Ardith's Quest

Long Lost Valentine

2012-02-14T08:05:00.000-08:00

It was homemade. And yet it wasn't made of cut out hearts and paper doilies. It was a two-fold computer printout card that didn't cost a dime. That's because we didn't have a dime.

It is one of my most treasured possessions. The value doesn't lie in its beauty. The value doesn't lie in its clever design nor the time and effort required to make it.

This Valentine card, with its stains and faded ink, holds value because of the message scribbled by a man who hates to write, who questions his eloquence, who becomes paralyzed by holding a pencil.

I'll let you be the judge.

Dear Ardith,

I hope this card makes up for all of the neglect and disappointments that a mother of three preschoolers has to put up with,

certainly it should come close.

I know that it may seem that our relationship has, metaphorically speaking, dry docked off the sea of romance.

But after further reflection and thoughtful overview, I come to realize that we are not dry docked on a desert isle where love is not felt.

But we simply have arrived where all true loves belong, and that's in a family that deeply cares for each other and whose entire existence depends on each other.

You see, before we only had the romantic side of each other.

But now we have the hope, the trust, and the covenant promise of love forever.

And though at times we seem to have lost a few happy moments of romance,

I know that I have gained far much more.

Love, BJH

P.S. I amour' you, you hunk of woman you!!!!

As I sit here, mopping up the tears, I realize that love just keeps getting better and better. We may have lost the kick in our step and the figures and the faces of youth, but what has survived the test of time is a deep abiding devotion. We not only love one another, we take care of one another. We place the other's needs before our own; we finish the other's sentences; we step in immediately to pick up after the other's shortcomings.

I need you. And I'm pretty sure you need me.

Could there be any truer valentines?

Does Anybody Really Know What Time it is?

2012-01-28T22:11:00.000-08:00

What motivates me to write a blogpost? What used to motivate me to write almost daily? What fails to now?

I'm not really sure! Why was I doing it? Why have I stopped?

Boredom? Lost interest? Discouragement? No thoughts? I really don't know.

I remember when seeing a good movie would immediately become a blogpost. Why? Why not now?

Have I become self-conscious? Why?

Am I becoming more humble? Is blog writing pompous or prideful?

Does anybody really care what I have to say? Do I even care what I have to say?

If so, I can't imagine why.

We've all got time enough to cry.....

A woman without a country

2012-01-15T23:28:00.000-08:00

Sound a little melodramatic? Yea. I know. And yet, it fairly adequately describes how I am feeling. I have had a place of my own, my very own, for the last nine years or so. It was an old bedroom abandoned by a recently graduated daughter who was striking out and making her own way in the world. Counting on squatters' rights, I quickly moved in to claim my territory.

And the rest is history. It has become my sanctuary. It has become home to all my many "precious" acquisitions, mostly tools for paper crafting. It has become the place one could always find me on a quiet afternoon when most of the housework was in hand.

Over the years it took on a personality all its own, really. It welcomed me with open arms, even as the "stuff" grew and expanded and threatened to choke out even my own little corner and my own little chair.

To peek in at the shrine that used to be, check out the pictures here.

That's right. USED TO BE. It is gone. It is an empty shell of a room, bare except for two large storage cabinets that have been moved to the center to accommodate the removal of old wallpaper and the application of glorious new paint. I'm sure I will hardly recognize the place.

Meanwhile, I am stranded. I am rattling around this old house, trying to find where I belong. The kitchen? Only occasionally. The laundry room? Please! As little as possible. The family room? Only when there's family around.

I have tried borrowing Brian's office. It is a beautiful, quiet, restful place. And yet I feel like a visitor.

Eye on the prize. Eye on the prize! Even though I am feeling displaced, as I consider the promise of my newly remodeled room, I am filled with anticipation and delight. It will be spectacular. I know it will.

But what do I do in the meantime?

The Christmas Formula

2011-12-28T08:07:00.000-08:00

Does there need to be a tree? Not always. What about Christmas pajamas? Probably not. Christmas Eve Fondue? Nope.

It was an interesting Christmas this year for our family. It didn't follow the formula established throughout the years to create the perfect Haws Family Christmas. Many of the elements were conspicuously absent this year, and yet Christmas came; it came just the same!

Though not all could be together, a few of us did gather. There were expressions of love given with gifts, given with hugs, given with phone calls. There was remembrance of our Savior's birth and His ultimate gift to mankind. There were too many lovely Christmas and Birthday feasts.

There was love.

I'm certain this Christmas will be remembered, not for its following the traditional formula, but for its rousing success despite veering off the beaten path.

The Christmas Fail!

2011-12-27T10:43:00.000-08:00

What is the proper etiquette when receiving disappointing, disastrous, or even frightening Christmas gifts? Are you able to maintain politeness despite feeling otherwise?

In our family, some are more successful than others at hiding their true feelings. Some wear every emotion clearly and unmistakably on their faces. And I sometimes wonder if we are we more considerate to acquaintances than we are to our families?

I remember one Christmas when, try as I might, I didn't do a very good job of hiding my disappointment over a gift. It was many years ago, when my children were very small. They had gone shopping with their dad to buy mom a Christmas present. We were incredibly short on funds so any purchased gift was a real sacrifice.

I was very excited at the prospect of this gift, especially when I saw the department store box. New clothes! I was sure of it, and had been craving something to enliven my tired, sparse wardrobe.

Old. Lady. Clothes! (and I wasn't an old lady then!) Oh my stars. Really? I'm not sure who they thought they were buying for. My heart just sank. Ohhhhhh, how could I try and feign joy and delight when truly what I felt was disbelief and horror? I tried. I really did.

Fail.

I know I didn't even muster up a tiny squeal of false delight. What a rotten person I was. I still feel terrible about showing my true disappointment when I knew how proud my family was of their gift for their mother. What should have I done? Politely smiled and put it away in the back of my closet? We couldn't afford to do that.

What did I do? I returned it to the store and replaced the gift with my choices from the year-end clearance sale, all the while knowing that my selfishness and pride had wounded some hearts that day, hearts that I loved and cared for more than any others.

I wish I could have handled the situation with more grace. I wish I would have been more sensitive to my family's feelings, knowing how excited they were to give.

I wish they hadn't picked out such ugly clothes.

Not Dead Yet!

2011-12-11T14:35:00.000-08:00

My mind has been turned to things of eternity. I have been thinking about potential; I have been thinking about my life's mission; I have been thinking about where I am on the timeline of my earthly life. It was driven home with resounding power, as I was sitting in the temple, that as I approach the mid-century mark I am far from being done with my life's work.

Seriously, in all practicality, I could very well be merely halfway through my life. Then why do I sometimes feel that I am nearly ready for retirement? My children are grown, life as a full-time mother has abruptly changed with a nest that is pretty empty. I have been reminded that I still have a lot of living left to do, and more importantly, I still have a lot of learning and contributing and refining to do, with probably many years left ahead to do them in.

What does this mean then? Does it mean that I resign myself to the aches and pains that are knocking at the door? Or does it mean that I must meet this conqueror with a full-battle attack? Do I let myself become old, as is threatening, or do I reclaim my youthful health by trying a little harder?

If I am, perhaps, only halfway into life could that also mean that I still have hobbies left to discover and to perfect? Does it mean that I still have thoughts to think and dreams to imagine?

I choose to think that I do. I am reminded of a popular phrase from Monty Python, (surprisingly) which proclaims: "I'm not dead yet!"

From a more expected source, I have also been inspired by the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who recognized that he too has a lot of life left in him. In his essay entitled Experience, he contemplates the threads on the loom of time, and the picture they paint of our life's work. He wisely admits: "I know better than to claim any completeness for my picture. I am a fragment, and this is a fragment of me."

So, even though sometimes I feel that I have seen it all, and done it all, and feel very smugly wise in my "old" age, I truly am but a fragment when compared with what I am capable of. I do not know even half of what I should. I have not served and blessed enough of God's children to have begun to repay my great debt to a loving Heavenly Father.

The world is full of opportunity. What a gift. We have also been given a gift of time: "And the days of the children of men were prolonged, according to the will of God, that they might repent while in the flesh..." (2 Nephi 2:21)

Our days are prolonged that we might finally figure out all that we must know and all that we must do. What a gift.

I'm not dead yet!

I Left the Woods

2011-12-01T08:08:00.000-08:00

Why do we let ourselves forget? Why do we become so focussed on distractions that sidetrack us from our ultimate goals? We have so much potential to think and to do and to explore and to find and to wonder. Why do get muddled down in the quagmires of mediocrity?

Life is not meant to be static, nor stagnant. And yet, once again, I often find myself wearing footpaths into the soft and impressible earth that used to seem fresh and new. Some daily habits are good; many are tired and exhausting and worn out, and their repetition puts us on a treadmill that goes nowhere.

"I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there."

I return to Thoreau. I find refuge in Thoreau's thinking outside the box. I identify with his impatience with the status quo and his desire for freshness and new challenges.

"Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one."

"...how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity."

"...if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpect in common hours."

The common hours. The expected. The ordinary; the run of the mill; the unremarkable. THAT is not good enough. I want more. I believe the seed was planted in me to expect more. And hopefully to achieve more.

"He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary."

What am I ready to leave behind? What lies beyond that self-imposed invisible boundary? What is preventing me from expanding my capacities?

"He will live with the license of a higher order...."

I think I am ready to move out of the "little shack in the woods". It has been an important place. I have learned much and reconnected with my past. I have felt validated and cared about. But it has become stifling and monotonous. It threatens to be consuming and common and commercial. I cannot spare any more time for that.

I am reclaiming my time and my dream.

New Beginnings

2011-11-17T19:06:00.001-08:00

New Beginnings. How many times in our lives do we get to have them? I assert that we may have new beginnings whenever we choose. This past week we experienced an anomaly on our calendar, with the unusual and singular occurrence of 11-11-11. Did anyone else look at all those ones and see new beginnings? I did. I saw those ones representing the starting line of something great. They signified to me new directions, new goals, new definitions.

I don't know if anyone else shared those feelings with me, but that is okay. Perhaps I was the only one who felt ready for some changes. Perhaps only I am in need of stepping out of a few ruts and trying a new path.

In my personal study lately, I have pondered the idea of becoming a "new creature," as promised by a return to the Savior through the power of His Atonement. Paul taught the Corinthians: "Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new." (2 Cor. 5:17)

"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers." ~ Scott Peck

Here is to new beginnings. Here it to stepping out of ruts. Here is to the nudging of discomfort or unfulfillment or disappointment, whichever is successful in helping us find ourselves in our finest moments.

Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines

2011-10-29T07:04:00.000-07:00

A fascination with flight! The history of man is filled with it. Who hasn't had that dream of being able to fly like a bird, over the tree tops, surveying below a miniaturized world?

Brian and I walked through the dream of flight last Saturday at the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum in McMinnville, Oregon. It is a remarkable collection of man's earliest attempts, his most colossal attempts, and his most powerful attempts.

I can't believe this extraordinary collection exists so near us, and yet it has taken us this long to see it. We enjoyed it a lot. We marveled at the development that has taken place in a relatively short amount of time, much of it within our own lifetimes.

If you ever get the chance to see this, I highly recommend you take it. There are two separate museums, one for Aviation and one for Space; there is an IMAX Theater with breathtaking movies, and there is even an indoor water park. No kidding. So next time, we're bringing our swimsuits.

If I Could Hie to Kolob!

2011-10-24T09:25:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen anything more beautiful? This is not an artist's rendering. It is not someone's active imagination. This is the real deal. This is a glimpse into the far reaches of our universe.

And it is stunning.

This is just one example of the images captured on the Hubble Telescope that has been in orbit for twenty years. And I got a first hand look at the story behind this amazing tool, which has helped us take a glimpse into space. On Saturday, Brian and I went to McMinnville, Oregon as our destination, not to simply drive through it on our way to somewhere else.

We went to the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum, one of the highlights being the Hubble 3D movie which we saw in the IMAX Theater. I know much of the impact came from being in that incredible environment of intensified sight and sound, but I was mesmerized. I was completely engaged, with all my senses awakened, including my spiritual eyes. I knew as I watched evidence of stars being born that creation was being documented. I literally saw matter being organized.

If you could hie to Kolob in the twinkling of an eye?
And then continue onward with that same speed to fly,
Do you think that you could ever, through all eternity,
Find out the generation where Gods began to be?

Or see the grand beginning, where space did not extend?
Or view the last creation, where Gods and matter end?
Methinks the Spirit whispers, "No man has found 'pure space,'
Nor seen the outside curtains, where nothing has a place."

The works of God continue, and worlds and lives abound;
Improvement and progression have one eternal round.
There is no end to matter; there is no end to space;
There is no end to spirit; there is no end to race.

There is no end........

I feel so humbled to be part of the creation portfolio of a loving Father in Heaven. I couldn't stop thinking about how, amidst all of this splendor, God values and loves me, and counts me as His child.

We're part of something great here.

William. W. Phelps 1792-1872

I Want to Be a Finisher!

2011-10-19T10:06:00.000-07:00

Are you a finisher? I didn't ask if you were a starter; I guess that is a topic for another day. Right now, I am fascinated with the idea of being a finisher. I have never lacked for ideas of things to begin. I love imagining all the projects that I might do, yet I am also the first to admit that sometimes I struggle with finishing all the things I set out for with great intentions.

I am presently faced with a monumental task that might give way to my losing interest, but I am determined to not let my deficient attention win this time. Just because the fun part is over, I MUST keep wading through the less-than-interesting details.

I am fine-tuning the manuscript of my book preparing it for publication. I am aligning the formatting with the publisher's requirements. I am editing footnotes. I am preparing the reference list to submit for a copyright permissions request. So. Much. To. Do. Literally.

I don't know why I thought all these things would be magically done by someone else. Naivete', I'm sure. It all falls upon me. It isn't very glamorous, or very fun, or very exciting. But it is advancing the progress of my book. That is exciting. That is what I need to focus on. Each step of the journey is important. Every detail counts.

I'm getting a glimpse at what real editorial work is like. I'm certain I prefer the creative side more, but they go hand-in-hand. One can't exist without the other. This is what separates the men from the boys. This is what separates the authors from the wannabes.

I want to see this through to the end. I want to endure the process. I want to dot all the i's and cross all the t's. I want to be a finisher.

I am a great starter.

Now is the time to be a finisher.

Dream Until Your Dream Comes True

2011-10-18T08:59:00.000-07:00

I knew it would be great. I suspected it would be very fun. I imagined what it would be like with my entire family dressed in costume, reuniting with Miranda, wandering the streets of the Magic Kingdom with trick-or-treat bags at Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween Party.

Oh. My. Stars.

It was outrageous. It may have been one of the craziest, funnest, most memorable nights of my life.

The fun had begun with the planning. As the mother, it once was my responsibility to plan everyone's costume for Halloween. Now that my children are all adults, I am merely a facilitator, helping them pull together their own ideas. I trusted that they would each have a great concept. They did. Some let me in on their plans; some chose to make an entrance with surprise on their side.

Some attracted a lot of attention.

Some had little boys coming up and wanting to feel their muscles.

Some had little girls coming up thinking she was a real princess. (Really? C'mon, really? It must have been too dark for them to see the wrinkles...)

My only regret was that my energy drained out long before the party was over. Grumpy and I had to resign ourselves to a bench in front of the castle, watching as all the merrymaking went on around us.

It was extravagant. It was an extra expense, requiring extra planning and packing to bring costumes in our suitcases. Was it worth it?

Every penny.

Dream on, dream on, dream on. Dream until your dreams come true.....

Wherein lies thy Desire?

2011-09-26T11:37:00.000-07:00

Or in other words, what do you really want? That is the remarkable thing about life. We get to decide what is most important to us; what we want to put our energies behind; what, indeed, are our priorities. We really do.

Sometimes it seems like others claim our attention with their desires, that we really aren't our own person, that our priorities are replaced by what others want. Not so. Ultimately, our choices lead us based upon the very underlying of our ultimate desire. Do we want a happy family? One that loves us as much as we love them? Then our desires are to serve them and help them to find happiness. Period. We lose ourselves in service. So no complaints. Right?

How are we using the time we have been given? Do we make false claims that we never have enough time to do what we really want? If all of our wasted minutes were combined, I believe we would realize that we have ample time to make great accomplishments.

Then we really have no room for blaming others, for blaming the consequences of our situations, for coming up with empty, lame excuses.

