Today.

Nana and Papa came on their way down South. They brought us a whole huge box of books...all mine from when I was little. They also brought huge pixie sticks for the sweeties (which soon turned into fencing instruments) and lots of little candy legos...

We talked and laughed. It was so nice to see them. With all of us being sick off and on for the last 3 months, we haven't been able to get together at all (minus the girls' princess trip we had a few weeks back).

They walked around our home and admired all the decorating projects I've been up to. We scanned the basement and talked over possible plans for finishing it. Then we gazed out over the backyard at all the rocks we've lined for flower beds. We talked about the summer plans for our yard and about how this perfect little home and this soon-to-be-perfect yard is my children's whole universe. And the hills surrounding us--though not as picturesque as wheat fields and cornfields, are perfect for long walks and exploring. And with the coming of our fence in just a few weeks, and our grass in just a few weeks after that, it will be such a perfect world for my little children.

And so I've set aside this home-on-a-farm dream that I've held so long. Maybe I'll pick it up again when the nest is empty and Patrick and I are ready for a new adventure. Or maybe not. Maybe this home will weave itself so tightly into my heart that I won't be able to let it go...not for all the cornfields in the country. Time will only tell.

But regardless of where we will live in 25 years, whether it is here, or a new home, or an existing home remodeled in the country, my home will be the perfect place to invite family and friends and new mothers and little grandchildren to come take a few days and relax. It will be a place of retreat for any who need to chat, rest, and rejuvenate. This will be my purpose then. And I'm so extremely grateful that the Lord gave me this vision last night of the next season of my life. Because it made me realize that not all of my dreams have to come true right now. When I'm 50, I'll enter another glorious stage with nearly half of my life still ahead of me. And if it is right to take my farmhouse dream off the shelf, then I will. And if not, I won't. I will know then. But either way, my purpose of offering a safe haven of love to my family will be the same.

And as for this season....it's supremely GLORIOUS! I was given a vision of that last night as well. This perfect little Sun Haven Cottage is to become--today--an MTC for my children....a Missionary Training Center and a Motherhood Training Center. And my purpose continues to be to nurture my little ones in love and righteousness...to help them discover their testimonies, teach them the truths of the gospel and practical life skills; to help them discover and refine their talents; to play with them in childlike wonder; to bring a love of music into their hearts; to bind us together through meaningful, simple family traditions; and to bring us Home together--back to the presence of our Father.

But I've rambled off on a tangent....

Back to Nana and Papa...

When it was time for them to go, we walked outside to say goodbye. But then we heard the ice cream truck's melody, and so Papa gave us $5 and we ran down the sidewalk in our bare feet to buy some ice cream. The boys have long been wanting to do this but we always seem to miss it when it comes around!

And as we walked back to our home in the warm April sunshine, I smiled to myself with all the happiness that's deep inside of me...This small-town life of mine, it's mine...and it's oh so good.

Scratch that, it's oh so perfect--perfectly perfect in every way.

And I wouldn't change a single thing.

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...

The Wonder of it All

The brilliant leaves were here so fleetingly, and I wanted to enjoy them more.  I wanted to take my family on leaf hunts and pumpkin picking excursions to fully breathe in the essence of Falltime, but Fall has already exhaled.  The leaves are all gone and tomorrow is Halloween (which somehow always seems like the climax of Fall.)  Next year will have to do.

The other day, I sent my two boys off to school and work and when I opened the shades to wave goodbye to the bus, I was struck.  I have rarely seen so radiant a sunrise--it looks as if it were a sunset.

Watching a sunrise is one of the most splendid ways to start a day.  And this life of mine has been one gigantic sunrise as of late--a rising of new ideas and traditions and perspectives.  It's as if I've been living my life all blurry and I finally found the focus ring on the camera.  Everything in my life has come into crystal clear focus.

Yesterday it snowed and stuck for a few hours.  Tate had been doing a puzzle upstairs and hadn't seen the snow yet.  When he started walking down the stairs, he looked over the railing and exclaimed rather emphatically, "Look Mommy!  The snow covered the whole town with SNOW!!!"

And when I went to get Maylie from her crib, I opened her shade as I always do and walked over to her crib to pick her up.  For a second I was a little confused because instead of smiling and running to me, she just stood there, rooted in place.  Then she stretched out her little arm, pointing outside, and breathed a reverent, "Wooww."  It was her first sight of snow because last year she was too little to remember.

I of course had to call my mom and relate the incidences and we spoke about childhood wonder and why we are supposed to become as a little child.  Instead of complaining about the cold and the snow, we should be struck with awe at the beauty of it all.

Even Easton came home all excited that it had snowed all over his school and playground.  I told him it snowed all over here too.  Then he said, "But it snowed even more than that at my school!  The snow went up to here!" (pointing at his shin).

The Lord created each season for a very special reason and I have learned that the best way to live a life of contentment is to follow the natural rhythm of the seasons.  There is a season for doing and becoming, and then there is a season of stillness.  That season is winter.  It's a time to reflect and ponder and gather your family close around you.  It's a time for music and stories and the warmth of fuzzy blankets and hot cocoa.  It's a time to rejuvenate all of one's empty reserves.  It's a season to step back, sit down, and just. be. still.

Last year Winter was loved for the first time.  And this year, she will be loved even more.

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.

The First Canning.

