Weather Related Conditions

The rain inspired Logan with all kinds of benevolence. Having been a bit under the weather with a minor cold, I retired to take a little nap on Sunday afternoon. When I awoke, I found this card on my bedside table:

*yos=used
I don't know if it the change in weather or the love of my sweet girl, but I'm feeling much better.

Shower the People

The rain pelted the window at a loud slant, blown sideways by the howling wind. As I laid the baby in his crib a flash of lightening lit up the room spotlighting his chubby legs and his thick hands tightly gripping his bottle. Gratefully his eyes remained closed as his little body jerked with the accompanying roar of thunder. I nestled him in under his warm, fleece blanket, kissed his forehead, and started down the hallway toward Logan's room. Knowing how both she and Griffin hate these evening storms that only seem to begin as they are trying to fall asleep, I was sure that they were wide awake and in need of comfort.

As I stepped inside the dark room, I found both of them sitting up in bed caucusing. "Hey, guys. You should be going to sleep. What's going on?"

"He's scared," Logan stated matter-of-factly. Griffin didn't deny it. I noticed he wasn't about to lie down either.

"Well. You two are safe and--"

"I was going to tell him he could sleep with me in my bed." Only the intimate circle of our little family understands the true generosity of this offer. Logan's good will has already been stretched by the trespasses of her younger brother who has a designated room of his own; he just refuses to sleep there. Instead, he prefers her company and the extra twin bed her room offers. It's been going on for almost four years now, and Logan's patience is thinning. Nearly eight, she is ready for her own space--something she reminds her brother of often.

Her offer caught me off guard. "Really?" The question was punctuated by another sharp thunderclap.

"Sure. If he's scared he can come sleep in my bed."

Knowing he was not about to weather the storm alone and that he was either my bedfellow or hers, I was hoping he'd take her up on the offer.

"What do you think, Griffin? Do you want to do that?"

Carrying his blanket clutched tightly to his chest, he quietly slipped off the side of his bed and crawled in beside his sister. She moved over to make room for him, a tight squeeze in a small twin bed, but as she did so she gallantly said, "You can stay here until you feel safe."

My heart melted a little. There is nothing I want more than for my kiddos to stick together for always and forever. I know they'll need each other in all kinds of storms from here on out. Then I said, "You have nothing to be afraid of. Mommy and Daddy are here..."

"Yeah," she interrupted again. "And you've always got me."

I tucked the blankets up under their chins, kissed their cheeks and, before walking out of the room, turned for one last look at the two of them huddled close together. Silently I thanked the rain. Thanked it for watering the roots of the grass and roots of the trees, the roots of the flowers and the roots of this little family. Deep roots and broad branches. All showered and made strong with love.

New Math

one cut finger
+
3 hours
+
multiples messes
+
one very sore thumbnail
----------------------
7 quarts of canned peaches x slight discouragement

I can't believe that math is correct, but I've double checked it a few times and yes, indeed, I do only have seven quarts. I think Grandma Doty must have been faster at this. She must have been or she would have quit. So...my goal today? Get faster.

And to get rid of the discouragement, I'm going to remember this as I work:

"Actions do speak louder than words...there is the reminder that love is not simply a noun and not simply a sentimental feeling. The proof of love is what one is willing to do for the loved one. The proof of love is how one behaves." --Richard L. Evans

Today, as I provide a home for my family and all the drudgery that sometimes requires, I'm going to remember that my efforts are proof of my love. My work and sacrifices are a living testiment to my love for my husband and children.

...even if it's only seven quarts. (Argh.)

What am I Thinking?

Remember last year when I tried to channel my Grandma Doty? Well, I'm at it again, except this time I'm canning peaches and raspberry jam. I've never done either before...but how hard can it be? Right? Never mind that I already had a to-do list longer than I could possibly accomplish; that and the fact that canning makes an incredible mess should make for a very busy day. At least this time my ankles won't swell to three times their normal size.

Here's the proof. See? I wasn't kidding around when I was talking about my baby expecting troll feet. And there really are no ankles there at all. But at least I had cute red toenails.

Phoning Home

"Do you think the reference to my woo-hoo was a little over the top the other day?" I couldn't help but notice that one of my friendly readers dropped me like a hot potato the same day I referenced my...well, you know what. Coincidence? Probably not is my guess. I don't want to notice those things. I really don't. Because then I get a little weird. A bit obsessed perhaps. I start thinking in big swirls and loops, and my head gets dizzy.

"What?!" my mother responded laughingly.

Maybe I should have said hello first. "The other day in a blog post I mentioned my woo-hoo? Do you think that was inappropriate in the context?"

More laughter. "I didn't even think about it."

Phwew. Good. In my world there are only four opinions about me that matter. God's. Mine. My parents'. And now that I'm married--Mr. Wicke's. That last one is a little tricky, though, because we are very different creatures.

I had first asked Mr. Wicke his opinion. "Well, I wouldn't have done it." But that's the problem. Of course he wouldn't have. He's a solid 7 kind of guy, whereas I live my life in a random patterns of 5's and 10's. He's even keel, and I'm the slight ripples Heaven sent to liven up his trip a little.

"So...you're saying you think I was wrong?"

"No. I'm just saying that it's not something I would have done."

"What. You think I told people something they didn't already know? Like they thought the baby slipped out of my belly button or something?"

