This is my Father's World

* from our most recent trip to the Redwoods, June 8th.

My heart has felt burdened lately. I'm sure mostly because of the memories that are haunting me from a year ago, but it doesn't help that there are other things weighing on me. I wonder if my heart will ever know life without this feeling of grief following me everywhere. Does it ever really go away?

It followed me to church yesterday. I had already had an emotional morning. One of those where I had to keep re-applying my make-up because I couldn't keep the tears from coming. I hate it when that happens. I had to resort to the embarrassing task of firmly scolding myself in the mirror, "stop it! no more crying!" (And, it's even more embarrassing that that actually worked.)

When I arrived at church, I found my pew on the far right-hand side where I get my best view of Marc, as he sits up on the stand. (I love watching him when I get bored of the speakers... and always wonder what the whispers are that go on between him and our bishop. I'm sure it's much less interesting than it appears.)

I sat and closed my eyes as the organist played her prelude music. She is very talented and plays so beautifully. There is one hymn she always plays that I'm not familiar with, but there is something about it that carries extra comfort to my heart. Yesterday that was my gift. As I sat there with my heavy heart, the music wrapped its comfort around me. I thanked her later for playing that particular hymn in her prelude, but I wonder if she realizes it was at the top of my list of my "I thank thees" last night as I knelt in prayer before bed. 

In our brief exchange, she told me the name of the hymn. As she quoted me the words of the first verse, tears filled her eyes and I could see that the song meant something more to her, too. So, yesterday I spent some time searching for the hymn online and found six verses of beautiful words, which brought me to tears as I read them. I was surprised to also find a video of an organist playing it in the Conference Center. I'm still very partial to the way My Organist plays it, but the hymn is so beautiful I have to share.

This is my Father's World

This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done:
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and Heav’n be one.

This is my Father’s world, dreaming, I see His face.
I open my eyes, and in glad surprise cry, “The Lord is in this place.”
This is my Father’s world, from the shining courts above,
The Beloved One, His Only Son,
Came—a pledge of deathless love.

This is my Father’s world, should my heart be ever sad?
The lord is King—let the heavens ring. God reigns—let the earth be glad.
This is my Father’s world. Now closer to Heaven bound,
For dear to God is the earth Christ trod.
No place but is holy ground.

This is my Father’s world. I walk a desert lone.
In a bush ablaze to my wondering gaze God makes His glory known.
This is my Father’s world, a wanderer I may roam
Whate’er my lot, it matters not,
My heart is still at home.

Words: Malt­bie D. Bab­cock, 1901, alt. While a pas­tor in Lock­port, New York, Bab­cock liked to hike in an ar­ea called “the es­carp­ment,” an an­cient up­thrust ledge near Lock­port. It has a mar­vel­ous view of farms, or­chards, and Lake On­tar­io, about 15 miles dis­tant. It is said those walks in the woods in­spired these lyr­ics. The ti­tle re­calls an ex­press­ion Bab­cock used when start­ing a walk: “I’m go­ing out to see my Fa­ther’s world.”

*hymn verses and text came from this site.

Gardening

While Marc and I were out and about tonight, we stopped by my parents' house for a bit. Every time we drop by, I just have to admire their vegetable garden that is growing so lushly. It's one of my favorite retreats. As we went about running other errands, before I knew it we were at our local home improvement store, perusing the plant section. I thought I had decided I wasn't going to do a garden this year.

Turns out that I can't resist plants. We came home with a beautiful array of colorful flowers to plant in the empty pot on our front porch. I'm already looking forward to the welcome they will offer every time we come home. And, to fill the small, empty garden box in the backyard we found some tomatoes, sweet (irresistable) basil, and lemon cucumber plants. As soon as we returned home, I found my green thumb was anxious to come out. I spent an hour with my hands in the dirt, carefully securing our new plants, excited to have something to look after and nurture for the summer.

After scrubbing the dirt from underneath my fingernails, I started my preparations for my long Wednesday. It's my favorite day of the week that takes me down to the Bay and up to my little piece of heaven on earth. The two hour drive, each way, is so worth what I get in return.

With my hands busy with the peanut butter and strawberry jam (for lunch tomorrow), Marc joined me in the kitchen to get his hands working on dinner. He whipped out a delicious Mexican meal of black beans, mexican rice, corn tortillas, and other various toppings. It was seriously so good. 

As I was eating dinner (made even sweeter by the love with which it was made), thinking about our new garden, a cool breeze came in through the window. The smell of freshly cut grass suddenly joined my thoughts. I was reminded that there are small things that bring me joy. I keep feeling disappointed in not having the one joy we desire - having a child - but, tonight I was grateful to find joy come from some small ones.

