Moving

I knew it, could feel it.  Life was too comfy, too routine, too predictable. I could sense it even then, which made me all the more suspicious about what might be ahead.  Usually it’s the kind of thing you only notice when you look back.

Our latest life transition of moving to a hobby farm reminds me of a fall a couple years back.  It was October—Breast Cancer Awareness Month—and just as beautiful as it’s been this fall.  I’d found a lump back in July and finally made it to the doctor in September.  Which changed everything about October.  Likewise, we’d seen a piece of property earlier this fall, but waited awhile to check it out as well.  I never imagined anything would come of either appointment.

But it struck me this past week or so how similar buying a house is to my adventure with cancer just two years ago.  We were just going “to look” at a piece of property, never thinking anything serious would come of it.  Same with my tiny lump, just wanted to get a professional opinion for peace of mind and to be responsible.  But both of those initial meetings resulted in hours of work, our schedules got turned upside down, and everything we thought we were doing got pushed to the side; in each case we had a new priority to work on.

I’m impressed by the number of engagements we fit into both of those first weeks.  A biopsy Thursday, which left me anxiously waiting till Tuesday, when I was hit with the word cancer.  Which meant a week of everything from genetic and financial counseling to physical therapy and plastic surgery appointments.  This time around we looked at the house on a Sunday and by Friday they’d accepted our offer.  Just so many people to schedule simply to buy and sell a house!  Window washers, our realtor, photographer, realtor friend walk-throughs, keeping making it clean.  I felt grateful that I had and still have a completely flexible schedule and life.  I felt in both cases that I had a new part time job I never even wanted.  Let alone applied for.

Not only the appointments, but the amount of time I spent on the phone and in communication with all sorts of offices and personnel.  I was near to tears when day after day--as I was so sore and tired from my surgery--I'd have to field calls from the lab doing my onco type and insurance.  Reminder calls for follow-up appointments.  I remember having to go dig up tax forms from two years back to apply for some finance program in case our insurance didn't cover the procedure in question.  We needed to know about the tissue collected, if the chances of cancer returning were low or high.  It had to be done (in my mind) because that told us how aggressive we needed to be, and whether or not I'd need chemo hinged on that one piece of critical information.  So I worked through calls and issues like that.  I feel I'm paddling down that same little river this month.  So many texts and calls and emails and appointments!  Furnace tune-up, chimney sweep, window well diggers, radon mitigation system installed, signing for a bridge loan, figuring out insurance, duct work clean out (maybe), new windows to be ordered, more than enough office work to keep me occupied.

I just want some time to focus on the task at hand: packing and cleaning.  And Christmas.  Just as then I wanted to just rest and read and get better and stronger.  But it's never seemed to work out.

Both events took away some of my fall.  I hated having to lie on the couch on such beautiful November afternoons, just as I wish I didn’t have to be holed up in my basement painting trim and touching up walls, peeking through the windows at the fluttering yellow leaves instead of being outside raking them.

I’d say people who know us were surprised.  We’re usually pretty conservative, predictable, steady, rational, and content with what we’ve got.  I’ve also never really had a health issue, we’re generally pretty boring patients, fairly young; I’m sure cancer was the last thing people expected.  Similarly, we’ve loved our house.  Our kids are leaving, we’re middle-aged, there’s no real reason to expect we’d want to move.

But what stands out to me most of all about both these experiences is that we just have to be ready.  We can’t assume that just because life has looked one way for nearly a decade that it will be the same tomorrow.  Or that just because we feel strong today that we will a week from now. Which is something that motivates me actually.  I know that another learning experience is right around the corner when I'm feeling too much at ease.  And yet it's like anticipating that scary Jack-in-the-box wind-up toy from the 70s.  You know it's coming, yet nothing can adequately prepare you for the jolt it gives you.  I like to keep the lines of communication open and strong so that when I need confirmation about a decision or route we've chosen, I don't have to make a new connection and wonder if He'll answer me.  I've learned I need Him both daily and in cases of emergency.

As then, people constantly ask us what they can do to help.  And still the answer is, We’re fine, we’ve got this.  I hate, hate, hate having to rely on other people for things I can do myself.  I think we’re all kind of like that.  I hate it when friends leave their families to come serve mine.  I want them to be home, enjoying their limited time with each other.

