The little red hen and other ramblings

We had this book growing up about a hen who made bread from scratch.

She went to the field and planted the wheat, she tended the wheat, she gathered it, she carried it to the mill and back and at each step she asked her "friends" if they would help her. No one ever did. No one helped her bake it either. But when it came time to eat it, they all magically appeared ready to eat. She didn't let them because they hadn't helped.

As a child, I was less interested in the moral of the story. I was more fascinated with everything she did and felt bad for her friends that they didn't get any bread. I thought the hen was a little mean even. But as I've experienced a little more of life and grown in knowledge, it reminds me of a quote by someone who I can't remember. I can't quote it exactly since I can't find it anywhere but I will paraphrase the best I can. "Our trials are our own and no one else can have the blessings we get from enduring our trials." We are blessed with trials to not only prepare us and refine us but to bless us also. Only through enduring can we receive those blessing our Heavenly Father wants to give us.

I was reminded of this little story because I was getting ready to make bread last night and I reached for the wheat flour, I realized I didn't have nearly enough. I was going to call Lanette and see if she had any I could have but then I remembered that I have a wheat grinder now. Barry and Lanette gave it to me. We also received a bunch of wheat (and other items) from a couple who were moving and didn't want to take their food storage with them. If anything, I am one of the friend's of the little red hen but in my case, I was blessed with the bread anyway, even though I didn't labor for it.

Financially things have been tough. In the last month, I've only spent $90 on food and I haven't felt deprived of anything...the milk seems to last longer, the meat stretches further, neighbors share their garden's produce...it all works out in the end. It's these kinds of things that have shown us that we are being looked after, that our Heavenly Father is mindful of us in our trials, as little as they may be compared to others' trials. How could I be unhappy with life when I have everything I need...and then some? No, I don't have everything I want, maybe someday I will, maybe I never will....but that's not something I have control over so I have given my worries (as best I can) over to the Lord and he takes care of me and comforts me. Life is good!

The house that time forgot

With more time left after my visit to the farm park, I decided to head out to Winder to ride my bike. I had strapped it to the top of my car for this purpose. I drove too far and passed my turn. So I turned onto the next available road.



Trying to get my bearings, I pulled into this driveway. A teeny, tiny little house with the owner's clothes hanging out to dry. Very cute little place. Then, when I figured out where I was, I continued on my way.

When I saw this abandoned house, I was drawn to it. It was falling apart, literally. The back half had already fallen over and was crumpled in a heap with the other half threatening to fall at any moment. I parked the car and walked around the outside, peering into the windows. The smell of must and male cat hit me strongly. The mold was thick on the walls and clothes and furniture were strewn all over. I wish I could have gone in to explore all the things left behind but I didn't dare. I walked through thick patches of poison ivy as I made my way to the back of the house.

When I got to the back and saw what laid before me, I began to put together a story about what happened. I have two scenerios. One day, when an older couple was out working in their garden, or fixing something in the barn, they heard a thunderous sound and they ran out to see that their house crumbling before their eyes. Distruaght, they never returned to salvage what they could. But I think my other story is more likely. An old man's wife had died and he was living alone. One day, he didn't wake up either. His family wasn't interested in the house, barn or any of the belongings found in either. They left everything as is and never returned to it. Eventually, the house fell into complete disrepair until it fell apart. Now, it has been sold and a subdivision is being built on the land so the house (and all the stories) will disappear with it.

There is nothing this house didn't have in it, except for hopefully the body of the man mentioned in the above story. Empty suitcases, furniture, clothes, a meat grinder, medicine, glass jars, kitchen equipment, papers, books.

Sifting through everything, I found a briefcase that contained a scrapbook of newspaper articles. The first article mentioned two children with the last name of Smith who died in a house fire. I think that they were Robert's sons. Robert P. Smith is who I believe owned this house. His name was on the papers I found as well as every book. The other articles in the scrapbook were all of people who died in fires. Was I looking at the papers of a man whose sons died in a fire he set? Or did the freak accident that caused his sons' deaths cause him to be obbsessed about others who had met the same fate? I think he sold fire alarms for a living from some of the other papers I saw so I am more inclined to think that his sons' deaths were a complete accident and it spurred him in to action to save the lives of others. He was also good at short hand. I felt guilty for peering into this man's life but it was fascinating that I could find so much information in a heap of rubble from more than 30 years ago. Looking at the evidence, I think Robert met his demise on December 30, 1973, possibly Jan. 1, 1973. He was the guy that had all the papers delivered to his house and he stuffed all the papers and handed them out to the deliverers. That would explain the stacks of newspapers tucked inside the barn. They were delivered but he never woke up to get them ready and so there they have stayed for 3 decades, preserved as if they were sealed in a time capsule.

