My Journey through 2013: Fall Focus on Family

This Fall my heart turned inward--towards my home, my hearth, my family.  I felt this irresistible pull to bind my family together in love and harmony, memory and tradition...before it's too late.

Why? Let me quote Katrina Kenison as she reflects on the growing up of her boys:

"My boys no longer share a tub, not ever.  Now Henry showers alone, and Jack washes his own hair.  And so the door has swung shut on the fantasy world they created in the bathtub, and on the long hours they splashed and played there together, emerging at last with pruney fingers and toes, to be wrapped in towels and bundled off to warm beds.  Our morning cuddles are rare now, too.  Jack is sleeping later, and Henry likes to be the first one dressed and downstairs. He puts on his own music, sets the table for breakfast, and basks in his newfound sense of independence. So my husband and I find ourselves alone again, arms wrapped around each other instead of around children. Both boys head off to play outside alone these days, full of their own plans and no longer in need of adult supervision or interference. Henry jumps on his bike and rides around the block; Jack walks to the pool with an older friend.

"And so my role is changing, too; I am called to be less of a playmate now and more and more simply a witness to my children's own breathtaking processes of growth and inner awakening. It is with some pang of sadness that I acknowledge our endings. My days of cradling a small, soapy head in my hands; of rocking a son to sleep; of carrying a tired boy on my back; of reading...and talking with teddy bears are over. And I miss them already, miss being needed that much, miss the confidence of knowing so surely where I should be and what I should be doing from one moment to the next.

"Just when I figure out how to mother a kindergartner, it seems, I have a first-grader standing before me instead. I have just learned how to love and live with a nine-year-old when the nine-year-old vanishes, leaving a preadolescent in his place. They don't stay still long enough for me to have my fill of them ever, at any stage. 'Stop!' I want to shout. 'Let's just do it this way for a while, let's stay right here.'...Little did I know that the yearning to seize life in a freeze-frame would never really go away, or that my desire to hold on to whatever we had and whatever we were at any given moment would always be in conflict with my sons' own natural instincts: to grow up, to live, to fulfill their own destinies on this earth. Sometimes, it seems, there are discernible changes overnight. The boy who meets my gaze at the breakfast table is not the same one whose cheek I kissed the night before. And even as I marvel at the latest incarnation, I grieve for yesterday's child, already a memory. To love them is always to let them go, bit by bit, day after day."

And I know these things so deep in my heart because I feel the same way. To think of my little boys and girl growing up so fast, and Tate turning 5 yesterday just gives me such a deep, deep pain in my heart. But along with the pain, I feel such a sweet relishing of the moment. It's such a bittersweet feeling, this simultaneous holding on and letting go of motherhood.

So I strive with all my might to mother intentionally, to create this home and family and space I dream of.  Again from Katrina Kenison--she says it so much better than I ever could:

"More and more...I felt that motherhood itself was becoming my real vocation.  It seemed that the more consciousness I was willing to bring to it, the more meaningful this role became.  Shaping and protecting our family space, celebrating birthdays and holidays, setting a mood around the dinner table, cultivating an atmosphere in our home, painting and baking and storytelling with my sons, simply attending to the details of our lives together--these and countless other activities both large and small came to represent opportunities for deeper attention, work, and growth.  Over and over I found myself both humbled and challenged by the magnitude of my task as a mother in contemporary society. Could I find a way to bring beauty and meaning to an empty afternoon, while the rest of the world spun on at a different pace?...Did I possess the self-discipline I needed to effectively discipline two boys?  Did I have the inner strength to resist the values of corporate, materialistic America--and to shape a different set of traditions and ideals? Could I summon enough humor, patience, flexibility, and love to meet their needs from one day to the next? Was I conscious enough of my own needs to articulate them, and meet them, too? Could I let one identity fall away and begin to forge a new one out of such reflections [and] lessons...?

"In any case, our focus has shifted. We have been pulled back to our own hearths, our own families, our own inner lives." 

This Fall I had this envisioning well up inside me of what I wanted my life to be like--this Mayberry-like existence with a haven of home within.  I wanted simplicity and meaning to just drip from every moment.  I wanted sort of set-in-stone rituals and traditions that my children could learn to rely on...year after year.

