Day 26: Blankets & Blessings

Unlike most who lose a loved one, I don't grieve because of the memories made--I grieve because I have no memories. As empty as my arms, my mind can't conjure up a cry or a laugh, a solitary movement or expression--hardness and cold replacing softness and warmth.

I posted about the culmination of these feelings a while ago when I wrote about witnessing a baby blessing on Father's Day this year--two weeks after Shiloh's death. I realized sitting there in that pew that I would not be dressing my baby in a beautiful white outfit. I wouldn't get to swaddle him in a special blanket and gently pass him to my husband who would carry our child to the center of a circle of priesthood holders so he could pronounce a blessing upon him. I wouldn't get to stand up afterward and bear my testimony about how wonderful the experience had been and have a dinner party to celebrate our family's newest addition. I would not get this. I thought. . .
________________________________

The day we buried Shiloh I sat there at the cemetery sobbing. To the onlooker, I was overtaken with grief. And I was--to the last degree, but my soul was also flooded with the sweetest warmth at the realization that my prayer had been answered.

A couple of months ago a sweet woman was busy putting the final touches on a few afghan blankets she'd made for new arrivals. Strangely, somehow, she had ended up with an extra. She found herself with the prompting to give this extra blanket to a certain member in her ward rather odd; nonetheless, she followed through and received confirmation of that inspired prompting from the tears that fell as my mother-in-law accepted this woman's gift and related to her how her second grandchild had just been born still.

Just enough fabric from two ancestors sacred initiatory shields found itself in the hands of an aunt who felt inspired to sew a small outfit for a great nephew who had just passed away. Without a pattern, and no measurements taken, she deftly pieced together a gown of white that weeks later would be lovingly dressed on the child, fitting perfectly to his tiny, fragile frame.

So there I was, watching my husband carry my little boy whom I had dressed in a beautiful white outfit and swaddled in a special blanket, to the center of a circle surrounded by priesthood holders gathered to take part as Blaine pronounced a blessing upon this child and the place where he would rest. I got to stand and bear my testimony about how wonderful this experience had been, and join with family for a dinner afterward to celebrate the newest member of our family.

God doesn't always answer our prayers the way we want.
But he always answers them the way we need.

I am grateful for that.

Thanks for allowing me to taste the bitter--so I can more fully appreciate the sweet.

Day 25: Gentle Strength

1770 found this country and many of its citizens precariously drawn between loyalty to the Crown and the God-given liberties burning within their breasts. Thomas Paine wrote, "These are the times that try men's souls." Tried they were, from a monarchy issuing countless abuses and regulations an ocean away. I realized today that that year saw the following ladies of liberty at rather tender ages:

Abigail Smith Adams, wife of John Adams--25 years old
Martha Washington, wife of George Washington--39 years old
Martha Jefferson, wife of Thomas Jefferson--21 years old
Elizabeth Wells Adams, second wife of Samuel Adams--35 years old

These were not women of the world--they were nurturing, supportive wives and mothers who held down their homesteads allowing their husbands as John Adams said to, "study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy."

These women farmed the land, fled mobbers, bore children, buried children, sewed clothes for the naked, housed the sick, taught their children, educated themselves on the day's issues, fought off disease with broomsticks and brushes, on and on and on. . . basically they, "fixed it up, wore it out, made it do, or did without" to the last possible measure.

They were strong. And they were gentle. They rocked the adversary's kingdom while rocking their babes cradles. They silenced the foe and paved the way for the establishment of this most blessed nation with lullabies and prayers. God bless them forever for it.

I am so grateful that I have their example to look to as we face these times that try our souls. Satan knows if he gets the girl he wins because, "The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world" (William Ross Wallace).

"The world has enough women who are tough; we need women who are tender. There are enough women who are coarse; we need women who are kind. There are enough women who are rude; we need women who are refined. We have enough women of fame and fortune; we need more women of faith. We have enough greed; we need more goodness. We have enough vanity; we need more virtue. We have enough popularity; we need more purity."
-Margaret D. Naudald

We are going to win the war with lullabies and prayers.

Day 24: Cowardly Courage

We are obviously grateful for ice cream at our house. . .

maybe slightly more important, I am grateful for the opportunity to repent and change my wicked ways. To try and be better today than I was yesterday even if only in small measure. I am so grateful that our Savior always gives us the benefit of the doubt--especially when we feel we don't deserve it. It is depressing to think that I'll never get it 100% right in this life, but that the Savior will forgive me 100% of the time if I sincerely ask for a do-over and try again.

"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow."
-Mary Anne Radmacher

I'm grateful for courage today--even when I feel like the cowardly lion.

Day 23: Ordinary Day

Hurray for summer days.

