It won't cost much . . . Just your voice!

I love a good classic Disney movie. I still remember going to the theater when The Little Mermaid came out. Of course, at the time, the theater was the only way in which I even got to see a movie since my family didn't even own a VCR. Okay, that might not be entirely true, we may have gotten a VCR around the same time. Anyway, I remember thinking how magical the movie was. I loved the story of this mermaid, and how in love she was with her prince. As the queen of pre-teen unrequited love, I just knew Ariel and I were kindred spirits. I never did understand though, how she thought she would be able to get a man without her voice. I am a girl, and was a little too naïve to understand that Ariel left very little to a boy's imagination with those sea shells.

Anyway, My little Max has been a little . . . obsessed with The Little Mermaid. I probably should be concerned. I have The Little Mermaid little golden book and he carries it around with him. Okay, I have to admit, as I type this, I am getting a little worried about my, almost, 5 year-old.

The other day we all sat down and watched the movie together. I cringed as we got to the bargaining scene. I dearly was hoping that THIS time she wasn't so stupid! Ariel has got the most amazing voice. Since I have always been jealous of this talent, it kills me to watch her give it away.

The cunning of Ursula as she paints a beautiful picture of what her life could be like on land. She fuels Ariel's dream of becoming a human. She convinces Ariel that she just wants to help her. And it won't cost much, just her voice.  Of course all of us think the little girl/mermaid is CRAZY!! Yet this last time, as I was watching, I realized that a lot of us pay for things with the loss of our voice. Sometimes it is the price we pay to fit into a group that doesn't share our same values. We think that if we speak up for what we believe then others won't like us. Sometimes it is the price to pay to be "P.C." Now don't get me wrong, I believe that it is important to respect other people's values and feelings. I don't think we should use derogatory language or off color jokes. Those kinds of P.C. are great in my opinion.

I have found that I pay for my fear with my voice. Crazy, I don't want fear, and I do want my voice so why would I give up my voice for the price of fear? Just crazy I know! Yet I fear what others will think of me, I fear that I might offend someone, I fear that people won't like me if they get to know the real me. So instead, I remain silent. My voice is silent while the voices in my head do a good job of assuming what people will think about me.
I have been blessed with the gift of a few good friends that have known me longer than I cared what people thought of me. I can be around them and not worry about what comes out of my mouth, they love me anyway. I want to feel that way around everyone. I know that what I really need to do is only care what God thinks. I often times feel prompted to write something on this blog. I stop myself though because I worry about what people will think. Will they think that I am pompous and know everything? Will people think that I am trying to tell them what to do? Will people see that I REALLY am CRAZY? Will they judge my spelling/grammar/writing errors? Will anyone read it anyway? Then I just give my voice up. I let my fear have it. No longer I tell ya! At least I hope to make some baby-steps. (Baby stepping out of the office, baby stepping to push publish, baby stepping to post on FB, baby stepping until I am sailing!!) (And if you get that reference, you get an A+ in the good movie department.)

My obituary

                Forgive me for a moment, as this is going to sound a little morbid, I love funerals. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t love people dying. I love celebrating their lives, and honoring all the ways they blessed, and enriched our lives. I honestly feel, when someone has lived a great life, that their funerals can be every bit as motivating, and inspiring as a LDS conference talk. And heaven always seems to be so close. Plus there is always the bonus of seeing so many friends and loved ones!

                Wednesday we buried my cousin Cherie. Her funeral was exactly like this. The talks given were inspiring and uplifting. The songs sung were touching and poignant. I couldn't believe how well everyone held it together. My amazing cousin Julie (Cherie’s older sister) had to sing, give the life sketch, then sing again. My uncle sang “Turn Around” and stated that it was a lullaby for Cherie, and we could listen if we wanted to.  He added a third verse about turning around and your little girl is eternity bound. Oh, it was heart breaking for me.

                Her three sisters sang “Consider The Lilies.” I had never really listened to the words of that song. It is now one of my favorites. At the end of the song, one of her sisters (I think it was Kim) let out a big sigh and triumphantly whispered “we did it!” I couldn’t believe it the courage everyone displayed. My favorite part was probably when her husband spoke, and talked about how they met. He talked about winning the jackpot in wives, and how much she improved his life. I want to be a wife like that. Of course, how much she loved her children was paramount in everything that was presented. I want to be a mother like that. 

