word of God each day is more important than sleep, school, work, television shows, video games, or social media. You may need to reorganize your priorities to provide time for the study of the word of God. If so, do it!” (Elder Scott)

“Search the Book of Mormon and the counsel of the prophets every day, every day, every day!  It’s the key to spiritual survival and avoiding deception.  Without it we are spiritually lost.”  (Elder Pearson)

For me it doesn’t take long to get off track.  But the inverse is also true and reading the Book of Mormon is the quickest way to get back.  Heavenly Father wants to talk to us, we need His spirit so much.  This is the way to do it and I know that when we just take a few minutes, immediately the spirit comes and we remember again how much we need it. 

—Another lesson I’ve seen over and over in the Book of Mormon and in life today is how the same circumstances can affect people so differently.  War throughout time is a prime example of the choice in attitude can affect us.  Compare 50s BC Nephites and Lamanites with 1940s AD concentration camp survivor, Viktor Frankl: “But behold because of the exceedingly great length of the war…many had become hardened… and many were softened because of their afflictions.” (Alma 62:41)  “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms - the ability to chose one's attitude in a given set of circumstances.”  Someone who lost a spouse or a parent might become bitter and spiteful and pull away from the church and the rest of the family, mad at God.  But, like the Nephites [who] “were not slow to remember the Lord their God in this their time of affliction,” we all know people who have used the experience to cling even tighter to their families and the gospel, to draw closer to God, to use the atonement for comfort.

Where else would we go? I remember gathering the kids around when my dad died last summer.  I have no idea why it wasn’t hard, but all I felt was tons of peace.  We just told them this is why we do everything we do in the gospel.  So we can be together as families again.  It was a real testimony to me that the promise in the Book of Mormon is real, that when we turn our hearts to Christ and look to him for comfort, he really is available and willing to strengthen and support us.  But it’s up to us, he lets us choose.

—Another lesson I’ve been learning over the years is to take the counsel in Alma 34 to pray over our flocks and fields literally. To include him in all parts of our life, to be specific when we pray.  It just seems the older I get the more I realize how much wisdom there is in being humble enough to ask for help.  I need to tell myself Heavenly Father knows everything.  He knows everyone’s hearts.  He knows our circumstances.  He knows my schedule and intentions and what I want.  He helps me sort through all sorts of things.  Just this past week I prayed whether to buy a piano we were considering.  The thought came to me, “What do you want to do?”  I loved that answer because it wasn’t a right or wrong, just permission to do either one.  I’ve been  praying over a relationship with a friend for years now.  With no resolution that I know of.  But I feel so good when I talk to Him about it.  I’ve prayed for a chance to talk to the kids about something that’s on my mind.  It’s been amazing how sometimes the exact topic just seems to come up naturally at dinner.  I feel comfortable sharing with him how heavy the world feels and how worried I am about our family.  I ask him to help me find time for the temple.  And we’ve prayed over math assignments.  I guess I just figure he wouldn’t have had Mormon include those verses if he wasn’t serious about it.  I know he cares about everything about my life because of them.

—Another thing I’ve learned is that Heavenly Father and Christ are definitely concerned about each of us personally.  What makes this so real to me is when Christ visits the Nephites and he had them touch his nailprints, “and this they did do, going forth one by one until they had all gone forth, and did see with their eyes and did feel with their hands.” (3 Nephi 11:15)  We are more than a collective body, a church.  We are separate and distinct children of God with individual needs and problems, and he knows exactly how to help us personally.

—Another thing I’ve learned is to be wise with my resources, especially my time and energy. “And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order.  It is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength.” “They did all labor, every man according to his strength” (Mosiah 4:27 and Alma 1:26). I have really clung to this counsel over the years, but especially starting when our family was much younger.  Most of you have no idea what our life looked like a few years back when we had 5 kids under 8, no family in town, Todd in the bishopric and on-call all the time.   We were just starting out so money was tight.  The house and yard and our dogs and litters of puppies needed tons of work. I felt so inept and overwhelmed.  Life seemed a little chaotic.  But because of these verses I’ve learned to let most things go. I don’t feel guilty if I’m making little headway on my list as long as the important things are getting done.  Life is a million times easier now, so I’m able to do more at this stage.  We all have different energy levels, strengths, and circumstances.  It’s such a comfort to know he will help us navigate all this since He knows us perfectly.  We just need to be wise and include him.

