I Broke the Butter Dish and Other Confessions of Late Pregnancy

Yes, I'm the one who broke the butter dish. And the last of the glasses that Derrick and Kendra gave us. And one of our few remaining IKEA stoneware bowls. I'm always clumsy during pregnancy. Well, I'm fairly clumsy all the time. Something about the hormones and the physical changes of pregnancy just exacerbates it.

But strangely, I have felt anything but clumsy this pregnancy. Being pregnant this time around has been pure bliss. I feel beautiful, divine, big, powerful, capable, joyful, grateful beyond reckoning. It may be because this is likely my last chance to experience pregnancy. It may be because I am keenly aware of so many around me who are yearning to be pregnant, or whose pregnancies are truly difficult. But somehow I have been able to abide in each moment of this experience, to cherish it for what it is, to revel in this partnership with the divine in creating a body to house a precious spirit.

I laugh at the less-than-stellar moments of pregnancy: the now cumbersome belly, the ridiculous round-ligament pain, the multiple trips to the bathroom (some coming less than 5 minutes apart), the hips that hurt in the morning and leave me walking like an old lady. And then I cherish them too. When will I ever feel this again? Even the pain and the discomfort are precious. They are teachers, reminders of how alive I am, how fortunate I am to be a mother, how worthwhile the fruits of this short season will be, how short this season truly is.

I think it is also a blessing to have a summer baby. I visit my garden in the mornings to tend and weed and water and harvest, the warmth of the sun radiating through me. The squatting and the bending and the reaching are wonderful preparation for my physical body. The widely opening flowers, soon to be ripe with fruit, are a comfort and companion to my mother-soul. The effortless green and growth are nourishment to my spirit and a gentle example of our equal needs, the garden and I, for nourishment and tender care.

In my favorite birth book, Birthing From Within, there is a powerful exercise. It is one I teach my BFW classes and doula clients. It is the process of choosing one's Deepest Question. Like affirmations, it is a way of bringing mind and body into congruence. Even more powerful, to my mind. In asking the question over and over, we invite ourselves to live the answer. And as I live the answer now and the next moment and the next moment, I can know with surety that I will still be living my answer as I give birth and learn to mother a new child.

My question through the latter half of this pregnancy has been this:

How am I opening to this moment?

Each time I ask this again, I feel myself crack open just a little wider. I feel my heart open, my mind open, my eyes open, my hands open. I feel myself opening to and embracing the joy, the humor, the aching hips, the gentle nudges of my baby each morning, the nervousness about having five children, the breaking butter dishes. I am opening to all of the possibilities this particular birthing adventure might take, to the love and kindness of friends and family and strangers who are eager to share in this experience, to the wonder in my children's eyes as they marvel over my hee-uuuge tummy, the adoration and devotion of my dear husband. I am claiming and embracing it all, without apology, with an inkling that I just might be one of the most blessed women in existence right now.

My preparation for Coco's birth was an exercise in trust, a warrior-like need for battle readiness, almost an existential crisis. (I frequently pull myself into the-chicken-or-the-egg type discussions about this. Was Coco's birth my most intense because I was so intense about preparing for it, or did my spirit know how desperately I needed that intense preparation for the phenomenal experience to come?)

This experience has been so incredibly different. It has been one of curiosity, gentleness and steady, calm assurance. Perhaps I am living the calm of the warrior. Coco's birth taught me that I am made of tougher stuff than I ever imagined. Perhaps my spirit really knows what's coming and I'm in for an easier ride this time.

Either way, I'm ready. Open. Grateful.

I'm in no hurry to part with this little one, to end this treasured experience. But I feel the end coming soon. And when it comes, I will open body, mind and spirit and let my little one come from my body to my arms.

And the opening will have only begun.

The Joy Comes in Moments

A conversation with Scud last night as he was settling down for sleep:

Scud: Mom, I realize you and Dad do so much stuff for us. I want to thank you for that.
Me: You're welcome. I'm grateful to be your mom.
Scud: I'm grateful to be your son.

Bring It On, Phil!

And strangely, I don't mean spring.

Not that I wouldn't welcome spring, but can I just tell you how desperately I have been loving this winter?

