Do Nothing Day

When my best friend comes back home, we're having one of these. A blissfully unproductive day. After I've put the kids to bed I should be catching up on the dishes, sweeping up my floor so my little crawler doesn't supplement his diet with whatever fun things he can find, or folding and sorting laundry. Too often I don't though. I get lost. I sit, sit, sit, sit, and daydream. Sometimes I think about things I need to do, or should have done, but more often than not, I lose myself thinking about the do nothing days I want to have.

I just want to sleep late with my sweetheart, and then when the kids drag us out of bed, we can spend the morning in our PJ's, making bacon and pancakes with lots of syrup and butter, or strawberry jam. Then spend the afternoon watching TV or football, eating chips with salsa, and cookies for lunch. Going for a slow walk around the neighborhood in the evening, then reading storybooks and playing board games till the kids are grumpy and sleepy. Staying up late cuddling, talking, laughing and slow dancing. Letting the dishes pile up in the sink, and toys sneak out of the playroom and spread around the house. Knowing the grass is higher than it should be outside, but letting it sit just for one more day. Using the ambitious to-do lists as coasters for cold frosty mugs of root beer, no answering the phones or responding to nagging emails. Just shutting out the world, hanging out as a family, and doing nothing except being together, making messes and memories.

I lose time at night, doing nothing, thinking about a do-nothing day. I think I need one. In fact, I think I'm due for a nice long string of them.

 

The Marrying Kind

While looking for some new tunes to add to my "happy music" playlist, (aka tunes that make me smile no matter my mood) I came across this country song by Kip Moore, Mary Was the Marrying Kind.  It's a sweet song, about how looking back, he's dated lots of girls, but the sweet girl next door, "the marrying kind" was what he really wanted all along.  His best friend beat him to the punch though.

It's supposed to be a sad song, about nostalgia and lost chances.  However I find this song sad for a different reason.  I cry not for the boy who realized a little too late what he was missing.  He had his chance, I don't mourn for him.  I think of Mary.  I know her well.  I too saw the Jennies, Beckies, and Tammies get lots of dates and attention, while I played the part of an unnoticed wallflower.  The boys didn't seem to appreciate that I was kind, thoughtful, and true to my church standards.  I did my best to doll up, buy pretty clothes, wear makeup, and be outgoing and friendly.  Still more often than not I found myself lonely on the weekends.  I remember once in a youth interview with my Bishop at church, crying about my dating woes.  He sweetly said I probably wasn't being asked out because I was "too perfect" and the boys were too intimidated to ask.  I smiled at his flattering response, but inwardly I laughed.  I knew better.  I wasn't being asked, because I was the kind of girl you marry, not the kind you date.  Boys just aren't interested in that at 16.  

Thankfully I was blessed with strict parents, who did not allow me to lower my standards a little, in order to make myself more appealing to the opposite sex.  I'll admit I was tempted.  Loneliness to a teenage girl is a curse worse than slow torture.  Questions like "what's wrong with me?" are not good on a delicate young heart.  Why is it the fate of the good girls to be lonely until they're of marrying age?

Thankfully that story ended well.  When I got to college (note that I went to a church school where there isn't the usual raucous binge drinking and partying) and dating was taken a little more seriously, I suddenly had plenty of attention.  Even the boys who shunned me in highschool, found I had something that interested them.  Let me tell you though, I had no interest in them!    

What continues to puzzle me is the "surprise" all boys becoming men have, when they discover those good girls all grown up, are suddenly very attractive.  I've heard it over and over from male family and friends, telling the story of the good little girl at home who went unnoticed in highschool, and to their great astonishment is amazing and desirable now!  Has it not occurred to them that it's not the girls who went through some over-night transformation, it's them?  These girls were always pretty, always sweet, always wonderful.  It's the boys who only recently realized they care about things like that.    

I blame both the boys, and their parents.  For some reason our boys are brought up to think their youth is for guilt free playing.  From the teenage years and up parents don't seem to care who their sons date, because they're too young to marry, so what does it matter?  Let them have their fun.  Even among the church boys, I saw a lesser but similar truth.  Do I even need to go on about how this is a stupid philosophy with damaging effects on both the boys and girls?  It's the reason good boys get into trouble, why girls are tempted to dress and act trashy in the first place, and why good girls who don't, cry dateless by the phone every weekend, thinking there's something wrong with them.  