He smiled, "You're so funny."

"So, is there some judgement there?"

"No."

"Oh, I think there is."

"No, there isn't."

"You are no help at all! I'm going to ask my mother."

My mother is my moral thermometer in a lot of ways: A 77 year old woman who can not bear the words fart or butt (so sorry, Mom) and taught me everything I know about being decent has a lot of moral pull in my book. "You can't worry," she continued, "about what anyone else thinks. People who do that never write anything, or never write anything good."

And that's what I'm really trying to do. I want to write like no one is reading. Which is when I started thinking, what I am I writing this blog for anyway? If I really want to write like no one is reading, why not do it in a journal? What the heck is my purpose here? This isn't some exercise in narcissism every day, is it? Or IS it? Ugh. I'd hate to think that...Big swirls and loops in my brain. BIG. I'm still dizzy days later.

And then she said, and I love her for it, "Besides," you're really only writing for me, anyway." She doesn't have a problem with my occasional colorful descriptions. Instead, I make her laugh. And she, in turn, calms my dizzy brain. Maybe someday we'll be even, but I doubt it.

Picking Sides

The minute the kids walk in the door from school, it's my job to do backpack check. While they raid the pantry, I thumb through notices, notes, old assignments and homework packets. I find out a lot about my kids during backpack check. Like Griffin's tendency toward getting yellow cards for talking, or not lining up after recess, or not standing by his desk as he has been told. Of course I always find out that these things "are not his fault," and that it doesn't really matter because every day, when he goes back, "it's always back to green." See? I told you backpack check was enlightening.

The other day I read through one of Logan's old assignments which asked her to answer the question, "What is your favorite thing about home?" to which she answered, "My parents are always on my side." This statement, for better or worse, gave me pause; it struck me as a sort of double edged sword.

She is right. Ultimately I am always on her side. I will always love her, I will always root for her success, and I will always do what is best for her. But does that mean always choosing her side? Because that can morph into a dangerous area. An area where a parent can not see her child's weaknesses. An area where her child's misbehaviour is someone else's fault, and therefore, somehow, excusable. We've all seen those parents who, in an attempt to protect their child, attack anybody else--friends, other parents, and teachers to name a few.

What I've come up with after some thought, is that always choosing her side is not really being on her side at all. If I am so caught up in her immediate happiness, I can not clearly see the end of the road I am hoping for her. What is best for her sometimes is dealing with consequences; it is sometimes dealing with pain; and it is sometimes dealing with unfairness.

Being on her side means I help her navigate those tricky waters; it does not mean I protect her from them. To do so would mean hindering her growth and development of character. And when I try to picture the end of the road I am hoping for her, that is all that matters. I need to be very clear on that because it's going to be a long trip. Until we get there, I am totally and completely on her side and by her side, right there, until the end.

Thoughts on Worship: Gathering Together Oft'

I know one thing for sure: I need to develop a personal relationship with my Savior, Jesus Christ. This requires effort on my part. Personal effort. Moments of quiet meditation. Personal revelation. Covenants kept. I know that. Can't I do that alone?Yes, in part. But I also need others, and they need me. As I've considered the importance of gathering, I have discovered three important elements of group worship.

The first is that of covenants, or two-way promises between me and the Lord. I need baptism. I need His sacrament. Both as an outward promise of my devotion and as a vehicle for repentance and obtaining His forgiveness. These I can not do alone because they require the authority given to man by God. Even Christ sought out John the Baptist because of his authority to baptise in the name of the Father. I think anyone who is a member of a religion believes that his/her religion is a vehicle of God's authority.

The second purpose of gathering together is just as clear. Man has a very short memory. Gathering together often is a way of recharging our spiritual batteries, so to speak. We are reminded of a higher purpose. Many times we get so consumed by the "have-to's" of life that we forget what is really important, and so a wise God commands us to put aside the "have-to's" for one day, to gather and focus on the welfare of our souls, the only have-to that is not temporary.

The third component of gathering together that I have been thinking on is a bit more subtle but no less important. If we take upon ourselves the name of Christ, are to follow His example, and truly become Christlike, how is that done? Can I do that singularly? No. It requires that I bump into people, because in that jostling I gain the opportunity to forgive and to be forgiven; to take upon myself another's burdens and have my own be shared; to receive mercy and to be merciful. One of my favorite gospel teachers was an LDS Apostle named Neil A. Maxwell. He said it like this,

"...the Church is 'for the perfecting of the saints' (Eph. 4:12); it is not a well-provisioned rest home for the already perfected. ...in the kingdom we are each other’s clinical material; the Lord allows us to practice on each other, even in our imperfections. And each of us knows what it is like to be worked on by a 'student' rather than a senior surgeon. Each of us, however unintentionally, has also inflicted some pain."

God in his infinite wisdom gave us first our family and then, secondly, the family of believers with whom we are commanded to gather. By doing so, he ensured that we would have plenty of practice in developing charity--the pure love of Christ. On our best days we may inspire someone. On our worst, we are lifted up by someone else.

I have been lucky in my life to be surrounded by believers--both of my particular faith and of others. I have been inspired, lifted, and forgiven. I have witnessed living testaments of charity, and I have been changed. I am grateful to gather in His name.

(For the rest of Elder Neil A. Maxwell's talk go here. )