Winter was magic when I was a child. I can still taste the awe and excitement of waking up and looking out of our big, picture windows to see the world sparkling, blanketed in new snow. The hush, the splendor of the smooth, crystalline surface was almost sacred.

I remember walking home from school, wearing pink and gray moon boots. Crossing the high school football field, I felt like an arctic explorer as I tromped a trail through virgin snow that came up to my knees. And of course no trip would be complete without a handful melting in my mouth as I fell backward with a poof into the white to make a snow angel.

Seeing my breath blow in steamy puffs through the icy air, I felt so alive. Examining the tiny snowflakes that fell on my window, I marveled at each intricate, unique design.

My mom would bundle me up in snow pants and coat and boots and gloves and scarves and hat. I would wander through my yard for hours. Winter made the places I knew into a brand new world, fresh for exploring. Then, I'd come in to the living room, put my wet clothes on the large metal heater vent to dry and sit in our cozy kitchen drinking hot cocoa.

Later years found me sledding -- at East Elementary with Camille, at the high school with Rachel, in our Stake President's back yard with Liesl. Oh, and thinking about Liesl reminds me of the old snowmobile we used to ride for hours around the fields at West Elementary.

Winter was a charmed time.

I don't remember exactly when I started hating winter. By the time I was in high school, I'd lost a bit of my love affair with winter. But I didn't hate it.

Winter meant singing in three different choirs all through the Christmas season. It meant lights at Temple Square in Salt Lake City.

Winter was snowball fights with Michael, holding hands and walking through the cold until midnight with Troy, driving with Kevin to meet his grandmother in a car that didn't have a heater. I had to huddle under a pile of quilts and he had to stop every couple of blocks to wipe the inside of the windshield so that he could see.

Even during those years, winter was magic.

I think it may have been my freshman year of college that did it. I didn't know it then, but an insidious monster was creeping into my life.

Seasonal Affective Disorder

Anyone who has ever suffered from depression will understand why I simply cannot put into words the intensity of the pain, the anger, the emptiness and cold that has crept through my mind and heart every winter for so many years.

The panic that came over me every year in October was palpable. The feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness that consumed me each November are excruciating to even think about.

Somehow, this year a miracle happened. After TEN YEARS of suffering through winter, of wanting to hide from everyone and everything, of loathing the cold and the ice and the gray of winter, this year I am free.

I have no explanation for it. Nor do I want to spoil the charm of it all by trying to deduce the reasons.

I am simply grateful -- overwhelmingly, completely enamored with this season, with everything about it. My heart is full of the wonder I felt as a six year old child.

Has falling snow always been this enchanting? Has it always been this white? Have I ever really seen two feet of snow so powdery that it feels like air when you shovel it? Or snow so heavy that it is like hefting shovels full of water?

Is this how it feels to greet winter without crushing, agonizing depression?

Can I have some more please? I feel like I'm making up for a decade worth of winters this year.

A few nights ago, I walked outside to see Mashuga walking lightly across the surface of the snow in our front yard. An enormous grin exploded across my face. I remember that! Do you? Do you remember when you were small and the surface of the snow was frozen so that you could walk on top and leave only the barest trace of footprints?

And snowmen. Do you remember the sheer joy of building snowmen? This year my children have made snowmen and snowdogs. Their cousins came over with long, crooked carrots for snowmen noses. They all worked together to build snowmen in our yard, then ran across the street to build two more ginormous snow people in our neighbor's yard. This was extra fun, for Iris's aunt came here from Mexico just a few months ago. This was her first winter, her first snowman. Isn't that exciting?



The vicarious joy I've gotten from my children this year would be enough, but I am just astounded by the joy I feel, the way I've walked in awe during this season. The white, the ice, the fluffy snow has warmed my heart and spirit in immeasurable ways.

So, Punxatawney Phil can shuffle out of his hole to see his shadow tomorrow. Or he can not. Whether the groundhog heralds a swiftly approaching spring or a continued winter, I will be glad for it. I will welcome it with open arms.

You see, my friends, I have been happy and able to enjoy winter for the first time in oh so many years. Life has taught me once again that I believe in miracles.

