Important to Somebody

When I was in high school I met a wonderful friend. Let’s call her “Maddie”. When I first met Maddie, I thought she was stuck up. I just figured that she was one of those girls who thought she was better than everyone else. Later in my high school life, I worked on a committee with Maddie and realized she wasn’t stuck up at all. In fact, she was SO totally the opposite and I couldn’t figure out how I came up with my mistaken impression.

As I think about it now, I think Maddie was just a little shy. Not shy-shy where she hyperventilated thinking about new people, but shy as in she was more comfortable waiting for others to approach her.

I get that. I am that way.

I love to meet new people, talk with others until our mouths are dry from conversation. But, I am hindered by my inability to feel comfortable approaching people. Unsure in my social graces.

So, self doubt clouds my vision and I often miss the opportunity to introduce myself to others. I am the same way when running into old acquaintances. Not really sure they will remember me, so I often walk on by wishing I had said hi.

I guess that there are many people like that. At least that is what I tell myself. Many who would like to talk to someone, would like a friend. And yet, for one reason or another, they go through the day without meeting someone new. Talking to a new friend – or old one for that matter.

But think about what one smile, one hello, could do for one’s soul.

Recently, we had a new family move into our ward. A wonderful family. Adorable parents. Adorable children.

The interesting thing about this family was the mom. I love her friendliness.

The family came to our ward a few weeks before their move to meet everyone. I was helping B adjust to nursery at that time and that is where I met the mother of this family. She introduced herself and asked my name. Not only that, but how to spell it. She talked comfortably. Openly. And instantly, I felt as though I had a long time friend.

It was almost as if I was the most important thing in the world to her. And it made me feel wonderful. Comfortable.

She did that with everyone.

Asking someone’s name. How to spell it. Using it over and over again until she got it in her head. Then, someone told me, she would go home and write down the names of everyone she met.

What if the whole world was like this new friend of mine? What if everybody were so interested in those they run into that they leave that person feeling more important. Noticed.

Imagine how far a kind word, a friendly comment can go.

And so, as I begin thinking about the end of the year and New Year’s resolutions ahead, I find myself longing to overcome my introvert side. I want to reach out to people like my friend does.
If we all left each person we met feeling just a little more important… what a wonderful world!

Is it really worth saving $50 bucks?

I really am left quite speechless... the article says it all.

A Wal-Mart employee is trampled to death on Black Friday.

Quite simply unreal!

Who needs a dog?

Because people don’t really believe this kind of stuff happens in my life, I have to post it…

I had just gotten home from running errands, the family doing their own thing at home. T and B playing outside in the cool fall weather. I love when I walk in the door, B gets so excited to see me!

“MOMMEEEEEE!” she screams with 2 year old energy. Then showing me her stick, “ Look, I have a magic wand.” She rattles off, in Toddler Jibberish, a few things that I could only assumed had to do with her “magic wand”.

And then. With clarity beyond her years, she announces “T went poopy in the rocks!” She was so impressed and happy by his act, but T was denying any knowledge of what she was talking about. It wasn’t until I asked B to show me where, that T started apologizing and explaining he just couldn’t make it to the toilet – but don’t worry, he washed his hands. Sure enough, hand in hand with B, she led me to the offending spot. And boy! Did he EVER!

Funny, it looked as though it had been smashed.

By fingers.

It was then I noticed B’s hands. Covered. Dried. Smelly.

Forcing myself not to gag – we got cleaned up while T took care of his “deed.”

Honestly!

The Source of Strength

What is it that gives us strength? What is it that makes it possible to go from one hard moment to the next? For everyone, it is different. I know that sometimes the thing that keeps me going is the warm embrace of my husband or soft hand of my child. Other times, it is a feeling of being carried through hard times. The whole “Footprints in the Sand” thing. Then there are times when God touches my heart through the music in the spring air or the quiet of a star filled night. Strength comes from living out one day at a time, a sense of accomplishment that I actually made it through another day.

But mostly, strength comes from my Savior. If I ask Him for it.

The story is told by Corrie ten Boom in “The Hiding Place” of her and her father taking train rides. Her father would give her the ticket, just as they were boarding, just in time for when she needed it. Corrie compared this to the strength we have in the face of trials. If we turn to our Father, He will give us strength, through the Savior, just when we need it. Just when our trials are too much to bear.

