Believing the Good

I am not generally someone who needs a lot of external validation.  Like everyone, I have my insecurities and a great many flaws, but I try to see my strengths and be humble about my failings and move forward with confidence that the Lord will make up the difference.

But once in a while, I get into a terribly sour mood. . .about myself.  This last week was one of those times.  The medication I require to prevent my brain from betraying me has made it feel as though my brain has betrayed me.  One of the side effects (which are very few and minimal--I am grateful for that) is that I have decreased verbal dexterity.  I often find myself at a loss for a particular word;  not a nuanced, specific word from the large vocabulary in my mind, but rather, something along the lines of trying to give the kids very simple directions for chores and suddenly can't find the word "bed" or "plate" or some such.  Or I am trying to get out a simple sentence, and the right words come out but in the wrong order, so I have to repeat myself three times before it all comes out correctly and makes sense.  When I'm being logical, I know it isn't severe and probably isn't even noticeable to anyone but me, but I end up occasionally thinking to myself, "As if I weren't spastic and socially awkward enough, let's throw this in to the mix."

Several times on Friday afternoon, people complimented my handwriting:  its so beautiful, its so neat and even, its so small.  I had noticed my writing more myself in the previous few days, but in a different light.  I had been thinking how sloppy my notes were, because I have to write so quickly during class to record everything I need, and had been fighting the urge to rewrite them to make them neater (I really, really don't have time to be rewriting notes).  And in looking at them and getting that urge, I know in the moment how insane it is--how very neat and even they are on almost anyone else's scale.  Those around me look at it admiringly, and when I see it,  small and even and neat, it reminds me of things I struggle with about myself:  the anal-retentive, perfectionist streak that is always lurking just below the surface threatening to give me an ulcer (I had spent the morning internally pouting because I had earned a 91 on my exam, which was an A-, not a full A);  the tinyness, the result of a tremendous desire to hide that I have to constantly fight in order to enjoy my life (I was just thinking that six days in a row interacting with people every week was about five too many).

And as my friends complimented me, I had a moment where the better part of my nature managed to shove all that aside and sincerely accept the compliment.  Its such a petty thing, which is exactly why in that moment it made me realize that in being so hard on myself, I was being completely dismissive of the good that these individuals--classmates and friends--saw in me.  I was a little embarrassed how flippantly I was dismissing the value they saw, even if in something that is ultimately trivial.

And in the midst of all that, I thought of my grandma.  She had terribly sloppy handwriting.  I used to assume that that was because she had arthritic hands that had spent too many years swelling after a full day of working with cattle or horses.  But then last year I was able to spend a lot of time immersed in old family treasures, including the letters that my grandparents had been exchanging when they were about my age.  It turned out that Grandma had always had terrible handwriting.  And every page of that writing delighted my heart.  Even seeing her writing on things like old receipt books or phone notepads gives me joy, because in those wide, scrawled letters I see years of birthday cards, letters that came to me when I was far from home, checks I kept insisting she not write for lawn mowing.  Because I loved her, my Grandma's handwriting was never anything but a treasure to me.

She had actual flaws.  But I didn't care.  I loved her so much, and she loved me so much, that the flaws never mattered much to me and I readily saw all the tremendous amount of good there was in her.

When someone who loves you compliments you, believe it.  If you strive to see the good in others and mirror it back to them, they will see the good in you, too, perhaps in moments when you may have temporarily forgotten it yourself.  That's how we help each other get better as human beings: we reflect the good we see in each other, and strive to be worthy of the love of the good people who bear our burdens with us.  

T-I-M-E

Its easy for parents to feel like, in order to spend quality time with their kids, they've got to be forever planning "meaningful" activities, educational trips, and Pinterest crafts.

My older sister posted on Facebook this morning about turning down an extension on the fire call she was out on (she's a wildland firefighter), because no one in her house cared if they got new carpets or cabinets, but they did care if she was there to take them to their first day of school, read their new books, and ask them about their day.  She remembered that after reading a remark from President Uchtdorf that "in family life, love is really spelled t-i-m-e."

It sparked a memory.  Not a specific memory, really, but a bundle of "boring" memories.  I remember many evenings spent sitting in my parents' living room as a high schooler, my mom on one couch and me on the other.  She graded papers and I worked on calculus homework while we watched TV, laughing together and occasionally chatting.  My sister moved back in that year to be close to the school where she was doing her student teaching, and she joined us.  I don't remember any particular conversations or any specific evenings.  I just remember we were all there, doing our respective chores in each other's presence, enjoying the same shows and conversing when we felt inclined.  I was always aware that I wasn't alone, that there were people around me that cared about where I was and who enjoyed my company.  That was all it took.