Brushes With Murphy

Murphy's Law: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

Murphy, you rascal, I love to hate you. You keep popping into my life lately and mixing things up. I'd punch you in the nose and kick you out the door, but then the party wouldn't be nearly as interesting. Would it?

Here are the appearances you've made in my life this week:

• On Monday night I got a call and was told that I needed to rush over and intervene in a fight between two friends. I knew it was urgent, but at that moment Coco needed to be fed. So, being the good Mommy I am, I fed him first.
• I got there in time to be somewhat helpful, but not before the police got there and charged one of the parties with a simple assault. Ironically, they chose to cite the one on crutches who could barely move. Interesting choice, but I wasn't there for the real fireworks so who am I to judge? Murphy, you must love me. My life is never this interesting.
• After getting there I listened to one person rage and yell and then sat on the bathroom floor to listen while the other person cried. And I felt awfully guilty for not getting there sooner and smoothing things out better. Then I realized that these were their choices, not mine. Whether I'd been there earlier or not, I simply did not have to feel guilty over the consequences of someone else's decisions. You almost got me there, buddy.
• Because I was away from home for the better part of Monday night, JDub was left to take care of Coco. Now, I usually nurse him to sleep (Coco, not JDub) and then bring him to bed with me. We're big cosleeping proponents around here. But, I've also been feeling that it's time for Coco to learn how to sleep in his crib. Because I was gone, JDub decided to put him in his crib and let him sleep there. He whimpered a bit, didn't cry frantically like I'd been worried he would if we didn't ease him into the crib-sleeping-gig. And he slept until 6am! On his own! Yay for Coco!
• Here's where you come in, Murph. I woke up with Triple D, rock hard breasts that were screaming in pain. I guess going from three or four night feedings to none will do that. I was very grateful to be able to feed Coco that morning. He smiled and cooed at me and ate happily.
• Then, he projectile vomited all over both of us. I guess you can get too much of a good thing.
• Oh yes, back to Monday. I paid the very last payment on our van. As soon as we get the title in the mail, it is officially ours. Hooray!
• So, on Tuesday I went on a field trip with Mashuga's preschool class. Guess what happened? Really, can you guess? We got done, got all of the kids strapped into our car and it wouldn't start. Nada. Nothin' doin'. Thankfully, though, it was just a dead battery and we were able to jump start it right up.
• Then, that afternoon I was racing out the door at 3:20 to pick up kids. I had lost track of time as I am wont to do. (I can just hear JDub in my head. "The kids get out of school at 3:15? Really? Just like yesterday? When did this happen?") I rushed to get the little boys in their car seats and guess what? Nothing. Not a beep. So, we jump started it. Again.
• We showed up at my sister-in-law's house to pick up the kids an hour late. It really wasn't a problem, especially since she's the angel woman she is. We got Kaitybean to her last soccer game. Late, but there.
• Wednesday went off pretty smoothly. Oh, wait. No it didn't. We went to the gym to workout, Coco and Mashuga and I. We got there at 10am and the Kids' Club (daycare) was full. Not a problem. We walked to a nearby grocery store and got a few things. Then, we went back at 10:30, waited in a line for about 5 people to pick up their children and FINALLY got Mashuga and Coco in.
• I went upstairs to lift weights. I hadn't been working out for more than 10 minutes when I hear over the loudspeaker: "Attention members and guests, could Heather please come to the Kids' Club?" So, I went in. Coco was crying his sweet little heart out. I took him, fed him in the locker room and then dropped him back off with the nice ladies in the Kids' Club. I finished my workout and had time for a shower, even.
  
• That afternoon, after getting kids home from school, Kaitybean to and from ballet and Scud dropped off at football practice, I got a call from JDub. He had a flat tire on his bike and could I please come get him. Of course. We drove for fifteeen minutes before we saw him (handsome as could be) walking along the side of the road with his bicycle. Loaded it in and after being yelled at and honked at several times for being audacious enough to use the shoulder of the road, headed back home. I dropped JDub, Mashuga and Coco off and turned right around to pick Scud up from football practice.
• On Wednesday night I mentioned to JDub that we needed to do something about our TV. The stand we have it on isn't very sturdy and I was worried that one of our kids might pull it down on themselves. He agreed.
  