                Being inspired doesn’t mean a whole lot if you don’t take home part of the message, and let it change your heart. Cherie’s funeral was a reflective experience that caused me to meditate a great deal on my own life. What kind of legacy would I leave? What would people say about me at my funeral? What songs would they sing? What would my obituary say? When all that is left is the memories, what will those memories be?

                The thing is, it could all be over for any of us at any given moment. Those that may be terminally ill or elderly, have a clue that they may be near the end. The fact of the matter is that it might be all over for me today. I might not make it home from church today. Every moment might be my last. I can’t walk around with the outlook that every time I see someone, it will be my last moment—I would be a constant-melty mess! Yet I can work harder to appreciate the gift that every day is.

                I want to be a better wife, a better mother, a better daughter, a better sister, a better friend, and mostly a better daughter of God. (And I want "One More Angel in Heaven" from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat sung at my funeral in full twang!) 

My dear cousin

*Disclaimer, I took these pictures off of her FB page, and my email. I think most of these pictures are the work of the wonderful Claudine Cable.*

Beautiful

I started this yesterday, but had a hard time finishing it. . .I am sitting here as tears trickle down my face. This isn’t the first time I have cried today, or this week, really there have been many tears shed for the last several weeks.  Almost 6 weeks ago I got a late night phone call from my parents. You know, the “oh no what happened” late night phone calls. My dad tearfully explained that my cousin, Cherie, whom had been battling cancer for four years, was told by the medical professionals that there was nothing else they could do for her. She asked if she had a year left, they told her no. She asked if she had months left, they told her no. She asked if she had weeks left, and they told her if she was lucky.

Here she is, this past summer, with her youngest daughter.

For those 6 weeks my family and I have been sick. There was no way I was going to expose her to any germs that might take any days away from the time she had left with her family. So I cried as I sent an email, not knowing what to say. I wonder if she ever got it.

Right in front, life of the party!!

Finally we are getting over all of our illnesses so yesterday I ventured to my grandma’s and visited with my grandma and aunt.  My aunt told me that Cherie was sleeping most of the day. She didn’t think it would be much longer. She did mention that the younger you are, the longer you tend to hold on.

As I was getting ready for the day today I thought about that. I wondered if you hold on when you are young because you are scared, because you have a life left unfinished. I can imagine a young child being okay with a new adventure more than a mid-life adult. I cried again as I wondered who would be waiting there for her. I knew my grandpa would, and I am sure that her grandparents on the other side would welcome her back as well.

Cherie and my amazing aunt (her mom) both breast cancer warriors. I have another aunt and cousin whom have been inspirations as they battled as well.

Cherie died this afternoon. I sat and reflected on the memories that I have of my amazing, wonderful and loving cousin. Cherie is the one that always came up to me at family gatherings and made sure that I felt welcome. My cousins all grew up around each other, my family lived out of state. I loved it when I moved to Utah and got to know my Utah cousins better. Yet sometimes I felt left out. Sometimes I didn’t feel like I fit in. Cherie always came up and talked to me. She and I related on so many levels. She was older, wiser, more beautiful, and just had a lot to share with me.

I love this picture! She is talking with her niece. Always interested in everyone's life, and always ready to hand out great advice.

One of my most precious memories of Cherie was when my grandpa was near the end of his life. He was at a care facility and I found myself there as much as possible. There were a lot of others that came often also, but I almost always found Cherie there. I loved visiting with her. There was one particular moment near the very end when my grandma was lovingly caring for my grandfather. She whispered, in that quiet sacred moment. "Look at that. They have taken care of each other for most of their lives." The room became a very sacred space. Heaven was close

I am sure that Cherie’s room was quiet the same way near the end of her life. I feel sorry for myself that I couldn’t be a part of it. I know that whenever I think of her, for the rest of my life, I will offer a little prayer of gratitude up to heaven—grateful that I got to know her, and be mentored by her. I was mentored in the art of motherhood. She is an amazing mother. I know she will continue to be an amazing mother on the other side. Her children might not see her, but I know they will be influenced by her. She offered so many tips on parenting. I’m sure it was natural to her, and she didn’t know that I felt like I was being taught by the master.

