The Fifth Year: A Meeting With The Master Cartographer

My take on the last five years is different than that of my children. I have been able to reflect both on what I have lost and what I have gained, which is a point they have not yet been able to get to. Mostly because I think they honestly believe they have gained nothing in the loss of their father. And for them, perhaps, this is right. But I need to start by being honest.

I miss being married. I like being married. But I do not miss the marriage Dave and I shared. His life was riddled with so many struggles that were both physical and mental. He was never quite the man he wanted to be. And he lamented that. He wanted to so much more than the sum of the path he had been given to travel. Being a part of his life was difficult. But when he was okay, it was really a lot of fun. And I knew he loved me. But I think he was just tired of the fight. It had been his battle for all of his life. And yet he accomplished so much despite the issues he owned; he was a missionary and a college graduate. A husband and a father. All things I think most people in his life would have never expected of him, and I am proud of him for his accomplishments.

He is no longer that weakened person. He is who he always wanted to be. And I am insanely happy for him because I love him. I know this is true. How? When I arrived at the hospital that night, after I was told and then saw his body just to let it sink in…I sat in a room with my father. Numb. And floating in a surreal fog. And I felt him come to me to say goodbye. And words passed through my mind I knew were his; “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you this way and I’m sorry for all that I did to you. I didn’t mean to.” Besides my happiness for my beloved David, I am happy for us too. He is still a part of our lives and does what he can for us from the other side. My children, and I for that matter, have a built in guardian angel with us. And he is there when he can be, because I know he is busy. There are moments when we know he is near. Ask anyone who has been to one of my kids baptisms J

I know this is the way to was supposed to be. For him. For us.

But it sure made a mess of the map I had all laid out for my life.

Those weeks following David’s death 5 years ago were times of choices and reflections for me. Here I had been given a new map from the Father. I certainly didn’t ask for it, but I felt like the previous map had been torn from my hands and burned. It was simply no longer an option. And the topography on this new map was so vague, and unknown and frightening…a wilderness of choices mostly. So true to form (I am my nature headstrong and a planner), I came up with a plan, somewhat independent of my Father in Heaven, of the journey I wanted to take in this wilderness and chose a destination that seemed positive, even righteous. Five years seemed like a good measure of my efforts, and I would return and report at that time (as it were) on the progress of my journey and whether or not I had reached my destination. But I made a commitment to consult with he who created the map, the master cartographer, about each bend in the road, each mountain and boulder, valley and river I faced. Despite my best intentions, what I truly wanted was the best path. And I knew who already had that mapped out perfectly. Although I thought I knew exactly what I wanted, more than that, I wanted my plans to align closely with His.

Suffice it to say that as my 5 year evaluation drew near, I was questioning my journey. The destination I had pinpointed years ago was on the other side of the wilderness…and included a husband and nuclear family and did NOT include being 35 and living with my parents without a full time job. I was worried that I had gone all “Children of Israel” on the plan and was being forced to wander the desert out of disobedience and haughtiness and lack of faith. I was terrified I had missed my mark because I had been a less then diligent daughter of God and had missed some key turns in the path because I simply was not listening from the inside out, but instead from the outside in.

So I went to the place where I knew I would feel closest to my Father and my Savior, the temple. For they are the Master Cartographers, they made the map I was given. They make everyone’s map, individually and with great care specific to the strengths and weaknesses of each precious soul. I was ready to answer for what I had done with mine.

Feeling like a failure, I went ready to be chastised. To be set right. To be redirected. So I pulled myself away from the world and prayed quietly and simply to try and open my heart to the promptings of the Spirit. I reflected carefully on the last 1825 days of my life and pondered the steps I had taken that had brought me to this point. And I asked what I had done wrong to have been lost in the apparent wilderness still.

And the answer surprised me.

I wasn’t lost at all. I was exactly where the Lord wanted me to be. All the choices I had made were the ones he had wanted me to make (for the most part…the big ones anyway). I was progressing in the manner He had intended for me to progress when he gave me the map. And what was more, I hadn’t actually ever been in the wilderness at all.

