Angel Cakes

Thursday Morning:

As I type this I’m eating breakfast, and it’s papusas, which doesn’t really seem quite right, but Mike surprised me with a bunch yesterday afternoon and, with leftovers still in the fridge (and for who knows how long!), I’m taking a page from Penny’s book and not letting the unbreakfastyness of the food be any sort of barrier to my eating it for breakfast. (Penny is always eating unconventional foods for breakfast. Microwaveable taquitos, lettuce doused in ranch dressing, etc.)

It’s currently quite cold outside (when only last week my kids were still wearing shorts to school). Yesterday it began snowing just as I was waking up. By the time the kids were climbing out of bed, I was not only searching for matching gloves to stuff in everyone's backpacks, but pulling boxes of winter boots out of the garage (as it was quickly becoming evident that shoes were not going to be recess worthy).

Hans plead (demanded) to be put in full snow garb — snow pants, coat, socks, boots, hat and gloves — four different times throughout the day (two of those times coming in to be undressed and redressed in order to go to the bathroom). Mette joined him three times — also with a full bathroom break (complicated by her improper judgement of the amount of time it would take to get her coat and snow pants off). Summer, Anders and Jesse went out only once, but came tracking in snow multiple times in search of one thing or another. And it’s interesting how often I can be a good mom for such a long time ... without it ever quite being long enough! Just a few less suiting-up episodes, a few less kids (and their dripping snow clothes), or even one less bathroom event and I would have thought I’d been a champion snow-day mother. (In fact, it often occurs to me that, were my life circumstances slightly different than they are, I might be going about deludedly believing that I know a good deal about patience and gentleness. As it is, I am forever being shown that I do not!) By the last round of mopping up puddles under boots and gathering soaked coats and gloves to try and drape over chairs and railings to dry, I was beginning to snap at everyone.

Luckily, that’s when Mike (who happened to have the day off [Veteran’s Day]) swooped in, gathered up the troops, and took them all to Costco. And for nearly two hours I cleaned the house and studied this week's Come Follow Me chapters without a bit of noise or chaos. Which is something I haven’t experienced for weeks (months?). It was lovely. And then, when everyone returned home again, it seemed lovely to have them after all (a feeling aided by the rotisserie chickens, Doritos, and pumpkin pie they brought with them).

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Friday Afternoon:

The other night the topic of Christmas music came up. Anders mentioned how "Silent Night" was his very favorite Christmas song. Summer, listening nearby, said, "Yah. I like that song. Sometimes when I hear it my eyes get kind of wet."

And then this morning, as I attempted to listen to a conference talk while cleaning a mass of books, stuffed animals, papers and pens, and Mr. Potato Head parts from the floor of the boys’ room, Hans paused his playing, considered President Eyring's voice, and said, "I like the gospel." And then, "What's the gospel?" Haha.

But I loved these two little glimpses of ... oh I don't know ... their little souls recognizing and responding to things that are peaceful and good. It gives me hope that important things truly are occurring here despite their being carried out within much that is messy, loud, mundane and stressful.

And now Daisy is here. (She arrived just before the kids got home from school and even surprised Jesse, Anders and Summer by picking them up as they walked home.) And everyone is extra happy and together. She and Penny and Goldie are laughing and talking about how much homework they have and how soon they can get it done and what adventures they might then manage and what movies they might watch. And Anders is showing her the new little Lego set he bought with his birthday money from Grandma Harris. And Mette is taping shut the cardboard-box-with-colored-paper-glued-all-over-it piñata she made for Daisy’s return. And I've wound a few Christmas lights around the banister (stopping half-way as most of our strands are burnt out). And all the absolute lack of any personal time, and all the piles of snow clothes, and all the stuff I can't organize because I am cleaning up after too many toddlers and helping too many people with homework, and all the tantrums and fighting and crying that we often endure ... seems perfectly OK. Again.

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I know well the triumphant Bible stories of Elijah causing the widow's little barrel of flour to never run out, and of him raising her son from the dead, and of him defeating the priests of Baal (oh that's a fun story to tell!). But I was recently reminded (and thank goodness -- because I wouldn't have remembered it on my own) of a less-known story from a time when Elijah was so discouraged that he sat himself down under a little juniper tree and asked the Lord to please just let him die. (Remember me writing about Jeremiah last week? I seem to be drawn to stories of discouraged prophets of late. Haha.) But this was just such a touching story to me. His journey was just too hard. He really just could not go on. Anyway, he falls asleep (if it had been me it probably would have read, "cried himself to sleep") but after a while he is woken by an angel. And the angel has baked him a little cake! Probably not a frosted birthday cake. Ha. But he's prepared him a little meal. "Arise and eat," he says, "because the journey is too great for thee."

"I get it," the angel seems to say. "It's too hard. You're too tired. And too discouraged." And the angel doesn't solve his problems or take them away. But he comforts him. And feeds him. And somehow it's enough that Elijah can go on. He "went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights" the scriptures tell us.