Perhaps boys are just too dumb to recognize a good thing when they see it.  Or maybe they're that way because we expect so little from them.  With an iron fist parents tell their daughters who is safe to date, and who to stay away from.  Yet when a son shows up with a bleached blonde in a mini skirt and tight strapless top, do they sit him down and have a heart to heart about how she may not be the best choice?  More often than not parents, especially fathers, cheer!  They give him a manly pound on the back, a wink, and make some "good catch" comment.  Or even more pathetic, they'll disapprove, but shrug their shoulders and say, "boys will be boys" or "what can I do, I can't choose who my son wants to date!"
Yes you can!  Get a backbone moms and dads, and straighten your sons out while you still can.  We tell our girls, "date the kind of person you want to marry," why not say the same to the boys?
Why the double standard, especially among good, church going families?  Well it's time for a change!  I believe you can influence your sons, and train them to understand what is truly attractive.  As much as they may act like it, they aren't mindless baboons who can't be controlled or educated!  Starting with my own sons, I plan to teach them to seek out the good girls, not just the good-looking girls.  I expect them to look past their hormones, and ask themselves before they pick up that phone, "She's pretty, but what else do I know about her? Does she dress how I want my daughters to dress?  Is she someone I'd hope to run into again when I'm in college?" (Or someone who will even get in to college???) 

I expect they'll probably whine a little about this.  But like all good parents, I have foresight.  While they may not appreciate it then, I'm doing my boys a huge favor.  It's more than the fact that the good girls deserve to be asked out.  One day my boys will thank me.  I'm saving them from the fate Kip Moore is singing about.  In a few years when they see the real purpose of dating, they wont be crying, "Oh Mary, Mary, why was I so blind?" 

They'll thank me that I encouraged them to take out those sweet, angel faced good girls.  Because to the strange surprise of all the boys, those girls grow up to be exactly what they didn't know they've always wanted.  And those stunningly perfect good girls, will remember who was nice to them in high school.

To those good young girls out there, continue being the marrying kind.  It pays off.  No cute blue-eyed football player is worth lowering your standards for.  Marriage is infinitely better than the prom.  It might be hard, but you can stand being lonely for a few years until the good boys to come to their senses.  They will, and you'll be grateful you waited.  There's nothing wrong with you.  You are perfect and beautiful.  Your mother isn't lying when she tells you someday the perfect guy will notice that.  She knows, because she's been in your shoes too, and that might just be exactly how it worked out for her.  

Boy, you make me smile!

This Monday we celebrated Benjamin's first birthday.  Has it really been a year since he one-upped his Daddy with his surprise early arrival?  If you haven't heard the story, it's a good one, you can read about it here.

Somehow that first year flew by, and yet I can't imagine our family without him.  I thought we were happy before Ben, but you should see it, we're all crazy about that little boy.  We love you, Benny-boo-boo-boo.  Happy Birthday Buddy!  

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a few of the things I love most!

This post is for me.  Sadly Daddy doesn't have a lot of time home before he has to go out again.  It's already flying by so fast!  I decided to make a slideshow of all the fun things we've been doing with him lately, so when I miss him, I can follow Freulein Maria's example, and simply remember my favorite things from when he was here.  I'll be revisiting this post a lot!

Emerald green water that sparkles in sunshine,

Chocolate dipped berries and kids early naptimes,

Zaxbys, and Flounders, and Buffalo Wild Wings,

These are a few of my favorite things!

Strawberry picking with Dad, son and daughters,

Homemade pink syrup, jam, muffins, and cobblers. 

Silver white sand castles, dolphins up close,

These are a few of the things I love most!

When goodbyes come,

When I miss you,

When I’m feeling sad,

I’ll simply remember my favorite things,

and then I wont feel, so bad!

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Married to the Military

I recently read a "letter from a military spouse", that had been published in a newspaper.  She gave some insight about things most women married to the military experience, that the general public may not be aware of.  I've seen similar writings.  This last one made me start to wonder, if I were to write such a letter, and knew it had the potential to be read by many, what would I say?

After much deliberation, I decided I'd want to let those outside military life to know, that our lives aren't tragic.  There seems to be a commonly accepted opinion that spouses of soldiers are victims of a sort, leading mournful lives of goodbyes and heartache.  It's true the separation that tends to come with military life is difficult.  It's more than difficult.  But it does not mean we are always sad.  Nor are our lives less idealistic than anyone elses.