I was reminded yesterday of a great quote from a Shakespearean play,The Merry Wives of Windsor:
"....the world's mine oyster, which I with sword will open."

No one can lay claim to our lives. They are ours. Ours to beautify, to accomplish, to embellish, to live. What will we choose to do? Which path will we take? What, ultimately, is our desire?

How exciting, how thrilling, how empowering!

We can timidly open that oyster to seek the treasures it holds, or we can boldly, "with sword," strike it open with enthusiasm, eager to chase the rainbows that are before us.

No excuses. No hesitation. No timidity.

That is what I am going to do.

Bless Your Beautiful Hide!

2011-09-18T20:17:00.000-07:00

Inspiration comes in the most unexpected places sometimes. I have been inspired by a piano player. From Jackson Hole. Who accompanies a summer show at a playhouse.

In June, Brian and I took two of our daughters for an overnight trip to Jackson, Wyoming. We wanted to celebrate Jackie's graduation from Massage Therapy School. Part of our celebrating included tickets to see Seven Brides for Seven Brothers at the Jackson Hole Playhouse.

The lights dimmed for the show to begin. Stragglers found their seats. Quietly, and with no fanfare, the piano player took his place at the instrument to the far right of the stage. He had a little piano light, a ringed notebook bulging with music, and more talent than I have seen squeezed into one person in a long time.

His music was a joy to hear. Effortlessly he coaxed it out, setting the tone for the show. The overture was filled with the memorable melodies of this longtime favorite . His cowboy boots contributed to the building sound, banging out the time on the pedal. It was sweet when the music was sweet; it was raucous when called upon to be raucous. I was enchanted.

Then a month later, I had the opportunity to be in Jackson Hole again, and to share this fun discovery with more friends and family.

Our tickets to the same show this time around put us two rows directly behind my old friend, the piano player. Ah! Now I could follow along in the dim light, as he would quickly turn from page to page. It didn't take long to realize that his fingers were playing significantly more notes than were actually written. The fluorishes were his own doing. The simple chords on the page were skillfully broken into arpeggios that ran the length of the keyboard. Wow. I was mesmerized.

So, all summer long I have been humming along. And whistling along. And singing along to these delightful songs. Until I decided that I just had to have the music so I could play along as well. It didn't take a trip to the music store. It didn't take searching online, ordering the book, and waiting for it to arrive in the mail. I simply searched it, paid a little money, and then downloaded and printed my own copy. It took all of about ten minutes.

While I could never rival his expert, graceful playing, I have thoroughly enjoyed trying my hand at June Bride, Wonderful Day, Lonesome Polecat, Going Courtin', and of course, Bless your Beautiful Hide. When no one is around, I even try to channel my memory of him and fancy that my clumsy efforts sound almost as good as his. Almost as good as that amazing, humble, awesome piano player that finds fulfillment in a small theatre in the heart of the Rockies. Now that's inspiring.

Got Oil?

2011-09-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

We never really know what may lie just around the corner. We never really know what challenges we may meet, and what they will demand from us.

What we can do is to follow the counsel given in the Lord's parable of the Ten Virgins in Matthew 25. These women found themselves, either foolishly unprepared, or calmly ready for whatever came their way. There is such wisdom in keeping our lamps trimmed and burning. There is such wisdom in returning often to the sources that refuel our oil supply.

Throughout a weekend which held much of surprise, I watched my husband, who was prepared, calmly accept a new assignment to serve the Savior. It will be demanding. It will be challenging. Yet I have observed, from the vantage point of a wife, the past few months as the Lord has blessed him with the tools he would need, including improved health and strength.

I am thankful for his willingness to serve. I am thankful for his kind and loving heart.

I am thankful for the oil in his lamp.

Where Can I Turn for Peace?

2011-09-08T08:51:00.000-07:00

Turmoil. It is a part of life. It is like a muddy boot stepping into a clear, running stream, churning up the muck and mud from the bottom. When life gets cloudy and cluttered, sometimes we are our own worst enemies by continuing to stir up more debris.

The best solution? Be still. Be calm, and let one's heart return to a state of clarity. Put oneself in a position to listen to the whisperings of the Spirit which otherwise can't be heard above the roar of the crowd.

The best place to do that?

"One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in his temple." Psalms 27:4

Photo credit: Portland Oregon Temple by Lynn Howlett Photography

Anniversary of an Ordinance

2011-09-04T18:30:00.000-07:00

I wasn't very old. In fact it was 40 years ago, exactly, that as an eight-year-old, I was guided toward my best decision. Today is the 40th Anniversary of my baptism.

My bishop had counseled me to make note of the date so that every year I would be able to look back and remember. I was startled this morning when I did the simple math, and realized that so many years had passed.

We remember key moments in our lives, and this was a significant event. Perhaps at the time, I didn't completely understand the full weight of this experience, but I did feel that I was following the Savior's example and that made me feel important.

Though we lived in Lander, Wyoming, we had to travel to the Riverton Wyoming Stake Center for the baptism. Seated in a long row with the other children waiting to be baptised, I vividly remember feeling quite self-conscious. We were all similarly dressed in white baptismal suits and mine had some type of stain on one leg. Carefully I sat with my hands covering the imperfection. I wondered if it would still be all right for me to get baptized in a suit that wasn't spotless. Should I mention it to someone?

In the years that have passed, I have learned much more about this important and necessary saving ordinance, and I have actually thought about that conspicuous blemish that bothered me as I entered the waters of baptism. Part of Baptism is its ability to cleanse and purify all of those blemishes that are not always as conspicuous.

As I arose out of the water, my silly preoccupations were replaced with peace, knowing that at that moment, I stood without spot, without blemish, without sin, before my loving Heavenly Father and that He was pleased with my decision and my action.

Years have passed, and I am still honored to be part of God's Kingdom on earth. It was a good decision.

Turning Hearts

2011-09-01T12:58:00.000-07:00

I love the scripture that speaks of the prophet Elijah turning the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers. I get it. I feel it. I believe it. Family connections should be foremost in our lives and should be our greatest source of happiness and strength.

Mine are. I am overwhelmed with the gratitude I feel toward my family. My parents have given me a legacy of love and faith, and I am trying to pass that along to the next generations. It's my job. And I take it seriously.

My energies are spent in bringing this bunch together as often as I can. We have a lot of fun and look forward to our little circle expanding exponentially.

Thanks for the joy.

Finding Common Ground

2011-08-30T06:39:00.000-07:00

What is the most attractive thing about someone? Is it the brilliant blue of their eyes? or is it their strong, broad shoulders and rippling muscles? or is it any number of things that society touts as hallmarks of beauty?

To me, these are merely distractions. I believe the most compelling trait in someone is the common interest we share. Do you care about enough similar subjects to hold effortless conversation with me? That is when friendship becomes easy. That is when you could talk for hours without running out of things to say. That is when you don't want to be the first person to hang up the phone. That is what builds the pathway to love.

Years ago I met an incredibly handsome man. And he was, indeed, a man; not a boy, not a young man; I found myself utterly attracted to the fact that he seemed very mature and assured and ready to tackle the world. At first glance, it would seem we had nothing in common. He grew up on a ball field, or a ball court, or a ball diamond. Me? Don't you throw a ball at me! I will not be able to catch it and will invariably end up hurting myself or someone or something else.

He was the life of the party, effortlessly making all around him feel comfortable and important. Me? I was shy and insecure and awkward. I was more at ease in a library, surrounded by friends that leapt from the pages of books.

So what could we possibly have to talk about? Well, we did like to ski. And we did like to go to church. And we did like to laugh. And we did like chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.

These were the beginnings of our common ground. It didn't take long to discover that we shared the same goals of family; the same interest in great books and ideas. I read the great books. He had the great ideas.

And most importantly, we shared a love of our Savior, and a desire to follow Him. The Gospel of Jesus Christ equipped us with the tools to learn patience, tolerance, forgiveness, and unconditional love.

That was all the common ground we needed.

Wait! Can I Try That Again?

2011-08-25T08:20:00.000-07:00

How many of us get a "do over"? How often do we imagine what we could have said, or what we could have done if we could relive an unsuccessful moment, trying to improve upon its outcome? Perhaps that is why I am drawn to a certain silly movie.

Through all of Bill Murray's lovable outrageousness, there can be found at the heart of Groundhog Day a remarkable idea. What if we could try and try again until we get the day right? What if we could fine tune our actions and our words and our reactions? What if we could tweak the little things we say, the nuances with which we say them, and the level of service we offer to our neighbors?

Unlike Murray's character in the movie, Phil Connors, who deals with no consequences from the previous day's mistakes or triumphs, we must live with the fallout from our yesterdays. Are we learning from them? Are we taking the time to review what is working and what isn't? A little self-analysis is invaluable if we allow ourselves to correct our course and try to improve.

My daughter, Miranda, finds herself in a unique situation of getting do-overs, again and again and again. As a College Program Cast Member at Walt Disney World, her assignment for the next five months is to be a Skipper on the Jungle Cruise in the Magic Kingdom. This is a unique opportunity to perform the same script, over and over, to new captive audiences every ten minutes. She also has the freedom to make it her own by inserting her unique personality and her astute observations.

Imagine being able to gauge your performance by the audience's laughter. Imagine being able to throw in new material to the tried and true jokes, to change it up a little, to banter with the hecklers. I cannot imagine what I would do in such a situation, nor can I comprehend the courage it would take, nor the grace, nor the poise, nor the mental agility.

And yet. It does come with the chance to have do-overs, always perfecting, always improvising, always experimenting. Just like Groundhog Day.

And I suppose, as in the movie when Phil Connors finally gets it right, when Miranda does have the perfect day with the perfect audience, doing and saying everything just how she would like, perhaps then it will be time to move forward, to come home, and to try something new.

Good luck, Sweetheart! We think you're amazing!!

A Summer of Cupcakes

2011-08-23T07:17:00.000-07:00

They're everywhere, aren't they? There are bakeries that specialize only in cupcakes. There are TV shows devoted just to cupcakes. For some reason, cupcakes have become the little darlings of the treat world.

I'm a fan. To me, few things are as irresistable as a perfectly baked, perfectly iced little single serving cake.
I have been perfectly willing to get on the bandwagon and join the trend, and my family seems to have been willing as well.

While my granddaughter was staying with us, one afternoon was devoted to cupcake baking. I'm not sure if my motivation was the delicious results, or the photo opportunities. Either way, they were both very sweet.

What's the perfect thing to do while you're waiting? Dance Party, of course!

Last week, while all of the family was at the beach, Jackie suggested we have a Cupcake War. No throwing was involved; just seeking for bragging rights for having baked the best cupcake!

I was overwhelmed with the creativity, the effort, the teamwork, and the mess! But mostly I loved the beautiful, yummy results. Thanks to all for the memorable birthday treats!

We had cupcakes that resembled cups of cocoa, and Titleist golf balls.

We had cupcakes that explored a variety of flavor profiles.

And we had some whose mastery and expertise simply couldn't be denied. I am hereby declaring Jackie's delectable peanut butter and chocolate masterpiece as the winner. Sorry, guys. You know her's were the best!

Birthday Tears

2011-08-19T09:42:00.000-07:00

They are supposed to be happy days. Joyous days. Full of fun and family and cake.

And mine usually are.

I also have had birthdays filled with bittersweet tears. Like this year.

Somehow, it seems that monumental days for my children happen to fall on my birthday. In 2005, it was the day that my only son entered the Missionary Training Center to begin his two-year mission for Jesus Christ. It was a day filled with pride, and joy, and heart-wrenching sorrow. Try as I might, I could not smile through the tears.

This year was a similar experience. On my birthday, my youngest daughter flew to Florida, checked into the Disney College Program in Walt Disney World, where she will live and work for the next five months. It was a day filled with pride, excitement, and anticipation.

And it was another tearful good-bye. Another attempt to be brave while having my heart torn out.

I think, overall, I did pretty well holding it together. Well, except for that one time.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to......

Trailing Clouds of Glory, Do We Come

2011-08-08T15:44:00.000-07:00

Children are a miracle. We think we have so much to teach them. When the opportunity comes along to spend a little time in their company, the real miracle is in realizing what they have to teach us.

I learned this recently as my husband and I took care of our two-year-old granddaughter for ten days while her parents vacationed in Hawaii. Never once did we think that we weren't getting the best end of that deal. She was a joy to be with. We began seeing the world through her eyes. We began looking for moo-moo cows in the fields along the road. We began to simplify, slow our pace, and practice making animal noises.

In other words, we rediscovered the joy of living.

I was reminded of the lovely poem by William Wordsworth as I looked at this priceless photo of my granddaughter sitting at the feet of the Christus statue in the Idaho Falls Temple Visitors Center. As I look in her eyes, I realize that the Savior is someone she already knows, already respects, and very well may still remember.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

These words may be the most oft-quoted part of the poem, Ode, Intimations of Immortality From Recollections of Early Childhood, and they are powerful, but there is another passage that resonates with me just as strongly.

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

How easily we lose sight of the wonder in simple things. How hardened and pessimistic and distracted we become as we strive to eat our bread by the sweat of our brow. Life isn't meant to be a cakewalk; we are here to work, and yet I can't believe that a loving Heavenly Father doesn't intend for us to look upon His creations with the freshness they deserve. How quickly we lose the wonder, the joy, the gratitude.

Thank you, my sweet Evelyn, for teaching your grandma. Thank you for the light in your eyes and your reverence for sacred things. That wasn't taught to you by the inhabitants of mortality. It was taught to you by angels.

Thank you for being our little angel.

And I Think to Myself....

2011-07-29T09:51:00.000-07:00

I see trees of green

Red roses, too. I watch them bloom for me and you.

And I think to myself, What a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue

And clouds of white

The bright blessed day

The dark sacred night

And I think to myself, What a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky

Are also on the faces of people going by.

I see friends shaking hands,

Saying, How do you do?

They're really saying, 'I love you'!

I hear babies cry

I watch them grow

They'll learn much more than I'll ever know.

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world!

It's No Trouble

2011-07-24T21:56:00.000-07:00

There is an old movie that has become a classic for many. It features action, romance, humor, tenderness, and just plain old good storytelling. The lines are clever, memorable, and most importantly, quotable! Many people know whole sections by heart and are quick to recite them if prompted.

One of my favorite parts is the poignant running theme of love expressed by the simple words: "As you wish". This lovely phrase becomes synonymous with the often overused words, "I love you".

This past week I have discovered another phrase that carries just as much affection, just as much devotion, and just as much love as either of these. It is the humble, unpretentious "It's no trouble".

Frequently when these words are spoken, it is indeed "some" trouble, some inconvenience, some interference with normal circumstance. But it is the desire to downplay that inconvenience that makes the subtle statement of love.

May we turn you out of your bed for the night, and make you sleep on an air mattress?

"It's no trouble."

May we inconvenience you to get up at 4:00 in the morning to drive us to the airport?

"It's no trouble."

May I rest my old bones while you chase a 2-year-old around the house in order to wear her out for bedtime?

"It's no trouble."

These are only a few examples of the way my family serves me. And it doesn't stop at family. I have valued friends that are quick to offer help and kindness and comfort when I am in need. And it is extended with immeasurable love and those simple words that mask the bother or inopportune timing.

It's no trouble. As you wish.

I love you.

Getting Cold Feet

2011-07-19T07:23:00.000-07:00

I have planned for it. I have adjusted my schedule to make it fit. I have "tried" to diet for it (that was a joke). I went shopping for it.

And now if I am honest with myself, the closer it gets the more nervous and scared I am to go.

30 years. That's how long it has been since I graduated from high school. And a class reunion is called for, right? I have only been able to attend the 10th and the 20th, so another decade has passed and it is time to make my appearance again.

I suspect I may not be the only one who barely resembles their old self, by becoming a VERY old self. I don't really care about that, but it does make me wonder if anyone will recognize me. With our extra pounds and extra wrinkles, will we also have gained some extra maturity and wisdom and tolerance and kindness?

I know that as a transplanted "new girl" my sophomore year, I was somewhat of an anomaly. The rest of the class had known each other since kindergarten, and many of them have spent the last 30 years raising their families together and sharing their lives. Not me. After graduation, my family moved out of state and were "never heard from again".

So, why am I going? What am I trying to prove, or trying to gain, or trying to......?