The clothes also tell me it was in the 70's. This jacket was by itself but there were a LOT of them.

A neat stack of moth and bug eaten clothes laid in a huge pile. How curious, I thought, for them to be stacked so nicely on the ground. But upon further inspection, this pile was the closet. When the house fell apart, the clothes hanging on the rod landed on each other.

They were even still on their hangers.

Seeing these 2 quilts killed me that I had to leave them behind.

A woman, preparing her family for the cold winter ahead, spent hours, bent over the fabric, painstakingly hand piecing and quilting these beauitful quilts, works of art even. I could see the dresses, shirts and aprons that the family members had worn before the clothes were too worn to wear and the fabric was salveged to make these quilts. It kept generations warm, it provided color to a drab, humble dwelling. They were something the maker was proud of. I could feel the love put into them as I touched the fabrics and admired the skilled work of the needle.

Robert and his wife are gone now but they have touched my life. Not because they did anything profound (at least not that I know of) but because they simply were. I wish I could have met them and heard their stories. But I only have speculations and some pictures of some old things that soon no one will ever have the opportunity to see again. Progress pushes the world further ahead and leaves less in its wake then in past times. It's sad.

Reflections through the window

Adam had a party on Saturday with his friends at our house. We cleaned up pretty good and I now have a table to eat at. It's tucked into the corner of the dining room next to a window. I have eaten breakfast there every morning since it got cleared off and I watch the birds jumping around in the branches of a crape myrtle and the bushes. At one point all the birds flew away and I was looking at just the crape myrtle. When it was planted, it had plenty of room to grow healthy but the pear trees it was next to became overgrown and in order to get any light, its branches had to stretch tall, longer than crape myrtles are designed to be. The branches were tall and spindly but we never noticed because it was always tangled in with the pear branches. One day, a few years ago, there was a storm that caused the pear trees to split and fall.

It was then that we realized how long the branches actually were. Still, it looked strong enough so we left it alone. But when spring came, the limbs sprouted leaves and the weight was too much and the branches bowed under the weight and touched the ground. I trimmed it as much as I felt safe doing. If you do too much in one season, it may die. I wanted to save it if I could. Each fall and spring that I lived here afterward, I would trim some more, always careful to not trim too much. Last week I trimmed it up some like every spring. I saw more that could be done to it but I called it good for this season.

It wasn't until this morning that I looked at the tree and was amazed at how healthy and sturdy it looked!

And the first thing I thought of was how that tree was like us. We are frail and flawed but with time and the help of our Heavenly Father we can be made stronger. It isn't an instant thing. It takes time. And it also takes sometimes painful experiences but Heavenly Father knows how much pruning we can take at once and if we just have faith and endure our trials will be for our good. It will take us from a spindly ground hugging tree to a mighty, majestic oak.

Fearless?