Sometimes the things we never picture ourselves doing, are the things that become new traditions.
Like canning.  For several years now my dear mother-in-law has asked me if I would like her to help me can fruit.  I've always turned her down--not enough space, not enough time, there was always an excuse.  But not this year.  As I've tried to pare down and simplify my life, bottling peaches and pears and all things from the garden has suddenly become quite an appealing past time.

We gathered on Labor Day and labored for our families and our food storage, laughing and talking and enjoying the warm early fall.  We bottled 4 bushels of pears and split them up between all of us.  We drove home that day and I was filled, not just with fruit, but with pure satisfaction.  This authentic pleasure is something I would never have considered to bring so much joy.

The following week we gathered again, this time at Jacee's.  The kids played and we canned.  Mom told us of her early days of canning with little ones and how her mom had helped her every year.  I couldn't help but smile inside, thinking of how she is now carrying on the tradition with us.  It was an exhausting, but sweet day.

Without the help of husbands to watch little ones, we only bottled 4 bushels of peaches, and had to send Mom home with her 2 bushels.  But now I have a freezer laden with fruit and two shelves heaping full as well.  It's a lovely, simple, perfect feeling.  And I can't wait for the applesauce...it, too, will bring great rewards.

Jumping Over Sunshine.

Yesterday the sunlight warmed itself on a patch of the kitchen floor.  I didn't notice until Easton called out excitedly to his little brother:  "Tate!  Let's jump over the sunshine."  And a game ensued for the next fifteen minutes.

Yesterday the eight inches of snow we had all melted away with the 60 degree weather outside and the boys spent hours riding bikes, throwing a frisbee, and walking the paths and walls around the house.  Maylie even ventured out for her first real outing, clad in her adorable gray coat (given to me by my sweet friend Mallory), and wrapped in a patchwork quilt.

Maylie has been smiling vivaciously and attempting her first little laughs.  I can never seem to get enough of her.  She coos and talks constantly and with quite a bit of gusto...I am just awe-struck with her vocal-ness...perhaps it's part of the princess package?

Today Easton wrote (actually sounded out letters and did his own version of sound-spelling) his very own, very first story...or at least the beginning of one.  It read:  "i wot to cic a roc," (I wanted to kick a rock) and above was a picture of Daddy and a rock.  He's growing up.  And he helps me to grow right alongside him.  I just wish he'd do it a little bit slower...

But, winter's chapter is closing.  Spring is coming, and with it, new ideas, new goals, new aspirations to be the mother I've always dreamed of being.  I'm overwhelmed (in a mostly good way) with so many concrete plans to create for my children a culture of love and learning within this home.  It will just take a while to sort out and make ready...I guess that's just part of this winter to spring transition phase.

But for now, I will take it one step at a time.  And slow.  And savor.  And try not to rush or plan everything at once.  The magic of here is right now regardless of whether my plans are all ready or not.  And I need to stay present...and just jump over the sunshine.

Journey through January

While January is generally a gloomy month, we passed the time playing games, reading stories, baking, entertaining, and slowly molding our lives into a new routine here.

"The color of springtime is in the flowers, the color of winter is in the imagination."  ~ Terri Guillemets

Maylie's Christmas pajamas

Playing with Daddy

A visit from Colbie, Molly, and Chris...Maylie wasn't too thrilled to have her picture taken.

Then there are those quiet moments when I try to memorize every detail of her sleeping face.  Everything else fades away and I am filled with an ecstasy I've never known.  It's as if heaven is cradled in my very arms.

Nana and Grandpa & Grandma Lystrup came to visit...

We ate lunch together and Grandpa took lots of pictures which he turned into a little slideshow for the boys.

Of course, there were the days of dancing and wild, rambunctiously sweet boys...

And when Grandpa, Grandma, and Sadie came to visit...

The wrestling match commenced.

But I'm not really sure who won...I think it was a tie.

We also enjoyed a visit from Nicole and Jason.

And looking back on this blessed month, I truly hope that of our little home it can be said: "Family and Friends Gather Here."

Cure for a Heartsick Soul.

I woke today with a feeling of heartsickness...for no apparent reason.  The day loomed on like drudgery, but I did my best to wear a smile of love for my loved ones.

My prayers were answered in late afternoon when I least expected it...

...leaves ablaze with sunlight...

...clouds floating atop the mountains behind our house...

...a red water pump...

...an antique gas pump...

...a paper-thin leaf all perfect on the wet cement...

...a stone firepit that waits for summer...

...wheels turning to the rhythm of time...

...little boy laughter breaking the solitude of a small farm town...

...witnessing how even though we fall we're "still okay..."

...Tate telling me to look up and see the "beautiful clouds..."

...and seeing it all, the windows, this cottage, these trees, this world, from a new perspective.

I thought I was enjoying the beauty enough from the large picture windows throughout our home.

But experiencing it firsthand, with the wind on my face and the cold in my ears was invigorating and awe-inspiring and consuming.

I guess all my heart really needed was to join hands with nature and breathe in the scent of aging winter.  Maybe His creations could be the answer to many of our sorrows and sleepy eyes and bad moods, and even aches in our hearts that spring up from nowhere.  It seems that winter brings withering of leaves and shrubs and oft-times a withering of our hearts.  But this withering, only makes room for new growth and a vibrancy of green.

Maybe the ache I felt today was only a longing for communion.  A communion with His creations.  And a communion with Him.  And sometimes it's much easier to feel His love and His whisperings when you're standing in the majesticness of His handiwork...