• So, at 7:30 on Wednesday morning I was downstairs doing laundry and heard a HUGE thud. Scud ran down to me to tell me that he'd managed to pull the television down on himself. I went upstairs to pick it up and the screen was flashing all sorts of shades of yellow, red and orange. The AV cables had broken off so that the prongs were stuck inside the TV.
  
• We cleaned up the mess and still managed to get Scud to school early. (JDub and Kaitybean take the bus to school really early on Thursday mornings so that Kaitybean can go to choir at 7:20.) We then went to the gym for yoga class, something I look forward to all week. We pulled in to a spot right in the front of the gym, walked in and SURPRISE! there was room for my boys in the Kids' Club. Woohoo! So, I got right in and thoroughly enjoyed yoga until someone came in 10 minutes before the end of class and told me to come to the Kids' Club. Coco, again, was crying. So, I signed him out and brought him in to yoga with me, only to find out that babies are not allowed in class. Oops. Not a problem.
• So, that afternoon, I took Mashuga to dance class. I got his dance shoes and realized that, once again, I forgot to buy shoe glue to fix his ballet shoes. The soles are falling off. No problem. I duct taped them on for now and will get shoe glue by next week. If I remember. It was not a fun dance day. Mashuga was tired and had a very difficult time listening to his teachers and being nice to all of the little girls in their cute pink leotards.
• After dance, we picked Scud and Kaitybean up from my SIL's house again. It was a comedy of errors trying to get them all in the car. I'd just get Mashuga rounded up and Kaitybean would disappear, then vice versa. So, we got home at 5:10 and had to leave by 5:20 to get Scud to his football game in time. Needless to say, Scud was late. But, we got him there. And it was a fun game to watch. Sadly, I couldn't get in touch with JDub to have him meet us and watch the game with us. Just as I was trying to call him the third time, my phone died. Which also meant that we couldn't order pizza to pick up after the game.
  
• So, I drove home, ordered pizza. Waited for 45 minutes to go pick it up and it wasn't done when I got there. I got home at about 8:30 and we all ate pizza and went to bed.
• Then, this morning, Coco (who has continued to sleep in his crib all week, hooray!) woke up at 5am and wouldn't go back to sleep. He finally fell asleep at around 6:30 and I decided that I'd join him for a little nap before I had to wake kids up for school. The next thing I know, Kaitybean is standing at the side of my bed, fully dressed and telling me it's 7:50 already. Aaaargh! We were late for school once again.

Do you want to know the funny thing about this week, though, Murphy my friend? All of the above may sound like complaining. It has been a truly nutty week. But, I am just so grateful for the gifts this week has given me.

• I was able to learn much from Monday night's situation. I grew closer to someone I haven't had much of a chance to get to know well.
  
• I was able to realize just what a treasure I have in my husband. He is my best friend. He treats me with kindness and respect. He is patient with me. He is unselfish and always trying to do what he can to make my life easier, to make me happier. We have learned through the last decade to work together, to communicate and to put our love for one another before anything else.
• Coco learned to sleep in his crib! I have had four uninterrupted nights of sleep in a row. This morning's sleep ended earlier than I would have liked and I probably should have just stayed up, but I still got to sleep for 6 hours without being woken up.
• My body has very quickly adjusted to Coco's new eating schedule and needs. What a miracle breastfeeding is! I am so grateful that it works so perfectly to meet his needs.
• I have a vehicle that gets us all over -- school, football, dance, soccer, football. We've had it since 2002. It has driven 220 thousand miles and the only issue we have with it right now is either a dying battery or an alternator that might not be working properly. Small potatoes, don't you think?
• I'm grateful to have family close and especially thankful for angel sisters and sisters-in-law.
• I'm grateful for a cool husband who was able to take the TV apart last night and get it working again. How awesome is he? Also, so grateful that we're not all that dependent on TV. We just don't watch it that much anymore.
  