A spontaneous whim to buy a few plants was my relief today.

In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.

 - John Muir

Learning to Live

I have gotten progressively worse at checking in. It isn't that I don't have anything to say, but rather the opposite. There are so many thoughts that have clumped themselves together in one big mess that I've been avoiding them about as much as the similarly messy clump of hair in our bathtub drain at the moment. Sad as it is, it really has felt that undesirable to sort through. 

And, just when I was feeling some motivation to share some of my thoughts and experiences from the last couple of weeks, I am distracted by some sad news. I was actually in the middle of writing about some of our most recent adventures when Marc called out from upstairs, "Truman Madsen died today."

As a philosophy student at BYU, I became very familiar with the writings and thoughts of Truman G. Madsen, who was a philosopher, a professor, a writer, a gifted orator with a destinctive voice. Even though I never officially met him, as I've read his books and studied his writings, I have admired the great man behind the great words. I'm sad today to learn that he has died.

But, it feels fitting that the main topic on my mind the last couple of weeks goes along perfectly with certain words of Truman Madsen I read years ago that have remained with me. In his book The Highest in Us, he discusses the difference between being active and being alive, pointing out that something can be active without being alive and emphasizing greater importance on being alive and really living. 

Living.

For the better part of the last year grief has left me feeling numb. I have tried to find joy in life. I've counted my blessings and tried to seek out the good in my life. To be honest, I have faked a lot of feelings, and for the most part it has worked in helping me get through a really hard year. But, there is a piercing sadness in my heart to admit that deep down I have felt detached from many of the joys that used to come so easily. I used to be able to look at something beautiful and appreciate its beauty without even having to try.

Now, when I look at the fuschia-colored flowers in our backyard it isn't enough to just see them with my eyes anymore; I have to make a conscious effort to let their beauty sink into my soul. When I hear a bird singing, I have to close my eyes to focus on its song until the sound goes past my ears and finds its way to my heart. And, while it's a little frustrating to have to go through so much more effort to find beauty and joy in the world around me, I feel like it's provided me with an opportunity to live a new, better life than I lived in my first thirty years. There have been moments recently when I've felt such deep feelings of beauty and joy... almost as if they are running through my veins and I can't help but wonder if I ever really lived before the death of our twins.

I'm choosing to live. I'm pausing to look up at the stars. I'm taking my shoes off to feel the grass on my barefeet. I'm making a conscious effort to live life a little more fully. I need to, but I also want to because I recognize it's a blessing I now have that I may not always have. I have had moments of guilt and sadness that Elliana and Emmaline didn't get a chance to experience these things here, and while I hope it will be more than made up to them after this life, I find myself wanting to enjoy it all a little bit more for them. It's like when a friend recently traveled to Italy, I urged her to enjoy some nocciola gelato for me. There was a feeling of joy thinking of her enjoying something that I love so much.

I know that from a larger perspective this life is very brief and I would hate to get to the end and wish I would have paused more to just live, to see, to taste, to hear, to feel, to touch, to love, to be loved. I'm learning to live on purpose, like I mean it. I hope, in the process, I'll find my dreams coming true.

Rest in peace, Brother Madsen. Your influence has made its impact on my life and so many others. Thank you for sharing your wisdom so freely.

Bike to Work Day

Today, in this part of California at least, was Bike to Work Day. I think it's so cool to have a day for something like that. If only there were more of them in a year. Though, that's easy for me to say. Since Marc works from home and I work for him, we don't have a commute to worry about, nor do we typically add much to the daily amounts of car emissions mixing in our atmosphere. There is great peace of mind about that when I put on my green "every day is earth day" hat. (Love that hat.)

I felt a little left out that we weren't able to bike to work, so this afternoon we decided instead to go on a bike ride in honor of the day. Marc happened to have an appointment and I decided to tag along. While he was in his meeting, I found a shady spot of grass under a large redwood tree. After enjoying a quick, but deeply touching, phone conversation with an amazing and wise friend, I opened up the book I brought with me - Viktor Frankl's Man's Search For Meaning. 

As I was hurrying out the door, I grabbed it without a second thought, because honestly if there is one topic that has been weighing more heavily on my mind lately, it's my search for meaning and purpose. It's been a matter of serious prayer, pleadings for answers that have caused many tears to fall. I've turned to various sources, seeking answers to my questions. Today, I was hoping that Mr. Frankl would fill in some of the gaps, that I would find some insight, some perspective, some understanding about the purpose of suffering. I picked up where I had left off who-knows-how-many-months-ago, and not even two sentences in, I was reading words that offered an abundance of light. Had I had a red pencil with me, I would have marked every sentence of the dozen or so pages I read. 

