Oh, so Pretty!

Grasshoppers bounced off the front of the Polaris Ranger as we bounded down the dusty ranch roads. We tried not too smile too much--those grasshoppers landed just about anywhere! But we were having fun. Just the five of us, a family, enjoying the coveted family moments that come by sacrifice and disappear in blinks. The summer evening cooled us, the still green hills softened the hazy landscapes of cedar and sage, and the giggles and questions from the kids made us smile. And then the Ranger died. Completely. Michael and I tried to heave it up the hill so we could coast as far as possible before we had to walk, but we try as we might, the Ranger stayed put. Nearly two miles from the house, and with night approaching, two boys started asking frantic questions and exchanging worried glances. After a couple more futile attempst, Michael turned and said, "well, boys, lets start running!"
Run they did, a long set of man legs and two sets of boy legs. They ran down the mountain towards the house. They promised to return as soon as possible, but the mosquitos started biting and Emma and I started itching. The sun disappeared behind the hills, and a rosy shadow fell like a fog. I lifted the soft baby-ish, but growing up too fast, girl onto my shoulders and we started to walk. The sky became a glowing masterpiece of summerish oranges, reds, pinks, blues, and puffy cream clouds. A chubby cheek leaned down and smooshed mine. "Hi Mom," she said. The next instant she almost leaned all the way out of my arms, pointing to a clump of Indian Paintbrush, and in ecstacy said, "Oh! So pretty!" I stopped, noticing and acknowledging her find. We continued on, my heart happy with the perfect scene unfolding. Yet, we had a couple of miles more to go, and it wasn't getting any lighter. Then, no more than two steps later, she lunged at another clump of flowers--this time Bluebells, and exclaimed the same "Oh! So pretty!" After a few more "pretty" finds, I realized the next two miles would probably take a long time. I set her down on the ground, she put her chubby hand in mine, and we continued on, one or two steps at a time, before she found the next "Oh, so pretty!" and we talked about it. The sky continued it's sunset's granduer, each moment prettier than before, and we made time to enjoy it.
Soon, a flashing light from the shop truck heralded us--our rescuers had returned. Three sweaty boys made room for us, and before we knew it, we were back home, clean and mosquito free. But we had seen so many "Oh, so pretty's" and the dust and mosquitos hadn't overwhelmed us. Still, it was nice to back with the boys.
I learned a lesson that evening. We had started out on a good family adventure--one that was worthy and righteous. And then we hit a bump--a big bump for us at that moment. We had to change our plans--our future wasn't to be what we had planned or intended it to be. More effort and different roads had to be taken. But if we hadn't hit the bump, I would haved missed all of the "oh, so pretty's". In the end, not only were we safe and happy and together, but Emma and I had experienced beauty beyond description, and my soul was sanctified. Sure, the mosquitos had bit us, my feet and pregnant body were tired, and we were covered in dust, but all was right with the world, and better than it would have been otherwise.
So, as the past few months have passed, I've remembered this lesson. More appropriatly I've realized yet another tender mercy from a Heavenly Father that knows all, loves perfectly, and desires to bless us with all He has. Sanctification doesn't come from figuring out what will make us happy and doing it our way, but from humbling our wills and trying to put them in accordance with His will. And, as we do this, our paths will be covered with bounteous moments of "Oh, so Pretty!"

The stuffy, dark biology lab room sweltered in the August afternoon heat. Left over smells of last years' formaldehyde and the dust on the top shelves added to the staleness, leaving all present, including the grad TA, happy for the excuse to collect soil samples from outside. Everyone lingered under the shady Ginko tree, not hastening their return to the lab. All too soon, one by one, students filtered back in, carrying dusty vials full of campus dirt. But a tall farmboy still crouched under the tree, talking to the girl in a ponytail and tennis shoes. Their conversation soon turned from lab topics to life topics, and they became fast friends. Over the course of the semester, they worked on soil projects together, he learned she had tennis class right before lab, and she learned he loved to farm. Summer soon turned to autumn, the Ginko's golden trees danced in the cool breezes. Soon the lab's dinginess was replaced with anticipation of finals and Winter Break. The Farmboy anticipated home, farm work, and family. The Girl welcomed the calmness of home in comparison to the social madness of the life of a college co-ed.

Winter semester at USU started again--cold, wind, more cold, more wind, and more cold. Snow fell and ice froze the old windows in the Ag Science building shut. Outside winter raged like only it can in Logan, but inside the humid heat of the old building, a glow started in the heart of the farmboy and girl with the ponytail. Together they laughed over Dr. Thomas' disregard of Farmboy's wealth of knowledge by experience and the girl's blatant brown-nosing. One afternoon Farmboy asked the girl for a date that night. She hurried home in a mad frenzy, eager to get something new to wear!

And that first date--so different from akward first dates of their pasts. Kindred spirits from before, perhaps long before, their conversations flowed from drills, to siblings, and a common dislike for "Mormon rock.". . .

Memories of the first moments of our relationship warm my heart to the core. I could fill volumes about those good times. How soon those first moments have become fond memories. And now, ten years later, my heart grows more every day for that tall farmboy under the Ginko tree. He became my best friend, my husband, father to the three greatest kids in the world, provider, protector, and presider of our home--a kindred spirit from all eternity and for all eternity. This post is begining to sound like a "coolest husband" contest. I don't mean it to. Because there is no contest--he is the coolest husband. Happy nine years to us!

Chicken Coops and Valentines

The day that Magaw and Pops built the chicken coop dawned hot in the shade-- August mornings sometimes just start that way. They came as early as they could, armed with the tools and wood and mesh needed to create the finest coop money could buy. And then they went to work. A couple of days later and a few dozen popscicles later, the chickens found a new place to lay their heads . . . or beaks, or talons, or eggs, or whatever.

I am not a fan of chickens. They stink, roosters crow all night (at least ours does), and they lay eggs of various shapes and sizes and colors that PAAS Easter products just don't stock. Their brains (if they even have them) lack abilities of common sense. Yet, these chickens still needed a home, and thanks to my parents, they got one! My dad thinks and plans and figures better than anyone I know (rivaled only by my ever-encouraging husband) and my mom wins the sportsmanship award when it comes to these projects. This spring they will be trying bees . . .

Something of dependance happens the moment we come into the world--even before our entrance into earth, we depend upon our mothers for everything. Our fathers become our heros and providers and protectors. These people represent everything to our little bodies and minds: nourishment, safety, happiness, answers. Even now as a full grown adult with children of my own, I look to my parents for these same things. This year I asked them to please build our countertops and stairs in our new home. I didn't ask this out of ignorance or disregard for their time or talents or experiences (neither of them had ever done this before). But I needed something done that I just couldn't do myself. As a mom, I've learned that that's just what you do for your kids (even if you don't have a clue how to, you just figure it out!). And as a daughter, I guess I still rely on my parents a bit. Now every time I wipe sticky jam off the counter, or chase a basketball-shooting son down the stairs, I am grateful for their nourishment, safety, happiness, and answers that they have and always have had for me.

My Valentine's night date this year was a snowy walk out to the chicken coop. We walked hand in hand through the knee-deep drifts, under the bright winter starlight, to feed the birds, gather eggs, and balk at the rooster. He had a few things to say, as well. Once again, I was reminded that the best things in life are found in times of sacrifice and love, for our sweethearts and children, generation upon generation. Michael and I often remark how blessed our lives are, just to have been born into the homes we were. Decisions we made to bring us to the point we are now were planted in our hearts by the people that do things for us (even still) that we just don't know how to do. Thanks Mom and Dad!