I've quoted Pete Doctor before, but its one of my favorites.  In "Up", little Russell is talking about his dad and some of the things they did together, and sums up happy family life in one brief sentence: "Sometimes its the boring stuff I remember most".  I remember the trips we took together (my parents  were really great about getting us out and about despite raising a large family on a tight budget), and I remember some of the more "interesting" activities we did.  But they don't stick out.  What made me feel loved, what shaped me as a person, were hundreds of little, simple things:  playing with construction paper and paper cutters and watching Nick at Nite on the school TV while mom did classroom chores; sitting around a backyard fire cooking hotdogs and s'mores;  countless family dinners chatting and laughing around the table; swimming at the dam after chores were done; evening walks along the canal bank; having root beer floats in the summer and hot cocoa in the winter while we chatted and laughed.  None of that took a lot of money or logistics, but it did require time, and my parents did everything they could to meet the demands of paying the bills while still maximizing the time they were home with us--both of them.  Its probably why I still feel happiest when sitting around the table with mugs full of hot cocoa or walking through the woods:  though I didn't consciously realize it at the time, that's where I felt loved, where I came to value family and friendship.  My parents didn't tell me to prioritize family, they showed me how.  I am striving to balance the demands on our time so that I can do the same for my kiddos.

Pride, Trust, and Relationships

I remember sitting outside the Pier Cafe in Cayucos a little over 10 years ago, on a beautiful sunny, breezy central coast afternoon.  Doug and I sat on the metal street benches, our infant in a stroller, enjoying ice cream cones and conversation with a couple of close friends.  I said something, prompted by recent events, that has stuck in my mind since: "I can understand not wanting to admit that you're wrong--I'm one of the most stubborn people I know.  I can understand having a hard time admitting you screwed up or that you've got some big flaws.  But I can't understand all of that being more important to me than having a relationship with my child.  I can't imagine hanging onto my pride so tightly that I just let my relationship with my kid die rather than admit that I was wrong."

I was 20.  I was naive about just how common it was for people to let important relationships die (or blow them up) for the sake of their pride.  The natural man is a terrible beast, somewhere in each of us.  All too often, we feed him with our insecurities, our angers, our injuries, and arrogance.

Often the offense for which people sacrifice a relationship seems terribly petty on the surface, and, in truth, it is.  But insecurity is like a mental Rube Goldberg device:  if I made a poor choice about this situation, then that probably means I was wrong about this other thing, and if that's the case then I must've been more at fault in this failed relationship or huge life choice, and if I admit that to myself it will crush me, so I can't possibly have been wrong about this petty thing that the person in front of me right now is upset about.  This, I believe, is why so often when confronted about a mistake, an insecure person will go on the offensive, rather than simply apologize without equivocation.  They will start assigning blame outside themselves, twist and misrepresent the words, behaviors and intentions of others, so that they can avoid taking responsibility for this one--small, easily forgivable--mistake.  And thus can a small mistake destroy what could otherwise be a good relationship.  And each time we let insecurity drive us to enlarge the circle of damage surrounding a mistake, we become more and more insecure, feeding a destructive cycle that reduces the circle of support around us.  Even people who love us deeply may begin to withdraw from us in the sad knowledge that they cannot trust us, no matter how sincerely they may desire it.  If we cannot be honest with ourselves, we certainly cannot be honest with those around us.

Insecurity is sometimes thought of as the opposite of pride, but it is in fact one of its many forms.  Ultimately, insecurity is a testimony problem.  We make the opinions of others (actually, worse yet, what we believe the opinions of others might be) more important than what the Lord thinks of us.  We, for whatever variety of reasons, don't trust that the Lord truly can and will forgive these particular failures, sins, or flaws.  Even if not consciously, we fail to trust that, through the power of the Atonement, we will be able to overcome them and leave them behind, and so we refuse to even acknowledge that they exist.  We call others judgmental and dishonest when they try to address how these failings have adversely affected our relationships with them.  We distort their actions and character to others, in order to try to convince third parties that the narrative we've created for ourselves is true--hoping that if we convince them we will convince ourselves.  But because it isn't true, we keep having to tell our tale to more and more people, never satisfied because what we are seeking can't satisfy.   We trust more in our own judgment than in the words of those who love us, and, much more importantly, more than in the Savior's love.  We cling harder to the hastily constructed, inaccurate veneer of who we think we are than we do to the relationships we claim are most important to us.  We cling stubbornly to our self-deceptions and half-truths, because repentance is painful and, sometimes, embarrassing.

