Sacred Name. Glorious words.

On some days it feels that far too many have gone far too quickly and far too soon.

On some days my heart aches with longing just

to kiss a tiny cheek,

to hear a cherished laugh,

or fall into an unmistakably delicious hug.

But that's only on some days.

On all days I feel the promised peace,

and I rest in absolute JOY

and overwhelming gratitude

for the sure knowledge that

because of Jesus Christ,

one day I will hear the sweet echo

of these precious, sacred, triumphant words

whispered to me and mine:

"He is not here: for he is risen!"

Happy, Happy, Happy Easter!

For Natalie

There are those who think that I'm strange . . .

. . . but you hold me close and softly say

that you wouldn't have me any other way.

When I'm lost I feel so very found

When you anchor me back down.

(Isn't this just wonderful? Such a beautiful voice. Her sound is so easy.)

Enchanted

One chilly morning in early May, Greg and I came downstairs to find one of these little guys slumped in the corner of the transom over a family room window. At first I thought he was dead. I felt sick--I had left the window open the night before when I refilled the hummingbird feeder. I ran for a dishtowel and carefully scooped him up. I'd never tried to hold a hummingbird before; I had no clue what to expect. If he was lucky enough to still be alive, I was afraid my picking him up might startle him and I might hurt him. I hoped the towel would let me to hold him safely while I got him outside.

He was practically weightless. Like picking up a whisper, a piece of fog. He was death-still and cold. His tiny head plopped forward onto his chest. I curled my fingers around his little body and nestled him in my palm, praying that my body warmth might revive him. I willed my heat into his tiny body. I breathed warm breath over him. Nothing. He just lay motionless in my hand. But somehow, I knew he wasn't dead. A picture came to my mind - I could see him helplessly fluttering against the windowpane over and over again, frantically trying to get outside, confused at the glass barrier stopping him, then finally, collapsing on the sill, exhausted and empty. He'd been trying to get to the feeder, and he'd burned up his tiny store of energy. He needed food—fuel for body heat and energy.

I sat with him in my hand out on the front step where the early morning sun hits the house. I'd mixed warm sugar water in a teaspoon and, cradling his tiny head carefully between my thumb and forefinger, I gently dipped the tip of his beak into the teaspoon and waited, watching closely for some sign of life. Still, no response. The air warmed and the sun reached our step and eased across his little body. Suddenly, he opened his eyes. He didn't move, but continued to lay quiet in my hand, calmly allowing me to dip his beak into the teaspoon. After five or six more dips, his mouth opened and his little tongue darted out. He'd tasted the nectar! He still made no attempt to move, but let feed him, resting, calm in my hand, bathed in the warm morning sun. The moments were quiet, almost breathless. Reverent. Enchanted.

After a bit, he stood and began to drink by himself. Still, he made no attempt to leave. He fluttered his wings slightly every now and then. Stretched a bit, as though he'd just wakened from a good night's sleep but really didn't need to be anywhere quite yet. He'd look over at me now and again, curious maybe, but not alarmed. We kept on in our peaceful ritual: dipping, watching, waiting, dipping, watching, stretching. It could have been minutes, I'm thinking it was the better part of an hour or more. When he decided he was finally ready, he simply flew up into the river birch next to the path, and sat and considered me for a while longer. Then, he dipped and glided off into the trees and disappeared.

All that summer, whenever the hummers came to the window, peering in impatiently to remind me that the feeder was empty again, I would imagine that one of them was my little buddy from that May morning. I hoped that he remembered, that he felt as connected and as grateful and I did. I still watch for him. Every single spring.

A Message for My Boys

This post is for Raleigh, Cardon and Lincoln.

The boy in this video reminds me of you boys. He loves the ocean, he loves having fun, he loves his family and he loves Heavenly Father. I am so proud of each of you and all the good decisions you are making every day. I know you're going to grow up to be like Sean. Whether it's surfing, or skateboarding or baseball or soccer--or whatever you choose to be good at--I just know you will always put Heavenly Father first in your lives, because you are AWESOME in EVERY single way. I love you so much! Mwa! Grammie

Who could ask for anything more?

I was the youngest of three children, with a brother eight years older and another, five years ahead. We were an independent bunch. The boys were up and out, quick as they could grow, and so it seemed to me that I grew up pretty well the only child in a very lonely house. Every single night I would pray for a little brother or sister. It was a reasonable prayer: every other house in the neighborhood was bulging with kids. Certainly it wasn't too much to ask for one-or maybe just two--little brothers or sisters to love?