So I set about creating a vision board and through no conscious thought, how I organized my dreams in the form of magazine and card clippings became three different manilla folders--one for my personal spiritual life, one for my home and family, and one for our family traditions and rituals. And I realized that really, my whole goal in life is three-fold---to be a disciple of Christ, to bind my family together, and to bring my family Home.

You see, I firmly and deeply believe that mothering and homemaking is a career path, a vocation, a noble endeavor.  I am a home executive of my very own "Home Inc." I manage the finances, I have training meetings with my little "employees," we work and play and somehow get everything done while at the same time having a fun and memorable time.  I play master chef, chief launderer, and am the head of the activities department.  I teach, I clean, I listen as a counselor, the list is extensive and probably never-ending.  I feel such fulfillment in motherhood.  Now all I need to do is figure out how to turn my Home Inc. into the haven of my dreams.

And it's coming along. Slowly but surely. Oh so surely.

Sarah Ban Breathnach reflects on the home during the nineteenth century:

"Ordinary middle-class women elevated the pursuit of domestic bliss to an extraordinary art form, from white-linen Sunday dinner to blue-checked-gingham Independence Day picnics. Women approached the domestic arts--cooking, decorating, gardening, handicrafts, and entertaining--not as burdens but as a form of personal expression and a means of persuasion. Traditions that celebrated the joys of home and family life acted as the mystical mortar that held bodies and souls together in a tumultuous society that was changing at the speed of light.

"The time has come for us to look deep within. Reconsider how caring for our homes can be an expression of our authenticity. We may not know how to bleach linen,...cure ham, or bottle gooseberries. But it's not too late for us to rediscover the sacred soul craft of homecaring. Creating a comfortable, beautiful, well-run home can be among our most satisfying accomplishments as well as an illuminating spiritual experience. Like sweat equity, channeling your time and creative energy closer to home will produce a big emotional return for yourself and those you love." 

And as this winter season ebbs and flows, I am in the marvelous process of gathering and sorting and prioritizing our family's everyday rhythms and rituals as well as our holiday and seasonal traditions. ( I can't wait to share them.) My heaven on earth continues to be shaped for the better every day. It's never perfect, and more often than I'd care to admit, so far from my dream life, but it's an extraordinary work in progress....

My Journey through 2013: Summer Simplicity

As Spring bloomed into Summer, my desires for simple, unstructured days became a reality.  School was out for Easton and we drifted through the days much like a brook trickles through a forest path.  The mornings and afternoons passed slowly and serenely.  We were outside for most of our days, just the way I've always wanted it to be.

The boys both learned how to ride their two-wheelers this year and Maylie moved from stroller to tricycle.  They rode up and down our quiet street probably a thousand times and the neighbor boys all created a series of mounds and dips in one of the empty lots to practice their jumps and wheelies.  The ample hills and grassy weeds provided secret places for my boys to explore.  They even made a map.  We went on walks and mostly I just sat in an old teal chair in the driveway and watched my children in their enchanted wonderland.

We had a family summer bucket list that included our vacation, trip to Lagoon, camping, Downata, and other things.  We managed to do almost everything on the list on the weekends and other special midweek occasions.  But most of the days were filled with innocent, childlike bliss.  Nowhere to go, nothing to do, just be.  I want to spend all my summers this way.

Here are a few thoughts from Katrina Kenison's Mitten Strings for God book that shaped my summer days, and really, my whole philosophy of mothering:

"Like Thoreau, I love 'a board margin to my life'--the less packed into a day, the better.  Sitting still, I am able to appreciate my life simply because I am taking the time to experience it.  But even a few moments of tranquility can be hard won.  It seems that idleness is suspect; we are supposed to be on the go.  Perhaps that is why I am always so grateful for the small clearings that can suddenly appear even in the midst of a busy day. These accidental, hallowed scraps of time offer us a break from the outside world, at least for a few moments.  Arriving ten minutes early for a piano lesson, the boys flop down outside on a patch of fresh powder, waving arms and legs to etch a row of ragged angels into the snow.  Informed that our pediatrician is running an hour behind schedule, we dash back out to the car, crawl into the back, and tell a story while rain pounds on the roof...