When friends or neighbors hear about my husband's frequent deployment schedule, I commonly hear hear phrases such as, "Wow, I don't know how you do that.  I never could" or "Bless your heart, that sounds miserable".  Someone even said once, "It seems you're doing your best with a bad situation".  

I know they mean well with their comments, and are trying to express some sympathy and understanding that I am doing something hard.  The kindness behind their comments doesn't go unrecognized.  However what I wish I could say in response is, "yes, it is hard, but we are happy."

Naturally I don't mean it makes me happy to send my husband off over and over.  I cry, I worry, and I miss him terribly.  But I also do what any other positive person does when presented with trials we all must endure.  I focus on the blessings we have, and remember that they are many!

Nephi, an ancient prophet who lived 500 years before the birth of Jesus Christ, saw much hardship in his life.  He helped lead his family across the ocean and to the American continents.  After arriving in this new land, his family settled and built homes.  However after his father died, his older brothers set plans to kill Nephi and his family.  They resented him and their father for leading them away from Jerusalem.  Despite the many miracles they witnessed, they refused to acknowledge it was God who preserved them and led them to the new land.  Nephi and all those who believed in God left their homes yet again.  They traveled for many days with their families before they felt safe enough to settle and rebuild.  Reading that I think most people would find Nephi's lot a sad and difficult one.  Not ideal, I think we all would say.  However after settling again, Nephi records this short but beautiful verse:

2 Nephi 5:27 And it came to pass that we lived after the manner of happiness.

I think I understand why Nephi wrote that.  If I could speak to the world about what my life is like as a military spouse, I'd say the same.  We live after the manner of happiness.  My husband has a job he loves and knows is meaningful.  His work provides us with everything we need and want.  We've had the opportunity to live in many places, and have met so many good people.  The separations have caused us to deeply appreciate the time we have together. It has brought us closer to family and friends who have been there during times of need.

Military life isn't a curse, it's a choice, and we've been happy in the life it has provided.  I will admit it has been harder than what I imagined when I said yes to a handsome ROTC boy asking for my hand.  It has not been without challenges, challenges unique to this lifestyle.  However no family is spared from hardship.  Every bride discovers marriage isn't living a fairy princess life.  Every new husband finds he's never at home as much as he'd like to be.  Earth life comes with weariness, loneliness, sorrow, and pain.  Families of military members do not have a monopoly on trials.  If being in the military has presented us with more challenges than the average family, then it has blessed us, because it has caused us to learn quickly how to effectively follow the example of Nephi.  We had to recognize right away any difficulty or trial can be endured if we seek to live after the manner of happiness.  

The next time you see your friend struggling in the grocery store with her children, knowing her spouse wont be home to help her for several months, or you notice her sitting at church by herself, mowing her own lawn, or going to the movies alone, give her your love, keep her in your prayers, but don't mourn for her.  You have more in common with her than you think.  Remember if she looks happy, she is.  She devotes her life to living after the manner of happiness, just like you.

NOT a declaration post

So I have to confess, I tend to squirm at "public declarations of love" posts other people make on their blogs.  You know, those gushy entries about how their husbands, fiancees or sweethearts are amazingly amazing.  It's not necessarily because I find them cheesy, although sometimes they definitely are.  Reading them gives me the same awkward feeling I get when I see a couple kissing.  I feel a need to blush and glance away, like I'm intruding, even though there's no obvious concern for privacy.

Is that odd of me to feel that way?  I'm a romantic person.  Chick flick movies and books are some of my best friends!  Except for the occasional overly-graphic-for-a-PG13-movie bedroom scenes, I don't look away from the screen during moments of romance.   Inwardly I swoon at the kisses perfectly silhouetted by the morning sunrise.  That's different though.  I know the characters can't see me.  Staring isn't rude, because not only are they not aware of my presence, but they're not real in the first place!  It's just a story, and as fun as it is to imagine, no one can truly invade a story.

