tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7021740262664659502024-03-05T03:16:34.406-08:00The Tea PartyPlaceLaurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.comBlogger508125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-47113369149368372222013-12-21T10:41:00.000-08:002013-12-21T10:56:24.044-08:00Season's Greeting from the Wicke Family<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwoG6wyShJ-ceXBZhS2WtElWR6YsjVWLnk3bl90gJe1igekXR9XYXBGGBs6WWBUq9oY06EtXm43b1Q26efYgVPKleScvUP7EwuYs1AnvbLi_nwgoakNUa3KFzgt3iyHai70_u4hnb2AY8/s1600/Christmas+card+2013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gua="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwoG6wyShJ-ceXBZhS2WtElWR6YsjVWLnk3bl90gJe1igekXR9XYXBGGBs6WWBUq9oY06EtXm43b1Q26efYgVPKleScvUP7EwuYs1AnvbLi_nwgoakNUa3KFzgt3iyHai70_u4hnb2AY8/s400/Christmas+card+2013.JPG" width="271" /></a>(As written by Mr. Wicke, who agreed years ago to take the task of the christmas letter.)</div>
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We begin our Christmas greeting by sharing some inner workings of the Wicke household. Inevitably our December starts with a discussion along these lines:</div>
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Laurel: What are we going to do about our Christmas card picture this year?</div>
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Thomas: I don’t know, what do you think?</div>
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Laurel: I really want to get a nice family picture taken.<br />
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Thomas: Yes, that would be nice….</div>
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<em>TWO WEEKS LATER...</em><br />
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Laurel: Honey, you have GOT to get on the Christmas letter and we never got the picture taken.</div>
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Thomas: I know, I am going to write the letter. I will think of something for the picture…</div>
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Since we’ve been married for twenty years now, such trivial things rarely erupt into an argument but there is no doubt that Laurel’s concept of the ideal Christmas picture is more than what I was able to produce with my remedial Photoshop skills. That being said, the moustache craze is sweeping the nation, and we decided to have some fun with it. Much to Laurel’s chagrin, the children were enthusiastically behind their dad’s idea. So, if you find yourself thinking, “Wow, that family has a rather distinguished look to them,” or if the word “debonair” came to mind when our card arrived, you will recognize the power of subliminal messaging. In the end, we just wanted to bring a smile to your face (by bringing a moustache to ours) and whisker you a Harry Christmas! Don’t get us started!</div>
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So we stubbled, I mean stumbled, into another year of change but have gotten our feet underneath us after our transition in 2012. In February I received my own campus and began oversight of Everest College, Torrance. I grew to love the faculty, staff and students very quickly and felt like I found a second family. The smaller campus gave me a chance to learn all the details of the position. The 75 minute drive each way on the famed 405 freeway was the only unfortunate element of my job. It would have been nice to shave this off (the drive, not the moustache) but both Laurel and I are finding that driving is very much a part of Southern California culture. A frightening reality when we realize Logan is only four years from driving. Just about a month ago, my commute and my position took an unexpected change as I was asked to take over the much larger and much closer Anaheim campus. I left my Torrance “family” and engaged in new challenges. I look forward to making a difference here.<br />
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We might not qualify as an educated family but we are definitely an educational family. Hence the “Wicke Academy” reference. Unlike the fake moustaches, the job descriptions have some validity to them. I may be president of a school and Laurel really is a teacher, but she fills every one of those “unofficial” roles in the laboratory that is life. After teaching music and literature at Carden Hall, she begins her second shift whiskering Logan to young women’s or Griffin to gymnastics. Her constant shadow is Lincoln, who loves being with his family unless they engage in some unappreciated behavior whereupon he is quick to declare “you're fired” or proclaim “you're ruining my life.” Laurel keeps our family running between Newport and Mission Viejo. She was able to chaperon the 8th grade for the second time on their trip to France this past summer. Carden offered Laurel a full-time position, which allowed us to move Logan and Griffin to this amazing school where, along with an amazing character based curriculum including daily French, music and school uniforms, their mother teaches a few doors down the hall. Attending such a school is a blessing we never could have foreseen. <br />
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Our family travels provided many memories as we spent two weeks on the east coast. We saw much of Washington D.C. and mastered the Metro when our hotel turned out to be a bit more distant than it seemed from the online travel site. A private tour of the Capital building, the Smithsonians and the Newsuem were favorites (although walking to and from them was not). We spent a day at Mount Vernon, a day at Jamestown and then several in colonial Williamsburg. These all made an impression on Logan and Griffin, but Lincoln was most taken by the many hotel pools we frequented at the end of our long days. We spent a few more relaxing days with dear friends in North Carolina before returning to home sweet home and afternoons on the beach at Newport or Laguna. </div>
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We live in a magical place and a prosperous era, to be sure. Not everyone is entirely satisfied with our condition, however. Lincoln, now four years old, is very aware of our proximity to Disneyland and is growing more dismayed with his parents who have not yet provided him opportunity for entrance to the “happiest place on earth.” In disgust he finally declared, “I keep asking and asking and no one will take me!” Somehow he has been blessed with a personality big enough to compete with his older brother and sister. There is rarely a dull or quiet moment in our home. Rather than reading more of my ramblings, I have included several pictures (below) showing some of the activities of the past year.</div>
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Somehow life seems to continue at an ever increasing pace. At times… no, very often, we feel like we can’t keep up. As we enter the thick of life we continue to be amazed how quickly it is passing by. Our failure to stay connected to our friends and family as frequently as we would like is not our intention, and we beg your forgiveness. We are weighted down more than you know when we hear of your struggles and sadness’s. Your successes bring great satisfaction and happiness to us. We love you, and we cherish the experiences we have shared with you. Life is about people because people make our life meaningful. You make our life meaningful. At this Christmas time, we thank God for the gifts of family and friends. Laurel and I are better people, we are a better family, because of your influence. Our home continues to be open to you whenever you can come to visit and our hearts are open all the other times. May God bless you this season and throughout the year.</div>
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All our love,</div>
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Thomas , Laurel, Logan, Griffin, and Lincoln</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family at Mount Vernon</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Logan at the Newseum in Washington, D.C.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Wicke, Griffin, and a tired Lincoln at Arlington</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Griff at the Library on Congress</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Attending an outdoor symphony concert</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Enjoying the Pinewood Derby</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lincoln at play</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Still willing to give kisses.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laurel and Logan were both in a production at our church.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Griff was the big winner at Pack Meeting!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Another fun day at the beach!</td></tr>
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Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-82051162815287771872013-01-02T12:20:00.002-08:002013-01-02T12:21:05.422-08:00Cheers to the WritersThere are writers out there. <br />
<br />
Real writers who will never, in all liklihood, write a book or find a publisher or top a best-sellers list, but they're out there nonetheless, writing, experimenting, thinking, and expressing. And when I'm lucky enough to run across them, I feel something in my brain and heart expand, connecting me to a thought I wish I had thought on my own, or a feeling that I never knew how to express, <a href="http://www.emiliadelmar.com/2012/08/so-she-went-to-tent-of-lady-of-snakes.html">like this one.</a><br />
<br />