—Another comforting lesson I’m learning is that Christ can heal us.  I love his interaction with the Nephites, “Have ye any that are are sick among you…or afflicted in any manner?  Bring them hither and I will heal them.”  I’ve certainly felt his strength as I’ve been healed physically, but it’s usually more spiritually and emotionally that I need his healing hand.  He’s absolutely come through for me when I’ve turned my broken heart over to him.  I don’t understand how it works, but when I finally get desperate enough and give up whatever I’m holding on to, I feel lighter, calmer, peaceful, like it will all be handled.  I feel the big hole closing up.  I feel love for the people I’d been struggling with.  I feel softer, like my heart is literally being healed.

—These are all examples of the most poignant lesson I’m learning from the Book of Mormon: that Christ is always the answer.  That Christ’s life and atonement are perfect.  I love how I feel His love all over the Book of Mormon.  “But behold, I did cry unto him and I did find peace to my soul” (Alma 38:8).  The Book of Mormon turns me to Christ.  I’ve learned from reading the Book of Mormon that I can always count on Him, that He is the one person who will never, ever, ever let me down.  I know I can be better by following Him and trying to love like He showed us.  I trust Him.

—My last and one of my favorite lessons actually takes us back to the very first lesson I shared with you, “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6-7).  Every prayer we say as a family and every dinner we eat together, every time we try to be nice instead of mean, every verse of scripture we read, all the times we sit up late with our kids who want to talk, all the times we’re calm when we wanted to scream, all the times we try to be a good home or visiting teacher, all the times we share our imperfect talents, it all adds up. I love this confirmation and this reminder by President Packer: “Our lives are made up of thousands of everyday choices.  Over the years these little choices will be bundled together and show clearly what we value.”

That applies to the priority we give the Book of Mormon in our lives. I know we all have a million things  we need and want to get to.  But the amazing part is that by making the small effort every day to read even for a few minutes, you’ll see how much more you’ll be able to get done.  You will feel lighter and happier, more calm and patient, more clear-headed and loving.  It’s a small choice but a great investment.  And nothing will help us feel closer to Christ than reading the Book of Mormon.

II.  Testimonies and experiences from some of our young friends:

It’s been neat seeing Callum figure out how the scriptures can help him.  When he was younger and sleeping upstairs, his room had huge windows and he was nervous about the storms and the wind.  He had a hard time feeling safe with how loud it was and of course because we’ve had a couple of close calls with tornados a few years back.  We tried everything to help him feel more comfortable and peaceful, saying prayers, tucking him in, reasoning with him, explaining how strong the house was.  We were just inches away in our own room, we could hear each other breathing, but nothing seemed to soothe his anxieties.  Until we started reading the Book of Mormon with him at bedtime.  Ever since then he just knows that’s what will help. He told me, “It helps me sleep better.  I sleep deeper.  I have happier dreams.”  I asked a couple others at breakfast about them reading before bed and one said, “I can’t fall asleep without reading it.”  And another said, “It helps me not have any bad dreams.  It makes me feel good and happy.”

From a few young friends we know:

Spiritual thought time. This week I would just like to give my testimony of the Book of Mormon. I know that it is true. It has blessed my life and especially my mission. There is so much in it that is perfectly applicable to our lives and that helps us become better. I know that it was translated by the prophet Joseph Smith, and because I know that this book is true, I know that this church is true, and that God loves us. It is a beautiful thing to know that, and I know that others can find this out for themselves as well. This book, and this gospel brings happiness. It is the only way to happiness.

In the mission we´re reading from cover to cover once every six months, and it´s been really good for me. One of the worst feelings I´ve had in the mission was about 2 months ago, when my backpack was stolen...with my marked scriptures and everything else. Even so, I´ve started over with marking my scriptures and I´ve found many new things. More than anything, I´ve found it to be true that as we have a habit of truly sincerely studying the Book of Mormon, we find the answers to the questions that come up in normal life. When the doubt or question comes, we already know the answer because it was in the parts we read in our studies of the days before. 

I'm trying to gain a testimony, I'm kind of approaching it how an investigator would I guess, starting at the beginning of the Book of Mormon and praying after each time but I still haven't gotten an answer. And I want to believe it and I know that I have felt something on occasion, but I don't know that it was because of the gospel or just a cool story or something.  So I'm trying, but it's slow. And that's how the prophets say a testimony will come.  But I'm working on it.  I obviously want all of it to be true.  if it is, it is an amazing plan, and really all depends on the truthfulness of just two things; that God is real, and that the Book of Mormon is true.  And so those are the two things i want to believe more than anything.  

