Today ended as rough as any I can remember.

I seriously felt like Miss Hannigan in all her demanding glory.

(can you see the resemblance?)

After an arduous battle for bedtime lasting over an hour, I finally relented and let Joby fall asleep on my bed.

And guess what folks, he snuggled right in and fell asleep in two minutes without making a peep.

And a chorus of angels sang and the heavens split open and rained chocolate. Not really. But it felt like it.

I had felt that idea much earlier, but I ran through a list of reasons why I shouldn't let him. Discipline. Habits. Dependence. Discomfort. Noise.

All very valid. All by the book.

Yet the little thought persisted.

It was only when I reflected on it afterwards that I realized it was a prompting.

And we could go down the path of 'I-should-have-listened-earlier-and-saved-so-much-heartache'. Which is truth. 

But that wasn't what I learned at all.

Even during the crazy, frustrated, angry, impatient, exhausted, messy, imperfect moment, God still chose to speak to me.

And I could hear Him. 

I can't believe it.

I think there is more refining going on in my day-to-day life than I realize.

I forget quite often that families are His plan. Those relationships will bring us closer to Him, whether through sweetness, purity, desperation, loneliness, or love.

As long as I am striving to follow the path He has directed me towards, He will help me become purer, stronger, more loving and Christlike through His plan.

And I don't need to reinvent the wheel.

Or sliced bread.

That's a lot easier and a lot less pressure.

When mens' hearts shall fail them...

Usually my Facebook feed is a safe, optimistic, happy place.

However, within the last year, heavy events have struck a tender cord in the lives of my friends and my feed reflects that.

I read about refugees without coats, food, and shelter. And their children. Their precious, beautiful children washing up on the shore.

I cry.

Refugee lives matter.

I read about Harambe the gorilla and a curious boy. And the tragedy of losing a beautiful creature. And the tragedy of blame.

I cry.

Gorilla lives matter.

Child lives matter.

Parent lives matter.

I read about Orlando and the largest mass shooting in recent history. All those people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I cry.

LGBT lives matter.

I read about Willie, Josephat, and Joseph. Their courage to pursue peace ended with violence and hatred.

I cry.

Kenyan lives matter.

I read about Alton Sterling and Philando Castile. My heart is shattered by the reactions of those they left behind. There is loss, and grieving.

I cry.

Black lives matter.

I read about the brave, peaceful Dallas police officers. And the thoughtless anger that spurs on hate.

I cry.

Police lives matter.

I read the comments.

Most saddening of all is the finger pointing, the blame, the shame, the guilt, the posturing, the us vs. them. Instead of mourning with those that mourn, comforting those that stand in need of comfort, I am witness to divisive, alienating dialogue.

I cry.

ALL lives matter.

Are our hearts failing us? Can we stand with open hearts and open arms and truly say that we love men as ourselves? Are we fulfilling the requirement to forgive all men? Do we strive for Zion?

Sometimes I wish I was as brave as Viola Liuzzo, or James Reeb. To make these fights my own. To be on the front lines. For love, for justice, for peace.

But when I look into the eyes of my children, I have come to realize that I am the front line. Who they are, what they believe is largely dependent on me.

In my own corner of my community, in small and significant ways, I am changing the world.

To see

Wanderer above the Mist -Caspar David Friedrich

(perhaps my favorite painting of all time. definitely top five)

Little Brother will be joining us in June.

I will be headed into the third trimester in two weeks.

My brain can't quite comprehend that fact.

My momma: 'Well that makes sense to me. 'Cause you were in denial the whole first trimester, so it is really a two trimester pregnancy'. this is a truth.

It wasn't my plan to have babies this close together.

But it also wasn't my plan to get pregnant right after getting married.

Or my plan to fall in love with McCallin.

Or to break off an engagement.

And yet when I look back over these choices I feel awe.

From where I am standing now,
I can see
the quiet refinement brought by these shimmering tendrils that continue to wind their way through the pattern of my life.

I can see
a purpose greater than my heart, my head, my hands.

I can see
the wisdom and the love and the mercy.

And the brightest flashes of joy.
The ones that leave you breathless, and tearful, and everlastingly thankful for the life you've been given, where you reach out in love, where you cannot be constrained or contained because you are invincible in the joy of your God.

And I am beginning to see the peace that comes as I breathe in and trust.

God will gather me tenderly.

He sees me.

I just love JJ Heller.

And I love this attitude. :)

I'm not focused on the cracks in the walls,

keeping track of all the times I fall.