I joined this scrapbooking website where they do a mothly challenge and a weekly challenge. They have sketches that you use for your base...everything you post to their page must use one of the sketches. It's http://www.letsscrap.ning.com/. I joined it a little bit ago but haven't done any scrapbooking until today. This week's challenge was to do a layout about you. It had to have a picture of only me, at least 4 patterned papers, a piece of ribbon and at least one handmane embellishment. I decided to give it a shot. Hmmm.....this scrapbooking things takes some work. I forgot about that. I had my own style and I could crank out a few pages in an hour when I quit scrapping. Those days are gone. So here it is...my first layout in years. I've never been a fan of the picture but it was from one of the events in my journaling...and there aren't many pictures of just me so I used it. I used two handmade embellishments. One is the owl above the journaling. I cut it out and mounted it on pop dots. hen I cut out a second set of eyes and mounted those on top of the eyes so it's 3-d. The word "BRAVE" was done the same way. The journaling reads: Lately, I've been told several times that I'm fearless. That's funny. I thought I had plenty of fear. hen I tried my first flip jump and toe loop in my figure skating classes this week, I felt a lot of fear from the time I stroked toward the entry to the time my feet touched the ice again and again with each attempt. I felt fear when I was heading off into the Southern Utah desert for 8 days carrying everything I would need (hopefully) on my bicycle. I was afraid of what would happen if my bike broke down, or if my body broke down, or if I ran out of water or food. I was afraid of not having enough to keep me warm on the cold nights. I was afraid to sleep alone in my tent every night. I was afraid of all the hills I would have to climb. I felt fear when I flew to Georgia to meet my future husband who I met on the internet. I felt fear when I first hooked up my dogs to the bike so they could get the exercise they need. I felt fear when I crashed my bicycle going 20+ MPH. I feel fear just like the people who tell me I'm fearless. I am NOT fearless. The question i not whether you are afraid or whether you are not, but whether you let that fear take hold and decide for you or whether you "make fear stand idly by and watch while you make choices with out it." That's not being fearless, that's being brave. And that is what I am. The quote "Make fear stand Idly by and watch while you make choices without it" is actually my own quote. I thought it one day and liked it so I wrote it on a post-it note. It used to be in my planner. I'd see it everyday to remind myself to not let fear rule me. I still have it, even though I don't often need the reminder these days.

Balance

I've been finding it difficult to work out some sort of balance in my life. I was so spoiled while living out West. I had time to do everything I wanted, almost. I only worked 5-6 hours a day usually so that left a lot of time. I had time left over for things like working out, riding my bike, walking/running the dogs seperately, cooking meals, persuing any of the other hobbies I entertained, reading. Well, now I'm at work 8.5 hours a day and spend a little more than an hour in traffic a day. As soon as I step in the door, the dogs and I get ready for our joint walk (unless they're really lucky and get seperate walks which doesn't happen in the short days of winter too often). We go on our 3-5 mile walk. I get home and if I'm lucky, I have leftovers to reheat. If not, I have to then cook dinner. By the time we're done eating (at about 7-7:30), I will try to accomplish something around the house, or drive over to Barry and Lanette's to do laundry. Working out that late at night is just not something I want to do so I have decided to use my lunch break to work out to a DVD. So I have at least found a way to work in a little extra exercise. But by the time all my chores are done, if I have indeed finished them (not likely since I'm too tired) it's time for bed. That may mean I actually get up read from the Book of Mormon and get to bed but more often, it means I sit in front of the tv for a little bit and veg out while I toss a ball for Tucker until I can't take it...about 11:30 to midnight because I feel like I haven't had any time to really relax.

I've been going to bed earlier this week. I've actually turned off movies in the middle of them so I can get some sleep. I know that being rested helps my mood stay good and it also helps me have enough energy to do the things I have to do so I am trying to get to bed at a good hour. I'm also trying to use my little bit of extra time in the evening to get dinner ready for the next day so I just have to reheat it. The crockpot has become my friend too. It sure is nice to have a fresh, hot meal when I get home from a walk.

But other than that, what are some of the things you do to achieve some sort of balance in your life? I don't even have kids...I would be in trouble if I did.

I just don't understand...

I am reading a book about self-esteem. This particular book focuses on spiritual, phycial and scoial self-esteem in different chapters. The chapter on physical self-esteem just didn't sit right with me. Am I the only one who sees the wrong in her logic? She speaks about proper diet, regular exercise, proper clothing, cleanliness, & makeup and hair. I understand that what you present to the world is a reflection of how you feel about yourself. Diet and exercise are essential to good health, I believe. But in her writings about hair and makeup, she says
"President McKay was reported to have said when asked by the Bretheren if women of the church should wear makeup, 'Well, even an old barn looks better when it's painted.'

a few guidleines (I didn't include them all)...
Eyebrows should be immaculately plucked and shaped.
ALWAYS wear mascara and lipstick (no lipstick makes dead lips)
Get a decent haircut, not a do-it-yourselfer."

Then she goes on to say how you should attend a makeup deomnstartion every year and do research in fashion, makeup and grooming. "Above all, strive to be feminine and simple."