I loved getting that email because it’s real, someone who admits he doesn’t really know.  I’m ok with that.  Because I think we all go through that to some degree.  Wondering if all this is real or if we’re being taken, an interesting story but hardly plausible.  And so I think he is spot on.  The best way to know if everything else is to read the  Book of Mormon.  The best way to remember that you know it’s true is to go back.  The best way to help your family and our ward and yourself is to read from the Book of Mormon.  Every day, every day, every day. 

A year closer to my dad

I’m arguably the least sentimental person you might ever meet.  I’m not into special occasions (although as a mom, I honestly try) and, while I’m usually on it as far as birthdays, I hardly ever get around to anniversaries (except our own) and I’m the worst when it comes to remembering when someone has died.  Ask my sisters, I can’t even remember the years my grandparents died, let alone the months or days.  I don’t know why that kind of stuff doesn’t register with me; all I can surmise is that it matters so little to me.  I guess I just care that they lived.  And I just don’t see death as an end, more of a moving on, so maybe it doesn’t seem much more than a transition.  On the other hand, maybe I’m just cold and heartless.  There’s always that possibility.  I’ve considered it.

But I know this is a hard weekend for my mom and sisters.  It was last year at this time, Father’s Day weekend actually, that my dad suddenly died from an unexpected heart attack.  A tender way to transition in my mind; I’ve seen so many friends struggling for months as their parents have lingered and the process has been drawn out.  I suppose we knew it could happen, but we’d had so many near-misses with my dad over the years that I think we all figured he was invincible and would never perish.  He was to be preserved throughout the ages, it seemed.  A likely story, we always joked, what with all the rubbish he’d eat, preservative-laden Ding Dongs and tv dinners, Tab and beef jerky.  He held out and lived a pretty full and healthy life considering, so nothing could’ve surprised us more when it was the real thing.

As I’ve been talking to my mom and sisters the past couple of days, I think it’s normal to think back and reflect on how the year’s been, where I sit with it all.

To be honest, I think about him every day and hardly at all.  It’s as if he’s with me all the time while at the same time not.  What I mean is I can be doing the most arbitrary thing and it’ll make me think of my dad, the smell of beef jerky, seeing white walking shoes on sale at Costco.  Once in awhile I’ll be driving and wonder how he is, what he’s doing.  But days will tick by and I’ll realize I haven’t even thought about him.  In my mind, he will come to my side the second I need him, and when I think of him, it’s as if he’s the closest thing to me, right beside me.  But on the other hand, I feel he is busy.  That he has a lot going on, that he has a life just as I do.  And while yes, we’d love to walk and hold hands, sit and talk over extended meals, watch comedy and silly shows, there came a time when he’d have to go out to the upholstery shop and I’d need to get the dishes done.  So our time together is the same to me even now.

As I was falling asleep on the eve of this anniversary, I thought about our lives.  How some are so short.  Others seem to go on and on and on till you think maybe they’re the exceptions and might live forever.  I visited my oncologist this week.  Usually I don’t take down the Cancer box, I leave it on a shelf with my other souvenirs.  Except for when I’m at my plastic surgery appointments, I rarely even connect the dots that my still-tight chest has anything to do with my life expectancy.  And yet online and off I’m hearing it all around me, friends whose cancer has come back in places they can’t reach, they’re not doing well, it wakes me up and reminds me that we started out the same.  That my life really isn’t my own, that I’m not in charge, and that I may have fewer years left than I’m banking on.

So I guess it’s natural that I’d be a little introspective this week.  I thought through my dad’s life briefly as I was falling asleep.  And I wondered what the purpose of it was.  Because it was pretty uneventful, just normal, we didn’t do a whole lot as a family that impacted many, he wasn’t famous or even well-known outside of his small circle of family and friends.  I just couldn’t help but wonder what lives like this—like the majority of our lives—mean.  More pointedly, did he fulfill his mission?  What was his mission?  Did he do what he was meant to do?  And are any of us?