"Having reaped the blessings of these accidental moments of grace, I am learning to leave some space around the edges of our days.  There is no peace to be found in our culture.  So I try to build the margins in, to keep our days from being inscribed too densely.  Some days seem to offer their own quality of space and ease.  Other times I have to switch gears midway through--postponing the errands, canceling a playdate, ordering pizza for dinner, skipping an evening meeting--so that I can pull my children out of the swift current of a day and guide them into a calm pool instead.

"When I come to a stop myself, when I draw a circle of stillness around me, my children are drawn into that peaceful place.  They visibly relax, as if my very calmness nourishes them.  The impact of just a few minutes of quiet attention can be profound, changing the mood of an entire day, restoring equilibrium to a distressed child, and to a frazzled mother as well.

"We might sit side by side and draw, or gather up a stack of favorite old picture books and read them, make strange creatures out of clay, or just cuddle on the couch and listen to music as darkness falls.  These are the moments when my children reveal themselves to me, when conversation spirals up and out, from the here and now into the realm of spirit and imagination.  There, in that place Tennyson calls the 'quiet limit of the world,' we connect with one another at a very deep soul level.  My children know then that they have my full attention and, even more important, that there's no other place I'd rather be at that moment." 

~~~~~~~~~~

"Pulling me out to the tent the other night, my sons reminded me once again that even our familiar backyards can surprise us.  In fact, children and adults alike can discover the same place over and over again, simply by taking a closer look.  We don't need to climb mountains or sail over seas to meet nature; we need only join our children, down on our hands and knees, and watch the intimate movements of a small creature going about its business.

"It is so easy in our culture to lose touch with the natural world altogether.  We believe we don't have time for nature, and so we ignore our own primal hunger for earth and water and sky.  Modern life calls us away from nature's rhythms, away from the kind of obersavation and interaction with the natural world that can quiet a troubled mind, restore a sense of well-being, and renew our connections with all life.  We spend our days inside instead, yoked to some other rhythm, bathed in artificial light, breathing recycled air, surrounded by man-made materials--concrete, glass, and plastic....It is not enough, then, to teach our children about nature; we must allow our children to grow up in nature."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Taking care of the invisible means paying attention to my own physical and spiritual health, to the inner workings of my marriage, to the emotional security of my children, to our need for fun and play, to the quality of our relationships.  I remind myself that the slow, open-ended hours I spend with my sons are not without purpose; they are, in fact, a precious gift, islands of repose in the midst of life's onrushing stream.  The secret, I think, is this: When we take care of the invisible, we find ourselves cared for in return.  Supported and refreshed, we find the strength and forbearance to take care of the rest, too...When I take care of the invisible, I find myself cared for in return." 

Summer, thank you for teaching me all about simplicity and slow savoring.  Maybe someday I will learn how to apply your beautiful lessons in all spaces of my life...

My Journey through 2013: Spring Unsettling

When Spring came, the yard work began.  And just as the earth around us was being upturned and unsettled and resettled in other places in the yard, my heart did just that.

I longed for answers and schedules to answer my inward yearnings.  What was right for my children? for me?  Where were the boundaries to protect my priorities? The lines to draw us in to the warmth of the hearth?

As Katrina Kenison wrote:

"Whenever I find myself in conversation with other mothers, we always ask one another the same question: 'What's your schedule?' We want to know how other women manage, what they fight to protect, what they've decided to let go, where they draw the lines.  The stories we hear may not tell us how to rearrange our own lives, how to raise our own children, how to find fulfillment.  But they remind us that we do each have choices.  And they may even inspire us to examine the choices we have made.  Ultimately, we each have to decide where the balance lies--between work and family, between doing and being, between acquiring more and accepting what we have, between simplifying and taking on, between the world beyond our walls and the lives that we create within them.  And, at some point, we may begin to ask ourselves: Just whose standards am I living by anyway? Only when we stop long enough to figure out what we really care about, and begin to make choices accordingly, can we create lives that are authentic expressions of our inner selves."