I have kept some contact with a couple of dear friends, who seemed to want to hold onto me and our friendship. That has meant more to me than they could possibly know. So can't I just tell them that here? on my blog? Can't I just stop by their homes and visit them when I am in their area? Why must I use a class reunion as my means of seeing them? Why must I expose myself to all the rest who probably wouldn't even notice if I was there or not?

Ah, what to do? How easy it would be to come up with some excuse and back out. Something like this shouldn't take all the courage I can muster. And yet it does. And it will.

The same shyness that made me appear aloof years ago in school is still in my makeup. When I am comfortable with people that shyness dissipates. In many ways I am still the insecure new girl just hoping that someone will come along that wants to be my friend.

Oh, the inward demons that we battle.

Making Anything Beautiful

2011-07-12T07:40:00.001-07:00

Some people have the magic touch. I don't know how much of it has to do with their raw material, but in the way they prepare and present, anything can become a work of art. This past weekend at the Pike Place Market in Seattle, this became apparent with the wares on display. Each individual grower or producer or artisan had fashioned exhibits that were stunning in their simplicity. And I wasn't the only one that was snapping pictures of nature at its finest.

The more I see of life and the more experiences I have under my belt, the more I am reminded that we all possess our own unique skills and talents. As I moved through the crowds, seeking out photo opportunities, I knew that others were seeing things that I wasn't. I was wishing I had the "Artist's Eye" that is so evident in photographers' work. But I can't pretend that I do. I am such a literal person; I see the world as it is, straight-up.

We are all imbued with creativity, and have creative outlets. My hobbies may not be the same as your hobbies, but therein lies the challenge of discovery. While I may admire the talents of others, I must uncover, embrace and explore my own. I am reminded of the brilliant address by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf on the power to create. Enjoy!

Every Moment: RED LETTER!

2011-07-11T09:38:00.000-07:00

How many times do we let our expectations run too high? We imagine something as too amazing to be real, then have to reconcile reality with imagination.

Our weekend in Seattle actually exceeded my expections, including the World Premiere of Disney's new musical, Aladdin.

As we sat in our seats, awaiting the overture, I don't know when I had anticipated a show more. I had been humming the familiar tunes in my head all day. I had tried to fathom how they would deal with various parts that were critical to the storyline. Without the benefit of animation or blue screens, what would they do? These were real people on a real stage, within certain, very real parameters.

It was magical. It was breathtaking and mesmerizing. It was as much fun on stage as any show I've ever seen. In addition to all the tried and true favorites, the new songs were every bit as compelling. I had been apprehensive; could these new songs be just as endearing as the old ones? With the exception of one, they were all just as hummable, just as engaging, just as memorable as the originals.

The casting was superb. It was delightful to read in the program some of the comments from the cast. Courtney Reed, playing Jasmine, "is soooooo excited to be playing her favorite Disney princess!!!" She thanked her parents "for letting her watch Aladdin non-stop as a child." James Monroe Iglehart felt "so blessed to be living out a childhood dream in playing the role" of Genie.

I don't want to give any spoilers so I won't expound on how they dealt with the challenges, but really, it only took just a little suspending of one's belief to be transported off to that magical place, engaged by engaging characters, and spellbound by beautiful music.

Before the show, the director of the 5th Avenue Theatre, promised us that one future day as we saw the incredible success of this show, we would be able to boast that we were there in its infancy, helping as the audience, to mold it, to shape it, to aid in its development, as we laughed, as we oohed and aahed, as we cheered. Our reactions were being taken very seriously.

I bought an Aladdin sweatshirt during intermission. I just couldn't resist the idea of being one of the very first to own one.

Our hotel was a short walk away from the theatre.

Our pre-show dinner was just as memorable as the show itself, including the "best steak" Brian has ever had, and a banana bread pudding for dessert that even outshone the key lime pie.

Our self-guided tour of Seattle the following morning was beautiful.

Every moment will be a special memory. Every moment was, indeed, Red Letter!

Getting ONE JUMP AHEAD of Broadway!

2011-07-08T08:54:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had the chance to see something brand new? I mean BRAND New? Tonight Brian and I are getting that opportunity.

Before shows are brought to the Great White Way of Broadway, they have a stage debut at another venue to "work out the kinks" and find what needs tweaking. With Disney's track record of The Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, Aida, and the recent Mary Poppins, I decided it was a good bet that their new Aladdin would be a winner too. So when I received an email (as a Disney superfan), I only hesitated a moment before clicking the link to buy Brian the greatest anniversary gift ever.

It is showing tonight in Seattle at the 5th Avenue Theatre, and we have tickets! I have always loved the story, the music, and the characters from the animated movie, Aladdin. I can only imagine what they will do with costumes and staging for this one. They seem to keep outdoing themselves.

In the midst of an already busy summer, I know that a quiet weekend at home may sound nice, but I think a quick trip to Seattle for just the two of us will also be a treat. It is just a small way for me to thank Brian for having "shown me the world". ;-)

I Used to Tell Stories With Pictures

2011-07-01T22:23:00.000-07:00

I was a scrapbooker. I would dream in pictures. I focussed on taking and editing pictures that could tell a story worth a thousand words. And I put them together in combinations that transformed them into more than the sum of their parts. A well-chosen title would accompany these photos to fill in any gaps, physical or metaphysical . Song lyrics or a pithy quote frequently supplemented the story, but were only secondary to the pictures speaking for themselves.

I always knew that my scrapbook layouts lacked what all the "professionals" considered absolutely critical: Journaling. I was failing to accompany the photos with the story "in my own words".

Well, poppycock. I knew that my pages spoke volumes. Carefully chosen embellishments appeared to be placed effortlessly, belying the true deliberateness of their inclusion. The layers of details often told more than the face-value story; the emotional essences were undeniable.

I loved what I was creating. I was cutting and pasting myself into those treasured books.

And then I started blogging.

I began approaching family history from the completely opposite direction.

Now words became the paints on my palette. The stories were now told in the traditional way, with an occasional photo included to lead the reader into the written word.

I am conflicted.

I feel pulled from both directions.

Is there room in my life for both mediums? When I look at the amazing collection of photos I am accruing from an eventful summer, my old self feels compelled to return to the days of photo-stories. And yet, I love the challenge of discovering the hidden stories and life lessons that blogging encourages.

Perhaps the new challenge lies in utilizing both skill sets. Can they combine to be as powerful, or do they cancel each other out? Muddy the water? Over-stimulate?

Progression is what drives life. When we fall into predictable patterns we fail to grow. Sometimes our challenges motivate and require a shift in paradigm; sometimes it comes as a result of having squeezed everything out of the old one and needing a new bucket to dip into.

One thing I know about myself is that I am not content with the status quo. I must be moving forward or my mind, my creativity, my passion become stale, lackluster, and tiresome.

The only certainty is that change comes.

Aren't you curious to see which direction Ardith's Quest will take next?

I am too.

Stop and Think

2011-06-29T13:27:00.000-07:00

It is the only thing that works for me.

I have been running, non-stop, for the past couple of weeks. I have traveled with my husband to Idaho. We have spent precious time with our children and grandchild. We have celebrated accomplishments, honored fathers, given gifts, played, laughed, and feasted. We have reunited with family members, amused ourselves as tourists, visited aquariums and lighthouses, combed the beach for treasures, played, laughed, and feasted some more. Exhaustive just thinking about it all.

And I have not written a single blog. I haven't even thought about writing a blog.

But in the solitude of an unexpectedly quiet morning, I have realized something about myself. I can't do more than one thing at a time; I am not a very good multi-tasker. I simply can't "think" and "do" at the same time. The past weeks of doing, as delightful as they have been, have afforded me no time to do any thinking.

And thinking is important to me. It is the time I tune into my spiritual gifts; it is the time I connect the dots; it is the time I learn new things.

Eventually my life will slow down again. I can't say for certain when that will be. There are more trips on the horizon; more reunions; more adventures. And that makes me very happy.

But I will also be just as happy when I finally have time again to stop. And think.

Hanging on Every Other Sail

2011-06-14T09:22:00.000-07:00

Life is exciting and thrilling for everyone but us, right? So and so has greener grass, the Joneses have a bigger boat, etc. etc. Isn't that how it sometimes seems? I was startled to discover that one of my philosophic heroes, Ralph Waldo Emerson, also had occasional pity parties. While reading his essay entitled: Experience, I am learning that Emerson wasn't afraid to show a little cynicism, he who is usually very optimistic. About ten pages in, he himself admits that he had "set his heart on honesty in this chapter," apparently not wishing to sugar coat the realities of life and life's experiences.

My favorite passage is this: Every ship is a romantic object, except that we sail in. Embark, and the romance quits our vessel and hangs on every other sail in the horizon. Our life looks trivial, and we shun to record it."

I had to laugh at this. Isn't it the truth? Why do others' adventures always seem, atleast outwardly, like smooth sailing and pleasant breezes, compared to our own storms and rough waters? A few months ago I experienced the lifelong dream of sailing on a tall ship. It is was beautiful; it was exciting to be in the middle of all the action; and it was FREEZING cold, something I had only moderately prepared for. When its sister ship sailed gallantly past, in all its splendour at full sail, did I think of its own passengers, huddled together in the cold as we were on our ship, or did I focus on the romance of its masts and sails? I saw what I chose to see, just like everyday I choose to see the roses in others' lives, while forgetting that they may also have a few thorns that they are dealing with.

A wise man I know remembers to look for the positives amid the setbacks. He looks for the steadiness that may be accompanied by otherwise quaking hands. And to Emerson's credit, he also recognizes that: "Life is a series of surprises, and would not be worth taking or keeping if it were not."

The true message here, though, is to claim your life, accept it, embrace it, and as Emerson insists, "record it!" Our lives are exactly the perfect proving grounds for us, individually. My trials are mine and I will take them, if God can foresee what I have yet to learn. You enjoy your roses and your green grass and the romance of your ship. I'll take the thorns and the weeds and the tempests that come my way. Because they are building strength of character only yet to be discovered.

Like Coming Home

2011-06-10T09:09:00.000-07:00

"...it was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together... and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... only to no home I'd ever known... I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew. It was like... magic."

I still remember the first time I held hands with Brian Haws. We had just parked the car at the Salt Lake City Airport, were crossing the street to go pick up his parents, when he reached out for my hand. It wasn't planned. It wasn't premeditated. It just happened as naturally as anything in the world. It felt right. It felt warm. It felt like...magic. It felt like coming home.

Today we celebrate 28 years of coming home, of being in a marriage that stands the test of time and space, and every kind of test that life can throw at two people.

I hesitate to share openly here about the depth and breadth and height of my love for Brian Haws. It is too dear to my heart; too sacred. And yet I can share great quotes from others about the true nature of love. That is far enough removed to honor it, without my becoming a blubbering mess. Maybe. I see and hear things all the time that remind me of my husband. So many songs, the ones with happy endings:

"I'm gonna love you forever

Forever and ever amen,

As long as old men sit and talk about the weather

As long as old women sit and talk about old men.

If you wonder how long I'll be faithful

I'll be happy to tell you again

I'm gonna love you forever and ever

Forever and ever amen."

Is it any surprise, that my friend, Emerson, also has much to say on the subject of eternal love and the metamorphosis of the marriage relationship?

"Their once flaming regard is sobered by time...At last they discover that all which at first drew them together...had a prospective end...and the purification of the intellect and the heart from year to year is the real marriage....That which is so beautiful and attractive as these relations, must be succeeded and supplanted only by what is more beautiful, and so on for ever."

He is right. Time passes, and we change. Love changes. It may no longer be the breathless and heady elixir common to youth. It becomes fuller, and richer, and more stable. And certainly more gratifying.

Happy Anniversary to the love of my life. To me, there is nothing in the world as lovely as coming home.

(Thanks to Sleepless in Seattle, Randy Travis, and Ralph Waldo Emerson, for their timeless quotes on love.)

Gifts From Heaven

2011-06-08T09:12:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it takes a while to process things. Or perhaps it takes a while to have the courage to give things their proper label. I have recently had an experience that can only be described as a gift from heaven. We like to use the term Tender Mercies. And that certainly fits. But I believe sometimes experiences are purely gifts from heaven, that don't further any cause, don't solve any problems; they are merely heaven's way of putting arms of love around you.

I had been proverbially punched in the gut. I was hurting. I was sad.

And God, in His loving way, turned my attention immediately away from myself. He provided a show of nature that was remarkably unique, impossible to expect again. And it was just for me, to be shared with my sweet husband. We marveled. We laughed. We cheered. We forgot ourselves.

It was a gift from heaven.

"Insist on Yourself; Never Imitate"

2011-06-07T08:52:00.000-07:00

I was reminded today why I choose to blog. I was reminded by reading other blogs that I follow. Each is unique. Each shares the author's own notable, exceptional perspective of their world. And I was inspired. And I was grateful to be given the opportunity to have a glimpse into their lives, their minds, their hearts.

Isn't it remarkable how different we are from one another? We may share very similar experiences, similar paths, similar circumstances; yet we process them with our own special brand of uniquity. So why not have our own little website, our own personal URL that is filled with the things we love, the thoughts we think, the dreams we dream?

Lately I have become absorbed in an obscure book. I stumbled upon it last summer, while it sat upon the shelf of a used book store in Ashland, Oregon. My daughter, Miranda, and I were immersing ourselves in a literary weekend, replete with Hamlet and Pride and Prejudice on the stage of the Shakespearean Festival, a lovely old-fashioned room in a quaint little hotel, and a self-guided tour through the many old book stores that line Ashland's main street.

It is the kind of book that probably would be overlooked by my children when I am gone, as they sort through my faded and tired possessions. Perhaps if I give it a little attention now, it will have more meaning and value to them when that fateful day eventually comes. Perhaps instead of tossing it into the giveaway pile, one or more of them will realize that it was a favorite and seek to uncover for themselves the wealth of wisdom I am finding in its yellowed, cracking pages.

This one small, unpretentious book bears the title and the collection: The Complete Essays and Other Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson. There is a reason that Emerson is one of the most oft-quoted literaries; he has some amazing insights and the ability to express them with pith and power. Picking up his book everyday is like clicking open his blog. It is insightful, it is inspiring, and it gives the reader a glimpse of his life, his mind, and his heart.

The underlying theme of his "complete essays and other writings" is the importance of being true to oneself. He boldly states: "Insist on yourself; never imitate." And with that, he promises: "that which each can do best, none but his Maker can teach him. No man yet knows what it is, nor can, till that person has exhibited it."

I am so thankful for what I learn from others. But I will not try to imitate them. I have decided to look for what I, alone, can do best, no matter how far and wide I must search.

You might consider "following" Emerson, too.

You Have Shown Me the World

2011-06-03T10:14:00.000-07:00

This is my blog, and I can use it however I feel like. Today, I feel like giving an early Anniversary gift to my husband. So I am.

I have a surprise for you, Brian, that I can hardly wait to give. In comparison to all the wonderful things you have done for me, this considerably pales. And yet, I think it is pretty fun and exciting.

Consider this an invitation to a date tonight, when you will be able to open this envelope.

I love you for all the happy times;
I thank you for all the times of support;
I rejoice with you in the multiplicity of blessings that we have shared.

Hurry home.

In Flanders Fields the Poppies Blow

2011-05-30T07:19:00.000-07:00

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead: Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved: and now we lie
In Flanders fields!

Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you, from failing hands, we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die,
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields

By Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae
Composed at the battlefront on May 3, 1915 during the second battle of Ypres, Belgium

I still hear them singing. For years I followed the Sprague High School Concert Choir all over the country as a devoted choir mom. Where they went, I went. Where they sang, I listened. I internalized their music, their sound, their spirit. It was a unique and memorable experience.

While every piece of music they performed was a favorite, the haunting chords of "Flanders Fields" still echo through my memory. The words were touching, impacting these high school students as they realized the significance of their meaning. They understood the weight of what they sang, and imparted a mood that was stirring. Solemn. Breathtaking. Heartwrenching.

We are the dead: Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved.....

Here was a group of youth that had the world by the tail. Their future held such great promise, and now they sang of those who short days ago also had had the world by the tail, who had lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, had loved and were loved..... I think it was more than a little humbling.

I knew of poppies too. Years before, when I was these students' age, I learned of the poppies of Flanders fields. Does anyone else remember selling paper poppies for Memorial Day? As a Girls State Delegate for the State of Idaho, I was asked by the sponsoring Veterans of Foreign Wars to take my turn selling red crepe paper poppies, a remembrance of the sacrifice given by so many to retain the cause of freedom.

