Project-Fail = Life-Win

This lovely jumbled pile is my stash of journals (and I think I've even missing a few).  My whole life is contained in the pages of these lovely books starting from when I was just 4 years old...

On Friday we found out that ldsjournal.com is closing down and I was instantly stressed. I have many many entries that are only digital and are not found in these physical journals. Thankfully, the owner of the site is allowing our journals to be downloaded as a pdf.

But then, being the organized person that I am stressed again. Some of these journals (like maybe one or two) I transcribed to ldsjournal....but not all of them! My digital journal must be all formatted perfectly, right?

Well, so began the frenzy of frantically typing up my journals....because ldsjournal will be up and running until April 30.

I soon found myself in over my head though. What I thought would be a quick and easy project took hours on Friday and Saturday...and I made it through almost 3 journals. I had to take a reality check and realized that if I worked for hours on this project every day, I might, just might be able to finish by April 30. But did I really want to spend every waking minute at the computer typing and stressing? I have worked so hard the last few months to "de-stress" my life and become physically and emotionally happy and healthy....

By the time I was driving to the General Women's meeting on Saturday night, I knew that this was just a tricky ploy to get me off course. Most of the time we are not tempted to do great and grievous sins...sometimes, very good and noble goals and aspirations can be used to throw us off balance in life. And so when I returned home, I tucked my journals back into my dresser and closed the drawer on that dream.

I smiled and congratulated myself on this "fail," because really, it was a win.

Last year, at this very time, I didn't learn this lesson. I filled my plate much too high with noble and worthy endeavors and sacrificed my happiness and sanity in the process. But this year, I didn't make the same mistake. It was a bit hard to let go of this dream, but I know deep down that it was for the best. And if we are in tune with the Spirit enough, He will let us know when our lives are heading down the wrong path.

But nothing is wasted. And those 3 journals that I typed up were a pure delight to go back and remember the little girl I was at 4, 5, and 6---and in elementary school, middle school, and junior high. I started at the beginning and that's how much ground I covered in 3 journals. I don't think I've ever sat down to read my journals and it was enlightening to submerse myself in my childhood and see my children in so many of the things I said and did and wrote...

So for the record, I'll chalk this up to a Project-Fail, Life-Win. Someday I'll begin the process of typing up my journals again...but I won't give myself a timeline of 20 days.

And as for now, I will continue my healthy, happy, positive life and use my small, personal free time for reading my pile of half-read books, planning our 8th anniversary, and planning our summer. My season of "being" for this year is coming to an end, and with the advent of summer my season of "doing" will begin. I start with 3 photo sessions in just a few weeks and our summer will blast off from there.....not stopping until the end of August.

So may you feel peace for these last remaining weeks of Spring and savor this time to read and plan and just "be" in preparation for the whirlwind that always accompanies summer...

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.

Restless.

It's after 10:00 and I really should be getting ready for bed.  But if I don't write something on this blog, I may burst.

It's been much much too long since I've written.  Because summer has been busy-slow if that even makes sense.  Busy with playing and making memories and family vacations and planning surprise anniversaries and such.  I haven't spent much time on the computer at all--and I haven't missed it a bit.

...That is, except for the regular pouring out of the goings-on in my heart.

This is not normal for me to rehash a complete Spring and Summer in one post.  It feels awkward--like I'm leaving too much out and putting too much in all at the same time.  But, I have to start somewhere and do something or the feelings and thoughts will keep piling on until I'm buried in a mountain of my own musings.

But where to begin?

Perhaps with an explanation of why the writing aspect of my blog has nigh disappeared as of late.  One word--INSTAGRAM.  It has been a tender mercy by allowing me to capture and post instantaneous memories of my sweet life with children.  I never had this opportunity before.  I would put off plugging in the camera and uploading the pictures for so long.  It really was almost a chore.  With Instagram, though, I find myself catching the small and the fleeting--things that would never have made my blog a year ago.