Cherie mentored me in the art of being a wife. Cherie and I both married in our later 20’s and married men that had some similar attributes. The way she spoke about her husband was always uplifting and encouraging. She taught me so much about how to be a good wife. I will always be thankful for her advice to never talk bad about your husband to your friends and family. You might get over what you were feeling at that time, but people will always remember what you had said about your spouse.

I LOVE this picture. I love that you can almost hear her infectious laugh. But most of all, that you can see her husband looking at her in adoration! 

I love her so much! I know my grandpa was waiting for her, ready to put her to work. And if all dogs go to heaven, I know her little dog Copper was too!!

I know some say she lost her battle with cancer, I say she just got it right before a lot of us do. She got to graduate from this life a little earlier than some. From what I know of this amazing woman, she passed with flying colors!

A breath of fresh air!

Monday morning my spontaneity was challenged for the second time in lest than a week! The first time was earlier in the week when my friend Jacqui told me that she had vouchers for The Leonardo in Salt Lake that had to be used that week. Josh and I planned a trip, and then I saw that the time we were going to go, the museum was closed for a private party. I called a couple of friends, told them I had free tickets if they wanted to go, and we all dropped our plans, headed to Salt Lake, and had ourselves a day with the girls!

The second time was when My Mother-in-law called Monday morning and asked if we wanted to head to Hardware Ranch for the day! We had been there 3 years before. (To see that trip, click here.) I remembered loving it, and my memories served me right! It ended up being a terrific day! We had a picnic in the parking lot! See those little dots in the back ground? Those are all Elk! The State decided that it would be better to feed the Elk and keep them in the Mts. then to let them go down to the farms and get in trouble. 

I couldn't get my darling 6-year-old to give me a darling look! What happened to this little boy? The one in the red coat was from the last time we went! He was 3.

So you get to take a sleigh ride into the field where they feed the Elk. You get to get really close to these amazing animals. We LOVED it! Turner had 100 questions! It was great!

Here is the Crew! Max is my most cooperative kid when it comes to photos. Thank goodness for the cooperative kid!

This was Max last time we went! He was 21-months!

Cooper had a little accident with a big pile of ice. Poor kid. He, of course, still winked at me when I was trying to take a picture of it! Love this happy little boy!
I love where spontaneity takes me!In this case, it took me to a place where I could breath! I need  to get out in the fresh air more during the winter!

Really dreaming

What are your REAL dreams? I had a magnet on my fridge for a long time that stated: "What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?" I think it came from the book "Who Moved My Cheese." By Spencer Johnson. The magnet has been relocated by my computer where I can look at it often as I prepare lessons for my kids or write. But really, it is such a different question than "what would you like to do." When most people ask us that, we answer with something in the realms of possibility. For instance, when Josh asks me what I want to do on any given weekend, I usually answer with something like, "Get caught up on cleaning the house," or "go on a date." I don't say, "take a cruise to the Mediterranean " Which is really what I would like to do.

My parents have been fantastic about teaching us kids to follow our dreams. (In fact I think it is my mom that gave me the above mentioned magnet!) I never remember once them telling me that I couldn't do something. In fact they always said, if you put your mind to it, you can do anything.

So I have often wondered why I feel so stuck in my life sometimes. I don't mean that I feel stuck being a mom. I love my kids, but I do have goals and aspirations outside of my family. Yet I have a hard time sometimes believing that I can accomplish them.

I don't feel this way when it comes to my husband though. I think that he should peruse all of his goals and aspirations. The hard thing for him, is having those goals. So a couple of weeks ago, I posed the question to him, "if we won a $500,000,000 lottery jackpot, (which we don't play so it won't happen) what would you do? I don't mean, how would you spend the money, what would you do with your life? You have always told me that you would still need to work, but if you had $500,000,000 and you could work anywhere you wanted, where would it be? If we had that kind of money, you could get any education you wanted, and apply to anywhere you wanted. If you didn't get the job, you could apply over and over and over again until you did get the job, because we would be fine while we waited for you to get the job.