Or sometimes I just laugh until tears run down my cheeks, <a href="http://taratboyce.wordpress.com/2011/02/01/pet-insurance-and-pets-in-general/">like this one.</a><br />
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I'm so thankful to those who write. God bless 'em.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-54633088835525138472012-12-22T03:00:00.000-08:002012-12-22T11:52:14.584-08:00FlashbackYesterday, dropping Griffin off at school was a sweet experience. It is not always so...actually, it is not <em>usually</em> so. Most of the time it is hectic and rushed with a dose of tongue lashing thrown in. We are dealing with my Griffin, after all. <br />
<br />
My Griffin who marches to his own drummer. My Griffin who would rather be in the present moment than preparing for a future one. My Griffin who has trouble staying on task. My Griffin who forgets important details--alot. Details like--oh, I don't know--lunches, homework, jackets, books, underwear...those sorts of details. My Griffin who, by the time we reach school, makes me want to pull all my hair out, dance crazy on it, and take a Xanex.<br />
<br />
But that wasn't the case yesterday. Yesterday, when he got out of the car after his sister, he said, as he usually does, "I love you, Mom," and as I watched him walk away, the view of his untied shoes, legs that are quickly outgrowing his pants, and that rooster tail on the back of his little red head pierced my heart with an aching tenderness. Before I could stop myself, I honked the horn. He turned, his face a question mark until I blew him a kiss, and fast as lightening his hand shot out to grab it, his expression turning to delight. Our little sign from preschool days, remembered.<br />
<br />
In that flash, I glimpsed that little person, my baby boy: He is still there. I could see him. And he is, always to be, My Griffin.<br />
<br />Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-11583981159358304822012-12-21T10:13:00.002-08:002012-12-21T10:17:45.719-08:00Old Friends (Without Air Quotes)This medium is still strange to me in many ways. I feel as though I know people whom I've never met, as least not in person. But I <em>feel</em> like I've met you. We share deep thoughts and experiences through blogs. Thoughts that are fully developed or are in the process of developing... oftentimes things I don't have time or place to share with my proximate friends who accompany me in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. I think it <em>is</em> possible to know someone through blogs and to know them intimately. But here is the strange part: Just as quickly, as life gets in the way, we can disappear. Check out. Step away from the computer leaving nothing but a post whose poststamp gets more and more ancient. I got irritated with one blogger who quit writing just like that. No explanation. No winding down. Just stopped. I was irritated because I wondered what happened to her. Where was the end of the story??? But then, it isn't a story, is it? It's just life. Busy, crazy, ongoing life. I still wonder about her. And every now and again I check her blog, just to see if she's come back. And when she does, I'll try to welcome her as kindly as my old friends welcomed me. Thanks.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-80344466556011796092012-12-13T22:12:00.000-08:002012-12-14T00:22:22.034-08:00I'm Baaaa-aaaack.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This year has been bananas! And I wrote none of it. Not one word. I'd feel worse about it, but I can't. I recognize that it was all I could do to just live it, let alone set it down and make sense out of it. My husband's job search and ultimate hiring, the 6 months of single parenthood that followed, the move (oh, the move!), two months of living out of suitcases, finding a house, switching kids' schools, a job offer for me, moving in (finally), and taking a part-time job after 10 years of stay-at-home mothering. It's been A LOT. Oh-so-much that only now do I feel like I'm getting my feet under me. And perhaps I'm ready to write.<br />
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I feel rusty and don't know where to begin...<br />
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How about here? We sold our house in one day. ONE DAY! For that we were not prepared. It took me two weeks of mad work to get it show ready. Me alone, because Mr. Wicke was working in California already. It was a crazy amount of work, but I had the place looking pretty swanky, if I do say so myself. Still and all, I was not prepared to sell it to the first guy who walked through the door. But we did.<br />
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Then we were homeless...because we still didn't know exactly where in southern California Mr. Wicke would be placed. We waited...and waited...and waited...still no final decision. And it was July. School was starting in a month and a half. The kids were asking where they were going to live. "I don't know," didn't feel comforting--to them or to me. We came to stay in temporary housing for a week and a half, and I was determined to find our home come hell or high water. Hats off to our real estate agent. She was a gem and took us to about 8 different cities, giving us an overview of the area. Then magically, one Sunday afternoon we found our home.<br />
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It was a surprise. We were just about to sign papers for another property. The almost house almost met all of our criteria, but there were a couple of concessions that didn't sit well. The foremost being that it didn't have a downstairs bedroom for my mom when she comes to visit. She just can not do stairs anymore with her back. So we were hesitating, yet we hadn't found anything better and would have hated to pass it up only to be disappointed later.<br />
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"I want you to see one more house," our agent said over the phone. She was out of town on business, "but the owner has agreed to let you in tomorrow, so we can make it work."<br />
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To tell the truth, I wasn't very excited about it. The pictures on line were underwhelming, but when I walked in I actually said, "Is this the same house?" It had a great staircase in the entryway and a see through fireplace between the living room and dining room, neither of which had been featured. It had vaulted ceilings and a fireplace in the master bedroom. Didn't see those in the pictures either. It had three french doors that opened to the back patio. A gigantic bonus room and a surprisingly huge closet in a secondary bedroom. It had a laundry chute and a three car garage. It had a downstairs bedroom, and it was in our price range. Where do we sign?<br />
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Still, we didn't know where Mr. Wicke would be placed, and I should interject here that we still don't. He has been kept busy doing interim work but has yet to be assigned a specific campus, so there is a possibility of a commute in our future. I hope not, but only time will tell. In the mean time, we are settling in. The kids' school, which was priority number one for us, seems excellent. Our neighborhood, while older than our last, has been very friendly and welcoming. Our church has made us feel at home, and I have been offered a part-time teaching position.<br />
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But that is a story for another day.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-63662649687007652372012-01-17T12:53:00.000-08:002012-01-17T15:15:57.801-08:00Love 'Em and Leave 'EmI am in the middle of a love affair. It's true. And it's breaking my heart because I know it can't last. I guess we just got the timing wrong... <br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">See, the thing is, I really love my house. I do. I fell even more deeply, head over heels in love during the holidays when I saw just how much it could do. It can wrap its arms around a lot of people and give them all a place to rest. It can invite a crowd around a dinner table. It can encourage people to lay back, put their feet up, and take a nap. It can let the adults talk downstairs while the kids get as squirrely as they want everywhere else. It's a good house, and I love it.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Maybe I love it even more because I know we are leaving. In about 5-6 months we will be driving away from Mesa onto new adventures. My Mr. Wicke has a new job that looks to take us to Southern California (placement to be determined around May) and I am a little broken hearted. This was supposed to be our forever house. The one where we stay and put down roots. That was the plan...</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That just isn't how it's going down. And I know it's a good job. It's a good opportunity. And I love California. But I can't help being a little sad for us. Because I'm in love, and not just with the house, but with the people that come and go through its doors. The people who have made this house our home.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiers45sftctuKuvnjOfQOOSkKXIFubvYTWGQcbRCSF8LEo3tLQLXCWhhyrgULnk-h7lDpQpXqv4-s8rvYWie94g-7NG-q3bNy3T5rPLpTju2DGDDsYwWCeITEaZXEbDh6nnUSpgcgFqyo/s1600/IMG_4800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiers45sftctuKuvnjOfQOOSkKXIFubvYTWGQcbRCSF8LEo3tLQLXCWhhyrgULnk-h7lDpQpXqv4-s8rvYWie94g-7NG-q3bNy3T5rPLpTju2DGDDsYwWCeITEaZXEbDh6nnUSpgcgFqyo/s640/IMG_4800.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-44943808130969710752011-12-24T07:20:00.000-08:002011-12-24T07:20:49.695-08:00The Would-Be Christmas Card<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqPKMxs3SF2emoh06ctoITnzxKermiEmuikVxm86wDNOqLGIP0qmAc2gLaMm3EwmLluF1JDrcs3gngPKceLhVZvZozJsqTNSLAVNMFyjr96hzr7ROAk5WdY_r5L5okw9s0mLYTbsrbZU/s1600/the-incredible+wickes+noback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="450" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqPKMxs3SF2emoh06ctoITnzxKermiEmuikVxm86wDNOqLGIP0qmAc2gLaMm3EwmLluF1JDrcs3gngPKceLhVZvZozJsqTNSLAVNMFyjr96hzr7ROAk5WdY_r5L5okw9s0mLYTbsrbZU/s640/the-incredible+wickes+noback.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Something had to give this year. I decided that back in October when, on top of an already crazy holiday season, I was asked to plan and direct our church's Stake Christmas program. Yeah, I said October. Not a lot of time to start a program from scratch, and I mean scratch. They wanted something brand new and "QUALITY." That was the word I heard over and over again. Quality. In two months. Okay...<br />