But with all of the good and efficiency that Instagram has afforded me, it's exacted a heavy toll.  The price of sorting through spinning memories and thoughts and processing my reality in a cohesive, flowing memoir sort of way.  Long ago, I blogged at least weekly, and the purging of my heart into words felt cleansing and uplifting--like taking a gasp of fresh air after swimming furiously to reach the top of the water.  And now, though the pictures are frequent, the words are not.  And deep down I'm a writer as much, if not even more, than I'm a photographer.

Yes, something deep has been lost for me with the gift of Instagram.  But it can be restored.

I'm vowing to myself to write again.  As often, and as much as I feel like it.  And maybe, if I feel like it, I'll elaborate on those Instagram posts because sometimes a caption just isn't enough--at least, not for a family history--which is why this blog exists in the first place.  Instagram will not disappear, because I find it so convenient and good in its own "enjoy-the-moment" way.  But I can't go on much longer stifling my writer's way, or I may go stark-raving mad.

Because before I was a photographer, I was writer.

And a writer I will always be.

For tonight, this is enough.  I'll save my summer reveries for another day.  I've said what needed to be said to myself and now I can rest.

Finally.

Note:  These words do not need an accompanying picture. :)

Good Night.

Paradise

This song describes my life so perfectly.  Like to a tee.  But just like the girl in this song, after spending years dreaming of paradise, I have learned that paradise is right here, wherever I am, even if I'm lying underneath the stormy skies--knowing that the sun will set and rise on a brand new day.

I don't remember when this lesson really started to sink in, but when I first heard this song early this year I knew that it completely summarized the principle I had been learning to live--that of enjoying the moment, finding the jewel in each day, and learning to be happy and content in every circumstance.  It's the epitome of thanksliving and believing that the Lord's graces and tender mercies are all around.  This song sums up what I have been becoming the last three years with yearly themes.

Looking back, I feel that I've left a part of my heart in every "paradise" I've lived in.  The little red brick house that always appeared to me to have a face was where I grew up.  It will always hold the nostalgia and sweet memories of innocent childhood.  It was the place I laughed, loved, and grew my testimony.  It represents that idyllic sunshiney phase of life to which I so often wish to return....even just for a day.  I can't even drive by this house anymore or my heart hurts.  It's so sad for me to see other cars parked in the driveway, the playhouse and cherry trees gone, the beautiful log fences that my dad so lovingly built, in ruins.  And I've looked at those "window eyes" and felt like the home is calling out to me to come back and live there again.  I can't think about it too much without getting too sad, so I choose to preserve it in my memory as the happy place it once was and not the place it now is.

Then there was Portugal, the place where more than half my heart still resides, and always will.  That home, that epic seems so much like a dream to me nearly 10 years later.  I was a princess in that home, or so it felt.  And while the challenges there were more daunting than the years before, it was a very sacred and hallowed time for me.  It was there that I found out who I really was and who I was going to strive to become.  (And though I didn't know it at the time, it was there that I met the missionary who would one day become my sweetheart for time and all eternity.)  Was Portugal Paradise?  Truly.  There's no better word to describe it.

My little apartment in Colonial House while attending BYU-Idaho was fleeting and trying.  I only owned one half of a tiny bedroom, but it was a haven to me where I studied, wrote the feelings of my heart, and talked for endless hours to my family in Portugal and Patrick who was attending school 400 miles away.  I know there is a piece of my heart still there.

The next house was our first together as husband and wife.  University Courtyard #602 was more like a hallway, perhaps a "closet under the stairs."  But it was beautiful and the perfect place to begin our married lives together.  It was in that little one bedroom apartment that we learned how to rely on the Lord and each other for just about everything.  It was only a sojourn for 9 months, but still long enough to plant a part of my heart there as well.