I don't have anything profound to offer today (not that I ever really do).

I am just grateful to spend an ordinary day with my husband and boy. I'm grateful I got to read extra long this morning, go on a bike ride with Blaine and Colt, iron clothes, work on projects, get stuff done. (And I am grateful this head cold of mine is almost over)

Have a wonderful weekend and enjoy the rest of this summer.

(Am I the only one who thinks time has sped up and it is flying by?)

Day 22: Land of the Free

"For there is a time appointed for every man, according as his works shall be." (D&C 121:25)

Across the time line of existence, we stepped on the scene during the winding up period preceding that event which every prophet since the foundation of this world has spoken of. And as Dickens so aptly penned it,

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us. . ." (A Tale of Two Cities, Dickens, pg. 1)

Unless you've had your head stuck in the sand you are well aware that this world we live in isn't getting any better. At times it can seem pretty bleak.

As I said in a talk I gave recently, 'Satan knows that his time of power is quickly drawing to a close, and he isn't taking weekends or holidays off. This is a 24 hour a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year business of destroying souls, and he's been working overtime since day one. This war he wages is not fought on the shores of Normandy or the deserts of the Middle East but in the fleshy tabernacle of our hearts.This is the time, if ever there were one to be valiant in the testimony of Christ.'

"For behold, at that day shall he rage in the hearts of the children of men, and stir them up to anger against that which is good. And others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security, that they will say: All is well in Zion; yea, Zion prospereth, all is well--and thus the devil cheateth their souls, and leadeth them away carefully down to hell. And behold, others he flattereth away, and telleth them there is no hell; and he saith unto them: I am no devil, for there is none--and thus he whispereth in their ears, until he grasps them with his awful chains, from whence there is no deliverance. (2nd Nephi 28:20)

But he is not going to win. We know that. The only thing yet to be determined is which side of the line we will stand on. And I think you already know the answer to that. I do. We have to "be strong and courageous, be not afraid nor dismayed. . .for there be more with us than with him: with him is an arm of flesh; but with us is the Lord our God to help us, and to fight our battles." (2 Chronicles 32:7-8)

I am so grateful today that I am an American. I am proud of it. I love this country and I appreciate those brave men and women who pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor to the establishment of a nation where the gospel could go boldly, nobly forward, "to sweep the earth as with a flood" (Moses 7:62). And I am grateful for the brave men and women who today are defending the borders of our land at home and abroad, and for their families who sacrifice time with their husband, wife, father, or mother so that we can enjoy time with ours.

I hope you will take the time to watch this video--all of it. And if it moves you at all, if it brings you to tears or makes your heart swell with gratitude, don't just think, "wow, that was neat." Begin again with me and start living your life in a way so that the individuals who didn't get to come home will have not died in vain.

"Shall we not go on in so great a cause? Go forward and not backward. Courage, brethren: and on, on to the victory! Let your hearts rejoice, and be exceedingly glad."

(D&C 128:22)

Day 21: I Happy Mom

Kids cut through all the 'stuff' and say it best.

Sporadically lately we will be playing Ring-Around-the-Rosie or making a PB & J together or playing in the sandbox and Colt will grab my face, turn it so we are looking into each others eyes and say, "I happy Mom."

"I'm happy too" I'll reply.

And I am. I'm really happy.

(Colt informed me today 'Your a girl Mom, I a boy'. Good. One less conversation to have)

Day 20: Thanks For My Burden

Thanks for THIS.

Thanks for the reminder.

Thanks for my burden.

Day 19: Ewe and I

When sharing the parable of the ninety and nine sheep, the Savior asked "Doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?" (Matthew 18:12)

I had always likened the sheep in this story to the collective members of the church, and the one gone astray as those individuals who were wayward or struggling. But maybe the one hundred sheep can represent us as an individual, and the one gone astray as that portion within us that is wayward or struggling. Each of us has a part, big or small, readily visible or buried deep within that is a little different. Something about us that we don't like. Something we need to change; yet, the power to do so alludes us and so it remains, lost like the proverbial sheep out in the desert to wander. But it doesn't have to be so. The solution is in this same verse:

The Good Shepard doesn't focus on the ninety-nine percent of us that's right and well but the one percent that's wrong, that "grope[s] for the wall like the blind, and grope[s] as if we had no eye". (Isaiah 59:10) Not because he doesn't love that first part, but because "they that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick". (Matthew 9:12) We are all sick. We are all walking dead men in need of living water.

Thankfully though, "he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth" (Isaiah 53:5-7)

Interestingly, the Good Shepard 'goeth into the mountains' to rescue the one. We too, can "go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths" (Isaiah 2:2).