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So something had to give...and it wasn't going to be my sanity. Although that was sometimes questionable between choosing music, writing a script, rehearsing a 60-something voice choir, designing a slide show, lighting, costuming, advertising...oh, and you know...Thanksgiving and Christmas--that stuff. So, after considering some of the items that had to be done, Christmas cards didn't make the cut. After 17 years of consecutive card sending, 2011 feels a little naked, undone, unfinished, if you will.<br />
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And then, look what Mr. Wicke went a did. He designed the cutest card we've probably ever had. (Guess what's on his list of to-do's next year?) Except he just did it two days ago. And just for his facebook page, I guess, so you won't be getting it in the mail, but if I post it here can you just pretend you did?<br />
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And if I push hard enough, I may even get him to write a Christmas letter.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-59184814827288162092011-12-22T08:37:00.000-08:002011-12-22T08:37:11.672-08:00Who Invited the Grinch?For two years running now, singing in a community choir has given me my favorite holiday memory. Last year it was caroling and having the recipient close their garage door in our face (which takes a pretty long time and is really awkward. I LOVED it!) This year, it was during a really weird concert out in Sun City West. It's a long way across the valley to get there, all of us fighting traffic the entire way. When we finally arrive and take the stage, the piano is out of tune, the room has no ring to it, and the audience is nearly comatose. Tough performance, but we smile, sing great and soldier on. Then we get to the sing-a-long song (because every holiday concert needs a sing a long song!) Our conductor turns to the audience and enthusiastically says, "Okay! Now it's your turn!" and one old guy near the middle loudly grunts, "Oh, Lord!" so very loudly that it cracks me up. I can barely sing the next song for laughing.<br />
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You gotta' love the holiday spirit...Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-53937929797213749992011-12-12T15:08:00.000-08:002011-12-13T08:04:21.201-08:00Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen (part 3 of a 3 part series continued)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTEsTF9YjcHZw-yEXtVXNQ-bhtWfvc8aJ32E6oMBb3RcFrGRIWqJ42ZnokYa3UzJ2uss1SaByUh3cmERQ6vR9gTpEMBmAbgCtsPkf-7MTvGnpf3pf4GsMdERC8j72zdXrZ_iARJuyK2a8/s1600/question+marks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTEsTF9YjcHZw-yEXtVXNQ-bhtWfvc8aJ32E6oMBb3RcFrGRIWqJ42ZnokYa3UzJ2uss1SaByUh3cmERQ6vR9gTpEMBmAbgCtsPkf-7MTvGnpf3pf4GsMdERC8j72zdXrZ_iARJuyK2a8/s320/question+marks.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>When it comes to dealing with pain, I'm a novice really. I'm just trying to figure it out, so I turn to the pros. People who have been there and done that, who have not only survived adversity but thrived. They have much to teach us. <br />
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The first important thing I've learned is that we must recognize that there is always a choice. Viktor Frankl, a survivor of on of our world's most horrid injustices, a Nazi concentration camp, said, "A human being is not one thing among others; things determine each other, but man is ultimately self-determining. What he becomes - within the limits of endowment and environment- he has made out of himself. In the concentration camps, for example, in this living laboratory and on this testing ground, we watched and witnessed some of our comrades behave like swine while others behaved like saints. Man has both potentialities within himself; which one is actualized depends on decisions but not on conditions...We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms -- to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."<br />
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Here he teaches that a great stumbling block in the path of every human being is to blame the results of our lives on their circumstances. In doing so we fictitiously relieve ourselves of responsibility--which can never really be--but simultaneously, we also remove our free will, making ourselves victims of those circumstances which we blame. It is a powerless position, and we, who chose agency in the very beginning, don't like the way it feels. It is miserable. <br />
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I turn to an anonymous teacher, one who chose not to be identified in an article entitled "The Journey to Healing" in the September 1997 issue of <u>Ensign</u> magazine. She said this: "I am a survivor of childhood physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. I no longer view myself as a victim. The change has come from inside of me--my attitude. I do not need to destroy myself with anger and hate. I don't need to entertain thoughts of revenge. My Savior knows what happened. He will be just. I will leave it in His hands. I will not be judged for what happened to me, but I will be judged by how I let it affect my life. I am responsible for my actions and what I do with my knowledge. I am not to blame for what happened to me as a child. I cannot change the past. But I can change the future. I have chosen to heal myself and pass on to my children what I have learned. The ripples in my pond will spread though future generations."<br />
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She has taken back her power through the powerful tool of forgiveness, a much misunderstood topic. Forgiveness isn't so much for the offender as it is for the offended. Forgiveness means giving up the anger, frustration, resentment, blame, and guilt of what is past so that it no longer can affect the present negatively. It means we trust in a God who can and will make things right, that justice will be done, and that we can have peace now. There are things we must all forgive, and the sooner we can do it, the more happy, peaceful, and productive our lives will be.<br />
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There also seems to be a connection in her story to finding meaning in the suffering one has undergone. To hearken back to the wisdom of Viktor Frankl, he has said, "“In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice...If there is meaning in life at all, then there must be meaning in suffering.” The anonymous woman, though I'm sure she would trade her past circumstances, may not trade the wisdom, insight, empathy, and self-worth she has gained because of them. Could one exist without the other? Could she have gained those same characteristics any other way? I don't know, but what I do know is that God is capable of taking the ugliest, most painful situations of our lives and using them as our best teachers. This particular woman has given her suffering meaning by becoming an agent for change and a teacher for future generations. She provides a living example of another one of Frankl's resounding truths: "To give light one must endure burning."<br />
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Next, in one of the great ironies of life, we must use our agency to submit our will to the Fathers. No where is there a better example of this than in the life of our Savior. A every turn he communicated, "Not my will, but thine." As Robert D. Hales says, "By His perfect life, He taught us that when we choose to do the will of our Heavenly Father, our agency is preserved, our opportunities increase, and we progress." Our agency, the first gift of our Father to us, is truly the only thing that is uniquely ours to give because it is this agency that allows us to choose God or not. He has given it to us knowing that we can wield it to turn away from Him, but if we will lay it on the alter and like Jesus say, "Thy will be done," we are trusting in a creator who dreams bigger dreams for us than we do for ourselves. We rely on the Master who knows more than we know, even about ourselves. <br />
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In painful circumstances, we must remember that we are always valuable, that God always loves us and believes in us, and that He will provide every needful thing. In the LDS religion we are taught, "Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their won free will, and bring to pass much righteousness. FOR THE POWER IS IN THEM, wherein they are agents unto themselves. And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward" (Doctrine and Covenants 58:27-28). What is that power He is talking about? It must be, at least in great part, the power to choose--to choose Him, to choose His Son, to choose happiness, to choose the right, to choose a better way of living. <br />