Hill's Cottage, tucked away in a quiet place was so idyllic.  We brought both Easton and Tate home from the hospital to this beloved sanctuary.  It was more than 100 years old, but the 3 bedroom home was paradise to us, even with the purple holey carpet and sinking toilet.  I loved that home as much as I've ever loved a home.  It felt like it was ours, especially since we spent two years in its shelter.  Whenever my mind travels back to this house, all I feel is peace and tranquility.  It was a heaven on earth.  It was there that we taught Easton to walk and where I spent so many hours and weeks and months learning how to become a mother.  It was all so new and adventurous and challenging.  It was one of the sweetest times in my memory.  There we invited family home evening groups over from the singles ward where Patrick was serving, to have a lesson, game, and refreshments nearly every Monday.  I loved that home and was so sad to leave.  The only happy part about leaving was knowing we were moving on to graduate school and another adventure.

Our next abode, a basement apartment was smaller than the cottage before, but warm and cozy.  We hunkered down in there for 3 years with intermittent moves to do internships.  It was there we grew closer than ever before to my sweet grandparents, Gram and Pop.  We were at their house nearly every day, playing, laughing, and making cherished memories.  It was there I was taught by a good friend how to paint and distress furniture, bargain shop, and decorate my home in an authentic way that I love.  It was there that I learned how to love and play with and nurture two growing, crazy, darling boys.  It was there Patrick completed his academic schooling for physical therapy school, and it was there that we felt it was time for Maylie to join us.  The ward we were part of was so good to us and we still miss them so dearly.  I think a part of our heart will always be there.

Our last abode before our final stop was in our farmhouse cottage.  It fulfilled my lifelong dream to live in an old, renovated farmhouse.  It was our first home that we had all to ourselves, even though we were still renting.  The boys played and slept in the loft, rode their bikes in the spacious yard, and we enjoyed the roomy bathroom that was bigger than some of our previous bedrooms.  The area we lived in was picturesque and serene.  Farmlands everywhere, with our home bordering the foothills of the high, tall mountains.  There were times when I thought this would be our resting place, but somehow the Lord led us on.  And even though we spent a year here, it seemed like only a few months.  The time flew and Maylie turned 1 just yesterday and we're leaving tomorrow.  And as I close this chapter, I feel a big part of my heart will always reside in this sweet little town.  For it was here that I overcame dark days of dreariness, enjoy each and every moment, let truths sink deeply into my heart, and was given a special gift from Heavenly Father--the desire to play with and be with my sweet little ones for all their waking hours.  I look back and can't believe how far I've come.  How far we've all  come, really.  Life has soared on wings of eagles and no matter how hard I wish it to slow, it only increases velocity.  And now, it's time to close this chapter and welcome the one ahead.  Ironically, as a side note, as I walked through our new home yesterday afternoon to check the progress, "Paradise" was playing on the radio...

And so with this reflection on where we've come, I realize that each of our homes have been a unique paradise in their own way.   
Paradise is a state of the heart, not a geographical location.  
It is this I have learned.

And just like the others before it, this, this could be paradise.

...And now for the clips that inspired this post, "Paradise" by Coldplay and "Peponi" by the Piano Guys.  These have been my two favorite songs this year.  It's so amazing to me how music can speak to us in ways that nothing else can.  Enjoy...

P.S. The video that accompanies Peponi is INCREDIBLE. 

Refocus.

I've been thinking about focus lately.   How focus can really color (or discolor) the day...or week...or month...or year.  It seems everyone has a niche--some focus that is all theirs and unchangeable.  And I've been wondering how to find my focus--one that will actually make a difference for good.  It seems my ones of the past haven't always been beneficial (like perfection and routine and to-do lists).  And the ones that have been wonderful (like thanksliving and pondering and moments and others like these) don't always last.  I was feeling rather stuck last night, contemplating all these puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together in my mind.

So I prayed and yesterday morning searched the words of living prophets.  Then I took a notecard (my favorite device) and wrote 2 headings--Focal Points and Focus.  Under each I listed the words that were paired with these headings as I found them in articles and talks....