It was a small thing. And yet I felt a part of something great; something bigger than my own little world.

To you, from failing hands, we throw the torch.

Great sacrifices have been given, and yet the fight isn't over. The torch passes from one generation to the next, a desperate call for courage against evil men. May we not fail those who have given their lives for this sacred cause. And amid the cookouts and the picnics of this holiday, may we not fail to remember them.
And give thanks.

To learn more about this poem and the history of the poppies on Flanders Field: http://www.teachervision.fen.com/poetry/lesson-plan/3244.html#ixzz1NqJhX8tW

Write Your Own Ending

2011-05-27T21:20:00.000-07:00

I am noticing a trend. Many of the movies I have seen lately seem to end very abruptly. I mean, like they don't even bother to finish the story. Really. Like completely leaving the audience out on a limb with no firm direction on which way things will end. Perhaps this is considered the "artsy" thing to do. Is it the perception of Independent film producers that mainstream movies placate viewers with the "entire" story because of society's inability to think broadly. We,(collective we) must need everything tied up in a neat, tidy, little package; we apparently lack the imagination to finish the story on our own.

Wait just a minute. I paid for the ticket. I entered the theater with the expectation of seeing a movie. A whole movie; one with a beginning, a middle, and the ever important denouement. That is just the fancy literary term for "the final resolution of the intricacies of a plot."

Well, lately, instead of walking away with that warm, satisfying feeling of happy resolve, or even sad resolve, I have been getting NO resolve. And I'm not sure how I feel about it. Does this mean that I have fallen into step with the masses that need everything done for them? Have I given up the agency of thinking for myself by insisting that a movie have a conclusion?

Maybe this gives us a glimpse of our impatience with life. Isn't it human nature to want to know how the story ends? especially our own story? And yet we don't. We can't. How many of us have really gotten the guarantee of a happily ever after? Gosh, I wish I could. And yet, everyday when I get out of bed, I become the director of my own motion picture. I get to make wardrobe decisions, set decisions, cinematography decisions, even casting decisions. Ultimately, all the decisions remain with me. The buck stops here. I can make excuses, or try and place blame, or feel sorry for myself.

Nah. That is the coward's way out. I believe I do prefer to think for myself, to imagine how life could be and then take the steps to see it through. Will it mean that there will be times of unsettled limbo? Wondering what comes next, or who will win? Of course. But it also means that I get to decide who will ride into the sunset with me.

Life's like a movie, write your own ending
Keep believing, keep pretending
We've done just what we set out to do.
Thanks to the lovers, the dreamers, and you. ;-)

Please Stop the World; I'm Getting Dizzy.

2011-05-26T10:02:00.000-07:00

The ride has become tedious. I am tired of the same old same old. Same old.......Same......old.

Have you ever been on an amusement park ride that was whipping you around too much? that was threatening to make you lose your lunch and if it didn't stop soon you couldn't be held accountable for what happened next?

This isn't like that.

Instead, it is like an old-fashioned record player. The music has stopped, and yet the record goes around and around and around and around, with nothing to commend it except the monotonous blip........blip........blip as it gets to the end with nowhere else to go.

And it is my own fault. I am not making good use of my precious gift of time. I don't feel needed. I don't feel productive. I don't....anything. blip.......blip.......blip.

Repeat.

Living in the Land of Oz

2011-05-24T16:14:00.000-07:00

Part of my heart remains in the Midwest, and especially today as they are facing more destruction from those deadly storms, my thoughts are with the friends I left behind. I lived in Wichita, Kansas for four years and still remember the feeling of a tornado warning. I remember the stillness that would come before the storm. I remember the air charged with electricity. I remember the sense of doom. I remember the blackness.

As one that has spent most of my life in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, my first impression of Kansas was that it is very FLAT. Really. Everything seemed to be the same elevation (making it particularly vulnerable to tornadoes). How does one get one's bearings when there isn't a permanent mountain range standing as an ever present landmark?

I also remember getting out of the car for the first time in Wichita and trying to breathe in the thick, humid air. Life was certainly going to be different than what I was used to.

But I loved the hot sunshine. I loved getting the best tans of my life, and spending the summers at the pool. I loved my little circle of friends, most of them kids from church.

I will always think fondly of my days in Wichita, although it may have been one of the most difficult times of my life. As a new 7th grader beginning Junior High, my slate of friends had been wiped clean and I knew I must start all over. That is an awkward time in one's life anyway and I struggled with the extra challenge of being the new kid. But as the summer after 9th grade came along, with a pending move to Idaho, I was heartbroken. I had found friends; good friends, whom I loved.

My prayers are with my Midwestern friends today. May they safely weather the storms that rage about them. May their loved ones escape unharmed. May they feel the love of heaven protecting them.

What is Your Compulsion?

2011-05-20T15:40:00.000-07:00

I wonder if other people feel the same compulsion to write, as I do. I know that everyone's mind is filled with a continuous rotation of thoughts. Often they are new; frequently they are problems or worries that are recycled. Over and over again. My question is if everyone finds therapy in writing those thoughts down. Nothing is quite so therapeutic as sitting, with a pen in hand, and transferring those daydreams onto paper.

It helps me. It enables me to focus on one idea at a time. I am forced to slow down, to organize, to wrap words around feelings and ideas. Suddenly random streams of consciousness become tamed and absolute.

Is anyone ever surprised when they go back to previous journals and re-read earlier disclosures? I always am. It is remarkable to discover what I have previous thought and recorded. Usually it sounds a little familiar; occasionally it startles; always it enlightens, as I peel back the layers of the mystery that is me.

We had a lesson in church last Sunday about discovering talents. The idea was presented that we should pay attention and follow the tendencies we have, the inklings, the promptings. Things we gravitate toward often are where our genuine abilities perhaps may be hidden.

I think I have tried to encourage this in my children. I wonder, though, if I take those interests of my own as seriously as I hope that they will. Over the years my interests have flitted from one thing to another. I become consumed with something, try to master it, and then eventually move on to discover something new.

Have I always succeeded in my efforts? I don't know. Have I discovered great treasures of miraculous hidden talents? No. Has my life been enriched by a variety of delightful hobbies? Absolutely.

So it comes back to the question: does everyone feel the compulsion to write?

I do.

That We Might Have Joy

2011-05-20T11:41:00.000-07:00

After all these years, I think I am finally beginning to understand. Sure, we came to this earth to get a body. Sure, we came to be tested and tried. But how often do we forget that the greatest gift of a loving Father in Heaven is the opportunity to have joy. Not just happiness, but pure joy.

I am also beginning to understand the source for that joy. It doesn't lie in worldly things, in possessions, in the accumulation of "stuff". It doesn't lie in prestige nor accolades nor credit. Rather, joy comes from humility; in taking responsibility for our own situations, in not placing blame, nor giving anyone the control of how we feel. It comes when we recognize that we are not the authority on anything, but that true light and knowledge comes from Christ if we are humble enough to seek after it.

Joy comes from the sacrifice of things that we thought would bring us joy. It comes from feeling the love of our Savior as prayers are answered and comfort is given; in learning that we are stronger than we thought we were.

Photo Credit: Brock.alli.Photography

Making His Presence Known

2011-05-17T08:47:00.000-07:00

They come by the boatloads. Everyday. They purchase a ticket with high hopes of seeing striking aerial acrobatics by behemoths of the deep. Following sonar equipment, these boatloads position themselves directly out my window, as they wait to catch a glimpse of a whale. Surveying the surface for a telltale spout, the lucky few spot additional evidence of these mythical giants, the gray hump of a back, or sometimes a tail.

While migratory seasons bring increased activity, we are privileged to have a pod that remains year-round in the cool, inviting waters off the Oregon Coast. I'm not convinced that these whale watchers, for their ticket, really get any better show than I do; I, who am dry and warm and cozy behind expansive windows that yield an unparalleled view. A telescopic lens doesn't hurt either.

In contemplating the big deep, which stretches endlessly past the visible horizon, which contains otherworldly creatures, which for centuries has issued its sirens' song to the adventurous bidding them to come, explore, and discover; I marvel at its power; I marvel at the gifts it generously gives; I marvel at its beauty, which is ever changing and ever the same.

I marvel every time I am fortunate enough to spend some time at the beach.

'Tis the Business of Little Minds to Shrink

2011-05-17T08:46:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I pick up a pen to learn. Sometimes I have no idea what I plan to write, but I have confidence that the juices will begin to flow as I take a leap of faith. What follows is what spilled out today:

I had some rather disappointing news yesterday. Yet again, a publisher returned my manuscript, uninterested. Discouraged? Yes. The end of the world? No. Do I still have options? Yes. Does it take a little courage to pick myself up, dust myself off, and begin again? Most certainly.

I still believe in my project. I still believe it has something to offer the reader that wants to reaffirm and solidify his scripture study habit. Is it fresh, original, and cutting edge? Perhaps not, but then again, what eternal truths are fresh, original, and cutting edge?

My book is built upon a foundation of important scriptures and quotes from modern prophets about the importance of reading The Book of Mormon, and of valuing this amazing, miraculous gift that has been written, preserved, and brought forth for our learning by the hand of the Lord. It is interspersed with my own personal experiences as I challenged myself to improve my own study. It is filled with testimony of the surety of God's blessings upon those that are diligent. It is meant to be encouraging, inspiring, and to get the reader into the scriptures with both feet.

I felt directed to write about my experience, knowing that there must surely be others who weren't making as valiant an effort as they could be either. It took courage to admit my shortcomings, but the resultant opening of my eyes, the increased appetite to feast at the Lord's table, and the rekindled love of gospel study had to be recorded, if nothing else than for my own posterity to know of my conviction.

I believe my journey has the power to strike a chord with someone else. That was my motive. And I still believe it is worth being published.

A friend posted a timely quote this morning. It shot straight through my heart and gave me courage to continue on this path less traveled: "’Tis the business of little minds to shrink, but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death.” – Leonardo Da Vinci

Oh, may my heart take courage and my mind not shrink.

No Request is Too Extreme

2011-05-10T08:29:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wished for something so hard that it hurt? Have you ever dreamt of something for so long that it became apart of who you are? Everyone loves Disney; that is a given, I think. But there is one little girl that loved it the most. Everything about it. It spoke her language. She even looked and sounded like she was a displaced Disney Darling. Her whole life has been lived from one Disney trip to the next. Only when she was in The Happiest Place was she really whole.

So when the opportunity arose to become part of the Disney College Program, it seemed like a perfect fit for this girl. This is a program that recruits applicants from college campuses. They hire students to become "Cast Members", their generic term for anyone who works in the Kingdom. These cast members work everywhere, from being in the limelight as characters to sweeping up after everyone has gone home.
My youngest daughter, Miranda, set her sights upon this as soon as she learned of it, several years ago. Determined that nothing would stand in her way, she studied up on it and planned for the day she would finally be able to submit her application.

One question asked on the application was: Which assignment would be your first choice? Easy. Attractions. This assignment has the most direct contact with the Park Guests, and the most opportunity to make others' experience in the Kingdom magical. That's what she wanted. She longed to be able to give back some of the magic that she had felt when she was a little girl.

During her phone interview with a college program representative, she tried to send through the phone line a glimpse of her true Disney spirit, that she had caught that spirit and was prepared to keep it alive and pass it on. But she was also wise enough to tell them that she would even be willing to clean toilets if it meant she could be apart of it all.

Through the agony of waiting for a response, she never lost hope. The grueling two months may have been the longest of her life. She made lists to distract herself: packing lists, things she wanted to do during her time off, how she would breakdown her paychecks. Can you imagine being paid to spend five months in Walt Disney World? It seemed like a dream come true, like something too perfect to be real. Another benefit is a continuous free pass to any of the parks. Really.

Finally that beautiful purple packet found its way to her little apartment. Inside it was the key to her future. Would she be offered a job? Would she get her first-choice assignment, or would she be a janitor, or a shop girl, or a churro peddler?

Dear Miranda Haws: Please accept this job offer in Walt Disney World ........ as an Attractions Cast Member! Responsbilities may include:

Working at one or more of the "rides" or theater shows
Loading and unloading Guests from an attraction
Operating sophisticated ride systems
Memorizing and delivering lengthy narrations on a microphone to large groups (this is my pick)
Handling the evacuation of an attraction when necessary
Monitoring Guest flow and providing a safe Guest experience
Assisting with audience control, including during parades
Cleaning areas surrounding attractions
Working with FASTPASS
Standing for extended periods, working outdoors

Joy. That is the only word to express it. Pure and divine joy.

"If your heart is in your dream,

No request is too extreme.

When you wish upon a star

Your dreams come true."

No one wanted it more.

No one will make a more perfect Disney Ambassador.

Your family couldn't be more proud of you.

Our Own Sweet Caroline

2011-05-07T20:51:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things about my mother has always been her name. It is old-fashioned, yet chic at the same time; a classy name that sets her apart from the crowd. Unique and yet familiar.

Her life began in a tiny town in southeastern Idaho, a tomboy that grew up on a horse, who then began leading cheers for the Bancroft Cowboys and reigning as Rodeo Queen. That small town girl has since become a world traveler, collecting friends and silver spoons, and leaving a trail of friendship wherever she goes.

She caught the eye of a football star from Soda Springs, and two beautiful people began their life together.

Four daughters and one son rounded out their family, and Caroline devoted her energy and enthusiasm to providing fun and adventure and security and love. Her efforts in making a happy home were rewarded with children that are devoted to their lovely mother.

Not afraid to tackle any challenge that came along, she maintained the status as the mother that could do anything. She still holds that honor.

I feel so blessed to call you Mother. You have taught me about life and love and motherhood. You have taught me about service and kindness and excellence.

Thank you. With all my heart.

Happy Mothers Day.

Like Mother, and Like Daughter

2011-05-06T08:47:00.000-07:00

I have made a discovery. Thrilling? no. Awkward? yes. I have become like my mother, and like my daughter, Jackie. As we are moving towards Mothers Day, all of facebook is awash with pictures of mothers. Sometimes it is startling to see how much my friends look like their mothers. It made me stop and wonder if I look like my mother too.

That is when I made my discovery. I have very few pictures of my mother. And then I realized how few pictures I have of Jackie. And THEN I realized how few recent pictures I have of MYSELF! I am developing the same cameraphobia that my mother and daughter seem to have. Why? Am I no longer comfortable with how I look? Am I always the one holding the camera? Am I becoming too self-conscious of my chubby cheeks? and my chubby bottom? and my droopy neck? Yes.

But there is actually a new reason that I will be avoiding cameras for awhile. And it isn't for any of those reasons. Like Jackie, I had a little too much "fun" with hair color. It looks great on her, but I look ridiculous. Brian has started calling me things like "My Latin Lover" and "Ardith Rodriguez". Well, the box said "Medium Brown"! I'll let you use your imagination.

Something's Coming

2011-05-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

I have spent my lifetime gathering a bouquet of sorts. The flowers in this luxe, overflowing, random arrangement don't fade, don't wilt, don't die. Each one is special and unique and pops into my mind, each in its turn. It is a bouquet of song lyrics. This morning, the rhythmic "Something's Coming" from West Side Story began to take center stage of my consciousness.

Something's coming,

I don't know

what it is,

But it is

Gonna be great!

I have always been one who thrives on the promise of something coming around the corner. Positive expectation has kind of been the motto for our marriage, and we have always tried to have tickets, or reservations, or something to look forward to, to look past the mundane of everyday.

While our calendar is filling up with events this summer, I can't help feeling that there is something unknown, something unplanned, lurking in the wings.

What a great gift, the gift of anticipation.

It's only just out of reach,

Down the block,

On a beach,

Maybe tonight . . .

Maybe tonight!

It's Been Way Too Long

2011-04-29T10:03:00.000-07:00

I think I had forgotten. I think I had let it go too long. Had I become afraid? Had I become lazy, or busy, or trying to be selfless, or what? I don't know. Yesterday I wrote a blog about neglected old friends, referring to my old hobby of scrapbooking, and the renewal of my acquaintance with layouts that had been so much apart of my life. Now I am meeting another old friend; why have I pushed aside my love affair with fiction?

