If you haven't checked it out yet. . .

you really should go peruse my sister's blog.  Seriously.  She's a talented photographer, a gifted storyteller, and most of the posts are about her awesome, entertaining, wonderful children (and having spent a fair amount of time with these kids the last year, I can tell you that they aren't just that entertaining and fun because she's a good storyteller, they really are just some of the most fun personalities I know, her four little people. And she's pretty fun herself).

So, seriously, go.  Even if you don't know her.  I guarantee you will enjoy getting to know her, reading her stories and seeing her fun photos.  Its worth your time.

Love

For whatever reason, lately I have been more able than usual to see the value of a soft answer, of seeing the best in people, in noticing their accomplishments and not their failures or weaknesses;  I have been more able to judge people according to where they've been, rather than where I think they should be;  I have been better able to recognize the value of assuming the best about the intentions and motivations of others, even if goes against my previous experiences with them.  I have several theories on why the sudden (and seemingly unearned) rosiness of my life-glasses, but I'm going with the all-the-love-I've-recieved-catching-up-to-my-attitude theory.

Don't get me wrong: I believe there's a big difference between turning the other cheek and unnecessarily submitting yourself to a beating.  But what's so wrong with turning the other cheek, and doing it over and over?  Why is it so hard for us stubborn, prideful, sensitive fallen mortals to let the snide remark go?  To prove the unfair judgment wrong with a greater exercise of love and patience rather than to try to argue that unfair assessment away?  Why is it so hard to serve patiently instead of ridiculing or ignoring until we think we're ready to deal with someone or they're ready to deal with us?  Why is it so hard to refrain from criticizing or correcting others in their faults or missteps?

Because people are awful--or rather, they're just as awful as we are.  Most of the people around us are just as flawed as we are, but we expect them to be as good as we are in our strengths, and then we're impatient with them in their weaknesses.  There are people in life we have to maintain distance from because they are toxic--there are those individuals who are either so malicious or so conspicuously selfish that they poison the people and relationships around them--but those people are the exception, not the rule.  And sometimes, its OK to allow a little distance, to keep efforts at a minimum, because the challenges are big enough and numerous enough that you have to acknowledge that, at the moment, you simply don't possess the tools to build or mend that relationship.  But again, for the most part, those are exceptions.

The only thing, ultimately, that will heal relationships, that will grow relationships, is love.  Not the wishy-washy childish love that says, "I love you because you make me feel good", but the grown-up, mature, Christ-like love that says, "I choose to love you, when its easy, and when its hard.  I choose to see you as a child of God, my brother or sister, worthy of my effort and attention, my patience and my affection.  I love you, even when you hurt me or make me angry."  When we really start to love someone, really see all the things that Lord sees in them, is when we can be hurt and angry and still not say that terrible thing we want to say, because our desire not to hurt them back is bigger than our anger.  With enough effort, with enough understanding and grasp of Christlike love, we can even get to the point that we don't even think that terrible thing.  We can reach a point where we aren't so much hurting for ourselves, but for the one who is angry or mistaken--we are disappointed not by what they cost us, but by what the rob themselves of.

Christlike love is not blind to faults--I would say quite the opposite, that Christlike love can perceive faults in their most complete context:  the circumstances, choices, people in our lives and innate characteristics that created those flaws, or led to those mistakes.  That more complete understanding of the individuals in our lives can help us to be patient with them, to be more patient with ourselves, as we work our way through those challenges and, ultimately, past them.  Christ does not serve us--love us--because he doesn't see our sins and weaknesses;  he serves us because he can see what we are capable of being, beyond our sins and weaknesses, and is determined to help us find that joy.

He conquered sin, pain and death, through the infinite love of the Atonement.  We cannot hope to change anything about people in our lives in regards to their nature, character or certainly disposition towards us, through explanation or argument.  The only way to influence the way that people treat us, respond to us, see us, is to show them His love shining through us.

When we have people in our lives that, for whatever reason, just don't seem to want to like us, or that we just can't find anything to like about, relationships that just don't seem to work, we ought to pray to Heavenly Father to help us to see that person the way that he sees them. I have had that experience more than once, where I found love for someone, and always it started with the Lord providing an opportunity to serve that person.  I know that there are times when my kids drive me crazy, there are traits and personal challenges they have that make me a bit batty now and then (or at least bewildered), but I always feel tremendous love for each of them, can see so many wonderful things to love about each one of them.  I'm quite certain, then, that a perfect and all-knowing parent can show you how to love one of his children if you sincerely ask.  Chances are that every individual in your life that you struggle with, or that seems to struggle with you, has many more good qualities than bad ones, more successes than failures.  There are a diversity of gifts--try to recognize the gifts in others, and express your appreciation of those gifts.  There are also a diversity of weaknesses.  Be willing to extend to others the patience that you would like for yourself in your own flaws, even--perhaps especially--when they seem unwilling to extend that patience back to you.

