During my parents’ stay in Massachusetts we ventured to New York City for three days. We parked the car in Scarsdale, at a chapel, and took the train into the city.
Surprisingly, after six-or-so years Michael was still completely in his element; knowing streets, sites, and subways, I felt quite confident in my husband.
While visiting the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, Mike was pretty jaded. I guess I would be too if I rode the ferry every Tuesday for six months. Something I didn’t know before meeting Mike (now that I think of it, how else would I know about this?) is that missionaries do service at Ellis Island. They work on scanning and entering information, preservation-sort-of-stuff. I have always thought that was neat. Since Michael has told me that, I have reflected on how much his mission prepared him for our marriage and the preservation of our family.
Although he had “been there, done that” I know it was different for him this time visiting because Caleb was there. And he was able to see a blessing that was a direct result for serving a mission honorably: {our family}.
It was my first time visiting New York City, and honestly I couldn’t have asked for better company or a better tour guide. I love my husband.
More pictures of what we have done the past month will trickle onto to the blog. I promise there will be appearances....
a blog post about, well, not what you think (or maybe it is)
I have a box in my closet. No, this is not a proverbial skeleton or other nonsense. It’s a literal box, attached to so much right now.
I liken it to my wedding dress. How I use to try it on nearly every day after it was purchased. I covet this box, or rather, its contents.
It rests on the top shelf. I carry it down in embraced fingertips (I often wonder what it would be like to be of average or extraordinary height… everything is always fingertips away for me- story of my life, really). O, how I would sit with the box waiting, wanting, contemplating to slice the adhesive peel that held it together, but I didn’t.
Because
somewhere in my head an idea has taken root. If the box was to be open, floodgates would become undone and a lot of grief would ensue. Frankly,Pandora has nothing on me.
It’s bad juju, mojo, luck- whatever. Even writing this post has been delayed by this psyche embeddedment (no, it's not a word but oh well- I plead jabberwocky insanity), and falls under this “bad” category.
But at twelve weeks. I can no longer restrain myself.
My size eight jeans can no longer restrain me.
Thank you to those who have been in on it from the beginning,
to those who have journeyed this road before me, to those who have helped me without knowing,
to a kind lab worker who can find my small veins with ease every time,
to my optimistic husband—a companion to converse with about sad things on a long road,
and to my son who has kept me busy and reassured.
To those I have deceived, flat-out lied to, withheld details from—
I am sorry, but I knew you would understand. : )
PS Be assured that "New Hampshire" is not the baby's name. It just shares the same initials as the state.
It was the second time attending the Boston temple that I heard an off-hand remark that I will never forget. I had arrived early, earlier than the workers I had realized as I sat in the empty locker room. Finally, two workers appeared to attend to me and as they prepared for the day they made small talk- as usual they asked me where I was from, if I was married, if I had any little ones, how old Caleb was, the conversation de jour (actually l'année). Finally one sister took the conversation upon herself and talked about her gifted son, a piano prodigy since birth. I’m guessing this wasn’t the first time the other sister had heard this yarn, and she nodded methodically as she listened, and when the praise of her companion ceased she said, “Well, yes, that’s how it is for some, but the rest of us have to keep banging away.”
That, is a statement to live by. Music, is not a strength of mine (unless you count page-turning, I’m an excellent page-turner; I have credentials and come highly recommended).
We each have talents and gifts. I’m a firm believer that every talent given is linked to a perfecting attribute. If you are “intuned” with music, you may not only be the creator of peaceful sounding melodies, but be a patient person and serene in demeanor- you know how to create peace. The same goes with any talent.
But what if you don’t have that talent? Should you just assume it’s not meant for you? Should that talent along with its attribute fall by the wayside because we were not innate prodigies?
My seminary teacher gave me this quote and I read it quite often:
Genealogy, friends, is a talent. It will not come easy to everyone. It requires certain abilities and attributes that you may not be equipped with at this time, but if you keep banging away you’ll get it- and you’ll acquire qualities that will make you more perfect. I promise.