I have known amazing people. Many who have struggled with trials I am overcome just thinking about. And yet, they get through. They have the strength they need, at the time they need it.

I have a friend who is sicker than most people can dream of becoming while pregnant. On more medicine than I even knew existed to help pregnant women. But from her eludes a strength that does not come from her mortal self. A strength that can only come from Divinity.

Another friend of mine has born all things in her marriage. Troublesome from the start, she has stood with a strong back in the face of adversity. Patience and loving beyond comprehension. Forgiving. Her strength has kept her family together. But she could never have that strength alone. It came from God Himself. And I watched her as she struggled. Praying. Never faltering. Where does that kind of faith come from?

Still, another friend of mine held in her arms her stillborn child while her faith was firm in the goodness of God. Another ached for years to hold her own child at all. A dear friend of mine strengthens each of her adult children in turn, sharing her faith. Her love. Somehow drawing on a reserve she doesn’t believe she has.

I have a friend to faithfully prays for the day when her husband will come to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and their family can be sealed forever. She is such an example to me of child like faith. So honest.

I have a friend that was sexually abused and has done everything in her power to stop the cycle and provide a life that is better for her own children. Another friend struggles with miscarriages and infertility. Another with more babies than arms, and still she finds strength to give heartfelt service.

A different friend struggles with the newness of a new found religion. Ours. One that takes a complete lifestyle change. And through it, her heart is full of love for her Savior. And her desire is only to do right. I have friends that don’t know where the next meal is going to come from or how they are going to pay for an expensive medical procedure. Friends that face life threatening diseases. Friends whose children have turned their backs on all that is good. Friends who battle depression and other mental illnesses.

I have friends that struggle. Have hard times.

When I look at my problems, they seem quite insignificant. I know we are told not to compare our trials, but we all do it. And I am thankful for mine.

I look at the strength that comes from each of these beloved people in my life and I wonder how they gain that strength. What feeds their faith?

The answer, the only answer, is the power from the Atoning Sacrifice of our Savior. He is the strength. Through him, we can gain the wholeness we long for. The peace we crave. He gives us that strength, like the train ticket, the moment we need it.

I am so grateful for the examples of strength I have in my life.

Waiting

A few weeks ago in Relief Society, our teacher shared with us the following story. It is taken from a journal entry on Children's Author, Kate DiCamillo's, web site. This particular journal entry is no longer found on the site (or anywhere on the web for that matter), but thankfully our teacher had the foresight to print it off.

This story is such that I felt it warrented the extra time for me to type it up. I have done my best to keep the same format, puncutation and wording as Kate DiCamillo. Any error here is mine. Hopefully, I have copied it right and you will enjoy it as much as I did. Such a wonderful life lesson here.

A journal entry taken from Kate DiCamillo’s web site

November 2006

I am one of those people who is always and forever in a hurry. I’m in a hurry even when there is absolutely no reason to be in a hurry. I’m embarrassed to admit that I exist in a perpetual state of impatience.

The other day, I was in line at the co-op and the woman ahead of me was not in a hurry.

She unloaded her basket item by item, gazing first at an onion, and then at a bag of granola and finally at a box of raisins as if these things were wondrous items, treasures that she had just unearthed; she handed the onion, the granola, the raisins to the cashier slowly, oh so slowly.

“Hurry up!” I wanted to scream, “Hurry, hurry!”

I shifted from foot to foot.

I checked the time.

I cast despairing and envious looks at the other lines.

The cashier announced the total. The woman slowly, very slowly, took out her check book. She began to write a check.

And then she stopped.

She laid down the pen.

“What now?” I wanted to scream.

“I can’t,” the woman said to the cashier.

“Um,” said the cashier.

“My mother died,” said the woman.

“Oh,” said the cashier. “I’m sorry.”

“Just now. She died just now. I mean not right now, not right this very minute, but an hour ago. Well, not exactly an hour ago, but within the hour.”

“Oh,” said the cashier. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said the woman. “I mean it’s not okay. Of course it’s not okay. But she had Alzheimer’s. She was suffering. She had suffered for a long time. So it’s not a sad thing. But I feel so sad.” She picked up the pen. She looked down at the check. She shrugged her shoulders. She started to write again.

