The funeral

As I sat huddled with hundreds of strangers and friends, I felt like we were all sisters and brothers.  Here to support and show our love for our siblings, friends who have become like family over the years.

I could feel the palpable love in the room.  The sorrow over a missing friend, for sure.  And yet love triumphed, I sensed greater affection than sadness.

As we heard of his life well-lived, I began to feel a deep respect for this man I barely knew.  I admired his devotion to his family, the good father and husband he’d been for so many years.  I  felt disappointed to not have known him better.  I appreciated his sense of humor and delight in adventure as those close to him shared stories from their lives together.  I clung to their words for clues about his life and the life they’d created as a family. I tried to learn from him.  The way he lived deeply and with his heart.

I reflected on the significance of family times they talked about.  Vacations, hunting, fishing, biking, hiking, working.  Everyday days.  Driving together, dinners, holidays.  I loved the pictures and videos they showed us, the music that resonated within our souls.  I realized again that these are the important parts of life, this is the stuff that matters.  I felt strongly that families need more of this.  And that this family got it right.

Of course I was crying for this family we care about so much.  I felt their heartache so poignantly.  But my tears sprung up over other friends who are also struggling, just in different ways.  I, like you, know so many families that have things.  Big things.  And I worry about them, cry about them, and wonder why and how to help.

This sweet family inspires me to draw my own family a little closer, to overlook the dumb stuff we sometimes get ruffled about, to cherish the ordinary, every days.

Todd and I were talking after a cozy after-church nap as we were making dinner for the kids; just holding each other in the kitchen he told me how much he loved me.  We cry more easily these days especially when we talk about our life together and our family.  The older we get, the faster time passes, the more we realize how much history we have together.  He said he just can’t imagine how much stronger a couple’s love is after like 60 years together.  We’re no where near that, but it’s incredible to me how much we’ve weathered and experienced and been through together as a family, as a couple.  Of course there have been lots of sad and hard and frustrating times. Obviously.  But we were just noting that’s why it feels so good.  Because it’s all worth it.  It works out.  It’s made us stronger and closer over the years.

I just think weekends like these are reminders of family love.  Whether it’s family living in our homes, those who share our blood, or those who simply have a piece of our hearts, those we mingle with and become close to make life worthwhile.  When you pare it all down, all this grieving family could talk about was the love they shared, their cherished memories, the times they’d had together.  No one once mentioned what kind of house they have, how much money they have, where they vacationed, or what he wore (although I think it was jeans every day of his life).  All I really got from it all was that he cared about his family.  He worked hard to provide for them.  He was there for them.  He shared his passions and hobbies with them.  He made time for them.  He fulfilled his role as dad and husband beautifully.  He loved with his whole heart. It’s evident that love permeated their family and that he will continue to be a source of comfort as they move forward.

And so I’m glad I went.  I’m grateful for such a tender afternoon with those I love.  I’m so thankful for this family who has welcomed us into their hearts, who has taught us about the power of unconditional love and who encourages us all to hold our loved ones close.

The re-entry

How hard is it to be on your best behavior when the biggest decisions of the day stem from if we should eat before the state park or wait till it’s dark, fish tacos or pizza, blueberry pie now or sundae later?

Of course we were great on our trip, it was reminiscent of our honeymoon almost 25 years back, we had nothing but time and small towns up and down the coast to explore.  We ate out every meal, slept in soft clean beds, wrapped in luxurious bathrobes and towels, showered with all sorts of delightfully-scented soaps, and watched tv in bed holding hands till it got too late.  We didn’t buy much more than a few souvenirs for the kids, but we perused shops every chance we had.

What was there to fight about? We actually did have a couple of altercations.  On a few occasions we didn’t get what we ordered (ie a brownie sundae with no whipped cream gave us a non-brownie sundae with whipped cream, fries with a burger when I’d asked for only a salad, just stuff like that), but only one caused a little rift.  Silly I know.  Because I'm not one to make a fuss over something so little, it’s not that big of a deal, who cares, they’d just have to throw it away, and I hate to add to their workload.  And Todd knows that about me.  But this one night we got the Special delivered to us when we’d just ordered the regular fish.  It came with lobster, on top of haddock, soggy spinach and tomatoes, all drenched in a pool of butter.  I was disgruntled because meals are already expensive, I have this thing with money, and I didn’t want to pay a Special price for something we didn’t even like, we just wanted plain haddock with rice and broccoli.  But we never said a word to her.  We just ate.  I can’t explain why this particular instance of food mix-up got to me when it’s honestly never a big deal.  I just think it was the end of the week and I was feeling super guilty about all the money we’d been spending on pampering ourselves.  Just a tense dinner for no reason, I totally accept responsibility for my inconsistency and for blowing it out of proportion.  I felt really bad.

Another time was a critical day when Todd needed some important documents.  I’d been carrying them around with me all week in my bag but this day I knew I’d just be at his conference and didn’t want that cumbersome bag, so I left it at our place and just brought my purse.  Big mistake.  His too, he should’ve confirmed I had them.  And yet I’d had them every day since we’d gotten there, he just assumed I would.  Another tense time.  But I tend to think of problems as chances to get creative, and so we simply found them in our email and all was well.

I mean, honestly, there wasn’t much to quarrel about.  He did try to get me to buy an expensive (well, $40) sweatshirt that I said I liked, but I declined, I was annoyed that we had to spend $20 to wash two loads of clothes at the laundromat one night (but honestly, what could we have done differently? Maybe check in a bag?), anyway dumb stuff like that. We decided I’d choose lunch venues and he’d do dinner, but seriously, easy peasy stuff.  Just perfectly content vacation days blissfully strung together.

And then we started life on Monday at 5:30 and that was that.  Funny how easily habits come back.