And of course I immediately felt that of course he did.  Because I know in a million tiny ways so many of us are better because of him and the way he lived. I don’t have proof or any documentation from those outside our family, but I know he made all the difference in my life and in our family.  I love the example he gave of how to treat the poor, the men he encountered that he’d bring coats and blankets to, that he’d buy food for.  I love how he never held a grudge and always forgave.  Sure he had a temper and lost his patience, most of my family’s like that.  And yes, he watched a lot of tv and liked his sleep, same with the rest of the family.  But I love that he was loving nearly to a fault.  We hated his slobbery kisses and aftershave-laden hugs as kids, but there wasn’t a doubt in the world that his kids were his everything.  I know it’s weird for a 40-something year-old to hold hands with her dad, but I didn’t care.  (Like I’ve ever played by the cool rules.)   I suppose I knew I would always be his little girl, and I get it.  Now that I have sons bigger than a lot of men, I still want to cuddle them and hug on them.  He loved like that.  To the core.  I love how childlike he was, excited by the small things in life like a good meal, a trip to the mountains, a trip into town, a good show, a hot fudge malt (seriously, who wouldn’t??), new jeans at a bargain price, and certainly a road trip to see the grandkids.

I love that he smiled and talked to everyone.  We’re all doing it these days.  I wonder what he thinks about that.  I love that he was clean, that he liked a tidy house, that he took such good care of his van and his tools and his furniture.  I liked that he talked about God a lot.  That he prayed even when he had no idea we’d be watching.

I loved getting his letters back in college.  He’d send pages and pages.  Nearly weekly.  And would overnight me $20 for the weekend.  His special occasion cards were always from the top row, the most ornate available, the best choices for showcasing his love.  Enthusiastic and focused when he had his mind set on something.  Same with house plans and furniture sketches, his attention span would impress any teacher.  He taught me to share my feelings in writing, to show love unabashedly, to follow my dreams, to live true to who I felt to be, to not worry if it wasn’t fashionable or what everyone else was doing, just stick with things I love.  His confidence eventually made its way through my stubbornness and is happily being applied to his grandchildren, whose confidence knows no bounds.  What a great gift to leave for future generations.

He taught me and my sisters to work hard.  He worked six and sometimes seven days a week for almost all of his adult life.  But even in that there’s a lesson: follow your heart, use your talents, spend time on something you love and you’re good at.  I think upholstery was not only his life’s work, but his passion.  I love how he did quality work, matching up the stripes on the cushions to the stripes on the back of the couch.  I like how he’d take it apart if it wasn’t working.  He taught me it’s better to leave a project that isn’t working and take a break, go back in the morning.   My sisters are two of the hardest workers I know and have landed great jobs because, in part, of the work ethic exemplified by my dad.  I couldn’t be more proud of all of them.

I guess that’s just it.  It’s hard to tell—there’s no control group for ourselves—in this experiment of life and family, what it would’ve looked like without our dad, how we would’ve turned out, what we would’ve learned to value, what kind of women we would’ve become.  I have no idea.  We think we’re who we are because of who we came as.  But I believe every person has influence.  That we touch each others’ lives in imperceptible ways.  That parents can help shape a child.  That a dad’s invaluable when it comes to instilling confidence and security in a daughter.  That the greatest lessons are taught by example, by the way he treated others, by the way he worked, by the way he loved.  I believe his generous spirit propelled others to be more so.  I think his laugh was contagious, that his enthusiasm for life lifted others.

I’m not eulogizing a perfect man.  But a dad who tried.  Who was the dad we needed.  I love him as much now as ever.  Of course I have regrets.  That’s the only part that really makes me sad.  I should’ve been more patient and paid him more attention.  I should’ve called and written more.  But I’m good with it all because I know his forgiving spirit.  I love it when a picture pops out of the blue, an old one on the computer or when we’re rifling through photos for a school collage.  I’m startled by how familiar he is.   How he’s right back with me.  Just like that.  And every good thing about him comes back to me.  I remember instantly how close we are, how much he loves me still.  And so I’m not sad.  I feel like he can see my life and my kids and my frustrations and heart pains and worries so much more clearly now.  I feel soothed that I’m understood, that he can help me if I need it, that no one is more invested in a daughter than a dad.  I’ve never felt closer to him than I have this year.

Lazy days of summer

Hardly.  I actually secretly dread summer exactly because I know my workload’s about to increase by about 93%.  And yet, you can hardly not love summer.  I’m a sucker for just about all of it.