• I have four beautiful, wonderful children and the means to allow them to play sports, participate in dance and choir and such. Playing taxi is a sacrifice, but how can I pity myself when I am so very blessed by such wonderful people to play taxi for.
• Thanks to my regular yoga practice, I am feeling my body grow firmer, stronger, looser. My mind and spirit are growing along with my body. I am more joyful, more peaceful, calmer. So, I missed ten minutes of a yoga class. So, what?
• I have one of the most amazingly beautiful and wonderful babies I could even imagine. He is such a sweetheart. And if he needs his mommy right now, rather than being able to be in the gym's daycare I understand. He is doing big things right now. Learning to sleep in a crib. He just finished getting two more teeth. He is learning to walk by himself and walking 10 or more steps at a time without holding onto anything. I'm so glad that I'm the lucky mom who gets to be there as his safe haven, the comfort he needs in order to have the strength to take on the world.
  
• And I am so grateful for a gym I love, at a price I can afford and with a phenomenal daycare that I can take my children to while I take some time for me. I can wait my turn for the Kid's club.
• I told Kaitybean last night that she would need to wake up early to finish her homework. And she did, without me even needing to get out of bed. How cool is that?

So, Murphy, this is why I love to hate you. You think you're wreaking havoc in my life, but I know better. This nutsiness and difficulty is what life is all about. And if the highs are this high, I'll take any lows you want to throw at me. Bring it on.

Remembering

"Today my soul is a prayer
for thousands of souls lost
and millions more grieving.

Tonight the stars will be weeping."

I wrote those words six years ago today. The stars were not the only ones weeping. Even this morning, as I found my way to the computer and looked at the date, salt tears spilled heavy over my face with the remembering.

I still pray for those souls, for their loved ones. I still pray for my country, its leaders. I still pray for those who are so lost that they would accept the lie that there is honor in causing harm to others; I pray for those consumed by the flames of hatred.

I do not know much. I don't claim to understand the creeds and doctrines and ideologies that are clashing with such ferocity in our world right now. I haven't mastery over armies or nations or histories or world religions.

I do know this. I love people. I love my country. I love my world and I wish it were a more peaceful place. I hope and wait for the day when we can all understand one another the way we understand ourselves. I must believe that there will be a day when we can look into the stories playing in each other's eyes and whether we are old or young, light or dark, Christian or Islamic we can love one another, cherish each person for exactly who they are.

I wish that day were now.

Ghandi said that we must be the change we wish to see in the world. I cannot change the forces that combined six years ago to make me weep. I cannot fix the problems of the world. Nor should I try if I cannot love my children, if I cannot forgive my neighbor and serve my friends.

So, I will continue to pray. I will love those around me a little more fiercely. I may not be able to put an end to the darkness that often threatens to overwhelm all of humanity.

But, I can make my tiny soul a flickering and persistent light that the darkness can never quite put out.

Back to Skoo

Today was the first day of school for my kiddos. Ahhhh....

I think I was a bit more excited about it than maybe I should have been. Surely I'll be missing them in a few weeks. But, despite getting a bit nostalgic as I watched them run into school in their handsome uniforms, I am very glad that school has begun.

I'm excited for them. Kaitybean and Scud both love to learn. They love the activity and social interaction that school provides. So, they are glad to be back.

Mashuga goes to his preschool for testing today. Then he starts in a week. Just two days a week for 2 1/2 hours, but he is ready for it. I'm excited for him.

More than anything, just getting up and getting ready this morning reminded me how much I love the way school adds edges to our days. There is more rhythm and purpose built in to a school day. As you know, we've needed that.

Now...

Can I , um, dispense with the niceties and just complain for a while?

My house is a disaster. I told my SIL yesterday that it is not just messy enough that I'm embarassed to have anyone over. It's such a mess that I'm embarassed to live here.

So, I will be thoroughly gutting my house over the next few weeks. All non-essentials will either be going to charity or they will be put in storage. There is simply too much stuff around here.

Oh, and do you remember the kitchen chairs I was so excited about? The red paint and adorable yellow fabric. Well, the chairs are now officially a nightmare. The three I didn't prime will be okay. But I'm afraid I used the wrong primer for the other three because the paint just isn't looking good. Aaaaaaargh! I'll probably have to sand them down and start all over.

Add to this that Coc gives me enough time each day to finish one coat on one chair. So, approximately five coats off paint on six chairs, plus sanding. I figure I'll finish in time for Thanksgiving. Until then, we will continue eating while sitting on the piano bench, rubbermaid boxes and buckets.