Walking on Water...

Be of good cheer. be not afraid.

if it be thou let me come unto thee.

Lord, save me.

Oh thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?

Of a truth, thou art the son of God.

There's a hole in your bucket...

Lately, life has been overwhelming.

Full of beautiful, good things. But still overwhelming.

To the point where I almost skipped out on Sunday School to cry in the car. i didn't. 'cause i'm a grown-up and can only have tantrums on alternate tuesdays.

I was trying to explain to my momma how I felt.

And my momma said something remarkably profound.

Sounds like you aren't feeling full (which was exactly what I was trying to say). You can't feel full because you have a hole in your bucket. And that hole's name is Joby.

Yes. yes. yes.

It doesn't mean you stop filling your bucket. In fact, it is more important than ever. You just have to trust that God will fill up the last bit.

Which has me thinking...

Can being a holey bucket make you holy?

There's a hole in your bucket...

Lately, life has been overwhelming.

Full of beautiful, good things. But still overwhelming.

To the point where I almost skipped out on Sunday School to cry in the car. i didn't. 'cause i'm a grown-up and can only have tantrums on alternate tuesdays.

I was trying to explain to my momma how I felt.

And my momma said something remarkably profound.

Sounds like you aren't feeling full (which was exactly what I was trying to say). You can't feel full because you have a hole in your bucket. And that hole's name is Joby.

Yes. yes. yes.

It doesn't mean you stop filling your bucket. In fact, it is more important than ever. You just have to trust that God will fill up the last bit.

Which has me thinking...

Can being a holey bucket make you holy?

On Broken Gratitude

Break a vase and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than the love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole. Derek Walcott Nobel Lecture; 7 Dec 1992.

I have been listening to this song on repeat for the last few days.

It is exquisitely sensitive, and delicately tangled.

Sara B echoes my soul: three years ago.

The beauty is that I can relish the feeling of this song,

and leave it behind.

I wouldn't give it all back to start over to rewrite an ending (or two).

My life has become infinitely.... more... because of my shattered soul.

God sealed the pieces of my heart together.

Now when uncertainty builds and fear creeps, I can remember.

God is the glue of my soul.

And He knows exactly how arrange the pieces.

To see with eyes of hope

I wasn't even sure I wanted to go.

Relief Society activities overwhelm me. So many people. Who do you sit next to? What do you talk about? I didn't even know what the activity was so I couldn't run scenarios through my head.

I decided to rock my baby to sleep. I'd figure it out when my arms were empty, right?

I helped Joby settle into a nap. McCallin settled into one, too.

As I crept out of the no-noise zone, I shut the door with the determination to go to the activity.

It was where I needed to be.

I then looked at the clock.

I was 15 minutes late.

My thought process:

I'm late (truth)
I'm always late (partial truth)
Nobody wants to be friends with someone who is late (a sliver of truth)
I will never have friends again (full on 100% lie)

Conclusion: I can't go to the activity. I am unworthy of friendship.

I am completely, totally, and irreparably unlovable.

I wish I could say I was brave enough to cry. I'm not. I'm too proud.

When I don't want emotions, I put them all in a box.

McCallin and I tried playing the grateful game to pry the box open.

I could only think of I am grateful our downstairs neighbor has not knocked on my door to tell me that we are too loud. 

Guys, apathy is real. And it is awful. It whispers that everything is worthless, and that nothing is fixable.

It took an hour and a choice to face all the icky emotions.

And then it all came pouring out, along with the built up tears: I am not successful at one thing. Not one thing. My house is a mess. My baby cries. My birthday cakes don't turn out. My toenails aren't painted.

And McCallin held me. He didn't even get scared. 

He told me through his empathetic tears that if my toenails were really important, we could make time for them.

I cried harder. He is a good man, that husband of mine. 

And then we talked about change. How God knows we are imperfect. He knows that we try and we fail. He knows that we have growing pains. He knows all that.

And yet, He loves us.

He loves us so much that He wants us to be happier, to choose good, to follow His son.

He believes in change. He believes in us.

Who am I to contradict God? Who am I to call up to the cosmos and say, 'nope. i'm the exception. i am beyond hope. i cannot be loved. i am damaged'?

I am praying to see what he sees in me.

And, my friends, I see part grace, more parts ineptitude.

But I am believing again.

Believing in my ability to love.

To be loved.

To change.

To become.

I have a multitude of barbed thoughts, sharp words, rough corners. I am a broken soul.