I love that I can sleep in just a bit.  But also that it’s light so early that I hardly ever want to.  I love waking up with the birds and the sprinklers, the quintessential sounds of summer.  I love that Todd and I get to sneak off for an early-morning walk before everyone wakes up.  I love that we have the roads to ourselves.  Except I’m kind of surprised that we really don’t.  I have no idea why so many other people are awake so early, most of them are in trucks.  I love that we have time to grab the paper and pick a few weeds and to check on the garden before we come in.  I miss my more intense work-outs during these summer months—there just doesn’t seem to be as much time now that the mornings are dedicated to yard work.  (Kind of funny to work out all winter and then slack off in the summer when more of you is showing.)  I love that we’re all up by 7:30 and that we can eat breakfast together and read a bit before Todd needs to leave for work.  Sometimes on the back porch in the crispness of the day.

It’s hot before we even really get started on the day, but the house is cool from having all the windows and doors open (we get a lot of bugs—no one cares).  I love feeling the cross-breeze as its freshness wafts through the hallways.  Eventually we will close everything up, and I admit I hate the darkness that creates.  But it’s worth it because the house will stay around 73 all day when we do; and, before long, the heat of the day wanes and we can open everything up again.  I love living in a desert where the nights are cool enough to warrant both a sheet and a bit of a blanket with a breeze caressing your sleep.

I love that the kids know the routine and that finally there’s little resistance.  I love weeding beside them, clipping dead flowers, pulling up old stems.  A satisfying rescue of a flower from the a tenacious Morning Glory vine, the defining snap of a hearty dandelion stem, tiny trees effortlessly uprooted, the garden boxes picked clean.  They’re not into it and just as I’m settling into the work, they announce their buckets are done and they’re heading in.

I love that we have both nothing and everything to do on these summer days.  The calendar isn’t empty, but it’s not like the school year.  I try to stick to maybe one outing a day if we can.  The mornings are for yard and house work, and then we’ll go swimming or to the park or have a picnic or play with friends.  We’re like you and have all sorts of dental and doctor appointments, we have church commitments and hair cuts and piano.  But we’re not the kind to sign the kids up for things and we’ve been pretty intermittent even with swim lessons over the years.  I guess it’s my old-fashioned ways at play once again.

I love the idea of cleaning out the dress up clothes and craft closet.  The garage and maintenance room.  I envision myself patching up the sleeping bags, organizing the camp boxes.  I love the idea of everyone paring down their rooms to a minimum, recycling old school papers, finding lost library books, bulging donation bags lining the halls.  I love the thought of everyone cleaning their blinds.  I know.  This stuff never really happens.  I’m just an eternal optimist thinking/hoping this year will be different.

I love the summer storms that visit so often in the evenings.  I love the green hills contrasted with the ribboned gray hues of our Big Sky.   What’s better than cuddling in bed listening to the rain through open windows?  I remember when we were very first married how much we relished the storms as the French doors of our bedroom opened up to the mountains and the rains.  Our tiny apartment rested on the garage, so it was if we were part of the sky itself.  Maybe those are the memories we lean on when we sense a change in the air.

I love that dinners are a cinch.  I love that we have a grill right outside our door and a whole produce section right off the porch.  I love knowing the lettuce and potatoes are fresh, that there’s more cilantro for tomorrow, that there will be beans later this week, and that we have onions to last till next fall.  I love that the oven’s rarely on, that we eat salad almost every night,  that we can linger on the patio for as long as we want.  I love that we ditch it all for hamburgers and shakes.  Often.  I love that we’ll drive for an hour to our favorite mountain shack for greasy fries and ice cream.  Just so we can sit by the creek and eat in peace.

I love that Todd reminds me of Mr. Rogers.  Not like that, just how he changes his clothes when he gets home, ready for the next part.  Anxious to get into the garden or to feed his bees or work on the rock.  Almost as if eating is an impediment.  I love that Callum wants to know what work they’ll be doing that night.  I love that I can sneak away early, having put in my time earlier in the day.  By night I’m not the greatest company.  All I want is my Real Simple and my puffy socks.  But I love reclining to the din of their project voices.

I love getting back on the road.  Confined by the cold and snow for so many months (who can afford to fly anywhere when you’re a family of seven?), we’re anxious to travel, to see what’s out there, to try something new.  We’re a little rusty on the first camping trip of the season, kind of like the first days back to school.  It takes awhile to get our rhythm back, but then we’re good.  We recall what it was that worked best for breakfast on the road and remember to add sunflower seeds, Funyons, and Dr. Pepper to the list.  The kids are tight packers and experts with their to-do bags.  I love that we wake up at 3:30 and are praying in the van at 4.  I love that we’re bound together for 10-14 hours; it’s so much easier these days than it was with toddlers and babies.  I love the tentative reunion with grandparents, the familiarity that comes back in small ripples, reuniting with the different houses, retracing their steps to the lake, the Legos from Todd’s childhood, their fort from last year.