Just as there is a season for perfect scripture study, well-rounded food storage, and cultivating a family, there is a season for genealogy in your life. Take your time.
{To work on genealogy
for at least 35 minutes
for one week.}
(That’s at least five minutes a day!)
PART ONE: PRAY AND DO IT.
Here are some ideas for activities:
Interview, call up a family member and ask them some questions and record them!
Journal, answer one question a day or freelance!
Baby books, you know you have been meaning to get around to it!
Scrapbook your family tree or about ancestors
Create a family history activity book
Have spotlight on a relative for Family Home Evening
Tell your child a story about your childhood or a spiritual experience you’ve had.
Play a family history-related game, like memory with photographs and names
Teach your child family relation terms, like grandma and cousin, etc
Take a fieldtrip to a genealogical landmark
Take pictures of your house and label them with the full address and date
If you are a member of the Church and it is available in your area, please sign up for New Family Search
PART TWO: SHARE IT.
After one week, please write about your experience, what you have learned or how your testimony has grown and share it with others. Especially me! Please e-mail me, send me a message via facebook, leave a comment on the blog- whatever!
PLEASE IF YOU HAVE A BLOG make a post about it, entitle your post “Genealogy is…” and insert your own phrase and let me know you have done so, so I can read it! Challenge others if you want, you can even link back here!
The Decemberbefore we headed East, we planned a trip up to Blackfoot, Idaho. The purpose of our trip was to see some of Mike’s family members and to take pictures of some genealogical landmarks, like the Blackfoot tabernacle (which is now a mortuary, yikes, that’s a story for another day) and a few graves in Salt Lake City. Unfortunately it dumped snow the entire time we are in Salt Lake, so the graves were covered and we never got the pictures. Last month I asked my friend Marné to do me a favor while in Salt Lake, to take a few snapshots of the graves we couldn’t during our trip. Marné was successful, and it was a delightful surprise when I informed Michael that Marné had pictures of his ancestors’ resting place. Yeah, yeah. I know, yourhusband wouldn’t find it very romantic to receive a cemetery plot map and photographs of tombstones, but there is something more to this, I promise, and I’m getting to it!
Through genealogy I’m beginning to understand the word ALL. And how it pertains to time and eternity, and the love I have for my husband. As I trace my lineage and the lineage of my husband, I begin to understand the eternal nature of our being, and how it is possible that we have always existed. Have you ever heard the expression
“I love you to pieces”? I love all my husband’s abilities, and inabilities, his features, his mannerisms, just everything. The sum of who my husband is and what he will become is due, a great deal, to his family, both eternal and earthly. How can I not want to be with ALL of him, any part of him that has ever existed? How could I not love him to “pieces” even the pieces of his pedigree?
My marriage to my husband is for all time and eternity. Just as my husband’s time on earth did not begin at the wedding alter, neither does eternity begin at our demise. Through genealogy, my love grows for my husband and the people who made his mortality possible, just as my love for him perpetually cultivates as I watch our son mature. Family, now and then, past and present, is all about love.
It’s terribly romantic, really.
So, yeah, it’s “just" a plot map but what it represents is part of ALL my love for him.
A friend of mine sent me a few of her poems to read which I am afraid, despite my praise, she'll only see that I have left her drafts black and blue ( I find red ink so threatening). Little projects, such as this, have distracted me, and inspired me, and has answered the prayer, "Father, please help me keep my mind off things." Many of you have no idea how much you have helped me. Accept a thank you, because if you are reading this- odds are- you helped without even knowing.
I am glad to have so many good friends.
Anyways, I haven't written a poem since the Spring of 2007, so I figured now- since Caleb can busy himeslf with safe tomfoolery- I'd take a crack at it again. No professor or pretentious poet-classmates scrutinising every line break and syllable, wringing you out for the details.
Just a poem. Just for me, no pressure. Whew.
Sounds wonderful, doesn't it?
click to enlarge
I am also posting the last installment of the "Genealogy is..." series early this week. I won't let you wait. It is my favorite of the series. Next week is the challenge, and I am very excited! Stay tune!