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Life has a way, sometimes through adversity, of questioning us. That, I think, was always God's intent. In response to life's questioning we get to choose, and what we choose to do determines who we will become; that is our final answer. <br />
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In Mosiah 8:18 we read, "Thus God has provided a means that man, through faith, might work mighty miracles; therefore he becometh a great benefit to his fellow beings." I still believe in a God that can work miracles, and I might be a little closer to understanding the real miracle of living. I've come to a place that can dash my heart to pieces, it's true; but through my faith in our Savior's atonement it can be repaired, and while it is being sewn up again I gain patience, and wisdom, and generosity, and empathy, and understanding, and kindness, and forgiveness, a benefit not only to me but those in my circle of influence...Isn't <em>that</em> the miracle? And if the miracle I seek is for him to keep my heart whole in the first place won't I miss what He is really trying to do for me? Won't I miss the miracle altogether?<br />
<br />
So I'm grateful for my life--all of it! The mess, the hurt, the worry, the sorrow, as well as all the good stuff that goes along with it. I'm grateful for the miracle that is living and for a wise Father who allows me to experience all of it and who has lovingly provided His Son to make sure I can find my way back home. I certainly don't seek adversity, but I am beginning to understand its needful place in answering this vital question: "Who will I be even when things go wrong?"Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-21024419304981823912011-12-08T08:12:00.000-08:002011-12-08T08:26:30.578-08:00Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen (part 3 of a 3 part series)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZzcXLsZQ158s0ddVeMWTI1WokarX-2EjqmO_izFtrSP-VgHU8XEe1BreDH5ytosZySxouIAilxkrULN68BZ9fhydbZgHHcWVJBc9Xcr0BGS8KAZNWyaMQEXuEHf-YYcRwSRR5d6ts2e8/s1600/why.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZzcXLsZQ158s0ddVeMWTI1WokarX-2EjqmO_izFtrSP-VgHU8XEe1BreDH5ytosZySxouIAilxkrULN68BZ9fhydbZgHHcWVJBc9Xcr0BGS8KAZNWyaMQEXuEHf-YYcRwSRR5d6ts2e8/s400/why.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<em>I'm trying to answer these questions for no one but myself, but if you are interested in reading my first two essays, you can find them </em><a href="http://teapartyplace.blogspot.com/2011/10/trying-to-answer-why-does-god-allow-bad.html"><em>here</em></a><em> and </em><a href="http://teapartyplace.blogspot.com/2011/11/trying-to-answer-why-does-god-allow-bad.html"><em>here</em></a><em>.</em><br />
<br />
In the middle of <a href="http://teapartyplace.blogspot.com/2008/05/9-years-of-mothers-days-personal.html">our infertility issues</a>, I remember wondering which of all the terrible things I had ever done had caused this to happen, for surely this was some kind of punishment. After all, I believe in a God of miracles. I know that He and His Son can cure any affliction. Clearly, I was unworthy of such a blessing. Or maybe I was just so stubborn that God had to teach me the hard way. Or maybe I just didn't have the kind of faith necessary to call forth such a miracle. Whatever it was, whether in my past or present, obviously the problem was due to some deficiency in me, and God was just going to have to punish it out of me. That was the conversation in my head on the bad days, even though I knew better. <br />
<br />
I don't, in fact, believe in a wrathful, angry, vengeful God, but when things go wrong, it's only human nature to find a reason for it, and sometimes when there is no good explanation, the one we grasp at is that our suffering must be a sign of God's displeasure. Suddenly, God no longer resembles a loving father, but looks more like Zeus, grabbing that lightening bolt of his in rage and pointing it right at my back. And so it was that in my late 20's I began to question the nature of God, His plan, His purposes, and my place within all of it. Who was He, really? And who was I to Him? Once so sure of the answers--at least when the questions were much more simple--I was now floundering in deeper waters.<br />
<br />
Then one day, as I turned to John, I read, "And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind from his birth. And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind? Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him" (John 9:1-3). Never before had this particular passage spoken to personally to me. It looked like I was asking an age old question, and there <em>was</em> peace in Christ's answer...but there were more questions, too. Like, what exactly are the works of God? And how, exactly, were they going to be made manifest in our infertility? I still didn't have the whole answers for those.<br />
<br />
As I have come to believe, the true answer, I think, begins in the lesson of the third of the host of heaven who in their premortal existence followed Satan and his plan for forced salvation. Elder Robert D. Hales taught that, "Those who followed Satan lost the opportunity to receive a mortal body, live on Earth, and progress. Because of the way they used their agency, they lost their agency." What I find fascinating in that teaching is the connection between progress and agency. Because they do not have the opportunity to experience mortal life, in <em>all it's imperfection</em>, they can not progress. There is a direct correlation there, and it hints, I believe, at what the works of God actually entail.<br />
<br />
His goal does not seem to be to provide a perfect life for each of us, but rather to give us life so that we might become perfected. He doesn't seem to be so interested in clearing our path but far moreso in clarifying our hearts. Like a good parent, He knows that what is best for us isn't that we are always just happy. If that were the case He would give us everything we want the very minute we want it. He would protect us from natural consequences. He would shield us from pain. Every real life parent knows how well that would turn out, right? Though we want our children to be happy, we know that focusing primarily on giving them only happiness will actually end in misery. God knows that real happiness--progression, salvation, and eternal life--come with certain costs. Costs that seem necessary in some larger way. In making those payments we have to opportunity to reap gread dividends, but He also knows that it is <em>how</em> we manage those payments that will make all the difference.<br />
<br />
Our use of agency in responding to pain determines the outcome. Pain does not have to embitter us. Pain does not have to ruin us. I absolutely know that there is a way to encounter pain so that it can be our best teacher.<br />
<br />
<em>(to be continued...because although I have deep thoughts, I have a life that gets in the way of writing them down.)</em>Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-8680754561300811762011-12-05T09:06:00.000-08:002011-12-05T09:11:28.746-08:00Whoops!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Uj4MfgEpftftlTImxT1ZcIYrxNaHe3NM62ci_LyQn20JWi5Oxf3x3WAmXR9kv-qSeG9BoLy8Ntlt6jb9Ju1mMAYlKQS7qw9GaCZ27BHenfchClSfSu02EXjecGeOJsXBcTJfbjnEsjQ/s1600/emergency-missed-flight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Uj4MfgEpftftlTImxT1ZcIYrxNaHe3NM62ci_LyQn20JWi5Oxf3x3WAmXR9kv-qSeG9BoLy8Ntlt6jb9Ju1mMAYlKQS7qw9GaCZ27BHenfchClSfSu02EXjecGeOJsXBcTJfbjnEsjQ/s640/emergency-missed-flight.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
My mom missed her flight.<br />
<br />
It was a bad moment in my kitchen when, at 12:15 pm she realized that her plane left at 12:25 pm instead of 2:50 pm. I may have heard her curse. Maybe that happened. You'll never hear me confirm it. (Not in front of her, anyway.)<br />
<br />
I felt really terrible. I should have double checked, but Mom doesn't like to feel like she is being "taken care of." I wouldn't either. Not after almost 80 years of living. So I try to give her her space. Still, I should have double checked because then it would have kept her from saying, "Well, that's it. I'm done flying. I just can't do it." Four days later I may be close to talking her down from that ledge. Maybe. I can't be sure. I may never see her again.<br />
<br />
I credit her overreaction to the two hours we waited in line to REBUY a ticket. That's right. No refunds. No credit. Just forfeit the ticket and start again. It was ugly. And it may have been the wheelchair she had to sit in because her back started killing her after 40 minutes. That hurt her pride. Aging stinks.<br />
<br />
But, on the bright side, she was able to spend a few days with her sister and sister-in-law in Sun City. That perked her up a bit. And today I plan to let her beat me in cards. Later I will pray for snow. Lots and lots of snow for Wyoming.<br />
<br />
If all goes well, I may see her back down here in January. <br />
<br />