That afternoon I’d taken Callum to mow, talked to my sister for an hour, and started dinner before my 6 p.m. meeting.  I had all the parts out for kabobs, chicken marinating, vegetables cut, skewers and pan all resting on the counter.  I had quinoa cooking on the stove.  Made caramel sauce and set it aside to simmer in a baby crockpot for family night to go with our apples.  Beds were all made, house back in order, laundry caught up.  But I inadvertently left the quinoa on during my whole meeting.  The house was dark when I got home.  Todd and B were picking pumpkins.  No one had done anything with dinner.  The grill is 1/3 not working.  So by the time I made more quinoa and laced the skewers with all their bits and made broccoli and cut up fruit and buttered the bread, it was 7:40, very late to be eating dinner.  When we were nearly through I realized I had the bread broiling away in the oven.  Good grief.  So the evening was tense for a bit.  So much for dining over lobster on a dock near sunset.  Nope, this was real life.  We still had a great dinner, loved talking to the kids again, catching up.  Then we did our family night right at the table since it was 8:30 or 8:45 by this point.  We ate apples and caramel.  We calendared the week.  We even sang a song, which I pointed out is what people are talking about when they call us peculiar people.  We talked about Conference coming up.  And we watched a tender video about suicide.  And prayed again.  That was our re-entry.

But this morning I was sad.  What happened to our vacation? And so I prayed.  And approached Todd and we talked for half an hour.  It’s super hard for me to do this.  Really really hard.  I haven’t really seen people in real life marriages apologize and talk about the hard stuff.  I guess people do it in private, but I don’t have much to go on.  And yet I had to.  Because I loved our time together and want to keep those feelings in the forefront instead of relegating them to a distant memory.  So it helped.  I felt close once more.  Vacation-close.

Here’s the thing.  Life is anything but a vacation.  It’s 90% just going through the motions, work, puppy accidents, cows getting out, broken lawnmowers, running the kids around, worrying about money, making sure the kids have what they need, staying engaged even though at this stage of life we don’t feel needed, feeling guilty about not doing enough with our callings, projects and messes everywhere we look.  We have a lot on our minds, all of us.  There realistically aren’t enough hours in the day to meander through the streets and window shop and pause for lunch before taking a little nap.  It’d be easy to stay in love, to be in a good mood, if that’s all life was about.

The trick comes after vacation.  After the kids come.  After the kids leave.  After a long day at work.  After seeing how much is left once the bills have been paid.  After realizing dinner is burnt. After we wake up.  After we’ve demolished another part of the house.

But it’s not a magic trick.  I know how it works, I’ve seen it.

It’s simply remembering the vacation.  The wedding day.  The first kiss.  The reason we came together in the first place.  It’s remembering all the awesome parts of our history.  It’s remembering our other storms and how the sun came out later.  It’s remembering our commitment to each other.  To put ourselves in their shoes.  To be kind.  It’s remembering how much we love each other.  And how much we want this family to work.

So while I’ll dream of our vacation for a good while still, I’m surprised that I can’t even recall the places we visited distinctly.  It’s all sort of a blur, it’s fading already.  We were ready to come back.  For sure.  But yes, real life hits hard, like being doused with a pot of cold left-over steamed broccoli water.  We knew what we were coming back to, we knew it’d be nothing like our week in Maine.  But we’re ok.  We’ve been on this road a long, long time.  It’s familiar and yet never the same.  It feels like we’re on the right track, even as we constantly wonder what we’re doing and where we’re going. It’s not sunshine and hot fudge and HGTV.  But it’s good. And so I’m grateful for a vacation to remind me of all that I love about our life together. 

The smallest of uplifts

I was just dusting, a chore I actually like but have outsourced to my kids over the years.  However, because we’re still working on some things in our family, the dusting doesn’t always get done and so I decided to work on the past weeks’ accumulation.  Normally over the years I’d simply use a damp rag (because I’m both cheap and trying to avoid chemicals but to be honest I’m super inconsistent with both…).  But I was helping on a project earlier this spring and came across a dusting spray that is both natural and intoxicatingly deliciously-scented.  I soon relegated that happy dusting morning with that lovely spray to my memory as a nice indulgence but unnecessary in my life and moved past it.  But later I decided that for $3 over the span of a year (or more, most likely, considering how lame we are at getting around to it) I would splurge. And what a happy treat!  I love the smell on my cloth, wafting from room to room, leaving its little lingering remembrance trail. Sigh.

Likewise, for floors I have generally used vinegar or ammonia, old school, cheap, efficient.  But (this is where I’m inconsistent) I’ve always loved (*loved*) the smell of Mr. Clean.  So I started buying my own little bottle every now and then when I was feeling like a little splurge; and, just like that, the simple task of mopping has elevated itself in my eyes.  Such a small indulgence, a little brightness to an otherwise monotonous chore.  (And please don’t tell me how bad the chemicals are for me or that I’m killing the environment and that clean doesn’t have a smell. I already know.)

I love the candle I found in an antique shop over the summer.  I did buy myself a yummy one last Christmas for my birthday, a rare luxury to be sure.  But truly, it is a dream to have a beautifully-smelling house even for a couple of hours (till it’s time to cook up garlic for dinner).  My 13 year old noticed it right off yesterday, something like pumpkin and fall and apples.  I know!  It made me happy too!

I bought myself a tablecloth this week at Target.  I have done that now three times in my life so far.  Once was for a prom dinner and the other was earlier this year.  I felt guilty both times that they were just for fun.  And yet for less than $20, I’ve been cheered day after day after day, thrilling every time I’ve come into the kitchen.  The one I got yesterday is versatile, our favorite look, sturdy and practical.  (I hate cleaning the grooves in our table, a milk and crumb cesspool/graveyard.  We use our table a lot, and so I love, love, love my tablecloths!)

I love that my family noticed that I’d put out our fall things.  We don’t have many.  The house is kind of spread out, so we have to make it all stretch.  But they are so cute to notice the few leaves and pumpkins that appeared while they were at school.  I love just sitting in our living room taking it all in, whether I’m taking an afternoon siesta or gathering with the family for prayer at night, just feeling fall.  I’m so glad not only for these moments of peace between activities, but it makes me happy to have created a little warmth for our family as well.