So, just as I did two years ago, I’m doing everything I can think of to get ready.  We’ve been packing and painting for weeks.  Months, really, if we go back to ripping out all the carpet and painting the whole basement top to bottom.  I’ve taken down our decorations.  I’ve wiped out cabinets.  Cleaned the garage blinds.  All the living room and kitchen and dining room ones too.  I’ve plugged up nail holes.  Purged.  Made a timeline.  Frozen cookie balls.  Made a menu.  Changed all our utilities.  Bought and wrapped almost all of Christmas.  I’ve had the energy and time I’ve needed, and so it’s been easy.  Todd’s barely had any time at home in comparison, but he’s managed to clean the shed out, take down Andrew’s garage, move all the food storage, and pack up a good deal of garage paraphrenalia.   And yet, I know we really can’t do this all on our own.

We’re only a little family these days.  I’m not that strong.  Maybe emotionally most days, but certainly not muscular enough to move a piano or a safe or a freezer.  We can do a lot on our own, but at some point we will need assistance.

Which was maybe one of the hardest parts about cancer as well.  I hated that my mom and sisters had to leave their homes to come take care of me.  I tried to talk them out of it, but we’re a stubborn bunch.  I'll admit it, I loved having them.  I could’ve squeezed out my four drains throughout the day myself, but it was so nice to have my sister do it for me the first couple of days.  I suppose I could’ve bathed gingerly by myself, but it would’ve been even more excruciating than it already was and would’ve taken so much longer.  Those days I could barely lift myself off the couch.  I didn’t have it in me to make dinner for the first few days, and so I was so grateful for friends who helped out even though I insisted we were good.

It’s a hard thing to accept help.  How do you know when to say, Really, we’ve got this.  And when to say, You know, we really could use some help.  Todd’s way better at this than me.  And I know it’s nothing more than my pride.

I hate to think of myself as weak.  I hate being vulnerable.  Aren’t we all like that?  I’ve always felt that we should take responsibility for our own family.  If we had little kids or if one of us was sick or impaired or out of the country, or even both working or with demanding assignments at church, then yes.  But we’re strong, able-bodied, older, capable of working long, hard days.  For the most part, we really are just fine. 

Truly, it’s that I’m embarrassed.  By how ugly and weak and slow and painful and vulnerable I'd be recovering from surgery.  I didn't want people to gauge how I was feeling by looking at my movements and into my eyes; I hate being observed.  Just the other day a friend told me I seemed stressed.  I don't know why, feeding a group of 16 mix-matched folk for Thanksgiving, college son home, boxes everywhere, trying to get Christmas gathered up, letters out, packing and painting in every spare moment I had.  I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach when she said that.  I thought about that for days.  I thought I had it together. I'd felt strong.  It made me sad.  But it made me re-evaluate.  And want to slow down so I could be sweeter.

These days I'm ashamed by how much stuff we have.  I don’t even want to catch that look in our friends’ eyes as they gather to help us load and get a peek into the garage.  And then the living room.  And then the basement.  Which is why I’m vague when people ask when we’re moving.  We’re not hoarders, I promise.  It’s just that being married for 22 years with five kids and a wide array of hobbies, has made us collectors.  Bees.  Gardening.  Knife making.  Cutting boards.  Wood hauled all the way from Minnesota.  Hunting.  Camping.  Backpacking.  Sewing.  Food storage.  Crafts.  Baby toys.  Books.  So many books.  Games.  Sports.  Scrapbooks.  Clothes.  Holidays.  Journals.  You know what it’s like.  You’re most likely storing some of the very same stuff we’ve been carting around for years.  Which should make me feel better.  But you know it doesn’t.  I’m just self-conscious.  I don’t want people to give up their time to move our junk.  Especially at Christmastime.  It’s cold.  Most likely snowy.  Everyone just wants to be home with their families.  The thought of friends loading up our dumb stuff makes me shiver.

And I wonder to myself, how have I been so ignorant?  Why haven't I been more invested when my friends have all been moving?  Where have I been????  Why did I ever take their word for it that they had it all handled?  It's completely overwhelming if you have anything besides the move to think about (like dinner, kids' activities, Christmas, company).  Sure, we're there to clean, to move a few boxes here and there, maybe some food.  But why haven't I really been in on it all?  I feel embarrassed about that too.  But I'm so grateful to have gone through both cancer and another move; now it's personal.  I'll know what to do when it's happening to someone else.  Isn't that the best part of going through a rough patch anyway?

