Preston Santiago

Today is Preston's 13th birthday.

In the midst of a world in chaos, I find myself reflecting on the past 13 years.

From his surprise arrival 4+ weeks early, life with my calm and quiet child has created a whirlwind of events in our life.  Premature, NICU, numerous specialist appointments the first year of life...  A few years later, the storm of fear and insecurity resurfaced as testing through the health department, education department and other specialists found us in special ed preschool, chasing an IEP, speech therapy, occupational therapy, and finally brain therapy programs  (not covered by insurance) to help one very special child learn to thrive in a world seemingly built for someone else.

Multiple times throughout his short life, I have experienced a cycle that seems to repeat itself.  Fear, the grief cycle (Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance), and eventually stilling my anxiety enough to HEAR and FOLLOW Divine guidance.  Every single time.  As a newborn.  As a toddler.  As a preschooler.  As a young elementary child.  Older elementary.  Every. Single. Time.

As I reflect on the past, I almost don't believe we lived all those moments in such a short period of time.  Every time we found ourselves facing a new problem or diagnosis, fear emerged and the storm of uncertainty raged.  Until eventually it settled again.

We were ALWAYS guided to what we needed for our son.  He is AMAZING!  We are blessed!  The brain is freaking amazing and I have fallen in love with neuroscience and brain plasticity as a result of many incredible experiences I have had with my children.  But before solutions presented themselves - before the blessings - came uncertainty.  And fear.

As I watch the chaos of the world unfold before me - both real and imagined - I am reminded of my own life.  Learning to settle myself down and trust a Power greater than me has been a long process.  I'm not there yet, but I've had a LOT of practice calming down, letting go of certainty and control and learning to trust.

Life as Preston's mother has not been at all what I imagined.  It's been so much GREATER.  So much RICHER.  So much more BEAUTIFUL.  It's been filled with learning, growth and tender mercies from the Lord.

As I ponder the gift of being Preston's mother, I am reminded to slow down and breathe.  God has worked more miracles in his short life than I can possibly write in one blog post.  He has sustained us from day to day and brought answers and solutions IN THE VERY MOMENT we needed them.  We were given a gift to follow a path less traveled, a dirt road with nothing but an old school map and compass that we scarcely knew how to read.  And yet here we are with an incredible teenage boy full of love, life, compassion and curiosity.

As the entire world is forced to pause, I feel grateful.  Grateful for time to reflect.  Grateful for blessings and knowledge and another chance to slow down, calm myself, listen and trust.

Today we joined the nation in prayer.

We worshipped in our home.

And now we are celebrating the birth of a truly remarkable kid.  A kid who loves Lego's, Ninjago, Star Wars and Toy Story.  A turtle in a world of hares who ends up winning more races than anyone could have predicted with his slow and steady pace in life.  A gentle giant with a childlike innocence I hope never fades.  I love you, Preston Santiago!

Mountains, Valleys and My Uncle Steve

Saturday was hard.  My 41st birthday.  I want to pretend like it wasn't.  Birthdays are supposed to be fun and exciting and magical.  Just ask my party-loving 6-year-old (who recently celebrated his entrance into life as an official big kid in grand gesture for days and days and days).  I tried to fake it and give myself a pep talk.  But nothing helped.  As people called and texted me to send me warm birthday wishes, I wanted to respond with excitement and stories of celebration and adventure.  Or at least send a simple thank you for remembering me on my birthday.  But I couldn't.  I didn't feel like celebrating. 

Last year, I was on top of the world.  Marcos and I climbed Mount Timpanogos to celebrate 40 years of life.  It was a beautiful day of strength, stamina and togetherness.  It was exhilarating and uplifting.  A wonderful symbol of newness and possibilities.  A memory I will cherish forever.

This year, my birthday would be spent in a valley.  A valley of sadness and confusion.  A valley of stillness and reflection. 

I woke up Saturday morning to find a group text from my mom telling my sisters and me that my uncle had passed away around 2am.  On my birthday.  It hit me like a ton of bricks, and a wave of sadness and despair washed over my entire body.  I couldn't move.  The past several months flashed before my eyes.  It felt like a long dream - like a nightmare.

On a Saturday afternoon at the end of April, I got a call from my mom.

"Uncle Steve was in an accident.  He was found unconscious next to the dump truck he had been driving.  The man who found him called 9-1-1.  When first responders arrived on the scene, he wasn't breathing.  They don't know how long he was lying there or how long he went without oxygen.  Say a prayer for Steve and the family.  Grandma and Kathy are on their way to the hospital.  That's all I know."

My heart sunk.

Steve was a gentle, mellow soul with a knack for teasing.  It took me years and some maturation to realize that all that teasing was an attempt to partially conceal his huge heart from the world.  He wasn't fooling anyone.  The loving, caring, service-oriented side of Steve always managed to shine through whether he liked it or not.  Steve had a heart of gold.  He loved St. George and was always ready with a list of southern Utah adventures when we were in town visiting my grandparents.  My little family was lucky enough to be taken on several desert adventures learning about volcanic rocks, sand, desert flowers, cacti and of course, wild life that included rattle snakes, tarantulas, scorpions, tortoises, and a multitude of lizards coming in many different shapes and sizes.  Steve's passion for his home town was contagious and his love of science and history made my geeky science-girl heart beam.

I smiled as I thought about Steve and Kathy riding their beach cruiser bikes around St. George and Steve's excitement about all the new paved trails around the city.  A couple years ago, I took a mountain bike down on my solo nature trip (a.k.a. mental health, mama needs a break for real ya'll trip).  Steve started spewing out names of trails I could try or might want to check out while I was there.  I had to get out a pencil and paper.  I think the man forgot I wasn't a local.  It was like he was speaking a foreign language.  I ended up trying out a couple very low key trails that fit my skill level on a bike and had a blast, but I will never forget the excitement in Steve's eyes as he walked me through all the possibilities.

Steve and Kathy.  It's more of a phrase than a set of names.  Not Steve.  Not Kathy.  Steve and Kathy. That's how I've known my aunt and uncle for as long as I can remember.  My entire life.  Steve and Kathy.  My heart hurt for Kathy.  And the kids.  My cousins.  Cousins I played with during our quarterly visits to St. George climbing red rocks and jumping on grandma and grandpa's trampoline until it literally disintegrated.

This is not happening.  This cannot be happening.

For the next several days, my sisters and I got updates from my mom who was in contact with Steve's family and my grandma.  ICU, intubation, brain bleeding and swelling, emergency surgery to remove part of his skull and allow the brain to swell, another surgery to cut away more of the skull as the brain swelling continued.  And then waiting.  Lots and lots of waiting.  Steve was in a coma.  All family, friends and medical staff could do was wait.  Pray.  Hope.  And wait some more.

There was good news.  Steve's brain waves were normal.  And he started to gradually emerge from the coma.  His eyes opened.  His arm moved.  And so it began.  Baby steps.  Learning one minute at a time what the next step was for Steve.  Traumatic Brain Injury.  Steve had a TBI.  And only time would tell what Steve's capabilities and limitations would look like.

Days turned into weeks which turned into months.  He was transferred to SLC after needing a tracheotomy because there was no trach unit in the hospital in St. George.  My mom and Aunt Carol were at Steve's bedside the entire time he was in Salt Lake City, both during his time in the hospital and as he started the long, arduous process of rehabilitation - walking, talking, learning, remembering.

People throw around the term rollercoaster, but there is no other word I can imagine to describe this process.  Progress and setbacks.  Frustration and tender mercies.  Ups and downs, ins and outs, around, about and through.  My heart has ached for Steve's wife and children, for my sweet grandma - his mother - who lost her husband only eight short months ago.  My heart swells with gratitude and appreciation when I think about my mom and aunt who set aside their own lives, families and needs to stand by their brother in his time of need.

A week and a half ago, Steve suffered a seizure and his brain waves changed.  This past week has been one of coming to terms with a long fight and the reality that Steve's time on earth was coming to an end.

And yet the reality of his passing still sent me into a tailspin.  Was it because it happened on my birthday?  Or had I been holding my breath all these months?  Now I was gasping for air.  We don't get to choose how grief hits us.  It seems a personal matter.  For some, it starts as numbness.   For others, composure.  Keep yourself together.  Just keep yourself together.  Others crumple and collapse under the pressure.  A million different points collided and my uncle's death found me sobbing.  In my room under a blanket.  I couldn't celebrate my birth or my life that day.  I just couldn't.  So I allowed myself to grieve.

Life is so fleeting.  So fragile.  So unpredictable.

Six years ago, when I was pregnant with Caleb, I lost my Uncle Bill.  He, too, suffered a TBI due to a fall down a flight of stairs.  A freak accident.  I hate that phrase.  Freak accident.  Freak doesn't seem like a word that should be used to describe a traumatic life incident.  I throw the word "freak" around when I'm joking or angry and don't want to be too crude, but need my message to come across stronger.  But that's the only way I know to describe what happened.  A random, extremely unlikely accident that could not have been predicted or prevented.

My brain wants to make sense of it all.  My brain wants to organize and compartmentalize and explain it all.  But there is no explanation.  No understanding.  Not for Steve.  Not for Bill.  Not for freak accidents or TBI's or cancer or chronic illness or life or death.  There just isn't.

Steve is no longer suffering in his mortal body.  The difficult struggles of his brain and body the past several months have come to an end.  For that I am grateful.  But grieving and mourning and adjusting to life without Steve will be a long journey for those closest to him and that hurts my heart over and over again.  Thoughts and prayers for his close loved ones would be greatly appreciated from any who see fit to do so. 

On another note.  Thank you to those who love me and reached out to wish me well and celebrate my life last Saturday.  All I can say is thank you.  I am more loved than I deserve. 

I've reflected on the song "The Climb" many times and found myself struggling with my recent decent into a valley from a high peak that I never wanted to leave.  Am I sliding backwards?  Am I falling?  From a very trusted friend and confidant came a beautiful response using my very own mountain analogy.  You're still moving upwards.  Your mountain path goes around and around up a gradual slope.  There isn't a direct climb to the top with a rope.  It isn't a straight shot.   You wouldn't be able to handle the change in elevation if that's how it worked.  It's a gradual climb moving around and up and down and across.  And sometimes you drop down off your place on the mountain.  It's a temporary valley or gully or tunnel or cave.  But it doesn't mean you've fallen off of the mountain.  You're just not experiencing a peak.  And that's okay. 

I've thought a lot about my personal mountain the past few days.  I tend to CELEBRATE the peaks and DREAD the valleys.  But I'm learning that both are part of this journey on earth. 

Sometimes life finds us on beautiful peak.  We're on top of the world.  It's beautiful, exhilarating and exciting, and we never want it to end.

Other times, life finds us at the bottom of a valley, tucked away in a protective little cove.  

Confused.  Afraid.  Lost.  Tired.  Sad.

Right now, I'm in a valley.  And that's okay.  

20 Years of Marriage

Twenty years ago today I married the man of my dreams...

I've been thinking about this day for a long time.  I wanted to write something about marriage.  I wanted to write something about our relationship.  But neither of those things have been on my mind.  Not really.

Writing is a type of therapy for me.  It's important for me to be real, to share things from the heart in an open and honest way.  Not fake.  Not showy.  Just me.  So...if I'm being honest, marriage hasn't been on my mind at all.  Our anniversary has.

Several months ago, Marcos and I were discussing this upcoming milestone in our relationship.  Twenty years is kind of a big deal.   I SUBTLY (or not so subtly) reminded him of our discussions long long ago that we would celebrate big milestones like our 10th and 20th anniversaries with grand gesture.  🎉

The 10 year anniversary was less than impressive in its celebratory glory.  I get it.  We had little kids and the reality of planning something big was overwhelming.  So...we went to dinner.  And then went for a stroll in a beautiful nature park together.  Then real life happened.  I ended up getting super sick.  I'll spare you the details.  It was NOT a pleasant evening.  Not even sort of romantic.  Or maybe it was.  But not in the candlelight dinner, "I think we're alone now" kind of way.  Marcos loved me and cared for me and laughed with me when our evening took a turn for the worst.  I likely did not appreciate that special moment at the time, but behind our less-than-ideal anniversary date was a deep emotional connection in our relationship and an ability to endure stressful life situations with humor and love.

Our conversation continued.

Me: "I know we weren't able to do anything big for our 10th anniversary and I actually LOVE the memory I have with you from that day, but I really want to do something special to celebrate our 20th anniversary this year."  

Marcos: "Me too.  What did you have in mind?"

Me: "A trip.  Somewhere tropical.  Hawaii, Bahamas, Costa Rica, Tahiti, Belize...somewhere like that.  Wouldn't that be fun?  Beach.  Adventure.  Romance.  Don't you think?"

Marcos: "No.  We can't.  We cannot afford a trip like that right now."

My heart sunk.  A combination of sadness and anger.  And a knot.  A knot in my stomach.

At that moment, the social media world backfired on all my good intentions.  I rarely find myself feeling bad about my life after being on social media.  I know that's a real thing for many people.  I've found a good balance that usually works for me.  I check in here and there, post occasionally and feel connected for the most part.  But in a situation like this, all those happy beach pictures swirled through my head, and I found myself in a loop of comparison and jealousy.  I found myself thinking I DESERVED something more.

Let's just say that this conversation between Marcos and me has been occurring and reoccurring over the past several months with little to no progress.  Argh!!!  Okay people.  This is REALITY!  This is what marriage really looks like sometimes.  I'm pretty sure most marriages have a conversation (or two) like this.  It might be how clean the house is, whether or not to remodel (or what color to paint the walls), it might be distribution of household responsibilities, how each individual spends their time (office, play time, home/family, cell phone/online) but I'm pretty sure every marriage has these annoying little things that come up now and again.  Sometimes you have A LOT  of frustrating conversations.  Sometimes fewer.  But if you're in a real relationship where one or both people haven't completely checked out emotionally, you're likely going to run into these little glitches.

I've been slightly bitter about Marcos's declaration of impossibility when I opened up to share my dream of tropical celebration with him.  "Nope!  We cannot go on a trip for our 20th anniversary."  And that was that.  Could we at least have a discussion about when we could make this a reality?  Like for real?  But I was frustrated.  So I slipped into some not-so-awesome strategies for dealing with conflict.  Avoid.  Discuss.  Cry.  Yell.  Discuss.  Caveman (aka growl/grunt in frustration as the conversation continues to go in circles).

Marcos: "Babe, I know you want to go on a trip.  We probably can one day.  But we can't this year.  We took the kids to Disneyland.  We could have planned a trip for us instead, but we didn't."  

I knew he was right.  And I knew I would make the same choice again.  Our kids had been waiting and planning and saving and earning to go to Disneyland this year.  And we made it a priority to take them.  They were at great ages for us to prioritize a trip to Disneyland and I do not regret it ONE BIT.  But to be fair, I never knew I was choosing a Disneyland trip over celebrating our anniversary.  I want both.  Yep.  That's how this whole thing went.  I sounded like a spoiled toddler.  Maybe I still do.

I wanted to throw a stick at him or stomp on his toes.  I'd slipped to the maturity level of a toddler.  At the very least I wanted to yell at him.  "You're a mean old dummy!  Why can't we go?  But my mommy said we could."  Yeah...super mature.  I kept the immaturity to myself for the most part, but if I'm being real here, I was pretty much a 2-3 year old on the inside.

{Pause}

I had a boss back in my working days who made a statement that had a profound impact on the way I see the world.

"Maria, do you know what I spend most of my time doing?"

Eager to impress, I attempted to answer with something besides, "Um, no."  I don't actually remember what I said, but it doesn't really matter what I said.  His response hit me like a ton of bricks!

"Most of my time is spent managing expectations."

Jaw drop.  We had a  more detailed conversation, but I pondered the depth and truth of those few words and have reflected on them often over the years.

Most of my time is spent managing expectations.  

Expectations from different situations: church callings, family gatherings, work, parenting, marriage, home remodeling projects, budgeting, etc.

Expectations from different people: spouse, children, boss, church leaders, extended family, friends, neighbors, strangers...

...and MY OWN EXPECTATIONS.

Here I was many years later trying to put on my grown up pants and manage my own expectations.

Expectations about what an anniversary SHOULD look like and expectations of how we NEED to celebrate.

Ugh!  😡  I hate it when Marcos is right.  And mature.

I spent some time gearing up for what I assumed would be a moment of disappointment.

And it is.  Sort of.

But I've also spent a couple days focused on the reality of what I do have instead of what I do not.

REALITY:

-Marcos and I have managed to make it through 20 years of marriage together.  There were times I didn't know if making it through another year was possible, but with blood, sweat, tears (and a whole lot of laughter), we have worked through the ups and downs of real life thus far and lived to tell the tale.

-We still enjoy each other's company.  {Pause for another story}

A few months ago, Marcos and I were talking and trying to come up with some ideas for fun affordable dates.  Marcos said his favorite date was going out to dinner.  After taunting him for awhile about being boring and predictable, I let him finish his thought.

"I love going out to dinner with you.  It's quiet without the kids.  I get to look you in the eyes and talk to you without interruptions.  I could sit there forever and completely lose track of time.  I know this sounds strange, but I can't believe that after so many years together, I still find you so interesting.  You're my favorite person to talk to.  You're always reading and learning and having experiences that you share with me and I love that.  I find you incredibly fascinating!  When we go out to dinner, it gives me a chance to see that side of you.  I can look in your eyes and get lost in conversation with you.  I never thought we would still have so much to talk about after 20 years, but we never seem to finish discussing.  I love that we are part of an eternal conversation that just pauses and then continues when we are alone again."  

😳  Um...what the heck?  😳

😍 Yeah, pretty much the best compliment EVER!  😍

-We're geekishly romantic.  To this day, Marcos makes my heart race.  Twitterpated (remember Bambie?)  I still feel that.  So does he.  I call him my boyfriend.  He loves it! (I think).  It reminds us that we are more than our family and children and home and bills and a million bajillion responsibilities.  It reminds us that long before this crazy life we created together, it was just the two of us.

-He does things he doesn't like because they matter to me.  He takes pictures of me and the kids (even though he hates taking pictures and I tease him incessantly about his lack of photography skills).  He gets dressed up in somewhat matchy clothes and tromps off to a random beautiful location in nature every once in awhile for a formal family photo (probably the most despised event on the planet for most men).  Simply because it matters to me.

-It goes both ways ya know.  My deeper love involves listening a plethora of stats and details about sports teams and players I've never heard of with as much enthusiasm and interest as I can muster.  He knows I don't love it.  He's learned to have sports conversations with Esteban (his brother) or Dylan or a close friend if he wants more than a twinkling eye and smiling face in response.  But I sit through painful sports conversations (and occasionally attend sporting events) because I love Marcos and HE loves sports.  ⚽🎾🏉🏀

-We make an incredible team.  Our skills are different enough that they play to one another's strengths.  Whether teaching a class, working on a project or just making it through the bedtime routine with the younguns, we are definitely better together. 💪

I'm sure I could go on and list a trillion other awesome reasons I am excited about today, but I will stop before this post becomes a novel. 😱

In dealing with our current glitch in "marital bliss" we put off figuring out what we could realistically expect to do to celebrate our 20th anniversary until YESTERDAY.  That's right.  I'm embarrassed to admit it, but every time we tried to discuss it, we got nowhere.  So...while we drove up to Raft River yesterday, we decided to make a plan.  We managed to make a reservation at The Anniversary Inn next week and will celebrate our anniversary a little late when we have family available to help with the kiddos over night.  As for today, we're going hiking together and then making a delicious home cooked meal while the kids eat pizza and watch a movie.  Why?  Because I love hiking and Marcos is thoughtful enough to suggest an activity I will love.  Because we are learning to be healthy together (and cooking together is actually be super fun and romantic).  And because it took us until yesterday for me to manage my own expectations about this major milestone in our lives.

From here to Argentina and back...

...till I die and forever more!

Happy 20th anniversary, Babe!! 😘

Shepherds, Memories and Kindred Spirits...

Four and a half years ago, Marcos and Dylan had an incredible experience.  They had the opportunity to participate in a version of "Savior of the World" performed in Spanish (El Salvador del Mundo).  Marcos was Pedro (Peter) and Dylan was Natan (Nathan - a shepherd boy with a huge part and several difficult solos).  I watched and supported from a distance.  I had a house full of children including a toddler.  Scratch that.  I had a wild, bouncy toddler with the enthusiasm and endurance of the Energizer bunny who could get into mischief in 1.3 seconds flat.  My oldest baby (Dylan - who was 10 1/2 at the time) would have this experience with his father and a new group of friends.  I would be a silent supporter in the background this time around. 

Marcos speaks to our children in Spanish, but usually English is the default language in our home.  The kids understand Spanish, but don't speak it fluently.  Dylan is pretty close to fluent at this point though thanks to his amazing experience of traveling to Argentina with Marcos when he was 8 years old.  He rarely shies away from a challenge and he got super brave speaking Spanish to everyone and anyone with his little kid American accent during his 3 week stay in Argentina.  And so it was that our family set off on the adventure of a lifetime.  My son, staring in a play in a language he barely knew, and my husband rocking the testimony of Pedro in a powerful and beautiful way you would have had to see to believe.  I worked with Dylan on his speaking and singing lines.  He spoke some Spanish at this point, but he certainly did not read or write it yet.  And so I taught him.  I taught him to sound out the words in Spanish and to read and memorize and speak those lines like a pro.  Dylan is a rock star and learned much more quickly than I could have ever expected!!  It was an emotional time, but one of incredible growth and beauty.  I got to see my husband and my son shine from a distance.

What I didn't put together until rehearsals and performances was the fact that although Marcos and Dylan were doing this play together, Dylan was part of Act I and Marcos was part of Act II.  Their parts did not overlap at all.  I had a friend whose husband and son were part of our stake's performance of Savior of the World years ago, but her son and husband were both shepherds and rehearsed together.  That was not the case for Marcos and Dylan.  My 10 year old was with a group of strangers learning lines in a language that was still new to him.  Just the thought of it brings tears to my eyes even now.  When I watched my boy go on stage without his father by his side, my heart sunk.  Please let him pull this off.  I know he can do it.  During one performance, Dylan tripped going up a set of stairs to his next stage position where he would deliver more lines.  He caught himself, but his leg was hurt.  He kept going like a pro.  Delivered his lines and no one was the wiser.  After the scene, he was mad at himself.  He was incredibly hard on himself backstage in between his scenes.  He was embarrassed.  He felt like a failure.  But his dad couldn't comfort him.  He was on stage by the time Dylan was off stage.  And I was in the audience with three kids and no one to watch wild Caleb.  I know my son well.  I could feel his sense of disappointment from a distance.  I prayed for him.  I cheered him on in my heart.  And I hoped he would have what he needed to pull through.  What he had was a new family.  A shepherd family.  A group of friends that had become incredibly dear to him during his months of practices and rehearsals.  They encouraged him.  They helped him make it through when he didn't want to continue.

Dylan's favorite shepherd was a guy named Jesus (pronounced Hey-Seuss in Spanish...as in Hey Dr. Seuss, but without the Dr 😉).  For whatever reason, Dylan gravitated toward Jesus and Jesus to Dylan.  They were like friends from another lifetime.  Like brothers.  I like to call this kind of friend a kindred spirit (Anne of Green Gables, ya know).  Someone you meet for the first time and feel like you have known them forever.  I've had this experience several times in my life.  Sometimes it is an individual with a similar life calling.  Other times, it is someone who will prove to be by my side during a difficult trial or life experience.  It's hard to understand why when you first meet, but whenever I find myself with a person like this coming into my life, I give thanks.  And that is what I did when Dylan met Jesus.  He was there to love him and encourage him when he got down or frustrated about his lines.  He reminded him just how amazing he was when Dylan could not see past his mistakes or slip-ups.  Jesus was a true blessing to Dylan.  He even spoiled him with a remote control car...AND a tablet.  Yes!  Jesus was definitely like the older brother Dylan never had who spoils the younger brother simply because he loves him.

Jesus is married and has two adorable little boys now.  But our paths once again crossed during Marcos's indoor soccer games the past month or so.  Jesus is often there playing or watching the mens' games.  Dylan went to watch Marcos play the past two weeks and the two of them reconnected.  It makes my heart so happy to see Dylan reconnect with a friend that meant so much to him.  It's one of those friendships where you may not be in each other's lives the same way anymore, but the friendship remains strong and forever bonded by an experience long ago.

Thank you, Jesus, for being such an amazing friend to Dylan!  Thank you for loving and supporting my boy at a time when my role was in the bleachers watching, cheering and keeping young children and a wild toddler alive.  😜 A few things have clearly changed, but Dylan's love and appreciation for his dear friend have not.  You mean the world to our entire family!  Thank you for being you!!  We love you more than you will ever know!!

My Grandpa

I was cleaning carpets when my mom called Thursday afternoon. 

Christmas morning was magical. 🎄

Then, what can only be described as a "series of unfortunate events," unfolded.  Car problems, sleepless nights, children vomiting, super sick mom (never a good thing), unidentifiable rotten smell somewhere in the house threatening to take away my sanity… 

Which brings me back to Thursday afternoon.  

Extremely ill.  Cleaning carpets. 

I turned off the carpet cleaner and answered the phone. 

“Hey, mom.  What’s up?”

“I just got a phone call from my brother.  My dad passed away this afternoon.” {Silence} “I’m heading home to pack my bags.  I was planning to drive down tomorrow to visit my parents for Christmas, but I’m going a day early now.  I will leave as soon as I can get my things together.” 

She continued to talk as emotion filled her voice, relaying details from the past week or two of his life.  I listened and tried to take it all in.  How does one ever fully absorb that kind of information?  Perhaps everyone’s experience is a bit different. 

Shock

Hysteria

Anger

Pain

Sadness 

One of my sisters started sobbing uncontrollably.  My mom had to tell her to take a deep breath before she could continue talking.  

Numb

For me, there is always an emotional disconnect – a numbness – that occurs when I am given bad news.  Surreal.  As if I’m swirling above myself, witness to my mortal body standing, holding the phone and listening. 

That numbness serves as a protective mechanism while I wrap my head around the information I’m being given and attempt to process it.  And then comes the flood.  My emotions return like a desert summer storm – swift, powerful and overwhelming.  The waves of emotions continue to ebb and flow as memories and reality of his death hit me over and over again throughout the day.  

My grandpa is gone.  After 87 years, he has left this mortal life.  A legacy.  I knew he wouldn’t live forever.  I knew this day would come.  He’s lived a full life.  He’s been tired of this mortal existence for a long time and was not shy to tell you how ready he was to move on.  But I’m going to miss him.  A lot. 

This was the last time I saw my grandpa (on my way out the door to go hiking with my friend, Lisa)

I LOVE that we were laughing together...even if it was due to his lack of cooperation at taking a picture with me.  

Grandpa was one of a kind.  He loved garage sales and bargains.  He drove grandma crazy with his constant treasure-finding, but it was a trait that soon became endearing to the rest of us.  His great grandchildren were the proud recipients of many random ceramic creatures they excitedly picked out and brought home.  Grandpa was not the type to sit still for very long.  He always had a new project.  One year it was hauling a stuffed bear to state and county fairs. Later, it was raising pigeons and chickens in the backyard.  Now that I am a grown woman myself, I have to say my grandmother is an absolute saint!  She tolerated my grandpa’s crazy ideas and projects much better than I would have.  

Grandpa was a working man.  He dug ditches and could work a backhoe like no one ever. I’m not even sort of kidding.  A few years ago, a man who knew my grandpa told me, "Your grandpa could scratch someone's back with a backhoe and not leave a single mark behind.  That's how good he was."  The man was a legend working with big machines back in his glory days.   He loved working with his hands and using what he had on hand to fix something.  I cannot count the number of boats, trailers, RV’s and other vehicles he brought home over the years to fix up.  He also loved fishing, a fact that permanently bonded Dylan to his great grandfather forever.    

Last March, I took Dylan down to visit my grandparents for his birthday.  One day, we headed into town to get some clothes from JC Penney (where my grandma used to work).  Grandma pulled her white Cadillac out of the garage a little too close to the minivan and scraped all the way down the side as she backed out.  I assured her it was not a big deal since the van is old and worn out.  “It’s fine, Grandma.  We’re just hoping the engine lasts a little while longer.  Don't worry about it.”  She panicked a bit, turned her steering wheel the other way and pulled forward in an attempt to avoid doing any more damage.  In the process, the rim of the Cadillac grabbed hold of the protective shield on the bottom of the van and peeled it up until it was folded open at a 90 degree angle.  😳
Grandma was devastated.  In fact, I hesitated to tell this story for fear of embarrassing her.  But to fully appreciate my grandpa, you have to hear the whole story...  

By this point in time, grandpa used a motorized wheelchair when he was outside.  He kept a couple of them in the garage so he could get around more quickly. As Grandma put the Cadillac back into reverse to once again try to avoid doing more damage to the van, Grandpa comes racing up the driveway in his “Jazzy” to see what happened. Grandpa slowly shook his head back and forth (not really upset, but more in a “What in the world am I going to do with this woman” kind of way), steers the jazzy over to the side of the van, lifts his foot up and proceeds to kick the side of the van a couple of times.  The protective shield (or whatever it’s called) bounced right back out at a 90 degree angle, completely unfazed by grandpa’s kicking.  Dylan and I did our best to keep from busting out laughing as we watched grandpa take in the details of a new problem he would spend the afternoon trying to solve.  

We returned from our shopping spree to find a great big screw holding the panel of the van in place.  Grandpa drove the jazzy over to fill me in on the happenings, “I put a screw in the side panel for you.  That should hold it in place and keep it from flapping in the wind for your drive home.  You’ll have to take it in and have it replaced.  Just send grandma the bill.”  I never did take the van in to be fixed.  I still have a screw in the side of the van holding that panel in place.  I smile fondly and think of my grandpa every time I open my door.   

My grandpa.  Gramps.  I’m not sure what age you have to be to catch a glimpse of the true man.  Perhaps anyone could if they looked hard enough.  For me, it didn’t take much more than a smile or hug to see past the politically incorrect, cussing man with strong opinions and no filter.  He had a hard outer shell, but inside he was nothing but goo.  Grandkids and great grandkids were particularly good at finding the inner core where he would melt like butter in the palm of their hand.

A little piece of my heart belonged to my grandpa.  That part of my heart is broken, aching, and longing for a big bear hug embrace just one more time.  I love you, grandpa!  Till we meet again.  

Tender Mercy

My older boys spent several hours working hard today.  As in manual labor, really pushing themselves physically, good old-fashioned hard work.  While they were gone, I decided to take Marissa and Caleb to the park to play and have a picnic for lunch.  I left a note for the boys to join us at the park when they finished.  It was one of those amazing moments where the stars align or some other cosmic force is in play. We had THE ENTIRE PARK to ourselves. I was able to read/listen to a book and take notes in my journal while still spending time with my little ones. They were ADORABLE! They were playing so cute together and making up games and stories. No tattle-telling, no crying, no needy, clingy, whiney kids. Just two siblings who are currently best friends making memories.

I've been a parent long enough to realize these types of moments come and go.  Dylan and Preston used to be best buddies, but are currently in a friendship funk. Sibling rivalry is in full force. They need space. They compete with one another much more than they cooperate and help each other and the incessant teasing is making me crazy (although the teasing part is pretty one-sided).  I've learned to take it in stride and not assign more meaning to their ups and downs than is necessary. Stages of life don't last forever and they allow for growth and development. But...I love when the needs of certain children match up with one another and siblings get along more than usual. For now, I feel extremely grateful that Marissa and Caleb's age, gender and personality mesh really well. They have constant adventures, love spending time together and make more messes than I can even begin to describe (something I've come to refer to as creativity and imagination).
BLESSING!  It is a true blessing and I am trying to soak in the moments and enjoy these two little ones tremendously while it lasts. The time at the park was not a complete surprise to me, but I still found myself smiling as I caught a glimpse of them creating rules and regulations for their "tree house" and hauling cup after cup of water from the drinking fountain to create the perfect consistency for building a sandcastle.

DELIGHTFUL! That's the best word I can use to describe it.  It was delightful to watch them. And to still be able to find time to read, ponder and reflect while spending time with my kiddos was absolute PERFECTION.  I found myself expressing gratitude.  And feeling joy.  Real JOY.

Dylan and Preston pulled into the park on their bikes and I couldn't help but smile.  They were clearly tired, but obviously had a good day working hard, something I feel both boys really need at this stage in their development.  They were excited to tell me about their day and then informed me that Wendy's has $0.50 frosties this summer.  They  asked if they could ride over and get one with their own money.  I said yes.  My mind was carried back to memories of my own childhood, walking to Holiday Oil with my younger sister to buy a treat during summer break. It was a big deal to earn trust from your parents and become more independent. We were excited but cautious. We obeyed traffic laws and didn't talk to strangers. We took our privileges seriously and gained more and more independence over time. My boys are doing the same. I smiled at this flashback in time and felt more joy and gratitude.

After a multi-hour park adventure, I decided it was time to head home. Marissa and Caleb asked if they could have a frosty too and I decided it was a perfect day for a treat on the way home from the park. I was also secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of the boys and make sure they were doing okay without looking like a was checking up on them.

I pulled into the Wendy's parking lot and THIS 👇 is what I saw.

My mama heart 💓 skipped a beat and I had to pause to catch my breath. MY BOYS! Look at my sweet, little (Um...I mean, not-so-little) boys! All dirty and grimy and sweaty from a day of hard work. Just LOOK at them!

The old school MasterCard commercial started playing in my head.

Two small chocolate frosties from Wendy's: 

$1

Bike and scooter for summertime adventure: 

$200

Brothers making memories that last a lifetime: 

Priceless

Cheeseball I know. But seriously! This picture was EXACTLY what I needed. I soon realized that what I originally thought was a priceless moment that I was fortunate enough to capture on my phone, was actually a tender mercy in disguise.  

It's been a rough week.  Busy.  Stressful.  And extremely emotional.  This picture reminded me that things are still okay.  Life is good.  There are blessings that surround me when I am able to slow down and be present.  When I don't push away joy for fear that darkness may lie just around the corner.  

Dylan and Preston are learning the value of hard work. They are gaining independence. They are working together AND playing together. They may argue and fight, but they also love and support one another.  

Marissa and Caleb are the sprinkles and glitter. They make life exciting and magical! They continue to amaze me with their creativity, and can turn anything into a game...or an EPIC ADVENTURE. Their giggles are contagious and their hugs can turn a hard, frozen heart into a GREAT BIG PUDDLE!  

 Fashion show

The BEST BREAKFAST EVER (just ask Caleb)!!

Their very own super hero changing space (on the front lawn) 

Constant adventure and excitement

I needed to know I was loved today.  I needed a reminder that joy can be found even during difficult times.  I needed a message.  And I received one.  It came in the form of a candid picture of two boys lounging on a dirty sidewalk outside of Wendy's with frosties, a scooter and a bike.  

A message of love.  

Of support.  

Of family.

A reminder to slow down.  

To breathe.  

To be present.

To walk barefoot through the grass.  

And feel the wind on my face. 

A reminder of simplicity.  

And joy. 

A reminder that I am still alive.

The Olive Tree

Marcos and I were recently asked to teach the mission prep class in our stake.  For those who may not be familiar with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, we have the opportunity to kind of train the young men and women considering serving a full-time 18-24 month mission for our church.

It was one of those callings that kind of caught us off guard (especially me), but within a very short period of time felt 100% right.    For whatever reason, we are meant to mentor this little group along at this specific moment in time.  And...I AM LOVING IT!!!

It sounds crazy because most of these kids are bigger than I am, but I feel like a mother duck with a flock of ducklings under my wing, ducklings eagerly following my awkward little waddle down to the pond.  They aren't newly hatched ducklings.  They are approaching adulthood.  And yet they still have a lot to learn, and we have been entrusted with their care.  We get to teach them the art of swimming - how to glide, how to paddle and when and where to make ripples that will continue forward and outward long after they have left the water.  It's an awesome yet humbling experience.

Yes I know they're geese, but you get the idea

We witnessed our first "mission call" moment yesterday.  One of our young women received her mission call last week.  She will be serving in Jamaica and leaves  in June.  I was so EXCITED when she told us about her call.  I may or may not have terrified her with my big mama bear embrace, but I COULD NOT help myself!  It was such a beautiful moment!!

We are learning all sorts of skills and covering all sorts of questions the kids have, but every week we leave a little bit of time for sharing thoughts, insights and experiences from the previous week.  It's probably my favorite part of class.  Yesterday, one of the boys from our class said he had been studying the allegory of the olive tree (Jacob 5), but that he read it differently this time as if the entire chapter was about him.  It was personal.  His words pierced my heart and I paused and reflected momentarily.  There were two scriptures I had been considering sharing and I still didn't know which direction I wanted to go with my comments.  Now I knew what I needed to say.  I silently thanked God for sending the Holy Ghost to direct me to the words best suited for our class that day.  I thought that was why his comment hit me differently.  I was wrong.

I knew I was close to that same chapter in my personal scripture studies, but I didn't realize that is the exact page I would turn to this morning.  I'd say it was a crazy coincidence, but the reality is that God is in the details of our lives.  It was a tender mercy, and I knew there was a reason I was reading the same chapter after a comment had been made in class yesterday.  The comment made by that young man echoed in my mind...
"It was about me.  It was personal."
As I started to read, an image of a beautiful olive tree took shape in my mind.

"...thus saith the Lord, I will liken thee...unto a tame olive-tree, which a man took and nourished in his vineyard..." (Jacob 5:3)

"And it came to pass that the master of the vineyard went forth and he saw that HIS OLIVE TREE BEGAN TO DECAY; and he said: I will prune it, and dig about it, and nourish it, that perhaps it may shoot forth young and tender branches, and it perish not."  (Jacob 5:4)

I started to cry.  This is MY story.  This is personal.  It is a story about me.  I am the olive tree that began to decay.  The reminder that Christ saw my decay, saw me wither and fail to produce fruit was a very powerful image for me.  The reminder that Christ came to prune and dig and nourish me when I started to decay brought tears to my eyes.    

"And it came to pass that after many days it began to put forth somewhat a little, young and tender branches; but behold, the MAIN TOP THEREOF BEGAN TO PERISH."  (v. 6)

Yes!  I remember that part too.  I began to perish.  For two years, I have struggled to thrive.  I barely survived.  I may have been alive, but I was definitely NOT living. 

"And it came to pass that the master of the vineyard saw it, and he said unto his servant:
IT GRIEVETH ME THAT I SHOULD LOSE THIS TREE...we will pluck off those main branches which are beginning to wither away and we will cast them into the fire that they may be burned." (v. 7)

More sobbing.  Christ DID NOT want to lose me.  And...there was definitely a need for a fire, to burn and destroy the dead and withering parts that were attempting to destroy my entire being.  Being pruned and burned is often a painful process.  But it was necessary.  

"And it came to pass that the servant of the Lord of the vineyard did according to the word of the Lord of the vineyard, and grafted in the branches of the wild olive-tree."  (v. 10)

"...It grieveth me that I should lose this tree; wherefore, THAT PERHAPS I MIGHT PRESERVE THE ROOTS THEREOF THAT THEY PERISH NOT, that I might preserve them unto myself, I have done this thing." (v. 11)

"Wherefore, go thy way; WATCH THE TREE, and NOURISH IT, according to my word."  (v. 12)

Oh my goodness.  Yes!  I was watched.  And I was nourished.  I was watched even when I didn't realize anyone was watching over me.  Even when I could not FEEL anyone looking out for me.  Even when the pain of the dead branches and the pruning made it impossible to see beyond myself.  I was watched and I was nourished.

"And it came to pass that the Lord of the vineyard looked and beheld the tree in the which the wild olive branches had been grafted; and IT HAD SPRUNG FORTH AND BEGUN TO BEAR FRUIT.  And HE BEHELD THAT IT WAS GOOD..." (v. 17)

Yep.  That's what's happening to me.  As the dead parts have been cast into the fire, the new tender branches that were grafted in are starting to take root.  I'm FINALLY starting to spring forth and bear fruit again.  I've been watched over.  I've been nourished.  And I am finally starting to bear fruit again like I used to before I began to decay.  I'm producing fruit again.  And the fruit I'm producing is good.  

"...Behold, the branches of the wild tree have taken hold of the moisture of the root thereof, that THE ROOT THEREOF HATH BROUGHT FORTH MUCH STRENGTH...Now, if we had not grafted in these branches, the TREE THEREOF WOULD HAVE PERISHED..." (v. 18)

The root hath brought forth much strength.  Yeah it has.  Another powerful reminder.  And a frightening thought.  Had this not happened, the tree thereof would have perished.  I was rescued from decay, from a state of withering and failing to produce fruit.  I was nourished and strengthened with digging, pruning and burning, with grafting and watering.  And if this hadn't happened...I would have PERISHED.  Quite literally.  I would have perished had I not been loved and nourished and taken care of by Christ and the angels on earth sent to help him save this dying tree.  And now...after a very long painful process, I am beginning to bring forth good fruit once again.  And who knows.  Maybe one day, I'll even be part of pruning and digging and helping to save another withering tree.