But on the other side of that difficulty is the undimmed love of our Savior.  Its always there, bright and vibrant, but we all turn from it, to varying degrees and at various times, through our own stubbornness, resentment, and pride.  Often, because we believe in the Lord and his Gospel and we have committed no grievous sins, we convince ourselves that there is nothing to "fix"--at least nothing serious.  But until we can say, sincerely and humbly, that our confidence doth wax strong in the presence of God, there is always work to do.  The Lord has told us the necessary requirements for that personal confidence: long-suffering, gentleness, meekness, unfeigned love, kindness, pure knowledge, and an increased love toward others.  In other words, the traits and fruits of genuine humility.  We have to let go of what we think we are in order to be instructed by the Lord (and those he may put in our path to be teachers for us) who we are and who, through him, we may become.  Some of the things he'll show us will hurt.  Some of the things those mortal, and terribly flawed, teachers will show us will hurt our pride, anger us, or prick our hearts.  But if we trust in the love of the Savior with true humility, we will embrace the lessons.  We will offer sincere, unqualified apologies to those we've injured, and sincere, humble repentance before the Lord.

When we do that, we can be surprised at how quickly the Lord forgives, and how efficiently he can work to turn our hearts a bit more into a heart like his.  And, though it can be very difficult to believe, I think we can sometimes be surprised at how readily those who love us can forgive mistakes large and small--how patient they are willing to be with us, as we in return exercise patience with them.  In our insecurities, we tend to underestimate the love that our family and friends have for us--we don't give them enough credit for how much they want us to be a joyful presence in their lives.  Especially if they love the Savior, too.  Those who are actively, humbly seeking his forgiveness for themselves don't readily withhold forgiveness from others.

Friends

Sometime around age 6 or 7, my oldest decided that she loved horses.  She zeroed in on horse books, horse movies, horse toys.  When we moved to Montana, she got to spend a little time with friends who had horses, and she looked for every opportunity she could to spend more time with 4-legged, 1100 pound friends.

Three years ago, Keilana started third grade in Anaconda.  For the second time in less than a year, she was the new girl in class, and this time she didn't even have a few cousins around to soften the blow--she didn't know a soul at her new school, and neither did I.  True to form, she shed a few nervous tears on the way in, and, after I found her classroom with her, she cleared up her sniffles, put a smile on her face and said, "I'm OK," and left me with a smile.

She happened to meet a girl in her class who was also new to town, and they quickly discovered several common interests.  They got to be fast friends at school, and then, sometime in late fall, Keilana asked if she could spend the night at Leah's house.  I hadn't actually met any of her friends or their parents, and wasn't anxious to let my 8-year-old spend the night at anyone's house.  I talked to Leah's mom and got a good vibe and, somewhat trepidatiously, agreed to let my little girl go to the home of these people I'd never met.  I called her late that evening to check in, and she seemed her normal, almost-over-the-top happy-as-a-clam self, so I let go some of those nerves and went to sleep.  We still picked her up somewhat early the next day, and after our 5-minute-pick-up-on-our-way-out-of-town turned into a nearly hour long conversation with Leah's parents, I was pretty sure we'd made some great new friends.  Rick and Heather invited the family over several times during the fall and winter, and I was grateful all over again for Keilana's brave, outgoing nature.  Our little girls quickly became friends with Leah's younger sister, and Doug and I consider Rick and Heather some of our closest friends and favorite people here in Anaconda.  Keilana spends so much time over there that Rick has been known to introduce her to people as their "weekend daughter".

All along the way, they have happily indulged Keilana's love for horses along with all kinds of other fun activities and interests.  Last summer, we watched a few of Leah's activities for 4H at the tri-county fair, and Keilana decided with Doug and I that 4H would be a good investment of time for her, and we agreed to get started in the fall.  Heather offered to do some riding lessons with her to get her going on horse.

This week, Keilana beamed with delight at the fair:

She earned a blue ribbon for Showmanship, and a purple for Western Horsemanship.  It was one of the first times she's earned an award for something that required long term investment and hard work for more than a week or two, and it definitely felt good.  She's been a great student, but the truth is, Rick and Heather earned these ribbons, too.  They provided the training, the tack, and the horses.  Keilana was an attentive and hard-working student.  All we did was buy her a riding helmet and get her out there (and it seems like Heather or Rick picked her up half the time, too).  If you don't know much about horsemanship, suffice it to say that it is not an inexpensive hobby.  And this is far from the only generosity they've shown our family.  In the three years we've known them, they have consistently been kind, generous, fun and loyal friends.