<em>(image found </em><a href="http://www.familyvacationcritic.com/surviving-travel-emergencies/art/"><em>here</em></a>.)Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-87801736432556257352011-11-28T09:18:00.000-08:002011-11-28T12:56:19.796-08:00Stick a Fork in Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7qNdIWpTgCUmr69PdvsX16tXlBo8riz3Dmh8OK90ab44X4LXdGZyKrd3Cc8LFgTCJikpXehK83AGWQwf1LSvOHE20nXbAZHkHKxhIHTDHrnfudnGusW9KYL411_4rpB22SOLpuKWJFb4/s1600/IMG_0008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7qNdIWpTgCUmr69PdvsX16tXlBo8riz3Dmh8OK90ab44X4LXdGZyKrd3Cc8LFgTCJikpXehK83AGWQwf1LSvOHE20nXbAZHkHKxhIHTDHrnfudnGusW9KYL411_4rpB22SOLpuKWJFb4/s640/IMG_0008.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOMexf1dDwbZDziBw1hnP_kJNUrqrY22wr316RIpygdw_mo299p5beBUaNyD3n0AHtdM0bvUFwhuLqztNSwDn88MurzPehUQFGMwCsjofXFFBahBZZx6rfL-dJ1y8oh8ICOAQg2TfhUWo/s1600/IMG_0010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOMexf1dDwbZDziBw1hnP_kJNUrqrY22wr316RIpygdw_mo299p5beBUaNyD3n0AHtdM0bvUFwhuLqztNSwDn88MurzPehUQFGMwCsjofXFFBahBZZx6rfL-dJ1y8oh8ICOAQg2TfhUWo/s400/IMG_0010.JPG" width="291" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(My brother's going to LOVE this photo!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We had a great Thanksgiving. Let me announce that right at the get-go. I LOVED it. But may I also confess that I am exhausted? Just absolutely tuckered out.<br />
<br />
Here's how it went down:<br />
<strong>Week before Thanksgiving:</strong> Paint 2 rooms. Move furniture, toys and about 200 books up and down the stairs.<br />
<br />
<strong>Sunday:</strong> Mom arrives.<br />
<br />
<strong>Monday:</strong> Shop for an enormous amount of food. <br />
<br />
<strong>Tuesday:</strong> Continue shopping for food. This time braving Costco. It's nuts, but I bump into 2 strangers who exhibit so much kindness that they reignite my hope in mankind.<br />
<br />
<strong>Wednesday:</strong> Clean, clean, clean, clean. Strip 6 beds and make up 10.<br />
<br />
<strong>Wednesday night:</strong> Two of my brothers arrive with their families. That's 12 house guests, but whose counting? Start baking pies at 9:30 pm. Finish at 1:00 am.<br />
<br />
<strong>Thursday:</strong> Put out a self-serve breakfast of bagels and cereal while preparing Thanksgiving for 22 people. It's eaten in half and hour. But it's really good. Enjoy an afternoon of watching football, playing games, and eating turkey sandwiches.<br />
<br />
<strong>Friday:</strong> Waffles, fruit, and vanilla syrup for a late breakfast. Thomas' family joins us, and we enjoy a game of touch football out at the park. Later that night, I sing in a concert while everyone else eats leftovers. After everyone goes to bed, Mr. Wicke and I try to restore some order in the house in preparation for tomorrow.<br />
<br />
<strong>Saturday:</strong> Up early for Griffin's baptism. My brother Ken and his family head back to St. George. The rest of us rush home and prepare a lunch for 30 people. We serve cold cuts, salad, chips, hot spinach artichoke dip, sparkling apple cider, and lemon and chocolate cakes. Our families hang out and play games. That evening I make an easy sausage & broccoli pasta while my brother, Curt, whips up a baked brie as well as another pecan pie. We visit late into the night.<br />
<br />
<strong>Sunday:</strong> Curt and his family prepare to go. We send them off with an egg and ham scramble, toast, and Orange Julius. They drive away, and I put a roast in the crock pot and baked potatoes in the oven in preparation for dinner with Thomas' family. We attend church. My friend tells me I look really tired. She's right. After church I hurriedly prepare popovers and steamed broccoli. After dinner everyone else cleans up while I begin two lemon meringue pies. I don't quite finish before I have to leave for Stake choir practice. I give Mr. Wicke instructions on how to finish. I come home to two delicious pies and a card game of Phase 10. When that breaks up, Thomas' brother stays and visits. We hit the hay at 12:30 am.<br />
<br />
<strong>Monday morning:</strong> I wake up late. Miraculously, we get the kiddos off to school on time and I survey the damage. As my father once said, "I don't know whether we should clean it up or burn it down." All I know is that I'm ready for a nap.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-55626703507764103142011-11-23T08:25:00.000-08:002011-11-23T08:59:07.003-08:00Bloched<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZXTMZTKeZu0bhVK1oqYOWada3qGDYR7vbfbuyWmERvscx6nNkwCSb-80F-7QGM9NT6Jywpx7DQZ15xuyl0atTZMu4AdPtmS4EH6cah3YwwT-tOjDlzFwFoGpouwOemgBPcHOgaOLi4M/s1600/carl+bloch%2527s+christ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZXTMZTKeZu0bhVK1oqYOWada3qGDYR7vbfbuyWmERvscx6nNkwCSb-80F-7QGM9NT6Jywpx7DQZ15xuyl0atTZMu4AdPtmS4EH6cah3YwwT-tOjDlzFwFoGpouwOemgBPcHOgaOLi4M/s400/carl+bloch%2527s+christ.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Last spring I had the chance to visit the Carl Bloch exhibit in Provo, Utah. It was, in a word, magnificent. So inspiring and beautiful. I have an artist's heart, but I have not been blessed with an artist's eye or hands, and so I must content myself with looking at the masterpieces of others. Ohhh, and what a master Bloch is. I was touched most deeply by his sympathy for the human condition. I think that quality is what gave him his ability to depict the Savior so powerfully. That, and this little quote that explains so much of his process:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>"God helps me--that's what I think--and then I am calm." --Carl Bloch</strong></div><br />
I wrote it down on a little scrap of paper and have been carrying it with me ever since. Like Bloch I believe there is a higher power that can help me. And I know when He is present I am calm, even amidst the storm. I think He can help me today. And every day.<br />
<br />
I am not an artist. But I am a creator. We all are. Creating and crafting moments that, at the end of our lives, can be our masterpiece. So inspiring. So beautiful. And God helps us--that's what I think, too.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-64753099539623863852011-11-21T22:38:00.000-08:002011-11-21T22:43:11.349-08:00Run, Run as Fast as You Can<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wU0JK1TBSke-3qAY7xVv9jx8sVHkoTLVGeDK4mh9QPl_Hr0tTyldV0nVkLd4kCne8nK8amJ4KFr-29RO_7eFUtlGthZXiDQJFwIbUGHGytqZ_0xgJRh8AnDLKdxca1J9dPttziEBlEA/s1600/running+uphill+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wU0JK1TBSke-3qAY7xVv9jx8sVHkoTLVGeDK4mh9QPl_Hr0tTyldV0nVkLd4kCne8nK8amJ4KFr-29RO_7eFUtlGthZXiDQJFwIbUGHGytqZ_0xgJRh8AnDLKdxca1J9dPttziEBlEA/s320/running+uphill+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm running uphill faster than I know how. Anyone else? Yes, it is that time of year again...when the world falls in love and moms lose their minds. (I don't think that last bit made the final cut of the song, but it should have if it was going for truth.) </div><br />
Today I made it through getting the kids ready, making the beds, one piano lesson, making lunches, a quick morning pick up, Albertsons, park playgroup, Costco, 2 voice lessons, homework, bathroom cleaning, one bleeding cut on a child's head (no stitches necessary, thank goodness), dinner, children's reading (during which I kinda' sorta' fell asleep...don't tell), family home evening, book before bedtime, one load of laundry, and remaking the bed before I fall into it. And I didn't get to half the items on my to-do list; one of which was <br />
to compose my "Thankful List" this year. Please, Lord, give me time to be thankful.<br />
<br />
Here's a short version. This year I am thankful for:<br />
1. a healthy body that works.<br />
2. healthy and happy kids.<br />
3. a solid, supportive, fantastic husband.<br />
4. a mother who still walks the earth to love me like nobody else.<br />
5. vision.<br />
6. a big family that I know I can count on.<br />
7. QT<br />
8. great reads.<br />
9. laughter.<br />
10. hope.<br />
11. dear, wonderful, thoughtful friends.<br />
12. a lovely home.<br />
13. faith.<br />
14. randomly kind strangers.<br />
15. a toddler who is totally entertaining.<br />
16. a son who is inventive, creative, and curious.<br />
17. a daughter who is one of my favorite people to be with.<br />
18. date nights.<br />
19. a Savior who can work miracles.<br />
20. the memory of a wise father.<br />
21. beauty all around me.<br />
22. dessert.<br />
<br />
You know there's more. But it's bedtime. I got a lotta' runnin' to do tomorrow. I'm also thankful there are tomorrows.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-51233077134957480552011-11-17T08:19:00.000-08:002011-11-17T08:19:54.659-08:00Things are a Little Off Kilter...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcTpvg7zUM2nRF0YYFj786aKmZGMvRTy-kGg0SlbjVyQiCud3JHDjQIyPQT2_mgMDm5Uuq9Kj8Dl2rE48gRa-QyOPH-UeULGnxL3DzcXSdGyB8KB9wk9lPd0uWEkALygySdeRT8CdgaqU/s1600/twisted+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcTpvg7zUM2nRF0YYFj786aKmZGMvRTy-kGg0SlbjVyQiCud3JHDjQIyPQT2_mgMDm5Uuq9Kj8Dl2rE48gRa-QyOPH-UeULGnxL3DzcXSdGyB8KB9wk9lPd0uWEkALygySdeRT8CdgaqU/s400/twisted+house.jpg" width="380" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This is not my house, but it <em>feels</em> like my house.</span></div><br />
1. My daughter was home yesterday after waking us up at 5:30 am with these words: "I just threw up."<br />
<br />
2. My son is home today. I have a sneaking suspicion that he is not really that sick...but I can't prove it.<br />
<br />
3. I am in the middle of a giant painting project. Again. I know. Don't say anything.<br />
<br />
4. There are two things that make Mr. Wicke grumpy: cleaning the garage and painting projects. I can't explain it, but they do.<br />
<br />
5. My mom is flying in on Sunday. The house--which currently resembles a nuclear waste dump (see #3) must be back in order by then.<br />
<br />
6. My daughter had to wait for the dryer to finish this morning so that she had something to wear to school. (Again, see #3.)<br />
<br />
7. I am feeling my age. My lower back is killing me, and I am sore. (Stupid #3.)<br />
<br />
8. Having the kids home from school is not helping me accomplish #3.<br />
<br />
9. Quite frankly I'd rather do anything than #3.<br />
<br />
10. Wish me luck.<br />