I have spent my life reading. It is what I do. There is no greater source for learning and expanding one's mind. But for some reason, I have neglected reading for reading's sake. I have neglected fiction. I have immersed myself in the scriptures. I have immersed myself in non-fiction and don't regret a minute of it. But that needn't be all there is. How had I forgotten?

I am finally remembering the joy that comes from being so deeply within a story that one temporarily leaves behind reality. At the recommendation of my sweet daughter, I have picked up a book, not to learn (and yet I have); not to explore (and yet I have); not to educate (and yet I have). I have gotten back in touch with the dream world of living life through another's eyes, through another's footsteps, through another's thoughts.

I have come to know another person, who isn't even real, and yet who I wish so desperately that she was. Maybe I wish she was real, because I, in some way, wish that I were more like her. I want to not be encumbered with worry, and insecurity. I want to live my life freely without keeping in check every personal expression, fearing that others may not understand or approve. I want to befriend the friendless. I want to do expressions of kindness just for the sake of brightening someone's day. And if I want to wear a long dress, strum a ukelele, and sing as if nobody were listening, then maybe, just maybe, I will.

I just finished the sequel to Jerry Spinelli's Stargirl. It is entitled Love, Stargirl. It is quite different from the first one. Among the many memorable parts, the following was the most important for me, the one that woke me up, the one that slapped me upside the head:

     "Where are you going?" he said.
     "Porch. Check the snow."
     "Don't."
     The way he said it, I stopped. I sat back down.
     He looked at me across the table. "Silly worries don't become you."

Fiction will never replace the scriptures. That's okay. I have the scriptures, too. But I don't know of anything that can replace the suspending of disbelief, which enables one to enter into a world of the storyteller's creation; which enables one to see inside someone else thoughts and to walk in someone else's shoes.

Hello again, my old friend. I have missed you.

Finding Old Friends

2011-04-28T11:46:00.000-07:00

We all have them. We all have those, from our past, that used to fill our days and our thoughts and our consciousnesses. Then as circumstances happened, we lost touch with them, for one reason or another. It is indescribable to meet again, to remember, to realize the impact they made.

Recently I have uncovered some old friends from my not-so-distant past. I found a scrapbook album that was made up exclusively of layouts made while taking an online scrapbooking class, from the talented Heidi Swapp. Through her tutelage, I stretched myself. I challenged myself. I tried new techniques. I created some very significant works of art (I believe). They are significant to me because each detail, no matter how random they may appear to be, was laid with thought and with care and with precision. They became my "friends" because they drew out a part of me that perhaps was lying dormant and I infused in them my whole soul.

Scrapbooking, I also believe, has become a dying industry. At least it is changing and re-focusing. My teaching days are over. The scrapbook store, where I used to teach and design kits, has closed its doors.

Record keeping will always be an important part of my life, as I cling to a past that is meaningful to me. I want precious memories to always be near, easily accessible, easily remembered. The ongoing challenge then lies in finding new, more efficient ways to preserve them.

"Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold." ;-)

Consider the Lilies

2011-04-26T18:11:00.000-07:00

My desk is covered with books. It is stacked with notebooks and pens and paper clips and tools, and the shelves that surround me are filled with more books, and scrapbooks, and notebooks, and craft supplies, and photographs. This is my little bit of heaven on earth. This is my happy place. The exciting thing for me is to discover what will reach out and grab my attention on any particular day.

Today brought one of the biggest surprises I have had in awhile. I don't always know or remember how some things end up within arm's reach of my desk(s) (for you see I actually have two desks and two chairs which make it perfect for guests to stop by and visit me in my happy place; I especially love when my children, or my husband, peek in and pull up a chair). A beautiful purple book begged my notice. I remember buying this book because one of the authors was a Seminary teacher of mine from years ago. The book is entitled The New Testament for Today: Biblical Stories with Modern Parallels By W. Jeffrey Marsh and Ron. R. Munns, but I hadn't found the time to read it until now.

I immediately became engaged, enjoying the format of a passage of scripture from the New Testament which was then followed by commentary or a story from latter-day disciples.

On page twenty-five, one of my favorite passages was shared from Matthew 6:24-33, wherein Christ admonishes his followers to put their trust in God, to "take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink...And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field,how they grow...even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these....for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."

Following these verses was a true story, entitled "Your Children Shall Never Beg for Bread." This story has since been made into a film, entitled Treasure in Heaven, and I found a trailer for it on youtube. After you watch the trailer, I will tell you why this story found me sitting in tears, all alone in my little room, my heart overflowing with gratitude.

From the book I read today: "It is estimated that at various times John gave or loaned over fifty thousand dollars to Joseph Smith and the Church. Later, as John forgave the remaining debts incurred while in Kirtland, Ohio, "the Prophet Joseph laid his right hand heavily on Elder Tanner's shoulder, saying, 'God bless you, Father Tanner; your children shall never beg bread'.

"John Tanner sacrificed everything he had for the gospel, and the promise given to him by the Prophet Joseph Smith has been literally fulfilled."

I am a direct descendant of this John Tanner. Not too many generations pass without linking him to my Grandmother Frances Carter Yost, then my mother Caroline, and then me. Also interesting to note, the missionaries that blessed John to be healed and then baptized him, are also ancesters from my mother's line, Simeon and Jared Carter, brothers to my Great Grandfather Gideon Carter.

Sitting in my own little sanctuary, I was faced with the reality of my great heritage, while reading this lovely story in a seemingly random book. In doing so, I felt the direct love of my Heavenly Father. Because of the great sacrifices of those that have gone before me, I am reaping the great blessings of an inconquerable legacy. My humble needs have always been met. I have always had a roof over my head. I have always had food in my cupboard. I have always found a way to clothe my children, even if it meant sewing play clothes from scraps from the sewing factory.

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin...Wherefore if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?"

My prayer is that we will always remember from whom our greatest blessings flow; that if we make our lives as holy offerings to God, He will pour out blessings from the windows of heaven, "that there shall not be room enough to receive it." (Malachi 3:10)

Mud Frogs: Beginning to See One Another

2011-04-26T10:44:00.000-07:00

"In the Sonoran Desert there are ponds. You could be standing in the middle of one and not know it, because the ponds are usually dry. Nor would you know that inches below your feet, frogs are sleeping, their heartbeats down to once or twice per minute. They lie dormant and waiting, these mud frogs, for without water their lives are incomplete, they are not fully themselves. For many months they sleep like this within the earth. And then the rain comes. And a hundred pairs of eyes pop out of the mud, and at night a hundred voices call across the moonlit water.

"It was wonderful to see, wonderful to be in the middle of: we mud frogs awakening all around. We were awash in tiny attentions. Small gestures, words, empathies thought to be extinct came to life. For years the strangers among us had passed sullenly in the hallways; now we looked, we nodded, we smiled. If someone got an A, others celebrated, too. If someone sprained an ankle, others felt the pain. We discovered the color of each other's eyes." (excerpt from Stargirl, by Jerry Spinelli)

I have mentioned that I recently read a sweet little book, one that really spoke to my soul. I learned so much from those few pages that it may take awhile for me to process everything I learned.

One of those lessons is about awakening mud frogs. How long have we been imprisoned by self-imposed mud, waiting for someone to come along and free us from our dreary little self-centered lives? Or perhaps might we recognize our own potential for lifting others from the quagmire?

Which will we be, the mud frog or the rain? Will our smiles, our kindnesses, our affection, our love come as refreshing rain upon one who might be struggling? There are so many opportunities to brighten one's day; are we taking them? Simple gestures can have far-reaching effects; are we making them?

I want to be like Stargirl. I want to make someone's day a little better, a little brighter, and I hope it doesn't come as too much of a surprise. Therein lies the challenge, really. Is our society so entrenched in the muck and mud that a burst of refreshing kindness is so startling and unusual that we don't know how to respond? Is forgiveness questioned? Is selflessness doubted?

May we begin in the simplest way then. Let us take note of the color of each other's eyes.

Jane's Tale of Woe

2011-04-23T09:45:00.000-07:00

I consider myself an expert. I consider myself a super fan. I feel ownership; I feel custodianship; I feel like they should have consulted me on their project!

I wonder, wonder, wonder. For whom were the producers making the most recent adaptation of Jane Eyre? Were they making it for those like me (and I know I am NOT alone)? Or were they making it for those that are curious and want to know what all the fuss is about?

Were the glaring gaps left because the filmmakers knew I would be able to fill them all in with my previously acquired knowledge of the story? What about all the first-timers? Are they to be left with the impression that the only joy must come through one's own imagination? Why, why, why did it have to be soooo gloomy, and soooooo austere, and sooooooo heartwrenching? And this is coming from the queen of heartwrenching. I love books and movies that successfully pull my heartstrings to hurt and to ache and to pine. I crave this stuff.

But on the other hand, throw me a few crumbs of joy. Please! A love story cannot be exclusively built upon a few passionate conversations. It comes from the day to day experiences, wherein we laugh, we work, we eat, we enjoy life. The profession of affection comes too abruptly and without enough evidence to make it believable.

Still, it is a masterpiece of filmmaking. Visually, it is stunning. And the few tidbits of Spring color are welcome relief for weary eyes, amidst all the darkness and sparsity.

It stars the brilliant Mia Wasikowska as Jane, and Michael Fassbender as Rochester. Their chemistry is real, but the script doesn't allow them enough lattitude to explore it or capitalize upon it.

The story of Jane Eyre is not all gloom and doom. Period. And yet one would believe it is if this were the only exposure to the story one has had. May I suggest then, for a more positive experience, one might try:

1) the book, itself, by Charlotte Bronte

2) the original 1944 version with Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine

3) or the 1996 version with William Hurt and Charlotte Gainsbourg

4) or the 1997 version with Ciaran Hind and Samantha Morton

5) or the 1983 version with Timothy Dalton and Zelah Clarke

6) or the 2006 version with Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson

Each one adds a new dimension to this timeless tale. Each Rochester is irresistable in his own unique way. Each Jane is a symbol of courage and integrity, which is the real reason this book lingers in the top of my all-time favorites list. She may be put upon, harshly dealt with, yet she never loses sight of right and wrong and self-respect. She makes no excuses and I admire that.

I May Never Be the Same

2011-04-22T10:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes something will come along that changes you. Often it comes in an unassuming way, unexpectedly, and with no great fanfare. Such was my introduction to Stargirl. I read Stargirl in one afternoon, unable to put down this tender, triumphant, heartbreaking story. Something about it spoke to my soul. It called out to me in a very real, very personal way, and I became apart of it, just as it became apart of me.

Stargirl is filled with beauty, with truth, with reality; it is also filled with heartache and with unkindness and with the best and worst parts of humanity.

There are many blogposts to be written about Stargirl. This is the first. It will not be the last.

And What Did I See?

2011-04-21T10:52:00.000-07:00

I know a little girl who loves to go to church. Every Sunday her momma gets her ready in a perfectly matched little outfit and she can hardly wait until it is time to go. She always "leads" the music along with the chorister. She loves her little friends. And mostly she loves going to Nursery. She loves sitting on her little carpet square and listening to stories. And she loves snack time.

But her favorite activity of all is singing time. Her favorite song? Well, of course it is the same song that was my favorite, and probably your favorite as well.

Can you guess?

Yesterday Would Have Been the Day

2011-04-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

It was my own special tradition. It was something I remember doing every Spring. I never knew exactly when it would happen, but when the time was right, I would know it.

After spending the winter months bundled up in coats and hats and scarves and mittens, one day invariably as I would walk home from school, I would realize that maybe summer was really on its way. If I had taken a sweater to school in the morning, on the way home it would have been shed as the sun was finally beginning to take away the wintertime chill and showing the promise of warmer days.

Upon arriving at home, I would make a beeline to my bedroom, open the bottom dresser drawer, determined to find the summertime clothes that had been put away for the season. With the hope that Summer really was close at hand, I would change out of my school clothes then head out to the shed to uncover the bicycles. Finding the bicycle pump was usually necessary too.

Then feeling that irrepressible freedom after the restrictive cold months, I would strike out for a bicycle ride around the neighborhood. How liberating! I felt as free as a bird. It felt so good to stretch my legs and feel the breeze on my skin.

Yesterday, I know it would have been that special day for me. The long-absent sunshine beckoned me out for a walk around the neighborhood. Soon the unexpected warmth made me want to shed my hoodie and find the summer clothes that I haven't touched in months. If I had had a bicycle, I would have pulled it from the shed too.

My body may be getting older, but it was nice to discover that my soul will always be young.

One Tradition I Could Never Grasp

2011-04-19T11:23:00.000-07:00

I love Santa Claus. I love everything about Santa Claus. I have thrown my entire being into supporting his cause, and promoting the dream and the magic that is uniquely his.

But I never could understand the ridiculousness that is the "Easter Bunny". C'mon, really? What is that about? And WHY?

But what about your poor children, you may be asking. What a grouchy mother they have! She has deprived them of the "magic" of an anthropomorphic rabbit that hides gross hard-boiled eggs under the couch never to be found until they start to stink sometime in May.

Well, to my defense, my children have always had their fair share of Easter goodies. But, as a family, we have chosen to celebrate with those things on the Saturday prior to Easter, preserving the Sabbath for our undistracted worship of the Resurrected Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

So while my children never looked for Easter baskets on Sunday morning, we always had a rousing treasure hunt on Saturday afternoon. Brian and I would carefully write clues which led our children from hiding place to hiding place, which would then lead to the grand-daddy of them all where elaborate baskets would be waiting for them. These would contain whatever this "Easter Bunny" thought would delight them. Including Peeps. Which I personally hate.

I have no desire to discount whatever your family traditions are. Whatever brings you and yours together is the important thing.

But those "poor" Haws children seem to have managed just fine without a yearly visit from that mythical rabbit.

Facebook: Does the Good Outweigh the Bad?

2011-04-15T08:39:00.000-07:00

I am faced with a dilemma. I have become dependent upon Facebook as the source of most of my social connection. That, in itself, is pretty pathetic. I know that. I get that. Being one that lives alone with my husband, with all my children living far from home, I feel like I am able to stay in touch with many friends and family members and feel connected to their day-to-day lives. As Martha would say, It's a Good Thing.

Yet, in the same breath, I must declare that much of the time Facebook really brings me down. I have become so tired, so weary, of the "yelling" that happens, as people try to make their opinions heard over the fray. I am sick of the name-calling. I am sick of the arguments. I am just sick.....

As I search for a solution, I ask myself if closing my account is the best alternative. It can't be. I would miss it so much. And yet, I wouldn't miss all of it. It would be refreshing in some regards. I do welcome everyone's opinion, and learn so much from others' insights. But is outrage the only answer to the troubles of the world? I think there must be a peaceful way to express our frustrations without relying on name-calling.

As the history of the world winds down to its close, to its final showdown; as it escalates in intensity and drama and hatred and iniquity, can't we stand forth as examples of peace, as disciples of Jesus Christ? Can't we stand together in holy places, watching and aware of the turmoil around us, yet not get dragged down into the ugliness?

I guess I need to do some real soul-searching.

To Go Before the Mast

2011-04-14T11:20:00.000-07:00

It may come as a surprise; it may seem out of character. For many years I have had a love affair with historic tall ships; those that depend on the power of the wind to fill their expansive sails, those that were manned by accomplished sailors who navigated their courses by the nighttime skies. These ships, with their undisputed beauty, speak to me of adventure, of romance of times gone by, of courage, of stout-hearted men.

While certain that I am not hearty nor courageous enough to have sailed the seven seas in this manner, in my dreams I do long to take my spot next to the great captains which I read about in books. Indeed, I have already outed my obsession with Horatio Hornblower.

Last Tuesday, I had the unique opportunity to "go before the mast and on the deck of the world", to test out my sea legs and to feel the exhilaration of the wind in my sails. It fulfilled a lifelong dream, and despite the debilitating cold of our evening cruise, I will always treasure the experience.

We sailed out of the bay in Newport, Oregon, on the Lady Washington, an historically accurate wooden replica of the original Lady Washington, one of the first U.S.-flagged vessels to visit the west coast of North America. This beautiful movie-star ship has appeared in "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" and "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World."

I appreciate my family and their patience with me as I pursue the things I love. They are very supportive and adventurous as well, and I love them. Together, we could sail to the ends of the earth, or wherever we decide to go.

"I did not wish to take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the mountains. I do not wish to go below now."

~Henry David Thoreau~

Special Agents of the O.E.M.