The fact is, we have made a few friends here in Anaconda that are not only a delight to know, but that our life, as we're doing it, would be completely impossible without.  Next year by this time, I'll be fully licensed, and though I'll technically have another 2 semesters of school, 90% will be online.  At that point, I hope to be better at both paying back and paying forward at least a bit of the tremendous goodness that we've had in our lives the last few years.

Pioneer Heritage

I have been very blessed in that, when I was sent to this world, it was to a family where there is a lot of love, strong intergenerational relationships, and a lot of people worth remembering and honoring when they’re gone.  I’ve been known to say that most of the flaws I have and mistakes I’ve made I own myself, but many of the good things that I am and have done, I owe to the people who have loved me,  and set an example for and laid a foundation for me.

Three of my four grandparents were members of the church, with family histories that go right back to the beginning.  All three of them have grandparents or great-grandparents who crossed the plains.  Some of those forbears joined the church in the early 1830s in upstate New York, others marched with the Mormon Battalion.  Some crossed oceans to heed the call to build Zion, others hid in the bushes at Haun’s Mill and prayed for the safety of the children huddled around them.  As I’m sure is true for many of you, my family history is woven inseparably with the history of the Church in this dispensation.

So if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to tell you briefly about a just a couple of those ancestors whose stories have always resonated with me.  The first is Isaac Washington Pierce.  He and his wife, Phebe Baldwin, joined the church in St. Lawrence county, New York when they were about 23 years old.  Just a few months later, they left the majority of their extended family behind and, with their three young sons in tow, moved to Kirtland to join the body of the Saints.  After only a few years there, they commenced a move by wagon from Kirtland to Far West, Missouri, just a week after Phebe gave birth to a little girl, Ruth, who would not survive their 3-month journey. After only a few months in Far West, they were compelled by violence and persecution to leave for Illinois.  During the arduous trip, Phebe was pregnant with their last son, Isaac Washington Pierce, Jr--my mom’s great-great grandfather--who was born shortly after they arrived in Jacksonville.  When little Isaac was 2, his parents began the move to Nauvoo, as the Saints in outlying areas had been asked to gather closer to in order to help build the temple.  Isaac Sr, sick with tuberculosis, did not survive the trip to Nauvoo, leaving Phebe alone to care for their children alone.  In all, she spent five years in Nauvoo, where she remarried, had several more children, and where her children spent time playing in the Prophet’s home and being bounced on his knee. That is where, ultimately, they mourned the martyrdom of Joseph and Hyrum. During those years, Phebe lost three more children to mob violence, illness, and adverse weather.  In the spring of 1852, after years of saving and planning, the family began their trek to Salt Lake City,  and Isaac Jr was baptized along the way in the Platte River. They arrived in Salt Lake City in October of that year.  Isaac, now about 13, began to help support his family, as well as give of his time and means to assist in the building of the Salt Lake Temple.  He learned and grew to adulthood under the nurturing of many good women and prominent Priesthood leaders in the Salt Lake Valley.

In 1862, when Isaac Jr was about 23, he was among the young men sent out to rescue the Murdock Pioneer Company, which had encountered early, heavy storms.  Among that company was a young woman named Elna Carlson.  Elna had joined the church in her native Sweden, along with her mother, brothers, sisters, and husband.  Her step-father had forbidden the family to join or attend meetings, so they did so in secret. Her brother also had to keep his membership a secret in order to keep his job.  Her family made plans to leave the country and immigrate to Utah without her step-father’s knowledge.  They saved and planned diligently so that they could sail to America, but when they reached the US, Elna’s husband lost heart and chose to stay behind as the rest of the family made their plans to move west.  Pregnant with her first child, Elna must’ve been heart-broken as she set off across the American wilderness, but she faithfully pressed on with the rest of her family.  She was a petite woman with fair skin, dark hair and bright blue eyes, who learned English rapidly, and was known for cheering others along the way by singing upbeat songs in her beautiful soprano voice.  She walked all the way across the American plains large with child, and gave birth to her first son shortly before entering the Salt Lake Valley.  She named him John Murdock, after the company’s captain.  A friendship had developed between Elna and the handsome young Isaac, and they were married shortly after she arrived in Salt Lake, and Isaac adopted her oldest son and had him sealed to them.  They built homes and ranches together, Elna somtimes spending years at a time running them on her own while Isaac served missions.  She was known throughout the area for being a hard worker,  a witty conversationalist and a gracious host.  Traveling General Authorities often made the Pierce family’s home their headquarters, as the family was called to settle in southern Utah, and then in Mexico.  She aided her husband in running a lumber yard, a farm and ranch, all while raising children--including my great grandpa--and helping to feed workers and friends and visiting authorities.  In her waning years, she was often cared for by my mom’s grandmother, her daughter-in-law, with whom she had a warm friendship.

