That's it. That's just the way it is. I need more Sabbaths in my week... in my life. Funny how we come stumbling and tired into Sunday, after a week of being out and about in the business and busy-ness of our lives. I don't know about you, but sometimes as the week progresses on, the potential of life begins to feel less tangible and more theoretical. And then Sunday comes. Usually, my house is a complete disaster, my thoughts and internal drive even more jumbled and unpurposeful than my unmade bed and stacked sink of dishes. I walk into church and within a few minutes... whooosh. I'm grounded again (in the good sense, not the teen-age disciplinary sense).
This Sunday was no exception. In fact, it ended up being even better than most. It was Stake Conference. The Captain and I attended both the Saturday night adult session as well as Sunday morning. Hence my declaration: I need more Sabbaths. What an additional boost that Saturday night session was to me. Just that one night, there were excellent talks given regarding "Living After the Manner of Happiness," "Couple Missionary Work," (my fondest hope, by the way), "Strengthening Marriage," "Progression through Temple Participation and Meaning" (given by Merrill Bateman, currently the president of the Provo Temple -- can I just say "WOW?!?!?" What a talk. I was riveted. I'm also leaving in about 45 minutes to go to the temple, so, um, yeah, he was effective), and "The Responsibility of Fathers and Grandfathers."
The next day was just as uplifting and thought-provoking.
Saturday night, we sat a row behind my good friend's husband (she was speaking so she was on the stand). Anyway, I noticed that he had brought a hard-bound book (like a journal) and was taking notes in it. That really made me think. Especially once President Bateman got started and I was wishing more than anything I had some paper to take some notes to record not just what he was teaching but also the personal thoughts and reflections those teachings were causing me to have. Brother Graham (the man in front of me) is a very good man. He's a retired physician. He and his wife have raised four children. He's a previous bishop. He and his wife returned a few years ago from a mission to Central American (they met Brett there while he was serving in El Salvador). Both he and his wife served missions to Mexico when they were young and single. And there he sat, taking notes in a book that he uses exclusively for taking notes at church meetings. I wonder how long he's been doing that. Could it be that the purpose of that notebook has been to spread a little Sabbath throughout the weeks of his life instead of simply one day during the weekends? And... more interestingly, I wonder about the correlation between that simple practice and the accumulated experiences of his life to date. Cause and effect? I'd like to think so. And I'd like the same results of a life well-lived.
Whaddya know??? A way to have more Sabbaths. So, Sunday morning I went to Conference armed with my new "Sabbath during the week" notebook. I took notes. I recorded what was pertinent to me at the time. And during the week, as the week drones on and drains the tangible sense of the Gospel from the purpose of each day, I can pull out that notebook and escape for a few minutes. Remember the teachings. Remember the impressions from a previous Sunday's instructions. And voila... a mini-Sabbath during the week.
Thanks Brother Graham. Oh, and yes, I'll be calling him today and asking him for a copy of his notes from President Bateman's talk. If any of you are interested, I'd be happy to share those things he taught. They really were amazing.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
There's Gotta Be a Wrench Thrown In it Somewhere, Right?
Okay, so many of you have already read in an earlier post about the major effort and runaround it took to talk to my number 1 missionary son during the last Christmas holiday. So... Mother's Day rolls around. Another anticipated phone conversation. Only this time, I'm the one that turned the tables. The Captain and I decided to go to San Diego to spend Mother's Day with my mother (kinda left my own kids like Mother's Day orphans here at home, but oh well). I forgot to send my weekly email the week before until later Sunday afternoon, so I worried that Mr. Elder (Brother Elder? Elder Elder?) wouldn't know I wasn't home for the phone call. I wrote my mom's telephone number in the message, clicked on "Send" and hoped for the best.
New Zealand is 18 hours ahead of us time-wise, so it's always anybody's guess which clock he's running on when he decides to call. If he calls on his Mother's Day, that means Saturday here. Or, if he thinks ahead enough to know to call on my Mother's Day, it'll be Monday for him. Then again... what if he didn't read my email until it was too late to call... So, again, it was a nerve-wracking, nail-biting Sunday.