I love that we spend so much time outside.  Both here and there.  I love that our doors are open so much of the day, that shoes are optional.  I love camping amid the pines, roasting marshmallows in our own backyard, hiking in the mountains, wading on the shores.  I love hot dogs only on a stick and I’ll gladly trade in perfume for campfire smoke for an evening.

I love (not really) the sticky pools of colored sugar liquid on the desk by the computer, the little plastic snips from Otter Pops with syrup dribbled out, sticky-ing my scissors and littering the counters and tv viewing areas.  I love the nasty fare of easy-summer snacks fixed by kids eager for quick carbs and the path of least resistance.  They beg for Que Bueno cheese sauce from Costco.  I’ve done it before.  I can hardly do it again.  Boxes of macaroni find their way to our recycling.  The pizza oven’s a constant counter companion.  Chocolate milk—Nestle a summer  indulgence; occasionally that Country Time lemonade mix when we’ve gone camping and have leftovers.  Granted, we add watermelon and grapes and strawberries to the summer lunch mix and try to balance out whatever diet you’d call this all.  I’m not on board, yet I also love that it’s so traditionally our house in the warm months.  A hiatus from health by anyone’s definition.  I guess the extra play time outside compensates.  Slightly.

I love days by the lake.  When we leave early and set up camp before anyone else, knowing exactly how the shade’s going to land.  I love afternoons by the pool.  Any pool.  Friends who are awesome, the indulgence of paying for the one with great slides.  I remember back to the wading pool days, the splash park afternoons.  We sometimes still go if I just have the little ones with me.  I hate the thought of giving that part of our summers up.  Maybe because it’s been the way we’ve summered for the past 19 years—at parks and in small plastic tubs of water on the front lawn.  I remember one of our first with Andrew—just under a year—outside of Orchard Downs, the married student housing our first year of vet school.  We’d let them splash in water pools right outside our steps, they loved how blue even the whites of his eyes were.  Such simple days that still stand out.

I love the freckles that have popped out overnight on the little kids’ faces.  I feel bad for their burns we so carefully worked to avoid.  I love seeing our pale limbs take on some color, gradually wakening from their milky slumber, all of our freckles coalescing.  I love tan lines.  Because I have so few.  I love the warmth of sun on my skin, wading in the shallows, watching the kids do what kids throughout the ages have always done.

I love flip flops and sandals.  Shorts and short sleeves.  My favorite of all is jeans and sandals and a little shirt.  Unencumbered by layers and jackets and shoelaces and socks.  I love that sunglasses become the added accessory to keep hair back, hardly permissible in cooler Montana months.  I love that getting out the door requires little more than some snacks and water bottles.  No coats and hats to slow us down, we’re minimalists for a season, and I love playing peek-a-boo with my polished toes, unwrapped from their winter sleep.

I love trips to the library, cool and inviting.  Anything at all for the taking.  Loading up our arms and bags with new friends and old pals.  Movies and novels.  Picture books and workout dvds.  Now and then we’ll take a trip to the bookstore, which is both different and similar.  I love the freshness, the brightness.  I love the ambiance, the soft chairs and array of periodicals.  The shelves of brand new books and puzzles, games and bargains.  We hardly ever buy anything, but we love it all.

I love the summer nights when Todd takes us all fishing for the evening.  Packing up our tin foil dinners and fruit and cookies.  We’ll take the winding road that leads to our favorite spot, the kids will play on the bank, we’ll throw rocks and listen to the loons.  I love that we still have light so that Todd can have summer with us.  In the winter it’s certainly dark when he gets home; this is such an indulgent way to spend the night.

I love the days we stay inside all day.  When it’s the exhausting kind of hot that’s too intense for even swimming.  We indulged in an Anne of Green Gables marathon with friends a few years back.  We might try it again this year. We make a list at the beginning of each summer, things we want to make sure and do.  I always put Wild Bill Lake, ice cream at Rock Vale; the kids want a junk food day and a movie day.  Projects are always Todd’s contribution.

Today is typically us.  Yard work and chores.  The big kids took a run.  The little kids played piano and read for fun.  We’ll work in the yard a bit more tonight.  We’re heading to the park in a bit.  But it’s hard to interrupt the lazy days of summer for even such diversion.  Because the Star Wars marathon has already begun downstairs.