I could tell dozens more of these stories just from my own family, and I love them, because while they are “mine”, they are yours as well.  These stories are really rather typical examples of the sacrifices and faithfulness of those who went before us in laying the foundation of this work, and giving all of us--whether we are their direct descendants by blood, or simply their heirs in faith--a base on which to build.

Some of them were like Isaac: belonging to a family that had already been on the American continent for two centuries, himself a descendant of William Bradford and other Plymouth settlers, he and his family followed the Prophet from New York to Ohio to Missouri to Illinois, burying children along the way, and ultimately losing his own life.  Others were like Elna: leaving their home country for a place that was utterly unfamiliar in both culture and language, and forging a new way--often over the opposition of members of their own family--successfully making their way to Salt Lake City, only to continue to push into the wilderness, building new settlements and raising their families to live the Gospel and follow the Spirit.  All of them shared one peculiar trait that we see in many faithful Saints today: unyielding trust in their Father in Heaven.  As Brother William Walker said in a recent General Conference, “Although they were uncertain of the future, they were certain of their faith.”

Elder Ballard counseled, “We much be sure that the legacy of faith received from the pioneers who came before us is never lost.  Let their heroic lives touch our hearts. . .so the fire of true testimony and unwavering love for the Lord and his church will blaze brightly within each one of us as it did in our faithful pioneers.” That’s the legacy that they’ve left to those of us who follow them.  The buildings and cities and programs that they built would be incredible in their own right, under any circumstance, but ultimately what is important is the driving force behind all that they did and created: their faith.  A pioneer is one goes before to find and make the way for others.  Though the particulars of our hardships and trials may be very different, they showed all of us how to forge ahead with faith when trials and temptations seem to block the way.  That is the heritage we must honor--so much more than canning skills, physical feats, or making rugs out of old clothes--the heritage of obedience to the Lord and his prophets, of choosing to follow the Spirit when we are asked to do hard things, rather than rationalizing away the hard choices.

During the miserable winter of 1846-47 in Winter Quarters, where the Saints were beset by disease and extreme weather in hastily constructed shelters, the Lord told President Brigham Young, “My people must be tried in all things, that they may be prepared to receive the glory that I have for them, even the glory of Zion; and he that will not bear chastisement is not worthy of my kingdom.”

That requirement and that promise apply just as much to those of us bearing the slings and arrows of the modern culture as it did to those shivering pioneers during that long ago winter.  We are not called to build Zion by leaving our homes and making an arduous trek in unfamiliar country, we are called to stand for righteousness and defend truth in all places that we may be in.  We cannot allow truth to be pushed out of the world by contention and persecution.  The map has been filled in, there is no wilderness left to flee to, and so the Lord expects us, in this  late hour, to defend the Gospel and build Zion where we stand.  In a recent address, Elder Holland explained, “For more than 4,000 years of covenantal history, this has been the pattern: Flee and seek; run and settle; escape Babylon; build Zion’s protective walls. Until now.  Until tonight. Until this our day. . . the Church of God will never flee again.  It will never again leave Ur, in order to leave Haran, in order to leave Canaan, in order to leave Jerusalem, in order to leave England, in order to leave Kirtland, in order to leave Nauvoo. . .as Brigham Young said for us all, ‘We have been kicked out of the frying pan into the fire, out of the fire onto the middle of the floor, and here we are, and here we will stay.’”  The time for casual discipleship is over.  The world is getting noisier. Gird up your loins.  Fresh courage take.  Our God will never us forsake. We need to commit our whole selves to the Lord and his Gospel and the building up of his kingdom.  

That being said, we will all have times when we stumble, when trials overwhelm us or our faith has faltered.  But just as the Saints did not leave their fellow pioneers whose supplies had dwindled or who encountered unexpected storms to perish out on the plains, the Lord offers rescue to all those who sincerely seek it.  As Elder Holland said, “To every one of you who worry that you are stranded somewhere on the wintry plains of life and have wrecked your handcart in the process, we call out Jehovah’s unrelenting refrain, ‘My hand is stretched out still’.”