Finally, around 5:00 or so (maybe later... I was likely delirious from 'waiting for the phone to ring' fatigue), I heard my Mom hoot (yes, she hoots every now and again. If you haven't heard it, you should set aside some time to spend with her) after she answered the phone. Being the nice mom she is, she didn't play her power card of "I'm the Grandma, I'm talking first!!!" but instead handed the phone over to me.
The Elder sounds great. He also sounds funny still. He doesn't really have an accent, per se, but he does speak with a British-like inflection at the end of sentences and things like that. It cracks me up. He's busy. He says he's been recently transferred to the southern-most point of his mission, complete with penguins, -- just in time for winter in New Zealand. (That made me laugh since he HATES cold weather.) Anyway, they have a baptism scheduled in two weeks and a couple other people close to baptismal commitments. So, he's feeling really good about that. And, he says he has now ditched the bike for a car. (So much for the bulging thigh muscles he was bragging about at Christmastime.)
Hard to believe that he'll be home in 7 months. His mission has gone by really fast. Of course, he still has his priorities right. He wanted to know when the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's Christmas concert was scheduled for this year so he could figure out if he'd be home in time for the Little America brunch buffet. After the Captain looked it up, we told him the date and he's a bit nervous. It'll be close...
New Zealand is 18 hours ahead of us time-wise, so it's always anybody's guess which clock he's running on when he decides to call. If he calls on his Mother's Day, that means Saturday here. Or, if he thinks ahead enough to know to call on my Mother's Day, it'll be Monday for him. Then again... what if he didn't read my email until it was too late to call... So, again, it was a nerve-wracking, nail-biting Sunday.
Finally, around 5:00 or so (maybe later... I was likely delirious from 'waiting for the phone to ring' fatigue), I heard my Mom hoot (yes, she hoots every now and again. If you haven't heard it, you should set aside some time to spend with her) after she answered the phone. Being the nice mom she is, she didn't play her power card of "I'm the Grandma, I'm talking first!!!" but instead handed the phone over to me.
The Elder sounds great. He also sounds funny still. He doesn't really have an accent, per se, but he does speak with a British-like inflection at the end of sentences and things like that. It cracks me up. He's busy. He says he's been recently transferred to the southern-most point of his mission, complete with penguins, -- just in time for winter in New Zealand. (That made me laugh since he HATES cold weather.) Anyway, they have a baptism scheduled in two weeks and a couple other people close to baptismal commitments. So, he's feeling really good about that. And, he says he has now ditched the bike for a car. (So much for the bulging thigh muscles he was bragging about at Christmastime.)
Hard to believe that he'll be home in 7 months. His mission has gone by really fast. Of course, he still has his priorities right. He wanted to know when the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's Christmas concert was scheduled for this year so he could figure out if he'd be home in time for the Little America brunch buffet. After the Captain looked it up, we told him the date and he's a bit nervous. It'll be close...
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Time to Reconstruct a Life - Again (Part I)
(Cue the violins... this one is a pity party.)
I don’t know about you, but since entering into adulthood all those years ago, it seems my life can’t go more than a few years without being blown up in some major way. Does this happen to everyone? The scary part is it seems each blow-up gets bigger and more impactful in its scope or duration. I’ve watched demolition shows on Discovery Channel. You know, the ones where they have to remove a building from the middle of downtown Las Vegas. The engineers strategically plant explosives in different places on different levels. They program them to go off at different times. So, it should be no surprise that when the universe (or the people who have access to me) decide it’s time for another round of “Let’s Rock Karla’s World – and not in a good way,” that everything seems to be synchronized to go off in a series rather than one fail swoop. (Sigh....)
Right now, I’m looking at a drawn-out-over-four-years blow up process. Started about the middle of 2005 and still doesn’t seem to be finished. Now, don’t get me wrong. I know all about the idea that what gets built up from the rubble of what was taken down is usually better, brighter, newer (well, obviously), and in all ways progressive, but geez, it’s a lot of work to rebuild. There are so many questions and so many decisions to make so that the rebuild makes the destruction worth it. Who should be the contractors I approve to work on this new construction project? What kind of time-line is reasonable for this to be finished? Is it reasonable to expect other construction workers to show up for this task or, since it’s my life, am I the only one responsible for getting things rebuilt? What exactly is the floorplan I want and need? And, the most frustrating question of all: Why wasn’t I part of the planning committee that decided to blow it all up in the first place? I mean, when they blow up something in Vegas, I’m sure the property owners had a say, or at least advance notice so they could exit the building... wouldn’t you think?