At the end of each day, the fact remains that you have a Savior who loves you enough to cover all your flaws with the Atonement.  You have a Redeemer who suffered terribly so that you would not have to.  And he did all that for everyone else in your life, too.  Sometimes, you have to be willing to accept an apology you did not receive, because the debt has been paid and that person is indebted to the Savior for that forgiveness and redemption, not to you.  Maybe they're self-righteous, or rude;  maybe they're not as smart as you, or spiritually clueless;  maybe they're abrupt;  maybe they're angry or judgmental; maybe they're emotionally immature or socially challenged.  Chances are, you are one of those things, too, or something equally as offensive.  Be willing to see past those things to the good in that person, because Christ has forgiven all those things in you.  He sees you perfectly as you are, and sees you just as perfectly as you could become through his love;  seek his help to see others that way yourself.

We do not change people's minds by talking about ourselves, we don't change their hearts by arguing.  Contention is wholly a tactic of the adversary.  We extend Christlike love to people, over and over again, especially when they behave as though they "don't deserve it", and in so doing, we help them to become more lovable.  We talk of Christ, we preach of Christ, we rejoice in Christ.  Everything else matters little if we don't.  And we serve people in the same way that we lead them, "by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; by kindness and pure knowledge.. .without hypocrisy and without guile. . ."

It is relatively easy to love those who love us, who show us that love in word and action.  Much of the work of life is in striving to develop and demonstrate love for everyone else.  

Life in the Village

Doug often teases me that where I grew up doesn't count as an actual "town".  Its a hamlet, he says.  I guess it qualifies.  The official population as of the 2010 census was 849.  Take into account the surrounding area, not included in the city limits, and I imagine you're well over 1,000--maybe even the 1200 range!

There are a lot of challenges to living someplace like that.  Its hard to hide, if hiding is what you're inclined to at the moment.  Lots of people seem to know everything about you, or think that they do.  Things like that can be hard to deal with at times.

But in most ways, I have always loved the little-ness of the place.  Since a majority of those who live there are members of families that have lived there for many generations, you often end up feeling like you just have a giant extended family (in some cases, like my family, that is quite literally true).  There are many over-lapping family connections and longstanding friendships between individuals and families, and the sense of community is greater, I think, because you rather quickly become aware of how intertwined your lives are, and how many different ways you depend on each other.  I was keenly aware of this growing up, since both my parents were volunteer EMTs, and I knew many volunteer firefighters and search and rescue workers and other such individuals.  I knew everyone I went to school with--seriously, every one.  When good fortune came to one family, it often blessed many others.  And when tragedy came to one family, it often affected the entire community.

This past summer, a member of the community, and long-time high school basketball coach, was diagnosed with cancer, and the outpouring of support has been wonderful to see.  It has culminated this week in images all over Facebook of guys shaving their heads to show support for their now-bald friend, and entire stands full of people wearing their blue and white "No One Fights Alone" tshirts for Homecoming.

It has reminded me of the first time my village made such an impression on me.  When I was about Keilana's age (a little younger, I guess--I was a second grader) our little town became rather contentiously divided.  I had a hard time understanding why and what was going on because I was so young, but because of my dad's position in the community (he was high school principal at the time) he was right in the middle of it.  All I knew is that a lot of people seemed upset at my dad for reasons I didn't understand, and I was hearing adults and children alike saying hurtful things about my father, and a few family friends, that I knew weren't true.  It was very confusing, because some of the people who were most vocally opposed to my father were people I thought were friends, or were the parents of my friends.

Just a couple of weeks before school got out that spring, three kids (our neighbors, two of them very close friends with my brothers) went for an afternoon joy ride with their uncle in his small plane, and disappeared.  They were missing for ten days.  I remember much of the experience very clearly for a lot of reasons (the youngest child, Jesse, was my twin brother's closest friend at the time, and it was our first face-to-face confrontation with the reality of mortality), but the thing that stuck out to me that week was that for those ten days, the teeny tiny municipal airport was busy all hours of the day, with volunteers of every kind going out on flights and in organized hiking groups, searching relentlessly.  The Missions are rugged and thick with trees and brush--not easy hiking or searching.  The number of volunteers and their tirelessness was astounding to my little not-quite-8-year-old self, and more than that, I saw people who had quite recently been at each other's throats working together without contention or complaint.  It clicked for me that these missing kids were more important to them than whatever grievances they had been nursing--even if they didn't personally know the kids or their mother well.  I realized in watching them that their love was stronger than their anger.  It was the first thing that had made any emotional sense to me in months.  And I realized in that moment, that all those people would've been out there doing the same thing if it were Michael and Eldon and I in that plane, despite what some of them may have said about our dad recently.  I realized I was surrounded by a tribe that would come looking for me if I disappeared, and that was a great comfort after a very confusing year.

Though I still struggle to understand what it must've been like, what it must still be like, for their mother to deal with the reality of such an astonishingly devastating loss, that experience was also the first time that I came to understand, in some instinctual way if not intellectually, the power of adversity and struggle and loss to remind us of our importance to each other.  The people in this little village care about each other, even if sometimes some present hurt or perceived wrong leads them to forget it.  But when it really matters, they'll be there.

Just look at a portion of those who are there for Coach Rice:

Holy Elevation, Batman!

Oh, dear.  The last three months (ever since I went on that fire call), I have been doing virtually nothing exercise related.  Between all the work I had to do for moving, actually moving, trying to get organized and still in the early stages of moving while the kids were already trying to get on a school routine, then the terrible, terrible smoke that made running outside something of a health hazard, plus several illnesses for me and the kids, I just hadn't made it a priority.

The last couple of weeks, I'd been doing some minor strength-training routines just to get myself back into the habit and start making a little progress (and I usually start with strength training, because, lets face it, even when I'm thin I'm built more for force than for speed or distance. . .sigh.  But, hey, it can be nice to build muscle relatively quickly and be stronger than most chicks even when I'm horribly out of shape).  So this morning, my alarm went off at six, and I couldn't face the cold.  I just need to buck up and deal with it, but I wasn't quite there.  So I waited til it "warmed up"--Keira and I left the house at 8:30 (Kylie is hanging out with her cousin and auntie this week), when it had warmed up to a balmy 36*.  Keira was bundled quite well in the jogging stroller, and I was wearing a hoody and it was clear, dry and very sunny, so the temperature actually wasn't a problem, and, as most high-mountain mornings are, it was gorgeous outside.

But I thought about dying anyway.  Or at least quitting. I was not yet in good shape when I stopped exercising, and now its been months since I did anything, and so I start jogging at 5330 feet--yes, more than a mile high.  Eek.  I got back to the house after 25 minutes, and I was done.  I started to think I was remembering past running experiences inaccurately.  In Lindsay, I was up to about three miles a day when I was going to McDermott.  When I was living in San Luis (the year I wasn't pregnant), I was running a couple miles most days, and it didn't seem hard or long at all.  When I was living in Hawaii, I thought I was running five miles a day, because I wouldn't wake up til six, and then I'd go for a run and have time to come back and shower, put on makeup and do some homework before my 8am class, or throw on a change of clothes before my 7am class.  Yeah, that's the other thing--I'd go for a run, and then go to a 50-minute dance class.  It just didn't seem reasonably possible, so I came home and used Google maps to retrace my old running routes, thinking maybe they were shorter than I thought.  Turns out that one was 5.8miles round trip, the other was 6.1miles. And I'd run them in a little less than 50 minutes.  That just made me feel like more of a loser than I already did.

Of course, I was at sea level, I was 18, and I had not been through four pregnancies and was consequently not trying to run a household and raise four kids, I just had to worry about me.  I've never gotten back to that mileage (certainly not that time!) since, but I have had years in between pregnancies where I've been up to 2-4 miles a day and it didn't seem like this big a deal (that may be part of my problem--Keira is 18 months, and that's about the longest I have not been pregnant in 9 years).  So here's hoping I can get over the pain of getting started.

Ok, that was a long post just to complain.  I promise I won't do that again.  No more running/exercise updates.  I just figure that this way I get the complaining out of my system, but no one has to listen to me if they don't want to.  So bless you if you made it this far.

OK, Sam, now would be good. . .

So my best friend Sam and I have long had his plan that we will live next door to each other and raise our kids together.  She has these two little kids, a boy and a girl, who happen to be extraordinarily cute, and a husband who is secretly a Jewish cowboy (shhhhh. . . .don't tell anyone).  I think now would be an excellent time to live next door to each other.  And Anaconda is a cool place.  And the ward could really use some more young families.

Of course, its possible that I'm a little homesick.  Today when I was in Deer Lodge, there were these 9 month old twin boys in stroller that, I swear, other than being a little cheekier and just generally bigger, were dead ringers for Freddy and Baz.  Seriously, I wish I'd had a camera on me, it was uncanny.  And then later in the day when we were grocery shopping, I saw another kid who totally could've passed for a about-nine-years-old Gage.  Crazy stuff.

But I really need to get to know Kyler and Brooklyn better, so bring them up here!

Irish Treasure

She's so smiley and happy. So easy-peasy.

