Ordinary Shells

Each summer when our family visits the beach, the most restorative activity I look forward to is a solitary early morning walk on the beach.  This year it wasn’t until our last day of vacation that I was able to enjoy that time.  It fills me up in a way that nothing else does.  I love the low tide, the sky, the color of the water.   My thoughts slow down and I always find myself being tutored by the sea.

seashells

Inevitably my eyes are drawn to the treasures near my feet as I make my way to the pier.  These shells aren’t unique or amazing yet I love them.  I’m drawn to their simplicity and their flaws.  I like the holes, the jagged edge, the discoloration.  I’m not bothered by their small size or the fact they’re so common.  A few of them are always tucked away in my pocket for safe-keeping, a reminder of all I learned on the walk.

I feel a kinship to the shells.  I, too, am common and flawed.  I have holes and jagged edges.  Like my shells, I bear the marks of my journey as I strive to fill my purpose in this life.   Surprisingly, it’s the imperfection in my shells that compels me to examine them so closely.  Their imperfections make them beautiful.

tinyseashells

The shells in this second photo are tiny – not quite 1/2 inch in diameter.   Hardly worth mentioning – and yet… they make me stop and think.

Today I read the words, “We are going to do something extraordinary.”  Emma Smith declared them in 1842 at a gathering of women that could hardly be called extraordinary by most standards.  But I love that she said it.  And the women gathered with her believed it.  That group of women became the Relief Society organization of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, a women’s organization that now has more than 5.5 million members worldwide, and which has accomplished far more good in the way of humanitarian aid, relief and charity than the original members could have imagined.

Can I do something extraordinary?

In my office hangs a quote by David A. Bednar.  It says, “Ordinary people who faithfully, diligently and consistently do simple things that are right before God will bring forth extraordinary results.”

It’s funny how often we trick ourselves into thinking that life is about to get easier – right after we clear the next hurdle in our path.  It makes me smile today to remember how sure I was of that “fact” when I sent the children back to school in August.  Surprisingly – or perhaps I should say, not surprisingly, instead of getting easier it has felt that more is required of me every day than was required yesterday.  The stakes seem to get higher as well.  I have looked at that quote many times in the past 6 weeks, taken a deep breath, and done my best to do recognize what is right and then do it.  I mess up often, and there aren’t any results to see.  But deep inside I feel different.

It’s a pretty common thing for me to feel completely out of emotional energy long before the day is done.  The demands of my family at this stage are exciting but taxing.  Yet it never fails that a simple prayer for strength is answered as I move to the next task and soon enough the day is over and I realize the strength came.

It always comes.

The grace and power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ get me through.

I am like my shells.  Common, ordinary, flawed.  I often feel small as well.  But I am learning that the Master isn’t so bothered by these things as I’m inclined to believe.  He finds beauty and value in me despite them.  He knows the journey that has left it’s marks on me.  He works with me and in behalf of me.  He asks me to be faithful, diligent and consistent in my efforts to do what is right.  It’s simple and hard and amazing all at once.

“We are going to do something extraordinary.”

Do you believe it?  I do.

So Many Things


tulip

I’m loving so many things lately.  Spring does that to most of us, I believe.  The light in the mornings when we leave for school, the tulips in my yard.  It’s that time when everything happens quickly.   All of a sudden the trees have leaves, the grass is green, the weeds are everywhere (in my yard, at least) and it seems appropriate, for that’s what happens inside our house as well.  It’s the season when you don’t want to blink because you’ll miss something wonderful!  The world of nature and the growth of my children seem to be pacing each other, transforming into newer versions of themselves so quickly its like I’m watching a time lapse video.  Just as there are blooms today where I saw only stalks yesterday, so also freckles appear on noses and new words show up in vocabularies.  In a few short, frantic weeks we’ll bid farewell to this year’s school teachers and my children will essentially be pronounced one year older.  I look around me and see that we’re all experiencing age and stage appropriate growth, opportunities and challenges.  Who they’re becoming is such a discovery and yet they’re more “them” every day.  I love trying to abandon myself to the joy of it, but quiet moments occasionally bring a stabbing sense of loss.   Sometimes “time” feels so unnatural.

Today has been much quieter than usual.  An over-booked week and family movie night last night left us all tired.  Even the younger ones slept in this morning,  a rare thing, and also a reminder that we’re moving into a new stage as a family.   My oldest son, who now stands six feet tall and is heavier than his Dad, is getting close to his 17th birthday.  I looked at him today, on the other end of the church pew, and marveled again that someone so big could be my child.  How strange it seems and yet how my heart swells with love as I watch him bump into unexpected corners of the adult life he’s fast approaching and do his best to deal with it.  My oldest daughter also seems so grown.  This afternoon I heard her confidently and decisively discuss her academic plans for high school and beyond with another adult and for a moment she took my breath away.  They will be gone so soon.  On the other end of the family I’m treasuring every second with my youngest daughter, holding her precious face between my hands more often as we talk to one another.  She’s the last one with traces of chubby fingers and round cheeks.  I look at my youngest son, eight years old last month, and want to jump for joy.  Kindergarten and first grade were so hard for him, as he simply couldn’t read the words on the page in front of him.  We found an uncommon vision problem, got glasses, and in the last 8 months he’s improved his reading by more than 60 words per minute, now testing at the expected level for exiting 2nd grade.  His teachers and I can’t stop talking about it, smiling about it, marveling at him.  I look at that boy and see a miracle and think that for this blessing alone I’m forever indebted to the Lord.   Like he’s been rescued.  Like I’ve been rescued.  Which we have.   Last week I was helping in the classroom with my six year old when it was her turn to be the song leader.  I looked through her school papers and saw the change in her handwriting – straight, confident, neat.  She’ll be in first grade next year and it makes me want to cry.  I TRULY never thought I would be HERE.  I thought I’d have little ones at home forever, and now I’m a few months away from a couple of hours of quiet each day.  It scares me a little.

