My Not-So-Perfect, Just-Right Dad

I'm pretty sure I've said a million times of my dad that he raised twelve children who each thought they were his favorite child.  He's an amazing man with an amazing heart and ability to be present with whomever, whenever.

When I watch him now with his grandchildren, I see him doing the same thing. In a room full of cousins, aunts, and uncles, the noisy chaos of 30 people in one room stands still in the world of which ever child he is with at the time.  (photo credit to my mom.)

With a grandchild

My dad and mom

On a pogo stick...  I think you seriously have to be an
"in the moment" kind of person to do this at age 67.

Remember that age when you realize your parents aren't perfect?  I think I have 5 children at that age right now, and even though I sometimes wish they still thought I knew everything, it's kind of liberating to have them see me as a real person with real faults and challenges.  Of course as teenagers they also have all the answers about how to fix me, which, of course, was true for me with my parents at that same at that age.  I remember being in school or with friends or in seminary or college and hearing an idea that I just knew my parents needed to hear because it would enlighten them.  Of course I told them.

Then I grew up (not really...still working on that one, but it just sounds like the right thing to say), and even though it took me a long to to outgrow my knowing everything stage, I somehow, in all my "knowingness," married a guy who has the same kind of love in his heart that my dad showed to me as a child.  I remember the love I felt for Tim when I would watch him interacting with other people.  People craved his presence, because when he was with them, they were the most important thing in the world in that moment...and that was after only knowing him for a few days.  Isn't it funny how you just know those things about people?  It's reassuring to me now as an adult that I was drawn to kindness, love and sincerity.

The Not-So-Perfect:  I've been thinking a lot lately about weakness, mistakes, and imperfections in the light of our own individual human worth and dignity.  A few weeks ago, in a moment of introspection about this concept, I made some notes:

What human value means to me:   

   * Regarded as important
   * Regarded as vital/critical
   * Irreplaceable, like a valued original object
   * Immeasurable in quality, quantity and form (unlike object value)
   * Cannot be purchased
   * Universal--all the above apply to all human beings

And as I think about human value, I also think of our own views of our value, and the value of others based on (often) mistakenly critical focus on errors and weaknesses.  There is nothing more heartbreaking than criticism (guilty...me), and nothing as empowering as seeing past faults to the whole person (striving...me).

But on to how that applies to these two awesome dads...

A few months ago I was attending a women's meeting at church where the speaker said the following:  Nothing does not mean worthless; nothing means powerless (in reference to Moses's statement that he was "nothing."  See Moses 1: 3-10)

That lead me further into my thinking, and I wrote:

 Our nothingness keeps us going back to God.  For that reason, it is our imperfection, not our perfection, which makes us perfect.  Struggle doesn't mean we are imperfect.  It means we are bringing ourselves to God.

My dad was great at being imperfect, which in my eyes always made him perfect.  His ability to be comfortable in his own skin, complete with his own weaknesses and shortcomings made it safe for me to be my whole self in his presence.  My own struggles didn't matter, because he saw past them to the person who was struggling, and saw my strengths in whatever condition I was in.

And so it is that when I think of how and why I love my own dad, and when I think of the love that knits our children's hearts to Tim, I see this:  It is knowing perfectly how to be imperfect, which makes both of them just right.

Let me explain...  One thing my children know about grandpa:  When you're at his house, he'll gather everyone to read scriptures every day, no matter what.  I also knew that growing up.  As a child, this represented to me that my churchy dad was following all the rules.  What I didn't understand back then was my dad knew he didn't know everything, but was showing me and 11 other children every day how to find our way through anything by turning himself to God.

Grandpa reading scriptures with grandkids

And just as importantly as the fact that he knew he alone didn't have all the answers, was how he went about connecting me to that same source of truth and answers that has come to mean more to me as I've gotten older.  I remember mornings when I was busy getting ready and would skip breakfast, and miss scriptures.  Before I'd leave for school, my dad would come find me, and read a few verses of scripture to me before I left for school.  Back then, I complained about it to my friends.  "Can you believe..."  