By the time I was 14, it was clear that this particular prayer wasn't ever going to yield any results. OK, then. I made a few adjustments. Changed my prayers a bit, I'd wait a few years, marry and have my very own huge, glorious brood. I'd have six, maybe even eight, kids. One right after the other. Quick and close. I'd build my own family. A veritable tribe to fill every empty inch of my heart and home.

Then came a ruptured appendix and gangrene, a near death and a new set of prayers.

Infertility. Another plan, another prayer.

A miracle birth! Prayers of gratitude. Prayers of renewed hope.

But then, no more pregnancies. New prayers, another plan.

With each passing year a new reality asked for a new prayer. Every change called for a new look with fresh, hopeful eyes. What is before me now? What are my options? Well. OK.

Now, see--how perfect is this new prayer. How radiant is this new plan.

The years have rolled by and I've whispered so many prayers. Few of them have been answered in the way I had planned. Yet still, my life has been perfect.

I don't think I'm alone here. So few of our very best plans unfold as we'd hoped. Maybe that's just as well. What we pray for and what we need are so often worlds apart.

Can this be true?

What about happiness? What about getting what I want out of my life?

Well. Let's see. I'm getting a lot closer to the end here now.

Have I been happy. Oh yes. Am I happy now? Oh yes. I am.

Have I gotten what I really wanted out of life?

Take a look at these pictures, at all I've been given. Just look at that beautiful daughter and her perfect, joyous tribe. They're mine, too, you know. My very own.

How could I possibly ask for anything more?

Credit, thanks and love to Jonathan Canlass at Jonathan Canlass Photography for these beautiful images.

Two Brothers Apart

You gotta hear this one

A PLANE IS ON ITS WAY TO TORONTO , WHEN A BLONDE IN ECONOMY CLASS GETS UP, MOVES TO THE FIRST CLASS SECTION AND SITS DOWN.

THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT WATCHES HER DO THIS, AND ASKS TO SEE HER TICKET.

SHE THEN TELLS THE BLONDE THAT SHE ONLY PAID FOR ECONOMY CLASS, AND SHE WILL HAVE TO SIT IN THE BACK.

THE BLONDE REPLIES, "I'M BLONDE, I'M BEAUTIFUL, I'M GOING TO TORONTO AND I'M STAYING RIGHT HERE."

THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT GOES INTO THE COCKPIT AND TELLS THE PILOT AND THE CO-PILOT THAT THERE IS A BLONDE BIMBO SITTING IN FIRST CLASS, THAT BELONGS IN ECONOMY AND WON'T MOVE BACK TO HER SEAT.

THE CO-PILOT GOES BACK TO THE BLONDE AND TRIES TO EXPLAIN THAT BECAUSE SHE ONLY PAID FOR ECONOMY SHE WILL HAVE TO LEAVE AND RETURN TO HER SEAT.

THE BLONDE REPLIES, "I'M BLONDE, I'M BEAUTIFUL, I'M GOING TO TORONTO AND I'M STAYING RIGHT HERE."

THE CO-PILOT TELLS THE PILOT THAT HE PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE THE POLICE WAITING WHEN THEY LAND TO ARREST THIS BLONDE WOMAN WHO WON'T LISTEN TO REASON.

THE PILOT SAYS, "YOU SAY SHE IS A BLONDE? I'LLHANDLE THIS, I'M MARRIED TO A BLONDE. I SPEAK BLONDE."

HE GOES BACK TO THE BLONDE AND WHISPERS IN HER EAR, AND SHE SAYS, "OH, I'M SORRY." AND GETS UP AND GOES BACK TO HER SEAT IN ECONOMY.

THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT AND CO-PILOT ARE AMAZED AND ASK HIM WHAT HE SAID TO MAKE HER MOVE WITHOUT ANY FUSS.

"I TOLD HER, "FIRST CLASS ISN'T GOING TO TORONTO "

(Thank you Terry! Best joke I've heard in years!!)

I love YOU!

I have no clue why it happened, but out of the blue, Blogger DELETED my blog. So, if you came by and wondered why I had "blocked" you from seeing it, wonder and worry no more. It wasn't me. It wasn't you. It was that pesky Techno Beast rattling our cages to make sure we're all awake. Sure woke me up. I thought my blog was gone forever--and that all my memories and journal entries had simply vanished!

So happy it's back! Welcome back. I LOVE YOU!

Happy Birthday Gretchen!

My brother Bart met Gretchen through a personals ad he placed in the San Diego Union. When I think of how slim the odds are that two people so perfectly suited would find each another through a tiny, obscure newspaper ad, it makes me believe in magic and miracles and the sacredness of real love.