I was surprised but satisfied. My thoughts immediately turned towards my future and I sought answers and direction for this yet unrevealed part of my map…a job, a spouse, growing children. What should I do? What path should I take? How do I stay out the wilderness?

The answer was simple and perfect; “Worry less. Live more.”

I do worry. A lot. Almost to the point of obsession and often to the point of sleeplessness. And here was the One who knows me better than anyone else telling me to basically chill out.

It was as if He was saying, “I have taken care of you so far. And every time I have given you a step and you have taken it with faith and courage, you have drawn closer to me and to the destination I had in mind for you all along. Give it Me. Let Me take care of it. You know I will. And just move forward and enjoy the moments instead of worrying about where that moment will lead. I promise they will lead to joy if you let me guide you. Joy is all I ever intended for you from the beginning. Worry less about the future and how to get there. Live more in the moment and relish the peace and joy.”

I felt peace. And the words from a beloved hymn cam quickly to my mind… the verses perfectly summarizing the chain of thoughts and conclusions.

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.

I need Thy presence every passing hour;
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s pow’r?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

This is what 5 years has meant to me…”I triumph still if Thou abide with me.”

The Fifth Year: The Children

Fair warning…you may want to grab a Kleenex.

Last Friday marked a rather significant milestone for me and my children. It was the 5^th anniversary of their father’s passing. At the time, they were 10, 5, 3, and 1. Ashlyn and Conner have no actual memories of their dad, just borrowed ones from others or from home videos or from pictures. For me, this day has meant one thing. For my children, quite another. Let’s start with the children.

At the grave sight the day of the funeral.

For them, it is what they have missed. They want a dad more than anything. They have never known a life in memory with a father, and for them it just screams of injustice. It’s never fun to have to tell someone your dad died before you can even remember him. And then to watch all the other kids your age enjoy their fathers and have not even a memory of a moment to draw on. For Conner and Ashlyn, the grieving process has just begun, because it’s finally something they can understand. It comes in bits and pieces and spurts and we try and deal with it as needed. But again, its what they have missed by the simple thing of being fatherless. I figured it up; 1800 goodnight kisses (Unless your Ashlyn who demands 8 per night and then it’s more like 10,000), 2000 bedtimes stories, 30 birthdays, 2 baptisms, 2 ordinations, 250 family nights, 4000 family prayers, 15 first days of school, and 2 daddy daughter dances.

And those are just simple moments.

Things that most people take for granted, precious jewels of time that most of us cast aside because they seem so common place. And yet it is in those simplest of moments that lifetimes are created. And lifetimes are lost.

My children have lost a lifetime.

Maryn wrote this poem a few days before the anniversary.

February 18^th

February 18^th is my

least favorite day

It reminds me of

horrible things it

reminds me of

my Dear Daddy’s

Death and how

he is no longer

on this earth with

me. I know he is

safe with the all-

mighty god who toke

his last and long breath,

but there I

stand by his beautiful

grave asking him the

best.

These pictures were all snapped by my aunt. I find it significant that this one was on the CD she gave me.

The day after Dave died, I had the job of telling my children their dad was not coming back. Conner and Ashlyn were too young to understand. But Maryn did. I pulled her on my lap, and shared with her the news. Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and she looked up at me as her arms wound around my neck.

"Will he still be my daddy in the resurrection?"

I replied that he would. She pulled me closer and whispered;

"Then I will be okay."

He died that we might live again. That those relationships we build and hold most dear in this life might still be associations we keep in the life after this. The pure and simple faith of a 5 year old who had just lost her father taught me that. It will all be okay. Because He lives, and loves us, it is all truly okay.

Quote of the day

Its been awhile, so here it is: QUOTE OF THE DAY- Paul "Mom, grandma...if you were stuck on a deserted island and could have any three resources, what would you choose? And that doesn't count water or vegetation. And pigs ...pigs count as vegetation."

The Truth Behind the Tart

So I have been browsing this book called “Cherries in Winter”. It’s very charming actually. Suzan Colon shares her own, her mother’s and her grandmother’s stories of life and perseverance in tandem and parallel one with another.
There was one particular part that caught my eye.