Focal Points:

*The Temple

*Jesus Christ and His teachings

Focus:

*motherhood/family

*others (outside ourselves)

*family history work

*eternity/the big picture

*blessings

*kindness & forgiveness

*the one

*essentials

*prayer

*light

*what the Lord would have you do

*small daily bites (our daily bread)

Many "focus" words I found in President Uchtdorf's talks...and it's interesting that I've been having the prompting to compile his talks and study them...

Then I listed my priorities and made sure my daily life is focusing on those things that matter most.  I made 4 goals to help my life coincide with my priorities on the back of my little notecard.

And then...I lived.

Amazingly, I still had time to do everything...which is something that hasn't happened in weeks.  The whole concept of time has been baffling me.  How is it possible that the last few weeks have sped up so fast as to completely erase my small hold on any semblance of time-control?

But I think it's changed now that I listed out the things of my heart and limited myself dramatically.

Tate and I played games for a long while.  It was such a time of connection for the both of us.

Then we drove through the autumn to pick up Easton and I noticed how the once-brilliant yellow trees were bare.  And it hit me.  The changing seasons refocus every few months.  The golden leaves and fiery reds of fall give way to blankets of fluffy snow which in turn give way to pastel blossoms and then deep green leaves and luscious grass.  The focus changes.

And so it has been (and will continue to be) for me.  My focus will ebb and change with the seasons.  Right now my focus is on connection with my little ones, preserving memories, limiting where I spend my energy, and responding with love.  But this too will change...most likely when the snow starts to fall and we are settling snugly into our new house...there will be a refocusing and new habits to develop.

And of course, over-arching and under-girding all my days, I will seek to live out holiness to the Lord with family eyes turned towards the temple.  Perhaps this life's theme is like nature itself and while the details change with time, the perspective of eternity is always in striking view.

To paraphrase President Uchtdorf, focusing on the why of the gospel is a pathway of peace and joy in this life and glory and inexpressible fulfillment in the life to come. 

It's going to be grand.

Now I Understand.

“Home is the true wife’s kingdom. There, first of all places, she must be strong and beautiful. She may touch life outside in many ways, if she can do it without slighting the duties that are hers within her own doors. But if any calls for her service must be declined, they should not be the duties of her home. These are hers, and no other one’s.

"Very largely does the wife hold in her hands, as a sacred trust, the happiness and the highest good of the hearts that nestle there. The best husband—the truest, the noblest, the gentlest, the richest-hearted—cannot make his home happy if his wife be not, in every reasonable sense, a helpmate to him.

"In the last analysis, home happiness depends on the wife. Her spirit gives the home its atmosphere. Her hands fashion its beauty. Her heart makes its love. And the end is so worthy, so noble, so divine, that no woman who has been called to be a wife, and has listened to the call, should consider any price too great to pay, to be the light, the joy, the blessing, the inspiration of a home.

"Men with fine gifts think it worth while to live to paint a few great pictures which shall be looked at and admired for generations; or to write a few songs which shall sing themselves into the ears and hearts of men. But the woman who makes a sweet, beautiful home, filling it with love and prayer and purity, is doing something better than anything else her hands could find to do beneath the skies.”
― J.R. Miller

And maybe it's just because I've been too blind to really see or maybe it's just because after the trials and triumphs of 3 little children, the Lord thought I was finally ready for the truth.  The epiphany did not come all at once like one magical light switch that illuminates the entire sky.  Instead, it was more like the gradual brightening of the dawn, slow and imperceptible at first, but then with little flashes of sunlight peeking over a housetop here and through the leaves over there.  And before I could grasp what was fully happening, I was standing there, in the sunrisen light and bathing in a radiant transformation of self.

