blast from the past

I found this post in my drafts folder. Cute and funny.

I’m having a hard time lately, putting things into words that I would be satisfied to share with everyone. Putting something on Facebook or my blog leaves so much open to criticism, and the experiences I’ve had with Chris lately, and even more so the feelings I’ve had that go along with them, seem just too, well, sacred, to leave them open to that.

I knew I loved Chris in October of last year, in part because in romantic relationships, I give whether I really want to or not. Somewhere along the way I picked up the idea that I had some kind of moral obligation to be in love, whether or not that was a rational, healthy thing to do. So it’s been a new experience to love someone who actually loves me back, who invites thought-out behavior and healthy patterns. I keep talking about how this makes sense in my mind and in my heart, because that’s something I haven’t had before. I’ve had several experiences where my head was perpetually anxious about what my heart had gotten into. I’m much less at odds with myself this time, although there are still some elements of that. I think that’s normal though – that’s real life, the subjection of the natural man to the Spirit.

I went to the temple today, and participated in an endowment session. All through it, I kept thinking about how Eve was a follower, and there’s a rightness and a nobility to that. That led me to conclude, as prompted by the Spirit, that I ought to let Chris lead, and give him the space to do so. I think in a month and a half from now, we will be rather better prepared to take marriage out of hypotheticals and really figure out the logistics of it. We’ll be prepared to handle that much commitment. For now though, looking at places to live in Indiana feels a little awkward and premature, and when people ask, we tell people that Chris is leaving for Indiana and I am staying here. That’s still the plan right now, as little we like it, simply because we’re not emotionally prepared to admit to any other course of action.

I think being on the brink of engagement is just an awkward place to be in a relationship regardless, because technically, as things stand in the present moment, there’s nothing more serious going on than a simple dating relationship. But your future could be so much more than that, if you decide in some not-so-long-from-now conversation that you’re going to tie your loyalty to that one person. It makes me understand better why people use the passage in Ruth for wedding vows. Regardless of the practicality of independence, it’s no longer the code by which you operate. You spend the rest of your life reminding yourself to function as a single unit with another person who clearly has their own brain and agency and history. Daunting and rewarding, and somehow fun as a combination of the two.

I love the concept of marriage, but the practice is one I have to psych myself up for. I think Chris would say the same thing…I think he’s trying to get excited about the idea of being married, since (if I understand correctly) the idea of having me around all the time is already appealing.

a longsuffering God

Acts 14 was another moment of admiring Heavenly Father for His longsuffering in the face of wickedness. Paul and Barnabas go into Greece and preach, but the unbelieving Jews there undermine their efforts to spread the gospel.

So they stay there a long time. Still boldly testifying, still performing miracles, still working so that as many people as want to learn have the opportunity.

There's such an element of nonjudgemental-ness here. Paul and Barnabas make no assumptions about the general wickedness of the people. They see that it is a place divided, and intend to garner as many converts as they can regardless. It would have been so easy to just shake the dust off of their feet and move on (they've done it before!) but it seems to me that Heavenly Father recognized that these were people there who earnestly sought joy, and who demonstrated gratitude for the blessings they received (even if the demonstrations are a little misguided...they try to sacrifice animals to Paul and Barnabas, after all.)

To me that says that Heavenly Father is willing to work with my imperfections. He doesn't ask me to get rid of them all at once, and doesn't dismiss me on account of them. He sends messengers -- the Spirit, the scriptures, prophets and apostles, inspired friends -- to keep teaching me, because He recognizes that I have much good to give, right now, even as He urges me to repent and rely on the Savior so that I have and am even more.

being expectant

Acts 13 today.

The first thing I noticed was that the chapter again starts with the church asking for revelation from Heavenly Father and receiving it via the Holy Spirit in specific, concrete ways.

This is a recurring moment in the first several chapters of Acts, what I love about it is the sense of expectation the saints have. These prayers are not wishy-washy hopes or idle wishes or even the obligatory request from jaded souls. These are moments of humility that are also full of promise, because they are sure that their God has something to say to them, and that He will say it if they listen -- and one step further, that they will do something about it once He does.

It made me wonder...what guidance would I receive if I wasn't so convinced that I would be ignored or criticized? What direction would I gain if I mustered the courage to hear and act on what was told to me?

The next thing I noticed was that later in the chapter, when he is teaching in the synagogue, Paul identifies a pattern in Heavenly Father's dealings with His children:

-Slaves in Egypt, delivered in a miraculous way

-Disobedient wandering in the wilderness, inherited the promised land

-Whining and clamoring about the government, God chooses David

Then Paul goes on to say, in essence, "Guys, you KNOW God. You know He fills His promises, you KNOW He forgives His people if they repent and humble themselves before Him. It really shouldn't surprise you when I say He's done it again." And then Paul testifies of Christ and His divine mission to bring mercy and incorruption and forgiveness to the world.

