The Unexpected Holy

Tonight, I read this beautiful post on Segullah.

"The unexpected holy."

The author writes of "those moments, when the holy surprises [her], finds [her] unsuspecting, and transports [her], if only for a moment, to a sacred space."

I expect to feel holiness in the "standard" places--in a church meeting, in the temple, in prayer. When we speak of standing in holy places, these are typically the places we mean.

However, this post brought to my remembrance a few "unexpected holy" places of my own. While two of them are regular occurrences--in the car, driving alone with beautiful music playing, and during an early morning shower--some of those unanticipated sacred places are mere memories now. They were a one-time occurrence, slipping quietly into my day and allowing me to experience a moment of God's love, and his awareness of me, even as the moment slipped away as quickly as it arrived. Yet those sacred spaces, the-ordinary-transcended-into-the-holy, remain etched into my spiritual memory.

Sixteen years ago, as a sophomore at BYU, I sat toward the back of a steeply sloped lecture hall and stared down the pitched incline toward the front of the hall. I watched the screen, which was projecting various images of a European cathedral, and I furiously scribbled notes as my Art History 202 professor spoke. She spoke, as always, about crossings, transepts, and buttresses, and vaults and naves and portals. But then she began to speak of something else: of pilgrims, sometimes rich but more often desperately poor, making incomparable sacrifices to journey to these cathedrals and shrines, to experience the love of God and to do penance for their sins.

As the professor spoke in great detail of these medieval Christians, her voice cracked with emotion. She began to compare their sacrifices to what we are required to do for the Lord in our day. Fairly soon, I found myself wiping away tears, the Spirit confirming the truth of what she said. To this day, that unassuming lecture hall is a sacred place in my memory.

Four years ago, in the earliest hours after midnight, I sat in a recliner, holding two infants, and stared out the upstairs window of our tiny nursery. I was bone achingly exhausted. But as I gazed out that window, longing for sleep, I noticed the brightness of the moon, gleaming white, round, and glowing, so vivid against the deep blue of the night sky. Trees were silhouetted black against that same sky. It was a scene I had witnessed many times before, but on that night, in my absolute weariness, it was a personal message from Heavenly Father--and a message I would have missed if I had been asleep: "Beauty surrounds you, even in the thickness of the night, and even in your fatigue. You are known, and I am here."

In the wee hours of the night, that cramped little nursery became my unexpected holy place, and on subsequent nights as I sat awake with infants, the memory of that moment kept it so.

Less than two years ago, I sat in a darkened patient room with a dear friend, who had asked me to accompany her to a procedure, for moral support. I was honored to be there, and I still recall the quiet hum of that place, the hushed voices, the compassion of the doctor and staff, the hope and humility of my friend. The procedure she underwent is a wonder of modern medicine, but in that place of lab tests, raw data, sterile equipment, and calculated predictions, there was a peace and a stillness and a feeling of the Divine. That holy feeling reminded me, and more importantly my friend, "You are known, and I am here."

Just a few months later, my husband and I stood in the Muir Woods, a national park just north of San Francisco. It was my first (and so far, my only!) visit to this place. It was early in the morning; the anticipated groups of schoolchildren had not arrived yet. For an hour, we walked, barely speaking, as we gazed upwards and beyond at the magnificent trees extending, it seemed, to the heavens. The air was moist and cool, and as I pulled my jacket tighter around me, I wondered if this extraordinary place--so very alive, yet so very still--was similar in sacred feeling to what Moses must have experienced in Mount Sinai, or Joseph in the Grove. It seemed I was standing on holy ground, and I felt as though I should remove my shoes.

The Reality of Five

Five years ago tonight, just after midnight on the 28th of February, my little twins came into the world. 

Five years.

FIVE YEARS.

I don't know what happened. Only a few months ago, I was hugely pregnant with them and nervously preparing for their arrival. Last month, they were little tiny babies and I was in simple survival mode. Just last week, the twins were two years old. And just last Sunday, I think they were three. They must have entirely skipped age four.

Right?

In reality, I relished every day of their fourth year, knowing that it would come and go all too soon. And so it has. I tried so hard to savor every little hand in mine, every snuggle and early morning hug, every kiss and every "I love you, Mom," and every charming observation one of them would utter.  

They are perfect, in every way.

For the last several months, the twins have been counting down the days until their birthday. We've gone from about 125 days to 97 days to 64 days and then to 32 and 13 and 3 and finally, now, it's here.

Tomorrow, as their eyes sparkle when they wake up to their bedroom full of balloons, and as we have our traditional birthday donuts with candles for breakfast, and later in the afternoon as they open their presents and we sing to them, I will smile and be thrilled for these wonderful little five-year-olds. Yet even as I smile, my heart might break just a little.

Or it might break a whole lot.

How do I begin to sum up the meaning of these years, the lessons I have learned, the daily struggles and toil?

