Matthew and Church

 

 

 

He loves riding Bodacious, playing basketball, and the color orange.

He despises church.

 

"Today is church day, Matthew."

"I am not going to church today.  It is not church day."

"Matthew, church is fun, you have nice teachers, and it makes Heavenly Father happy."

"But I am not a Mormon."

"Really?"

"Nope, I am not a Mormon, I am Matthew Frank Rees."

 

I love his bright eyes and funny crooked grins.  He scowls and growls and smiles and jumps and runs and does everything that a little boy should.  He picks up bugs and splashes in puddles and loves his puppy and sisters and the brothers.  I am glad he is mine forever.

 

"Girls have to not play basketball.  No, they can't play basketball.  Boys have to play basketball."



A Gentle Reminder . . .

 

 

Emma matter of factly explains what she will take to kindergarten as she stuffs dolls and books into her fuzzy pink caterpillar backpack.

Matthew listens attentively and offers advice.

Rachael craws and smiles.

 

Sometimes reminders come acutely and sting my heart--I know how fast the footprints in the snow melt.  I know that the eager hand I hold now soon won't be in mine.  I know that letters and numbers and sounds become essays and projects. 

 

And then I look into the eyes of my big boy and see a pure goodness and righteous desire.  Sure hope and faith overcomes that spirit of fear of change.  I look into the eyes of my second boy and see determination and decision.  I look into the eyes of farmboy and see humility and strength. 

 

And then I look into the innocent eyes of those little ones still mine all day.  These days are heavenly gifts.  I believe in the great expanse of eternity that we will recall these days. 

 

That will be a happy time . . .

 

 





Why I love America . . .

Rare, warm November sunshine bounced off my blonde-haired kids as we strolled through the schoolyard, through the gate, and into the Civic Center's parking area.  Two big American flags stood sentry on either side of the front doors, heralding a reminder that today was the day!  Vote here! Yet, I doubted anyone in this modern Mayberry would forget--this town pulsates politics.  The election judges call you out at church if you fail to turn up to vote.  I know all about this . . . it happened to me one November a few years ago.  It was a small election and I was tired and kid-weary and truth-be-known--I didn't really care.  Not only did I get a scolding at church, I also got a phone call from the county commissioner (who happened to be my mother-in-law) wondering why I didn't vote . . .

So, there we were yesterday--my five kids and I, lined up to vote.  They came with me to see how it worked and they helped me select the candidates.  They pushed the buttons, ate the licorise from the election judges, and proudly wore "I Voted!" stickers the rest of the day. 

But perhaps the greatest realization of the day came late that night.  The votes had been cast and our man lost.  Dissapointment dappened the hope of before, but as I reflected on the events of the day I realized how much I love these United States.  I realized that without any concern for my children's safety we walked through the doors of our city building and voted freely. 

And here I am tonight, thinking about these freedoms we've been blessed with.  Blessed by the sacrifice of generations and dreams long passed.  We are free to think and speak and vote and campaign and disagree.  We are free to worship and free from want.  We are free from fear.  These freedoms come to us because we were lucky enough to be born here.  But they can only stay with us if we continue to work for them.  Work will save us and our children and their children.  Work will save us from want and fear.  Active worship is work.  Making a difference is work. 

So on the day after this Presidential Election, I want my children to remember how the sun felt on their innocent cheeks, how it made the church steeple glow across the street, how the election judges smiled and gave them treats, and how the freshly-plowed fields held the promise of bounteous harvests yet to come.  I want them to know of the promise and blessings of freedom and the responsibity we have to protect this great blessing.  I want them to know that we harvest these freedoms from seeds planted long ago and that we plant seeds of freedom for those who come after us. 

A Bit about the Roost

 

And now a little bit about our Rooster . . .

Just bearly nine

Strong of will and strong of body

Athlete

Shy of soul

Sure of family

Friend

Patient

Early riser and intense player

Deep sleeper

Desire for right

Watcher and internalizer

My little boy, not so little any more.  A man in the making. 

Not for show, prefers to be in the back.

Non-conformist--he has his own drum and own beat

Definately one of the Chosen and Great Ones

Potential to the Divine

He is my boy, and always will be because of the strength of a Heavenly Vow

And the mercies of our Heavenly Father

He knows my Jared and loves him too and we share that love of boy and son

 

 

 

 

Moments

"Let's go see the most glorious thing in the world!"
(the pear trees in blossom at the school)

Rounded up cattle all day Saturday on horseback
Thinks, dreams, wears, and talks Aggie
Eats

Shrankie, inunciator, attacker, HUG MEE!