Anyway, I've been thinking about that. And about these little moments from the past few days. Mike taking the kids to Costco, Summer getting teary-eyed over "Silent Night", my girls all in the kitchen laughing and happy together. They're all my own little angel cakes. Just these small things that keep my strength up for the journey. And I'm grateful for them.

I'm also grateful for Anders thinking he could keep his strawberry milk safe from tempting his siblings by removing the wrapper and writing these alarming words on the bottle: 

And for Summer sneaking into the storage room, finding a strand of boxed-up Christmas lights, and creating this cozy little sight for me to discover when I checked on her before heading to bed myself:

Sweet in the Mouth, Bitter in the Belly

Last night as Mette laid out my earrings in pairs (earrings which I almost never wear ... I’m not 100% certain the holes in my ears are even still there):

“I would wear these in the summer,” pointing to a large green set. “And these if I saw a mermaid,” (some gold and peach colored ones). “And these if I was on

a treasure hunt,” (large gold circles). And last of all (referring to a dangly red pair): “And these if I was getting married!”

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Daisy texted me the other day telling me that she was thinking of learning to cook one new meal and one new dessert each week while she is home over the summer. She was wondering what I thought. But what’s there to think? Someone else cooking? A new meal AND dessert each week? As if there could be any response possible other than, “Yes! Yes! You should do that!”

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Today I came across this little scene jotted in my phone notes. It’s not the scene today, but it easily could be (if it weren’t for our peonies having long since died), and I liked the little captured moment that might (were it not for the interruption of some child or, more likely, some combination of children) have unfurled into a complete post. Instead, months later, we have this:

There’s a sprinkling of chess figures on the living room floor. (I’ve picked them up probably seven times today.) A pair of crutches are leaning against the kitchen table. A vase, jam-full of freshly picked peonies from our backyard, sits on the table. (Their blooms so heavy they flop to the ground when not immediately cut.) A stuffed elephant is face down across Starling’s high chair — drying after some outdoor adventure. And a pan of Saltine toffee is sitting in the fridge. (Ruined; because I thought wax paper would work as well as parchment. And I was wrong.)

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We finished reading Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH last night. (Can we only read books about small, talking animals around here???) Anders in particular liked it. It was he who found it in our basement after all, asked about it, and, upon my vague mentioning of experiments and extra-smart rats escapes, agreed readily that we should read it. And now he’s been telling me that, when he’s a dad, he’s going to buy his own copy and read it to his kids. (I hadn’t read it for years and liked it nearly as well as Anders did. Even though I’m still fretting that it was Justin who died helping Brutus. It’s just the sort of thing he would have done.)

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We got a quarantine call from school for the first time this year. (Well, if we don't consider poor Daisy's quarantine off at BYU.) A few days ago we were informed that Goldie had been around someone who had tested positive and that she would have to quarantine at home for two weeks. It was a bit of a bummer especially because she had been scheduled to get her braces off the very next morning! But, only two days after that call, we got word that the entire school was going into a two-week closure. And, of course, we don't wish that on the whole school. But, in some ways, it will make Goldie's school work during her quarantine easier as now all of the teachers will be gearing their classes towards online learning. 

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I’ve been thinking of these words a lot lately: “sweet in the mouth, bitter in the belly”.

They come from the book of Revelation.

After seeing the large sealed book all full of earth’s events (the book that could only be opened by Christ's submissive “send me” allowing God’s work and will for this earth to be carried out despite and through all the difficulty); and after seeing the destructions and tribulations that would fill the earth prior to Christ returning; an angel holds out a little book just for John. It’s open. And the words? Well, they are God’s words for him! John’s own small story to be played out within this larger book. If he’ll accept it that is. And he does! Never mind all the opposition he just witnessed. John boldly says: “Yes! I’ll take it! Give me the book. I’ll eat it up. I’ll swallow it, ingest it, and make it completely a part of me. I know it will be hard and scary. But I want to be a part, in whatever way I am asked, of my Savior’s work. I want to serve him. I want to gather and help bring out of the world any that I possibly can.”

Oh all right. He doesn’t actually say all of those words. But it's what I imagine him feeling as he bravely but simply says:

“Give me the little book”.

And then the angel tells him this: “Take it, and eat it up; and it shall make thy belly bitter, but it shall be in thy mouth sweet as honey.”

And it was. John eats it and it tastes so sweet. But man it’s bitter in his belly.

In accepting his assignments to bring about God's purposes, to, as our prophet spoke on so recently, "allow God to prevail", John willingly eats (or drinks we could say) his own tiny bitter cup.

Those are crazy symbolic images (as Revelation is chock-full of), I know.

But I related so well! In fact I'm surprised how often Revelation, of all books, makes me tear up by how it makes me feel. 