The cashier, without saying anything, reached out and put her hand on top of the woman’s hand. The woman stopped writing; she did not look up.

The cashier kept her hand on top of the woman’s hand for a long time; the two women held very still.

Outside, the world was flooded in late October light.

I stood in line.

I waited

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Time Heals All Wounds...

Now that she is all healed up, I can laugh (and write) about it. But I was too shaken to take pictures...

Sunday was an interesting day – at least the afternoon while hubby was at the church. I walked into the living room to see J beating the “you know what” out of R. I couldn’t seem to break it up fast enough and soon, R was on the floor in tears and J was sentenced to the rest of the afternoon in his room (which is right next to R & T room)

I sat down to work on my family history, thankful for the reprieve. Thankful T and B were playing so nicely in T’s room. That reprieve lasted about 13.7 seconds when it was broken by a blood curdling scream from B. It was the kind of scream you know you have to go check out – more than a “someone-took-my-doll-and-pounded-her-head-with-a-hammer” scream. This was followed by J yelling for T to stop and T screaming back in tears something I couldn’t understand.

So, apparently T and B had been playing in a box. Harmless enough, right? Well, T decided to close B in the box and do a “magic trick” of making the box disappear by stabbing into it with a pair of large scissors. By the time I got to B she had 3 head wounds. Two on her forehead at the hair line and one in the back of her head. They were relatively small and only the one in the back did a fair amount of bleeding. Thankfully, the injuries were minor -- even though my reaction was not.

The Good Neighbor

The news has always been full of unsettling information. Especially lately. Communities, nations and the world seem to be in constant turmoil. It can get a person down. It is difficult sometimes to recognize the Hand of God on a planet where belief of Him is smothered by the loud voices of opposition. And yet, in this crazy world, there is goodness. We just have to open our eyes.

Goodness comes in many forms. In my case, it appears in the form of a good neighbor. I have learned many lessons since living in this home, one of which is what a good neighbor is.

The good neighbor looks after your kids when you are not around – keeping them from running in the street or beating up their brother. She doesn’t judge you for having a messy house or frumpy cloths. She celebrates with you during your happy moments and cries with you during your difficult times. The good neighbor helps stop plumbing leaks. He is willing to pull your “ox out of the mire” to keep your home from catching fire. He is there to assist in priesthood blessings. The good neighbor pays attention to your home while you are away. She visits you while you cry over your child in the hospital. She goes beyond her own comfort to help you pull off a wedding reception. She scrubs your floor while you are in the hospital. He helps lift boxes. He gives your children rides places. The good neighbor looks past your imperfections but still helps you keep perspective. She listens while you complain and validates your feelings. You can call the good neighbor in the middle of the night for help. The good neighbor helps you figure out what illness your child has. You can count on the good neighbor for emotional strength and support. You know the good neighbor is there for you, come what may. You learn compassion from the good neighbor. You learn “tricks of the (mothering) trade” You learn how to be a good neighbor. The good neighbor gives you more than you could ever return.

Our family has been overly blessed with such neighbors. And it makes me think about what this world would be like if we could all be good neighbors. Reaching out not only to our next door neighbors, but to those we interact with each day. How would this world be a better place if we each took a little more effort to be a good neighbor? How have you been affected by a good neighbor?

I believe that the world, especially now, needs more good neighbors. More people to reach out, get involved and love those around us. How can you be a better neighbor?

Monday Morning Blues

Seriously, what is it about the weekend that does this to my house. It was clean, even laundry done, on Friday. It's not like I was just sitting around watching this happen... I did try to stop it, or at least diminish it...

"By Mom! Love you. Have fun cleaning up our mess today!"

National Adoption Day

Today two of my dear friends and their hubbies were able to finalize their babies adoptions. I just wanted to give a congratulatory shout out to them! I am SO happy for you guys!

Collin & Jenny -- I couldn't be happier for you today! You waited SO long. This is one of my favorite days ever.

Fawn & Devon -- J is such a sweet addition to your little family. 4 boys! Sounds like someone else I know. Your family is beautiful.

Love you guys and Congrats!!!