But by degrees, I can be healed, smoothed, refined.

I can become someone truly beautiful and whole and complete.

Possibly even without painted toenails. :)

We just finished Into the Woods and I am sobbing.

Remember that new growth in my heart? It just can't take it. I can't handle motherless babies, or baby-less parents, or any other combination. And that movie had both.

I also may or may not have sobbed in a children's book when the momma dragon lost her baby.

A dragon for crying out loud.

I am still feeling very pink and raw and tender and vulnerable.

And I can't decide what to do about it.

I almost want the newness to callus over. It sure would make any media intake much easier.

But I do not want to miss the love and the joy that this baby boy brings.

It is worth the extra boxes of tissues to see his smile, hear his cooing, and look into his wondering eyes.

I love that boy.

doesn't this face beg to be kissed?

Guys, he's smiling.

Most of his awake time is spent smiling and cooing. And some crying. And some staring off into space. But mostly smiling and cooing. 

It is the best thing ever.

My little heart just can't take it. I'm so happy that he's happy. I'm so grateful he's in our family. I'm so in love with our little man. I may or may not cry when he smiles. Mascara is not needed in this house. 

He has a whole slew of nick-names. I call him Small One, Little Thing, Sweet Pea, Sweetheart, Honey. And Baby. Of course.

McCallin usually calls him Joby (like Toby, but with a J) or My Son. I kinda think his are cuter. 

I can't believe that my baby is six weeks old. SIX WEEKS PEOPLE!! Do we not realize how old that is?!?!

And more importantly, how in the world do I slow it down?!?!

I'm trying to savor moments, but it is as if I am trying to make concrete out of water. Time flows right on past me, and I am left clinging to photographs and memories.

i love him. 

Amateur Mom-ness

Here we are. 2 weeks from delivery day.

He got home from the NICU on Sunday.

Which means that I've been a full-time-stay-with-him mom for almost 5 days.

This whole mom thing is wonderful beyond compare.

Even though it is sometimes hard.

But hard isn't the right word.

Hard implies strong, tough, rock-like, callous, dense, firm.

And that's not quite right.

It is the softness that gets me.

Like when J got extremely upset (read: squalling/crying until he was entirely red) when I had to set him down. sorry bud. even moms have to use the bathroom on occasion. it isn't betrayal. just normal. promise.

My heart broke. It took McCallin coming home for me to really snap out of it.

Like when J went to the pediatrician and he had a clean bill of health. hooray for a healthy baby!

My heart swelled with joy. I could not stop grinning for the rest of the day.

When he looks up at me with the grateful eyes while he eats. When he is eager to play in the middle of the night. When he lets me know his opinion on how quickly he is getting food. When he kicks off his socks over and over. When I pick him up and his little hands are cold. When he sighs in contentment.

There are a multitude of directions that my heart gets pulled every day.

It is a whole new range of emotions. And reasoning. I even bought him the name brand of medicine. I've never done that (for me) in my life. And life in general.

I'm not quite comfortable with that yet. I don't know if I'll ever be. I have a strong independent streak and a stubborn will.

But this newness is here. I am learning a whole new vulnerable. One that is wrapped up in a fast growing 9 lbs. 2 oz. of pure adorableness.

And my heart is growing too.

Josiah

I am feeling very weepy today. Our baby, my baby, is staying in the hospital while we are going home.

My heart just hurts. I want to be there for all his newborn-ness. I’ve only held him for a couple of hours total, if that. Yesterday he went through all his tricks for me while I was holding him. Yawning, burping, sneezing, pooping, raising his eyebrows to have a wrinkly old man forehead, looking from side to side like he is the villain in a Charlie Chaplin movie.

My favorite trick was when he was hiccuping. It was exactly the same pattern as when he was inside of me. And I looked down at his sweet, perfectly round face and I recognized that he was mine. 

He is my baby. Not Brooke’s, Katelyn’s, Kristen’s, Mary’s or Dr. Jenkins’. Mine. And I want to be the one to take care of him. But for his health and safety, I cannot. I’m not a respiratory therapist, I can’t clear the infection from his lungs, I can’t push 6 liters per minute of oxygen into his body to encourage his heart to relax. 

Oh how I wish I could! I would take him home with me and never let him out of my sight. I may turn into an attachment-parenting advocate, not for him, but for me.