Without a moments hesitation he replied that he would work for Lego as a master builder. My husband has a little Lego studio in the basement, where the bricks and pieces are categorized by kind of brick. He would be an amazing Lego Master Builder! He has been fascinated by the work of Nathan Sawaya who was a lawyer turned Lego artist.

So when I came home Friday and told him that My friend Christal had told me there was a free Nathan Sawaya exibit at the Kimball Arts Center in Park City, the next words out of his mouth were, "look and see what time it opens tomorrow."

We packed up the kids, and made an afternoon out of it!

This is one of Mr. Sawaya's more famous pieces. 

Nathan Sawaya self portrait. 

I found his work to be inspirational,  thought provoking, and very profound. 

I love this photo because Turner always covers his eyes when Josh and I kiss :)

The writer

You may have noticed a few (hundred) pictures of this piece. It was my favorite, because I dream of being a writer someday. Today I will settle for the outlet of my blog.

It was inspirational for all of us. I asked Josh if he would be interested in doing something similar. His only reply? "I don't have enough Legos!" We started a Lego blog a long time ago where I could post some of his work, yet I haven't really followed through. How do you inspire those you love to follow their dreams?
If you want to see more pictures from the exhibit click here to go our Lego blog!

My kids are growing up . . . and I’m okay! Part I

          I know everyone develops at their own rate. My motto is, “don’t compare yourself to others, grow in your own way, in your own time.” Yet sometimes as much as my mind believes this saying, my heart longs for me to really believe it. It may have been years of public schooling, where children are constantly compared to a standard, have goals to meet, and contrasted to their peers. It may be because I am 5^th of 7 kids, and despite my parents best efforts to not compare us to each other, I still compared myself to my siblings. Maybe it is just part of human nature. A part of human nature that I believe God wants us to overcome.

           Despite my best efforts, I still struggle to not compare myself to others. And worst of all? It is a struggle to not compare my children to other children. I have one child in particular that just isn’t like other children his age. He is different. He dances to the beat of his own drum. He probably could have an official diagnosis, and if he was in public school I could have an IEP for him—I am sure. He isn’t the hardest kid I have ever dealt with, but he isn’t what I would call easy. My friend came over the other day, and in the course of our conversation his behavior came up. She later admitted that she was trying to figure out how to tell me that he isn’t a neurotypical child.  

Due to his differences, he has a hard time with friends. They don’t understand why he acts the way he does. In most cases he is typical though, just sometimes he isn’t. Unfortunately he is typical in the fact that he wants friends. He wants to be liked. He has a hard time when he is misunderstood. These all sound like normal human experiences . . . right??

          And then I homeschool him on top of this! People wonder why I don’t just send him to public school so he can be socialized. Unfortunately for him, I went to a public school where just because you spent all day with kids your own age, it didn’t mean you automatically fit in. I went to a school where if you were different at home, you were probably still different at school. The only difference is hopefully at home it isn’t thrown in your face that you aren’t “typical.”

          Then kids his age started losing teeth. It is so hard to not compare! I knew that he was still in the normal range for tooth loss, but he didn’t understand why everyone at church had lost teeth and he hadn’t. Well, a couple of months ago he bit on a pencil eraser and his two bottom teeth started wiggling loose. After constant wiggling for quite a while, a few weeks ago, his dad pulled out one of the bottom teeth. He really wanted my grandma to do it (she pays $1 if you let her pull it.) But it was a Friday night, and I was worried that it was going to swallow it in his sleep! Later my dad (whom is a dentist) tells me that it is near impossible for a tooth to just fall out in the night. In reality we could have waited.

           Josh pulled the tooth out. It bled a little. He was so proud he called both sets of grandparents. I felt so excited for him. A whole new world of losing teeth, and growing up was all his to have. He didn’t view it the same way. After the excitement of calling his grandparents wore off, he started bawling. What I thought would be a rite of passage for him, was nothing but another step in his overall hatred of growing up. He begged me to put it back into his mouth. He declared that he didn’t want to grow up. He then was so upset because he wasn’t ready to grow up. He didn’t know which way to go. My little boy was so worried about choosing the wrong path in life. at.the.age.of.six. He is sweet, he is tender, why in the world would I want him to be neurotypical? 