Here's just one phrase I will share that made its impact on me today:

We had to learn ourselves and, furthermore, we had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us.

Beautiful.

With a number of competing thoughts vying for my attention lately, between my friend's encouraging words and the ideas expressed by Mr. Frankl, direction for some choices I've been considering seemed so clear.

Now, I'm just hoping those feelings will stay with me in the coming days as I continue my search for meaning. If I didn't know any better I would give all the credit to Bike to Work Day.

To Our Angel Mothers

"All that I am or ever hope to be,

I owe to my angel mother."

- Abraham Lincoln

Family Portrait - 1981 (roughly)

Family Portrait - 1984 (roughly)

I blame my parents and the family I was blessed with for the painfulness of my childlessness. It's all their fault that I've always wanted a van full of kids. My childhood memories are too sweet and far too joyful to ever give up that dream. I'm amazed at how my Mom managed a home of eight hungry mouths (nine, if you count my Dad) and 80 dirty fingers, and on top of that provided us with the luxuries of homemade bread and handmade dresses (for the girls, I mean). I don't know how she did it. She is more than an angel.

I know Marc echoes the same sentiments for his Mom, as he grew up under a similar roof with goodly parents, a van full of kids, and the luxuries of homemade bread and Hostess fruit pies (although the pies should probably be attributed to his father, the Dentist). I never would have imagined I'd be blessed to marry into a family so much like my own. From the day I met Marc, I knew he must have an angel for a mother, too.

Happy Mother's Day, to both our Moms. We love you.

I was noticing in both the photos above the rather serious expressions on my face... I have to remember to ask my parents about that.

Was my general demeaner as a child always so serious?

To Be Held

Last night I was at the grocery store picking up a few items. When I turned down the ice cream isle, I found I was sharing it with another woman, her elementary-aged daughter, and their stroller. I glanced quickly at the sleeping baby as I reached for the Double Strawberry ice cream, only to then realize that her stroller was a double, cradling a second sleeping baby behind the first. Twins. My heart skipped a beat as I envied her abundance and wondered if she knew how blessed she was. There was a physical ache that seemed to run from my heart to my arms as I looked at her beautiful babies. I wanted to tell her how beautiful they were, but the way my heart's rhythm had suddenly increased, I knew that forming the words would initiate a total meltdown there among the ice cream. It all happened so fast, I'm sure she wasn't even aware that I was there, let alone the angst that was oozing out of my heart wishing to have my twins here, whose story is so much different than hers. 

I had to be very careful how I worded that last sentence. Our stories are different, this is true. But, I almost wrote "whose stories ended much differently." But, the truth that keeps my heart pumping is that our twins' story has not ended. And, while I clearly feel pain and sadness at how different my story is from this other woman's, there is another side to the bitter pain and heartache that gives our story an enviable sweetness.

Having experienced new depths of disappointment and agony, and having made it through some very dark and lonely nights, I now know things I didn't know before; things I couldn't have known any other way. I have experienced heaven's comfort in such tangible ways that have been burned into the fibers of my soul. There is no doubt in my mind or in my heart that through this nightmare I have been held, I have been carried, I have been understood, I have been loved and cared for by the One person who can truthfully say, "I know, because I have walked the path you're walking now."

I still have moments when shock and panic hit me with such a force that it feels like it all happened yesterday. And, I find myself getting trapped in wondering why things had to take the course they took and how I'm expected to survive living to a ripe old age with this pain of loss plaguing my heart. In some ways time does bring healing, and I have to hope that that'll continue to ring true. But, I have to constantly remind myself that it's only in falling, in losing, in suffering that I can truly learn the lengths the Savior will go to pick me up and make me whole again. And, recognizing that His lows far exceed any lows I have or will ever experience has only deepened my awe and gratitude towards Him.

The last year of my life has made me rich in experience and understanding of His love and atonement on a very personal level. And, though I'm still tempted with thoughts that I was denied a miracle, I am reminded that God has kept His promises to me. He never promised me that I wouldn't fall, that I wouldn't hurt, that I'd be free from disappointment and pain... BUT, He did promise that He would carry my burden, that He would run to me in my hour of need, that He would not leave me comfortless, that He would heal my broken heart. Even in my lowest of moments, not even then have I felt abandoned by Him. And, I know one day I'll get a much clearer glimpse of how much I really have been carried through this period.