It started with molding and changing and reforming routine after daily routine, hoping to find the perfect one.  The one where both mother and child were happy and peaceful with intellectual and spiritual growth.  This searching for the perfect routine began the day Easton joined us.  For deep inside, I knew that despite my natural man inclinations to focus on me and my own myriad of hobbies, I would have to grow until my eye was single to the glory of God--and His work and His glory, which is, of course, nothing short of leading others to Christ, particularly our little children.

But it was to be a hard journey, perhaps even a road less traveled. 

And yes, it has made all the difference.

For after years of tweaking and shaping, I received an answer.  That there is no perfect routine.  Life is just too full of changes.  So if one, through much study and prayer, works to hammer out a routine that feels right, there is no question that it is the perfect routine.  Not for always, but perfect for now.  And when the time comes, as it inevitably will, the routine, the rhythm actually can ebb and flow to a different beat if necessary and become perfect all over again.

But what of my natural-woman desires?  The selfish ones that beg me to spend just a little more time reading, or writing, or searching, or calling, or creating, or doing a host of other things that really don't add to His work and His glory?  These things were so loud and obnoxious in my ears.  It was so difficult for many years to tune them out and listen more intently to the soft whisperings of my heart.  You see, the desire to be a perfect mother only weakened my ability to be so.  I would try so hard and fail so often that it was a pure struggle just to keep trying. 

Deep inside I knew what I wanted.  And the two things I wanted most, appeared to be polar opposites and not even slightly achievable at the same time.  So I sat.  There on the fence, teetering back and forth between devoting myself entirely to my children or my own selfish ambitions, not really wanting to fall completely on one side or the other for fear I would lose myself either way.

But through a series of miracles, small and simple of course, but of gargantuan proportion to little me and my ultra-inferior understanding, the Lord taught me how to merge both sides of the fence and tear that fence down once and for all.  No more swaying or being tossed about in the fierce winds.  No more teetering.  No more worrying about balancing or falling.  Just light.  All around me.  Sunbeams, one at a time, bestowed as miracles:

Miracle 1: Given late this spring.  The answer that every routine can be perfect for now if guided by the Spirit.

Miracle 2:  Watching these 3 short clips about light.  And recognizing how the Lord speaks to me.  These messages from Elder Bednar are profound and enriching and extremely enlightening.

Miracle 3: This one came in those silent moments after a nightly prayer, wondering how I was ever going to be the mother my children needed.  And realizing that these precious spirits, are really His children.  And I don't need to be Super-Mom--just a loving guide, showing them the way back home to their real, perfect Father.  Additionally, I don't have to be a perfect mother to be a good mother.  The definition of a good mother is simply one who is trying her hardest to improve, despite failings, shortcomings, and mistakes.  This has been my lot for 5 years, and now I know that it's the right way.

Miracle 4: Months ago I sat in a Relief Society meeting listening to a lesson, the topic which I've long since forgotten.  But a comment was made by Patrick's aunt of a book she was reading, all about how to improve communion with the Father.  For if all is right with our relationship with Deity, our lives will be happy, no matter what.  Weeks later I asked her for the title of the book, since it had been on my mind.  And then, miraculously, while skimming the titles of the books that lined the Bookmobile shelves as my little boys were stacking up mounds of their own books to check out, my eye caught hold on the title, "Talking with God--Divine Conversations that Transform Daily Life." This was the book.  And I read it cover to cover not even knowing how much it would change the course of my life.

One of the chapters was devoted to giving our wills to the Lord.  It was not a new concept for me, and even a gesture I had offered to the Lord in the past.  But this time it was different.  Many of the quotes in the book were from Elder Neal A. Maxwell, ones I knew well.  But this time I was more ready to hear.  There were also experiences from President Packer.  These were new to me and awe-inspiring.  I spent several weeks mulling over the gravity of this decision and wondering if I was ready to give my all, to leave the fence standing between my will and the Lord's, forever.  I prayed and fasted and counseled with my sweetheart.  After much discussion, we felt we were already trying to live the Lord's will each day, but on September 10th, I gave my all, once again, to the Lord.  Knowing that I'll make mistakes, still.  Yet knowing that my resolve is stronger just for taking the leap.