I'm certain that the last 15 years of Bart's life--those years he spent loving Gretchen--were the happiest of his life, and I love her with all of my heart for this, and so many other gifts she has given me.

Gretchen, I love you for loving my brother so sweetly, so perfectly, so genuinely, and for making so many of his dreams come true.

Thank you for making him smile again after so many years alone.

Thank you for being his trusty crew as the two of you sailed your majestic Blue Sky across the vast Pacific and up and down the Mexican Riviera.

Thank you for the way you loved and supported Natalie and Gavin as perfectly as he did.

I will always love you for the way you made Bart laugh playing Mexican train.

I will always love you for being his running partner and his tennis double, for taking such good care of Jessie while he traveled for work (and you weren't even and 'official' couple yet!)

Thank you for bringing kitties into his world.

Thank you for being my brother's favorite golfing buddy--and his best golf student. (He was so proud of how GOOD you got, so quickly!!)

Thank you for turning his homes into beautiful and comfortable havens. For working alongside him in the yard and on the boat, for tooling around in the golf cart with him, and sitting patiently back in the trailer while he fished. And fished. And fished.

Thank you for allowing him to feel smart and protective and supportive--for helping him to become his best self. I know he knew he was a better man because of you.

I love you for standing tall and strong and for being his comfort and his rock as the two of you fought his battle with cancer together.

Gretchen, I'm so sorry he lost that battle. I know how much he wanted to stay and continue on in that magical, fairy tale life the two of you built together.

I know how much he loved you and wants to be with you FOREVER, so I love you for all you're doing to make sure that this last of his dreams comes true. I know he will be there in the Mesa temple with all of us as you two are sealed together as husband and wife, as golfing and sailing buddies, as running partners and lovers and best friends--for eternity.

I love you so much my beautiful sister! I am so glad we will be sisters forever!

Happy, happy, HAPPY Birthday to you!

Heaven is all around us.

When Bart was in the middle of his chemo, one of the only things that sounded good to him was Pomegranate shakes. Gretchen would stop by Arby's every day on her way to the hospital and pick one up to take to him. I understand how important that was to her. I remember how good it felt to be able to make chocolate shakes for Mom Link during her last days when so little tasted good to her. There's so very little you can do to bring comfort--when you find that One Thing that helps, even a little, your heart just melts with gratitude. For Bart and Gretchen, that One Thing was Pomegranate ice cream shakes.

Wednesday was Bart's birthday. I knew it would be a melancholy day for her and so we spent a long phone call sharing memories of our guy. We talked about what she might do to make it a celebration. She thought she might bake his favorite pie and take a slice to her friends. Gretchen has a wonderful heart.

The following day she sent me this email:

Yesterday I made Peanut Butter cookies because they were Bart's favorite and it made me feel good, but check this out! I found this ice cream at WalMart and it was most delicious!

It is called Sheer Bliss and certainly was. I got the Pomegranate.

Gavin's and my One Thing was notes. He'd leave them around for me to find. They were usually decorated with some of his artwork; fanciful little doodles that I always loved and generally tucked away somewhere. I just ran across one the other day while cleaning out my nightstand. It was Heaven. Literally.

Two weekends ago, as Greg and I drove back from clearing out Dad's house down in Scottsdale, we stopped in Sedona to hike. As we started out, I silently whispered to Gavin that I'd love it if he'd let me know that he was near. I always miss him when I hike. I have so many favorite memories of our hikes together. Anyway, I whispered my little longing to Gav, then forgot about it and just enjoyed my hike with Greg. It was a perfect day. Perfect temperature. Good conversation. Blue sky. Red rocks towering above us.

When we finally turned around to go back, we decided to slow down a little. Greg was hiking in flip-flops (the way Gav used to) and his hip was starting to get a little sore, so we ended up slowing down to a very easy stroll and I began to meditate by focusing on the details of the trail. It was then that I found it. Right in the middle of the trail we had already hiked over that morning. A large, flat-faced, red rock etched with the words, "I miss you." Etched around the letters were fanciful doodles of falling tear drops. Exactly like Gavin would have done. Exactly like him.

Heaven is all around us. It's in peanut butter cookies and pomegranate ice cream left for us in a freezer case in WalMart. It's etched in rocks along a desert trail or in notes tucked away in the night stand. All we have to do it ask for it. All we have to do is look.

Hey, I want a family chant, too!

Well said, Brother Heber!

"I am perfectly satisfied that my Father [in Heaven] . . . my

God is a cheerful, pleasant, lively, and good-natured Being. Why? Because I am cheerful, pleasant, lively, and good-natured when I have His spirit!"