I've decided that I need to have my own home decorating and maintenance show. Only instead of making you feel terrible about what your house looks like, like Martha, you can watch my show and feel muuuuuch better about yourself.

Oh, and I'm in pain. My left side stabs and hurts whenever I move. So i think I will be seeing a doctor today. Lovely.

So, I'm done complaining now.

It will all work out beautifully, as it always does. I just needed to vent. So thank you dearly, my bloggy friends. I hope you still love me.

Oh, I'm still working on my novel and sooooo excited about it. I've been researching Kentucky coal mines in 1958, Kaiser steel, Napa California, botulism. It's coming together in my mind. It will be grand.

I found one very cool little thing in my research. My grandparents used to live at 1012 Darms Lane in Napa, CA. Look at what is there now.

The little cottages that were there in the 1950s are now a lovely little B&B. Pretty cool, eh? I told JDub that we will be staying there soon.

Bragging Rights

Marrying JDub was one of the best decisions of my life. I am so grateful to be sharing this life with him.

And, on top of that, marrying him came with five big bonuses -- his brothers.

You see, getting married was kind of hard on me in ways. All of my very best friends were boys before I got married. I always had an easier time relating to and being friends with boys.

So, to get married and instantly have five brothers to play with has been a huge blessing for me. I just adore my brothers-in-law, all of them and all for different reasons.

And one other bonus was that, in one instance I got to keep one of my best favorite guy friends, too. JDub's younger brother, we'll call him Kiki (because that's what my kids call him), and I have known each other and been friends for nearly as long as JDub and I have.

In fact, I dated Kiki more than I dated JDub before we were engaged. And I kissed Kiki before I kissed JDub. (Yes, there is a Soap Opera Sunday post there. Wait for it.) Trust me. We are incessantly needled about this by our family. And we both take it good-naturedly in stride.

But, really, Kiki has always been one of my favorite people. Large chunks of our relationship consisted of commiserating over the fact that those who would end up being our spouses were so blind to our amazingness. And we were always able to talk and to laugh together. I have always considered him to be a kindred spirit, a dear friend.

I used to puzzle (and still do sometimes) over why I had such strong romantic feelings for JDub (who pretty much ignored me, other than letters, until after his mission) and not for Kiki (who was always fun, kind, friendly, attentive). Who knows. But we are all happy with who we are, where we are, so it seems silly now to ask why.

So, getting back to the point of this post...

This week I have been flashing back to a night almost 13 years ago. Kiki and I were sitting together on a patch of grass with a few other people and he was rubbing my shoulders. I'm not sure how it came up (probably it was because I told him how good he was at massage) but he told me that he wanted to be a chiropractor when he grew up. Very cool, I thought and filed it away. I still remember that conversation and how sure he was of who he wanted to be, what he wanted to do.

Fast forward about 6 or 7 years. JDub and I were sharing a house with Kiki and his wife. Scud was still a baby and their oldest daughter had just been born. Kiki was just finishing up his degree in massage therapy. And he was good at it. Partly because of the techniques he'd learned in school, but I think mostly because of his natural healing touch and sensitivity.

He finished his degree as a MT and also his prerequisite work at UVSC. About a year later their family packed up and moved to Oregon. You guessed it. For chiropractic school.

I remember thinking then, "Wow. He's wanted to do this for a long time and he's doing it."

Grad school took years, as grad school always does. It felt a bit like time warped and slowed down. And that's just for me. I'm sure it was even more so for his wonderful, supportive wife (who is also one of my best friends and the one who introduced me to both JDub and Kiki).

But through all of the years, his vision has remained steady and he's continued to put one foot in front of the other toward his goal.

So, it is with much joy and pride in my wonderful friend that I just have to brag for him.

He is now a full-fledged chiropractor. The tests have all been passed. He has finished his internship (apprenticeship, residency -- hit me over the head and tell me the right word to put here Kiki). He is state-licensed.

I am thrilled for him, for his beautiful wife and his three darling daughters.

You've made it! Hooray! Congratulations!

