I really don't like It's A Wonderful Life. I find it to be dark and depressing, for the most part, and have no idea out why it's considered a holiday classic.
However, today, I find myself wishing I could have that "George Bailey glimpse" to see what life would be like (for the worse of course) without me.
For the most part, particularly of late, I have felt that God loves me and that I have worth. But there are days like today when I need to know that I matter, not just to God, but to the people around me and that all this routine and little acts and effort and wheels spinning actually make some difference here in the lives of people I know or even don't know.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Last Day of School!
Ever since Finding Nemo, I can't say the above words without saying them loudly and in a great hurried rush. The great effect of animated film.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Montessori Campout
We went camping overnight (happily in cabins) with Q and Eliza's school (unhappily, we had to share cabins and thus more people are now aware of my snoring problem).
We had a lot of fun. We ate a lot of food that would soo not have been okay had this been a pre-Easter event (And may I say that the camp's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies were so good, I think they were laced with crack. Seriously. I kept waiting for them to set them out at another meal so I could be the fat lady walking out of the eating lodge with two dozen cookies in her pockets because I would have been completely OK with that moniker.) We played miniature golf (rural Alaskan style - small cement pads with large rocks as obstacles), shot BB guns, arrows, played air hockey and walked. And walked.
I felt like a pioneer child.
But the best moments were with my son in the middle of the night. There were a total of 15 people in our cabin, only 2 of which belonged with me. Two of those other 12 had been traveling all night prior to the campout and had thus been awake from 1am until 9pm and were ex.haus.ted. I was hyper aware of the need for my children to be quiet. So imagine my joy when, in the middle of the night, I hear, "ELIZA! GET OUT OF MY BED! EL! I! ZA! GET OUT OF MY BED!" in a piercing whispered voice. Q had sleep walked (?) or something and ended up in the bunk next to his where a little girl (about 5yo and NOT his sister) was sleeping. In his sleep filled delusion, he thought she was Eliza and that she was on her bed.
I managed, after a bit of arguing, to convince him that his bed was the next one over. He finally allowed me to move him and we all settled back down for sleep.
Sort-of.
From behind my eyelids I saw a light flash on and swing around and shut off.
"He's just getting settled," I thought.
It happened again.
And again.
"Q! What are you doing?" I stage whispered.
"I'm afraid of spiders."
"Do you want to come sleep with me?"
He was in my bunk quicker than you can say, "Bob's your uncle," and my back ended up crammed up against the wall for the worst night of sleep I can remember.
The ironic thing is that while we found no spiders on his bunk, when we were putting our sleeping bags away, we DID find one on mine.
I suppose it just matters what one thinks at 1am and not in the light of day.
We had a lot of fun. We ate a lot of food that would soo not have been okay had this been a pre-Easter event (And may I say that the camp's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies were so good, I think they were laced with crack. Seriously. I kept waiting for them to set them out at another meal so I could be the fat lady walking out of the eating lodge with two dozen cookies in her pockets because I would have been completely OK with that moniker.) We played miniature golf (rural Alaskan style - small cement pads with large rocks as obstacles), shot BB guns, arrows, played air hockey and walked. And walked.
I felt like a pioneer child.
But the best moments were with my son in the middle of the night. There were a total of 15 people in our cabin, only 2 of which belonged with me. Two of those other 12 had been traveling all night prior to the campout and had thus been awake from 1am until 9pm and were ex.haus.ted. I was hyper aware of the need for my children to be quiet. So imagine my joy when, in the middle of the night, I hear, "ELIZA! GET OUT OF MY BED! EL! I! ZA! GET OUT OF MY BED!" in a piercing whispered voice. Q had sleep walked (?) or something and ended up in the bunk next to his where a little girl (about 5yo and NOT his sister) was sleeping. In his sleep filled delusion, he thought she was Eliza and that she was on her bed.
I managed, after a bit of arguing, to convince him that his bed was the next one over. He finally allowed me to move him and we all settled back down for sleep.
Sort-of.
From behind my eyelids I saw a light flash on and swing around and shut off.
"He's just getting settled," I thought.
It happened again.
And again.
"Q! What are you doing?" I stage whispered.
"I'm afraid of spiders."
"Do you want to come sleep with me?"
He was in my bunk quicker than you can say, "Bob's your uncle," and my back ended up crammed up against the wall for the worst night of sleep I can remember.
The ironic thing is that while we found no spiders on his bunk, when we were putting our sleeping bags away, we DID find one on mine.
I suppose it just matters what one thinks at 1am and not in the light of day.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Not Quite What Was Intended
My dad is a fairly gruff guy, not generally given to spoiling or adoring his grandchildren, so I was pleasantly surprised when he forwarded me this yesterday and expressly told me to share it with my kids.