I’m not afraid or even embarrassed to admit I’ll have a couple of cookies most days after lunch (if we have any).  Another small but fun little treat, but especially if they’re my copy-cat Great Harvest ones with whole wheat flour and molasses, delectable!  I forgo any guilt, remind myself this is why I work out and buy loose shirts, and just enjoy the moment.

It was earlier this morning, after a rambunctious welcome-to-your-new-day stint, that our ten-week old pup climbed up on my lap and rested his tiny chin on my arm as I typed here at the computer.  Such softness! Such warmth! His cocooned body fit perfectly in my arms.  I needed to get on with my day.  It was 7 and Todd still wasn’t up, we had things to do.  But I lingered.  And I just did it again now.  We just sat holding each other, looking at each other. And just soaked in the coziness of the moment, content and unrushed and undeterred.

I remember many mornings and moments just like these over a decade ago when little Bronwyn was home alone with me while the older kids were at school.  She’d be playing quietly with her cars while I’d be taking care of the breakfast dishes and often she’d just come up to me and petition me, “I want to cuddle.” I knew instinctively these were pivotal moments, ones I needed to pay attention to and not just brush aside or put off.  Inevitably I’d have to extricate myself from the rubber gloves, but then we’d head to the couch, she’d crawl on my lap, and I’d just hold her.  Mostly we didn’t do anything at all.  Just held on to each other and breathed.  It melted my heart every single time.  I rarely do things as a mom that I can look back on and assuredly feel like I got it right.  But these are memories etched in my mind forever, and I can definitively tell you that I was doing exactly what I need to be doing, that these tiny moments together were perfect.  Now she’s a 13 year old 8th grader and a little more guarded.  Not that I don’t just hold her and hug her still, but it’s still a little different.  So I’m thankful for those nudges so many years ago that helped create closeness that would cradle us over the years.

I’m grateful for the few minutes I have alone in the dark of morning.  For the tiny glimpses of something bigger than me and my everyday life as I read, for the promptings I have to change things about myself and ideas that come when I’m less distracted and more focused. I thrill watching the sun peek its head, stretching quietly, just like my teenagers who stumble through a little while later, foraging for fuel. I’m so grateful I’m awake to see them, to just to be here.

This week I’ve been with friends in all sorts of settings, on the phone, in line, on a walk, at school, on our couches, in our kitchens, at xc, it’s been heavenly.  Just small interactions, a few were an hour or more, but some were just a few minutes or even just a quick hello.  But what joy stems from even these brief interactions, hugs and affirmations of common ground and friendship.  How grateful I am for these tiny bright spots in my days.

I’ve found myself standing on the gate just watching the chickens eat the watermelon and corn cobs I’ve just tossed to them.  I love their clucking voices and wonder what they’re communicating to each other.  I like to see them run with enthusiasm, eating with haste, enjoying all the morsels provided them, interacting and engaging in some secret code.  It warms my heart to see our animals happy, to pet our cows, to work up close beside them, knowing it’s safe, feeling calm and centered just being together outside where the air is fresh and relaxing.

I wonder if we’re living by the cliche to stop and smell the roses.  I wonder if we’re taking note of these tiny moments, our familiar relationships, the commonplace beauties, even smells and tastes of everyday life. I wonder if we’re really enjoying our pets instead of just shuttling them to the vet and their kennels and feeding them.  I wonder if we take the time to really sit with our kids and talk or just to be with them.  I wonder if we ever do that enough with our friends. I wonder if we appreciate what it a joy it is to experience life.

I guess I just feel like these are the atoms of our days, these tiny, seemingly insignificant moments.  Strung together, this is what makes life beautiful and worthwhile.  We don’t need to wait for our trip to Italy or for our kids to grow up or for our puppies to stop having accidents or for the chores to be done.  We can thrill in the everyday, the present, the bits and pieces of regular life.

And so I’m grateful my house smells inviting sometimes, even if it’s only when I’m alone with my cleaning rag; it lifts my spirits and makes me smile.  I love my little fall pillows, the few minutes in the darkening cold I spent last night in the raspberries. I love the planes that fly over our house every night right before 10, a soothing and habitual sound I’ve come to anticipate and enjoy. I love the calming spray of sprinklers in the summer mornings. I relished my little nap under a tree yesterday, the din of athletes and parents around me, the wind brushing past, all of it soothing me to sleep.  I inhale the smell of clean sheets and smile when the kids take time choosing just the right deodorant based solely on its fragrance. I’m thankful for the friends who choose to send a text just to say hi, who share their hearts and lives with me. I’m grateful for the sound of my college son’s voice over the phone, the jingling of our sleigh bells on our front door announcing someone we love is home. I’m so grateful for the whisperings—from both my husband and God—over the years reminding me to slow down, to ponder, to appreciate, to pay attention, to listen, to be present, to notice and indulge in the small wonders and beauties of everyday blessings, comforts, and moments. Because it has made all the difference.

What I love about Sunday

As we walk away from another Sunday, I have to assert that it has risen to the top of my list, I think even surpassing Thursday, as my favorite day of the week.  Even more surprising was hearing from both Todd (on our early-morning walk) and then Avery (on our late-evening walk) that Sunday has become their favorite day of the week as well.

But that hasn’t always been the case.  They both confessed that they haven’t always liked the capstone day of their week.  I elated in the fact that we’d come full-circle, that we’d transformed it into a day they—and all of us—look forward to now. 

I asked Todd about this, what made the difference.  He said it was basically his attitude that shifted more than anything; he just decided to look at it differently.  But he noted that it started way back when we were in college.  While I’d always liked Sunday, I agreed that it wasn’t till college that I really started appreciating it: a day without homework, a day to visit our friends, to sing in choir, to attend firesides and special programs in the evening, a day to talk long distance with my family, to write letters, to take a break from the work of the week.  All the reasons I still love it.  But with kids, it’s become even better.

For Todd and me, our Sunday still starts relatively early; but it being our one day with no immediate obligations, we luxuriously lounge till 6 or even 6:30 , just cocooning ourselves in the warmth of the down comforter, listening to the birds waken, the sprinklers spinning, and the leaves being pelted by the winds from above, a glorious symphony of young-day voices, beckoning us to both linger and to join them.  What a welcome to a new morning!