But back to the how...   As a teenager, when I was, in fact, all-knowing, my own father was coming to me in his "nothingness" and powerlessness to connect me to his infinite source of strength.  It was in his acknowledgement of his nothingness, and in just being present for a few minutes with me before I started my own day, that he became everything to me.  He wasn't feeding me rules and how-to's and lectures about how and how not to live, or telling me I needed to eat breakfast instead of putting on make-up, or throwing on a guilt trip about missing scriptures with the family, or telling me how busy he was, or being upset over having to come find me instead of telling me I needed to have enough respect to be there for breakfast like he'd asked (all of which could have sounded a lot like criticism to an autonomy seeking teen, and would have done very little to acknowledge his or my human value and dignity).  He was just taking a minute to notice that in a pack of siblings one of his daughters wasn't there, and setting aside his own important task of getting on with his day, and taking the time to seek me out so he could share ideas about life with me from his own book of answers.  What a gift.

My realization about all of this:  In his selflessness and nothingness, he became everything to me.

Tim does the same thing.  I, on the other hand, am usually the one spouting off rules and expectations then apologizing later...  Tim knows how to give the gift of self, and I know he thinks his best self often isn't enough, but it is in the how that he affects our children.  During this crazy teen family phase, giving his whole imperfect self to be offered up on the sacrificial alter of teen "knowingness" communicates human worth and dignity in a way that speaking about worth and dignity cannot.  (And throwing in a spontaneous trip through the drive through doesn't hurt either.)

The message:  You matter.  In this sea of humanity, you mean the whole world to someone.  You are important.  You are loved.

The other message:  As a dad, I'm imperfect, and I know it, but I also know how to show you that you're everything to me, and at the end of the day, those hearts that are knit to the best dad hearts learn more about human worth and dignity and how to love by watching their own dads than they could ever learn in a sermon.

So on father's day, I'm sending a shout-out to my awesome dad, as well as the awesome dad of my own children.  Thank you both for being not-so-perfect (which makes you a just right kind of dad).

The Day My Almost 17 Year Old Waved At Me

Let today forever be known as the day my almost 17 year old son waved at me.

In public.

But kind of in the privacy of the car.

I'm into sentimentality lately (just in case you didn't already notice).  I think the idea of knowing I have a limited amount of time with my kids all under one roof has me seeing through a different lens.

Which is why I'm blogging about my almost 17 year old waving at me.

I had finished work.  Tim had already left for work, and Nate (who needed the car earlier to get to and from his job) had dropped me off for a few evening appointments and was now picking me up.  (I love being chauffeured and not doing the chauffeuring.)  Then it happened.  As I walked out the front door of the building and toward the car, I saw this super happy smiling teenager sitting behind the steering wheel waving to me like he was 3 years old again.  (But back then he also would have come running at me...  Not complaining though.  I'll take a happy wave.)

Never mind that 20 seconds later, the beautiful moment was interrupted by siblings complaining about each other.

And never mind that by 10:00 tonight Nate's constant happy mood was driving me a bit nuts...  (Makes me want to ask who he's taking to Prom.)

And never mind that he taught his sister an acronym that includes a swear word and she's highly offended that neither of us will tell her what it means...

And never mind that he drove to the store and bought a Dr. Pepper at 9:00 p.m. when it would have been nice to have him sleeping by 10:00 or so...

Ahhhhhhh.....  Sentimentality.

He Plowed a Field!

Three days ago, Tim drove Nate to Juniper to work with my dad and brothers on the farm.  I posted this on facebook:  "Nate left this morning to go work on the farm and won't be back until the end of July. It felt a lot like the first day of first grade. Isn't it supposed to get easier as they get older?"


I'm not sure why I felt that little twinge of wanting to hold on, and stop time (anyone who's sent a child to first grade knows what I mean), but I did, and still do.  I didn't feel it when he went to other camps earlier this summer--just when he went to the farm.  I think it was the idea of him growing up so fast...wanting to stop time...wanting to hold on to the little boy with blonde curls and a huge smile.  Instead he's working--growing up and taking on adult responsibilities, and it tugged at my heart a little (still does when I think about it).

