A Little Perspective

What if you were a Chechen child and I, a Chechen mother? Our forefathers and fathers and mothers and brothers would have stomped and sometimes given in, shouted and bartered and shot and terrorized, for freedom and independence, short victory and ultimate defeat. I think, if I were a Chechen mother, the stone walls and the air of my home would be thick with my want for it. My throat would be thick with frustration. Guns and guts would be more than toys and dark corners. Never doubt, my American child, they are trying to take it away from you.

Remembering

It's quarter past five and it's dark out like only Calgary can be dark. I see tufts of smoke rising from a neighbor's house. Where does that smoke come from? They're not on fire and I'd be surprised if they lit a wood burning fireplace. It's beautiful against the blue sky that varies in color like a melting paint chip.

I love nights like this. M is still napping, H is probably getting ready to leave work. Except for the occasional phone call, it's so quiet that I can hear the hum from the humidifier in M's bedroom. I feel peaceful at this time of day and it makes me want to pray and read my scriptures and connect with God.

My life has been happy lately. M is feeling better. It's so nice to see him more like himself. He grins at me and motors around the house leaving a wake of destruction in his path. Clean cutlery from the dishwasher litter the floor, his toys are spread across the living room, his diaper supplies over the multicolored puzzle piece mat. There's this unusual joy that I feel as I watch him play and explore. I haven't felt it before him. It's so real it's almost tangible, it's so full I feel like it swells me up like a balloon. I want to stare at him and freeze every memory: The way he waves both arms at the mirror, obviously excited with the reflection, exclaiming "eeeee! eeeee!" The way he sucks on a teaspoon like it's a smoke, leaving both hands free to pick up diaper wipes and throw them in the air. I want to record his noises as he babbles to himself while pushing his push toy or walking around and around the upturned toy ottomon. I want to freeze everything because I know I won't remember it. It's impossible. So I take as many photos as I can, record long videos that demand editing and write posts. Maybe I'll remember something after all.

Faith To Walk on Water

Lord, had I attempted walking
‘mid the wind so boisterous blow.
Could I stay atop the water?
Could I have the faith to know

That when you bid some task, though daunting
It is I who must decide
Will I step off the boat and walk to you
To be right by your side?

Oft times I look, as Peter did
To the challenges below.
I dwell on temporal tasks
And so dwelling, downward go.

You’ve caught me when I’ve sunk, dear Lord.
Your strength, it filled my need.
You spoke to me of how you’ve planted
Within me a divine seed.

So next time you bid me come
I’ll weigh not the concerns.
I’ll try to put my hand in thine.

With you I’ll walk on water.

A True Thing.

I had an experience while at home with my family that made me think of a past memory, and then another, and another. I love it when something happens and there's a familiarity in it that triggers how you felt or your thought process from a completely different time and place.
I have taken classes that compare and study similarities in cultures across the globe that do not influence each other and yet all share the same components. For example, all cultures have a form of belief system and expression in music. Things found common in all cultures are considered a universal need or a universal truth. It makes me think of our own personal experiences, where given different times, places, and people, some things are always consistent. They are my own personal truths; the universal moi, me, truths. Okay, that's just trying to be politically correct, I can't help it but I consider truths to my own experiences to ring true for everyone. You don't have to tell me if they don't.
I told my four year old son to get undressed because it was time to get his pajamas on. I went back to the bathroom to help my buddy ol'husband finish cutting his hair. All of a sudden we heard hysterical laughter and running up and down the hallway. My Mr. Spouse said, 'What is he doing?' Even with the visual barrier of the door, I didn't have to see to know what he was doing. I said, 'Oh, he must be naked now. That was fast.' He thinks it's hilarious to be naked. Just to confirm my suspicion(like there was any doubt), I opened the door and sure enough with a face expressing all things happy and joyful he was running around in the nude. I knew the laugh. I knew the run.
It was at that moment that other experiences came into my mind. I had felt the same thing I had just felt and thought, but before, with a roommate back at university. This particular one was the one everyone was scared of when she had a bad day. When I was upstairs, I could tell by the way she opened and closed the door, and hearing the type of footsteps she made if we were in for Ms. Hyde or just the unviolent alternative. I knew her so well, I could tell without seeing her face, without asking her. Completely different scenario but it flashed in my mind when I knew without a doubt what my son was doing without asking or seeing.
The truth of relationships where you know someone well, enough to have the details, is you know how they feel, how their day was, or what they are doing without being face to face. It's a beautiful thing about the people you are involved with when you can hear someone's signs and already know. It's comforting there are people you know almost as well as yourself and people who grasp you just as well. I love those memories that flash back when you feel an emotion that you felt before. The familiarity makes it endearing. That is where you give the silent smiles when alone or when you seemingly laugh at nothing in a room full of people, or even roll your eyes. I like those moments.