Not too long ago I came across a beautiful song that expresses so much of what I've felt lately. I'm grateful for my hardest trials that have taught me what it means to be loved, to be held. Without them, I wouldn't know with the surety I know of the reality of a loving God. If there ever was doubt, there is none now.

Natalie Grant - Held

Two months is too little.
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.

Who told us we'd be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We're asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It's unfair.

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.

This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hands opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.

If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know, that the promise was when everything fell, we'd be held
This is what it means to be held.

Sunday leisurely reading

Last week in Relief Society I taught Lesson 31, which ended up being a very overwhelming task. I'm happy to report that I survived working the DVD player and never once did my knees crumble beneath me. In my preparation for that lesson, I came across two talks that have been on my mind a lot for the last couple of weeks, and thought I might share them here for your Sunday leisurely reading. They are very much worth your time.

They have brought a measure of comfort and understanding to my heart, even confirming to my soul that some words truly can heal a wounded heart. I'm grateful for the examples of really good people who have gone through really difficult trials; for the things I can learn from them and the comfort of knowing I'm in good company. 

Here's a small taste of the first talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, given at a CES fireside last year, Lessons from Liberty Jail: 

But tonight’s message is that when you have to, you can have sacred, revelatory, profoundly instructive experience with the Lord in any situation you are in. Indeed, let me say that even a little stronger: You can have sacred, revelatory, profoundly instructive experience with the Lord in the most miserable experiences of your life—in the worst settings, while enduring the most painful injustices, when facing the most insurmountable odds and opposition you have ever faced.

Now let’s talk about those propositions for a moment. Every one of us, in one way or another, great or small, dramatic or incidental, is going to spend a little time in Liberty Jail—spiritually speaking. We will face things we do not want to face for reasons that may not have been our fault. Indeed, we may face difficult circumstances for reasons that were absolutely right and proper, reasons that came because we were trying to keep the commandments of the Lord. We may face persecution; we may endure heartache and separation from loved ones; we may be hungry and cold and forlorn. Yes, before our lives are over we may all be given a little taste of what the prophets faced often in their lives. But the lessons of the winter of 1838–39 teach us that every experience can become a redemptive experience if we remain bonded to our Father in Heaven through that difficulty. These difficult lessons teach us that man’s extremity is God’s opportunity, and if we will be humble and faithful, if we will be believing and not curse God for our problems, He can turn the unfair and inhumane and debilitating prisons of our lives into temples—or at least into a circumstance that can bring comfort and revelation, divine companionship and peace.

The second talk is by Elder Neal A. Maxwell, given more than 30 years ago, also at a CES fireside, Take up the Cross:

Just as no two snowflakes are precisely alike in design, so the configuration of life's challenges differs also. Some of our experiences are not fully shareable with others. Thus, others, try as they may, cannot fully appreciate them. They must trust us, our generalizations and testimonies concerning these experiences. A few of our experiences should not even be shared. But it is useful to ponder the past examples of our partners on the pathway. 

In the midst of some of these individualized challenges, however, we may cry out on our small scale as the Savior did on the cross, or as the Prophet did in Liberty Jail. Being in agony, we will pray more earnestly, for cries of agony are not the same as cries of despair. 

Our individual experiences may not always be unique, but they are always authentic. God will even take into account our perceptions of, as well as our responses to, our trials. For those of us who do not, for instance, find claustrophobia a challenge, it is difficult to measure the terror that comes to those for whom it is such a challenge. Thus, a friend may seem to struggle unnecessarily long before finally prevailing with regard to a particular principle of the gospel. But for that individual, the struggle was real enough! We need, particularly, to understand with kindness those who are asked o go out to do battle again on a familiar field--on the very battleground where they have already suffered defeat several times. Yet some of our most difficult victories will occur on new terrain--like Joseph's in Egypt--when we do not have the equivalent of a "home court" advantage. 

We must remember that, while the Lord reminded the Prophet Joseph Smith that he had not yet suffered as Job, only the Lord can compare crosses!

April's first half - Photo Essay

Day at the beach - finding treasures, chasing waves, exploring a lighthouse:

Day at the lake  feeding ducks:

Visit to the cemetery with Mandi and Audrey:

Easter lunch with my parents and Yui:

(The most delicious chocolate cake, innovatively made over skype.)

Easter afternoon at the cemetery:

We found that some anonymous angel(s) had left four new bouquets of flowers for our girls.

So simple and so sweet.

We left some fresh tulips and lupin, sure to attract the deer to come visit.

Happy deer, enjoying their own Easter feast.