A comedy of errors has made it so we haven't talked to him since he got there until tonight.  Even tonight he was difficult to get in touch with, so I finally called my brother, Steve.  One of the first things I heard him say was that Nate had finished plowing a field...

Actually the tractor he was driving looked more like this:

My dad believes they don't make them like they used to...  And he's probably right.  So Nate's first field plowing experience was on the old Caterpillar D6.  Have you ever see how much dust gets stirred up when you're plowing a field?  I remember as a kid being amazed that the only white on my dad when he'd come in off the tractor was his teeth and the whites of his eyes.  I'm trying to picture Nate that dirty.  (Maybe I need my mom to take a picture for me.)  My point is that this tractor doesn't have a cab.  No cab + dust = super dusty day!

Tonight I also got to talk to Nate, and he called Tim also.  We're both proud of him, and the work he's doing.  I asked Nate if it was all a little overwhelming or if he was enjoying it.  Of course he's enjoying it.  I knew he would.  The farm gene that skipped a generation (me) has always been in his blood.  From the time he was little, he's been asking to work on the farm.

And I'm not kidding when I say the farm gene skipped a generation.  Ask anyone in my family.  See the above older Caterpillar D6 model?  I got that stuck while plowing a field...that's how much help I was.  (Yes, apparently a tractor with tracks can get stuck.)

It was good to hear from Nate tonight, and even though we miss his wit and presence at home, we know he's in great hands and having an incredible experience.

...But I might have to sneak in a trip to Idaho just to go visit sometime soon.  I miss my boy!  (And am still a bit amused that the boy who doesn't clean his room plowed a field.)

  

Families Are Like Quilts

My mom cross-stitched an awesome quote for all her children one year for their birthdays (and in case you lost count, that's 12 of us).

It says, "Families are like quilts, pieces cut from lives, sewn by hand in good times and bad, designs quilted by memories and promises and bound with never ending love."


I love quilts.  If I were to ever get a home-making bug it me, it might just be quilting...for sure it wouldn't be laundry.  (Don't hold your breath for either one.)

But quilts are amazing.  I love how little pieces of fabric can form patterns, or not.  I love the folk-artsy nature of quilts--that out of necessity, pieces of old, worn fabric could be turned into something useful and whole.

So in that way, families really are like quilts, where all our imperfect pieces make up one giant tapestry that is beautiful simply because it is.  It takes all the colors (personalities) and all the pieces (individuals, memories, challenges, promises...) to make it whole and beautiful.

I also love looking at old quilts, before machines could make them with perfection.  You can see every stitch, even the imperfect ones.  So much of what binds us together as families is imperfect, but it is that imperfection that is beautiful.

...And imagine the gaping holes of a quilt falling apart if the imperfect stitches were removed.  Those imperfect stitches represent connection.  Every stitch connects the old, worn, otherwise useless pieces of fabric, and even in their imperfect unity, they become something whole and useful, and even more beautiful and meaningful with age.

I guess I'm feeling thankful today for the imperfect tapestry that is my family--thankful that I could bind my life together with the lives of my siblings, parents, children, spouse, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents...the whole shebang...

There isn't a more perfect way to live!

November Wrap-Up...

I had huge ambitions about finishing the month with a great post about adoption.  It would have been wonderful.  Trust me.

But Tim is out of town (again) and between that, being sick, and Christmas quickly approaching, I'm sure blogging will be intermittent at best through December...

But I couldn't leave November without saying something more about Thanksgiving...and to be honest, there is nothing deep or earth shattering I have to share about gratitude...

And if you don't like looking at our vacation pictures, you don't have to read further.  Mostly, I had my parents on my mind when writing this post.  They were missed at Thanksgiving!

So for Mom and Dad (and anyone else who cares to read on)

It was an incredible weekend!  (Even spite of Joie's stomach flu...)  Isn't this a great picture?  Tim and Joie watching a DVD in the Durango while the rest of us hiked.