2011-04-12T08:30:00.000-07:00

They burst upon the scene in their Preparation Day clothes. They overflow with energy, with enthusiasm, with child-like wonder. They have a well-earned day off to relax, to kick off their walking shoes, and to let their hair down a little. They are eager for coastal diversions and some clam chowder at Mo's.

Their zealous Zone Leaders have envisioned the perfect zone photograph, and all have come prepared with their special baptismal clothing. Suddenly this rowdy, boisterous group transforms into the humble servants that they are, radiating the spirit of who they really are and who they represent.

Then with the same energy and eagerness of before, they run out the door, full speed, to accomplish their mission of the day.

From my perch above, I begin to see specks of white on the sand below. More follow, and just as the night sky fills with light one by one, soon the beach is filled with white stars.

In short order, the chaos organizes itself, and pays tribute to the "Best Mission in the World": The Oregon Eugene Mission. It was a singularly special event, one I felt privileged to be apart of. Thank you for sharing your spirit and your light with us.

The Personalities of a House

2011-04-11T11:50:00.000-07:00

It embraces a crowd with ease. It offers sanctuary to a family that wants to escape the chaos of the world. It envelops a solitary inhabitant with peace and quiet. It has become my home away from home where I can read, write, meditate, entertain, dream, and spoil my family and friends.

I used to feel like just a guest, albeit a very welcomed guest. When I would drive up to our beach home, I felt a little like an outsider that was treading on foreign territory. I used to feel like I was trespassing, or merely pretending to belong.

Not any more. As I drive up Coast Avenue to the lovely peach and beige home at the top of the hill, now I feel like it is just an extension of of my family, of myself. It is now just the other place that I live.

Do I still pinch myself once in while to make sure I'm not just dreaming? Absolutely!

A Man of Integrity

2011-04-07T08:53:00.000-07:00

What a classy guy. What a class act. What a beautiful performance.

I was so impressed with Jacob Lusk last night on American Idol. I appreciate that he took responsibility for his song choice, desiring that the message of his song be one that he could stand behind. How often do artists even pause to consider what message they are sending out? I know the Idol Contestants are constantly being advised to sing from their hearts, to connect to the message of the song, and last night, this courageous young man had the guts to make his decision based upon the meaning of the lyrics.

I don't know if his choice will be the highest vote-getter. I don't know if America is ready to reward someone for their convictions. But I don't think that really matters here. What matters is when he looks in the mirror, will he like what he sees? Will he know that he has been true to himself and to his standards?

What a great example to the millions of viewers that watched as someone had the courage to be the change he wanted to see. I believe that the man Jacob will see, as he looks in the mirror every morning, whether he is the next American Idol or not, is indeed a man of integrity. These are the kind of men we need to change the world.

What She is, and What She Isn't

2011-04-04T10:58:00.000-07:00

That is what I learned this weekend. I learned that the virtues and qualities of my daughter are finally being recognized and appreciated. I learned that beauty doesn't have to be devoid of intelligence and grace.

I learned that an entire audience can catch their breath at the same time, while listening to my angel sing with an angelic voice.

I learned that you don't need to be a seasoned, groomed, polished pageant contestant to finish strong. I learned that sometimes the victory lies in the overcoming of fear and insecurity. I learned that my family is strong; that we rally together, each member contributing to support one another.

I wouldn't have changed a thing. In reviewing the events of the past weekend, everything was exactly how I would have chosen it to be.

My youngest daughter, Miranda, participated in the Miss Rexburg Scholarship Program, and she was a finalist, winning the title of Second Runner-up, which came with honor, a certificate, a bouquet of beautiful flowers, a decent monetary prize, and the best part, no commitment to remain in Rexburg for the coming year. So everyone won something.

But I think Miranda won the most of all.

Weak Things Can Become Strong

2011-03-31T08:47:00.000-07:00

Given the heads-up by my daughter, Jackie, that it had been re-released as a PG-13 version, Brian and I immediately found time in our schedule to see "The King's Speech", this year's darling of the Oscars.

It held us spellbound the entire two hours, while being completely devoid of thrills, action, or explosions. Instead, it reached into the reservoir of our own insecurities. Who isn't able to identify in some way with this portrayal of a man faced with an unfortunate deficiency?

I was reminded of the great scripture from the prophet Moroni, found in the Book of Ether, Chapter 12. He had expressed his concern to the Lord about his inadequacies, fearing the mockery of men. The Lord reassured him that it is these very things that make us feel so lacking that can become our strengths if we learn to rely upon Heaven for help to overcome them.

"And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them."(Book of Mormon, Ether 12:27)

It also made me think of the great Apostle Paul, who humbly admits to his own "thorn in the flesh", which "thing (he) besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from (him)." In similar words which He spoke to Moroni, the Lord tells Paul: "My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness."

Recognizing that trials and weaknesses do, indeed, turn us to the Savior in humility, Paul then rejoices in his weakness: "Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong." (2 Corinthians, 12:7-10)

I love the zeal with which Paul approaches things, even to the point of rejoicing in his infirmities. Bless his heart! I'm not sure I am at that point, but I do recognize that the power of the Lord can aid us in overcoming weaknesses and making up the difference when we fall short.

I would encourage you to see this edited version of The King's Speech. It will certainly become a classic of uplifting and inspiring filmmaking. I must warn of strong language, but unlike most movies that throw it in gratuitously, the strong words in this case actually do help move the story along.

And Colin Firth makes a lovely king.

Make Your Own Kind of Music

2011-03-27T22:54:00.000-07:00

If I have taught my children anything, I hope I have taught them to be true to themselves. In a world of bending and breaking to fit into society's predictable round hole, of sanding down the edges of perfectly beautiful square pegs in order to be just like everyone else, I hope I have instilled in them the desire to stand forth as the originals that they are.

They may not fit the world's standard of beauty; I believe they exceed it. They may not fit the world's standard of virtue; I believe they exceed that too. And they are gifted with genuine gifts of the Spirit. They possess integrity and humility and a willingness to sacrifice a little token popularity in order to be true to what they believe and who they are.

Sometimes there is pressure to misrepresent who you really are. Don't succumb to that. There is an undeniable light in your eyes that deserves to be set on a candlestick, and not snuffed out under a basket. The world would have you diminish your light to match the dullness of the crowd. Don't do it.

I love the words of an old song from the Mamas and Papas. If my children have learned nothing else, I want them to spend their lives making their own kind of music, singing their own special songs.

The world can be made better by our being in it. Don't be afraid to be the change you would like to see.

Even if nobody else sings along.

Just For the Fun of It!

2011-03-21T13:40:00.000-07:00

Have you ever done something just for the fun of it? For no real purpose other than to just gather with friends for good conversation, good food, and good fun? This past weekend my husband and I did exactly that. We hosted what we called a "Black and White @ the Beach" Party.

I am finding that often in our lives we go from one requirement to the next; crossing off all the things that must be done while neglecting the seemingly superfluous things. My friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson reminds us that there is a need to make extra time for what he calls the "best property of all":

"We take care of our health, we lay up money, we make our room tight, and our clothing sufficient; but who provides wisely that he shall not be wanting in the best property of all--friends?"

That is what we did this weekend. We sought to take care of what we feel is as important as our health, as critical as our livelihood, and as valued as our family; we sought to nurture our friendships.

It was an opportunity to show them how much they mean to us, to spoil them a little, and to thank them for their involvement in our lives.

We couldn't feel more blessed to call them our friends.

Jackie, Jackie, Bo Backie!

2011-03-17T15:15:00.000-07:00

What a girl! What a woman! The room lights up when she walks in. The level of joy and delight instantly rises. And it is all because of her beautiful smile!

My dear daughter, Jackie, celebrates a birthday this weekend, which traditionally has been the launching pad for Springbreak per our school district's calendar. Because of that, and the Springbreak vacations of the past, I think Jackie has become accustomed to thinking that all birthdays are weeklong affairs. We often tease her about the special requests she makes for favorite food, or favorite activities all in the name of her birthday.

Sadly, I am unable to celebrate her "Birthday Week" with her this year. I hope she can feel my long-distance hugs. My life has never been the same since this brown-eyed beauty began making her presence known to me (with morning sickness and little baby kicks).

I have learned accountability, unconditional love, unsurpassed joy, and I have had a glimpse of that unique feeling that God must have for all of His children. I rejoice as she rejoices; I sorrow as she sorrows; I overlook her weaknesses and, instead, focus on her incredible gifts and talents.

Life is just better when Jackie Layne comes to town. I wish she was coming to town today.

The Next Best Thing

2011-03-15T09:52:00.001-07:00

There is at least one thing that I look upon with a twinge of regret; I wasn't able to give my son a brother. He really longed for a little brother and often felt overwhelmed and outnumbered by sisters, sisters, sisters. This seems to be a trend in my family. I come from a family with only one boy and many sisters. My husband comes from a family with only one boy and many sisters. Sorry, Robert. Perhaps it was just meant to be.
Thankfully, our lives and our families are not static; they are continually changing and growing. We feel so blessed to have had our family expand with the addition of our children's in-laws. What a blessing both of these families have been! I am so happy about the genuine connection we feel, and the real love they have offered to Robert and Erica.

And Robert has finally gotten some brothers! He has particularly made a connection with Josalyn's little brother, Jerry. They are inseparable. There is a special dynamic between the two of them that is undeniable. It truly is as though Jerry is finally the little brother that my son had hoped for.

If Music Be the Food of Love, Play On

2011-03-13T08:58:00.000-07:00

I was reminded yesterday of the power of music. I was reminded how much it speaks to my soul; how it feeds my spirit; how it has the ability to touch hearts. I was reminded of what an important part of my life it has always been.

I attended an evening devoted to the composition talents of a brilliant lady in our church community. It showcased her work from a lifetime devoted to obeying the instinct to create with inspiration. The simple, yet eloquent messages were elevated to soul-stirring by the accompaniment of beautiful music. It was an important reminder of everyone's potential and capacity. There lies within all of us the divine nature of creativity, which we can either tap into by listening to our hearts and minds, or we can let it remain dormant while the world suffers from one less masterpiece.

But creativity isn't merely about the result, it is about the things we learn and discover during the creative process. We begin to open our eyes to the possibilities, to see things in new ways, to understand ideas on a higher level. Then the one who truly benefits most is the courageous soul willing to take a chance to make something beautiful out of ambiguous puzzle pieces which no longer remain ambiguous.

But the end of the concert last night wasn't the end of my profound experience. My husband and I came home, settled down to relax in front of the television, forgetting to spring forward our clocks. We became engrossed in the Silver Anniversary Concert celebrating the timeless musical, Les Miserables, which was airing on PBS. The familiar music spoke new notes to my hungry soul. As I listened with new ears, the power and glory of this great work continued to swell my heart. I was overcome with the eternal truths which were taught in this story of sacrifice, integrity, mercy, and love.

Perhaps the biggest surprise for me was the "new" Marius. At first I was startled by the extremely young nature of this fellow, having been used to stronger, more mature voices whom I have heard in the past. But as it progressed, I realized that the producers had gotten it right. There was a stronger note of innocence, of fragility, of promise, of hope in the future. As ValJean pleaded with the Lord to "Bring Him Home", we all were pleading the same prayer. He was so vulnerable, so young, so innocent, and yet his heart was so "full of love", we could all identify with those same poignant feelings.

Imagine my surprise when it was brought to my attention that the new Marius was one of The Jonas Brothers, Nick Jonas. Of course his wasn't the strongest voice in the cast, but his wide-eyed innocence filled the role with grace.

Towards the end of the concert I looked up at the clock and was startled back to reality realizing that what was a late night for me anyway, was turning into even an even later one as I set the clock forward one precious hour.

But some things are worthy of the sacrifice. My heart was full of love, too. It was bursting with love for my family, for my Savior and His mercy, for the gift of music in my life, and for powerful literature that captures life and transcends it out of the gutter and onto a higher plane.

Every day should be so full of light and truth.

Can You Say Tsunami, Again?

2011-03-11T07:58:00.000-08:00

My husband purposely left the television news on this morning when he left for work. He wanted me to discover, immediately upon my arising, the tsunami warnings. He knew that I would be taken back to a year ago when we were in Hawaii. Eerily, I was!

Here is the link to a blogpost I wrote on March 8, 2010, in the aftermath of that other tsunami warning that tried to ruin my Hawaiian Holiday.

Can You Say Tsunami?

Speaking of Boldness....

2011-03-10T08:35:00.000-08:00

There is a talented lady I know that can do pretty much whatever she decides upon. She is an amazing designer and is hosting a giveaway on her blog of some of her new cross-stitch designs. Be sure to check in to see her work and leave a comment to earn a chance to win.

My sister, Wendy's Needleart Blog.

Life is about being bold enough to follow your dreams, isn't it? ;-)

Step Forward in Boldness

2011-03-10T07:56:00.000-08:00

Why not? Some things demand a boldness that may not come naturally, that may not fall within our standard modus operandi. There are times in our lives when we need to step out of our comfort zone, to finally be daring and bold!

It is usually when the odds are not in our favor. It is usually when, once in motion, there is no turning back.

But even the likelihood of failure far outweighs living with the nagging wonder of having failed to try. The "what ifs" in life are the hardest pills to swallow.

I have been immersing myself in Ralph Waldo Emerson of late, and I found a quote from his journal that I find unusually stirring. It is this: "Let us answer a book of ink with a book of flesh and blood."

Now I don't presume to necessarily grasp exactly Emerson's meaning from this, nor do I even guess what your interpretation would be. But, to me it is about inspiration. It is about taking our studies, taking the things we have read and then acting upon them with our whole souls, holding nothing back. It is to step forward with boldness and not just live our lives vicariously through book characters or another man's thoughts and dreams. At some point, it becomes our turn to "write our own book", to lay down our own story; to hold nothing back, to not just dream the dreams but be ready to bring them to life.

Perhaps I have come to that point in my life.

Perhaps you have too.

"Come Unto Me, All Ye That Labour"

2011-03-08T08:46:00.000-08:00

I feel inspired today to share one of my favorite scriptures, found in Matthew 11:28-30.

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart:
and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

For those of us that have been taught about our Savior, Jesus Christ, just these simple words can have such power. We should cling to the peace they bring. It can be lasting if we will always remember Him.

I can't even recall all the times that this passage of scripture has spoken peace to my soul, but I do remember specifically one time when I so needed to hear this message. It was years ago when I was going to college. I was very far from home and very overwhelmed with the demands of school. It was an afternoon after classes and I had gone home to my apartment. My roommate wasn't there and I went into my bedroom. Sat down on my bed. Knew I needed some help. Saw my scriptures sitting on my desk.

Though my knowledge of the scriptures was in its infancy stage, I knew that there was power in that book. I had faith that my answer was to be had in its pages.

I decided to put my faith to the test. I told myself that whatever page the book fell open to, there would be something of value there for me.

My bible fell open to Matthew, and this passage, which had been underlined earlier, immediately caught my attention. I wept. I didn't weep for sadness, though I was homesick. I wept for the knowledge I had that this was absolutely true; all I needed to do was to come unto the Savior and He would offer me the rest I needed; He would offer me the comfort and love and reassurance I so desperately needed.

Let us all cling to whatever particle of faith we have. Let us all remember that we are never alone if we remember to whom we may always look for peace. Sometimes in a chaotic world the only peace we will feel in is our hearts. Often that is enough. He will give us courage to press forward. He will give us enlightenment and guidance to face and deal with the troubles in our lives.

Let us put behind us the mistakes of the past and look forward with a brightness of hope. He has sent His Comforter to be with us. It is real. As we keep His commandments and strive to improve, we will be blessed to always have His Spirit to be with us. His promises are sure.

Are We Really Any Different Now?

2011-03-04T15:03:00.000-08:00

If you take two little eight-year-old girls, both with blonde hair and big brown eyes, who were inseparable, who only lived a short bike ride from each other, who thought alike and dreamed alike, and then separate them for forty years, can you really expect them to still be friends?

I would suggest that Yes! whatever brought them together as children, whatever bond was fortified between those two kindred spirits as children, that same kinship and love never goes away. I know this as fact, not merely speculation. It was tested just today, and proven.

I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. Rather hesitantly I answered. After one simple introduction, the hesitation turned to marvel, which turned to happiness, which turned back to marvel again. Could it really be my friend, Karen, from Lander, Wyoming?