I’m sensing my pride is still in tact, which tells me I really didn’t learn much two years ago.  I thought I had.  In fact I could give the lecture about how we all need to help each other and accept help.  But maybe it’s easier when I’m sick.  It’s obvious when we’re impaired that we need to call in some help.  It’s harder when we’ve made this decision and mess ourselves, fully aware of what it would entail.  I feel like we should take responsibility for it.

 But does it really matter how we got here?  A doctor’s diagnosis or a change in plans?  Do we quiz people before we sign up to clean their fridges or watch their kids or bring them dinner?  Of course not.  We just assume the best, we serve and help however we can.  Our friends are just like that, always willing, no questions asked.

So as we move into our next home and phase of life, I can’t help but think back on how it made me feel just two years back to have our friends rally around us.  More humbling than anything we’d experienced.  I hated it.  I loved it.  I ached that I couldn’t be the one to serve.  I felt uncomfortable with the attention.  But it enlarged my heart, it increased the love I felt for my friends and family.  And I sense the same thing will happen this time around. (But I’m still cleaning the bathrooms before they get here.)

Grateful

I spent a gloriously simple afternoon doing what maybe some of you were likely doing, putting together pies and cranberry sauce, prepping the stuffing and peeling the sweet potatoes.  Christmas music wafting in the background.  I spent a little time out (2 hours?) talking to a friend on the phone while I folded laundry, cleaned the blinds, and did a little cooking.  Such a beautiful traditional Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  As I was washing up the dishes, smelling the cloves and ginger from the baking pumpkin pie, my thoughts naturally drifted to what I was grateful for.  It’s what we teach the kids to think about at this time of year, the least I could do was spend some time on it myself.

Generally we’ll take a family night and list all our blessings in our personal journals and then read them aloud and talk about them.  But since most of the journals are packed away, we skipped that tradition this year.  I knew we’d have a chance around the Thanksgiving table, but in my quiet little kitchen afternoon, I couldn’t help but think of some of the blessings we don’t always talk about.

I think most of us all kind of start out the same: family, friends, a place to live, a job, food, our health, however meager any of those look like.  We’re grateful for another day, another year of life.

But then what?  I dug deeper.  What happened this year?  Am I different because of what I experienced?

To be honest, nothing crazy.  Cancer was the year before.  Sending Andrew out was also over a year ago, so when Mitchell left this fall I knew I’d be ok.  My dad died a couple years back.  My mom’s new marriage is working out well.  We continue to spend money on our vehicle repairs, we have the usual bouts of grumpiness, melancholy, teen talks, overgrown weeds, and messes of all kinds, but honestly, nothing out of the ordinary (other than an unanticipated move).  But, even without anything too intense, I questioned if the past year had changed me. What lessons am I grateful for?  What specific blessings have I noticed?  Here are some that come to mind, in no particular order.

Callum and Bronwyn (13 and 11) finally caught the vision!!!  Several times this year they’ve holed themselves in their rooms reading the afternoons away.  The older three read all the time growing up, but these two have only ever read for school.  For whatever reason, they’ve seen the light and are converted readers.  Yay!

Real conversations with the kids.  We weren’t as good at this with the older kids, but we’ve become more open and comfortable.  And maybe it’s that the world requires it.  So much is blatantly screaming at us that we’ve needed to address some heavy issues.  I’m grateful for the election year, for instance; we all learned some things.  And while I’m distressed that there are so many hard things the kids are exposed to, I’m glad for the foundation we have, and that they can explain their perspectives while we share ours.  I’m grateful to know what they’re thinking.

Deeper understanding of prayer.  I see that He hears and answers our prayers.  Just as soon as I give up holding on to my will, He’s able to move forward and help me.  I can’t help but think of that in terms of Todd finding the perfect farm recently.  I’d stubbornly wished (and told) him to just let that dream go.  It was too far-fetched, too expensive, too unlikely, too much of a stretch for our family.  Just be content with our suburban life.  We have it so good already.  But I finally decided to let go.  I know Todd’s heart. He is a good, good person and I realized I’d been selfish by refusing to let him to have a shot at his dreams.  Why wouldn’t I want that for him?  (Actually I had a whole list of reasons.)  So I started including it in my prayers.  If it was within Heavenly Father’s plan.  I felt confident He and I were on the same page and that Todd would just have to learn we don’t get everything we want.  And yet I’d been taught otherwise throughout my life.  That sometimes all we have to do is ask.  What we want doesn’t always happen, and certainly rarely within our time frame; but I’m learning to ask and to expect, but to trust in His timing.  I was hoping His timing would be in the next life, that Todd could run the heavenly farms and tend to the chickens in the hereafter.  Alas.  I just couldn’t help but notice the nearly immediate correlation between surrendering my will and the ease with which He granted Todd his wish.  I felt supremely humbled.  And immensely grateful for a blessing I had no idea was in store for us.  What else am I missing out on because I am stubbornly holding onto my thinking or way of doing things?  I know I still have so much to learn about how this all works.