But we eventually get antsy and acknowledge it’s time to get on our walking shoes.  Sundays we can take the main road, a usually trafficked thoroughfare of vehicles on their way to and fro.  But this early on a Sunday morning only an occasional farmer is out on a four-wheeler.  A worker arriving for an early shift.  But not much more than that.  We walk 4-5 miles, just up the road, past the railroad tracks, and back.  We avoid freshly-squished road-kill from the night before and notice instead the deer, the birds, the dogs, the patterns of light, the clouds.  It’s intoxicatingly awakening and relaxing and connecting.  Probably the highlight of our day.

The minute we get home we turn on our Sunday music, the back drop for all we’ll be doing the whole rest of the day.  We love the peace this simple act creates in our home.  We all know it’s a different day because it feels different.  It’s never really Sunday until we have our music.

When we have later church, this is the part of the day where Todd makes us a full breakfast of hash browns and omelets and Avery’s Cinnamon Swirl Great Harvest bread.  But this year we need to be in the next town over by 9.  Most of the time we’re getting home from our walk around 8 and need to wake everyone, get ready, and be out the door by 8:30.  So this year it’s mostly cereal and toast, but no one complains; the kids are just happy for another couple hours of sleep.

Church at 9.  What could be cozier than being locked together on a pew with our sleepy-eyed kids who lean into us and one another, as they hold each other up? I’m in my happy place, with Todd’s hand in mine, my daughter’s head on my shoulder, my arm around another, as we all listen to my favorite kind of stuff.  I love singing together and just being together.  I love that we’re surrounded by such amazing people, men and women who mentor and love and teach our kids.  I especially love it when the kids hear something in a talk that resonates with them, either from one of their peers or from an adult they respect.  And even better, I love when they’ve felt something, when they receive a message for their heart.

By the time we get home about 12:30, everyone’s famished, and so we change out of our dressy clothes and pull out an assortment of leftovers, nachos, toast, whatever sounds good. We’ve occasionally tried doing our brunch of eggs and hash browns or waffles or pancakes at this junction, but it hasn’t stuck.  Still fun when it works though.

And then we have the whole afternoon and evening.  About a year or two ago we decided to curtail our Sunday company.  We wanted a more calm, quiet day just with our little family.  And so while we still occasionally have friends over for dinner, we try to limit it quite a bit.

Most of the family will take a nap.  Callum likes to watch a little nature show (the only rule we have about tv on Sunday is it has to be about Jesus or His creations—and just a short one; then we watch something together later on as a family).  We encourage the kids to not do homework (although that’s totally up to them).  Todd and I don’t work in the garden or even make jam, we really want to take a break from our everyday activities and we’d like our kids to experience this restfulness too.

At some point we’ll gather and do some kind of learning/service.  We talk about the week and schedule in everyone’s activities and coordinate rides.  We’ll write letters or use a journal prompt.  The kids will work on scouts or their Personal Progress.  If we have something going on Monday night, we’ll have our family home evening lesson at this time (last night it was on money/time management).  Sometimes we’ll watch a broadcast or conference talk.  Personally I’d like to spend more time doing these kinds of things, but I vowed from the very beginning of my motherhood that I would be careful about this and not push too much.  Still hard to not want to though.

Todd’s on dinner duty every Sunday.  So it’s usually something like roasted chicken, some kind of grilled fare (pheasant, deer, elk, chicken), or fish from our trips to Minnesota.  During the summer he pulls out the garden produce: green beans, potatoes, onions.  Yesterday he made applesauce with pears and apples from our trees.  Once in awhile one of the kids will make biscuits.  But I nearly always stay completely out of the way, truly my day of rest.  I’ll do my church stuff or take a nap or write our family letter during this time, heaven!

After dinner the kids clear and empty the dishwasher, and I do the dishes.  Todd calls his parents.  And then we go for our afternoon walk around the neighborhood.  We’ve done this every Sunday I can remember since we’ve been married when it’s been warm enough.  I can’t imagine a warm Sunday afternoon without a walk in it.  It’s pretty funny to see all these grown ups parading through the streets, sometimes 7 of us!  Even our guests join in; Todd and I love this bookend of our day, our second walk together.

And once we’re home for the night we’ll get in our pajamas and get out the popcorn and ice cream (we decided a long time ago that we’d do “Sundaes on Sundays,” but mostly it’s just ice cream with sometimes hot fudge and bananas—I’m routinely at Target during the week buying ice cream specifically for this night) and play games.  Then about 8 we’ll leave the shards of it all and head downstairs and huddle under blankets with our big bowls and watch a family movie together.  We started out with The Sound of Music and worked our way through as many Disney classics as we could find (our only rule was no animation and nothing modern).  We watch When Calls the Heart when the new season is on Netflix.  We’ve watched Andy Griffin, and lately we’ve been watching Anne with an E (which is hardest on me and Avery—we love the real Gil so much!).  I almost always fall asleep, but it’s the best kind of sleeping, entangled with the people and dogs I love.

After our movie we’ll say our family prayer and head to bed, leaving blankets and pillows and popcorn bowls and drinks and ice cream scoops all out.  It’s not pretty, but it’s how we’ve always done it.  And it just takes a few minutes when I’m fresh on Monday morning to tidy things up.  I read in bed for just a few minutes, something different from every day; Todd and I will cuddle and look at a magazine or talk about church and what we learned about there and things we want to do this week, who we want to visit or talk to.  We’ll try to connect with Andrew, and the two of us will huddle close to one little cell phone.  Heavenly.  And we’re so sad when it ends and we have to start a new week.

So I’m not sure if what we’re doing is for everyone.  But we’ve done this for a long time now and it feels exactly like us.  Yes, now and then someone will have a fireside or meeting at night.  Now and then we’ll do visits or drive around as a family and do deliveries in the afternoon.  Of course we still have families over and sometimes we’ll even end up at someone else’s house.  But mostly we try to protect our Sundays, to guard our family time.  Yes, I wish we did more service, included older lonely people in our days, and read more scriptures.  I honestly wish we could be better. I know it’s the Sabbath and I want (and try) to honor that, and so we’re making a concerted effort.