I’m having trouble envisioning what kind of "structure" is now needed to house what will be my reconstructed life.
Some days I think about rebuilding a huge family compound... a space and place for every imaginable family relationship. Luxurious master suite retreat complete with separate his and hers walk-in closets, large family gathering room, big kitchen for loving and serving and meeting everyone’s needs, plenty of kids rooms and a rumpus room for the next generation of grandchildren and cousins to grow and play. Memories to make; relationships to forge and weld together.
Other days, maybe it would be a good idea to ditch the compound for a small place with a large library/study and a craft room. Lots of new learning, trying new things that I've always had an interest in but haven't yet pursued.
Then again, maybe the basic plan is okay, but I should turn it a new direction. Reposition it on the building lot a little differently. Just alter the location of the rooms to be open to having new views and vistas. Purposely position myself to look at things I've never seen before.
But sometimes I think maybe I just need a penthouse with a guest room for the occasional visitor who asks for an invite to come to my exotic location as they take a vacation from their own life.
Maybe a college dorm approach would suit my needs for awhile. Renewable leases with no permanent commitments. Wait... I’m an adult. I’m too old for that lifestyle again. Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt and everything else... except the degree.
Awww, well... For now, I’m tired of feeling like my life has taken up permanent residence in a Hurricane Katrina tent city. I think I’ll check my life into a hotel room for a day or two. The building is already there. Someone else did the construction and the planning. Room service is available. And... there’s someone else to do the cleanup. It can't really accomodate a life... but hey, there's a bed to sleep in, a pool to swim in, and movies on demand right in your room. Might be nice for a week or two.
I don’t know about you, but since entering into adulthood all those years ago, it seems my life can’t go more than a few years without being blown up in some major way. Does this happen to everyone? The scary part is it seems each blow-up gets bigger and more impactful in its scope or duration. I’ve watched demolition shows on Discovery Channel. You know, the ones where they have to remove a building from the middle of downtown Las Vegas. The engineers strategically plant explosives in different places on different levels. They program them to go off at different times. So, it should be no surprise that when the universe (or the people who have access to me) decide it’s time for another round of “Let’s Rock Karla’s World – and not in a good way,” that everything seems to be synchronized to go off in a series rather than one fail swoop. (Sigh....)
Right now, I’m looking at a drawn-out-over-four-years blow up process. Started about the middle of 2005 and still doesn’t seem to be finished. Now, don’t get me wrong. I know all about the idea that what gets built up from the rubble of what was taken down is usually better, brighter, newer (well, obviously), and in all ways progressive, but geez, it’s a lot of work to rebuild. There are so many questions and so many decisions to make so that the rebuild makes the destruction worth it. Who should be the contractors I approve to work on this new construction project? What kind of time-line is reasonable for this to be finished? Is it reasonable to expect other construction workers to show up for this task or, since it’s my life, am I the only one responsible for getting things rebuilt? What exactly is the floorplan I want and need? And, the most frustrating question of all: Why wasn’t I part of the planning committee that decided to blow it all up in the first place? I mean, when they blow up something in Vegas, I’m sure the property owners had a say, or at least advance notice so they could exit the building... wouldn’t you think?
I’m having trouble envisioning what kind of "structure" is now needed to house what will be my reconstructed life.
Some days I think about rebuilding a huge family compound... a space and place for every imaginable family relationship. Luxurious master suite retreat complete with separate his and hers walk-in closets, large family gathering room, big kitchen for loving and serving and meeting everyone’s needs, plenty of kids rooms and a rumpus room for the next generation of grandchildren and cousins to grow and play. Memories to make; relationships to forge and weld together.