I remember conversations with friends and family asking these very questions, and at the end of it all, I finally learned that I can never be something that I'm not.  But I can make a pretty good me.  I knew deep down, that all these years I had been trying to live up to other people's standards for what my life should look like and how I should raise my family.  Not that these standards were forced upon me, but rather, I enforced them upon myself.  I thought if I was to be a good mother, I must do everything that good mothers around me were doing or had done.  It led to many years of discontent and discouragement.  But Spring brought this new mothering heart for me and a longing to live authentically.  I knew that I will never be perfect, but someday, I hoped I could reach authenticity.

Finding my authentic self took months, and hasn't even completely materialized to this day, but in the Fall I progressed much farther on this path to creating my very own family culture.

During this Springtime growth in my heart, I also began feeling a bit trapped and helpless.  I felt the bare walls of my home close in around me like prison walls rather than offering the inviting "open space" they had only months before.  Our home was here, but our house was so far from being finished.

I felt the itch to decorate and make sense of my new world.  The snow was melting, and my heart was melting into a new dawn, a reawakening.  And I sensed something wondrous in the air.  Almost as if just around the corner, I would find a miracle.

But Spring was also a season of waiting with a profound lesson in patience.  With hours and hours of backbreaking labor on our part, and with the merciful help of our wonderful families and kind neighbors, our yard slowly progressed from a mountain of dirt and rocks, to a leveled-out clod pile, to a parking rock garden, to piles of raked dirt clods scattered everywhere, to bare dirt, to rock retaining walls, to trenched rows, to PVC pipe and blue-purple glue, to roughly covered up trenches with black funny pipe sticking up every few feet.  And this is where we still sit, but thankfully it's all covered up now with the winter snows and I can forget about the ugliness underneath.

Next Spring will be the finishing.  I can feel it.  Because last night I had a dream that I ran some errands for an hour and when I came back, I was given the most wonderful surprise of my life!  Patrick was standing there in our beautifully finished yard, complete with grass, trees, shrubs, flowers, rocks bordering my gardens, a fence, and even a swimming pool (which is not even in our plans).  I was shocked.  Both of our families were there wandering around and playing in our pool.  Even our sweet dog Pola was running carefree and chainless through the grass.  I slowly surveyed every part of our beautiful yard, that somehow strangely resembled the yard I grew up in (because dreams contort things sometimes), and I thought, I must be dreaming.  But then I knew I wasn't and so I swiftly pulled out my phone and began snapping pictures everywhere to prove to myself I wasn't dreaming....And then I woke up.  And I was sad that it really was a dream.  And our neighbors down the street hadn't really given us an old leftover wood fence with weathered, peeling red paint.  It was all so picturesque and I missed it.

Until I realized that this dream will come true.  Maybe not the part about the swimming pool or the red wooden fence, or the fact that it was shaped like my backyard from long ago, and especially the part about Patrick finishing it all by himself in an hour.  But nonetheless, I know it will come true.  Someday.  And in just a few months we will bring in the fill-dirt and the grass and finish the rock borders and hopefully even plant a few trees and flowers.

But this past Spring unearthed parts of me I have always known existed but have never been able to be expressed: an unsettled earthiness to get in the dirt and get my hands dirty, an unleashed interior decorator ready to plunge in and organize, design, and beautify every surrounding surface of my new house.  It was an exhilarating time, but I recognized the need to pull the reigns and wait for the right timing for everything--waiting upon the Lord to do the unfolding of His great work in me and my home.

My Journey through 2013: Winter Connection

{My two little boys playing in the snow}

I made a goal at the end of the year.  It's a tradition we've always had in our family, one that my parents started.  Every year around Christmastime, we each take a notecard and write a gift we want to give to the Savior for the coming year.  It's always a gift of the heart, a gift of ourselves.

My last year's gift was "Connection."  I wanted so badly to connect with the special people around me in meaningful ways.  As the year progresses, I never completely become the person I envision, but there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of the gift I've promised to give to my Savior.  It influences my choices and my thought patterns, what I study and where my focus lies.

