Feeling Writerly Tonight

How could I not, driving into this?

Too bad I'm not sure what to say.

Curing Insomnia

I couldn't relax my muscles and my mind enough to fall asleep, so here I am in the office of our apartment, reading, thinking, and writing.

When logged in to churchofjesuschrist.org, you can look under 'Resources,' select 'Patriarchal Blessing,' and not only request a copy of your own blessing if needed, but also request copies of blessings given to any deceased direct-line ancestors. I did that a number of years ago and logged in tonight (or actually, this morning) to read the copies I have access to.

I reread those of my grandparents and my Dad, then pulled out my own blessing's paper copy and read it, too. I feel... quieted, now.

There were so many powerful, beautiful statements and promises given to those who came before me. Reading their blessings just now, it stood out to me that they were all so individualized. None were even close to the same--yes, each was told their lineage and made aware of the ultimate purpose of life in Earth, but even the delivery of those details were customized. Yet every single one contained true counsel for the specific person being addressed, which, for each of them, I benefit from having known near to and at the end of their journeys on this Earth. I know, in some part, who they ultimately became. I know high-level details of their challenges and heartbreaks in mortality and am left marveling at the retrospective, evident hand of the Lord I see, looking at their lives with even my cursory knowledge of what they entailed and how the Lord guide and prepared them via their Blessings.

It gives me hope for the promises I'm still waiting to recieve. It makes me emotional and even excited about how much more I will experience before it's my time to leave this mortal life. I'm now middle-aged by the standards of modern society, but really, I'm so very, very young, with so much more ahead of me. Sometimes this world feels impossible and hopeless and helpless-making, but as I consider all these loved ones made it through, I have faith that I, too, will find beauty, even amidst the heart-wrending difficulties I have yet to both experience and witness.

As I was writing, I was thinking about how long each of these people lived. I literally *just* realized J turned the same age my Dad was when he died barely six days ago. My eyes fill with tears at the realization. J is so young! Dad was so young! It's astounding that I, too, have nearly outlived him. It fills me with an aching gratitude for the life I get to live. The contrast of what I've experienced and what Dad experienced before he died is so different. I hope I am making my life everything good it can be--the most it can be!

My grandfathers's blessings both mentioned service in the war. It's so hard to grasp the different world they grew up in! And the ages each of them were when they recieved their blessings-- I've never spent much time thinking of these bonified adults of my life as young as they were then: 12, 15, 17, 19, 25... I'm forced to conclude we all need the Lord and his guidance, and we all need it early; maybe even as early as possible.

I'm going to sleep now, filled with warmth for the giants I come from, their faith, and the peace of the hope this reading has brought me. Good night!

This is the choice of life...

will I let the hard times harden or soften me? Will I be wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove?

Can we all just PLEASE stop judging each other and ascribing meaning and ill intent where none lies?

I'm so angry inside, like miniature kettle drums being spun in a lottery drum without rest. I just want some rest from this cacaphony!!

Candice

I've been resisting writing this, probably because I'm not sure what I'd like or need to say.

I'm grateful that I let go of anger before you left mortality, and I can genuinely remember joyful, fun times with you. You fought so hard, so long, with those boxing gloves up, and I'm proud of where you got and how. The effort you put in and the way you clung to Joy inspire me, and I miss you.

Thanks for being my sister, in all the meanings that word can evoke: my friend, my confidant, my enemy, my rage-caller, my giggle-sharer, my example, my challenger, my rival, my supporter, my opposite-and-same.

It was messy and beautiful and I'm better because of you. You taught me so much that doesn't fit into language. I miss you, even as peace fills my heart that it was your time and you are full of relief at having made it Home.

Just: Thank you. I look forward to seeing you again one day.

I was the kind of child that cared intensely from the very beginning

I remember spending an entire sacrament meeting industriously coloring a single page in my Aladdin coloring book--an image of Jasmine being caught stealing an apple from the market vendor, Aladdin rushing to intervene; Jasmine's jewelry winking out from beneath her disguise's hood.

I had finished everything else and was torn between giving the vendor pink or purple shirt sleeves. I decided, committed completely, and colored it in with dark pink washable markers, only to end up disliking how it looked with the rest of what I'd chosen and crying over having ruined my picture.

I felt a deep regret at having enacted my choice and being unable to go back to change it to another one instead. I met my 6 or 7 year-old self's road diverging on the coloring page, creating genuine sorrow at my poor-fitting path. I'd marred irreparably my own work of art, striping it of my childlike joy and passion in a matter of minutes. The keenness of that particular regret is easily accessible as I review my memory, even three decades of experience later.

The meeting ended and people began to filter out of the chapel. I sniffled into my Mom's shoulder while she tried to calm me, until a pretty teenage girl, sporting a blond early 90's perm, stopped and asked my Mom why I was upset. When told, she asked if I would show her my coloring and kindly coaxed me into doing so. I don't remember what she said, but I know I stopped feeling badly and started smiling.

From that point on, although I'd never seen her before, let alone talked with her, I sought her out every Sunday to say hello. Her one small act of a few minutes at most turned me into her devoted and loyal friend. Even when I moved 2,000 miles away, we became pen pals and kept up a correspondence for nearly 10 years.

I'm glad I haven't lost the depth of feeling that yes, sometimes means I get more upset than others would in similar circumstances, but also allows me to recognize and respond with joy to kindness and beauty others often overlook.

Forgiving Myself

In my Creative Writing class in high school there was a girl who usually had metaphors in her writing concerning driving. I didn't drive in high school--no second car--so I didn't really understand why she'd go back to the circumstance of driving so often. I get it now.

I had my music up, the windows down, and the gas pedal suppressed as I headed to O today. I became slightly lost, but didn't mind because of the saturated God-light slanting down the valley. I ended up passing a house that brought to mind one my family almost rented. It was situated similarly on the plot, with a little 'L' of lawn on the corner facing the street and a stubby black fence. I remembered how, when we'd been trying to find a new place, I'd deeply, deeply wanted us to move to that home because it felt so immensely peaceful. It was a place you'd always know you were safe. I prayed, hard, that we would move there and was more than slightly devastated when we didn't after all. We then found another home instead, and moved in, and I forgot about it.

When I passed that familiar-looking plot today, I thought about how much I'd wanted to live there. I could recall the feeling quite clearly, and I wondered, if we had moved to that place, whether it would have continued to hold the same deep peacefulness I first sensed when we visited. Would it have faded with familiarity or even been altered to something more ordinary as time passed? Either could have happened quite easily.

I don't think I was ready to live in a place like that at the time. The person I was would have altered its ambiance in a way I wouldn't have liked. And as the thought crossed my mind, I felt a small internal sigh of myself accepting that I wasn't in the right place to live there then. I felt love for my old self and my current self embracing who I was, loving that old person and feeling joyful that I hadn't moved in and marred the spirit of that home. I forgave myself for where I'd been. It felt like cool spring air on my soul.