A grateful fast is easier than asking for something.  Fasting is one of the hardest parts of our religion for me.  Give me the tough doctrine, the controversial stuff, my faith seems to just accept it in stride.  Take away food and I struggle, always have.  But this past month we just felt overwhelmingly grateful and decided that would be the focus of our fast.  Easiest time I’ve ever had.  I don’t know if there’s a connection, but it’s worth considering.

Opportunity to be surrounded with hard working women in my assignment in the Stake Relief Society.  Not only do I serve with three of the most humble and genuinely good women I’ve ever met, the four of us have linked hearts and are united.  We’ve been able to travel extensively throughout the stake, mingling with hundreds of women near and far, catching a glimpse into what their everyday experiences are.  So very, very humbling.  Most work long hours.  They worry about their children and grandchildren.  Many are on their own.  They have so many demands on their time and their energy.  We listen.  We try to encourage them by sharing ideas that might help.  We occasionally go on visits with them.  But honestly, we do very little.  The ladies we serve beside are in the trenches.  They are pulled in so many directions and have so much on their minds and carry such heavy burdens in their hearts.  There are no words for how much they inspire me.  For more than three years we’ve been in and out of their lives.  But this year I feel just especially grateful for their examples of selfless service.  They are truly some of the most positive, faithful, hardworking women I’ve associated with, and I constantly learn from them.

How good it feels to pray specifically for people by name.  Not like we haven’t before, but I think we’re doing it more now.  Andrew’s asked us to pray for people he’s met.  I’ve been more aware of friends who are struggling with family members or health problems.  I’ve appreciated my sisters asking us to pray for their friends.  It helps me really think about these situations people are in and helps me have more empathy and compassion for them.  It makes me re-think what I ask for.

More time at home.  I’ve made a point to be aware of how I give my time away.  I have hours of discretionary time every weekday, I’m so fortunate.  But in the past I’ve overwhelmed myself to the point that I’m hardly living up to the stay-at-home part of stay-at-home mom.  This past year I’ve just tried to pare down my commitments and I’ve been more mindful of what I schedule myself for.  I’m not there yet, but I’ve so enjoyed the mix of coming and going and staying.

Andrew’s getting it.  A mission has the potential—but no guarantee—to do that.  With only nine months left to go, he seems to have left his previous left behind and is basking in the missionary zone.  I love that he’s appreciating how difficult life is for people and that he’s had opportunities to serve them and work hard.  I’m grateful for letters each week that describe the people he’s come to love and care about.  I’m glad he’s making good use of his days.  That his priorities have shifted.  That he’s figuring out what he believes.  I’m so thankful he chose to spend a couple of short years outside of himself.

Profound appreciation for Todd.  I feel like as we’ve become more honest, as we’ve cried together and talked and talked late at night and early in the morning, our hearts have become more entwined and I’m more aware of what life looks like through his eyes.  I’m so grateful for his selflessness and goodness.  We still butt heads and have all sorts of disagreements; but I feel closer to and more in love with him than ever.  I know, so cliche.  Maybe there’s a reason.

Finding joy in saying I’m sorry.  Although not exactly at the moment I’m doing it.  It’s usually after the fact.  But I’m grateful for the chance to work on my pride.  To view life through the eyes of my friends and husband.  That they accept my apologies.  And me.  I’m grateful that I’ve had to do this so much more this year.  I don’t know if I’ve just been more thoughtless with what I’ve said this year or I’m just becoming more aware of how I might be hurting others’ feelings.  But I’m grateful for the (embarrassing and painful) practice.  This has been super hard for me to do, but I think it’s getting easier.