<br />
P.S. A giant thank you to a wonderful friend who read on Facebook that my daughter was sick and showed up at our door with homemade chicken noodle soup and hot rolls. She is Wonder Woman and deserves an award.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-63263382217191007552011-11-16T09:09:00.000-08:002011-11-16T09:10:27.529-08:00Definition of Nothingness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwGNchj6dzO0vZonrVmB8KZ90VWnfezgyasJNSZiFa17geBVGsLka6gjrEC9moa1uSPkKGAXMZHkJ_PIeM_D8PzX1wDK_A2Du2jzj8DsT70c7I44VSdTK5UC59x7aSByBq4oofPunagE/s1600/Renoir_Self-Portrait_1910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwGNchj6dzO0vZonrVmB8KZ90VWnfezgyasJNSZiFa17geBVGsLka6gjrEC9moa1uSPkKGAXMZHkJ_PIeM_D8PzX1wDK_A2Du2jzj8DsT70c7I44VSdTK5UC59x7aSByBq4oofPunagE/s400/Renoir_Self-Portrait_1910.jpg" width="302" /></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Renoir, A Self Portrait</span></div><div align="center"></div>Currently, I am reading a biography of Renoir written my his son Jean. This little bit struck me as wise this morning:<br />
<br />
In discussing his father's personal tastes and asthetics he said, "A visitor once remarked to him: 'What I like about this brand of brandy is that the quality is always the same. There's never any unpleasant surprise.' <br />
<br />
'What a good definition of nothingness,' answered Renoir." <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Renoir, My Father, pg. 381.)</span><br />
<br />
I guess the same could be said about life itself, could it not?Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-7345626810672134362011-11-15T08:41:00.000-08:002011-11-15T08:43:58.445-08:00Sorry, It's Personal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjO2FvxEseV9NCRdX5GysFiqzoxdLVJAnFotZO4tP0GVuPOvx3pAEZV92XDxRaw34SE5nmgBirM64_vcJyzanEnThsgFyOPZ9itsGXas7vEH6PqSMXoiCRB2Ebw1Pu7BaS-MGo9ye5Ffw/s1600/john-steinbeck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjO2FvxEseV9NCRdX5GysFiqzoxdLVJAnFotZO4tP0GVuPOvx3pAEZV92XDxRaw34SE5nmgBirM64_vcJyzanEnThsgFyOPZ9itsGXas7vEH6PqSMXoiCRB2Ebw1Pu7BaS-MGo9ye5Ffw/s400/john-steinbeck.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mr. Steinbeck</span></div><br />
John Steinbeck once said something about writing that I wish I remembered word for word. I don't. I wrote it down--or actually, I told Logan to write it down because I was driving across 4 states at the time. She did, painstakingly I might add, but that 3 ring notebook has long since disappeared probably somewhere 2 states away. The memory of it, though, has not. He said something about how he didn't write to tell other people what to think but, rather, that he wrote to understand what he thought himself.<br />
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When I heard that it was like lightening.<br />
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And so, these last few posts, haven't been for anyone but me, really. I'm just busy speaking out loud so that I know what I'm thinking. Because in putting words together, lining them up and ordering them, they suddenly clarify and make some sense of what feels nonsensical sometimes. <br />
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That's all.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-35695771499496087342011-11-14T09:39:00.000-08:002011-11-14T09:50:21.807-08:00Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen? (part 2 of a 3 part series)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsIGPDmER_X-hbmVwn2SUWeuD7gsU0HPIVmk64P1X2eVf8rOcLxOXcZPiri7xHdolwbLHzChyVyrAucixyGvaeP_o9O7Cc5QD4ECIOZghKghTeHuD0whhOQU50DSVYKIzmbQQtdAr7KU/s1600/why2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" nda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsIGPDmER_X-hbmVwn2SUWeuD7gsU0HPIVmk64P1X2eVf8rOcLxOXcZPiri7xHdolwbLHzChyVyrAucixyGvaeP_o9O7Cc5QD4ECIOZghKghTeHuD0whhOQU50DSVYKIzmbQQtdAr7KU/s400/why2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">I am not a real time blogger. If I were, I would blog even when I am sick, which I have been. The kind of sick that makes me forget to put homework in my kids' backpacks, or makes me let them watch far too much TV instead of insisting that they read, or makes me take a nap in the middle of the afternoon...that kind of sick. It's been going around here in Mesa. Hope you don't get it while reading this. I shouldn't be contagious anymore...</span></em><br />
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Nobody likes pain. Most of us do what we can to avoid it because...well...it's <em>painful</em>. And who wants that? The fact that some actions result in painful circumstances is not lost on me. I really like the commandments for the very reason that total freedom is not totally free. God's commandments are statements of fact about natural consequences of certain behaviors. The "Thou Shalt Nots" are shalt nots because those things will hurt us. Every time. He doesn't want that for us either, and because He is a loving parent, he gives us plenty of guidance about dangerous actions.<br />
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Those of us accustomed to faith get used to the idea that living with some restrictions actually makes us more free. But I propose that some of us get a little too used to it, and we become somewhat confused in this area, assuming that by doing what is right we can--or should--be able to avoid all pain. Then, when we are blindsided by difficulty, we find ourselves saying things like, "But I did what I was supposed to do. Where are the blessings? This wasn't supposed to happen to me." This is a misconception that will lead us further away from God and from His healing power.<br />
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Certainly, obedience to the commandments saves us from the consequences of our own poor choices, but if we believe for one minute that obedience will keep us from all pain, we are bound to be frustrated and our faith will be weakened. As we have already discussed, we live in an imperfect world where we confront disease, disasters, and death. Those are givens, and they will touch us all in one way or another. But we must also come to terms with the fact that we share this earth with other millions of our Father’s children who have as much right to their agency as we do, and sometimes, sadly, their misuse of it will effect us. The outcomes of these poor decisions run the gamut from disappointing to horribly unspeakable, but always it is unjust. It is unfair. However, let us remember that we did not fight to come to a world that was fair.<br />
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In our premortal existence Lucifer stepped forward with a plan where not even one soul would be lost. Indeed, it was a plan of rebellion, not only against the Father but against the principle of agency. Marion Hanks taught that: “Lucifer had no love in his heart, no real concept of freedom or respect for it. He had no confidence in the principle or in us. He argued for forced salvation, for imposed survival, for an agencyless round trip to the earth and back again. None would be lost, he insisted. But he seemed not to understand that none would be any wiser, either, or any stronger or more compassionate or humble or grateful or more creative, under his plan.”<br />
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Then Christ stepped forward and exercised his agency to support our Father’s plan and offer himself up as a savior for us. To cover our shortcomings, our pains, our disappointments with his blood.<br />
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And we chose. A third of our brothers and sisters followed Satan, and we—here on this earth—had enough faith in Jesus Christ to choose a life that was sometimes unfair. We believed he could cover us. Even when circumstances are unfair. Even when we do everything right and we experience pain anyway. Even when it is not our fault.<br />
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Pain, adversity, uncertainty, difficulty--we will experience them all here in mortality. There is no escape route. No easy way. As Dr. Carlfred Brokerick said, “The Gospel of Jesus Christ is not insurance against pain. It is a resource in the event of pain.” We will not be saved from pain because of our faith, but because of our faith we can know what to do with it when it comes. Our faith--even in our darkest moments--can lead us to Him in whom we can trust, who is The One who can heal us.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-29468860929371692472011-11-10T09:19:00.000-08:002011-11-10T09:19:27.780-08:00Photo Essay: A Sick Day for Momma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGC2u3Pc7zqWReC6ieTu9eliywLGnfND4DyZJ-Xv5ZukvvA75WSZBrVWtNLlAYOLwtgBJZUAiwXb0LkkgiV4GzNigR5pNSSB1mwMFZnO51DgY0XAAn2dUaygNtL6eSR5CsfVnxe9Dknro/s1600/100_1166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="472" nda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGC2u3Pc7zqWReC6ieTu9eliywLGnfND4DyZJ-Xv5ZukvvA75WSZBrVWtNLlAYOLwtgBJZUAiwXb0LkkgiV4GzNigR5pNSSB1mwMFZnO51DgY0XAAn2dUaygNtL6eSR5CsfVnxe9Dknro/s640/100_1166.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">No sick days. No vacations. No coffee breaks, lunch hours, or paycheck...And I wouldn't trade it.</div>Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-56096930093027358522011-10-24T10:49:00.000-07:002011-10-24T14:20:32.398-07:00Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen? (part 1 of a 3 part series)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OpBMWoMFOiXueimOSx4SXAsgcx4HpzDj7icUnWxmtG1wWbINeHNLdPUL7GLoLGVjcoHqz8pdmZQ-2kSDZjSrDgweQSjJcOMSByLs4mwWAPxCdzATAFrjRnP0N-tY-RxvBzCCZtaePjY/s1600/why.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OpBMWoMFOiXueimOSx4SXAsgcx4HpzDj7icUnWxmtG1wWbINeHNLdPUL7GLoLGVjcoHqz8pdmZQ-2kSDZjSrDgweQSjJcOMSByLs4mwWAPxCdzATAFrjRnP0N-tY-RxvBzCCZtaePjY/s400/why.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Let me first say: On the scale from 1-10 of "The Most Horrible Things that Could Happen" I live at a one. Really. I haven't known a lot of horror, lucky me. I've had a few bummers to deal with. All of us do. And sometimes circumstances lead us to wonder, "Why does God Allow Bad Things to Happen?" If he truly is God--all-powerful, all-knowing, omniscient Alpha and Omega--then why? Why allow the innocent to suffer? Or evil to go unpunished? Why the needless destruction and misery? Why, dear God, is life so unfair?<br />