But here’s what happens when I start to get down on myself because we’re not doing more or when I wonder if what we’re doing is ok.  I think about the atmosphere in our home.  I think about where we’ve come from.  I think about our motives.  I think about our relationships with each other and with our kids.  I think about our intentions and our hearts.  And I feel like, for now, for us, this fits.  No, we’re not in our church clothes all day, and yes we watch some tv.  No, we’re not out among the poor and the sick as much as I’d like, but we’re building strong relationships within our family. There’s a lot we’re not doing, but there are some good things that we are doing.  I can’t discount the impact of lying on Avery’s bed with her, just talking (and sometimes letting her cry) for an hour or more. I feel like games have been the only bridge between us and at least one of our kids during his teenaged years. I’m not sure we appreciate the security this holy day gives us.  I don’t know if we see what a blessing it is to have hours alone together to play games and to make memories as a family. I don’t think we realize how much these simple traditions of worshipping and eating and walking and playing together strengthen us and prepare us for the week ahead.  

And so I choose to be grateful for our day to spend together as a family.  I’m glad our kids look forward to it as much as we do and I hope they’ll choose to make it a special day with their future families as well.  I hope they’ll take it to the next level and do more service and figure out ways to make it even better, but I think they’ll at least leave our home with close ties to one another and with fond memories of our Sunday traditions as a family.

Why are we waiting?

Just been thinking about the past year.  Last week a little friend was in a car accident, earlier this month one of my closest roommates from college lost her husband suddenly, her sister’s husband died just the month before, a young friend’s husband had a stroke, as did my mom’s husband, I discovered a dear friend feels lonely and lost, fires came close to several friends’ homes, a grandma friend broke her wrist and had to stay in supervised care facility for an extended period of time, and our grandpa friend had a very serious accident with a chain saw.  On and on.

I was ecstatic to hear from my roommates, with whom I exchange Christmas cards and pictures with every year, but I was so sad to realize the terms that brought about this recent connection.  It was heavenly to talk to one on the phone, she sounded just like she did when we lived in the dorms and then our apartment; it was as if no time had passed at all, and I wondered why I hadn’t just picked up the phone and called her a hundred times over the past 25 years.  And why are the five us just now finding each other and talking.  Does it really take a death to remind us of our friendship?

I thought of our friends, the parents of our friend in the accident.  My heart immediately wanted to connect with them, all we could think about was wanting to go to them personally.  I texted with the wife, Todd called the husband and they talked.  But I wondered why it took a car wreck to propel us to call them.  Why haven’t we had them over for dinner in the past six months? Why haven’t we just called to check in and catch up?  Where have we been?

I hadn’t talked to my friend from school (whom I know through PTO and the library) for a couple of years! Why did it take a fire for me to reach out to her?  And our neighbors—Todd and I talk about having them over all the time, why haven’t we?  We’ve gone the whole summer without a single bbq with them.  The last time we hung out was during the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics.

Why hadn’t I taken time to visit my grandma friend more often? Why did it take her moving away from her home and into a facility to wake me up? And my father figure (grandpa to my kids) friend, why only after a serious accident did I think to bring him muffins and make a visit?  Why did I wait so long to see these people I love so much?

I think of a friend who was in a dire emotional state a year ago.  Why is it that I didn’t make the effort to connect with her before she summoned us for support?  Why did I wait? Was I playing some sort of twisted game in my head about whose turn it was to reach out? Or did I talk myself into thinking our friendship had changed and had essentially ended just because I hadn’t heard from her in awhile?  I had no idea she was in crisis.  But I should’ve.

I wonder if we give up on our friendships because of distance.  Maybe miles, states, and years stand between us.  Maybe we’re in the same town and distance of time creeps in and creates some sort of wedge, starting out with just a few weeks going by before we realize it’s been nearly 9 months since we’ve talked or had them over; now it’s awkward. Maybe even within our families our hurts or misunderstandings create emotional distance, and the longer we spend not talking about what we’re feeling, the deeper our wounds seem to get and the further apart we feel.  Maybe we sense we’ve just all grown apart.  Maybe we just do what’s easy.

I just spent a week in Utah, where two of my favorite aunts live.  Why didn’t I take time to go visit either of them? I have my excuses, I got in late Sunday night and classes started up on Monday, we left the house every day at 7:30 and didn’t get home till about 6 or so every night.  We left early Saturday morning as soon as we were done to come home.  Not a lot of down time.  But would I have made time if there was a funeral? Or if one had been in the hospital or had a major health issue? Of course. I made a point of going to visit my roommate.  But it took a tragedy; I don’t go to see her every time I’m there.  And yet I love her.  I love my aunts.  What’s wrong with me?

I think I’m normal.  We just always think there’ll be a next time, another time, more time.

But what if we switched things up and didn’t assume?  What if we just told ourselves it’s time? What if we made the effort?  What if we just got on the phone today and asked a girlfriend to go on a walk tomorrow? What if we invited our friends for dinner Friday and worried about what to make later?  What if we actually asked that family to go on a hike with us? What if Todd followed through and invited some of the guys to go fishing; they’re always talking about it, why don’t they just make plans for next week? What if we wrote a card or letter to a relative we were once close to but have lost contact with over the years?  What if we went to visit our 80 year old friend and didn’t wait for her to fall again? What if we did it today?

The power of connecting, even when it’s as simple as a text or a note, is magical.  But in person can be potentially life-changing. And yet we’re missing opportunities.  We make up stories, they’ve moved on, we’re not as close as we used to be, they’re too busy, we’re not on the same page anymore, we’re too busy, they have other friends, we don’t have as much in common any more.  I use these excuses all the time.