Suzan shared how she had been attempting to make her grandmother’s lemon meringue pie. Let’s just say it didn’t go well and her take on the “execution” of the pie was rather amusing. But even as she dumped the egg whites that simply would not meringue -up down the sink and lamented her partial pie that seemed flatter and not much like her grandmother’s at all (although she outright rejoiced over the homemade crust!) her husband assured her it was fine. It could just be a tart and it would taste great. But Suzan continues to be distraught because she wanted a pie. She meant to make a pie, she followed the recipe for a pie, and instead got a tart.

She paralleled this perceived failure with the experience her and her husband were having at that time. They had been married later in life (41 for her, 43 for him),but had decided to try and have a child anyway. They both wanted it very much. They tried everything possible, and every month when her period started she would cry. Finally her husband, holding her one night, asked with a voice cracked with emotion “What are we doing wrong?”. Her response was “Nothing. We’re fine.” And it was in that moment that she realized they really were fine…there was nothing wrong with who they were.
To make plain her metaphor: She wasn’t content with the tart because she had been so focused on the fact it wasn’t a pie. But then again, there was certainly nothing wrong with the tart (outside of the fact it wasn’t a pie).



I sat back, closed the book, and immediately found the parallel with Suzan’s story in my own life.
My life is a tart. And I have been terribly unhappy with my tart-ness because what I was really trying to make all along was a pie. I grew up being taught to be a pie. The flaky crust (myself), the lustrous sweet (and sometimes sour) filling (my kids) and the meringue… fluffy, sweet and protective (a marriage to a good man) on the top.
And yet…here I am meringue-less.
And no matter how much I beat those egg whites, they refuse to become meringues.

And so I lament my tart-ness, pining for the pie I should have been, I planned to be, and that everyone else seems to create with far less effort. But perhaps I was never meant to be a pie…and maybe I’ve been missing out on the delights of being a tart because I’ve been grieving my apparent failure.And it was in that moment I realized that I hadn’t failed at all. There is absolutely nothing wrong with tarts. What would this world be if there was only one choice of dessert? I may even grow to hate chocolate cake if that were the case. And so instead I will enjoy the tart that was supposed to be a pie, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

List Maker

Ashlyn, much to my delight (and often amusement) likes to make lists. She loves them. There is usually one, sometimes two that I see per day. And what is so fun for me, is that she write phonetically according to her first grade knowledge. And she writes lists she feels are logical and important. It is a great insight into how her mind works.

(I will first write the words out exactly as she did, and then offer a translation)


This list is for her birthday party…which is in July. She plans and re-plans it daily and gives me an update on her planning. Here are her plans:
Cake (cake)
Tencrbell toys (Tinkerbell toys)
Frasting candls (Frosting, candles)
Riben ballonns (ribbon, balloons)
Table cloth food table (tablecloth, food, table)
emvatashens (invitations)
And her guest list:
Sindne (Sidney), Jenna, Kacy, Emma, Ella, Lora (Laura), hania (Hannah), behtne (Bethany), krastena (Kristina)

This list I found her making one night on her bed after we had discussed the possibility of going to California as a family. She was elated and immediately began making plans (where she got that from, I will never know)

Californy (California)
Emte 3 playr (MP3 player)
Pelo blanket stuft anamli (Pillow, blanket, stuffed animals)
Clos undrwer socks (Clothes, underwear, socks)
Shoos (shoes)
Chaptstick (Chapstick)
Angalena blaren movies books (Angelina Ballerina, movies, books)
Camra (Camera)
Neckles (necklace)
Sticor creashen (Sticker Creashen)



I love it! It just overflows with cuteness and curiosity! Only two lines are absolute essentials and the rest are the things she has determined are important to this journey. It cracks me up.

The Gift

So in our famly we have this great gift. It is indescribable in many ways. And yet, a few choice words have been assigned to it.



It reminds me of something that should be dangling from the limbs of an evergreen draped in lights and tacky tinsel.
Or something straight out of Aladdin ("Dead Sea tupperware. Phhhbt. Still good.").