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It's not a new question. I'm not the first and will certainly not not be the last to wonder what exactly is going on up there in the heavens. ("Hello, up there...Anybody home?") It's a fundamental question of anyone of faith. My own religious faith is so much a part of my guiding voice that I can not examine these questions without referring to it.<br />
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As a part of my faith, I believe that we lived with God before ever coming to earth, and I believe the answer begins there in this premortal existence. There we were first given and exercised our agency--the ability to act according to the moral agency which God gives us and to be accountable for those choices. <br />
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We lived with a loving Father, whose goal was and is to see us progress in light, understanding, and knowledge, so that we could become like Him and live with Him forever. To do this we needed experience. And Father set forth a plan where we would come to earth, receive a body, choose to act between good and evil, and progress. Our agency was central to that plan.<br />
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The Book of Mormon 2 Nephi chapter 2 is an outstanding lesson on the gift of agency, and I'll borrow from it liberally to explain. If we had not been given the ability to choose "we would have remained in a state of innocence, having no joy, for we would know no misery. Doing no good, for we would know no sin." And so God--knowing we would hurt, loved us enough to want us to grow and allowed us to act for ourselves, which would be impossible except that we be enticed by the one or the other. Therefore, it needs be that there is an opposition in all things. Righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad. And so it needs be that all of these things--both the light and the dark--should be part of this existence. Without this opposition there would be no choice, and without choice no agency, and without agency no progress. And then the whole point of our existence here would be frustrated; we and the earth would be been created for a thing of naught; wherefore there would have been no purpose in the end of its creation. It would have destroyed the wisdom of God and his eternal purposes as well as His power, and mercy, and justice.<br />
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This world was put in place to be the best learning lab for each of us. Yes, it is imperfect, and unjust, and unfair, but in all of that it is the perfect place for us to learn discernment, to practice choice, and to determine our responses to circumstances not of our choosing. I am not convinced that God "sends" any hardship into our lives, but I know that he created a place where they would certainly be encountered.<br />
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This opportunity we have been given to face opposition may be the most meaningful expression of God's belief in us. Marion D. Hanks said that "He loves us and believes in us and has done and will do anything He can to help us, but He will not impose on our agency. God so loved that He would not shield us from the perils of freedom, from the right and responsibility to choose. So deep is His love and so precious that principle the He, who was conscious of the consequences required that we choose...freedom is precarious, difficult, but we had learned that the alternatives to love and freedom of choice cannot provide the climate for growth and creative capacity that can eventually lead us to a a stewardship like our Father's."<br />
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Why does God allow bad things to happen? Because he loves us. He knew we would hurt. That sometimes we would fail. That we would lose those we loved. He could keep us safe, but he loves us enough to let us go, to let us live, to let us learn, to let us grow.<br />
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<em>(to be continuted...)</em>Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-80231188902045600042011-10-21T10:38:00.000-07:002011-10-21T16:04:35.790-07:00Retreating<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt6bY5WlocVcy-_9Yr08B0lIqpg4KIGd5Z6S1gu3K7uBza7uEOt4LQt90DnRNhzZoKSyUK64bp41GI9k1J2e-ZeRTWgP5tTt8GJjoo_ALUG6BF1a3l9_rKb70nY9WZDUyDnuhTD4xeAs/s1600/quiet_time_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="458" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt6bY5WlocVcy-_9Yr08B0lIqpg4KIGd5Z6S1gu3K7uBza7uEOt4LQt90DnRNhzZoKSyUK64bp41GI9k1J2e-ZeRTWgP5tTt8GJjoo_ALUG6BF1a3l9_rKb70nY9WZDUyDnuhTD4xeAs/s640/quiet_time_1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Blogging for 4 years has revealed some things to me about myself. The first being my consistency for inconsistency...but I already knew that, so that's not really a revelation. But what I didn't know about myself is that when life punches me in the gut--or even jabs with its left a little--I retreat somewhere inside myself. Not forever, but for a little while.<br />
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When the earth suddenly shifts, I am not ready to talk about it. Not really to anyone. Not in depth. I just need to think. To find that sure place inside me while the initial shock sorts out and the remaining dust settles around me. That's where I've been for a little while. Someplace quiet, waiting for things to settle.<br />
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We are in the midst of job changes again. AGAIN. (Argh) Poor Mr. Wicke is the hardest working man I know, but these last few years have been a struggle. (What? Not just us?) This time, due to government cutbacks (which we support, by the way) the research project of which he has been apart for Homeland Security--which was supposed to be a 6-year $4 million dollar grant--disappeared with government cutting educational research by 81%. For us that means that about half of our income disappeared with it. We have about 6 months to figure this out.<br />
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Did you feel the earth shift? Shhhh...I need to think.<br />
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I've even gotten a little quiet with God. Probably not a great thing, but like I told Him in prayer, I don't know how to pray about this any more. I'm tired...and the words get all jumbled up with frustration. I'm figuring it out in that quiet place inside me. When I get clear, I will be ready to speak. Maybe that is what all this quiet is about...just listening. Hearing in the stillness.<br />
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Or maybe it's pride...<br />
and anger...<br />
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Maybe it's all of it all at the same time. That's what I mean about settling. I'm waiting to see what remains when all those emotions fall away and I can hear my guiding voice again. It's still there. Somewhere inside myself.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-21685493220677328172011-09-13T08:49:00.000-07:002011-09-13T08:49:10.594-07:00Help WantedI have been asked to present a short class in October about fun and unique ways to do or participate in family history (aka genealogy/family lineage.) I hope they are serious about fun and unusual ways, because I don't know a thing about serious genealogy. I do, however, have a love for family stories, family recipes, old family pictures, and capturing today's moments for tomorrow. That'll be my focus. I think. I haven't figured it all out. That's where you come in: <br />
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Do you have any ideas that you would like to share? Or opinions? I'd love to hear them. Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-35552388171846180722011-09-06T09:39:00.000-07:002011-09-06T13:39:04.597-07:00The Entrepreneurial Spirit/How to Raise a Capitalist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5UXxEKq5znwJT5-V6p3ON4vN927zm2GGbIxCPYIK-pXfTjWCYzcw58I_XeZZuMHKcpGcNtLqU0tzoxSLHH_DvjwCs48X9O5vH3d5xMKwvPU1HG2DWSVgyRVag9VeABsZdPcVlW-IVZ1c/s1600/labor+day+lemonade+stand+019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5UXxEKq5znwJT5-V6p3ON4vN927zm2GGbIxCPYIK-pXfTjWCYzcw58I_XeZZuMHKcpGcNtLqU0tzoxSLHH_DvjwCs48X9O5vH3d5xMKwvPU1HG2DWSVgyRVag9VeABsZdPcVlW-IVZ1c/s640/labor+day+lemonade+stand+019.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>Yes. She came up with the catch phrase "The Best in the West." She knows a little something about advertising.</em></span></div><br />
Well. I was right. The lemonade stand left me exhausted. For those of you with Facebook friends from Arizona, you know it is still a million degrees here. At least. I find any excuse to avoid leaving the house, so Friday afternoon's many, many, many, trips outdoors (I knew it was coming) was slight torture. By the end I was a sweaty, dehydrated mess. I was so exhausted that my idea of making dinner was pulling leftovers out of the fridge and serving them on paper plates. (Lucky Mr. Wicke.)<br />