Other days, maybe it would be a good idea to ditch the compound for a small place with a large library/study and a craft room. Lots of new learning, trying new things that I've always had an interest in but haven't yet pursued.
Then again, maybe the basic plan is okay, but I should turn it a new direction. Reposition it on the building lot a little differently. Just alter the location of the rooms to be open to having new views and vistas. Purposely position myself to look at things I've never seen before.
But sometimes I think maybe I just need a penthouse with a guest room for the occasional visitor who asks for an invite to come to my exotic location as they take a vacation from their own life.
Maybe a college dorm approach would suit my needs for awhile. Renewable leases with no permanent commitments. Wait... I’m an adult. I’m too old for that lifestyle again. Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt and everything else... except the degree.
Awww, well... For now, I’m tired of feeling like my life has taken up permanent residence in a Hurricane Katrina tent city. I think I’ll check my life into a hotel room for a day or two. The building is already there. Someone else did the construction and the planning. Room service is available. And... there’s someone else to do the cleanup. It can't really accomodate a life... but hey, there's a bed to sleep in, a pool to swim in, and movies on demand right in your room. Might be nice for a week or two.
Friday, May 1, 2009
I Won!!! I Won!!!
So... over a week ago I entered a contest on one of my favorite blog sites (Confessions of A Pioneer Woman). She had collaborated with Snapfish. They were going to choose 50 of the entries and give them 5 free copies of the book they designed on the Snapfish site. (Snapfish allows you to take your digital photos and upload them to their site and make a photobook out of them.) So I went... uploaded a boatload of our photos. I designed my book the way I wanted it and linked it to the Pioneer Woman promotion... and I won!!! Woo Hoo!!! I get five free copies of my own book of family photos. I'm so excited I can't stand it!!! I won! I won!
Cue the acceptance speech (start the timer): I'd like to thank the Academy for recognizing my efforts. I never thought this day would come. I'd also like to thank Canon for their remarkable camera. Point and shoot -- what a concept! I'd like to thank the Captain for buying me a camera for Christmas when we really couldn't afford it. I'd like to thank Rob, Brett, Josh, Katie, Spencer (tho' for some reason there aren't a lot of pictures of him... go figure... I never imagined him as camera-shy), Jon, Mae, Juliann, Rachael, the Captain, Bryce Canyon, Calf Creek, the San Diego shoreline, and all other unwilling participants of my photo-documentary of life. Oh, I can hear the orchestra starting up. That must mean we need to break to commercial now. Thank you! Thank you! You like me. You really like me. (A la Sally Field for those of you that are too young to understand why those last two lines are funny.)
Well, gotta run now. Going to go log onto Snapfish and see the particulars of how soon I can receive my photobooks.
Woo hoo! I'm a winner! I think I'll make myself a lapel button that says, "I'm a Winner" and wear it around the house to remind people just who they're in the presence of and how they should treat me if they want a copy of the book. Just kidding! Really! It isn't going to my head. Really.
Cue the acceptance speech (start the timer): I'd like to thank the Academy for recognizing my efforts. I never thought this day would come. I'd also like to thank Canon for their remarkable camera. Point and shoot -- what a concept! I'd like to thank the Captain for buying me a camera for Christmas when we really couldn't afford it. I'd like to thank Rob, Brett, Josh, Katie, Spencer (tho' for some reason there aren't a lot of pictures of him... go figure... I never imagined him as camera-shy), Jon, Mae, Juliann, Rachael, the Captain, Bryce Canyon, Calf Creek, the San Diego shoreline, and all other unwilling participants of my photo-documentary of life. Oh, I can hear the orchestra starting up. That must mean we need to break to commercial now. Thank you! Thank you! You like me. You really like me. (A la Sally Field for those of you that are too young to understand why those last two lines are funny.)
Well, gotta run now. Going to go log onto Snapfish and see the particulars of how soon I can receive my photobooks.
Woo hoo! I'm a winner! I think I'll make myself a lapel button that says, "I'm a Winner" and wear it around the house to remind people just who they're in the presence of and how they should treat me if they want a copy of the book. Just kidding! Really! It isn't going to my head. Really.
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