Seven Years

Ten virgins

Standing, all in a row

Five and five and all aglow.

A number of gifts to offer the groom

A number of lamps to light the room

As often is true,

The worth of a soul

Was a thing to be sold

For a number of things

But nothing like gold

Or rubies and such,

Perhaps a little pyrite.

With no sign of a fight

And the night

Was so dark.

Speaking of numbers,

Three years ago,

Or three years and some

I bore little warrior

Number one.

And the last shall be first,

And the first shall be last,

And it may not make sense to actuarial math

But actually,

7 years later,

The price of a ruby

Has nothing on me.

Angels in Your Time of Need

It was the day I looked up at the beam in my basement and the thought "that would hold my weight" sprinted across my mind. I buried my head in my pillow, covered it with a blanket and sobbed. I sobbed because I had thought it and I sobbed because I wanted it. I could hear him through two sets of stairs - a duet of hysterical crying. It took over an hour before we had both calmed down and I could go back to my room and pick him up from the 'safe place to cry'. His back was drenched with sweat and I was drenched in guilt.

It was that day that you called, sharing with me 2 Nephi 4:34-35. That answer to your prayer was an answer to mine. I spent the evening soaking in the tub, memorizing the words while you rocked, shushed, and paced. I let the powerful words melt into me and fortify me giving me a hope that over the past few weeks had been foreign. For the first time in weeks I felt that with the Lord anything was possible and with trust I could overcome my pain.

It was the day you came over and respected my need to hide my tears and pretend like things weren't bad. I don't think I fooled you. Instead of calling me out you took care of things while I took a nap I obviously so desperately needed. You did not know what was going on in my mind but you saved me anyway.

The day after you brought over healthy, chocolate haystack treats. Another deposit in your already large account of good deeds. They went well with the random offer to bring over dinner. You spontaneously called me and asked if I could use another meal. I had lost count by now but I had no shame and accepted, feeling grateful for a good friend.

And now, months later, when frightening, hopeless thoughts are replaced with joyful, hopeful thoughts, I can see more clearly the time of my need and the way you, all of you, fulfilled a promise made to me. And thanks to you, I know, what I only frantically hoped for then, is that God keeps His word.

Love Grew

Love started out as a glance. A notice of appearance, of countenance, of demeanor. It did not yet know it was love.

Love grew into talking, into internal giggles, and into verbal analyzing with girlfriends. What did he mean by this, what did he mean by that? Could anything come of this hint of promise?

Love progressed into feelings. The increase of heart beats, the delicious aftertaste of a joke, a shared smile and the full silence after long phone calls.

It grew and it grew until it became the shape of life itself beckoning it's subjects to make choices to join and create a life all on their own. It's sweetness was unknown, foreign but always imagined and now treasured.

At what point did love grow hard? Was it when it didn't know it yet existed? When it didn't know it had arms and legs extending into and changing the very lives it touched? Was it when it metamorphosized into something more than intense feelings, more than day dreams and movies? Was it when it slowly, and painfully transformed into meaning and purpose forcing those who beheld it to metamorphosize and transform themselves?

It no longer took the exciting shape of story filled emails, secret love letters in the mail, spontaneous gifts of jewelry. It became cutting sandwiches into quarters because they taste better that way and feeding spoonfuls of soup into the mouth of a once robust and capable but now debilitated lover. Love offered it's body and mind in exchange for the body and mind of a smaller, but beautiful, other. It became sacrifice and giving, not just of things, but of oneself and of giving up the part of oneself that hurt others.

Love became confusing yet also deep and poignant. Love was no longer just bliss but sadness as well. Love became what is may not have been before, more real.