A pricking of my heart

   Yesterday was fast Sunday for my congregation. This is an opportunity for those in the congregation that wish to, to share their testimonies. When my bishop announced the rest of the time was for the congregation to share their testimony, a strange, but familiar feeling pierced my heart. In the scriptures they talk about being pricked in their hearts and then asking what they should do.  (Acts 2:37) It is a feeling that causes a person to jump into action. For me it was an intense stabbing of my heart. I looked at the clock. There was a young man leaving on a mission and a dear sister who had a miraculous surgery, I knew their families would want to take up the rest of the time. What right did I have to share my testimony?

The thing was, I didn’t just have an impression to bear my testimony, I had a distinct stabbing in my heart and a story that I was supposed to share. Not a recent story, a story that had happened to me 15 years earlier. I tried to push away this feeling, but the more I tried, the more I knew that someone in the congregation needed to hear the story I was being impressed to share. I found a break and made a bee line for the pulpit. A few steps up the aisle and I felt a little hand in mine, my six year old had come to accompany me to the pulpit. His presence reminded me that I need to follow my impressions, for you never know whose life you might have the opportunity to touch. So the story I needed to share, was this:

               When I was 19 years old, I was home with my parents during the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college. I was attending the local singles branch where my father happened to be the singles branch president at the time. For Relief Society (RS) one night, we gathered at my friend’s home for an activity. My friend lived out of town, deep in the forest. My dad had offered to take me to RS, but had dropped me off and went to do some errands. When I arrived, I was instructed to sit on the front lawn and to be quiet. They were playing some beautiful music. It was soft, calming, and made it easy to be still, even among my dear friends. There were no other instructions given at this point. After sitting on the lawn for a while, I noticed that some of my friends were being taken away. Someone would come, extend their hand, and invite them to go behind the house. My anticipation built, I wondered what could be going on at the back of the house.

               My turn finally came. One of my dear friends since childhood came, and offered her silent hand to me. She led me to the back of the house, and I could see the beginning of a rope trail through the woods. I had a feeling that this was a faith walk. I had done these before. Once she put a blindfold on me, I knew it was a faith walk. The point of a faith walk was to represent our earth life where we can’t see God, but if we follow his path, we will make it back to him again. There are many variations of this, but I had never been on one exactly like this one. As my dear friend placed my blind hand on the rope, she put a raw egg in my other hand. She whispered that this was to represent what was most precious to me.

               I started on the path, thinking about what was most precious to me. Was it my family? My faith? As I walked along, I realized that this was NOTHING like the faith walks I had been on, for this walk was actually hard. The rope wasn’t just tied to one tree after another. It went high up in the air, so high I could barely touch it, it went so low to the ground that I was crawling. There were boulders to climb over and branches touching my face. At one point, I smacked my head right into a very sturdy, low hanging branch. I fell down, and realized that I was bleeding. I wanted so bad to give up at that point. I wanted to throw my blindfold off and walk away from the whole thing. I am so glad that I didn’t.

               Shortly after finding the rope again, I made it to the end. Before I could pull off my blindfold, there were two strong arms that grabbed me and pulled me into a hug. Without being able to see, I knew that hug. I knew those arms. I knew that smell. I knew those tears that dripped on my forehead. It was my dad. As the branch president, he was playing the role of our Father in Heaven, welcoming us home. Yet, because he was actually my dad, I had such a profound realization. I was so happy to be in my father’s arms. I was tired, bleeding, crying, and exhausted when I made it to my dad. I know that when we make it to the end of this journey of life, we will know our Father waiting for us on the other side. We will know His touch. We will know His embrace. We will know Him. After our trying journey, our eternal beings will know that we are finally home.

“Nothing is going to startle us more when we pass through the veil to the other side than to realize how well we know our Father and how familiar his face is to us.” –Ezra Taft Benson

My cute kiddos!