So consider this both a flashback and a flash forward. A flashback to my wonderful friend, who I am lucky enough to now have as a brother. And a flash forward to the marvelous man he will continue to be and the success I am sure he will enjoy. He is truly a gifted man, a natural healer and a fantastic chiropractor.

I can't wait to see what comes next.

And for those of you who are local and could use a good chiropractor, you can check out his website here. He's worth the visit.

I'm like a bird, I only fly away...

So, I don't know if it's because of their dinosaur ancestors or because my mom was always afraid of them. But, I'm afraid of birds. Not terribly afraid. Pet birds, birds outside don't bother me. But wild birds inside my house? Kinda creepy.

At least once a year a bird makes it down our fireplace and into our home. This is somewhat scary to me.

Confession: Last year I heard a bird in our fireplace, which was blocked off, and I didn't let him out. I just listened to him struggle until the noise stopped and tried to make myself feel better by telling myself that he'd been able to fly out the chimney. But, sure enough, when my husband opened up the fireplace, he was dead in there. I am ashamed that I allowed my fear to overcome my better self and allow another living thing to die.

So, this year I knew I had to do better. This morning, I heard a bird stuck in our fireplace. I marshalled the forces, my two oldest boys. We cleared everything out of the bird's path and opened the back door.

Then, we unblocked the fireplace. Nothing. I could hear him, but couldn't see him. The flue was closed and, we couldn't get it quite right to let him out. I was ready to give up and call someone for advice.

But, Scud decided that this would be a perfect time to say a prayer and ask for help. What a sweet kid. Who better to ask for help than the one who made the sparrows and knows each one.

After his prayer, he pulled the lever to the flue just right and the bird fell into our fireplace and flew up, trying unsuccessfully to fly out our windows. He was stuck at our kitchen window, so I got a broom and directed him away from the window and toward our back door.

After a few minutes under the kitchen table and a close call with Rusty, he flew out the back window -- free and surely relieved.

And I feel much better about myself.

It was like a redemption.

Beauty For Ashes

I have been drawn to Isaiah a lot lately. I used to find Isaiah rather intimidating, but lately it has come alive for me. It is pure poetry.

I have especially found myself reading chapter 61 over and over and over. It has been especially moving recently as our family has dealt with tragedy.

My sweet niece, Hannah Paige, was born on June 9th. Her mom, who is one of my best friends and favorite people, had been having some problems with bleeding because of placenta previa. On Saturday, they had to deliver Hannah by c-section because her mom was losing too much blood. She was only at about 21 weeks gestation and survived for about 20 minutes. I won't get into too much of the story, as it's not mine to tell.

But I have been surprised by how tender my feelings have been over the last few days. I feel comforted and blessed by an inner knowledge that families are forever, that sweet Hannah is not forever lost. But that doesn't always make right now any easier. My heart has been open and feeling so deeply for her sweet family, my brother and sister and nephews who I love beyond words.

And I have been re-feeling the loss of the sweet child I miscarried almost two years ago. And holding my sweet Jack, also, and feeling something akin to survivor's guilt. Baby guilt, maybe?

So, I keep coming back to Isaiah. And the imagery is beautiful.

The Savior was sent to "bind up the broken hearted", to "proclaim liberty to the captives".

There will be beauty for ashes.

The oil of joy for mourning.

The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.

Through affliction we can become as trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord.

The old wastes and desolations will be built up. Restored.

For our shame, we will receive a double portion.

We will rejoice in our afflictions as well as our joys.

All will be well, sanctified, consecrated for good in the end.

What beautiful words these are. And though the pain of right now may be so much to handle, I have no doubt that all things work together for our good.

There is not a pain, an affliction, a mistake in my life that I have not felt has been turned to a higher purpose, consecrated and made sacred.

There is nothing to fear, truly, for all will be made whole, made sacred, made good in the end. Loss is a gift every bit as much as any joy.

And so I weep and give the mother earth of my salty tears, hoping that I am truly mourning with those who mourn and that I can comfort and love and hold a space for healing and for joy.

Because I believe the words of Isaiah. I believe that, no matter what happens to us, we will be bound up, blessed and strengthened. And I would not trade a single loss I've endured for any amount of joy, for I know that in the end I would be left with less.