And yet, I know how good it feels to make the first move, to get out of my comfort zone and just send the text, to invite a friend for a smoothie or to lunch, to ask a family over again even when it’s been forever.  And I know how great it feels when someone does the same for us, sending a message on FB or texting to go for a walk or to come for dinner, I love it!  I’m so grateful for the time I’ve spent with friends and family building and maintaining relationships; they mean everything to me.  Yet even with that as a backdrop, I fail to make the effort so much more often. I’m like most of us, waiting for that elusive better time, more time, a good time, the next time.

I just wonder if we could make something happen today.  Instead of waiting for sad news, why not connect when life is just normal? It shouldn’t take a crisis to remind us of how much we love (or loved) each other, but often it does.  I venture to say we won’t ever regret stretching, taking a chance, reaching out to connect with people we care about.  Regardless of the distance, whose turn it is, or how long it’s been, there’s no better time.  There’ll never be more time.  But there might not be a next time.  Maybe now's the time.  

Painting

We were sitting on the back deck finishing up dinner just last night and my daughter noticed the paint still on my hands from the previous night and offered her advice, You can use a nail brush and scrub that off. I told her I already had, You should’ve seen them before.

That about sums up our life in a fixer upper.  I’m sure people who come to our house cringe. And wonder what we were thinking to move from a new-construction house to one from 1984 needing an overhaul.  What a mess.  Why don’t they get rid of some of this junk? Why don’t they fix their floor, their door, their porch, their screens, their driveway, their road, their stairs, their bathrooms? Why does it stink? When are they going to do something about the big metal shop?

But I’d love to point out how far we’ve come in the year and a half we’ve lived here.  I wish I could hang before and after pictures near every improvement we’ve made: Look at these closet doors. I know you can’t tell, but Todd replaced them with new white ones.  We painted: this room used to be bright blue, the living room used to be peachy brown.  And so were the bedrooms. I want to remind everyone who wonders that we have taken lots of trailer loads of junk to the dump, we are working on the floors, and we are trying to get new windows and doors.  I want to explain that we’re in the middle of landscaping, which is why there are piles of dirt and wood chips on our driveway.  We’re also trying to paint our house, which is why the radio and ladders and roller are all still out; we’ll just be using them again tonight. Todd needs to insulate the shop before he can set up his work bench and hang cabinets, which is why we have random cabinets sitting in the middle of the shop floor and general untidiness.  We’re waiting to get wood this summer, which is why our floors look a little odd right now.  We love our dogs and have had a few that have come to visit, which is why our year-old carpet already has stains and the rugs are chewed up.  We do have plans for the bathrooms, but we make do for now.  We realize the toilet’s crooked when you sit and that you have to reach behind you for  toilet paper; we’ll get there.  And yes, we know how outdated our laundry room is, don’t mind the mismatched cabinets; believe us, it looks better already.  We have so many good ideas, but we can’t implement them all at once.  We have limited resources and simply can’t hire it all out.  We have to pace ourselves because Todd still has a full-time job and I’m helping the kids get around.  Plus, things tend to unravel and set us back. There always seems to be a lawn mower that needs some kind of attention.  The sprinklers have caused unnecessary headaches.  Our garden is pathetic despite our best efforts with extra watering and fertilizer.  The weeds need spraying, the pastures need irrigating, and the cows had to be moved across town.  It’s not like we’re just taking time off from life to work on a house full-time.

But look! Todd’s put up fencing, made garden boxes, got the wood for the foundation of the greenhouse, laid down flooring in the sun room and made new stairs. His dad helped make a wood shed, and look at how full it is! We’ve painted three sides of the house, our raspberries (at least) are flourishing, and we finally found some furniture to fill up our living room.  Can’t you see how far we’ve come?

It’s sweet to hear compliments on our kitchen.  I forget sometimes that some of our friends haven’t seen it yet, and I’m always surprised at their comments.  But I love to show them our house book with pictures of what it started out like. It’s nothing spectacular, just a regular kitchen that fits our style.  But without that comparison, without remembering what it used to look like, it’s easy to just take it for granted, to forget to note how much improved it is.

I think we tend to forget this principle in our own lives and in others.  We so often call ourselves out for not being where we think we should be at this stage of our lives, for not being more at this age.  But it’s imperative we look back and recall all that’s transpired.  There was a time when I had no idea how to work a grill or a lawn mower or a trimmer or a gas oven.  I was an adult before I learned any of that—and it was only last month I learned about a trimmer!  I was married before I’d made anything with yeast or created any sort of pie.  I never painted a room in my life until we moved here 18 years ago and bought our first house.  I still feel ignorant about most of history, but as I look back on the lists of books I’ve read, I realize I’ve gleaned a fair amount from my varied selections over the years.  I didn’t have much Bible background as a kid, and even though I still get lost in all the begat verses, I’m more familiar with scripture characters than I used to be.

I think we’re all that way.  I love seeing how comfortable Todd is as a vet now compared to when I dropped him off for his first day of work over 18 years ago.  I can’t get over how much more intuitive parenting is now than when I was 24.  I can see already how much better Callum’s driving has become even in the two weeks that we’ve been practicing.  Think of all the skills and habits that have become almost effortless over the years, writing in cursive, making cookies, saying thank you, speaking in public. 

But why do we fail to acknowledge how far we’ve come over the years? And why are we still occasionally forgetful and hard on ourselves?  And even others?

Instead of celebrating our milestones, we’re more likely to nag, Why I can’t lose that last little bit of tummy weight, why do I still mess up dinner, why is sewing still so laborious, why didn’t I know about that part of history?  But I need to remember I’ve had five babies and at least I eat more salads than I used to.  When I first got married I had no idea how to cook.  I’m still not that great at sewing, but I’ve made a few pretty quilts that we all use for naps. And I read.  I’m trying to learn about all the things I’ve missed along the way.  I’m working on it. And so many things. As I know we all are.

As I was sitting in the temple the other day, I was so vexed with my hands. I tried to hide my fingers, folding them under each other and away from view.  I wanted to explain to the ladies around me how hard I’d tried to get them clean. I know you can’t tell, and it looks like I didn’t even try.  But you should’ve seen them before; they look so much better now.