My Own High School Musical

I was 16 when I met my hubby. It started innocently enough – buddies just talking. Inside jokes. It seemed there was nothing we couldn’t talk about and would go on for hours if permitted. Then came our family vacation followed by a week at girls camp. I was lost. I missed my “friend” so much I couldn’t see straight. Every thought revolved around this one person. This being who made my heart beat a little faster.

That’s when we called out the heavy artillery. A common friend. We played the game of “does he like me” - “what did she say” for a while until one day we admitted to each other we “like, liked” each other. Oh yeah, it was pretty serious.

That was 20 – count them – TWENTY years ago. And though memories of what teacher we had or what arguments we fought have faded, those tender memories of gazing at each other as the world stops, never fade. We were sure it was us against the world. We were different than every couple out there because our love knew no bounds. It was solid, secure and real. At least as much as it could be in an adolescent world.

To any who knew us in high school – I am so sorry. We were beyond sappy. Downright gag-inducing. Holding hands in class when the lights went out for a movie, passing notes several times a day in the hall, giving each other “looks” during seminary activities… yeah, we were pretty disgusting. Now that I am a mom – I understand everything our leaders are saying about no serious dating before missions. I get that. I hope that none of my kids find their soul mate in high school.


One thing for sure is that we decided we were never, ever, once we were married, fall into the rut of dinner and a movie every week for our dates. And yet, every week, that seems to be all we want to do. Not for lack of ideas or fear of conversation. But because it seems to be the only time the world slows down enough for us to just be. Just sit. Just relax. Now that I am 20 years wiser, I am totally OK with that.


So it was on our weekly date that we found ourselves at the movie theater at an awkward time. Trying to find something wholesome, playing at the time we were at the theater left us with one choice, “High School Musical: Senior Year”. Never mind that Hubby had taken the two older boys to see this movie already (yes, my boys went to see this chick flick) Never mind that I had seen the previous TWO High School Musicals and was totally fine waiting for the DVD. Never mind that we were the only ones there without a child under 10 with us.


In spite of the corny lines and cheesy actions, I found myself liking the music. And the movie. Mostly, I found it quite comedic due to some of the dances (let me just say “Junk Yard Scene”) I was laughing, leaning over to make “critiquing” comments every so often. Hubby would chuckle too. Still there was that familiar feeling to the movie. Us against the world. The sun rises and sets with you. Nothing can keep us apart. We were very much like Troy and Gabriella – minus the sexy rhythmic dancing. We even wrote and sang songs to proclaim our devotion to each other. Yup. Sappy.


So, imagine now, you are me. You turn to make another sarcastic comment to hubby and see TEARS rolling down his cheeks. I was filled with a sentimental mixture of amusement and love. And, in between my laughter, I too remembered how hard it was to part company. Leaving for college. Leaving on a mission. I remember the ups and downs of young love. The sweetness of togetherness. Wishing it would last one more day. Wishing you could look in each other’s eyes forever. And, even though corny reigned supreme in this movie, my tears came as well (thankfully, I don’t think hubby noticed – he was too busy drying his own eyes). I thanked the Good Lord for this sweet man who I call my own. For someone to be friends with. Someone to love.


Truth of the matter is, we are still sappy. Yuck. And those feelings we felt 20 years ago have only improved. Magnified.

But if you think for a second that I am not going to tease hubby for crying during HSM 3 – you are totally wrong. Just don’t tell him my secret.

Angel Friday Winner Posted.

Visit Real Angels, Real Life to read this weeks winning post.

You can do this too... Watch for Random Acts of Kindness and tell the world about them. Link back here so your post can count for Angel Friday.

Stranger than Science Fiction

Ironically, hubby found this article the day after my Food Storage post... You can read the original article here, but here is the first paragraph:

"Thick brown clouds of soot, particles and chemicals stretching from the Persian Gulf to Asia threaten health and food supplies in the world, the U.N. reported Thursday, citing what it called the newest threat to the global environment."

Now I am REALLY motivated to make sure my food storage and house are BROWN CLOUD proof. Not trying to be an alarmist or anything but YIKES!