Witnessing a similar lovey-dovey scene in real life however, is not the same euphoric experience.  Maybe it should be!  Here, right in front of me, is not storybook love, but real, true, sweet and sincere shared affection.  So why can't I look???  I haven't been married so long that I've forgotten what it's like to shamelessly take part in a little PDA.  To be so lost in that pink fluffy cloud of elation that is new love, that you forget there are people around you.  I remember that, and I don't regret the moments where we probably made people around us squirm.  "Love sees with the heart, not with the mind", therefore the common sense to keep kisses and adoring stares behind doors, isn't so common.  I get that.  Still though, I turn my head, or pretend to be very occupied with whatever I'm holding.  I can't watch!

So rest assured, this is not a love post.  Even though I'm crazy about the man who married me, and get butterflies in my stomach just thinking about his gray-blue eyes and his heart melting smile, this isn't a public declaration.  Despite how distracted I've been of late, staring off into space, thinking about how much I miss his laugh, or how the cruel world melts away when he holds me at the end of a long day, despite all that, this is not one of "those" entries.  Just because I sometimes refuse to get dressed so I can spend the entire morning in PJ's and his robe, because it smells like him and I don't want to forget that smell, doesn't mean I'm going to write all about it.  And when I hear the perfect song on the radio that I'm pretty sure he paid two beautiful singers to write and sing just for me because it fits us so well, doesn't mean I'm going to put up a youtube link to the music video for the whole world to see.  I wouldn't do that.  Because who'd want to see that?  Just look away, friends, look away.

    

Do you hear me? I'm talking to you, across the water, 
across the deep blue ocean, under the open sky,
oh my, baby I'm tryin'.  


I feel you whisper, across the sea,
I keep you with me, in my heart
You make it easier 
when life gets hard.


They don't know how long it takes,
Waiting for a love like this.
Every time we say goodbye, 
I wish I had one more kiss.
I'll wait for you, 
I promise you, 
I will.  


Lucky we're in love in every way,
Lucky to be coming home someday . . . 

I love you.  I miss you.

Stop and smell the roses

While my DH was enduring the difficult, intense year of pilot training, we lived in base housing on Columbus AFB, in Mississippi.  It was our first experience living on a military base.  The housing was old, dating back to what was rumored the 1950's.  However the 3 bedroom duplex was more space than our previous 2 bedroom apartment we had in Las Vegas.  It was sturdy, built in the days when things were made to last, had a small back yard and surprisingly large front yard, covered carport, and roses planted by the front windows.  The streets were named after state capitols, (we lived on Albany) and because the housing had been there awhile, the trees were large and full, and gave the neighborhood a safe, friendly, suburban feel.

There seemed to be an unspoken connection we all felt with our neighbors.  Everyone wanted to know each other, be friends, have barbecues, go on walks, take kids to the park, and be supportive when the pressures of being military families were keenly felt.  We were often seen chatting in front yards, bouncing babies on our hips, and pausing every 4 minutes or so as little trainer planes flew overhead, temporarily drowning out conversation.  We made some of our very best friends during our stay in Columbus, and keep in close contact with most of them.

The pilot training part was horrible.  In an effort to weed out less capable or dedicated potential pilots, the Air Force is not kind to it's students there.  It seemed their goal to make grown men cry, and hang their hopes and dreams of flight on a tangible thread, ready to break at any second.  Perhaps that's why everyone was so friendly.  It's a stressful time endured by all, which created a natural bond everyone shared.  Despite that deeply rooted stress and the trials that came with it, my memories of Columbus are fond ones.

I'd like to go back to the roses that were planted in front of our half of the little duplex we stayed in.  Those outside of the military may or may not know know this, but if a serviceman chooses to live off base, he receives a housing allowance.  If he lives on base, he does not get that allowance, but his housing there is free.  Because the housing is free, you'd expect most families wouldn't put forth much effort in upkeep.  While that tends to be true with welfare provided government housing, from my small bit of experience I saw it wasn't the case with the tenants of base military housing.  Other than mowing the lawn regularly, and keeping the indoors clean and undamaged, there were no rules or requirements to keep.  However families often put a surprising amount of effort into those temporary homes.  They painted walls, planted grass, added flowerbeds, or in our case, roses.  I was very touched when I thought of the people who lived in our home before us, and planted those three rose bushes.  They obviously planted them knowing they wouldn't see them for very long.  I saw it as a selfless act of kindness towards me, someone they'd never meet or know.  He or she may not have planted them specifically for me, but they didn't have to plant them at all, and I benefited from their efforts.  The bushes were obviously well tended.  During our first Easter in Columbus, there were big blossoms, a perfect blend of pink and yellow.  A sweet coincidence - they just happened to be colored the same as the roses I carried in my bridal bouquet.  I will always be grateful to that nameless stranger, who shared with us her roses.