Maybe we need t-shirts, maybe bumper stickers? Something to remind us to note how far we’ve all come. Not so we can judge more accurately, but so we can love more unconditionally.

Because while our house is still pretty much a mess and I still feel a little awkward in some social settings; while I still struggle with being a mom (especially as we continually forge new territory) and I still get lost when we’re talking about geography, I try to remind myself that I’m making headway.  I’m not as shy as I used to be.  I’m not as stressed with my kids as I used to be.  And there’s not as much paint on my hands as there used to be.  I’m getting there.

My other mother

When I first got to know Todd back when we were 18 and freshmen in college, his youngest brother was 8.  I met his family while he was still on a mission in Norway and I was in college. We got married not long after he got back, and I was integrated into his large and loving family immediately.  Since most of his siblings were still at home, I felt a kinship, a sibling familiarity, and instinctively and naturally referred to my in-laws as mom and dad, just as all my new “brothers” and “sisters” did.

And that’s how it’s been for over 24 years.  She’s simply been my other mother.  I’m indebted to her for so much of my learning since, and I’m beyond grateful for her example and mentorship.  So many of her habits have become mine over the years; I just never recognized where they’d originated until I began to take stock a few years back.  I’m surprised that her ways now feel so embedded in me, so natural.  And yet I think they’ve come from years and years of watching her up close, from being in her company, from knowing her family.

I believe there’s an element of truth to the adage that we tend to marry those who resemble our opposite-sex parent.  Todd is a lot like my dad in that he likes to work with his hands and build, that he’s affectionate, is an excellent navigator, splurges on eating out and sodas, loves to fish, and just likes spending time with his family.  Likewise, I feel like I’ve become a lot like his mom.   I just think she’s nailed a few things and I feel lucky to have been able to spend so much time with her over the years as she’s tutored me.  Not that my mom was a slacker, it’s completely ingrained in me to write thank you notes, to remember birthdays, to buy gifts, to spend time with girlfriends, to make holidays special, to have nice Sunday dinners, to use white serving dishes. But every woman has her own personality and ways of doing things, so it’s been a blessing to have both women as teachers.

Both taught me to re-use my plastic ziplock bags and to grocery shop early in the morning.  Both taught me how to make a tight bed and to turn down the covers so it looks inviting, to welcome company warmly and hospitably.  Both taught me the importance of dinnertime and cooking from scratch.  And how to pack a hearty picnic.

But I never knew about making bread until Todd and I were married and we started making pizza on Friday nights.  I was too unfamiliar and apprehensive about yeast in those days, so Todd did the crust. We’d always ordered Domino’s growing up; I guess I never knew you could make it at home.  Todd’s mom taught me about warm water and cinnamon rolls and how sticky the dough needs to be.  She taught me about French bread and how to turn it a quarter turn and to use the heels of our hands so it wouldn’t get wrapped up in our fingers.

I had no idea about camping.  I’d been twice before I got married: once with a friend when I was in 7th grade and again as a college student with our cousins.  But Todd’s family camped everywhere and so he introduced me to a whole new world.  We began as soon as we got married and I fell in love with sleeping in a tent and cooking outside.  There’s nothing I’d rather do in the world than go camping.  I remember Todd’s mom telling me how she and Jerry were at a dance in college and ended up going to the canyon to have a campfire instead.  She set the precedence and I’m so grateful; I’d much rather wear jeans and sit in a camp chair than stuff myself into a fancy dress and make small talk holding red punch any day.  Her love of the outdoors is contagious and inspiring, and Todd and I remind ourselves a lot of his parents as we have taken the reins and led our own family on many nature expeditions.

I’d never heard of a tin foil dinner in my life until we were in vet school.  Todd’s mom used to pack them and her family to the lake or park where they’d have dinner and a chance to explore.  We’ve followed suit and have gone on many similar outings, making tin foil dinners the same as she always did: hamburger, potatoes, carrots, onions, Lipton onion soup mix and cream of something soup.  I’ve seen others, but I prefer hers and always go back to the original.  (She also taught me bring a wet washcloth in a baggie; I’m sure most people my age just bring store-bought wipes, but I love—and prefer—her way, so old-school and natural.)

Both moms showed us they cared for their children by making home-cooked meals, but I didn’t realize that’s what it meant until his mom pointed it out.  I must’ve been complaining about cooking at some point and she told me that we serve our families by cooking for them.  I’ve never looked at making dinner in the same way since.  And so maybe that’s why it’s easy for me to want to do it.  Even though I still don’t love cooking, I do love serving people I care about—whether it’s my own family or other families.  She taught me to see the joy in everyday tasks and to recognize how meaningful such seemingly little acts are.

I love talking with other women so much, and of course I appreciate quiet times with my two moms, listening to stories about earlier times, from their growing up years, about their parents.  They help connect me and Todd to our grandparents and other family members, and I’m so glad for the glimpses into the past they’ve both shared.  Hearing their memories has inspired me to talk about my own childhood more and to encourage Todd to do the same.

We’ve never lived near Todd’s parents.  But I don’t think it would be that different if we did (except it would be fun to spend more time together of course).  They have always been the kind to respect our privacy, to show confidence in us by staying unobtrusive.  They aren’t the meddling type and have always made us feel like we were capable in handling our own lives. Todd’s of course asked for their thoughts when we’ve had decisions to make, and I know they’ve had their opinions, but they’ve been gracious and kind as they allow us to learn by our own experience.  How wise and strengthening this has been.

Likewise, she’s been very respectful of Todd’s other siblings.  I don’t hear her gossip, and she remains vague, allowing others both in and out of her family to figure things out on their own and to share their own news.  But she petitions us to pray for one another and lets us know if someone needs some extra care.  She is always excited for her family’s milestones, and nothing thrills her more than than when someone’s house has sold or when one of her kids gets a new job or a grandkid is going on a mission. I love how she balances knowing what’s going on in our lives without betraying confidences or interfering.  