The tune is catchy and the message is timely so I've been singing it ever since.
Sorta.
The problem I start out thinking, "My name is Jesus" and end up with this.
Not quite what my dad intended I'm sure.
The tune is catchy and the message is timely so I've been singing it ever since.
Sorta.
The problem I start out thinking, "My name is Jesus" and end up with this.
Not quite what my dad intended I'm sure.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Lenten Learnings and Easter Excitment
This journey of the last few days has been an interesting one and I find it even more intriguing that the unplanned Lenten gift, the one stumbled upon, has been the most significant.
I think I was right to cut back (mostly give up) TV and reading extra-scriptural things; I ended up spending a lot more time reading my scriptures and talking to God in the resulting quiet when the TV was not on to distract me while folding laundry or prepping dinner.
But my sugar fast has provided the biggest insights of all.
I fully admit to reverting to the mentality of a 3 year old and I struggled, like my daughter, to remember that Easter was about the atonement, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus and not my finally getting to eat chocolate.
This last week was full of painful anticipation; I knew my days were numbered: one week, five days, tomorrow! And yet they were the longest days I endured during the whole period, to be so close and yet infinitely separated from something I adore. These feelings intensified my reading of the scriptures this week as the children and I rehearsed each day what Jesus was doing on that particular day. Every time I would get a pang for something sweet I would think: today Jesus was relaxing in Bethany; today He was administering the Last Supper and praying in Gethsemane; today - right now - He was hanging on the cross; today - right now - the world darkened. I thought it fitting that Good Friday here was rainy and dreary.
Saturday was busy and crazy running here and there with general activities and preparations for Easter with me not turning in for sleep until almost midnight. But the whole day I thought of Mary Magdalene and how she would have attended her worship services and spent the day in Sabbath activities, the whole while thinking of the body of Jesus and waiting, yearning for the moment she could tend to His body and render Him the final service she could give; I thought of all their sadness and the passing of my mother and how in the first few days of loss, sleep is almost impossible for the tears and weight of grief. Fittingly, then, I tossed and turned and got the worst night of sleep ever.
I woke up at 5am this morning giddy. The house was still. My children were sleeping. The sky was lightening. I walked out to the front room and saw my Easter box with my bags of hand picked, delectable, locally made and completely crave-able, even when I'm not fasting, chocolate and stumbled to the couch; I had already decided not to partake until I had read my scriptures. I laid down on the couch and went back to sleep, drifting in and out, for the next hour and half.
The rays of sun were beginning to peak out from behind the mountain when I finally decided that the sleep wasn't worth it and it was time to begin; I cracked my scriptures to John 20 and read, "The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark. . . ." I thought of her waiting for the earliest moment when she could slip away and go to the tomb. I thought of her tired eyes as mine burned from lack of sleep, her anticipation, her grief and then her distress on finding the tomb empty. I thought of her elation on meeting the Savior and being with Him, hugging Him, loving Him that He was alive. I ate my first bite of chocolate and my mouth was filled with ecstasy as my heart was filled with joy at the story and reality of Jesus' resurrection and that He does still live, even now, ever watching over me, ever praying for me, ever listening to me.
In that moment, I understood the gift of Lent - that in some small way I could come not only to appreciate the sacrifices of Jesus and His pain more, but that I might understand the loss of His life, how those around Him grieved and what that means to me and the joy that He took it back up again and all the blessings that fall into my life because of His work.
What a gift! What a supernal joy!
I know that my Redeemer lives.
Happy Easter.
I think I was right to cut back (mostly give up) TV and reading extra-scriptural things; I ended up spending a lot more time reading my scriptures and talking to God in the resulting quiet when the TV was not on to distract me while folding laundry or prepping dinner.
But my sugar fast has provided the biggest insights of all.
I fully admit to reverting to the mentality of a 3 year old and I struggled, like my daughter, to remember that Easter was about the atonement, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus and not my finally getting to eat chocolate.
This last week was full of painful anticipation; I knew my days were numbered: one week, five days, tomorrow! And yet they were the longest days I endured during the whole period, to be so close and yet infinitely separated from something I adore. These feelings intensified my reading of the scriptures this week as the children and I rehearsed each day what Jesus was doing on that particular day. Every time I would get a pang for something sweet I would think: today Jesus was relaxing in Bethany; today He was administering the Last Supper and praying in Gethsemane; today - right now - He was hanging on the cross; today - right now - the world darkened. I thought it fitting that Good Friday here was rainy and dreary.