I know I don't have the best self-esteem in the world when it comes to my looks but I feel like I have more self-esteem than some because I don't have to wear makeup or have a fancy hairdo or dress in certain clothes. I am comfortable enough to be myself. What do you think? Am I wrong in the way I'm thinking? If I had more self-esteem, would I dress differently, would I take more time to groom myself for the image I want others to see? Or am I just missing the point all together.

What does my lack of style and grooming say to you? I am looking for a sincere and honest answer so just post a comment ananymously.

My Parable

I am certainly not as good at telling parables as Jesus was but here is one that perhaps you'll enjoy reading, even if it doesn't have the profound meaning that His have. There still is meaning in there that has nothing to do with me or my dogs but parables are not explained...you will have to come to your own conclusion on what it means. :o)

The Parable of the Traveling Woman

A woman from the top of the mountains traveled southward to a strange land. In this strange land, it rained greatly, yea, insomuch that there was flooding in all the land. The ground was squishy and unstable but there was a firm path which allowed travelers a safe passage. It was favored above all others. This woman traveled with 4 strong beasts. These beasts listened to her commands insomuch that other travelers were astonished of her control over the wild beasts. Some of her beasts hated other beasts and would wail and gnash their teeth at the sight of them. And it came to pass that the day came when her beasts crossed another beast and they did walk uprightly as though they didn’t care. The woman was puffed up with pride for she thought she had tamed the wild beasts at last. And it came to pass that the woman from the tops of the mountains traveled again with her beasts. The beasts were behaving exceedingly well. But the woman spotted another beast ahead of them on their path, yea directly ahead of them. She thought it wise to cross over to a grassy slope to keep peace in the land. Verily, she misjudged the difficulty of safely navigating the grassy slope insomuch that she slipped on the mud caused by the great flooding. Yea, neither beast nor man could know which footholds were solid for there was no way to see. The beasts felt her fall and knew she was weaker than they. They wailed and gnashed their teeth and pulled insomuch that the woman did slip again in the mud. The beasts, seeing she had no control over them any longer, returned to their wild state, and with a firm conviction of heart and spirit, attempted to charge the beast across the way insomuch that they were nearly trampled by the migrating metal creatures until the creatures became too afraid to move past them and their herds stopped to watch in horror of the scene before their eyes. The beasts became enraged that they could not get to the other beast and entangled the woman about a tree with their flaxen cords and fought one with another with a tumultuous noise. The woman was alarmed at the suddenness of the change in her beasts and in how quickly she lost control. As she was bound with flaxen cords and feeling hopeless, she realized that she could use this to her advantage, for she was no longer being pulled across that slippery slope. She grabbed onto the fighting beasts and calmed them insomuch that she was able to unravel the flaxen cords and release herself from their encompassing grip. The woman quickly left the slippery slope for the stable, sure-footed path she had previously been traveling and the beasts were once again under her control. And it came to pass that she traveled in humbleness.

Weirdness is my gift

Forgive my ramblings here. I have always had a hard time getting my feelings out but I had a thought today that I felt I needed to write down. There's a reason why i don't include personal thoughts in my blog too often...

As long as I can remember, I’ve heard these words said to me, “You’re so weird!”. When I was younger, it made me feel a little bad that I wasn’t like other people but it was soon forgotten as I got back on with my life. Still, sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be “normal”.

I’ve always felt like I’m stuck between “worlds”…that I don’t fit in in any situation/environment. Maybe it’s a lack of confidence or experience or maybe it IS just that I’m weird, or different. Even among my families, I am a bit of an oddity. It’s hard, sometimes, to see that look so often …the one that says they think I’m crazy, different, that I don’t quite belong. I do want to fit in SOMEWHERE.

If I were normal, I wouldn’t have such a variety of hobbies (though most only done intermittently) like reading, writing, drawing, cross stitch, quilting, crocheting, scrapbooking, photography, hiking, camping, ice skating, sign language, to name some, sucking up free time.

If I were normal, I wouldn’t have this overwhelming urge to make/do things myself like gardening, sewing things, redoing the bathroom (and other house projects) even though the results are not always as I envisioned them.