And now for the millions of pictures...and I'm sure Becky and Esther have more...

Nate...I believe near Delicate Arch

Megan has packed Sydney around for years...  Now I believe it's Sydney's turn!

Jeran

Joie--the day before the stomach flu

Gabby with the tween gang

Naptime!

The naptime pose was contageous...

And Gabby might have finally found a cousin that matches her energy...

Another breathtaking view

Bored of pictures yet?  Sorry...  There's more.  (I guarantee Grandpa and Grandma are loving it.)

We wanted to find a way to involve the kids in something that drew their attention to the gratitude part of Thanksgiving, and a few days earlier one of my sisters posted on facebook a handprint turkey tablecloth her own children had made over the years.

It actually wasn't difficult to find plastic tablecloths and markers in Moab, even on Thanksgiving day, and we ended up with two tablecloths... 

One for the table:

This was by Bingham...he worked so hard!

Gabby drew a ghost instead of a turkey...right season, wrong holiday.

Then the second tablecloth went on the wall...

We wrote "Gratitude Alphabet" across the top and left the rest to the mind (and wit) of anyone with a marker...  (Hint:  Mom, if you click on the picture, you can see it larger.)

Yes, I really did just post all those pictures.  

Gratitude is powerful, not just at Thanksgiving, but every day.  There is no room in our hearts for self-pity, pride, anger, boredom, etc. if give thanks.  It was impressive to overhear conversations among our children over the course of the month and with cousins during our Thanksgiving holiday about their own gratitude.  We can learn a lot from them!

Next stop...Christmas!

Sunday Sharing

Keeping on with our theme of thanksgiving and gratitude this month:  I heard this quote recently, and even though it would never happen, it makes me think a little.


"What if you woke up today with only the things you thanked God for yesterday?"


Of course my brain first went to the things I think I couldn't live without...  family, friends, home, food, water, air, clothing, employment, faith, sleep...

And other things I'm pretty sure I'd never want to live without...   freedom; the ability to move, speak, and think; employment that I love, safety and security, nature's abundant beauty, a dishwasher, a slow cooker (and Tim's mad, genius electronics skills that fixed the slow cooker.)

Then there are those little things...conveniences that I've come to depend on:  transportation, grocery stores stocked with every food item imaginable, my phone, kleenexes (which I used a lot of yesterday, thank you fall sniffles that have me feeling just...blah), great educational and extra-cirricular opportunities for my children, flushing toilets...  And did you ever stop to think about what would happen if the postal service or garbage man just stopped coming?

As our attempts to fill our gratitude jar before Thanksgiving continue, I'm thinking we could fill it in a day just thinking about those "little things" like the garbage man, slow cookers, and kleenexes.  We are so, so, so thankful for our families, friends, the gospel, the Savior...and inevitably those things make the gratitude list every time we put kernels in our gratitude jar...

But this week we are going to try thinking outside the box to give thanks for all those other things...the refrigerator, the furnace, gas stations, satellite TV...

Your turn.  What would make your list?

The Leap

It's been a year since I made a huge leap and went into private practice.

Yup.

Just me.

Flying solo.

At that point I had been employed for five years outside the home.  I've always said I choose to work, and have only worked out of the home since all my children have been in school.  Mostly Tim's crazy schedule and my schedule have been able to coordinate and somehow we managed two full-time jobs, with only a little help with childcare a few days a week during the summer.  As a family we'd like to think we could live on one income if necessary, at least that's what we've always told ourselves...that if it didn't work out with Tim's schedule and my schedule to coordinate so we could be parents first, we'd make adjustments.

So when we started talking about this huge leap we knew a business wouldn't be profitable right off, and the plan was to work part-time while I built up my business.

Best laid plans...  Within a few months I got an unplanned push when Tim was given a detail at work that involved a lot of travel and a not-so-flexible schedule, right when our children would have been out of school for the summer.

Ready or not...

Huge leap. 