As I type this, the middle group runs around upstairs instead of getting ready for bed while our youngest sits on Dad’s lap to listen to Winnie the Pooh stories.  The oldest two wandered into the room and stayed to listen, and are now laughing hysterically at the dry humor of A. A. Milne.  I don’t want tomorrow to come.  I wish I could freeze this moment and keep us all here, safe and happy, a little longer.

The middle ones are keeping me grounded.  Somehow watching all of them makes me feel like things will turn out, and like my heart might even make it out in one piece.  My thirteen year old son suddenly gets up from the dinner table and does the dishes at night without being asked, even volunteering to do them alone sometimes.  He’s made choices lately that make me proud and I’m excited to see the young man he will become.  My nine and eleven year old daughters get prettier every day.  I love that they let me dry their hair in the mornings; I watch them get taller as it gets longer.  They are all so much fun right now, quick to laugh and run and play, daily creating new worlds of imagination to inhabit together.   Oh, how I love the “together” they’ve created for themselves.  It is one of my greatest joys.  I don’t know how I’d handle the bittersweet of the oldest and youngest ones without the safety of the middle group right now.  They’re my anchor.

tulipswhite

Our days are full of end-of-year reports, shots, registration for next year’s everything, soccer games, book reports, school programs, working out the summer calendar.  I forgot some things this week and felt foolish; I remembered so much.  The frequency with which my eyes fill with tears sometimes alarms me yet I’m grateful to feel alive and sensitive.

In the past six weeks I’ve felt a yearning for home that is strong.  It’s not a yearning for anything I have here on earth, and not homesickness, but the yearning of a little girl who wants to run home for a quick hug.  It washes over me unexpectedly, as if to remind me of my true identity and purpose as a daughter of God.  I miss Him.  It’s nice to be reminded that he misses me too, and understands that even as I try to oversee the journey of my children, I’m still experiencing my own, complete with things I’ve never faced before.  He understands and loves me anyway, or perhaps, because.

Life is good.  Moving at lightning speed, but good.
Jennifer

Making Space


simplespace

Today is March 20th, the first day of spring.  I discovered my first daffodil in the yard a few minutes ago and thought that I’ve got to hurry up and get outside to deal with my yard!  There is work to do and miracles to watch as everything comes back to life.

I was scanning one of my Pinterest boards a few months ago, noticing that many of the home decor pictures I’m drawn to in the last year or so are more sparsely decorated than my own home is.  It made me wonder if my style is changing, or if the craziness of my family made these really simple spaces seem calming to me.  The question has been floating around in my mind for a while and I concluded that it’s time to act.

I set aside the month of March to go through everything we have in storage in our house and get rid of as much as possible.  Keeping my commitment to myself has meant zero sewing (yet still my brain is scheming) and lots of 15 minute time segments going through another box or pile.  I want our family to learn a simpler way of living, one that leaves margin in every area.  I want more space for people, for things that matter, for spontaneity, for reading and writing and dreaming and talking.  I know I’ve said this before, and I realize that it’s probably an ideal I’ll always chase with varying degrees of success, but this month my goal has been creating margin in our living space.  Less, less, less.    While I know that getting rid of “stuff” won’t solve the larger challenges we’re facing, it’s my first step in trying to tell the Lord that I’m willing to do whatever He wants.  In having less “stuff” to take care of/clean/store I’m hoping I’ll also make space in my mind for more important things and room in my schedule for more service.

And then my husband went snowboarding and crashed on his head.  We were grateful – very grateful – that no serious injury was sustained.  His ribs were bruised but not cracked and his neck and spine seemed fine.  Until 4 days later when suddenly his legs had no strength.  Today, 10 days later, everything seems to be ok.  He’s banged up but fine, but it took a toll on me emotionally.   A new (and dreaded) assignment at Church came his way and all of a sudden I felt like I’d been pushed off the emotional cliff I’d been so carefully backing away from.  The irony of it all is that lately I’ve been studying the life of Abraham and particularly his willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac.  I’d taught a lesson on the subject and had prayed for the ability to be like him.  And then there I was, facing something I had no inkling belonged on the table and I did not want it.  At all.  Now that I’ve had several days to process it (and feel certain that his health is fine), I’m sure things will work out, likely for our good, but I’d be lying if I said this chapter began with a willing heart.   Oh well.  I’m obviously no Abraham.  Thank goodness for repentance!

Today I feel trapped because the next steps in my mission to make more space for life require another set of strong arms, and they are all at school.  I keep walking into my sewing room, wanting to start something but not knowing what to work on.  So here I am, blogging!

I’m not sure I’ll accomplish all the tasks on my list for the month, but it’s been a great experience.  I sort of informally started the 40 bags in 40 days thing, and have already said goodbye to more than 40 full bags.  That’s a good thing, because I have no intention of taking a 40 day break from sewing!   I chose to start in all the areas where I have primary stewardship (plus the basement) and make sure I’m setting the right example for my children, who will be asked to do the same thing in their spaces when I’m done with all the other rooms in the house.   I’ve had a clarity of thought that makes my heart sing.   I find myself lingering in the areas where I’ve accomplished my goal because I love how they feel.  I think it’s working.  I’m making more space for the life I want.

Jennifer

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