Miracle 5: Then Easton went to school and there have been times when my heart breaks open just a little.  And I remember him as a baby and a toddler and a preschooler, and how I wish I could hold him and his little brother as babies just one more time.  At the same time of yearning to go back, there is a little girl who is that baby right now.  And knowing that she will grow up too makes my heart my break even wider.  We watched "Ocean Heaven," and I cried all night. 

My mother has often told me that there is a time and a season for everything.  There are only a few short years of toddlerhood before our little ones run off to school.  It's such a short time to devote every waking minute.  And while I believe her with all my heart, still I wonder, how can time creep along and yet go so fast?  And how can I really, truly preserve the memories of every day?

Miracle 6:  This one wasn't really an answer in the form of words or even thoughts.  It was simple, really.  I redoubled my efforts of giving my children my quantity time.  I suppose, looking back at when the decision was made last week, it must have been a prompting from the Spirit--directing me to do His will.  It's a new assignment.  And one I readily accepted.  For somehow, it seems easier to accept when the decision of giving your will to the Lord is already made. 

And now all the time that they are awake, they now have me, the full me, the present me.  And in addition, I strive to give each of my children a set amount of time every day to play with me all by themselves.  And during those minutes, it is unadulterated quality time.  It's not like I've never done this before, but whenever I did, it was always viewed as a sacrifice, a giving of myself, sometimes even a burden when I'd rather be doing something else.  But not anymore.  Now I know that this time is as much for me as it is for them.  I need these moments.  I need the memories of Maylie's first unending laughs, Tate wearing silly green goggles, and a wrestle with Easton.  I need to look back without regret and with a plethora of fond and full experiences with my little ones.   There will always be time for me to pursue my own pleasures.  Yes, when they are grown, but even now, when they are asleep, playing with Daddy, or visiting grandparents.  And there are even other times, when we can engage in hobbies together.  Sometimes cuddling up to a movie, or playing a game, or eating a snack and telling jokes, is just what I need.  And so I have, with the merciful help from heaven, finally figured out how to joyfully merge my worlds.  It has brought the greatest happiness I have ever known.  And I will be eternally grateful to my Heavenly Father for these truths, these miracles, this light that is now emanating from me.

Miracle 7:  Seven is the perfect number and today was the 7th miracle.  I heard the words of a parenting expert.  And she said that if we spent decades, our whole lives even, meditating and pondering and praying, we would eventually reach enlightenment.  But if we choose to become parents and spend a mere 20 years, just two decades, raising and teaching and loving, this is the shortest and most rewarding path to enlightenment.  And it rang true.  I have learned more in these last 5 years than I think I've learned the rest of the years put together.  That's not to say I wasn't loved and taught in my youth and adolescence, because I most certainly was.  It's just that parenting is not just warming by a campfire as is the case while growing up.  Parenting is a real refiner's fire.  It's walking through and becoming more like Him.  And I can honestly say, from the depths of my soul, that I wouldn't choose any other path.  This is the road for me.  And while the distance is sometimes foggy, the steps just in front of me are clearly sun-struck.  And I know He will keep lighting the way for me.  Because this is His road.  The higher road.  The road less traveled.  The road of the disciple.   

And He will be with me.

Walk with Him Wednesday

Today on Quest for Happiness, I'm exploring the topic of true submission to the Lord's will and how this can alter the very dynamics of our lives.

Click here to join me if you will, and add your thoughts.

{This post has a link to a link-up from A Holy Experience if you'd care to link up your own post.}

I'm wishing you a golden day of harvesting...family, or faith, or traditions.

Whatever it may be, let it be golden.

Love,

Jamie

Multitudes on Monday.

Read about eyes and light and glory here today. {Quest for Happiness}.

