My Mom

She should’ve been a pioneer. My mother. But they’d made their meals from nothing but a little flour, wrapped their dead in shawls, scratched out graves in the frozen earth, birthed their babies in the dirt, and gotten right back up to pull their handcarts years before she ever came on the scene. She could’ve done it though. She might have cried. And screamed to the heavens. And there would have been cursing (that Wallace temper didn’t come without a vocabulary). But she wouldn’t have complained. She would’ve strapped a baby to her breast, loaded someone who had given up into the back of her cart, pulled us kids right along with her; and forward would have always been the only direction worth considering. When I was small, in place of our usual bedtime reading of The Hobbit or The Wolves of Willoughby Chase, she’d occasionally turn thoughtful and tell me about an image (a dream? a vision? I do not think it’s too big of a word here) repeated in her mind since she was young. It was her, a small raft, and nothing but sea and storm. Rain. Wind. Waves. (I saw her there — as the image passed from her lips into my imagination. And that raft, I knew, was far from seaworthy.) All around her in the water were people. And her consuming focus? To pull them safely into her raft. It didn’t matter that there was no more room, or that the raft was half sinking under all the weight, or that her arms were shaking from the effort, or that she couldn’t catch her breath. Why would any of that matter to her? There were people to pull from the water. I’m older now. And so is she. And I know a little about who was in that water. Eleven kids. Two large refugee families. A dozen of our friends (probably more) with troubles at home and nowhere to stay. Kids and grandkids battling addiction and divorce. And a thousand others she couldn’t possibly fit in her raft but did anyway. I understand now that ease was never her pursuit. (Though there was abundance and there was joy. Freshly-made Christmas nightgowns—always with a forgotten pin left in them, that large Polk’s End backyard, peach cobbler, and all the days at Bear Lake.) But what did ease have to do with a life worth living? Grit. And faith. And whatever God asked of her. Those were the things. I see chunks of them in me. And in my daughters. And sisters. And nieces. They are parts of her. They are our inheritance.

Cleaning Alone, Celestial Rearing, Track Meet Busts, and "As the Good Shall Grow"

Saturday evening Mike took all of the kids (even the tiny, unpredictable one) to play in his parents' backyard while he worked on some garden boxes. I stayed behind to get the house cleaned up for the night -- which should be a punishment akin to being sent to bed without your supper it seems (supper? does anyone use that word anymore?). But it felt ... a delight; like grocery shopping by yourself; and I wonder what teenage me would have thought had she known her future definitions of indulgent luxury.

A flyer, advertising our stake's upcoming women's conference, was recently left taped to my front door. I perused it quickly and noticed that one of the speakers had been given the topic of "Raising Celestial Teens in a Telestial World". 

I shuddered at the thought. 

Wait. That sounded funny. I didn't shudder at the thought of raising Celestial teens in a Telestial world (though yes, that too sometimes! trembling and shuddering! ha!). But what I meant to say was that I shuddered at the thought of being given such a speaking assignment! 

I thought of the many faithful and powerful women I know -- utterly courageous examples who are doing every good thing ... while seeing, as of yet, very little positive Celestial result in their parenting. These women I love are pillars to me. And I know their efforts are not wasted. Their persevering with those they love through the messy mortal living set before them will work in the souls of their children. And will be answered with unthinkably glorious eventual joys. I am sure of this. And it gives me hope when I consider what the road ahead in my own parenting might entail. But I imagined myself up there -- glibly giving a Celestial to-do list to these women who have battled so long in the trenches for their hope and faith and wisdom and, well, it made me very glad I was not the one speaking on such a complex topic!

But! I do catch beautiful/starkly contrasted glimpses of that ideal every now and then. 

Last Wednesday Goldie, Penny, Jesse and I were awake by 5:00 a.m. It was wholly dark (other than the light from our kitchen) and the wind was battering the house and shaking the windows. But there was a hushed excitement in the air as I quietly French braided the girls' hair and gave Jesse his eye drops. They were heading to the temple for the first time in over a year.

My mom had given us a little envelope full of names of our Norwegian ancestors -- including 16 men for Jesse. Knowing the temple usually only allows five to be done at a time (and knowing appointments were booked back to back), I opened the envelope -- intending to remove the top five cards of men to send with Jesse so he wouldn't misplace the rest. But then I felt a distinct anticipation that seemed to exclaim, "Oh no! Don't do that! What if? What if we can all get our work done? We've waited so long! Send us all!" And so I did.