Angel Friday Carnival

**** Carnival closed. Check back next week.****


Have you ever noticed someone just being really nice? Going out of their way to help someone else. Answering a sincere prayer. I have had so many experiences in my life where I feel like I am watching God's angels at work. Mostly they are working on me. :-)

Well, now we can all share our stories. Real Angels, Real Life is a Blog Carnival. Don't know what a Blog Carnival is? Read about it here.

Each week, starting Friday, blog a story about someone being angelic. Come Back to the Angel Friday post here, and enter in your blog link. The stories with the most comments will be featured at Real Angels, Real life.

This is just a fun way to celebrate the goodness in life. I have never done this before so I don't know how long it will last. But it seemed fun... so here goes.

Once you read about Angel Friday in more detail, blog and enter your info below...

ANGEL FRIDAY HAS STARTED! Don't forget to enter your link below.


This weeks submissions:

http://wheelersturning.blogspot.com/2008/11/angel-friday.html

http://hansenfamilylife.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-angel-post.html

Food Storage Mania

It started with a small idea. A simple project that I could accomplish in only an hour. That was last week. I am still neck deep in my simple project.

We have several places to stockpile our food storage throughout the house. Our “Harry Potter Nook” under the stairs, inside our well loved kitchen bench, a wet-bar-turned-closet, and of course, the Mormon standard, under our bed. I have, in the past, kept track of everything on a computer program but had not written down where everything was. So that really didn’t do any good. I thought, foolishly, that I could quickly scribble down the items in the closet, get my bearings with our food storage, and move along.

After inventorying my closet, I realized TOO TOO TOO much was past its expiration date. Why on earth would I buy so many cans of carrots? We hate carrots. It was those insufferable #10 cans. How am I supposed to rotate those? I mean really, in a time of plenty, who is going to down a whole gallon of peas and carrots. I know I don’t want to open a #10 of them only to scrape off the top and throw the rest away. So, the alternative? I let it the WHOLE can sit and expire.

I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away so I called the food bank and thankfully they were eager to take the expired food off my hands. It was probably still good anyway, right? No bulges, no problem. Besides, they could use it up in one day and would probably find someone grateful for those nasty carrots.

All the way to the food bank, I began to formulate a new plan in my mind. I had to seriously update my system. Reboot. Reload. Move the cans that had to be used within 5 years to an easy accessible place, move the longer storing items somewhere else and stock up on regular sized can foods. I know it is not rocket science, but I felt proud of my plan.

So, with my recovering back, I pulled the food storage out from under the bed. I begged hubby for some muscle with the food under the stairs (by the way, I am pretty sure we have mice) and emptied the closet. And, of course my boys. God didn’t bless me with four strapping boys for nothing. You should have seen my kids faces when I said “Bring these 97 silver cans upstairs and take these 84 silver cans downstairs… then move those 42 silver cans from the closet to the 18 cans by the stairs… oh and on your way… bring these 23 silver cans upstairs… no they are NOT all the same.” They were pretty good sports overall. Together, we moved the wheat to all reside under the bed upstairs, the “have-to-get-to-them-often” items found their home in the closet and other grains and legumes are like Harry Potter – under the stairs. I was gimping around pretty good while hubby and the boys, eyes rolling and bodies sighing, just wished I would stop working on my project.

Then, I attacked the kitchen cupboards. Armed with my Cansolidators from Costco, and fresh canned food, I redistributed EVERY cupboard in the kitchen. Which meant I first had to empty them. Again, family is REALLY wishing I would just stop with the mania. But I pressed forward. I even canceled my help for the week, so I could really focus on organizing. So while B redistributed the food all over the floor (a new bottle of hot sauce really will explode when it hits ceramic tile at full 2 year old force) I plugged away. There was absolutely NO space on the counters or in the sink. Imagine my embarrassment when a friend needed to use my sink for water – boy did I start layering on the excuses why my house was such a wreck.

I am pretty close to being done. I still have to set up the “extra-large-no-where-to-put-them” Cansolidators – both of them – and my plan will be running in full force. Now if I can actually rotate them. Whew. But alas, I forgot ALL about the storage in the kitchen bench. Still, I should be able to squeeze everything into its new home.

Oh, and this time, I am totally keeping my inventory up to date.


*update* I couldn't bring my self to take pictures of my horrid mess... there are somethings that are even to frightening for cyberspace. However, I do promise to post the finished product when I am all done. :)

The Proper Way to Eat a Peanut Butter Sandwich.