I think back upon this year's January and February as times of deep connection with my family, myself, and my Savior.  I tried to take a few minutes each day (and sometimes more) to wholly savor my sweet children.  We did Valentine's activities and a host of other "pinterest-related" art projects almost every day during those two months and I kept a daily record of the time I spent with them.  You see, I find that I berate myself so often on the lack of time spent with my children.  But as I recorded the things we did together, the moments we enjoyed, the times we shared, I was amazed that small and simple times really did add up to great things, and perhaps I do a little better than I give myself credit for.  By the end of those long winter months, my paradigm had shifted.  Time with my children wasn't a burden, but a sweet time of connection and bonding.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, in his marvelous talk, Of Things that Matter Most, says:

"We build deep and loving family relationships by doing simple things together, like family dinner and family home evening and by just having fun together.  In family relationships love is really spelled t-i-m-e, time.  Taking time for each other is the key for harmony at home.  We talk with, rather than about, each other.  We learn from each other, and we appreciate our differences as well as our commonalities.  We establish a divine bond with each other as we approach God together through family prayer, gospel study, and Sunday worship."

But as the months floated by, I found I prepared fancy activities less and less and soon became discouraged.  It wasn't until I began reading a book called Desperate: Hope for the Mom who needs to Breathe, that I learned we need to create our own family culture and only spend time doing things with our family that are important to us.  This simple thought was novel to me.  Why spend time creating crazy art projects when I'd much rather be reading to my children, or writing a story with them, dancing to music, baking bread with them, or playing a game?  I spent several days writing out just what was important to me and then decided how I would pass on the legacy of things I love to my children.

As Katrina Kenison says in her precious book, "Mitten Strings for God:"

"There is real value in simply being present, for our children.

"I discovered just what it is that they need more than anything else: me.  My full attention.  My face in front of their faces, making eye contact.  My unfailing belief in their best selves.  My joy in their existence.  My nurturing."

"My children are most at ease when I am at ease myself, when our days are not too busy, our activities not too ambitious.  They are happy when we are simply together, moment by moment, engaged with each other.

"So I have come to think of this loving attention as my special province...This is the divine work we mothers do; perhaps, for a time, it is our vocation--taking care of the invisible.

"When we commit ourselves to nurturing, suddenly it seems that those fleeting moments of togetherness that we do have with our children become infused with love and meaning.  We become more conscious of the mood we create when we are with them, whether we're bestowing a goody-bye kiss at the door, driving them to school, eating dinner together, or tucking them into bed.  All of these mundane activities can be enriched; all offer opportunities for connection."

At the same time, I took time for myself each day to recharge my battery and fill my well.  I knew that if I wanted to mother well and fully, I needed to have something to give.  Last year Patrick gave me one of the greatest gifts I have ever received--6 retreats sprinkled throughout the year.  He said that every other month I could take time all by myself to do whatever I wanted to do.  I know I received many special Christmas gifts last year, but this was the one for which I was most grateful.

I remember my first retreat in February, how I spent the day reading and writing.  I took a long soak in the bath, listened to soothing music and ate my favorite foods.  It was a day of inward turning and quiet contemplation.  It was one of the most peaceful, sweet days of my whole life.  And in this sweet gift given from a loving husband, I learned how to connect with myself.

But I didn't limit my time with myself to one Saturday every few months.  I took time almost daily to spend by myself.  Morning scripture study, and during afternoon naps--30 minutes of peace to myself.  This midday pause has always been a treasure for me--a moment of stillness amidst a chaotic day, indeed the eye of the storm.

Sarah Ban Breathnach in Simple Abundance (as well as Anne Morrow Lindbergh in Gift from the Sea), explain this principle so well:

"Many of us assume that we can continue to get along just by 'winging it' indefinitely.  We can't.  We need an antidote for the hurried and harried lives that threaten to tear us apart.  Follow the advice of Anne Morrow Lindbergh and make carving out a small portion of each day for yourself a personal priority.  'Quiet time alone, contemplation, prayer, music, a centering line of thought or reading, of study or work.  It can be physical or intellectual or artistic, any creative life proceeding from oneself.  It need not be an enormous project or a great work.  But it should be something of one's own.  Arranging a bowl of flowers in the morning can give a sense of quiet in a crowded day...What matters is that one be for a time inwardly attentive.'"