If I were normal, I wouldn’t worry so much about the quality of my food. I wouldn’t have to cook from scratch so often. I wouldn’t ever have to take time to make bread.

If I were normal, I wouldn’t have such a strong bond with my dogs. I wouldn’t have to walk them everyday and I wouldn’t feel guilty that I wasn’t giving them what they needed. I wouldn’t want to include them in other parts of my life, like biking.

If I were normal, I wouldn’t want to live on a homestead or farm and be surrounded by stinky animals and lots of nothing.

If I were normal, I wouldn’t make an effort to go to church every Sunday and try my best to follow what I learn there.

If I were normal, I wouldn’t give a second thought to my carbon footprint and the impact of the things I do on the earth. I wouldn’t keep my house at 68 in the winter (even though hot air rises and that means the lower part of the living room, the only part we can be in, feels more like 64).

If I were normal, I wouldn’t be dreaming of biking adventures (with or without dogs). I also wouldn’t have spent a week biking and camping in the middle of nowhere of loved every minute of it.

Life might be easier if I fit into a certain “world” just right. Maybe. But it might also be more boring. I have always thought that Heavenly Father only gave me one gift. Perseverance. I have never mastered a thing in my life…never been that good at anything but that has never deterred me from keeping at it. I kind of love that I have to work at everything I try. But more recently, I realized that He also gave me another gift. He gave me the ability to love who I am, weirdness and all, good and bad, and not worry about what others think of me…to make my own path in life without being easily swayed by what others around me are doing or saying. I am not perfect, of course, but I feel very blessed to be me.

Is your journal your teacher or is it locked away?

On my 12th birthday I received a journal from my new young woman’s leader. I don’t remember who she was though. She told me I should write in my journal every day to record my experiences and life. I faithfully wrote in my journal everyday for a few years, even if it was nothing more than something similar to this, “I woke up, ate the regular breakfast, went to school, came home and did homework. I played baseball at the park with the boys. I did real good. Then I watched “Paradise”. 2 thumbs up. And now it’s time to sleep.” I actually made a lot of entries like that. And every time I would go back and read it, it would make me laugh at the ridiculous things I thought were important or amazing.

As time went on, my journal entries were spaced further apart, maybe once or twice a month or so. But they were more about my feelings, and about the things I was doing and going through. And about what was happening in the lives of my family members that I wanted to remember.
Journals are our lives, wrapped up into a small package (or a few packages as is my case). They offer us a chance to learn from our mistakes so we don’t make them again, to realize our weaknesses so that we can become better people, to find the humor in what was once thought of as the end of the world as we knew it, to rejoice in our accomplishments we never saw before and to see how God has touched our lives and continues to and how, at His time, he can heal your broken spirit and raise you up to a higher person than you were before.

One of my entries in my most recent journal (which is sadly only written in about 3-4 times a year) stated that through going back and reading my entries, I was able to see God’s hand in my life. That each time I wrote about something awful that was going on, the next entry was always about how He had helped me to find peace again. Ok, so it wasn’t always the next entry, but it always came eventually. That insight helped me to be a little more patient in my trials because I realized that in His time, I will have His peace, whether or not things work out the way my heart wants.

There are pages that, as I wrote, were wetted with tears from the emotion that I couldn’t contain. And as I reread those entries with their slightly wavy pages and smeared words, a fresh batch of tears would grace the pages as I felt anew all the pain and rejoicing I had felt at another time…almost in another life it would seem sometimes. But I think that that is one of the things I enjoy about rereading my journal. I can feel all those things again, go through those trials if you will, and become closer to Heavenly Father as I overcome and rejoice in His love as he blesses me with peace and His understanding opens my mind to things I didn’t understand, or even care about understanding before.

Journals can be a huge blessing in our lives and I think it is for that reason that we have been commanded to keep them.

I tell you this, not so I can brag about how faithfully I have recorded in my journals, or how wonderful my entries are. Neither is actually the case. Sadly, journals have been brought to the forefront of my mind with the sad discovery that my journals were lost in a box that got shipped about 2 years ago and I will never see them again. I’m thankful that I went back and read them fairly often while I had them so that I could gain some insights from my own life and past experiences. But I am sad because I have lost a lot of memories and very personal accounts of my life.