Here's a picture we took on Anny's first Easter Sunday, in front of one of the pretty bushes.  By the time we left Columbus, that bush had grown tall enough to see it from the windows inside, and the blossoms were the size of salad plates!

Inspired by those first rose bushes in Columbus, I've decided to set a tradition.  Even though we're living off base for this assignment, and as our family grows that will most likely be the most convenient choice, in each new home we have, with each new military move, I too will plant roses.  If possible I will plant them in the front yard, by the front windows.  Realistically I know we may not always live in locations where roses thrive.  But where I can, I want to pass on the same kind gesture that was shown me.  I also like the romantic thought that we will leave a trail of roses behind us as we move every 3-5 years.

I planted a little red bush in front of my girls' bedroom window last year, and to my delight, it flourished.  I was worried our sandy soil would lack the necessary nutrients for a bush to grow, but it's doubled in height and size!  Due to last years success, I planted 3 more bushes in the front yard, and 2 in the back.  Here are some pictures of our new little friends.  May they bring happiness to all who live here!

  This one was described as pale pink, but I think it's more of a lavender, very pretty.  

 Look at how beautiful this blossom is!!  It makes me happy every time I go outside and see it!  

I was only going to get two more bushes for the front yard, but this ambitious little pink one with the one tall branch reaching for the stars, was calling my name.  I couldn't leave her there!  

             This is the first bloom to show from the red bush I planted last year.  Sweet and promising!   

Vapor Rub Tissues

Last week I was awesome.  I said goodbye to my DH at the airport, gave myself the rest of the day for some therapeutic wallowing, and woke up Tuesday feeling strong and ready to roll.  I stuck to my R.I.C.E diet like a champion.  That's my list of coping mechanisms.  Anyone who's going through something needs a list.  I attended a seminar about how to survive military deployments a couple years ago, given by an author who wrote an encouraging book on the subject.  She suggested making a physical list of things that help you feel better, and to post that list somewhere obvious, like the bathroom mirror.  If you begin to notice you haven't been doing anything on that list for awhile, that's a sign you're slipping, and might need some help.  This time around, my list is my RICE diet.

Reading

Indexing

Crocheting 

Exercise

Those are a few things I enjoy, keep me busy, and make me feel better.  I fully embraced all of them last week.  I started a new book, and stayed up late a few nights getting lost in it's pages.  I began a list of little crocheting projects, and looked up some new patterns to try.  I exercised 4 times last week, which took some effort, but was worth it.  I became an official "indexer".  Indexing is the process of reviewing scanned genealogical records such as birth certificates, draft papers, baptismal records, etc. and entering the basic information from them into a system that makes the information searchable and available for anyone trying to find their ancestors.  It's fun and addicting, and you can learn more about it here.  

I also found time to do all the laundry, which is especially hard the first week of a deployment, because I have to wash and fold all my husbands things he wore the previous week, knowing he wont wear them for awhile.  It's a bit of a downer, but I did it.  I kept up with the dishes, vacuumed the entire house, cleaned the curtains in my bedroom, took a field trip to a history museum, attended a church activity, and made a new friend.  A week to be proud of!!

My running start came to a halt this morning though, when I woke up with a stuffy head, and constant runny nose.  Isn't it interesting how those come together?  Interesting in a frustrating way, that is.  You'd think with the leaky faucet nose, that the pressure in my sinuses would be relieved.  Sadly no.  Taking a sick day means no exercise.  However it doesn't mean I get a break from making meals, laundry, housework, or taking care of the kids.  They have to get done, and there's no one else to do it.

They say military wives are tough, so I decided to give tough a try.  I took some Sudafed and Tylenol, and got to work.  I had to mail a package to my DH- there were some things he left at home it turns out he needs.  On the way to the post office, we stopped by the grocery store.  The girls were being loud and obnoxious, but as long as they didn't get in the way of other customers, I didn't have the energy to scold them.  I was the picture perfect example of that worn out looking mom in the grocery store, who gives homemakers a bad name.  I should have worn a shirt that said, "Deployed Dad, sick Mom, don't judge".