(Gotta love that Isaiah. Smart guy, I'm telling ya)

Some days I feel like 99% of me is wrong, and I'm only getting 1% right. I appreciate that the Savior blesses me for that 1% ninety-nine times over, and doesn't give up on the part of me that wanders.

Day 18: Just a Minute

Just A Minute
by-Hillary Calaway

Just a minute sweetheart
I want to sit by you
But I need to wash these dishes
There's just so much to do

Just a minute little one
I want to play with you
But I need to finish this email
There's just so much to do

Just a minute Mom and Dad
I want to chat with you
But I need to finish cooking supper
There's just so much to do

Just a minute best friend
I want to go to lunch with you
I need to get this project done
There's just so much to do

Just a minute Father
I want to talk to you
But I need to get all my chores done
There's just so much to do.

Just a minute passes
And the moment disappears
For all those things you want to do
Over days and months and years.

Take the time to treasure
The ones that you hold dear
Every minute that passes
Throughout this coming year.

Thank you Heidi for the light bulb moment. I get it.

Day 17: Count Yourself Lucky

Have you ever had a friend that you can go without seeing for years, meet up with them and pick up right where you left off? The kind of gal you can call when you're in the middle of a Haagen-Daaz moment in life and dump all your drama to? The sort that won't judge you because you are having a bad hair day (or year), and that will correctly handle (gentle but for real) when you dare to enter into the 'do these pants make me look fat' territory? The type that you can hang up on five times in one conversation because your kid is flipping out, and you know they won't think twice about it. The rare species that you don't even have to talk to--you just know that they 'get' you and that they have your back, even when both of you are too broke, or busy, or whatever to see each other. Well have ya?

I have.

And I am very grateful. I count myself lucky for knowing you. For a very long time I didn't think I needed or was the type to have girlfriends. And then you dropped into my life and I don't know what it was before you. Thanks for being you. Thanks for being there for me. Thanks for putting up with me being the taker this year (I'll be the giver next year--I promise). I love ya. You are amazing and you make me want to be a better person.

Day 16: Silence is Golden

Darrell J. Wyatt, “The Plowman in Silence,” New Era, Jun 1979, 51

The plowman, in silence following his plow,
listens to the bright blade turn the spring-soft earth.
The oxen groan.
Taut reins sing in the breeze.
At the sharp cry of a jay he turns toward the grove
to see a boy, walking slowly
as if burdened by heavy questions,
disappear among the trees, being enfolded in gentle green.
Not hearing the whispered prayer,
the gentle introduction, and seeing nothing brighter than the sun,
he thinks the day not unlike another.
(Three more acres to plow and the morning wears on.)

At dusk,
driving the oxen home,
he listens to the barking of a dog,
not hearing the rejoicing of the heavens,
the singing of the stars
________________

For me, silence was scary and unproductive. I would always have music playing or the TV on--something to break the quiet. I even had a visiting teacher in college challenge me to enjoy silence and I thought, "She's crazy." Then I laid in a room by myself for a month and decided to join the crazy club.
I like it now and I'm really grateful that I had the chance to overcome this fear. I've spent way too much time as the man plowing my way through life instead of the boy in the grove burdened with questions, and I think I've missed some important things. Thank heavens that boy figured it out earlier than me.

Day 15: Fresh Out of Control

(April 4, 2010 Easter)

Life can change in an instant can't it?

Control is such an illusion. A security blanket we wrap around ourselves to keep out the storms of life. Threaded in familiarity and patterned with habit, it sets us apart and acts as a buffer amidst the inevitable entropy of this existence. That is, until something comes along and strips us bare. And underneath all of the pretensions and carefully crafted facade, remains the only thing we can truly call our own--our will.

The one thing we possess and ironically, the only thing our Heavenly Father desires. So much so, that he sent his only begotten Son to set the perfect example of humble submission who did accomplish just that to the last degree.

Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.
-Luke 22:42

That is really what it is all about. Laying upon the altar our will, sacrificing it--setting down the things of this earth, and picking up the things of a better that we may 'lay up for [our]selves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal.' (3 Nephi 13:20)

I'm learning that it is true that when we lose ourselves, our time, our talents in the 'service of [our] fellow beings' as King Benjamin put it, we find him 'whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth'. (John 1:45)

I am so grateful that he stripped my cloak of comfort and control from me. In losing my son, he has brought me closer to finding His Son.

Day 14: Captain Cousteau

Blaine is grateful for this fish:

(It is Shark Week on Discovery Channel. A humble second place in excitement for him next to the thrill that will be his come college football season)

And Colton is grateful for this fish:

"I wanna name Nemo Coe-tun"

That's a direct quote people.
The newest addition to our home is this first-rate fish which will henceforth and forever(or until that unfortunate time when we have to make a dash to the pet store to replace this orange addition before the three-year old notices. . .) be known as Nemo Colton Calaway.