I also love the words of President Uchtdorf:

"It may seem odd to think of having a relationship with ourselves, but we do.  Some people can't get along with themselves.  They criticize and belittle themselves all day long until they begin to hate themselves.  May I suggest that you reduce the rush and take a little extra time to get to know yourself better.  Walk in nature, watch a sunrise, enjoy God's creations, ponder the truths of the restored gospel, and find out what they mean for you personally.  Learn to see yourself as Heavenly Father sees you--as His precious daughter or son with divine potential."

Finally, to come to know our Savior and Father in Heaven in a close and personal way is an individual matter that each of us must do for ourselves.  But I think the right place to begin that relationship is here.  Right now.  In the present moment of where we are at this very second.  With our actions, our thoughts, and how we choose to spend our time, we move closer or farther away from Them.  I've been learning these lessons this year and enjoyed January and February's supreme focus on connecting with the heavens.

President Uchtdorf gives us a roadmap:

"We improve our relationship with our Heavenly Father by learning of Him, by communing with Him, by repenting of our sins, and by actively following Jesus Christ...To strengthen our relationship with God, we need some meaningful time alone with Him.  Quietly focusing on daily personal prayer and scripture study, always aiming to be worthy of a current temple recommend--these will be some wise investments of our time and efforts to draw closer to our Heavenly Father.  Let us heed the invitation in Psalms: 'Be still, and know that I am God.'"

Looking back on this year, I know I've faltered on all of these relationships many times, and will never reach perfection, but I am truly grateful for the Lord's mercy in allowing me to wake up each morning and try again.

Ultimately, my attitude towards connection is what has changed the most this year, as I've learned how to foes on "connection" vs. "accomplishment."  And I can honestly say, I'm enjoying the ongoing, remarkable journey.

My Journey through 2013: Introduction

{Note: This post was originally written back in September....I wanted to wait until I was done with every chapter before I started posting...}

{I'll be posting a new chapter each day for the next 4 days}

I feel as if I'm having an inward harvest right now.  It's time for me to look back over my year and somehow compile all that I've learned and felt.

It's definitely not going to be an easy project, but I have scribbles of notes and highlighted passages from books read this year to guide me along.

But beginning is always the hardest.  I guess I can start by saying this year has made me into a completely new person.

Last year {2012} laid the groundwork for our family, upon which we could construct the rest of our lives--as we finished school, secured Patrick's profession, built a house, and moved into a brand-new community.  It was a whirlwind and stressful and oh so rewarding to have our family all together in our new life on the eve of December 1, 2012.

For months I left the walls bare and relished the emptiness of my very own space--something I'd never had before.  During the winter months of 2013 I focused on complete connection with my family, myself, and my Father in Heaven.  It was a sweet and precious time.

Then along came Springtime and I felt an itching to decorate my newly claimed space and organize and make sense of the world around me and inside of me.

Summer brought with it a wonderful bucket list and we checked nearly every single thing off. The boys and Maylie and I played outside for endless hours.  They rode their bikes, explored the fields around us, and I watched them and read.  We had picnics and walks and stayed in our very own yard.  With the great outdoors calling us to its wonders, we "left" the house alone for a season and I determined that Fall would be my time to organize and decorate and get everything looking perfect for the holidays.  This was also a time of learning to let go, be present, and live with broad margins.

As Fall and school time came, we were swarmed with busyness and I just kept waiting for the calm to come.  It seemed the busy weeks of family activities, fall holidays, photoshoots, and back-to-school tasks would never end.  But they finally did and I dove headlong into decorating this beautiful house I call mine.  At the same time, I dove headlong inside to construct a unique family culture for our family.  I've scoured books and websites and magazines for ideas of celebrations, traditions, and a general way of life and have finally hashed out the scaffolding that we can begin to implement to bond our family more tightly together.

And so for the next several posts, I want to elaborate on each of the seasons I experienced this year.  This yearlong study of home and family culture and mothering has been the best thing that could ever have happened to me and I'm excited to reflect on this journey I have recently walked through and
truly bring in the harvest.