It was, of course, completely dark when they left. And that wind I mentioned was tearing about so wildly that I thought school might get cancelled, and I worried a little over Goldie driving and over possible power outages shutting the temple down.

So I lingered in the doorway as the three of them climbed into our old white truck, turned on the engine and the headlights, and pulled away from our house. The dark and the wind seemed extra ... I don't know ... fierce and lonely and consuming -- like all the darkness and turbulence of the world whipping about outside my home. 

But around that little truck? There seemed to be a circle of protection; of light and power that allowed my three, small kids to faithfully carve their way forward, through the darkness, and on to accomplishing God's purposes despite the wind. My chest rose suddenly and tears spilled down my cheeks as they drove off. Because there it was -- Celestial in a Telestial world. 

(And I should add, that Jesse was able to be baptized for all 16 men! And the girls for the 16 they had between them! Such happiness! I have the feeling that all of them were eager to make that covenant with God and that they were privileged to be sent that morning on my kids' first return trip to the temple.)

Anyway, moving on!

We felt a little badly when we arrived at Penny's track meet last Friday ... after her one and only race. But we felt less bad (or equally bad? or more bad? it's hard to say) when we discovered Penny missed her only race as well! Haha. Poor girl. It was the first event. And the bus got them there late. But these kids still had a good time watching the other runners and goofing off on the bleachers for a bit.

I love how the Spirit can use the words in The Book of Mormon to give us very personal guidance on specific issues -- even though all of those specific issues and circumstances could never all be directly touched on in the book. It's miraculous really. 

The other day I was feeling discouraged about an issue with my parenting and not knowing how exactly to handle things. I happened to be reading the Allegory of the Olive Tree in Jacob 5. In verse 66 I read "... ye shall clear away the bad as the good shall grow, ... until the good shall overcome the bad". I read over it and continued on without much thought. But when I got to verse 72 where it talks about the Lord of the vineyard laboring with his servants, I somehow felt drawn back to 66. "[C]lear away the bad as the good shall grow." My mind glazed and my focus was short, so on I went again. But then, I don't know. There was this push. "Go back!" And the third time, I suddenly heard the Lord's message to me regarding the thing I was struggling with in my parenting. 

I often feel so anxious to just remove all the bad -- every faulty behavior, every ingratitude, etc. in my children -- that it becomes my focus. Here I felt the Lord say to me, "Nurture the good! I will help clear away the bad as the good grows."

I don't know that I know exactly how to nurture the good. And I'm sure, in my mortal attempts to learn, I will often revert to frustration and simply trying to shout out the bad. But this. It was something. A message to me on a very specific issue found in an unlikely chapter in this sacred book. 

And with that, we will wrap this post up! (The last two pictures below were taken by Penny as we drove home from her meet. Cute.)

Skaging

Starling occasionally refers to herself in the third person as ... SKA-GING. There's something so fierce and Viking-like about it. We love our little Skaging. 

Also she says "nope" to many many things that we ask her if she's interested in. Sometimes she'll be running busily off with something on her mind just as someone will say, "Hi Starling!". Without a pause, she'll simply cut them off with a, "Nope!" -- as if she has no time to be bothered with whatever pleasantries they might have to offer.

One thing I find fascinating about her is how smiles transform her face. Serious Starling and Smiling Starling look like two different babies to me!

Dear little cherub. We love her. 

And, to end, a few more trampoline pictures, as well as a few of Penny for some office posters. "Vote Penny. It just makes cents."

Oh, and one last one of Star watching Penny's first ever track meet. (No picture of Penny because she ran by much before I expected her and I missed the shot!) Also a few of Anders holding our gray chicken the day before it passed away. (It was seeming a bit slow and out of sorts. So Anders gave it some attention. And was glad he did when we discovered that day was his last. I'm pretty sure the little fella was about 100 years old though, so he had a good life. Uhhh ... also ... that hen is not an "it" or a "he" or a "little fella", rather, a she. My bad.) Lastly, you can see the kids looking under the deck and trying to give alfalfa to the goat Mike rented for Spring Break. Initially it spent much of its time hiding from us under our deck.