Me? Well, I am grateful for this 'fish'er of men:

Day 13: Just Another Day in Paradise

Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs...since the payment is pure love.

-Mildred B. Vermont

I have the best job in the whole world. I get to hang out with this little guy all day, everyday, seven days a week. I am so grateful that I have the opportunity to be a stay-at-home Mom. I would write a longer post, but I have a very important client with an appointment to play.

Day 12: Home, Home Can Be Strange

A personal adaptation of the beloved classic Home On The Range.
And a one, and a two, and a. . .

Oh, give me a home where the mosquitoes roam,
where the deer ticks bite you everyday
where daily it recurs, humidity that's absurd
so your three year old can't go out and play.

[chorus]
Home, Home can be strange
When your garage gets as hot as the oven range
You're sweatin' a lot, and it's sticky in spots
That you thought couldn't undergo a temperature change.

How often at night, I see the heavens are bright
with the light of an industrial yard
That's twenty yards away from where my head I lay
It feels me with a sense of delight.

[chorus]
Home, Home can be strange
When a Coca-Cola factory is in close range
You see those red trucks and you hope with some luck
They'll barter pop for homemade cookies in exchange.

I love these wildflowers in this backyard of ours
I love too the weeds that are my lawn
The spiders and red ants that crawl in my pants
And bite me leaving cute little scars.

[chorus]
Home, Home can be strange
When your legs look like a Calamine test range
You itch quite a lot, and it's painful in spots
Your death you would happily arrange.


I'm really grateful for winter.
When it is freezing, and all the bugs are dead.
Sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
[seriously]

Day 11: Seeing is not Believing

Tonight we are reviewing this story for Family Home Evening.

It has special meaning for me.

At the point when the Savior told Jairus, "Be not afraid, only believe", this father had just received news that his child was dead but he had not yet seen her. I was going to say I can imagine how he felt--but I'll abridge that with I know exactly how he felt.

There was a small interim between the time we discovered Shiloh's passing and when Blaine arrived where I was all alone in my hospital room. Oh, if there was ever an A awarded for effort, I would have earned it for the prayers I offered up at that point. I plead, I begged, I bargained. I just knew, I KNEW deep down that Heavenly Father could bring Shiloh back. I also knew that if it wasn't His will, no amount of pleading, begging, or bargaining would change it. That was what confused me so much. I thought, "This is so cruel. Why would I have the assurance that Heavenly Father could raise my son from the dead if he wasn't going to?" Well, hindsight is 20/20 as they say. I realized tonight why that assurance might have come.

Because seeing is not believing.

All through the New Testament we see time and again where the Savior performs miracles: restoring sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, cleansing the leper, raising the dead. And they truly are miracles. They are--please don't mistake that. But these are temporary means to an end. The real miracle is when the Savior restores sight to the spiritually blind, when he unstops the ears of those who are spiritually deaf, when he cleanses the spiritual leper in all of us, and ultimately, raises us from spiritual death to life eternal.

Heavenly Father knew that I didn't need Him to raise my son from the dead for me to know that He could do it. And when you think about it--eventually my assurance that the Savior can raise my son from the dead will be realized. Someday, I will see that happen.
He will answer my prayer. . .just not yet.
And knowing that makes all the difference.
I am grateful for that.

Day 10: Confessions of a Slacker

I am grateful for second chances, and today--for third chances (very rare). Let me follow that up with this: Momma is always right.

My Mom told me when I was a happy, emotionally stable, always helpful teenager (NOT!) that I would regret not earning my Young Womanhood Recognition medallion. "Yea Mom, I know" (picture me rolling my eyes). Strike One.
And she was right of course. Initially when I failed to earn my medallion because I was too 'busy' (teenage code for lazy) I didn't feel left out, but as I left home, went to college and moved all over the country, every time I saw a girl/mother/woman wearing her medallion I felt the size of a snail inching my way towards perfection. By the time we moved to Florida I was curled up in my shell and the guilt got to me so I made a feeble attempt to start again the Personal Progress Program when I was called as the Young Women's secretary. We moved within the year. Strike Two.

So you can imagine how excited I was to be called as the second counselor in the Young Women's Organization of our ward today. Aside from the chance to try and be for the girls in my ward what the awesome leaders in my hometown were for me, I get a third shot at redeeming myself and finally finishing the Personal Progress Program.

I am committed to completing it this go around. The only thing standing in my way is if Blaine gets a promotion and we have to move in the next year or I lose all ambition (not likely.)

Wish me luck. Third times a charm right? Right.