Being humbled by a visiting teaching experience, recommitting me to do better.  I didn’t realize visits made such a difference.  I’m grateful for the women I’ve become friends with through visiting teaching and how accepting and loving they’ve been.  And for the reminder to make it a priority and not slack just because we’re already friends.

Naps.  Not everyone has this luxury.  I feel so lucky and indulgent when I nestle down on our leather couch with a puffy pillow and soft quilt for a little mid-afternoon 20 minute siesta.  It’s just what I need to make it over the hump and to be a little more even-tempered when the afternoon and evening chaos hits.  I’m so grateful I can fall asleep super quickly and that they are so powerful.

More confidence to say what I think and believe, about everything from education and reading to the power of mothers and my faith. This year has tested my faith more than any other.  Not rocked me exactly, just that I’ve really questioned if what I’ve subscribed to my entire life is real.  Is this just all made up, have I been duped or brainwashed?  Is God real?  Is Christ who he says he is?  I mulled all this over for about a month.  And I realized that I’ve always known these things.  Taken them for granted.  The greatest truths of the entire universe, I’ve  had them in my mind and heart my whole life.  No great manifestation, no talk or lecture confirmed or answered my queries.  Just a quiet conviction that yes, it’s all true.  Whether we choose to believe it or not, it’s all true.  I am grateful.  For a patient and loving Heavenly Father who knows what it’s like to be in this world and to question.  And for the perfect way He lets us know He’s there.   

An invitation to serve more in the temple.  This was sort of funny to me, to be called in and asked to be a volunteer over a year or so ago.  But I’ve been humbled working in the laundry.  I see how far so many workers travel—many come from Eastern Montana or Wyoming every week (and have for 16 years).  They’re of course retired, some women come all on their own through ice and snow.  I hear the stories of their lives, where they’ve lived, what’s happened to their kids and their husbands.  I can’t help but think I need to do more.  I live so close.  I have so much.  They inspire me.  Recently, we were asked to help with another assignment.  I had to sort of smile inside.  I couldn’t help but think, “Where much is given, much is required.”  How fitting.  We’ve been so exquisitely blessed.  I’m grateful to be shown how to give just a tiny bit more. Interestingly, last year before I was asked to become a volunteer, I had been praying to know how to incorporate the temple more into my life.  Again, be careful what you pray for.  Make sure you're ready for His answer.

Unexpected friendships with older women at church, grandma types who somehow know my name.  One pulled me aside just the other week and told me how grateful she was for my friendship.  Honestly, we’ve never really talked much at all.  I always call her by name and say hi to her, it’s what anyone would do; but it made me realize how such small exchanges really can make a difference.  I love the times we’ve had dinners or activities together, the chances we’ve had to mingle and get to know each other.  I appreciate their wisdom and relate so much more comfortably with them than women my own age.  I love remembering my own grandma, they remind me of her.  And I love talking about the past.  Even though I was still a kid when they were grown ups, we have still experienced so much history in our lives, and I appreciate being able to talk about it all with them.  I had an 80 year-old partner I’d visit with every month.  She told stories about her life as a mom back when she was my age.  I loved the wisdom, the quiet and slow manner with which she imparted meaningful lessons from the years.  I gleaned so much from her shared experiences.

Learning that I’m not alone, that God will always support us.  Being asked to speak in Stake Conference (an audience of several hundred) and given just under a week to prepare is likely a daunting task for anyone.  This was a humbling experience, given the nature of the topic (gossip) and the timeframe I had to do it within.  I worked on gathering my thoughts, stories, and ideas intensively.  As the week ended, I wanted to be sure it had God’s approval.  I didn’t know how to know that.  But then I thought to myself, I’ve put in the hours, I’ve prayed extensively.  I got a blessing to be directed.  I went to the temple.  I tried to focus on Christ.  At that point I had done everything I felt I could do.  And I felt peace.  It wasn’t a masterpiece, nothing memorable.  But it solidified my gratitude for how God will fill in for us when we do what we can.  We are so weak, so imperfect, so young, so naive.  And yet God somehow works with us and accepts what little we have to give and uses it for good.  I loved seeing that in action this spring, it thrilled me to know I don’t have to be afraid of big assignments in the future.  From this tiny experience I know I can do whatever He needs.  Although I still have my preferences as to what that would look like.

Trek.  He came through again when we were asked to be a ma and pa.  Last thing in the world I felt up for.  But, as before—and as always—He carried us.  All we had were willing hearts.  I’ll always be grateful for the trust He had in us, for the beautiful experience we were blessed with. I would’ve never signed up for it, but I’m thankful He knows what we need.

Home teachers who leave their families and consistently come.  For thoughtful treats, for just reminding us that we’re not forgotten, for inspiring us to do better in our own spheres of influence.

Our kids’ friends. This is maybe what I’ve missed the most since Mitchell’s gone to college. As we’ve been together for Thanksgiving, I’ve basked in their togetherness, the easiness with which our families flow from one house to the next, the comfort and familiarity we all feel with each other.  I delight in the carefree banter as we play games and catch up just as much as the thought-provoking conversations over dinner.  I will miss seeing the four of them together: two college freshman with their two high school sophomore sisters.  Shopping, watching movies late into the early morning, taking personality tests, asking each other for advice, just melding into a foursome of brothers and sisters.  I’m so very, very grateful for these and other strong friendships that have made it through so many years.

Closer connection with Heavenly Father and Christ.  Maybe it’s a culmination of a million tiny habits over the years; but most likely I’m just holding on tighter to what I know is real, those I can really count on as this world seems to be spinning out of control.  I have learned some new things in my studies, but mostly I’ve felt the spirit confirming over and over that they are real, that they are intimately concerned with the affairs of my life and my family.  I trust them completely and I rely on them daily.

Along with feeling a deeper love for them, I’ve felt especially grateful for the atonement this year.  I’m in awe of its power and feel ashamed I’ve taken it for granted all my life.  I barely know anything about it, and I know I’ve missed out by not accessing it better or more. I’m just grateful for the little bit I’ve learned this year and for the difference it makes in even regular everyday life.

As poignant as the moments of a year are, as the days and weeks turn into months, the years string together to the point that it’s all sort of a warm fuzzy memory.  Most of you are probably way better at this than I am, but every year it gets harder and harder to recall the details of my life.  With all I’ve been able to experience and learn, with all the blessings we acknowledge in our lives, I’m grateful most of all for the counsel to write it all down.  Elder Eyring shared the following,

I wrote down a few lines every day for years. I never missed a day no matter how tired I was or how early I would have to start the next day. Before I would write, I would ponder this question: “Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?” As I kept at it, something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.*

I can’t imagine not being able to recall these simple yet profound blessings down the road simply because I failed to jot down a note or two about them as they happened.  And so I’m deeply indebted to those who encourage us to etch them permanently in our minds.

I just don’t want to let it all slip away and forget my grateful year. 

*O Remember Remember

Savoring Sunday

I don’t know if I like it better than Thursday, I still can’t quite decide. But over the years it’s become the one day I look forward to because I know it’ll be different in distinct ways from the rest of the week and that it will rejuvenate me and our family more than anything else we do.

You know how sometimes the weekends are so full of fun, whether you’re camping or traveling to another state with a kid’s special team or you’ve been working on house projects, that come Monday you almost look forward to getting back to work so you can get back in the groove and life can settle down.  I love weekend activities, and we look forward to having friends over, going to the mountains, taking road trips, and of course working in the yard.  But come Sunday, we switch gears and life takes a turn for a day.

I don’t know that I always liked or appreciated Sundays as I was growing up with my parents and sisters.  And yet, it was a different sort of day even back then.  But it wasn’t until college that I truly began looking forward to my day of rest.  Maybe I’d never needed it as much before that point.  And now, as a parent, I embrace Sunday and appreciate the departure from normal life like I never have before.

Growing up of course we’d dress in our Sunday Best and go to church, like a lot of you.  I loved being able to sit next to my mom on those hard, dark wood pews. She worked full-time; so we didn’t spend a lot of time with her one on one and this was an opportunity we all looked forward to.  My dad would hold my little girl hand in his big rough calloused work hands and massage my fingers and tickle my arm.  I relished our slow afternoons together as a family.  We’d have friends over for dinner (a college-aged cousin attending SDSU, a teacher from day care, our extended family for a holiday or birthday celebration, our friends from church or school) and it was the one day my mom had time to cook.  We always made The Jello before church, usually my job; this was the 70s and 80s after all, Jello was a staple.  I’d make The Blueberry Muffins (again, a given; the kind with the can of blueberries in the box and crumble top packet) after church, and my mom would make the rest: roast and mashed potatoes (with loads of butter), maybe Chicken Cordon Blue, Mexican Chicken, all sorts of deliciousness.  We all savored our Sunday afternoon dinners and lingered just a little longer.  Maybe while the roast was still cooking we would go lie in the sun on the little alcove at the back of our apartment building and bring our spray bottles, or we’d play school or office on the ironing board while mom and dad took a nap.  I’d go on walks with my best friend around Lake Murray. Our evenings were naturally centered around The Wonderful World of Disney and we’d have ice cream.  Just a relaxing end to a busy week, centering and rejuvenating us for the days ahead.  We had no idea we were doing anything special, we were just enjoying our Sundays.

In college we of course went to church but then we immediately went to the cafeteria for our big dinner, all dressed up, with our friends.  So fun to not have to cook, to just enjoy a free day together, no studying or stressing about classes or assignments.  (We’d sometimes get up pretty early Monday morning to study, but it was so nice to have a day off.)  Back then it was the cheapest day to call long-distance, so everyone would check in with their families in the evening. We visited each other in our dorm rooms, we had choir practice and large devotionals and group prayers in the evenings, but it was all very uplifting, peaceful, restful, and recharging. It was a glorious day off from the tension of the week, and I looked forward to it like I never had before.

It was at this point in my life that I started appreciating the beauty and gift of the Sabbath.  I know we don’t talk about it in our culture much anymore, and it’s become an extension of Saturday, The Weekend.  But as one of the Ten Commandments, it’s a principle with a promise,* which means that anything we do to make it different and a little more “holy,” will benefit us and our families.  The one promise that stands out is that it will help us be “unspotted from the world,” which, if you have children, you can appreciate.  More than anything, we want our kids to focus on what’s really important and to not get caught up in what the world touts and tries to convince them is real.  This is a protection, a day to get back to basics, a time to be with our families and to focus on God. 

For many people in our situation, Sundays are filled with church responsibilities, and I don’t know that it’s exactly restful.  But I think it still helps us re-focus on the big picture and reminds us of what’s most important.  As we got older, we’ve both had more time-demands relating to church, but we’ve almost always been able to squeeze in a nice family dinner and a walk.

Back when we were first married, Todd had bishopric/leadership meetings; and I helped serve the ladies in our area in the same capacity as I do now.  So church was a big part of our day, but we also had long lazy mornings to walk along the neighborhoods and into the Provo Canyon.  We had friends over or went to friends’ houses nearly ever single Sunday for dinner.  We never studied, even though he was trying to apply to vet school and I was in grad school. Occasionally he’d have to check on the animals at the clinic, but for the most part, it was just a gloriously simple day off from all the pressures of school and work.

Life carried on much the same once we were in Illinois and he was in vet school.  We’d get together with other families all the time and take long walks with the boys in strollers.  We’d find lakes or parks to walk around, we’d visit each other, we’d call home, we’d play games, we’d just relax and gear up for the week ahead.

When our kids were younger, life on Sunday was hairy.  And of course this is when Todd was gone more than any other time in our life.  Church made me cry.  Getting ready for church was a fiasco.  Sitting in church, I could barely contain myself.  The kids were wiggly and would touch and poke and fight and fidget.  Todd was on the stand or at work, and I’d have to hold things together week after week.  It wasn’t pretty, and I don’t know that I exemplified anything praiseworthy or of good report; I only knew I wanted to set a standard for our family.  I knew this was where we needed to be and it was my best chance to touch bases with God and to show the kids this is what we believed.  And so I was blessed with angel helpers and eventually the kids got older and things settled down.

Waaaayyyyy down. Any of you with teenaged boys know what I’m talking about.  Hands bracing their heads, leaning on the pew in front of them, in praying position.  I don’t know that my boys have heard much of anything in church in all the years they’ve attended with us.  Sigh.  But, for the same reasons as I took them as babies, we continue to go.  And hopefully it will eventually cause them to question, to ask if they believe it too.

We have four congregations that meet in each of our in-town buildings, so the times are staggered.  Last year we went 2:30-5:30 (when we were first married we met 3-6 with Todd’s meetings starting at 1), and this year we’re 8:30-11:30.  We’ve loved all the time slots we’ve been assigned to.  You just look for what’s good about the one you’ve got and make the most of it.  We might be one of the only families we know who was ok with going at 2:30.  With teens, this is a dreamy time to go to church.  They slept in till 10, we had big omelet/hashbrown/bacon breakfasts, long walks in the parks, board games, and plenty of time to make dinner before we left.  We had friends over for waffles.  We did scouts and planned lessons and wrote letters and talked.  It was sometimes dark when we’d get home, so we’d just eat and go to bed not long after.  But in the summer we still had long evenings together to go on a walk or have friends over.