This is the Lord’s work.  I believe with all my heart that this church is the Lord’s kingdom on earth, and that those brave pioneers who left such a mighty legacy of faith did so because the Spirit confirmed to them the same thing it has confirmed to me: Jesus Christ lives, and is leading his people.  Joseph Smith is a prophet of God, and through him the fulness of the Gospel has been restored.  The Book of Mormon is the word of God.  Thomas S. Monson is the Lord’s prophet on the Earth today, and he is leading the worldwide church with an eye single to the glory of God.  I believe that through the power of the Priesthood and obedience to sacred covenants, we can be with our families forever, bound generation to generation, and so I trust that someday I will see these pioneer ancestors and be able to thank them for the ways they shaped my life and faith.

Weeds

I spent a lot of time digging today.  The front yard of the house needs extensive rehabilitation after a large tree was removed last year.  Half of the front yard was covered almost completely in thistles, dandelions, and clover.

You can't just pull up dandelions and thistles; their roots are deep and tough. You've got to dig them out, and dirty feet, sweaty brow, and tired back should be expected.  Clover is sort of a 50/50 deal.  Sometimes it comes up pretty easily, but sometimes you've got to dig.  It also blends in relatively well. Its short and green, and it can be easy to convince yourself that it isn't really a problem.  But if you ignore it too long--because, you tell yourself, it isn't actually a big deal--it will take over, and soon dominated by clover.

Then there are daisies.  There's some debate out there over whether they're weeds or flowers.  If it helps you to know where I stand on the issue, daisies were one of the primary flowers at my wedding.  But it isn't lost on me that my grandpa the rancher paid my mom for every daisy plant she got rid of.  I think, in the right context and quantity, daisies can be a delight and add a bit of beauty. You have to make sure you keep them in check, however, or they'll use up all your resources and choke out the things that provide genuine sustenance.

As I dug up weeds today and accidentally damaged a few small patches of grass in the process, I had a thought I've had many times in life, starting when I was a small child helping with our family's vegetable garden: it hardly seems fair that its so easy to rip up the good stuff, and so hard to remove the greedy weeds.  But I think its a fair lesson in reality.  The good traits and qualities, all the things we want to have and be, take cultivation and care.  They're easily choked out, especially at first.  It takes cultivation, care, and commitment to have the good stuff grow, and to keep the counterproductive and destructive things at bay.  When the weeds flourish, its a sign of neglect or misdirection.  And if we get lazy, stop being vigilant in pursuing good soil and weeding regularly, those good things can be overwhelmed and pushed out surprisingly quickly.  That may be a hard reality, but the natural man is what he is, and kicking against the pricks gets you nothing but sore toes.

Some flaws and missteps are like those thistles:  sticking out like a sore thumb, clearly prickly, obvious to us and everybody else that they're a problem.  We usually start there, digging deeply to try to get rid of the most painful problems first.  Most people manage to be patient and kind with us in this stage, because, at some point or another, each of us has found out what it feels like to have our hands torn up trying to dig out those thistles.  Its slow, its tiring, and it can make a terrible mess.  Seeing us struggle with those things inspires compassion in most decent people.

A lot of our personal weaknesses are like the dandelions.  For a little while, while everything is bright and sunny yellow, we may be able to convince ourselves that they aren't actually problems.  Maybe they really are flowers and not weeds.  But if we fail to address them quickly, soon the seeds of their destructiveness are flying everywhere, taking over our lives, and all too often drifting into our neighbors yards and starting to choke out their lawn, too.  At this point, often times our neighbors struggle to be patient with us.  Any fool could've seen the problem was there, they think.  Its not like it was hiding, and now I've got to clean up this mess that I didn't do anything to create.  Still, others do manage to be patient with us.  Everybody has their down times, they think--its not like I've never had dandelions.  I've been taking care of my lawn, so I'll just spread a little Weed N Feed and everything will be fine, no big deal.  We don't get to pick the reactions of others.  Maybe the second one is the more Christlike one.  We can say the first person should know better and that its their moral obligation to be patient with us--and that may, in fact be true. The irony in us saying that is that, obviously, then we should know that its our moral obligation to be patient with their impatience, especially if we've caused them a headache in the first place.

We often expect demand kindness, patience and non-judgmental behavior from others, then criticize them for failing to live up to our expectations, and fail to see the irony.

Which leads me to the clover.  Clover isn't obvious and painful like thistles, or glaring and fast-moving like dandelions.  Its roots aren't as deep as either;  rather, its roots are wide.  Its similar in color to healthy grass, and its easy to not notice it at first--our neighbors may not notice it all.  Our lives are often full of shallow, creeping behaviors that don't do us a lot of explicit harm--that, in fact, may be known only to us and those closest to us--but that prevent us from living as fully and as deeply as we otherwise could.  We often even like these behaviors--we may have convinced ourselves that they're an integral part of who we are.  But deep down, some part of us knows we keep them only because they're easier, or because our vanity is wounded by the idea that we may need to give up these "little" things that we don't think are hurting us or anyone.  Slowly, but quite surely, they can creep along, taking over more and more of who we should be.  Sooner or later, if we're to be the people the Lord would have us be, we're going to have to pull them out and let them go.  But they blend in enough that we can go years, or even decades, convincing ourselves that they aren't really weeds at all.