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But this little girl? Happy. Gorgeously happy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG_Bc459nU4PhYyFHRsb731KdYAtXXn_Kec9VedAx6Fd2oyqEoMOJIDABxV1rllIkJ8fZeF8XnudjM3zd3w-_nVfHEpTuhmUNXUXr0rbvaQ_kRX0nGul5IBgTBU7uaxKc57PYC8LiFAUY/s1600/labor+day+lemonade+stand+018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="468" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG_Bc459nU4PhYyFHRsb731KdYAtXXn_Kec9VedAx6Fd2oyqEoMOJIDABxV1rllIkJ8fZeF8XnudjM3zd3w-_nVfHEpTuhmUNXUXr0rbvaQ_kRX0nGul5IBgTBU7uaxKc57PYC8LiFAUY/s640/labor+day+lemonade+stand+018.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She was so cute pulling out the table, setting up the umbrella, getting her supply wagon all ready to go. She took it really seriously. No kidding around. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegrVC_8l9tsvf3sdxB_ocGKGrSEOubR75eniXBWaVcpbAA9NR-qzapTTSEibH1zv9Sm0ReMWaq-r6ixMCLoIpcc4hnGq1wl4mYvUeplcnp1ye-WsiLU2cnlJp2hkbtyERg4yDg_Y-zg8/s1600/labor+day+lemonade+stand+021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegrVC_8l9tsvf3sdxB_ocGKGrSEOubR75eniXBWaVcpbAA9NR-qzapTTSEibH1zv9Sm0ReMWaq-r6ixMCLoIpcc4hnGq1wl4mYvUeplcnp1ye-WsiLU2cnlJp2hkbtyERg4yDg_Y-zg8/s640/labor+day+lemonade+stand+021.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2UzuM139dGdCVj-6KSsGBF8tiQTJUI7Xf7kE3oWpct1Z5Sr1kvqsERsYB6jeNEtBDMyM9a2wI5ytfXny2xNHf1V3DWoYsWnVYmJ1TkQKYEAK9fQotSfxYJOIQneiTtu-7eaQ8bbDzPjk/s1600/labor+day+lemonade+stand+017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2UzuM139dGdCVj-6KSsGBF8tiQTJUI7Xf7kE3oWpct1Z5Sr1kvqsERsYB6jeNEtBDMyM9a2wI5ytfXny2xNHf1V3DWoYsWnVYmJ1TkQKYEAK9fQotSfxYJOIQneiTtu-7eaQ8bbDzPjk/s640/labor+day+lemonade+stand+017.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJdW_Rt9kGQAXw9mod7BAjeDzoe6WyYruNkkRhy-I4vD9rqH1pAgXhXANmQo_oJsVbDBQUXCpjoAWrxAJPbPdnjYTuyxI-hqZi2BzQz2-nOUVNE_bb35qo6KII-cEC_eY4FuNvc8k9PA/s1600/labor+day+lemonade+stand+022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJdW_Rt9kGQAXw9mod7BAjeDzoe6WyYruNkkRhy-I4vD9rqH1pAgXhXANmQo_oJsVbDBQUXCpjoAWrxAJPbPdnjYTuyxI-hqZi2BzQz2-nOUVNE_bb35qo6KII-cEC_eY4FuNvc8k9PA/s640/labor+day+lemonade+stand+022.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
And, can you believe she made $21.00??? What? Selling glasses of lemonade and cookies for 25 cents each? <br />
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I'd post more, but I've got to get outside and get a lemonade stand set up. Forget the kids. I need some bookshelves for my bedroom!Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-3301157339246540532011-09-02T03:00:00.000-07:002011-09-02T03:00:10.498-07:00MOTY, Here I Come!So...I don't know if anyone's noticed, but I have been posting like a real blogger lately. Real regular and everything. I haven't done 11 posts in one month in at least a year and a half. If I could chart that phenomenon in concert with my baby's age, I think we might see some connection. That's just a theory. I can't prove it because I don't know how to use Excel...or whatever program would make a chart like that. I just learned how to use Picasa. I am on a need to no basis with technology.<br />
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But that's not what I meant to be posting about. What I started to say is that I have been posting like a real blogger. I even included pictures. Any day now I am going to get my own TV show like The Pioneer Woman, I'm pretty sure of it.<br />
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But not today. Nope. 'Cause today I am busy trying to win mother of year. (Would somebody please nominate me already?) Here's what I'm busy doing instead of blogging like a real big time blogger. (Thank you to the 5 people who read my blog, by the way.) I am making lemonade and chocolate chip cookies this morning because Logan insists on running a lemonade stand the minute she gets off the bus. She passed out fliers and everything, and I have to have the table "ready to go!" Her goal is to make enough money to buy the yoga dog calendar from the school fundraiser catalogue. A mother of the year doesn't mess with dreams like that, so I am going to have those cookies baked, gosh darn it!<br />
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Then I have to get the baby down for his nap at 1:00 pm sharp (I am sure this will run smoothly, of course) so he will sleep while Mr. Wicke works from home so that I can go to school and volunteer in Logan's classroom. I ran into her teacher while making copies at the school for the PTSO Smoothie Fundraiser today (seriously, where is that nomination?) and she mentioned how she needs files organized and a bulletin board done...and well, I happen to be really gifted at bulletin boards. (Ahem, I think that is a qualification category for MOTY--that's Mother of the Year to lay people.) But seriously, I can really rock a bulletin board. I don't know if that's an actual major at college, but if it were...Master's program, here I come!<br />
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Anyway, after that, I'm going to rush right home, and make sure everything is ready to go so that I can spend the next hour making a thousand trips between the house and the front yard while being bossed around by the lemonade stand coordinator. Then I'll spend the hour after that cleaning up, after which I will make dinner and clean that up, too. And if I don't get nominated by then, well, then I guess I have no other choice but to go back to being a big time blogger (hi mom!) because this mothering gig is wearing me out.<br />
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And that is why I am not writing a real post today or including pictures. Ah nuts! There went my TV show!Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-702174026266465950.post-14770408815327134682011-09-01T09:10:00.000-07:002011-09-04T11:12:46.408-07:00PantsThis morning Griffin's pants were too short. And when I say pants, I mean ALL of his pants. What started with "Hey Griff, I have some bad news..."<br />
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"What?"<br />
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"Your pants are too short. You're going to have to change them. I know. <em>I know</em>. But it's your own fault. You grew last night. Stop doing that."<br />
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...turned into a minor fashion show in his bedroom.<br />
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"Nope. Those are too short, too."<br />
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"What about these?"<br />
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"Yeah. Those should work. I think I just bought those...What?! They are too short, too? What size are they? They are size eight. They should fit. Are you pulling them up to your armpits? No? Alright. That's it. You are in big trouble, mister! How dare you grow out of all your pants?!"<br />
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At this point, his sister joined us. "Am I in trouble, too?"<br />
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"Yes. As a matter of fact you are both in very big trouble because neither of you will listen to me. How many times do I have to say it? STOP GROWING!" They love this monologue. They think it is soooo funny, and what good am I if I can't be funny once in a while.<br />
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"We can't help it!" they argue.<br />
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"Oh, really! Well then I'll just have to take matters into my own hands, won't I? Maybe I'll make you walk around with something super heavy on your heads. That'll do it. Ooh yeah, and then I'll chain some cannon balls to your ears. So what if you're a hunchback? I gotta' do what I gotta' do if you're not going to listen already..." I could do this bit all day.<br />
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Except that I have to go buy my guy some pants... <br />
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You know what they say about a joke. That there is a germ a truth at the heart of it? Well, there is that teeny tiny (not so tiny) part of me that really does wish they would stop growing--just for a minute--and let me catch my breath already. Does it really have to go this quickly? Most of the time I feel like their childhood is water running through my fingers, when I just want to catch it, hold onto it, and admire it for a minute.<br />
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Last spring, when I attended Women's Conference, singer/songwriter Hillary Weeks shared a little phrase during her performance that has tumbled around in my brain since then. She said that over the breakfast table one morning, the thought occurred to her that we are privileged to know our children as children.<br />
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And she's right. I am privileged to know these little people. They will be adults before I know it. They will spend the majority of their lives in big bodies with big problems and big worries. But for now, I get to witness their joy and, perhaps, their spirits in their purest forms, before the awkwardness of teenage years, before the struggle of adulthood. I get to witness hope undefiled. I get to witness faith without cynicism. I get to witness love without conditions. I get to witness their childhood.<br />
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I only wish it lasted a bit longer.Laurelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07541652110390287076noreply@blogger.com6