Now we'd really get to test that whole living on one income idea...while paying to start a business...in the middle of a bad economy.  And what's that?  An adoption?  (Gulp.)  No worries.  Somehow we'll manage...

I was fortunate enough to be able to take some clients with me when I made the transition, but when my vision of clients lined up outside my door as soon as I was ready to start seeing clients didn't materialize, reality started to sink in.

I was told by other therapists that it takes about 18 months to be really profitable as a therapist.  (Sigh.)

Fortunately, even with the craziness of an adoption and all the adjustments involved I was able to start covering my own expenses within the first few months.

Now a year later (actually 11 months after I started) I was able to start paying myself.  (This is where I pat myself on the back...  And they said 18 months.)

But the payment has come in other ways that have made all the sacrifices adjustments worth it.

I love being my own boss.

I love setting my own schedule.

My office is two minutes from my house and from the kids' schools (vs. 30 minutes before).  I can volunteer, go to programs, (and the best part) schedule time off while the kids are in school to go on dates with Tim.

And did I mention being able to be here after school during the busy homework time?  One of us has usually always been here during that time anyway, but honestly, mostly it was Tim and I hated missing that time of day (weird, I know).  It's been nice to choose one day a week for late appointments, and leave the other days open to be here during those busy hours.

So would I do it again?

Absolutely.  Every dip and turn of what has been one wildly, crazy ride.

And on those particularly crazy, wild days, when I was tempted to pick up the phone and ask for my old job back, I could flip my calendar back to last July and see those two clients I had scheduled, vs. the growth since then...  It's all about perspective.

Sunday Sharing

"...The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works”  (Psalms 145:9)


I'm always more aware of this when I'm weak and hurting.  When it seems I can do nothing for myself, and I am in my own mind least deserving of support and love, the Lord responds with an increase of love in the form of strength, peace, understanding, and compassion, that lets me know that He is very aware of me in very individual ways.

I love the idea of "tender mercies" and wanted to share.

Sunday Sharing

I teach Gabby's class in primary at church.  Today's lesson was on The Ten Lepers, so gratitude has been on my mind today.

As the story goes, Jesus healed 10 people of leprosy, but only one returned to thank him (a Samaritan, and because Jesus was Jewish, this would have been socially taboo).  For a lot of reasons, giving thanks could have been overlooked by this individual, but it wasn't.

It's easy to fall into the trap of ingratitude.  We all get caught up in the importance of our own lives, forgetting that God is the source and strength of our lives.  I know I often find myself thinking of thanking someone, or feeling thankful, but getting side tracked with the seemingly important day-to-day things, and either forgetting or assuming people know I'm thankful.  There are times I often forget to give thanks, not just to God, but to others.  

In class today we talked about reasons why the "other nine" didn't return to thank Jesus.  There are a lot of possible reasons, but among the top answers given by the girls in my class was "they were so excited to be healed they forgot."

I'm sure the lepers felt thankful they were healed, but they were rushing off to share the amazing news with family, or rushing off to work, or to tell their friends.  Only one thought to "turn back" as the scriptures said, to give thanks.  The lepers had been told by Jesus to go show themselves to the priests and they would be made whole.  To give thanks would have meant returning to where they had encountered Jesus (or tracking him down again).  It took effort.  The leper who returned to give Jesus thanks had to go out of his way to return to Jesus to thank Him, which is the part that has been on my mind today. 

Giving thanks means I have usually have to leave what I'm doing...something busy, something fun, even things that are amazing and worthwhile, to give thanks.  It means not assuming people will know, or remembering to thank someone next time I'm thinking about it, but finding a way to say "thank you" right then.

I'm going to challenge myself to try harder to remember and take the time to say "thank you," more than I do.  

When I was getting ready for my lesson, I found this great quote that sums it all up.  

“In becoming a whole person, the grateful leper was healed inside as well as on the outside.  That day nine lepers were healed skin deep, but only one had the faith to be made whole” (The Power to Heal from Within,” Ensign, May 1995, 13).