Everybody has their own way of eating one of America’s favorite staples, Peanut Butter Sandwich. There are very few children these days that have never had one. Thankfully, we have no peanut allergies here and I can stalk up on the peanutty treat.

My husband has the odd idea that to enjoy a peanut butter sandwich, you have to first mix the CHUNKY peanut butter with the jelly. Yuck. You might as well smear toothpaste all over the bread – I won’t touch it.

My 9 year old makes his sandwiches with barely even a shmear of peanut butter – mostly bread and honey for him. Still not my thing.

Me, well the peanut butter sandwich is not just a food, it is a form of art. Creamy. Definitely. Smearing back and forth nice and thick, creating smooth waves in the golden goodness. Then I add just a touch of honey and of course, a glass of cold milk. Mmmm, I am hungry just thinking about it. Never mind that we haven’t used white bread in years, just as good on wheat.

But, with all our different preferences, none can outdo our princess. She knows the way to eat a Peanut Butter and Honey sandwich (of course I make it for her, just as I would make if for me). In B’s eyes, this is the proper way to eat this dish.

1. First, pull apart each “square” of sandwich, placing them Peanut Butter side up on your plate.
2. With your index finger, draw a design on each open square.
3. Once you are finished with your art, take each square and place it, peanut butter side towards you, on your nose. Testing its stickiness.
4. After each square has been properly tested, reassemble the squares and take a
bite.
5. Repeat 1 through 4 until you are finished eating.

Surprisingly enough, she does this with minimal mess. Two fingers, a smudge on the nose and just a little around her mouth. Any of my boys – well let’s just say I think there is still PB&J on the walls from their lunch’s years ago.

Oh yeah, and I almost forgot… It is not called a Peanut Butter Sandwich. In two-year-old-jargon… it is referred to as “Sticky Finger” sandwich. Hmmm, makes sense I guess.

Words well said...

There have been a lot of political blogs as of late, many of which have stirred me with emotion.
I love that we can voice our opinions in our country!

One of my favorite blogs is knot in the string. Although I don't know this blogger, I have, on more than one occasion, been uplifted by her words.

This is one such post. It is worth a read.

My secret is down the drain...

I have a secret (sort of). A secret that is going to be revealed for the sake of this post. I am going to tell you about a very important person in my life, with some hesitation for fear of being judged. Cecilia. I have known Cecilia for about 2 ½ years. I tried to keep her secret for a while, but eventually word started getting out and I decided to come clean (no pun intended); to embrace the fact that I have a housekeeper. I could blog a list of how I can justify it, but when it comes down to it, I just need the help. Cecilia comes each week to help me at my house. And for a few brief hours on Wednesday, my house is clean. In fact, I love when people come over Wednesday afternoon. I open the door wide and let them in. (which is actually slightly more polite than standing at the door, blocking their view of the living room)

I love Cecilia because she just gets done what needs to be done. Changing bedding. Mopping. Dishes. Cleaning the refrigerator. She pretty much jumps in and takes care of everything. Sometimes, on really bad days, I have dishes on the counters and in the sinks. She empties the smelly food and stale water, cleans the dishes and shines the counters. You see why I love her? There are a couple drawbacks, however. So minor though, I always overlook them.

First, I do not speak her language and she does not speak mine. There is a lot of pointing when we try to communicate, but mostly just smiles and nods. I keep telling myself I need to learn her language, but then reality sets in and I go on pointing.

Second, Cecilia has an odd habit of misplacing and rearranging things. I have found my sugar dish on my bookcase, photos from my piano repositioned – upstairs by my bed. Shoes stashed in storage bins… you know, stuff like that. After 2 ½ years, I have sort of learned how she thinks and can find most things she moves. It is a little maddening – try explaining to your son’s teacher that his homework was misplaced by the family housekeeper – doesn’t go over well. We have learned to adjust, every Wednesday morning, we all hide (ie: actually put it away) our important stuff so we can find it post-Cecilia. Novel idea, I know.

