A ride a night this week. Most of them finished in the dark. But that makes way for sunsets and dusks and moons (only one per night) and stars and a view off the edge of the hill worth riding around twice for.
The handful of volleyball girls who made it a point to thank me for dinner last night (homemade pizza) and tell me how good it was (which is super nice, especially after everything went wrong). And mean it.
An opportunity to get to know one of Suze's friends a little better over the dining room table (as moms are to serve and not be seen or heard at team dinner and the girls were all outside). I don't believe it was chance that brought us together with time to talk. She works in the NICU and had enough knowledge and experience to help me wrap my head around this weekend's loss and sorrow. It was exactly what I needed.
The kind older fisherman along the Provo River who sportingly showed off his prize catch--even letting me take a picture. He enthusiastically told me exactly how to cook a catfish--despite having to sometimes search for the English version of the word. "I already promised this one to someone else or I would let you take it home for your dinner," he said. And he meant it. And after we happened to mention the mosquitoes he abandoned his live line and walked over to his car to get out a can of bug spray, which he promptly and carefully sprayed on K~ before handing it over to me.
Tender moments shared with a friend at the side of her father's death-bed. Too precious to share, but the truths in them deserves to be shouted from the rooftops. Just know this: I don't just believe. I know. And that's what keeps me going--that and those seemingly simple things I acknowledge here--even when my heart is broken or my burden seems too heavy to bear.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Here's two:
I. Backstory: In order to make up for lost time (no, actually because I want to), I've been trying to make it to the temple weekly to do initiatory work on the weeks it is not ward temple night. I used to go on Tuesdays before work, but the six-week summer closure and my recent work schedule have messed with that, so lately I've been going up early Saturday mornings. I do not believe it is by accident that ever since Zack got his mission call to England, I've had at least one name from England every week except for one. I don't think I need to explain why that tiny detail is significant and means something huge for me.
So last week I almost didn't go. (Let's be honest, almost every Friday night I think to myself, "I'm probably not going to go--I only get one Saturday morning a week and it is always a toss up to clean house and/or work out while I have the energy, or go to the temple.) But I did. There was about a 30-minute wait. I waited. Then I did my session. There were four names from Vermont and then one from England. One is always enough for me.
But then as I finished and was walking out, I noticed there was not a single sister waiting. "They need me," I thought. So I asked if it would be helpful for me to do another set of names. As always, the temple workers were gracious and grateful and I was handed another card with five names.
It wasn't until I walked back that I took a second to glance at the names. England. England. England. England. (Rounded off by somewhere random, I forget where.)
My heart was full of gratitude as tears ran down my face, but I felt like someone else was telling me, "No. Thank you."
II. Last night I was late for stake conference. We had been invited to a first birthday party for my friend Katya's daughter Alexandria. I don't need to explain why I needed to be there; I just knew I needed to be there. The party was supposed to start at five. My youngest and I arrived at 5:45, which should have been fashionably late but also given us enough time to say hello, drop off the present, eat some fabulous Haitian food. And get back in time for stake conference. Things were running late. Stake conference was at seven.
We stayed and mingled and visited. I enjoyed the luxury of watching children playing without worrying about my own and listening to the blend of English, French and Creole that could be heard through the cozy backyard. We rejoiced at the breaking news that friends of ours who've been anxiously waiting to adopt just got a beautiful baby girl. And, at some point later when it seemed appropriate, I finally expressed out loud to Katya's mom the pain I felt while standing at the foot of a hospital bed late Friday night, listening to the juxtaposition of a strong regular whoosh of a fetal heartbeat and the cold words of a doctor stating to my expectant and contracting niece, "We will work hard to save babies after 24 weeks, but you're only 22 weeks, so we won't do anything to save yours should he come." I can wrap my head around that. Sort of. But I can't quite wrap my heart around it. I needed to talk about it. Barbara was the perfect one to listen and hear.
At 6:45 the party started for reals and it was good. Good to meet new people and celebrate with long-time friends. And my first taste of Haitian food was savory and delicious.
I left at 7:25, thinking I could get home, throw on a skirt and be to stake conference by halftime. But as I arrived I found a certain child distraught over the thought of a second night without plans in the same weekend (this never happens--really). Usually one to choose the safety of anger over the vulnerability of tears, said child broke down. Usually one to push back or away, said child allowed an embrace and listening ears. Let love in. I stayed.