We (meaning the older kids, mostly) joke a lot at our house about Keira being our Irish baby, as she was born on St. Patrick's Day.  As far as the ethnic personality that is projected by or onto the Irish, it suits her.  She has great charm, is quite clever, loves to sing and dance, and is quite affable and generally easy-going.  She loves to laugh, and to make others laugh, and is quite social, usually happiest when she is surrounded by many other happy people that she can play and dance with.  But somewhere in there, she's got an unbendable stubborn streak, and a quick, intense temper.  People don't see that temper too often, but they don't forget it when they do.

She has been such a little gift.  She has all the joy that her older siblings have in their natures, but she lacks their intensity--she doesn't have Keilana's intense, manic energy, or Dylan's intense focus or moodiness, or Kylie's intense attachment or emotional sensitivity.  She's somehow at once both mellow and gregarious.  She's one of my more affectionate children, but less attached--happily spending the night with babysitters, or traipsing off to a new nursery class the first time we're in a new ward where she doesn't know anyone.  She wears her heart on her sleeve, but doesn't bludgeon you with her emotions.  Her's hoping she stays so delightful, always.

Unburied Memory

Something I was reading yesterday brought to mind a memory I'd forgotten I even had.

In the spring of 2007, Doug had to attend a development conference in Kansas City, Missouri.  I decided to tag along, and we rented a car so that we could spend some time exploring a couple of the Church history sites in the area.  We were able to see the temple grounds at Far West, and visit Liberty Jail (which was an incredible experience).  But the one that came to mind, the one I had almost forgotten, was the Sunday afternoon trip we took to Independence, Missouri, where the Church runs a large visitor's center about the pioneer history in the area (across from the visitor center is a still-vacant lot that the Prophet Joseph long ago dedicated for a temple--the first temple site dedicated).  The sister missionary who gave us our tour in the visitor center was explaining what it was these early pioneers were trying to accomplish, what it was that drove them.  She talked about their singular focus on building Zion.  Then she asked a question:  We have well-established headquarters in Salt Lake, surrounded by largely-LDS cities and towns, and many, many temples, so should we still be building Zion?  How would we do that, not being commanded to gather in one place anymore?

Doug spoke up and ventured an answer.  As briefly as he could, he tried to explain to her what we understood about the commandment to "build Zion".  He told this young sister about the ward we were a part of, about the convert baptisms we were witnessing month after month.  He told her about the ways the work we chose overlapped with our Gospel responsibilities, about how many of us were trying to obtain certain goals with a common understanding, and a striving for personal growth and missionary work all intertwined with it.  By the time he finished, she was in tears and speechless.

This memory surfaced on the heels of a lovely email from a dear friend.  It was a group email, sent to many of our closest friends, expressing her love and her gratitude for having been a part of all the wonderful things we tried to accomplish together.  Doug and I moved, this friend and her beautiful little family moved, and so had two of the other friends that she sent the email to--we were compelled to move on, to other adventures.  But there is something special with this little group of travelers we were with for those few brief but intense years.  She related the bond and understanding to the one that she shares with those she served a mission with in France 20 years ago, an apt comparison.

When I connected the two thoughts, it finally clicked for me, in a small way, the way so many of those pioneers must've felt.  They were, very literally, trying to build Zion:  homes, churches, temples, relationships, testimonies.  And so often, they were compelled to move on before things were finished, often separating from friends and families in doing so. How frustrating it must've been to have to walk away from the things they wanted so badly to finish, to see complete and whole.  How hard it must've been to leave people they loved dearly.  And how very, very much they must've cherished each other, and their common experiences.

For me, this was an important thought, because I can see, from the distance of of nearly two centuries' time, how very much what they started, what they accomplished, mattered.  They didn't always finish what they expected or wanted to, but the foundation that they laid has been integral in accomplishing so much more, even though these brave souls never lived to see it.  I've no doubt that that empty lot, dedicated 181 years ago for temple building, will someday have a temple on it, perhaps someday soon.

The Lord uses us for his purposes, and sometimes human error and angry mobs will get in the way of the progress we think should be happening, but that doesn't mean the work we do is wasted, or won't (eventually) be built upon, and in the mean time the importance of the testimonies we build and the souls we welcome into that happy band of brothers with us is incalculable.  I needed that reminder.

I can't imagine life ever being more intense and difficult than it was from 2006-2011.  But I can't imagine it ever being better, either.  God bless those wonderful souls who taught us so much about what it truly means to be a saint.  They will always hold a precious place in my heart.

"How good and glorious it has seemed unto me, to find pure and holy friends, who are faithful, just, and true, and whose hearts fail not; and whose knees are confirmed and do not falter, while they wait upon the Lord. . .They shall not want a friend while I live; my heart shall love those, and my hands shall toil for those, who love and toil for me, and shall ever be found faithful to my friends.”  ~Joseph Smith, Jr.