And then there are the daisies.  They can be beautiful.  Often they are things that, not only don't seem to be a problem, but that others compliment us on.  We all like to be noticed and appreciated.  But if our self-worth gets wrapped up in things that are ultimately ephemeral, we can easily end up allowing our lives to be overrun with things of little value while things of true substance wither away from a lack of resources and cultivation.

It is an affliction of human nature to get lost in other people's weeds. It isn't our job to clean them up, so we aren't overwhelmed by them, and pointing them out helps to distract us from the hard work of digging up the noxious weeds in our own gardens.  So if you find yourself neck-deep in someone else's weeds telling them where to dig, its probably time to turn and tend to your own dandelions and clover.  And if someone who isn't supposed to be there is pointing out your weeds, don't retort in kind;  get to work.  Because no matter how uncomfortable the message or how inappropriate the messenger, if its true you should address it.  You will gain more than you can imagine by having the humility to accept and act upon truth even when it comes in the most annoying or uncomfortable way possible.  Even if he's being a bonehead and has no business commenting, if he's right, listen and get to work.  If you're lucky, responding with humility and kindness may even shock him into silence and get him weeding his own garden.  A humble example is always exponentially more powerful than an angry/annoyed rant.

And yes, I see the irony.

California

We went on an adventure last month.  Its been a long time (about 3 1/2 years long) since we went that many thousands of miles for that long, but thankfully the kids are all still the fabulous travelers they were way back when.  We just went as far as aunt Jen's house the first day, and man alive were my kids excited to see their cousins!  Thanks to relative proximity (and the fact that these cousins stayed with us when they'd come visit California), my kids feel really connected to hers and feel right at home at her house.  We were only there one night, but there were many games of various varieties and lots of laughing and giggling.  I'm glad they're only 6 hours away--we need to make that trip more often.  We kept Jen and Paul up too late talking, and hopefully we can be better about talking to them regularly so they don't have to put up with us so long. ;)  It made me remember how much I loved it when they would come stay at our house.

The next day we did the big push from Pleasant Grove to Visalia via Las Vegas/I-15.  Its a remarkably boring drive, but thankfully Cove Fort is along the way and makes a nice pit stop.  The kids enjoyed exploring the Fort and outbuildings.  Keira especially liked the view from on top:

 The current director there was an Elder Clark (no relation), and he and Doug actually had a really interesting family history and personal history/career arc conversation.  I think we'll remember him.  Also, in one of the rooms there was a heavy hide coat that looked just like the one of Grandpa Pierce's that has been the subject of much horse vs. cow debate in our family, so I asked if he knew what it was.  Turns out, it was a horse that had died in the dead of winter, when his coat was much longer and thicker than usual.  Probably no one cares other than me, but it was fun to figure it out.

We pushed on to Visalia and auntie Manda's house.  She had turned her family room into a huge kid bunkhouse.  That was the last time I had to interact much with my kids the whole time we were at our house.  They were so excited to see her and all her kids that they were pretty much done with me and Doug.  Amanda stayed up talking with us till 3am, which was an excellent reminder of why we both miss her so much.  She's a great sister.  She proved that the next day by giving everyone much needed haircuts!

 Keilana and I both desperately needed clothes, so she took us shopping, too, and we found Keilana some adorable dresses to wear for the summer.

It was hard to get any of the kids out of the pool and spa.  It really wasn't even hot while we were there, but they swam every second they could.

 Saturday was the main reason we came to California: Grandpa Barnes' 90th birthday party.  It was good fun, but busy.  Lots of people, so we didn't actually spend a ton of time visiting with Grandpa.  We had a gift Doug had put together for him that hadn't actually arrived on Saturday, so we carved out a good chunk of the day on Monday to spend with him, just our little family.  He got a big kick out of the photo book Doug made, and we discovered where one of the kids' favorite talents came from:

 One of the things I've always loved best about Doug's grandparents is their wonderful sense of humor.  Hopefully this photo will, in years to come, help the kids remember how much Grandpa loved having them around.  We spent most of the afternoon doing what we've always done at Grandpa's house:  listening to fun stories, looking at photos, reminiscing about family.  Grandpa is a great story teller.