My attitude sank lower still we when got in line to check out.  In front of us was an airman, looking sharp in his blues (aka the more formal looking AF uniform of blue dress pants, lighter blue shirt, and shiny shoes) holding a bouquet of very pretty flowers.  My heart dropped to my stomach.  I'd forgotten about "Blues Monday".  All local active duty personnel have to wear their blues on Mondays.  When my DH is home, I love blues Mondays, because he looks dashing in his uniform.  I miss that when he's gone, and usually make a note not to visit grocery stores on Mondays, because it's painful to see all the soldiers picking up last minute things at the store for their families, knowing my husband's not one of them.  Watching the airman in front of me pay for his beautiful bouquet of light pink roses and lilies, I sighed inwardly and placed my vapor rub tissues on the counter.

I'm still awesome, and plan to pick up my RICE diet again as soon as I can kick this cold.  I'm down, but not out.  Not yet!  Maybe when I'm done with the tissues, I'll turn my tissue box into this:


The only thing that could make that more perfect, is my handsome man in his blues, hand delivering it.  Maybe in approximately two and a half months.

Soak in the Daddy Time!

After 8 wonderful uninterrupted months together, the time has come where Daddy has to deploy again.  I'm so grateful for the timing of his last homecoming, and for this long break with him home, that I feel guilty being sad this day has come.  I was talking with my mom the other day though, and she gave some insightful advice.  Not a rare thing for my mom, many of you have probably heard me repeat sound wisdom from her.  She said she's realized we really can't control what we feel.  We feel what we feel!

Emotional pain is like physical pain.  When or how it happens is not within our control. Imagine if an OB doctor told a mother in labor, that she shouldn't be feeling pain.  It's all in her head.  I think if such a doctor existed, he wouldn't live long! Of course her pain is real!  She can't decide whether she feels pain or not.  There are coping strategies for pain.  Lamaze classes, right?  However I think most mothers who have actually experienced childbirth will admit such classes are beautiful in theory . . . but when you're in the delivery room, and it's all so much worse than you ever imagined, you consider strangling the nurse who's reminding you to breathe in patterns!  You can't control what you feel, and it isn't easy to control how you react to feelings either.

Despite the thousands of books written on emotional health, and millions of dollars spent on therapy, I think when it comes to painful experiences we know are coming- most of us follow a universal 3 step approach:

1. Dread
2. Acceptance
3. Endurence


So while experiencing phase 1 during the last few days Daddy is home, we're trying our best to not be too distracted by the process, so we can enjoy what time we have left before steps 2 and 3.

Last Sunday I stayed home with Merrylee and Ben who were fighting colds, so it was just Anny and Daddy at church together.  Daddy said she was a very good girl.  I curled her hair, she looked very grown up and pretty.        

Daddy had an old ROTC buddy call up and say he was driving through our area, so he meet him for dinner in Pensacola, and took Merrylee with him.  Being the middle child, she doesn't get a lot of individual parent time.  She felt very special to be the only one accompanying him, and was excited to have Dad all to herself.  

Baby Ben will probably go through the most changes while Daddy is gone, so he's tried to spend a little extra time with him too.  Some might argue 8 months is a little early for ice cream.  Ben didn't complain though, and there's no way Daddy was going to miss sharing that first bite of Bryers Mint Chocolate Chip.

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So phase 1 hasn't been too horrible.  Wish us luck for 2 and 3.  I don't think I'll be in the mood to blog about them.

Another form of relief

Last post I tried to provide a little heartfelt encouragement, in the best way I knew how.  It concerned feeding the soul, and finding solace through Christ.  Now for a lighter yet often effective form of relief- humor.

I dare you to watch this video and not laugh, or at least smile!

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Special thanks to Anny, and the laughter we've had at her expense.  She giggles at this video now though, so I figured she wouldn't mind if I shared.  In her defense, she was a little tired from trick-or-treating (that's a lot of walking for a 5 year old) and she'd been going at that doughnut for about 5 minutes before she'd finally had enough.  I think it's safe to say she put the old adage "when at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again" to the test, and found it to be lacking in this case.

Where can I turn?

This week I've been thinking much about some people very close to me.  Some dear friends, who are going through some very sad or difficult things.  I know they are crying.  I know they are sad, and lonely.  I want to fix it.  I wish so much I could take their pain away.  But I cannot.  I do not have that power.  I know someone who can though.