We spoke with the ease of friends that had never parted. We caught each other up on the last forty or so years as though that time was merely incidental. And apparently it was, because the connection that had been there as children continued as strong and clear and evident as ever.

She remembered my married name was Haws. She googled me, and found my blog. Life continues to be a wonder and a blessing. Friendships are timeless. Our defining personalities, our souls, which we squeeze into little bodies, obviously do not change all that much over time, even as those same bodies grow bigger and older (and fatter and wrinkled). We like to think that we mature and grow and develop into outstanding members of society. Apparently we are really not all that different from when we were young.

Thanks, Karen, for the lovely reminder. And here is that newspaper clipping that I have treasured all these years, saved as my only tangible memory of that special time. The intangible memories, held tightly in my heart, have never faded. Now I have a new facebook friend and the promise of another special friendship rekindled.

Can you find me? Karen says I look just the same....;-)

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

2011-03-03T09:30:00.000-08:00

What a wild card! Every night we settle into bed, turn out the lights, close our eyes, and calmly invite whatever turns of the involuntary imagination may come to play across our minds. And we do so willingly. It is as though we regularly acquire a ticket for whatever happens to be showing, without checking the billboard, without knowing beforehand what the entertainment will be. Yikes!

I am astonished that we invite this. I am astonished that our progressive society, which seeks to have control in every other facet of our lives, still leaves this completely to chance. Why haven't we been given a pill to tame or to thwart this variable, this unknown? Surely we shouldn't be leaving ourselves open to the ludicrous, or the impractical, or the harrowing, or the triumphant, or the frivolous.... It seems to go so contrary to everything else in our lives that is about order and inside the lines and bridled.

I find dreams to be exhilarating. I welcome this scheduled step into another world. I see it as an opportunity for self-discovery. Sir Thomas Browne, of the Seventeenth Century, observed "We are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps; and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul."

William Hazlitt, of the Eighteenth Century, claimed: "We are not hypocrites in our sleep. The curb is taken off from our passions, and our imagination wanders at will. When awake, we check these rising thoughts, and fancy we have them not. In dreams, when we are off our guard, they return securely and unbidden."

I have made discoveries in dreams, not always welcomed, but certainly undeniable when faced with the them in the harsh light of morning. I have expanded my ideas and my thinking. I have cast off the inhibiting timidity and walked boldly where I wouldn't have gone before.

I find it interesting that we can discuss this idea of dreams with people from previous centuries because dreaming is a universal experience. Politics change, technology changes, modes of transportation, and agriculture, and exploration all change. Yet we share a fascination with this other-worldly nightly encounter which noone can really explain or justify.

In the words of the Nineteenth Century poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, who expresses it better than I could:

"Dreams or illusions, call them what you will,
They lift us from the commonplace of life
To better things."

Not all dreams are welcomed. Some are scary. Some are disturbing. Some bring the welcome relief of waking. Yet they all carry the capacity to lift us from the commonplace, to see things with fresh eyes, to explore and take chances without a safety net. My favorite dreams are those in which I can fly.

And the ticket is free.

All in Good Time

2011-03-02T13:23:00.000-08:00

I may have mentioned I live in Oregon, a place renowned for its stunning flora and its ubiquitous green. Everything is green, whether we want it to be or not. We merely dream of white Christmases; and whereas most winters are classified by dormancy, we are enrobed in brilliant evergreen, bright lawns, and the ever-present moss that covers the ground, the sidewalks, the houses, the trees, the fences. Are you getting the picture?

I often feel there is even a thin covering of moss on me, for lack of sufficient sunshine and activity. Moss may not grow on a rolling stone, but it does gather on a cloistered recluse who sits and sits by the window each day, watching the incessant rain, and wondering if outdoor activity will ever be possible again.

I try to look for the blessings. I recall to mind the beauty of my home, the abundance of trees, shrubs, and year-round flowers. But it loses a little when most of the time they can only be enjoyed from the indoors looking out.

My body aches to stretch its legs; to climb out of this hibernating state and breathe the fresh air. I have also realized the multiplicity of benefits from a good, swift walk around the neighborhood. It expands my focus, expands my thinking, and expands my hope.

It also expands my productivity. While reading this morning from an address given by Ralph Waldo Emerson at the funeral of his friend, Henry David Thoreau, I was reminded that Thoreau also placed great value on daily walks. Emerson stated that Henry valued every stride his legs made. "The length of his walk uniformly made the length of his writing. If shut up in the house he did not write at all."

And characteristic of Thoreau's appetite for solitude, he seldom welcomed walking companions, but preferred the rich reward of solitary jaunts through the woods, that of personal introspection and enlightenment.

While the stouthearted would not let a little (okay, a lot of) rain keep them locked inside, I do not profess to be that sturdy. So I guess I will continue to find worthwhile distractions within, keep an eye on any change in the weather, and anticipate some drier days. My soul longs for the inspiration that Thoreau found on his walks. I desire to open my eyes to the wonder of my surroundings and my ears to the whisperings of the Spirit, that can best be had with nothing overhead to restrict communication with heaven.

I know Spring is on its way, and then Summer is sure to follow. These are the blessings of predictable change. God knew that we would welcome a natural rhythm to our days. Forgive my shortsightedness. I simply must learn patience.

All in good time, Ardith. All in good time.

Once a Princess, Always a Princess

2011-02-28T09:29:00.000-08:00

I love having daughters! I love having a granddaughter! Beginning at a very young age, they seem to gravitate toward being princesses. There is something in their make-up that identifies with wearing a beautiful dress and believing they are royalty, royalty in the best sense; that of feeling valued and of great worth, that of realizing their importance in our lives. And if it happens to come with a beautiful, glistening crown, even better!

Throughout the years in our home, we have seen a steady parade of princesses. It began with a chest full of elaborate dress-up costumes, added to by Halloween's yearly acquisitions. The parade continued with prom dresses, beauty pageants gowns, and most recently, a wedding dress.

Now, it seems, that it may even go a step further. My youngest daughter has decided she wants to participate in the Disney College Program, in which college students take time off from their schooling to work as Cast Members at one of the Disney Resorts. They work in all facets of the Kingdom, as food service workers, janitorial staff, and the costumed employees that put people on the rides. Excited at the prospect of working in her "home away from home", Miranda has pursued the details of making this dream become a reality.

Recently at an information meeting, a precursor to the interviews, she was given quite a surprise. The Disney representatives took note of her, watching her expressiveness, her voice inflections, her body language. She was told she has the perfect face to be Snow White. The only drawback was her height. Would she be too tall for the diminutive costumes?

She was quite taken aback, never having considered that playing princess could become a real job. Even if she is passed over because of her beautiful height, it is quite an honor to be considered. Imagine becoming one of those who thrill little girls' hearts; imagine being in the parades and signing autographs.

It could happen.

Give Me an Unlikely Hero Anyday

2011-02-24T08:59:00.000-08:00

My husband and I have settled into a very comfortable routine. Our children are all in college, hundreds of miles away; he is no longer working extra hours as a lay-clergyman. It's just the two of us. Did you hear my sigh? It was a good sigh....

We are enjoying nightly home-cooked, healthy meals, a generous time given to reading the scriptures together, and then we settle into our pre-selected favorite spots. He takes the chair with an ottoman for his feet. We no longer have to elevate his legs due to blood clot swelling and pain (most of the time). So that progress has been encouraging. I am on the couch with two pillows and my favorite blanket. If it is a particularly chilly evening I might grab the leopard snuggie that my son-in-law gave me.

We are quite the picture, I would guess.

Then comes the fun part. Each night we have a pre-selected show that we enjoy. Sunday evening has been "Worst Cooks in America". But we just watched the finale, so I guess Sundays are open again.

Monday night is a "Chuck" night, and we DVR "Hawaii Five-O" to be watched another time because I can't stay up that late.

Tuesdays are nothing without some "White Collar". Love that. And then I try to sit through "NCIS", but often the blood and the gore drive me away to some other activity.

Wednesdays are "Top Chef" nights, with some "American Idol" thrown in when available.

Thursdays we watch more Idol.

But easily the highlight of the week is Friday's offering, the only show that I get so excited about when I settle in with my blanket on the couch: "Merlin!" I love it. There is something about its combination of likeable and hateable characters, beautiful scenery, lovely music, and compelling storyline. Having always been a fan of Arthurian Legend, this brings familiar names to life and invites cheering for the good guys and booing the bad ones. Merlin is delightful as the gawky, awkward humble servant to Prince Arthur who, with an undeniable good heart, must always quietly save the day, never getting credit for his heroism. And who doesn't swoon over the Arthur/Guinevere chemistry? Ah! This is good television.

Merlin Photo Albums - Merlin TV Show

Saturdays are open. That is the time we will often go out to a movie, or go to dinner with friends.

I am thoroughly enjoying these quiet evenings with my husband. I look forward every day to spending time with him. It may not sound like an exciting life to most of you, but how delightful it is to have a husband who works hard during the day so that we might have such a lovely peaceful home to relax in. I have always had a thing for unlikely heroes.

And we are just waiting patiently to add "Psych" back into the line up.... ;-)

"Words and things, and a small drop of ink"

2011-02-23T09:59:00.000-08:00

These are a few of my favorite things! ;-)

Yesterday I stumbled upon --( do we really stumble upon things by chance, or are they somehow put in our path directly purposed for us to discover them?.....)---ahem---Yesterday I stumbled upon a little poem by Lord Byron that I found utterly inspiring. It perfectly illustrated what I have been thinking about recently, and I instantly fell in love with it.

Words and things, and a small drop of ink,

Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces

That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

~Lord Byron

Now I will admit to not thinking on as grand a scale as Byron did, but I certainly believe there is great power in the written word, OUR written word. And I also believe that inspiration comes in many ways and should be given the attention it deserves.

I find myself with the desire to identify and cherish the inspiration I receive, as whisperings from heaven, and feel that the best way to honor these, is to write them down. There are so many ways to learn and acquire knowledge, and we are inhibiting that endeavor if we fail to use inspiration as part of that learning.

It then becomes our responsibility to utilize these directives, and most importantly, to remember them. The best way I have found to remember these impressions is to write them down as soon as I am able. We all should be recording these enlightening paths of thought upon which our minds are coaxed to wander. Perhaps our little drops of ink, falling like dew upon our thoughts, will not influence millions, nor even thousands, but they may have direct influence upon our families, upon our posterities, as our humble little journals which hold our most tender and intimate feelings are sacredly passed down to be read, and to be cherished, and perhaps to induce thought as well.

I also "stumbled" upon a quote from Thomas Jefferson that describes the value of this inspiration that can come our way: "The glow of one warm thought is to me worth more than money".

Are we recognizing the worth of these whisperings, which often are manifest as "warm thoughts"? They are not happenstance; they are not accidental, coincidental, nor merely fortuitous. We can receive directives to guide our lives, which will be of infinite worth to us if we heed them.

Your words needn't be eloquent to have power. They needn't be flowery nor trumped up in any way. Their simplicity and clarity will carry the message effectively. They only need your sincerity.

May we seek to receive this guidance, and as it comes, to honor it by recording it; that we might be inspired today as we write it down, tomorrow as we look back upon our words, and in the future as it speaks to the generations that follow.
.

Gentle On My Mind

2011-02-22T09:31:00.000-08:00

My mind seems to be consumed with thoughts of Miranda lately. I think about her all the time. I am so inspired by the metamorphosis occurring in her life.

Never has she been more self-assured. Never has she been more focussed and determined and bold.

Always an introspective child, she is discovering the courage to open her mouth and finally express those depths of brilliance and perception that have been brewing over the years.

Always a beauty, she is now polishing and perfecting and placing the gem on a more prominent setting, enabling it to catch the light from all directions.

Miranda is unique. She understands that she may see life from a different perspective than most, but isn't afraid to represent her unparalleled self. Never one to follow the crowd, she will stand alone with her principles if she must. Thankfully she is finding those that share her values, and are happy to stand with her as the crowds pass by.

This is the time of your life to stretch your beautiful wings, Miranda. Explore your gifts. Fine tune your offering. The world is a better place for your being in it. I am blessed to call you daughter.

This is What True Love Is!

2011-02-21T09:38:00.000-08:00

I have a fan. This fan, even amidst his busy workday schedule, anxiously awaits the posting of a new blog. He will even telephone to remind me that I haven't put up a new blog yet.

Now this certainly is true love. A phone conversation ought to be enough for him to get his "fix" of me, but he values just as much the expression of my thoughts on my blog. He enjoys my written words because they add a different dimension to his understanding of me. He claims that it is a great way for him to learn what I have been thinking about and he likes to figure out what prompts one particular subject or another. He often recognizes extensions from conversations we have had, noting what I have continued to chew on, or think about, from ideas we have previously discussed.

This is the greatest form of flattery or compliment that a writer can receive. My true fan recognizes that I reveal the real inner workings of my mind in my day-to-day blogging. And he values that. Rarely does my blog apply directly to the mundane monotony of everyday life. He already knows what I think about those things. This affords new clues to solving the mystery of Ardith, something he has been working on for 28 years.

But Is It Sustainable?

2011-02-18T13:38:00.000-08:00

Ay-yi-yi! Everywhere we go, it seems, we are being bombarded with the sustainability issue. Is our food sustainable? Is our energy sustainable? Is our fashion sustainable? Really? Why now? Why, after thousands of years into the earth's history, is this becoming so politically correct now?

I found the official definition of "Sustainability". It is this: "Development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs. This definition was created in 1987 at the World Commission on Environment and Development (the Brundtland Commission). It is enshrined in the Swiss federal constitution. It is similar to the "seventh generation" philosophy of the Native American Iroquois Confederacy, mandating that chiefs always consider the effects of their actions on their descendants seven generations in the future." Found here.

Now I don't want to sound uncaring, nor irresponsible but I just have to wonder if it isn't all just too little too late. Is our generation really capable of undoing all the effects of the careless living done up to this point? Or is it really just license for industries to raise prices along with raising awareness?

I wish I was one that felt it was my calling to save the world. I wish I felt my voice could be heard amidst the chaos. I don't. What I do feel as a calling is to protect and preserve my family and my own little corner of the world; to live cleanly and in good health, to nourish my body with real food, not imitation nor manufactured; to be conscientious of my carbon footprint, but not to let it inhibit going where I want to go, nor how often I go there.

So when I think of sustainability, do I obsess about farming or fishing practices, or fabric industry practices, etc. etc? Honestly, not much.

I do think about lifestyle changes and their sustainability. I do think about nurturing new habits and my ability to grow them strong enough to weather the storms of carelessness, boredom, and apathy. Our lives naturally have an ebb and flow, with naturally occurring highs and lows. Will my goals be able to endure the low points when my energy wanes and my enthusiasm takes a vacation?

My desire is to make long-range goals and achieve them; to look forward to the future and the livability of earth for my posterity. I believe the best way for me to help my future generations is to establish firm foundations of faith, love, prosperity and responsibility. If each of us thinks in terms of making the world a better place, not just by our energy choices nor our food choices, or whether or not we wear polyester or cotton clothing, then we can feel good about our efforts, which then are about improvement and not just about sustaining the status quo.

Are we teaching the values we know and believe in? Are we supporting the wholesome and uplifting arts and literature that enlighten and beautify the world? Are we encouraging our children to develop their talents and become productive hard-working citizens of the global community?

I just want to make improvements in my life, and then sustain them. For more than a day, more than a week, more than a year.

I claim the responsibility to worry about my own progress. I will let you worry about yours.

Getting off my soapbox now.... It's too precarious for me.

"My Dear Wormwood..." Leave Me Alone!

2011-02-16T08:01:00.000-08:00

What a week I've had! What began with only a vague awareness of a literary work, soon gave way to a rush of influence by the C.S. Lewis masterpiece, The Screwtape Letters.

I had heard of this book. I understood what it claimed to be. In fact, I had purchased a copy of this book as a gift for my son-in-law for Christmas; not because I had thought it to be the perfect gift, but at the suggestion of my daughter on her husband's behalf.

A few weeks after Christmas I received an email from a friend inviting my husband and I to attend a theatrical performance of, what else? The Screwtape Letters. Being distracted by life, I failed to respond to the invitation and even forgot to tell my husband about it.

Two more weeks pass by. My husband mentions a blurb he had heard on the radio about this particular show coming to Portland. It jolted my memory of the email, and we then discussed the possibility of getting tickets. He was eager. I was impartial.