I learned the importance of cleanliness and order early on in life, and so I was grateful to be able to continue learning from Todd’s mom.  She has always kept a tidy house, beds made, dishes done.  But I've never felt uptight in her homes; they've always felt lived in and tranquil.

She's a natural in the kitchen.  I've always loved her trays of spices (with the labels on the lids of the jars so you can read what they are), as well as her other tins with bigger cooking implements in them like baking soda and salt, all in little cake-pan “drawers.”  Both moms have loads of recipe books, and for some reason I’m drawn to them whenever I visit either house.  I have loved the ones they’ve shared with me over the years, and they’re my stand-bys even today.  Lemon bars, French bread… I’ve tried others and I go back.

I love how hard-working these two women are.  My mom worked in a bank full-time as I was growing up; Todd’s mom stayed home with her six kids for a good portion of their early years until she worked in a pre-school.  They’ve shown me how to juggle responsibilities, to keep up with the basics, to get up early, to make the most of the day.  I can see why my mom fell asleep waiting for her nails to dry at 9 at night, and I can see why Todd’s parents still turn in around 10.  Their days are full and productive.  And yet I love how they can rest by watching a show or playing a game at the end of the day.  By seeing her leave some things for tomorrow, I have learned that it’s more important to re-charge, to be with my husband, to relax for a bit instead of running myself ragged getting everything done.  I’ve learned there is no such thing anyway.  And that tomorrow will be another chance.

Neither of our families were rich from a purely financial standpoint.  But both taught me that we could still maintain a nice home, that we could make a rented apartment, a fixer-upper, or a 1930s fishing resort look its best with some attention.  They showed me how a little paint could transform a wall, how planting flowers and hanging beautiful pictures could make any place feel a little more like home.  I love that even when Todd’s parents were on their mission in Omaha, they decorated their little apartment with personal furnishings and decorations that made it feel like home.  Her yard’s always been beautiful, full of flowers and lush plantings and hanging baskets, inviting and homey.

They showed me that vacations don’t need to be fancy either.  Both Todd and I grew up taking road trips to see family; that was about the extent of our summer vacations.  We were happy with our traditions, and we didn’t need anything more.  I learned recently how valuable family trips are even to adults as they reflect on those memories, and so I’m grateful our families invested in them, that they spent the money and made the effort to help us know our relatives.

I love that Todd’s mom, although frugal, recognizes there’s a time to spend.  Whenever we visit them she takes the girls and me into town for lunch and a shopping trip.  She might think nothing of a little Dairy Queen lunch, but it is a joy for us girls, a tradition we cherish with grandma.  They helped Todd out that first year of college by letting him live in the dorms and paying for a meal plan even though they still had five other kids at home to care for.  They generously bought a plane ticket for me to fly from San Diego to Chicago so we could see each other once he got home from his mission, a huge surprise for me. I still reflect back on that gift and can’t get over their generosity.  They also let us live with them for a month our first Christmas in vet school; I don’t think we realized how hard it was at that point for them to get the resort business up and running, but they were so generous and kind and never made us feel unwelcome.  I have no idea how she did it, but she managed to create a magical holiday for us even though she was so busy with working in town and running their new business.

I’ll always be a bit envious of her creativity and resourcefulness.  She just has a knack for knowing how to do almost everything.  I’ve watched her teach the girls crafts and to sew; I’ve admired her projects and artwork, especially her stained glass that she learned to do in her later years.  I love her confidence as she works and how she encourages her granddaughters to dig through her supplies and to create their own masterpieces.  She’s that same way in the kitchen, always up for trying a new recipe.  I love how she cans and preserves food, grows a garden, and keeps her freezers stocked.

I remember as a brand new mom asking her for advice.  She refused to detail how to mother; she simply said to love them and be consistent.  That has stuck with me over the years, and I always go back to it when I’m in a quandary as to how to proceed.  I would’ve liked more to go on, but it really has sufficed for the most part.

Same when I asked her if she thought I should go to work when we were struggling to know how to do vet school.  She wouldn’t say one way or another, just that sometimes moms had to work.  I also asked her how to know what to study in college, and she said to go with our talents, what comes naturally to us.  I’ve passed on that advice to my own kids as they’ve started to have similar questions.

I love how unpretentious she is, so down to earth and very approachable.  That very first time I met her, she swept me into a bear hug, a girl she didn’t even know and who was taking her son away from her!  She welcomed me unconditionally into her heart right from the beginning, and I know she’s done the same with all of her kids’ spouses.  I felt comfortable with her immediately. I love how she doesn’t need to wear fancy clothes and jewels, she’s comfortable in her jeans and washable shirts when she’s working around the house and in her yard.  She looks beautiful when she’s dressed up, but I sense she feels most comfortable in her play clothes.

She continues to teach all of us the importance of spending time together, always up for a game with grandkids, a boat ride with grandpa or an outing to the lake.  Even as they advance in years, they’re still camping, taking day trips, visiting new cities for overnighters, and traveling to see their kids across the country.  I love that she’ll watch movies with us when we visit, always eager to make us all popcorn (which I also learned from her how to make on the stove). Even recently, as we were camping in the Ozarks, she told our 17 year old daughter to go visit with her cousins; your book can wait, family is more important. She definitely lives by that mantra, as I’ve watched her swing on the front porch with one of her sons, take a little walk with grandpa, or read stories with the grandkids.  She’s always made time for her family, and her example has helped me slow down and remember to make people a priority, to choose relationships above all else.

Friends have always asked where our kids get their pretty blue eyes, and I simply tell them from their grandmas.  I’ve always known my own mom has beautiful eyes, but I think my other mom’s are beautiful as well.  Her blue eyes sparkle and dance, even behind glasses, with enthusiasm for life, with love for her family, and with wisdom and confidence that comes from knowing who she is and what really matters.  I have loved moments when I’ve seen them glisten, when we’re sharing a tender moment, especially when she’s talking about one of her kids or grandkids.  Just looking in her eyes I know where her heart is; and above all, she’s taught me in a million different ways that it belongs to God and her family. I am forever blessed—and changed—as an honorary part of her family and to have her as another mother.