Saturday was busy and crazy running here and there with general activities and preparations for Easter with me not turning in for sleep until almost midnight. But the whole day I thought of Mary Magdalene and how she would have attended her worship services and spent the day in Sabbath activities, the whole while thinking of the body of Jesus and waiting, yearning for the moment she could tend to His body and render Him the final service she could give; I thought of all their sadness and the passing of my mother and how in the first few days of loss, sleep is almost impossible for the tears and weight of grief. Fittingly, then, I tossed and turned and got the worst night of sleep ever.
I woke up at 5am this morning giddy. The house was still. My children were sleeping. The sky was lightening. I walked out to the front room and saw my Easter box with my bags of hand picked, delectable, locally made and completely crave-able, even when I'm not fasting, chocolate and stumbled to the couch; I had already decided not to partake until I had read my scriptures. I laid down on the couch and went back to sleep, drifting in and out, for the next hour and half.
The rays of sun were beginning to peak out from behind the mountain when I finally decided that the sleep wasn't worth it and it was time to begin; I cracked my scriptures to John 20 and read, "The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark. . . ." I thought of her waiting for the earliest moment when she could slip away and go to the tomb. I thought of her tired eyes as mine burned from lack of sleep, her anticipation, her grief and then her distress on finding the tomb empty. I thought of her elation on meeting the Savior and being with Him, hugging Him, loving Him that He was alive. I ate my first bite of chocolate and my mouth was filled with ecstasy as my heart was filled with joy at the story and reality of Jesus' resurrection and that He does still live, even now, ever watching over me, ever praying for me, ever listening to me.
In that moment, I understood the gift of Lent - that in some small way I could come not only to appreciate the sacrifices of Jesus and His pain more, but that I might understand the loss of His life, how those around Him grieved and what that means to me and the joy that He took it back up again and all the blessings that fall into my life because of His work.
What a gift! What a supernal joy!
I know that my Redeemer lives.
Happy Easter.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Chocolate and that Jesus Guy
I have yeast issues.
Big ones.
I know - TMI and what the heck does that have to do with the above? I'm getting there.
I've had skin yeast infections ever since I stopped nursing my first born and my boobs sagged and created a nice hot, moist, dark environment for the little beasties to grow in; if you do the math, that's about 12 years.
12 years.
Finally, this last year, the worst symptom started (rectal itching) (and you thought the other was TMI). I'd had enough so when I went in for my annual, my nurse and I had a long chat. The long and short of it was that I had too much yeast in my system and my body couldn't fight it all off. I needed to remove sugar from my diet (GASP) (because apparently sugar not only feeds my soul but also the wee beasties) and take a butt load of probiotics. No pun intended. No sugar meant no candy, one serving of grains per day and one serving of fruit per day and NO CHOCOLATE. Be still my heart - I still have issues when I think about it.
This was toward the end of February. For some reason or another but which I cannot quite recall, I was fasting on February 28th and felt impressed that that was the time to start. Okay Lord, down the rabbit hole we go!
Within two days I started getting bad, daily headaches that I couldn't shake for several weeks.
So I did what any sane woman would do. I chopped off my hair. 8" whooshed to Locks of Love and my head felt pounds lighter.
But I still got headaches so I'm sticking with my "getting rid of sugar is E.V.I.L." diagnosis.
In the middle of March I got sick, really sick - fevers and headaches and overall yuckiness. Did you know (I'm sure it's just the placebo effect) that orange juice makes me feel so. much. better? It does. Did you know that orange juice is loaded with sugar? Yeah. Loaded. (But the headaches did go away so I'm sticking with my "orange juice makes me feel so. much. better." diagnosis.)
So I felt compelled to start the sugar free thing again; this was done with a purpose - to defeat the evil yeast - and I wanted to make sure that mission was accomplished. So I added another month. Which means that April 24th I get to eat sugar again. Which just happens to be Easter. Even though this was so not a Lent thing.
Needless to say, this has been a huge topic of conversation at our house as Mommy has different dinners than everyone else and Mommy doesn't get to eat ice cream or peanut butter pie or Eliza's first batch of "I made them all by myself (mostly)" cupcakes.
The other day we were discussing Easter at the table and my daughter (pay attention - this is the point of the whole sordid tale) said that she was looking forward to Easter because it was the day that we celebrated Mommy getting to eat chocolate.
Really.
All year we've been talking about Jesus. Talking about baptism (as she'll be 8 in November and eligible to be baptized). Reading the New Testament (we're in the Book of Acts). And yet, my daughter thinks that Easter is to celebrate the end of Mommy's temporary, never been done before, sugar fast.
I quickly corrected her and told her that Easter was the celebration of the atonement of Jesus, His crucifixion and suffering and His glorious resurrection and all the blessings that those events bring to us.
Eliza added, "And Mommy getting to eat chocolate."