One week ago, we received a lovely gift via the ward carnival. Like many parents, we were surprised that one of our children won a real-live, have-to-take-care-of-it, gold fish. My dear friend, who was the mastermind in this plot, reassured me, as well as other apprehensive parents, that the fish was not healthy and would soon meet its maker. Whew. I found a sense of morbid comfort in this promise.

Each morning, I would awake to a happy, “swimming-all-over-the-stupid-bowl” fish. And each night, I would wonder if this was our last night with our unnamed pet. You see, I had told my children the fish would probably not last very long, so no one bothered to name the poor creature. Sure as sunshine, this little fellow was strong and healthy this morning before school.

Certain this finned friend wouldn’t live too long, I made a home for him in a vase I had on my counter. We changed the water daily, but it still was murky. He became part of the hub that only a family kitchen can have. There he sat, amidst all my dirty dishes, looking, to the untrained eye, like another bowl to be washed.

Tonight, while I was making dinner, I admired my clean kitchen. The non-sticky floor, the fingerprintless fridge, the glossy counters, oh – and my vase looks so clean! WHAT? My vase? Only a few hours earlier, our nameless fish had been happily swimming around. As my eyes drifted over to my sink, and then garbage disposal, I realized, only partially horrified, what had happened. As strong as our gilled friend was, he was no match for my Insinkerator. And then I had to imagine the scene because Cecilia, not speaking my language, couldn’t tell me. Did she look a little worried this afternoon when she left? In her haste to clean up, she must have dumped the water, fish included, into the sink. I imagine she noticed the fish about the time it became unstuck from the rubber drain guard and slipped into the whirring blades.

Oh boy, how do you explain this one to the kids?

I don’t know how soon I will be able to turn on our disposal without thinking of our sweet fish.

Finding Courage

An interesting thing happened today here in America. A 6th grader at our elementary school had his right to “Free Speech” squelched when he wore a Yes on Prop 102 t-shirt. You see, it started because there was a club at the high school this child’s sister attended that was able to sell t-shirts for No on Prop 102 for students to wear at school. The sister and some friends got together to make t-shirts themselves to voice their opposing opinion. Her little brother got in on the action, making his own YES on 102 t-shirt. When he got to school, his teacher, after making a commotion about it in class, sent him to the principal. He was given a shirt from the nurse’s office to wear instead. The reasoning was that it was against District Policy to wear political shirts, which was actually not the case. The policy does not prohibit wearing political shirts.

Well, this raised quite a ruckus among many in the neighborhood. We were very concerned about the fairness of the issue, freedom of speech and hidden agendas. My first thought, along with a couple others, was to send ALL our kids in YES on PROP 102 t-shirts. They couldn’t make all 50 of them change their shirts. Fortunately, things were able to be relatively sorted out with the principal acknowledging the error and apologizing. Truthfully, I felt a sense of relief when I realized we weren’t going to be sending an army of minors to school promoting a proposition.

This whole thing created quite a turmoil of emotion in me… on one hand, I wanted to stand up for the little guy. On the other hand, I worried so much about the repercussions of my actions. I wanted to do the right thing, stand up for what I believe in. But I found myself apprehensive about how it would weigh on my children, my reputation, my religion.

At what point does one stand up for what they believe? When is it right to make your voice heard? When is it worth it to risk your families comfort? I don’t know that I would hesitate as much if it were only myself to worry about, but this is a controversial subject and people get mean. Do I really want that redistributed to them?

I am into a lot of historical fiction. I don’t pretend to know a ton about history, but I gleaned enough facts from stories about history to know that there were some incredibly brave people. History is full of people who weren’t afraid to stand up for what they believe, what they know to be true. They ignored their fears, if they existed, about the consequences of their bravery.

Corrie ten Boom hid her Jewish neighbors. Rosa Parks sat where she was entitled to sit. Harriet Tubman helped God’s children escape evils of slavery. Women dressed themselves as soldiers to fight the civil war. Colonists rose up against the only nation they had ever known to defend the most basic human right of freedom. Our history is quilted together with colorful threads of bravery. Each one making our world a little better; a little stronger. So what is my problem?

Oh, I can voice my opinion loud and clear from the safety of my laptop. I can join ranks with any of the bravest as long as I am safely in my home wearing my most comfy PJs. But when it comes down to it, am I willing to go outside my comfort zone? Am I willing to face confrontation, anger and discord? I would like to say I am. But, there is a timid voice inside, seeking a more secure time. A time when we could only talk about standing up for the right.