They say that babies are born with certain reflexes. I’ve watched how Josiah wants to use them. They’re real. I’d add that mothers are born with certain reflexes too. And my heart is aching to hold him close, kiss his soft head and whisper ‘I love you’ and ‘welcome to our family’ over and over again. 

The other facet is even more beautiful to me. I have a hard time sharing that my baby is in the NICU because everyone always responds with shock and a sort of commiseration. It is almost as if others expect me to be miserable and they want to support/participate in my misery. Although well intended, it is not what I need. I am not miserable. I am not feeling guilty. I am not drowning in darkness. 

My soul is overflowing with peace. When the waves of sorrow wash over me, I can look up and see His love. It is powerful. I can see His fingerprints. They are abundant. Tender mercies have poured out. God knows me. He knows McCallin. He knows Josiah.

He loves all of us. And we are in His hands. 

Where else would I want to be?

On almost arriving...

39 weeks today.

Can you believe it? I really honestly truly cannot.

The closer we get to delivery day, the further away it seems.

Maybe it is because I feel like I'm starting to get this pregnancy thing down. Seriously,  I'm pro at nausea, achy ligaments, wrangling in pillows to sleep with.

And I'm trading it in for being a momma to a newborn baby.

Delivery day seems to be a sort of end and definitely a beginning.

A brand new adventure.

The more I learn about taking care of baby, the more I realize I do not know anything.  Everyone is an expert and everyone has a different opinion.

For some reason, today that does not seem overwhelming. somedays it does.

I am thrilled to have the opportunity to learn and grow and find new truths and see old truths in a new light.

The most beautiful part is that I do not have to do it alone.

I get to share it with the man I love more than anyone. He is going to be a great dad. :)

I get to share it with the baby I've bonded with over the last nine months. We have daily conversations which usually consist of 'hey baby, I need those ribs. Could you move please?'. And he usually complies. 

I get to share it with my Heavenly Father and learn from his example as a perfect parent.

It is a beautiful day, full of anticipation and peace. It honestly could not get any better.

Heart smiles.

It is slowly becoming more and more real.

We've promoted him from 'jelly bean baby' to 'George'. That is not his name for realsies though. :)

According to the doctor, George has the cutest heartbeat he heard all day. I'm sure he says that to every momma, but that didn't stop it from making me smile.

George cracks me up daily. I just feel so much personality. He likes to kick when he feels smushed. It is like a 'hey, I'm here. just so you know. please and thank you.'

I love the way that George is part of our life. McCallin will come home and kiss me and ask how I'm doing. Then he always asks how George is. It makes my heart grow a little more love for that man.

My heart smiles when McCallin feels George kick. The excitement on McCallin's face is so beautiful and worthwhile. We are on this adventure together and it feels right and good and wonderful and happy.

In reality, my heart is perpetually smiling.

It is a beautiful life.

Our son

Guys... we're having a baby.

He's coming to our family the end of February.

Our ultrasound showed his cute little feet, his big round belly and his skeleton face. I've never seen such a cute skeleton. :)

We watched for his kidneys, heart, brain, diaphragm, stomach. Every thing looks healthy and normal.

And that is the best news that this momma can hear.

I keep delaying our baby announcement because of fear. But it has become increasingly clear to me that fearing is only robbing me of joy.

And I am choosing joy.

I love feeling him kick and dance and wiggle. I love that he is all snuggled up in one corner although he has plenty of room to stretch. I love that he hid his face from the ultrasound every time the technician tried to take a picture. I love that he is alive.  I love that he is our baby. Our jellybean, skeleton, squish, baby.

I am so excited to be a momma.

My fake Facebook status

I really wanted to write one of those cutesy monthiversary Facebook statuses. You know the ones that say '5 months down, Eternity to go' with a wedding picture? Then the whole world could know how much I love my bestest best friend. And he'd know too. How do you summarize your favorite person in a status? Seriously... it is hard. If it was truly a 'status' of my life it would probably be something like 'super blessed and lucky and in love and has no right to complain but would really like to eat a large bowl of chocolate ice cream with brownies. And fudge sauce. 'Cause chocolate should be a food group'.

But the thing is, my heart is a little too private and reserved to proclaim it from the rooftops. Or Facebook. :)

I just like him a lot.

Just as long as he knows, I think I'm doing okay. Right?

And since he looks at my blog every single day, I figured I can mush in the slightly public. Here you go:

Darling, you are my person and I'm beyond blessed to have you. You live in my heart. And I love you. Yep. It is a true fact.