Perhaps there is not a baptism in our future this year. . . .
Big ones.
I know - TMI and what the heck does that have to do with the above? I'm getting there.
I've had skin yeast infections ever since I stopped nursing my first born and my boobs sagged and created a nice hot, moist, dark environment for the little beasties to grow in; if you do the math, that's about 12 years.
12 years.
Finally, this last year, the worst symptom started (rectal itching) (and you thought the other was TMI). I'd had enough so when I went in for my annual, my nurse and I had a long chat. The long and short of it was that I had too much yeast in my system and my body couldn't fight it all off. I needed to remove sugar from my diet (GASP) (because apparently sugar not only feeds my soul but also the wee beasties) and take a butt load of probiotics. No pun intended. No sugar meant no candy, one serving of grains per day and one serving of fruit per day and NO CHOCOLATE. Be still my heart - I still have issues when I think about it.
This was toward the end of February. For some reason or another but which I cannot quite recall, I was fasting on February 28th and felt impressed that that was the time to start. Okay Lord, down the rabbit hole we go!
Within two days I started getting bad, daily headaches that I couldn't shake for several weeks.
So I did what any sane woman would do. I chopped off my hair. 8" whooshed to Locks of Love and my head felt pounds lighter.
But I still got headaches so I'm sticking with my "getting rid of sugar is E.V.I.L." diagnosis.
In the middle of March I got sick, really sick - fevers and headaches and overall yuckiness. Did you know (I'm sure it's just the placebo effect) that orange juice makes me feel so. much. better? It does. Did you know that orange juice is loaded with sugar? Yeah. Loaded. (But the headaches did go away so I'm sticking with my "orange juice makes me feel so. much. better." diagnosis.)
So I felt compelled to start the sugar free thing again; this was done with a purpose - to defeat the evil yeast - and I wanted to make sure that mission was accomplished. So I added another month. Which means that April 24th I get to eat sugar again. Which just happens to be Easter. Even though this was so not a Lent thing.
Needless to say, this has been a huge topic of conversation at our house as Mommy has different dinners than everyone else and Mommy doesn't get to eat ice cream or peanut butter pie or Eliza's first batch of "I made them all by myself (mostly)" cupcakes.
The other day we were discussing Easter at the table and my daughter (pay attention - this is the point of the whole sordid tale) said that she was looking forward to Easter because it was the day that we celebrated Mommy getting to eat chocolate.
Really.
All year we've been talking about Jesus. Talking about baptism (as she'll be 8 in November and eligible to be baptized). Reading the New Testament (we're in the Book of Acts). And yet, my daughter thinks that Easter is to celebrate the end of Mommy's temporary, never been done before, sugar fast.
I quickly corrected her and told her that Easter was the celebration of the atonement of Jesus, His crucifixion and suffering and His glorious resurrection and all the blessings that those events bring to us.
Eliza added, "And Mommy getting to eat chocolate."
Perhaps there is not a baptism in our future this year. . . .
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Dinner Conversation
Background: My daughter's school class (lower El -1/2/3 combined of about 24 students) is putting on some plays this spring. Sadly, she doesn't get to be in the plays that feature the fog princess or the fairies. She gets to be a play about Anansi the Spider. Worse, she doesn't get to a narrator or Anansi or the Little Bush Deer; she gets to be a hippo. She only gets one line. There were tears over this people.
But this is not about that; this is about our conversation at Monday night's dinner.
Eliza: I want to be Anansi.
DH: You don't want to be one of those!
Me: She means A-nan-Si.
DH: Oh. I thought she said a Nazi.
Q: Yeah. I wouldn't want to be a Russian.
Me: The Nazis were from Germany, not Russia?
Q: Really?
DH: Yeah - ask Poppa; he lived there for awhile.
Me: Or Uncle Kenji - he was born there. Or me, I was made there. I've always wanted to get a t-shirt that said "Made in Germany" on the front.
Poppa (my dad): You want what?
Me: I want a t-shirt that says, "Made in Germany." I was.
Poppa: I'm not having this conversation.
But this is not about that; this is about our conversation at Monday night's dinner.
Eliza: I want to be Anansi.
DH: You don't want to be one of those!
Me: She means A-nan-Si.
DH: Oh. I thought she said a Nazi.
Q: Yeah. I wouldn't want to be a Russian.
Me: The Nazis were from Germany, not Russia?
Q: Really?
DH: Yeah - ask Poppa; he lived there for awhile.
Me: Or Uncle Kenji - he was born there. Or me, I was made there. I've always wanted to get a t-shirt that said "Made in Germany" on the front.
Poppa (my dad): You want what?
Me: I want a t-shirt that says, "Made in Germany." I was.
Poppa: I'm not having this conversation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)