"What if instead of boys voices' changing, their face changed?  And what if in the middle of speaking in church it happened?"

Smiler, giggler, patient, soft fingers, almost roller, heart-melter, but not sleeper!

How do you capture forever?  

Remember . . .Winter/Spring 2012

Meeting Rachael

The way two boy footprints look in the snow, going towards school

A white princess dress and "oh they say when you marry in June"

"Peez hug meeee"

Basketball dunk it hoop it clothes

A drive to the Tremonton hospital, the billboards, and feelings of eternity

 Savoring the last of the baby kicks on the inside--not wanting to forget them

Making it to an 8:00 am Jr.Jazz game--Roosters incredible court skills and H's tenacious D and view of the game

Almost making it to 1:00pm church!

Baby fingers on the outside and cuddling the "question mark"

Hyrum and Jared saying the best thing about this Christmas was Rachael . . . (I worried that our sweet Rae might have messed it up a bit)

Favorite stories: Duck on a Bike, Pete the Cat, Kevin Henkes, Tasha Tudor, Big Pumpkin, Pinkalicious, One Morning in Maine, and lots more

Emma showing her sister the pink peach blossoms and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

Jogging with the kids through Bear River one spring evening

Good days

Bike riding boys

Neighborhood soccer games in the back yard and all those crazy kids . . .

Watching Farmboy and H work in the garden

Rae and Chris on blessing day

Rachael's brilliant sparkle and a blessing of joy

Hyrum watching the Joseph Smith movie in SLC
Looking over the Salt Lake Valley from the Church Office Building

Catching Jared and Rachael's quiet moments

Hyrum's talk in Sacrament Meeting and his testimony

Alma 57:27, Mosiah 2:17, 2 Nephi 9:52, 1 Nephi 3:7, 1 Nephi 8:15, Alma 53:21-21, Moses 1:39



I knew their stories--the classmates that I idolized. They weren't the cheerleaders or the Homecoming queens or the jocks. They looked and acted and lived completely normal teenage lives, but one trait fascinated me . . . they were the farmkids.

I remember being mesmerized by one friend's explanation of how her brother cleaned the cows' udders prior to milking. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon and we were eating lunch under an ancient sycamore in the school yard of old North Cache.

The ripe peach she held in her hand brought images to my mind of her family's kitchen, where her mother was probably standing at that very moment, wrapped in a vintagey apron and bottling those same fuzzy, warm, juicy fruits. I remember one friend talking about how he milked in the morning and talked to the cows about his future--mostly about his mission. I could picture the dark, moonless morning and the steam rising off the cows. I could hear their bauls and snorts, and I could smell the hot and cold and sweet and stink of the milk barn. In my adolescent mind, I determined that this was the life. . .

Well, THIS IS MY LIFE!!!
In patient moments I realize I'm living a dream. In not so patient moments I wonder what I was thinking . . . I'd never smelled the stench of afterbirth on overalls, seen the lifeless form of a newborn calf, wet and forgotten in the straw. I didn't know that my bathroom would one day resemble a bottle making, grease washing, manure laden haven of wet boots and stinky coveralls. I didn't know the dizzying monontony of harvest or baling or swathing.

Then again, I'd never known what it was to be all alone, nothing and no one for miles but the quiet drum of an occasional airplane. I hadn't seen the milky harvest moon rise heavy and bright over the Promontory wheat fields. I hadn't fought off the mosquitos and mud during the summer night irrigation turns. I didn't know the companionship of the stalwart horse, steady and sure under my saddle. I'd never walked over charred and smoky ground, watching the junipers explode into flames, nervous and safe at the same time. I'd never watched the sunset on Susie's View, or seen the million stars of the Milky Way twinkling in the icy November water troughs. Thanks to Farmboy, that world I dreamed of came true. . . Thanks also to Farmboy, we now have a couple of baby calves whose moms forgot to take care of them. This is our newest adventure!!!

Feeding the motherless calves for the first time is a little nervous . . .









But it's also pretty fun . . .

Sometimes they fight over one bottle, or try to eat each other. . . Hello Flint and Sassy

Farm kids are still my favorite!!!