And to make it officially an unofficial Facebook status:

The End

Daily Littles

I am amazed again and again by how love is in the little things.

And I am blessed to be married to a man who knows that.

He cuts my grilled cheese sandwiches in triangles. it is scientifically proven they taste better that way.

He forgives me for falling back asleep when I'm supposed to be driving him to work.

He attempts to re-fluff my favorite blue blanket with the vacuum. Unfortunately the washer ruined the blanket forever. It now resembles old carpet.

He is patient with my fascination for animals. He'll spend the better part of an hour researching manatees or snails with me. Today it will probably be wombats.

He is willing to spend a quarter of our weekly food budget on yogurt, 'cause it is my favorite.

He works hard every single day and still comes home with a smile and a kiss for me.

He spends hours upon hours talking and laughing with me.

He truly is my best friend.

I am so incredibly blessed to be married to a man who chooses show his love daily.

"Feeling the security and constancy of love from a spouse, a parent, or a child is a rich blessing. Such love nurtures and sustains faith in God. Such love is a source of strength and casts out fear. Such love is the desire of every human soul." -Elder Bednar

Common Denominator

I remember Katri and I had a running tally from our ward directories of who was married. thank you Facebook. By our junior year, over half of our freshman ward was married.

I would always try to find patterns in who was married and who wasn't. Was it a specific character trait? How outgoing they are? How many dates they went on? Where they lived? How they looked? 

And I think in my secret heart of hearts it was a quiet: What is wrong with me?

Beside hurt and lack of confidence that question betrays, there was also a genuine curiosity. What makes people get married?

Now that I am in a married ward, I can tell you what the theme is.

All of these people have found their very best friend.

It is that simple.

The 'how did you meet' stories are diverse. First hand-holds, never dated before, dated lots, dated for years, long distance, hated each other. All different. Just like humankind should be.

So to all of my single friends out there who have the quiet why not me...

There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Nothing.

If you are being the best you, you are achieving great and glorious things. And people are going to love you for it.

And I thoroughly believe that you have a best friendship to build, to discover, and to love.

It may just not be how, when, or who you expect. :)

Being newly-wed

I'm attempting to gather my thoughts from their resting places. My heart is reluctant to let these feelings be translated into words.

Life is good. So good.

Marriage confused me. I had studied all that I could get my hands on, trying to prepare for 'the most important decision of my life'. most terrifying string of words ever. can we agree on that? 

How do you go from being a normal person to a wife? What changes? Everyone talks about all the awful surprises you find out about your spouse and how much you will be hurt. How can you even prepare for that?

My prayers were full of concern and trepidation. My poor father received a distressed request for a priesthood blessing the night before my sealing. Comfort and strength as I make this big decision, please!

When I explained my feelings, he didn't know how to respond. My mother was just as clueless.

You know why? Because the important decision had already been made.

The important decision was not if I should marry. It was who I should to marry.

I had already made that decision by degrees for the previous 13 months. Marrying your best friend is the best idea ever. EVER.

Here is the news folks: marriage is completely normal. completely natural. completely wonderful.

Nothing to be afraid of. Promise.

And yes, I learn new things about him. Like the fact that he had a Middle Earth journal when he was young where he kept track of all the characters, their races and what their names meant. Or the fact that he will sing the same phrase of a song and interject numbers. Ahem... A la Pink... 'Just give me 27 reasons, just 27 is enough'. The more I discover about him, the deeper my love grows.

And yes, sometimes we hurt each other. But not frequently or viciously. It is a different kind of hurt. I think Tolstoy describes it best through Levin and Kitty's first argument:

He understood that she was not only close to him but that now he no longer knew where she ended and he began. At first he felt offended but that same second he felt that he could not be offended by her, since she was himself. A natural feeling would have required him to defend himself and demonstrate to her that she was at fault; but demonstrating her fault to her meant widening the breach which was the cause of all the trouble. Like a man half-asleep and wracked with pain he wanted to tear out and cast away the aching part, and on recovering himself he felt that the aching part was--himself. All he could do was try to relieve the ache and endure it, which is what he did. 

Vulnerability. That is really all it is. But McCallin and I have made a pact that we should try to do all things in love and to accept all things in love. Rather than giving the benefit of the doubt, we give the benefit of love. We call them 'safety moments'. And it has made all the difference.

I have never been happier. I have never felt more fulfilled. I am madly in love with McCallin James Fisher. And I am so so so pleased to be on our life's journey together. There is no one else I'd rather share it with.