This year we’ve been going at 8:30, and it’s been rough!!  But we’ve come to appreciate the good things about being done with church early.  Plenty of time to do visits, to talk to our families, to write to Andrew, to make a nice dinner, to have people over, to go on long walks, and of course long evenings to play games and linger on the patio.

The boys have used their Sundays to take naps; and some have chosen to study and get their schoolwork done, others save it for the other days of the week.  Andrew would gravitate to his garage to work on his knives; Avery likes to paint.  There’s not a list of what we can and can’t do on the Sabbath, which I'm so grateful for.  Every family we know does things a little differently, which is just fine.  Although we have come up with some guidelines that have worked for our family, we honestly do want them to choose what they find fitting to do on Sunday.  And yet, as parents, our job is to teach what we believe God wants the Sabbath to look like.  So, we do our best to have traditions that bring us together on Sundays so that they’ll want to be with the family.  It’s the one day of the week we have ice cream (sundaes on Sundays) and we make it a point to set the table a little more formally (with goblets and our nice plates, etc) and to have a little nicer dinner.  Todd almost always takes over on Sundays (which even if you’re not the least bit religious, I highly recommend instituting in your homes.  You’ll have to find your own Todd though; ours is busy) and enlists the help of the kids.  Andrew would make his famous Red Lobster biscuits, and the girls or Callum sometimes make a dessert to go with our ice cream.  Sometimes Mitchell would get in there and make his garlic dipping sauce or some other specialty item.  Just a fun day to work in the kitchen together (while I take a nap).  Like we’ve done forever, we play games and go for a walk.  We try not to do sports or ride bikes, but we decided a long time ago that sometimes a jump on the tramp for a few minutes is just what the kids need in order to keep the Sabbath day from becoming unholy.  We don’t watch a lot of tv, but we’re totally ok with nature shows or something inspiring, a family movie.  Once in awhile something comes up that departs from what we’d normally do on a Sunday, helping a neighbor, having to work, sometimes we’ve traveled and eaten out, but mostly we try to stick to pretty low-key activities.  We try not to work or make others work (which is why we don't shop or eat out).  We want it to be a together kind of day instead of everyone off in their rooms doing their own thing.  We want to make connections on this day—with God and with each other and with the people around us, which is why we visit people and have people over.  It’s not picture-perfect, but we love it.

I guess my point in even writing this is to encourage you and your families to do something that will enhance your own Sunday.  I know we all have different faiths (or none at all), and yet I believe by adopting a different kind of Sunday, your lives will be enriched, regardless of what your religious affiliation is.

Start small.  Some of my friends turn their phones off on Sundays just to have a break.  I love that idea!  Maybe make a tradition of brunch with the whole family.  Maybe decide to stay home and not shop just this one day.  Maybe have sundaes and watch a family movie together.  Maybe invite an older neighbor couple to have dinner with you, someone you always wanted to but can’t squeeze in during the week.  If you live alone, maybe make it a family day by writing letters to far away family members or researching your family tree.  Work on developing your talents; find a new one! Maybe break out a board game and make popcorn and laugh together.  Maybe see if you can get homework done on Saturday so it’s not hanging over your heads on Sunday night.  Maybe put on some peaceful music to distinguish that this is a calm and different sort of day (we love Windham Hill, Paul Cardell, The Piano Guys, classical).  It’s up to you, and maybe this hasn’t changed your mind at all.  Maybe it’s just to help you see where we’re coming from, why we choose to say no to some requests like birthday parties or football games, why we seem kind of holed up as a family, and why you’ll see us marching through the neighborhood like we’re leading a parade most Sunday evenings.  All I know is that we cherish this day that’s set apart from all the others.  Nothing else we do seems to have created the close connections that our Sundays have, and I’m so grateful for this special day that allows us to focus on what matters most.

*9 And that thou mayest more fully keep thyself unspotted from the world, thou shalt go to the house of prayer and offer up thy sacraments upon my holy day;

 10 For verily this is a day appointed unto you to rest from your labors, and to pay thy devotions unto the Most High (Doctrine and Covenants 59:9-10)