With tickets purchased and a week until showtime, we decided some preparation would add to our appreciation of the event. With the new-fangled technology, I purchased and downloaded a digital copy of the book to be read on my iPad.

Together each evening, Brian and I would gather for study of The Screwtape Letters. I read the challenging text aloud, hoping that Brian was able to understand at least some of what I was fumbling through. It is the type of book that shouldn't be rushed through in a week. It requires time to reflect, to ponder,to decipher, to chew on the intensity and the subtlety. It is also the kind of book that begs for certain passages to be underlined and highlighted, with notetaking in the margins so amazing parts can be revisited, reevaluated, and re-appreciated.

None of which was possible for us while cramming on an iPad.

That said, we did get a lot out of our reading. Our regret was that in our truncated study, our ultimate results were certainly truncated too.

Showtime came. It was amazing; a two-person cast, with only one of those actually speaking, it was unique. It was thought provoking. It was humbling to recognize human foibles present in oneself, the results of Satan and his minions successfully understanding the natural man and effectively leading us astray. I use the collective "we" loosely. Perhaps I am the only one weak and impressionable....

I have since thought a lot about The Screwtape Letters. I recognize it to be full of profound truths, with Mr. Lewis being directly inspired. I liken it to sneaking a peek at the opposing team's playbook. If we can understand their game plan, with all of their strategies and scheming, we are certainly better equipped to construct an effective offense, while fortifying our team's defense. They play dirty. They intend to win. Our eternities are at stake, but we have God on our side. Sorry, Screwtape.

Imagine my delight on opening my valentine gift and finding a hard copy of The Screwtape Letters. My husband knows me so well. He knows that I couldn't wait to get my hands on a copy that I could reread slowly and deliberately and make my own, with any amount of notations and scribbles. It will become a treasure, for sure.

I feel like someone has been trying to get my attention to become familiar this book. And it took nearly being beaten on the head with it in order to wake me up. If your curiosity is piqued even just a little, I would encourage you to have a go at it. It may not be the easiest book you ever read, but I guarantee it will be one of the most eye-opening.

A Time to Every Purpose

2011-02-15T11:39:00.000-08:00

Cliche', I know. And yet the reason certain phrases or ideas become cliche', or oft-repeated, is because they are eternal truths, whose time never fades because their meaning never fades.

As the timeless scripture from The Holy Bible, Ecclesiastes, Chapter Three, goes:

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted....

Then I'm sure we could all sing along with the Byrds to finish that list.

Life is clearly divided into unique phases, when certain activities are called for and appropriate, and others may have to be either carefully scheduled in, or put on the back burner receiving no heat nor any attention at all. Then thankfully, if we are patient and attune to changes, we realize that one season is diminishing and we recognize harbingers of the new.

For most of us, entering into new seasons becomes an introspective time and we find ourselves evaluating the past and treading cautiously on our new path. Some roads have become very familiar to us for our having been detained on them so long. They feel safe to us. We hesitate to leave their structure and their comfort to embark on something strange and foreign. It needn't matter that we are craving something fresh and new; we still proceed with uncertainty.

What new paths have you embarked upon? How are you adapting? Do you approach it as a gift and a challenge, or do you mourn the days when you had your feet planted firmly under you with determined direction and clear focus?

I welcome the challenge of my new season, but I often feel like I am living without a net under me. I am learning to take risks but still feel unsteady and unbalanced.

The most notable blessing is that I don't feel altogether alone and unaided. Clearly I am receiving direction and guidance toward my new purpose.

There. I said it.

I do feel like I have entered a time for a specific purpose, one which I have never felt before; one which would have been difficult before, but which now seems like a good fit. It is as though I found a sweater on the back shelf of my closet. It is familiar, but I must have forgotten it was there. And now as I put it on, it feels pretty good. I may need to grow a little so it will fit properly, but I'm up for that challenge. I'm ready to stretch and become stronger.

I am ready to be a writer.

Love is Not Love Which Alters

2011-02-14T09:03:00.000-08:00

Oh, I still remember the thrill of young love. I remember the fluttering in my heart. I remember the thrill of a phone call. I remember the sweet anticipation of just seeing him. Walt Whitman captures that feeling so well.

Calamus No. 43

By Walt Whitman

O YOU whom I often and silently come where you

are, that I may be with you,

As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the

same room with you,

Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your

sake is playing within me.

But having been with my Valentine for 28 years, some of the newness has worn off just a little. The fluttering is still there though, and the thrill, and the anticipation, and the electric fire. But they now represent the peace of knowing that he WILL call, and he WILL come home, and we WILL spend time together. Lots of time.

What is missing is the anxiety. And I certainly don't miss that! The doubt is gone. The insecurity is gone. In its place is the certainty and reassurance of a long term commitment.

My favorite love poem, then, is not about the thrills of new love. It is about the serenity of knowing that love is here to stay. Real love will weather the storms, to be found just as solid and lasting as ever. It will turn a blind eye to faults, and the inevitable fading of youth.

Sonnet No. 116

By William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

Oh, no! It is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love is not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Happy Valentine's Day to my eternal Valentine. The one that is always there. The one that overlooks the impediments. We may not be the picture of young love; but we are definitely the picture of real love.

Horton, Can You Hear Me?

2011-02-13T16:46:00.000-08:00

Who doesn't know Dr. Suess? And who doesn't know his classic story Horton Hears a Who? I remember being enchanted by it as a child, with its magical language and its compelling situation and its friendly pictures.

I actually had this book called to mind today, and it wasn't for any of those reasons. I was passing some time reading assorted blogs and facebook statuses, trying to come to know my friends better. Then it occurred to me how similarly we are all "Whos" of a sort, microscopic beings perched precariously atop a precarious world.

For one reason or another, most of us have something within us that compels us to be heard. And I am convinced that it isn't vanity that compels us. It isn't pride in what we have to say. Though the odds of our little voices being heard are so small, there is still the drive, the energy, the desire to share what is in our hearts. It is part of our social need as human beings.

When I was a child I remember trying to come to understand my place in the Universe. I tried to grasp the "centerness" that I felt in my mind, in contrast to the evidence I saw all around me of my nothingness. I was so small. I was insignificant compared to the stars and planets that filled the skys. Why then did I feel that I was somebody?

Who was I that God was aware of me and my little thoughts? For I certainly felt that way.

The enemy of God would have me feel like a nobody. In his petty, dreary existence, I would be as hopeless and full of despair as he is.

If I can do nothing else, I have a desire to spread a little encouragement today. Send your voice out into the world. What you think matters; maybe not to everyone, maybe not to many, but whatever you have to say needs to be heard by someone. It is the proof that you are here. It is the symbol of your life.

I may be only one small voice but as a daughter of God, I know that what I think and what I feel and ultimately what those things lead me to say proves my validity. What I say proves that my soul is made up of this mortal body and this immortal spirit. And I am here on this earth for a reason. And the Lord gave me a mind to be used.

And I intend to use it.

I hope someone can hear me.....

The Best Money We Ever Spent

2011-02-10T13:09:00.000-08:00

I know, I know. There may be some of you that think spending money on elaborate vacations is a big waste. And it may seem that a family that regularly plans trips to Disney is frivolous, extravagant, and foolish.

I am here to prove otherwise. On the other hand, I feel no need to prove anything. Think what you like.

This is a special scrapbook that is exclusively for something special that my family began a few years ago.

If you can't read the handwriting on the note, this is what it says:

"We were blessed to be able to purchase a membership that will result in great trips for the next 48 years."

This is the title page for the scrapbook in which I intend to chronicle all our great trips for the next 48 years.

Each trip will get one page to record who enjoyed the trip and where they went.

Our first trip using the Disney Vacation Club was in 2006 while Robert was on his mission. Brian and I took the girls to Disney World for Thanksgiving. What a wonderful, memorable time. We decided we could get used to this. The accomodations were beautiful and the access to the parks was very easy.

The following year we needed to show Robert what this marvel was all about and we returned to Disney World for the week falling between Christmas and New Years. It was not a handful of days after this trip that he met his lovely Josalyn in Idaho.

We were happy to contribute our DVC points the next year for a Honeymoon Cruise for Robert and Josalyn. They sailed out of California for a week along the Mexican Riviera. How fun to be able to offer them such a memorable beginning for their lives together.

2009 found us all together in Florida for the Christmas Holidays, including a few additions to our family. We seem to be growing. We spent time at Vero Beach as well as Disney World. There is a glare on my photos that is distorting the images. Sorry about that.

After the Wedding Extravaganza of the Summer of 2010, Erica and Derek slipped away quietly for a cruise to the Caribbean for their Honeymoon. Again, Disney Vacation Club Points saved the day. All my money had been spent on the wedding so I was thankful to have this alternative method to pay for a great trip.

When we joined the Disney Vacation Club, we were told that it would take about seven years to reclaim the value of our investment. In looking back over the past amazing five years worth of "Trips of a Lifetime", I believe we have regained our investment already. And guess what? We have 43 more years to enjoy the same caliber of vacations.

Hmmmmm.....Where shall we go next?

Strive to Thrive!

2011-02-09T09:49:00.000-08:00

I love the word, 'Thrive'. I consider it the outward expression of inward health; be it physical, emotional, spiritual health,or all three rolled into one.

I find myself in an interesting position as a mother of four grown children. (Can I still call them 'children' then?) I have taken a decidedly backseat role in their lives, a position that occasionally begs me to try and drive from there and yet doesn't take long for me to see the futility of that! Fortunately that is rarely necessary.

My children (they will always be my children) are thriving! Their lives are not without challenges and yet they are finding ways to conquer them. They are finding ways to face adversity, poverty, exhaustion, loneliness and simply not having enough hours in the day to do everything they want to do. Each of them is on a pathway toward self-discovery, uncovering talents and abilities that perhaps have lain dormant.

As difficult as it is to admit, the distance between us seems to be contributing to their tendency to grow. I don't think I am the worst mollycoddler mother but I may have been a safety net that discouraged true courageous behavior.

I am witnessing true courageous behavior by every single one of them. I feel blessed for the good choices they are making and the outstanding people they have chosen to join them in their lives. They are taking care of their physical health by being active and avoiding unhealthy things. They are taking care of their emotional health by looking out for one another and being supportive. They are taking care of their spiritual health by actively following their faithful hearts toward righteous goals and commitments.

When a mother perceives her children thriving without her, it causes an internal battle. The human tendency is to feel sorry for herself, that they don't need her anymore. On the other hand, I have never felt such gratitude and even just a little bit of pride that maybe I have contributed to their successful lives.

Keep going. Keep making good choices. Keep picking yourselves up when you skin your knees. That used to be my job but I am turning it over to you.

How Impactful Are We?

2011-02-08T11:07:00.000-08:00

We never really know, do we? Oh, that we could see the concentric circles expanding ever outward from the things we say and the things we do, like the proverbial ripples in our proverbial ponds.

Hence lies a great responsibility in choosing well our words and our actions.

And perhaps we never quite grasp the scope or dimensions of our own pond. We used to talk of villages that raise a child. I believe that 'village' no longer adequately describes the bounds of our potential influence. Like it or not, we have become world citizens, interacting and rubbing cyber shoulders with neighbors from the far reaches of places we will probably never venture to.

It is important to remember that our concentric circles of influence are affected by those of others. The song we sing is changed by its encounter with other voices. Does it become better with the harmony of additional perspective, or does the discord of aggressive argument result in painful dissonance?

I have realized that even in the little world of Ardith's Quest I have a responsibility in what I share. There is a reason that I feel the way I do about things. Am I bold enough to express my testimony of those important things? Am I courageous enough to try and explain how I have come to those conclusions?

As a disciple of Jesus Christ I am called to the work of sharing His great mission, and helping to build His Kingdom upon the earth.
I may be but one small voice in the huge interchange of dialogue and information.

And yet, out of small things can proceed that which is great....

Struggling with my Lifestyle Change

2011-02-07T17:35:00.000-08:00

I refuse to use the "D" word. I swore that I would never, never, never again go on one of the "D" words. Instead, Brian and I have adopted a new Lifestyle Change. Hmmmmph.

I tell myself to avoid the scale. I tell myself that no good can come of it. I tell myself, instead, 'Oh, look how loosely my jeans are beginning to fit!' 'See how much better I feel?' 'I don't feel deprived at all!'

Hmmmmmmph.

This morning a sweet friend dropped by to return some sheet music she had borrowed. As a gesture of thanks, the music was accompanied by a lovely plate of valentine cookies, the real deal, homemade with pink icing and assorted candy garnishments.

They have been sitting on top of the piano all day. I have walked past them a time or two. I sat down to play a song and pretended not to notice they were there.

Sometimes I wonder why each person seems to have their own personal temptations, or weaknesses. I have no desire to smoke a cigarette. I don't even know what beer tastes like. But, put a plate of homemade cookies in front of me and I become weak in the knees. My mouth waters. All voices of reason and good sense go out the window.

To my credit, the plate remains untouched. I haven't broken off a corner, pried off a red hot, nor tasted a speck of frosting.

Hmmmmmmph!

"To Nobody, then will I write"

2011-02-07T13:14:00.000-08:00

I have done it again. I have gotten preoccupied with who is reading rather than what is being written. I'm sorry that I keep having to remind myself that my blog is my own; it is my outlet for my benefit. It is available to those who choose to stop by, but the one that should be gaining the most is myself. And when I use it properly, that is exactly what happens.

Here is a revisit of an older post. Not because you need to hear it; because I do.

I was introduced to a new friend today. Miranda did the honors. She knew I would make a connection with this dear lady, one who steps off the page and instantly becomes more than an acquaintance. Although her formal name is Frances Burney, a British author at the turn of the 19th century, I think I will prefer to enjoy the more familiarity of her nickname, Fanny. Fanny was a gal ahead of her time.

Fanny's first journal entry in 1768 presented a common dilemma. She knew that memory would fail her eventually so she wanted to have a place to share her "thoughts, manners, acquaintance & actions," where she could "confess (her) every thought...open (her) whole heart!"

She continues: "But a thing of this kind ought to be addressed to somebody--I must imagine myself to be talking--talking to the most intimate of friends--to one in whom I should take delight in confiding, & remorse in concealment: but who must this friend be?"

That is a dilemma that bloggers wrestle with, at least I do. With whom am I sharing my thoughts? to whom are they directed? to whom am I uncovering and baring my soul? with whom am I occasionally being silly? Although after much inner debate and finally choosing to be blissfully unaware of who is reading my blog, I think I can take a page from Fanny's book. She delighted in figuring out to whom she could direct her writing:

"To whom must I dedicate my wonderful, surprising & interesting adventures? to whom dare I reveal my private opinion of my nearest relations? the secret thoughts of my dearest friends? my own hopes, fears, reflections & dislikes?--Nobody!

"To Nobody, then will I write my journal! since to Nobody can I be wholly unreserved--to Nobody can I reveal every thought, every wish of my heart, with the most unlimited confidence, the most unremitting sincerity to the end of my life!"

While Fanny's newfound freedom in writing to Nobody enabled her to write with utter honesty, her private thoughts were reported so fully and faithfully that, in the end, every reader is able to share them and relate to her Universal truths. That is a tremendous accomplishment. While I don't enjoy the freedom of my posts being read posthumously, I do hope that as I work through the reflections and musings and deliberations of my life and share them freely with "Nobody", perhaps some particle of truth will resonate with you, whomever you are, and that occasionally I might prompt you to look at something in a new way, or to set your sights on a new goal, or to express your previously inhibited feelings.

Thanks, Fanny. I think we are going to be good friends.

Looking for My Expertise

2011-02-05T08:40:00.000-08:00

I've heard that if you want to have a successful blog, you need to specialize. You need to declare yourself an expert at something, and then focus on that one area of proficiency. Then as people look for information, instruction, education about that "one thing", there YOU are!

Well. That puts me at quite a disadvantage then. I am expert at nothing; I have experimented with a lot of hobbies, but I am the master of none.

I am very good at fixing dinner for my husband and I. I am very good at getting the laundry done once a week. I am reasonably good at keeping an organized home. BORING!

I like to write. I like to find connections between seemingly unrelated things. I like to play the piano. I like to read worthwhile books. I like to plan trips. I like to travel. I like to watch old movies.

I used to be a really good scrapbooker....

I used to paint....

I used to....

Nobody wants a blog about "used to's".

Time to find something new.

Period.