I was fascinated to find these one day at the store...and it instantly brought me back to memories of my childhood, watching a TV commercial about Easter eggs that were all glittery and beautiful. I wanted to make those eggs so badly!!!! And this particular day at the store I found glittery dye as well as the 24 karat one. I was so close to buying the glitter, but then remembered I have boys...and they would think glitter was too girly. I guess I shall just have to wait until Miss Maylie grows up a bit more. Then one day we can make the glitter eggs together and live my childhood dream.
So this year, 24 karat gold Easter eggs it was....
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 thisI 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.
Calee Reed sings the words that I wish I could have written. To you. And for you. This song describes you perfectly. Just imagine that I'm singing to you. :)
...and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even Easton or Tate.
The night was late when we pulled into our home, back from visiting Nana and Papa. And the little ones were sound asleep.
I was sad to wake them three hours past their bedtime. But I was so glad I did. For sometimes traditions can and should be the exceptions to bedtimes.
I'll never forget the twinkle in their eyes as they opened their pajamas and slippers. Easton has been asking for slippers for 3 months and it broke my heart to tell him to "just wait" every time he asked (knowing I had some tucked away for Christmas Eve.)
And watching them open their gifts, squealing out of sheer childlike delight was better than any present I've ever opened. It was a thrilling surge of joy erupting in my heart as I lived the scripture in Acts, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
I remember the times when I wished to stay little forever. I didn't want to experience Christmas as an adult. I knew that when I was a grown up, all I would get would be a tube of toothpaste, a stick of deodorant, and maybe a pair of socks, if I was lucky. I never understood why my parents could be so happy on Christmas when they received so few gifts.
But now I understand. And now I know the exponential joy that can only be felt by a parent, watching the Christmas charm light up the eyes of a child.
Long ago my sweet mom decided to start a tradition, something special for the most important people in her life--her children.
She made a poster bordered with her handwritten "A Very Important Person" phrase spanning the edge. When it was our turn to be the Very Important Person, she hung our picture in the poster's center and surrounded it with our "favorites" (color, foods, etc.) Then she spotlighted us at Family Home Evening and we would pick a special night to go to a special place with either Mom or Dad all by ourselves. I'll never forget swimming with my dad or getting ice cream with my mom or countless other little excursions. I looked forward to these nights with great anticipation, not just because the activity was enjoyable, but because it was my time alone with my heroes, they whom I idolized the most.
Thus was the marvelous tradition of "V.I.P.'s."
And now it continues in our family, cherished memories I won't likely forget.
Easton and I went on our first V.I.P. a few nights ago. We bought a clearance toy and then went to the mall where he played (and posed for my pictures). We ended our date with warm cinnamon rolls and a hug. That night Easton thanked Heavenly Father that we could go on a V.I.P.
He's already planning his "swimming V.I.P." with Dad.
Thank you, dear Mom, for beginning such a beautiful tradition.
Full and overflowing with ideas for Maylie, I will be dedicating a few posts here and there to preparing for her.
Today I painted a few scrumptious items for her nursery:
Last Friday I painted her dresser. It's especially precious because it belonged to my mother in her little-girl days and then was passed on to me and my sisters.
Through the years it has been loved and scratched and banged a bit.
But a coat of antique white gave this little family heirloom a new beginning.
Then we painted her crib. It was given to us in almost brand-new condition when Easton was born.
At about 10 months, when he had mastered the art of standing {and kicking}, he proceeded to kick out one of the spokes. It broke right down the middle.
For the remainder of his "crib-life" we made do by turning that side into the wall. (note: the damage cannot be seen in the following photos)
When Tate came, Pop carved us a new spoke out of wood and we fixed the crib up to be sturdier.
Now it's time for our little crib to be given a coat of white paint. Based on the amount of time this took, I'd say any mother {and father} who undergo such a project are truly performing a labor of love.
P.S. Please ignore the pictures of me...I'm very reluctant to have any pictures even taken while I'm expecting. I should have specified for Patrick to only take my head!