Memorial Day 2011--Off Kilter

What a day.  I'm not sure what it was, but I was feeling a little off kilter.  And there are pictures, I promise...just scroll down (but read first, because the picture will make more sense that way).

I think the bottom line is there are days that remind us more of our losses than other days, but for whatever reason, there is still a part of me that wants to pretend that one of these years it will all feel "normal" and be "normal."  

Then at some point I usually recognize that those sort of off kilter feelings come from somewhere, and they have to be acknowledged to move on.

Clue number one we were off kilter:

I slept in and woke up to the sound of Joie very loudly expressing her opinion about how unfair it was that she had to load the dishwasher.

Clue number two we were off kilter:

When I tried to talk to Joie, she didn't want to talk.  She didn't want to live here.  She didn't want to be in "this family."  Not today.  Not ever...  Or at least for the next ten minutes when she calmed down wanted to talk.  I love that girl.  She's amazing.  She's an amazing girl with a huge, huge loss that seems closer some days than others.

Clue number three we were off kilter:

I couldn't shake my own case of the blahs after Joie had her moment.  Everything bugged me...the smell of the paint Tim was using...the fact that my plans for the day were changing on me...and the very, very messy office downstairs.

Clue number four things were off kilter:

I was cleaning the very messy office.  I haven't wanted to touch that room for weeks, and for some reason it had to be cleaned today.  It's the room that always reminds me most of Nick, Ruth and Audrey.

...Pictures, documents, papers...all the remains of a life that was theirs, and Joie's, but is no more.  I needed to clean that room today.

And while cleaning, I came across an old family picture taken at my brother's wedding.  Nate was a baby, and oh those blonde curls!  Then as I was about to put the picture in a pile, Ruth's smiling face jumped out at me from the back row.  She was single then.  The picture must have been taken not long before she met Nick.  In that moment I could hear her voice and her laugh, and wanted more than anything to feel one of her hugs.

Instead I held the picture a little longer, and the tears that had been denied all day (because it was a "normal" day) finally came.


Then whatever it was that had been bugging me all day was gone, and I was back on kilter.  (Can you be on kilter?  Is that a phrase also, or just off?).

And a huge clue we were on kilter:  The whole family went to see Kung Fu Panda 2 (and I think everyone else in Utah had the same idea on this cold, wet Memorial Day).

I guess my main point is:  As much as I wanted this weekend to be about the real heros of our world who give their lives for our freedom, we can't get through this day without also feeling the loss of others we miss.

The first day we went to the graves, Gabby mentioned she didn't know where her mom was, and "I don't remember her very well.  I wish I could remember her more," she said...  Which lead to a conversation about what we could do to remember her mom, and she loved the idea of sending balloons to heaven.

So today after the movie:

Oops...how did they get up there?  No worries...

Megan to the rescue (armed with a pair of salad tongs).

Ready to launch...

We hope all the balloon messages made it to heaven (and one to India, for Gabby's brother).  Personally, I think all messages from the heart make it to where they need to be, and guaranteed there was a lot of love floating in the air above our house this afternoon.

But the true pay off moment that told me we really weren't that off kilter after all...

The moment when you know the teaching paid off, and the message sank in...

I had to run to the store late tonight (because you can't start Tuesday morning without milk).  Before I left I told Gabby to get ready for bed and I'd come in and pray with her when I got home.  

When I came back she was in her bed writing.  

"What are you writing?" I asked.

"A letter to Joe."  

Joe is my brother.  This guy:

Joe is currently serving in Afghanistan in a "dustoff" unit (a.k.a. flight medic).

Gabby had written a very sweet (1 1/2 page) letter to her Uncle Joe in Afghanistan.  What a heart this girl has!

At the end of the day, it seemed that maybe things weren't so off kilter after all.

(I love, love, love it when they really get it.  Don't ever think they're not listening.  They hear everything!)

So for Joe, and all the others who do what he does every day, thank you!

Our hearts are with you, Joe (and a letter from your newest niece will be in the mail shortly).

More pictures of Joe:

God speed to all our troops!