You can also see my countdown to Maylie here. {Starlit Daydreams}

And may you have a day filled with warmth, light, and love.

All is grace,

Jamie

{image via pinterest}

Five Minute Friday.

It's on Starlit Daydreams today.  

There is also a link to a link-up for anyone interested.

I'd love to hear about your unexpected...Click here.

The Raising.

When fall ambles around on it's lazy golden feet and the nights get cooler, I begin to notice how the boys are growing right up, little legs getting longer, faces more defined.

When do the inches grow and how is it that one day we just notice that they're not so little anymore?

So with all this growing, Pop gets out a ladder to raise the little yellow swing, and little boys climb up behind wanting so desperately to be big.

I watch, imagining that one day their legs and arms will grow into a man and they will raise the swings for their own sons and grandsons and great-grandsons.

But for now, they are still my little boys just stretching out their legs...

...and dropping their heads back with laughter and wonder...

...as they soar to new heights.

And then I'm reminded of the little girl inside who is growing too, faster than the honey crisps turn red.

Soon we will start all over again, just as we did nearly three years ago when Tate entered this world.  And starting over is wonderful and scary, like when summer turns to fall and we wonder if we will love this season as much as last time and deep down we know we will for every year and every new baby begins with yet another rich layer of meaning and understanding that we just didn't have before.

{pinterest}

 I think I see now...the raising.  It's all about raising people and trees and swings and our timeworn eyes, looking up to the leaves and the sky and the Great God of the whole universe.

And so we raise our praise to Him and relish the glory of all that raises in our lives.

Inside of me...

This morning in the warming freshness of summer I sit to wrestle and ponder and feel answers from heaven.  With hands placed on my abdomen (growing now) I wonder and wait for the Spirit to speak.  He does, as is so often the case when I create a space conducive to His whispers.

And I'm taught from on high about how we mothers have the sacred blessing of housing a spirit baby for 9 precious months.  It is painful at times and uncomfortable always, but oh the sweet gift we can discover when the Spirit teaches that within us resides a piece of heaven.

I hear an airplane soar above and I am soaring higher than even this..for I am a breath away from the very heavens.

Oh how the veil can thin, and how clearly we can hear our Father's voice because of the unique connection these little ones provide.

I am taught that if I quiet my mind and open my heart, I can have direct access to heaven's guidance.

It is this which prompts me to linger just a little longer and feel if there is indeed more for me to learn today.  And there is.

I am brought to understand that each child is really given...as a gift to us.  Each one is a precious little care package equipped with everything we need to be blessed and become more godlike.

I think of my children--how their strengths and their talents bless me.  Those things like arms wrapping around me with soft kisses or bear kisses on the cheek, truly sincere "I love you Mommy's", hilarious tidbits of childlike innocence, and sweet expressions of Divine dispositions: "Mommy," (as I'm picking up the blocks) "you need help because you have a baby in your tummy."

Can we ever stop seeing our children as holy breaths of heaven sent to give us grace from Him?

And then there are the rough times, the foibles we see even in our "perfect" children, the constant reminder that we all live in a fallen world.  But these things, like quarrels over toys, disobedience, little white lies, frowns, and meltdowns, do they not teach us how to overcome our own weaknesses...of impatience, anger, control, selfishness, perfectionism?

Everything, everything these spirits come with is Divinely designed to mold us into disciples of Christ.

And this is why they are our own personal care packages from a loving Father above.

Today's last whisper from heaven comes like dew telling me of my own little care pacakges:

"You've been given your Fireball, and your Sweet & Spicy Cuddlebug, now I am sending you your Angel."  

And at that very moment, a little bump rises from the right side of my tummy and meets my stroking fingertips.

~~~~~~~~~~~

And here are recent portraits of our little care packages:

Our exuberant, energetic, loving, leading Fireball

And our syrupy-sweet, mischievously spicy Cuddlebug: