Washed white

Because of some recent opportunities in church, I have become a steward of sorts over about 20  white tablecloths. Can you imagine the beauty of brand spankin' new, gleaming white as snow tablecloths? Five of the linens blanca debuted at a luncheon serving some very responsible adults .To our credit, the menu included food that was light in color; poppyseed salad dressing, creamy chicken and wild rice soup, bread, and a lovely lemon curd dessert. There were a few berries in the dessert, but they went straight from the spoon to the mouth in all cases. The diners ate very neatly and left the tablecloths with minimal food damage.  I took the tablecloths home, treated a few low pigment spots and washed them 2 at a time. I loved pulling them out of the dryer restored to their gleaming state and then folding them and returning them to their wool white sisters.

Outing # two for these fair maidens was earlier this week. It was a special occasion and they did their job making everything look beautiful. They held their centerpieces and place settings well as spotless canvas ready to receive fallout from life. The guests at this event were responsible as well. It was a wonderful gathering with all ages of lovely people. As one would expect with younger guests, a few berries and chocolate smear landed on the white. Such is the fate of tablecloths. If they do their job. they receive soil and stain, for life is all about mistakes and imperfection. Once again, I took the tablecloths home. This time I had 11. This time I had reds and browns to scrub and soak. My bathroom was full of  tainted piles of white.Then my washer was full of piles of not as tainted mostly white. But into my dryer I placed clean white cloths. In hopes that I could minimize the wrinkles I draped the cloths on all the banisters of my house. My world was white like winter, white like a new start, white like I imagine perfection to be.

The Prophet and President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints, Russell M. Nelson, has asked us to read The Book of Mormon before the end of the year. I have read this powerful Testament of Jesus Christ many times. I am reading it again before the end of the year as requested. I have marked scriptures that testify and teach of Jesus Christ. I have marked passages that teach me how I can be a better disciple. I have marked old favorite verses that mean more to me every time I read them. I observe that life has taught me and changed me and prepared me to make this reading the best yet.


Today I read Alma 13:11-12 "...They were sanctified, and their garments were washed white through the blood of the Lamb. Now they, after being sanctified by the Holy Ghost, having their garments made white, being pure and spotless before God, could not look upon sin save it were with abhorrence; and there were many exceedingly great many, who were made pure and entered into the rest of the Lord their God."

And do you know what? I knew what white was. As I read about garments being made white I thought of yards of tablecloths draped on my banisters. When I read about being pure and spotless before God I pictured my bathroom as the starting place for removing chocolate and berry trifle. When I read about looking on sin with abhorrence I thought of how glorious clean tablecloths are and what a shame it is when they become stained. And when I read about being washed white through the blood of the Lamb, I felt love and gratitude for my Savior that I can become clean when I make mistakes and be sanctified if I believe on His name and repent and walk the covenant path.

I'm thankful for white tablecloths and new starts.

Daffodils!

I believe in planting daffodils. I remember reading an article in the Readers Digest about a person who created a breathtaking field of daffodils by planting bulbs diligently every fall to bloom in the spring. It was called "The Daffodil Principle" written by Jaroldeen Edwards. The idea of contributing to the beauty of the earth in that way impressed me, and I silently vowed to do my part.  I planted in my flower bed and even in my lawn in NE, KS, and IL. But somehow I lost my momentum: Minnesota was too cold; West Virginia was too shady. My magnificent dream was neglected and then forgotten. Years passed with nary a bulb being placed on Stoker soil. And then... last Saturday, there I was at the hardware store in October. My husband was in the plumbing department. so I was browsing around the pretty things and I came upon them--daffodils. I remembered my past promise to the earth and was encouraged by the little "deer resistant" stamp on the package. I felt so happy as I walked to the car with my bag of replete double pink bulbs.

Today while I joyfully planted, I thought of the hope manifested by my task. Y'all know I love flowers. I'm a fan of purchasing bedding plants that are already blooming, but that only requires a teeny bit of hope--stay beautiful and hope that no hungry animal eats them for breakfast. This year I also planted some zinnia seeds. I hoped for their growth and flowering beauty and was rewarded within a few weeks. But bulbs take a special long term hope, a hope that even though the harvest is waning, the leaves changing and soon all but the evergreens will be asleep, it's the hope that winter is only a season. The earth that looks to be void of life is not dead, only dormant, waiting to be awakened by promised spring. That much hope felt right in my heart.

My hope felt right because we can believe in good things yet to come. Winter isn't meant to last forever. By planting bulbs I'm reminding the cold season of hardship that it cannot stay. Come if you must, but soon earth will thaw, branches will bud, birds will chirp, and brave little daffodil shoots will peak through the ground, thrilling us with their sweet green promise of life. And the world will warm and live.

And that's why I love daffodil bulbs. Because I believe in hope.

Push to the beach.

Let's start this post by giving a shout out to the people with the plan. Not the people like me who say, "Wouldn't it be fun to ...." or "We should...", but the people who say, "We've booked a vrbo at  Folly beach for these days, would you like to join us?" Those are the powerful people who make the world go round. So that happened in our family, my daughter-in-law being the awesome one. Once I knew where I was supposed to be and when, I got myself there.

It was a joyful gathering with 3 sons and 2 daughter-in-laws, 4 grandchildren, 1 brother and his wife and 3 nieces. I was happy as a clam in the house surrounded by merry loved ones full of energy and happiness. I was so happy that the thought occurred to me, "Do we really need to go to the beach to make this day great? I mean, there will be traffic and parking and sand all over the place." That was the known, we also had to deal with the unknown, and we all know how scary that can be. Bravely, I recognized that the beach was the reason we had driven 5 hours and if I wanted to be with the people I loved, I needed to push through inconvenience and possible discomfort to the beach.

Well, guess what? There was a little traffic, a little trouble parking, (Don't make a mistake when parking in a beach town. You will pay. Luckily we learned from the mistakes of others with their expensive reminders posted on their windshields) sand everywhere and the unknown, that should have been known--getting a little bit lost. But guess what else there was? THE BEST DAY EVER!

The water was so big. I always forget until I remember. It was also warm and easily swimmable. The sand was sandy, but as usual, perfect for sand creations. The sun shone, but not glaringly. We had occasional respite from the clouds. We also had a fairly new beach ingredient, the best ingredient of all--grandchildren. I can't describe the delight of watching the little posterity learn about the waves lapping at their toes, covering their ankles and then pulling the sand from under their miniature feet. We definitely had to jump over the waves and sometimes not so happily learn about how salty ocean water is.

Activities included a beach nap for the 1 year-olds, Frisbee with my son and a stranger, and a special surprise. Number 3 son brilliantly brought his inflatable kayak and took me for an adventure. We headed out past the surf in the direction of the pier. He was patient as I tried to contribute my irregular and sometimes confused but always well-intentioned paddling. I was having a lovely time moving through the gently rocking water when my son saw something. He said, "There's a shark." I thought, "That's cool. Just stay in the boat." And then we realized it was not a shark. It was a dolphin swimming not very far from us. Then two more porpoised on the right. There I was in the Atlantic ocean on a kayak with my son and dolphins swimming and jumping all around us--magical.

So, to apply this to mortal and eternal life, I want to remember to be content and thankful for what I have, but recognize that achieving the higher goal is worth the stretching and working and suffering inconvenience and even a little discomfort. It's nice to rest and gather on the couch, but then we must PUSH TO THE BEACH!

And we will come back home, home again.

Sometimes I feel like the angels plan a trip for me. That was the case last Friday when I boarded a plane for SLC. I was able to visit my cute sister, Heidi, my darling niece Katelyn and her wonderful husband, Mitchell, my awesome brother and sister-in-law John and Stephani and their family, my cherished children Rebecca and Andrew, and my loving parents. As has always been the case for me, whenever I'm on my way home to my parents' house I have a welling in my heart of gratitude and sentiment and belonging.

It was no different Saturday morning as I drove south into the UT wilderness to Richfield where my parents reside in a nursing facility. As I walked into their room at the end of the left hall, I felt like a little girl coming home.

Of course the room was decorated with antiques and flowers. Original artwork depicting my mother, painted by my Dad, adorned the walls. Dad's farming hat hung by the window in sight of the tomato plant that was just barely receiving enough sun to grow. Mom's "Book of Remembrance" stood fanned on the table top overflowing with our family tree, family pictures, and family histories. They each had scriptures by their bedside. As is always the case when I'm with my parents, our reunion was filled with love and learning.

I learned about beauty. Mom's Valentine Christmas tree was decorated with pink and red hearts. She asked me to change it out for her summer Christmas tree. From her car, which serves as extra storage, I retrieved the most exquisite silk roses. She had me place them on the permanent Christmas tree, and do you know what? They looked fabulous. Guys, everyone needs a summer Christmas tree.

On Sunday, when it was time for church, Mom got dolled up in her darling outfit accented with a perfect lace choker. Dad was dressed in his suit and had his hair combed. Never mind that there were 15 people tops at the meeting, Sunday church is special and we show respect for the occasion.

I learned about finishing strong. During the past few years, my mother has been teaching herself to play the piano. On Sundays, a young man comes from the community to play the piano for church in the nursing home. He doesn't usually arrive until 7 minutes prior, so my mom's responsibility is to play the pre-prelude. I was excited to hear her play. She does a wonderful job. But what I loved even more was when she took a detour on our way down the hall to invite a friend to church. The friend wasn't feeling well, so she got a hug and a kind word in addition to the invitation. My father's church responsibility is greeting. On this Sunday I was the force behind his intentions as I wheeled him to each person in the room where they received a warm welcome and sincere interest in their well-being. After the meeting, Dad made sure he spoke to each person who contributed to the program and thanked them. He was so disappointed that the man who sang the special musical number left before Dad could compliment him and express his appreciation. As we walked back to the room after a lovely church service, we took the long way as Mom stopped to visit her friends and make them feel loved. I was proud of the example of service these dear people give me and the rest of their posterity.

I learned about aging. I've already felt the impact of losing abilities I once had. Sometimes it seems unfair that we spend the first half of our life developing talents that slowly diminish the second half. I saw that phenomenon in a different way after spending time at home in a place I've never lived with people that I'll never stop loving. Our gifts and abilities are stored away as desires to be unlocked in their fulness at a future time in eternity. My Dad has been farming/gardening ever since I can remember. I ate peas from his mother's garden and continued to benefit from a bounteous harvest throughout my growing years. Not being able to garden has been heart-breaking for my father. That problem was solved with the planting of the tomato. From the vantage point of his bed, Dad measures the plant's growth against the wall. He worries about it's progress and makes sure that the stems aren't broken in the moving. That is one of the secret joys of gardening, watching for and caring about growth. There are so many references to gardens in the scriptures. It just goes to show, gardening is powerful. Once, after a conversation my father and I had about pomegranates and propagation and problems, he said, "Keep farming." It occurred to me that he said something very important for life.

Dad has always loved to sketch and paint people. While other people watch tv and eat. He watches tv and draws. His favorite subject is my mother. We all have favorite paintings. My favorite is a painting he painted not too long ago that won sweepstakes at the fair. Because of a stroke, he has lost vision in one eye and strength on his right side. He has been so frustrated by this because he can't walk or play the guitar or any of the other activities that brought him satisfaction, including art. Since water color is easier to manage, Mom gave him a set and encouraged him to paint. He showed me his most recent painting which was of my mother, of course. He was disappointed because it lacked the skills he had previously attained, but I was inspired because I see his heart and the gifts he has developed shining through his mortal limitations.

And as always when I'm home, I learned a little more about love. The tight hugs and gentle kisses upon arrival, the expressions of gratitude, and sincere compliments filled me to the tippy top. And when I watch my parents snuggle and visit all through the day I feel safe and warm and full of hope. When my mom was playing the piano Dad turned to me and said, "Isn't she good?" That was adorable, but after church, back in the room, Dad beckoned my mom to come to his wheelchair.  I thought he needed help, but he just whispered, "You look really pretty today." I about died from the cuteness.

What a privilege to visit and worship with these parents who have blessed my life. Our closing song in church was "God be with you til we meet again." I cried the whole way through, because I know that someday we'll have to be separated for awhile. I'm reassured, however, that families are forever, and I'm thankful for mine.

Beautiful Growth

2 springs ago, I found this beautiful lantana at the nursery. I loved it's sweet pink and yellow faces and it's heat resistant constitution. I planted 3 and they cheered up my flower bed all summer. Winter came, however, and life got hard for these little beauties.  Where was the sun? How were they expected to survive the frigid temperatures (Comparatively speaking. We're in GA after all.) Two of my lovely friends gave up. They had done their part. A summer of constant blooms is quite enough to ask of a pretty face. But one brave flower sister fought the fight  She dug in her roots and hung onto her place and returned triumphant in the spring. She didn't return as she began however, she came back stronger, taller and even more beautiful. Those roots had strengthened and had even more to give to the world.  This summer, sweet lantana was the star of the garden show and a favorite with man and butterflies.

I was reminded of this story because my daughter and I were having a conversation about a rough time she had weathered. I was feeling all motherly sadness because of her trial. She explained to me, "[During that time] a lot of beautiful growth occurred. The Lord knows. I have total trust in him."

So that storm that came yesterday? That was an opportunity for beautiful growth. Broken heart, disappointment, hardship? It's all part of the beautiful growth that occurs when we trust God and keep walking in his path.

Thanks for teaching me, baby girl.