-Heber C Kimball

Journal of Discourses

February 8, 1857

I've been told that the human mind cannot accurately remember pain.

I discovered tonight that this is a lie.

Tonight, I tried to watch the video Natalie posted about

pertussis--whooping cough,

the violent virus

that snatched our precious baby Gavin

from our family.

I could not bring myself to listen.

I had to play the video with the sound turned off.

But even that wasn't enough.

The pain, the helplessness, the anguish,

the shock, the despair,

the devastation . . .

all washed over me with a renewed vengeance.

The pain, as searing--as soul piercing--as it had been when

I stood helpless, trying to

comfort my suffering baby grandson

and his brave momma.

Please don't force another family to endure this.

Please vaccinate yourself against this disease.

It is making a return.

Please.

Protect our fragile little ones

from it's ravages.

Please.

Vaccinate yourself.

Just in case you missed it.

Love it. Hate it.

I have a love-hate relationship with this blog. Obviously, for the last several weeks, the hate half has been winning. I even tried to pawn it off on Natalie . . . Oh! the idea of her taking on the pressure for a bit was so sweet and fine-- for about the time for it took it to slip out of my mouth and into her ear. You saw the evidence around how well that worked out. (I refuse to make a digital smiley face here, but I am smiling.)

So, I simply deserted blogging, and you. And I'm sorry for only half of that. I know you forgive me. Thanks for that. But it's a shame that for some of you/us, our only connection lies right here on this page, because this makes me a bad friend, and I don't ever want to be that. A bad blogger is fine with me. A bad friend is not. Cyber or not, I don't ever want to let a friend down.

I do realize that your worlds aren't much affected if I don't blog. I mean, really, I realize this, I do. But I have to admit, I get a little antsy when I think about you clicking by and finding Natalie's lame little post--and my abandonment--over and over and over again. So, instead, I give you this lovely stream of consciousness. Ta-da.

Guest Blogger: Natalie Norton.

Natalie here.

Mom wanted me to be a guest blogger.

I said "no mom, that's stupid."

Have a great Monday anyway!

xx.

N

Health Care Reform

Me (Reading to Greg from the Internet): Listen to this. "The incidence of overweight people in the U.S. has reached epidemic proportions . . . approximately 65% of U.S. adults are overweight."

Greg: They otta just shoot 'em.

Me: Oh, yeah. Right. That'd mean that they'd shoot you and me, you know.

Greg (starting to get excited): Yeah! Think how great it would be! It'd be so much easier to stay on a diet. Talk about incentive.

Me: You've got a point there.

Greg (now really amped): That could be the solution to health care! There's my new plan: Just shoot 'em.

You realize that he's not kidding here, right? Well, mostly.

Telling?

Photo by Jill Greenberg, via The Coterie

This morning I sent an email to some family members about arrangements for the sale of our mom and dad's home. Notice my typo. What a crybaby.

Annie Link wrote:

I just wrote a check from our personal account to H-- E-- in the amount of $X,XXX.00 to pay for painting at Dad's house. I will either reimburse myself out of Dad's account, or wail until we close on the house to collect these funds.

The Boxer

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade,

And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down,

Or cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame,

"I am leaving, I am leaving."

But the fighter still remains.

Paul,

Sometimes, you say it

so perfectly,

so exactly,

so true to my core -

I feel like you've been living

right here in my body.

Earl's List

So, I'm finally getting around to cleaning off my kitchen counters and table. Can you tell how hard I'm working on it? I mean, blogging is especially important to getting the job done right. A-n-y-w-a-a-y, I just ran across my scribbles from our church talks two weeks ago. Two husbands spoke about keeping love strong in a marriage. I liked that neither of them got all preachy on the subject. They were just regular guys--not Perfect Husbands, in fact, but honest and clearly trying. Earl shared a list of a few things he's trying to improve. (I'm going to remember this the next time I have to give a talk in sacrament meeting: Lists are good. Especially when they're honest--and succinct enough to squeeze into the white space on the program.)

So, here's Earl's list:

1. When we're having a fight: remember, at the end of the day, she wants the same things I do.

2. It is more important to be loving than to be right.

3. When we have a little free time together, discuss Interesting Things. Kids and finances are not Interesting Things.

5. Say hello and good bye--and take time to touch while you do.

6. Look good for your wife. He explained this one: "I probably look better to Julie when I'm taking out the trash or loading the dishwasher."

7. Pray with her so she can hear me say thank you to God for her.

I've been thinking about how I can customize Earl's list for the way I treat Greg. I wonder if he knows how often I thank God for him? I wonder if I look better to him when I'm clearing off the kitchen counter?