Truth be told, the time is now. My moment of truth has come. I can boldly and unashamedly stand up for those things I believe or I can keep to the comforts of my home, letting the brave fight my battles.

Maybe the answer isn’t sending my children to school with a t-shirt that states my opinions. Maybe the answer is something that is even harder for me. The world is changing. Opportunity to stand up for your beliefs, whatever they are, will manifest themselves with more frequency. I am not sure I am ready for that world, but it is coming. I hope I have what it takes.

Tomorrow, I am going to the polling center to “campaign” for Prop 102. When I got the call to participate, I knew I had to do it. Gulp. This is a pretty heated topic. Gulp. What if someone throws an egg at me? Gulp. And then I heard that my friends were going to be there as well. Suddenly, my fear receded. I found my small amount of courage somewhere next to my yellow backbone. I could do this. I am grateful for friends that are willing to stand up for their beliefs. For what they believe. It gives me courage. Courage to speak. Courage to act. I hope to one day be like the people who have that courage even when their “peeps” aren’t along for the ride. Somewhere, inside, I think it is there. I will continue to try and trust myself, my hunches, my God. Then I believe I will find that courage.

What gives you courage? What makes you speak out?


** UPDATE** A dear friend of mine sent me highlights from a talk Neal A Maxwell gave. Becasue of its length, I will only put the link here. I recommend you read it, such powerful words.

Tagged -- again!

I never was any good at playing tag... I always seemed to be it. I thought I was doing so good to put up my last tag... Whew! it took a few days but I did it. Just after I posted, I found out I was tagged again. Determined not to get behind in my tagging... Here we go... Thanks Heather for the TAG

4 Random things I love about hubby:

His perfect nose
His music ability
His sense of humor
That he calls his kids, even boys, sweetheart

4 Jobs I've had:

Fast Food cold prep
Cutco Knife Salesperson
BYU Bookstore Checker
DayCare supervisor

4 Movies I have seen more than once:

Princess Bride
Sons of Provo
My Big Fat Greek Wedding
Ever After

4 TV Shows I watch:

The Office
American Idol
House Hunters (really anything HGTV)
Iron Chef (anything Food network)

4 Places I've Been:

South Dakota
Colorado
California
Florida

4 places I've lived:

Arizona
Utah
Idaho
Washington

4 Favorite Foods:

Red Lobster Cheddar Bay Biscuts
Olive Garden Hazelnut Cream Italian Soda’s (I know that’s not food, but so
yummy)
Anything from Dave’s Barbecue
Chocolate (of course)

4 Places I'd Like to Visit:

Hawaii – no never been
Greece
Washington DC
Jamaica

4 People I tag:

Tami A
Sharla V
Katie H
Laurie H

TAGGED

OK -- my baby sister tagged me. I know she really isn't a baby any more, but I can't stop saying that.

I have to tell the whole world 7 random things about myself. As if I didn't have enough posts that gave WAY to much information already. This is my first tag in the blogging world, so here goes:

1. I have a freckle inside my left pinky toe.

2. I love the Disney movies and Disney "type"... not the animated ones, the ones that are made for teenagers. You know, the real cheesy ones. I have been to known to even cry at a couple of them. Yup -- pathetic.

3. I hate toothpaste. I only use it because I have to. I think it is so disgusting -- so foamy and slurpy. YUCK. Hubby brushes our kids teeth.

4. I slept with a stuff elephant until I got married and it was replaced by my sweetheart.

5. Once, when I was preggy with my first child, I woke up wet. Sure that my water had broken, we hurried into Labor and Delivery. My "water" was just fine. So humiliating.

6. I have to pull my hair over my ears while I sleep so spiders don't crawl in them. I can't sleep if my ears are uncovered. I guess I will never have short hair.

7. I make faces at security cameras. ATMS, elevators. Where ever I see them (and when I am alone) I can't help my self.

I am not going to tag the "typical" way. Consider your self tagged if: You live in a different state than you were born in, your hair needs to be cut, you were glasses, you are in your PJS right now, you sing in the car while you drive, you haven't laughed today, or if you ate a banana today.