Either way...My brother and his wife bought it for my mom as a gag gift.

A little while later, they got it back from her as a joke.

And the game was on.

Everyone has had it in their posession at one point or another.

It has been wrapped in shiny paper at a wedding, tied with ribbon for birthdays, and presented as "Welcome home from your mission" gift. We though about sending it to Brazil when one of my brothers was down there, but we were afraid since the Brazilians are notorious for pre-opening packages, someone would think it was shiny and from America and keep it. Plus Bryant said he wouldn't have made room in his luggage to bring it home. Obviously he has his priorities all messed up.

It has also been given on the sly, or in disguise. Like this last time. Garrett and Amanda had it. They sent it home from Utah with Tamra and had Tamra wrap it and bring it as a white elephant to our family party. It was a in the biggest box under the tree, tucked safely in a brown box splattered with pleas "I'm the best present under this tree! Take me!" or "You'll love me, I promise!" and "You'll hurt my feelings if you don't pick me. No, Seriously."
Awesome!

And the lucky recipient...Bryant!

You never know when it will show up. Or how it will come to be in your posession. Or even when it will be useful. Like the time my mom's hand pump on her REAL soap dispenser broke and she traded it out.

So now besides being horrifically ugly, it also doesn't work.
Shame that.

-I will refrain from making snide (and yet loving) brother comments at this point. -

Anyway, the funny thing about this gift is that even though its the less then perfect gift we would all be a little sad if it disappeared.

It is, after all, the gift that truly keeps on giving.

Or maybe because its mere presence reminds of something...
We will always have each other.
Even when we can't see each other, we know the others are around and will eventually show up.
And we may just show up when you least expect us, but its more likely at birthdays and weddings and holidays.
Or missions.
Sometimes the wrappings and the situations may change, but whats inside the package will never alter.
And we all know what's ugly inside and manage to not mind when we show up anyway, because it makes it kind of fun and gives us a reason to laugh.
And it helps us remember how precious the simplest things are when shared with people who love you.

For : My Mom, Dad, Melanie, Robert, Bryant, Garrett (And Amy!).
The people who know all my ugly secrets but continue to believe the best of me. They back me up, pick me up, and hold me up.
They are the greatest gift I have ever received.

And I don't mind at all if they show up when I least expect it.

Payback

Last night at supper, Conner and Ashlyn were both seated on the piano bench since they have the smallest behinds. A kafuffle ensued. There was spitting, and hitting and pushing. And when the grownups intervened; there was blaming from Conner and looks of sweet (fake) innocence from Ashlyn. And Conner was told he needed to move over to another chair. He refused. Refusal is not acceptable in our home. So dad got up to physically move Conner to where he was told to go. As he was being towed away from the bench, he broke free long enough to run over to Ashlyn, lean in very close, and menacingly announce through clenched teeth “You’re going to pay for this!”

Threats also do not go over well in this house and grandpa placed a firm hand on his hind-end as he was not too gently placed into his new chair. Two rivers of silent tears formed on his cheeks as he continued to (more quietly) protest. “But she HIT me!” (More innocent looks from Ashlyn…who then in fairness was also moved, cried, and ended up in her room for 10 minutes because she was hysterically sobbing over moving to the other side of me. Drama.)

Things calmed down and the evening continued without further incident.

This morning we got up and started getting ready for school. Ashlyn was frantically and whinily looking for her shoes. She is infamous for not really looking at all, but just standing there whining about not being able to find something until I go find it for her. So this morning I told her 4 places to look, and that if she came back and said they weren’t there, and then I went and found them where she had previously “looked” that her Angelina Ballerina doll would have to sleep with me tonight instead of with her.

She was motivated.

And she diligently looked in all the places I suggested to no avail.

Finally, grandma suggested she look upstairs. She came back down with them a few minutes later, declaring they had been hidden somewhere obscure (I don’t remember where now).

Suddenly, at the table, cereal bowl before him, spoon in hand…Conner smiles impishly. “I told you you would pay for it.”

That little stinker.

I’m trying to be angry. But that is honestly exactly the kind of payback I can appreciate.