How do I begin to convey to anyone what the twins' experience has meant to me and to our family?

How did we suddenly find ourselves in this place, in this busier-than-ever season of middle parenting? 

Where have my babies gone--all five of them? Next week, our oldest becomes an official teenager. Next week I will also drive to the elementary school for the twins' kindergarten registration. I sound like a cliche, but will someone please tell me where the years went?

And after so many years of in-the-trenches young motherhood, what on earth comes next?

A Girl Who Reads

My uncle Garry recently posted this on Facebook. I loved it so much that I had to share it here.

***

“You should date a girl who reads.

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.” 
― Rosemarie Urquico

The Lodge, Part II

Brian's parents with all seventeen of their grandchildren. Two more are on their way:

Brian with his brother and father:

Did I mention that Brian has five sisters and a mom who could pass for a sixth sister?

All of the siblings together:

They can be a bit silly sometimes…. :)

With that, this blog is complete for 2012!

The Lodge, Part I

On Christmas afternoon, we packed up (no small feat!) and headed up to Brian's parents' lodge at Bear Lake.

One evening after dinner, all the little kids and many of the adults watched the Pixar shorts in the fabulous movie room. It was the funniest thing ever to hear about fifteen little kids giggling in unison.

The lodge is a big place but there were still more than thirty of us, so the elementary-aged boys were relegated to sleeping in the furnace room.

The dads took the little people out to play in the snow.

Isaac, aka Mr. Mischief, got in trouble about two seconds after this picture for lobbing snow at his cousin's face.

My beautiful and incredibly photogenic sister-in-law, Kristin, shrieked and dove for cover every time she saw me with my camera. I posted this picture for her benefit.

Yes, he did bring a coat to Utah. He just didn't wear it:

The view from the lodge:

Another view:

Brian and his dad:

Madeline and her cousin Cecily:

Oh, look! He did wear his coat once:

Santa Came!

On Christmas Morning, at 6:15 a.m., we opened our bedroom door and found this:

The present-opening commenced by 7 a.m.

Disclaimer: my pictures are h-o-r-r-i-b-l-e. The lighting was terrible, the batteries on my flash was low, and I wanted to enjoy the present-opening and not worry about pictures.

Madeline has opened her gift from Santa and found a Calico Critters house:

One of the presents the twins made and wrapped for Brian and me:

Emma opened a present from Madeline. This is what she found inside--"an ornament."

Nathan got a larger snap circuits set from Santa, after having received a smaller set for his birthday and absolutely loving them.

Santa brought Clara a picture of her gift, which was awaiting her at home. Clara's face in the below picture is a classic Clara face:

Emma got a Kindle from Santa. (I thought this was a pretty fabulous gift, and I still do. But I was astonished to learn that her friends got things like iPads and laptops for Christmas!)

Isaac hugs his big brother after opening a picture of the gift that Nathan so carefully picked out with his hard-earned Elf Points.

The backside of the picture had this message from Nathan:

Christmas Eve 2012

We spent Christmas in Utah this year with Brian's family. There were 32 people, including 17 grandkids--with two more on the way.

In the morning, a few of the kids played in the snow, which was quickly accumulating.

Madeline and her cousin Emily:

Uncle Marc, Brian's brother, rolls a huge snowball with the kids "help":

Brian:

Isaac puts the finishing touches on the snowman:

After lunch, we had a family Christmas party. Clara played a piano piece but wasn't terribly please with her performance:

Grandma's Harry Potter tree:

Nathan, the newest little pianist in our house:

Isaac "Away in a Manger" while his twin sister decided to be grumpy on the couch.

Emma played a Christmas piece on the piano, too…until she forgot the ending….

Grandma read the grandkids a Christmas story while Madeline looked on:

There was some comedy--"The Three Bears" skit, Christmas-style. I took a number of incriminating pictures of this, but I'll mainly post the ones of Brian:

Although maybe I'll post one incriminating one of Emma:

On the left is Steve, our brother-in-law, and Brian's sister Emarie is on the right:

Nathan (in red) runs around with his cousins.

Next, a very special visitor:

Santa brought Transformers to all of the little boys. After he left, the dads and their boys had quite the challenge to figure out how those Transformers worked. Uncle Marc is not visible in the picture below, but he was hard at work at the same time as these guys:

Madeline + Ariel = Pure Happiness.

Madeline and Emily:

We had our Christmas feast that evening, after which a bunch of the grandkids acted out the Nativity. Sort of. It was kind of chaotic. 

Grandma gave the kids a new set of PJs for Christmas Eve. Here they are before the youngest three were banished to bed:

Late that evening, the very few of us non-instrument-playing folk were treated to an amazing family Christmas concert. It's a pretty remarkable thing to see a large family of siblings plus several spouses playing together. They were kind enough to let their young nieces, Emma and Clara, who are still starting out on strings, try to play along with them.