I believe in Christ.  I can testify that he lives.  He knows us individually.  He feels our pain, and suffers with us.  Though we cannot see him, we can feel his love for us when we pray.  He can heal all wounds, and comfort all who stand in need of comfort.  He is the greatest relief there is, to any trial, or grief, or sadness.  He suffered all pain, and knows every heartache, because he experienced them all during his great atonement for us.  It is only through him that we will find real peace in anything.

I sent some things to my friends in need this week.  A package of things I hope are comforting, white flowers to help uplift and cheer somewhat.  However that just doesn't feel like enough.  It's like a doctor, giving condolences and sympathy to a sick patient, but no prescription or treatment.  I felt I had to pass on what I know of real treatment, real peace and comfort.  The very best comfort I feel I can give, is the message that Jesus Christ loves us.  He is not merely a good feeling, or a theory or nice idea.  He is a real, living, resurrected being, who gives true and lasting comfort and healing.  He will help.  He loves you.  Read his words.  Lose yourself in meaningful prayer.  You will feel that he is there, and you are not alone.    

As I was writing this, I could hear the words to the hymn Where Can I turn for Peace fill my mind.  You can listen to it here.  Below are the lyrics:

Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When, with a wounded heart, anger, or malice
I draw myself apart searching my soul?

Where, when my aching grows?
Where, when I languish?
Where, in my need to know?
Where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.

He answers privately.
Reaches my reaching.
In my Gethsemane, Savior, and friend.
Gentle, the peace He finds
For my beseeching.
Constant He is, and kind.

Love without end.  

This song is dear to me.  It could be because I grew up singing it, and that makes it comforting to me.  However I think it's the words that make it so sweet.  I remember one Sunday at church, in which I was particularly sad about something.  It was time for the congregation to sing the closing hymn.  Lost in my thoughts I flipped to the page and started to sing.  My mind was drawn to the lyrics, and the music seemed to fill my heart, and put words to what I was feeling.  I sang the words

Where can I turn for peace? Where, in my need to know? Where can I run? Who, who can understand?

Then I saw the song answer it's lyrics and my inner thoughts and questions, and found I couldn't sing, but only whisper the response, He, only One.    

To my sweet friends during this time, and to anyone else I know who might be concealing a secret pain or trial, please know I love you.  I will not pretend I understand or know what you're going through, but the Savior does, and I'm praying you will feel his everlasting love, that it will fill your heart and carry you through these times of need. Constant He is, and kind. Love without end.

May your days be bright

My DH has a sort of talent I covet.  He easily forgets bad memories.  Arugments we've had, unfortunate events from the past, he can't remember them.  They never happened.  He doesn't just choose not to bring them up- he somehow manages to erase them.  I've in a laughing mood, tried to recall with him disagreements from our past, and he thinks I made them up.  He cannot remember them.  Fortunate man!

I am usually not so fortunate, and can recall a little too perfectly how things I don't wish to remember, went down.  However when I look back on 2011, I'm overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude.  Even if I try, I cannot focus on a memory where I was heartbroken, downtrodden, or miserable.  I suppose there were some, no one is safe from hard times, but all that comes to mind is seeing my husband walk through the door, early from a deployment, the day before Benjamin was born.  I recall the girls hands and mouths stained red from strawberries we picked together, and can remember they were the sweetest, freshest berries I'd ever had.  I think of the happy, sleepy look on Merrylee's face as she awoke on her third birthday, and realized what day it was.  I can see Anny during family scripture study at our family reunion, staring at the 4th of July fireworks from the beachouse window, too distracted and excited to hear our devotional.  I remember my brothers, father, and a few good friends, standing in a circle, holding our baby boy, as my husband gave him a name and a blessing.  It was a year abundant in happiness, culminating in a Christmas Season with Daddy home and our family together.  I've been blessed to only remember the good things, and there were so many good things this year.  Those good things come from one source, and it's to Him, our Savior, Jesus Christ, that we are grateful, and who we celebrate.  Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year.  May your 2012 be bright!

Special thanks to my talented sister, Katie, the pianst who provided the music for this slideshow.  Not included here are pictures from a visit to Virginia.  We had a wonderful time, but forgot our camera.

 

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