The moment of need passed and it was clearly time to leave said child with some space, so I went, taking youngest child to a friend's house. I had no idea what he had heard or observed; I actually thought he was outside the whole time and oblivious.
Until we got in the car. And then I reminded of the extend of this baby brother--the one who gets teased and picked on the most, who is often the brunt of the frustrations and anger of older siblings--this little brother's tender heart. "I called Katie and asked her to text Suze because she needed something fun to do tonight." 11-year-old calls 14-year-old freshman girl friend because he can't stand to watch his big sister's heart break.
Tears ran down my face (again).
I. Backstory: In order to make up for lost time (no, actually because I want to), I've been trying to make it to the temple weekly to do initiatory work on the weeks it is not ward temple night. I used to go on Tuesdays before work, but the six-week summer closure and my recent work schedule have messed with that, so lately I've been going up early Saturday mornings. I do not believe it is by accident that ever since Zack got his mission call to England, I've had at least one name from England every week except for one. I don't think I need to explain why that tiny detail is significant and means something huge for me.
So last week I almost didn't go. (Let's be honest, almost every Friday night I think to myself, "I'm probably not going to go--I only get one Saturday morning a week and it is always a toss up to clean house and/or work out while I have the energy, or go to the temple.) But I did. There was about a 30-minute wait. I waited. Then I did my session. There were four names from Vermont and then one from England. One is always enough for me.
But then as I finished and was walking out, I noticed there was not a single sister waiting. "They need me," I thought. So I asked if it would be helpful for me to do another set of names. As always, the temple workers were gracious and grateful and I was handed another card with five names.
It wasn't until I walked back that I took a second to glance at the names. England. England. England. England. (Rounded off by somewhere random, I forget where.)
My heart was full of gratitude as tears ran down my face, but I felt like someone else was telling me, "No. Thank you."
II. Last night I was late for stake conference. We had been invited to a first birthday party for my friend Katya's daughter Alexandria. I don't need to explain why I needed to be there; I just knew I needed to be there. The party was supposed to start at five. My youngest and I arrived at 5:45, which should have been fashionably late but also given us enough time to say hello, drop off the present, eat some fabulous Haitian food. And get back in time for stake conference. Things were running late. Stake conference was at seven.
We stayed and mingled and visited. I enjoyed the luxury of watching children playing without worrying about my own and listening to the blend of English, French and Creole that could be heard through the cozy backyard. We rejoiced at the breaking news that friends of ours who've been anxiously waiting to adopt just got a beautiful baby girl. And, at some point later when it seemed appropriate, I finally expressed out loud to Katya's mom the pain I felt while standing at the foot of a hospital bed late Friday night, listening to the juxtaposition of a strong regular whoosh of a fetal heartbeat and the cold words of a doctor stating to my expectant and contracting niece, "We will work hard to save babies after 24 weeks, but you're only 22 weeks, so we won't do anything to save yours should he come." I can wrap my head around that. Sort of. But I can't quite wrap my heart around it. I needed to talk about it. Barbara was the perfect one to listen and hear.
At 6:45 the party started for reals and it was good. Good to meet new people and celebrate with long-time friends. And my first taste of Haitian food was savory and delicious.
I left at 7:25, thinking I could get home, throw on a skirt and be to stake conference by halftime. But as I arrived I found a certain child distraught over the thought of a second night without plans in the same weekend (this never happens--really). Usually one to choose the safety of anger over the vulnerability of tears, said child broke down. Usually one to push back or away, said child allowed an embrace and listening ears. Let love in. I stayed.
The moment of need passed and it was clearly time to leave said child with some space, so I went, taking youngest child to a friend's house. I had no idea what he had heard or observed; I actually thought he was outside the whole time and oblivious.
Until we got in the car. And then I reminded of the extend of this baby brother--the one who gets teased and picked on the most, who is often the brunt of the frustrations and anger of older siblings--this little brother's tender heart. "I called Katie and asked her to text Suze because she needed something fun to do tonight." 11-year-old calls 14-year-old freshman girl friend because he can't stand to watch his big sister's heart break.
Tears ran down my face (again).
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