So many times the Lord has extended little books to me--my own small parts to play. And there’s is nothing nothing sweeter! Truly. Whenever I sense the truth that the tiny things I am asked to do have significance far greater than I can possibly see yet, whenever I see the work I’ve been given in its broader, eternal perspective, and when I recognize that the Lord actually cares what I do and who I am connected with and where I go, there is nothing I want more! I want to be a part of His work! I want to help in any small way! I want to accept any challenge He has for me! No matter what it is! I want to allow God to prevail, see Him prevail, and HELP Him prevail. 

"Give me my little book! Let me eat it up!"

But ... in the carrying out of that sweet work there is much that is bitter. Hard and trying and exhausting. There are parts that do not feel sweet at all. And in those, fairly large sections of the work, I often forget the peace and purpose I felt when the opportunities were extended.

Still, it’s the memory and the certainty and that faint taste of sweet still in my mouth that overrules the bitter and keeps me plodding on, asking for more, and even eager to do it. Eager to, in my very own tiny ways, follow the example of Christ and bring about beautiful things by drinking my own very tiny bitter cups.

In my own set of scriptures (thanks to some wise commentary from a book I read)I have linked that small scene in Revelation with some verses from the book of Jeremiah. Jeremiah also speaks of “eating” the Lord’s words to him (apparently this is a common metaphor for our callings) and of rejoicing that the Lord called him and had things he needed him to do. But not many verses later he admits to being so discouraged by his work that he nearly determined to give it up, to not even mention God’s name again. 

But ... he couldn’t do it! He couldn't give it up! He remembered how sweet his call tasted, and how personal, and how mattering it was. For him. And for those around him. (And I imagine felt, as Peter the apostle did, and as I have: "Where else would I go? What else would I do if not the things God himself has given me?")

And so Jeremiah exclaims some of my favorite scripture words: “But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forbearing, and I could not stay.” 

I love “weary with forebearing”. He couldn’t hold back! He couldn't stay! The work he’d been called to do? Those words he’d eaten? They were in him like fire. He couldn’t give them up.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling on about this exactly. I don’t have any great point to make. And it occurs to me that if I was typing this for any official thing I would go back over those last paragraphs and tidy them up. I'd make them more clear and half as long. But I'm too tired to do anything but spill them out as I think them right now. I will just end the business by saying that during a recent day of being utterly worn out and discouraged by the work God has given me to do right now, and despairing over my failings with it, this little story and those words “sweet in the mouth, bitter in the belly” kept coming to me. And I don't know. I just ... understood them. And knew that the sweet was worth any temporary bitter.

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Whew. Well. A few last pictures!

Anders had his 9th birthday last month:

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Our primary presidency is trying to pull together a virtual primary program and needed, along with recorded primary parts and recorded singing of songs, pictures of my kids in white. (Hans isn't in the pictures as he's technically still in Nursery, but they did give him a speaking part and I filmed him singing with his siblings.):

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For Election Day our city offices (which are directly across the street from us) put up hundreds of flags! They are still up, and they just look so cool. "America's largest free-flying flag" is also currently hanging in Cold Water Canyon again (and can be seen any time we head out anywhere). I know there is a lot of discontent and chaos in our nation right now. But sometimes I think of the flag, and I love that it is part of my story and that, for all the rest of eternity that image of stripes and stars will be significant to me. I don't know how many symbols or images will be stamped permanently on my mortal story, but that flag will.

The End.

Halloween 2020

We had so many little pumpkins on our porch this year! We planted some (late -- so we only had green or very small ones from our crop). We bought some to paint BOO on. We bought some to carve. Our kids painted some at a little city activity at the park. (Goldie got to help run that activity since she is on the Youth City Council.) Our girls painted some for Young Women's. 

Lots of October pumpkins on the porch is always a happy thing. But an even happier thing is that we carved them outside this year! There is nothing cozier than lit jack-o-lanterns on the porch on Halloween. But, no matter how I try to reign the mess of carving in, it will not be reigned. And nearly every year it is too dark or too cold (or both) to create that mess anywhere but right in our kitchen. This year however the kids had the Friday before Halloween off. And the day was nice. And having all the pumpkin mess contained outside was something to rejoice over. 

Summer wanted pictures with multiple pumpkins (hers was the little one with triangle eyes, a round nose, and lot of orange [yellow?] and shiny blue paint). And I was happy that Mette put on the queen costume she wore to school for a bit during the day. (For trick-or-treating she decided to be a wolf. So I'm happy we caught her in both costumes.)

Penny was a flying squirrel (I should have made her put the hood on for pictures). And Jesse was Wilbur Wright. (The other costumes should be obvious.) I got a chuckle out of Wilbur Wright and Darth Vader buddying around together. 

It was a good Halloween (and would only have been better if Goldie hadn't been off working at our local ice cream store, and if Daisy had been able to come home rather than work till midnight at one of the BYU store booths during the BYU game).