My picture seems to have vanished, but Saturday evening after the party, we were able to meet the Meiks in Hanford for a little (or a lot) Superior Dairy ice cream and catching up.  They will always be some of my favorite people, and a part of my heart will always be set aside for them as "best friends".  I did a lot of my growing up in the years that they were friends and examples to me.  It was wonderful to spend all evening catching up and reminiscing.   And, I mean, I'll take just about any excuse to eat Superior Dairy ice cream, so there's that.

On Sunday, we spent the day celebrating Christa's 30th birthday with family and a few friends.

 There is no more appropriate way to celebrate Christina than with a pool party :).  And while most of her own kids aren't fishes, I'm afraid, a lot of her nieces and nephews are, and were happy to celebrate  with her.  Since it was only in the 70s, I felt no particular need to get in the pool myself.  Watching most of the 20 or so cousins enjoy each other's company really made me wish there were some way we could live close to my family and Doug's.  I spent the day talking with Brad, Jennifer, Christina, Rachel, Chuck and Katy, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude all over again.  I know a lot of people who don't have one good, solid family to rely on, and I have two.  I don't know why I've been so fortunate, but I am very, very thankful.

Monday evening, after visiting with Grandpa and making a quick stop at Katy's to see all the upgrades they've done on the house, we started to head over to Lindsay.  Driving down Prosperity toward the mountains, pulling up to the Lindsay stoplight on 137, that's when I started to feel at home.  Doug grew up in Tulare, spent several years living in Visalia, but those places were never "mine".  The east side of the valley, along the mountains and foothills, is where I spent my time.  Not just in Lindsay, but driving and exploring in the foothills and mountains.  It was a little strange to drive past our old house, go by McDermont, the park, the pool.  The older kids barely remember any of it.  The younger ones don't at all.  But so much of who I am a mother, all my own memories as a young mother, are formed around these places.  But they aren't mine any more, and it was both a relief and a sadness that settled on me at that realization.

And then we pulled up to the Ashcraft's house, and I felt at home all over again.  It felt good to see those smiling faces, the Ashcrafts and the Cregors, welcoming us to this place where we had always felt so loved.  Birthday parties, Family Home Evenings, baby showers--it felt like a second home in many ways.  The kids were bigger, and there were a few more of them, but otherwise it felt very much the same.

 I know the kids couldn't possibly remember too much, but they picked up as if they'd never left.  Because those were the kinds of friends we had in Lindsay, and it was delightful to be reminded that they are just as wonderful as we remember.

Tuesday we said our goodbyes to Amanda and the VanderArk cousins, and headed to Mimi and Papa's house to visit for a couple of hours before starting back.  We drove to Papa Clark's house that evening, and the next day he took us all to the Monterey Bay Aquarium.  Keira had been soooooo excited to see the sea otters (and to be quite honest, it was awesome to see her light up and squeal with glee when we went to see them first), but she decided the aquarium had some other cool stuff, too.

 We also lucked out that Uncle Tim had to be in Hollister for work, so Amanda and the kids rode up with him and went to the aquarium all day with us, and then auntie Manda and Papa Clark took all the kiddos to the beach while Doug and I got to explore on our own.  We both tend to believe that the central California coast, from just north of Monterey to just south of Pismo, is one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Thursday we headed up to Sacramento, one of our favorite vacation haunts when we lived in California.  Old Town is full of fun shops.  And a lot of candy stores, which Dylan was pretty jazzed about.

 (Photo credit: Keilana)

 One of our very favorite things about Sacramento is the railroad museum.  The older kids did remember this a bit, but it was all new to the younger ones, and Kylie especially really got into it.

We'll definitely be doing this again the next time we go to California, and hopefully adding Sutter's Fort and the Crocker Art Gallery.  We also didn't have time to make it up to the big trees or Moro Rock, or any of the thousand other places we love so much in the Sierras, but hopefully it won't be nearly 4 years before we make it back again.

Thursday night, we headed over the hill to Reno, where my uncle Kenny took us in for the night (side note: which he did cheerfully despite the fact that we got stuck behind a major wreck on the pass and didn't make it to his house til a little after 11).  He chatted with us into the wee hours of the morning, and told my kids a bed time story that came from Umpy (his dad, my Grandpa Umphrey).  It was one I'd never heard, though I'd heard my grandpa tell a lot of stories--he was a fabulous story teller.  I love those connections that keep the people we love alive in little ways.  The last time I'd seen him was when my grandma passed away last year, so it was nice to be together again in happier circumstances.

We marathoned it home from Reno on Friday, and were home just over 24 hours before heading to Yaya's house for Memorial Day. . . . .