And it just struck me how loving Heavenly Father is. He knows exactly how screwy His children can be. No matter how much my perfectionist and outward-appearances tendencies say otherwise, there is no hiding our deeply flawed and tragically incomplete selves from Him. And yet...Heavenly Father, knowing that, provided a purifier and a completer, 'the author and finisher of our faith," Jesus Christ.

In short, Heavenly Father still gives gifts to our incredibly indebted selves.

That means we can rejoice, not because we are independent, but because we are dependent on something, Someone, that will never, NEVER fail us.

miraculous escapes and angel thwacking

I read Acts 12 today, where Peter is miraculously freed from prison. I love finding funny moments in the scriptures, because while it's telling about life of apostles 2000+ years ago, it's still LIFE. For example, in this chapter, Peter thinks he's seeing a vision of an angel freeing him from prison (including the angel thwacking him in the ribs!) But then, once he is completely safe and the angel disappears, Peter realizes...he...was...awake...the whole time. It made me giggle.

Because this was the part of the chapter that stuck out the most to me, I pondered it some more to see if I could perceive more spiritual significance from this moment of Peter's. So here's my thoughts to that effect:

When we're enduring hard things, sometimes we don't recognize blessings as being a part of our reality. Sometimes we forget that we can count on Christ for deliverance and healing from ALL things. Our escape from hardship and trial may not be so very miraculous and clear-cut as Peter's escape out of prison, but we can still find haven in the peace we feel from obedience and tender mercies intended to remind us how much Heavenly Father cares.

And, like Peter, our next steps might still be fraught with their own dangers. He got to spend very little time with the local church before he had to move on for his safety (and theirs, I imagine.) He was still going to be a wanted man, and still going to preach to as many people as would listen.

I think I often hope for these miraculous, sudden escapes without understanding and accepting that it's another challenge and another work and sometimes even another "prison" that I will escape to. But I do know that Heavenly Father prizes my enthusiasm and that as I rely on Him with grace and humility, I can treasure the joy of this life He has given me and find peace even if I am hoping an angel will whack me awake and tell me to get moving.

admiring Christ

My most meaningful devotional moment in the last couple of days has been couple study with Awesome Husband. We were reading this talk, and a particular line stood out to me:

"[I would like to share]... a quote written in 1908 by Charles Edward Jefferson on the character of Jesus Christ. It reads:

"'To be a Christian is to admire Jesus so sincerely and so fervently that the whole life goes out to him in an aspiration to be like him.'"

That took me by surprise. I love Christ, I am grateful to Him, I worship Him. But do I admire Him?

Admiration is a pretty normal frame of mind in my life...I have amazing, talented, giving friends who I love to observe and emulate, whether they are writers, wives or disciples. My thoughts about them are, "wow, that is AWESOME! I want to do that TOO!"

But do I often think that way about Christ? I don't think it's occurred to me. I've struggled reading the New Testament because so much of it has seemed to be directed to someone else, and I'm just along for the ride. After reading this quote, I want to read specifically looking for the admirable qualities of my Savior, and trying the thought "wow, that is AWESOME! I want to do that TOO!" on for size when I read the accounts of His forgiveness, kindness, and purity. Because He IS awesome. And I DO want to be like Him, too.

breaks and buzzes

After a long day at work, moving and unpacking boxes in our new office, I came home a little early and asked Chris if we could hit the grocery store.

"Don't you want to take a break?" he said.

"A break?" I looked around. We just cleaned the apartment. The dishes are reasonably tamed. Dinner will take mere minutes. "Huh. I guess I could."

So just like that, Chris went to the grocery store by himself, leaving me here to put my feet up and write another 500 words on the latest draft of my manuscript and revel in the tidy, quiet, peaceful home we've created.

That by itself would have been a gift, but the fact that he's picking up things at the store that were mostly for me just makes it even better.

We have an app on our phones that allows us to share lists, so every time he checks off something from the grocery list, my phone buzzes.

And every time my phone buzzes, I am reminded of just how lucky I am.

Christmas 2014

Chris and I have been hard at work to get into the Christmas spirit this month.

And, because we don't have kids and all of our near-and-dear friends live far away, it can be just that: work.

Mostly it's the work of remembering...to be excited, to get the things done that we intended to. We've discovered a couple of things, like how neither of us actually likes The Nightmare Before Christmas, and both of us feel like a tree without lights is pretty pointless. We've started a couple of traditions, like watching the Christmas devotional and decorating with homemade and gifted items.

In truth though, the most meaningful Christmas moments this year have existed entirely in my own head and heart. This year, I've been struck again and again by what Christmas is really about...and not just in the "let's put Christ in Christmas" kind of way. It's been a level deeper than that.

Do you realize who Christ is? Do you really understand His role and purpose in being born? Without Christ, there is no hope. No forgiveness. No improvement. No mercy.

But with Him...oh, the magnitude of blessings we have. Because of Him, every brokenness can be healed. Every failing can be changed. Every harsh reality of moral existence becomes nothing more than a moment to stretch and demonstrate our faith.

That little baby was the Savior. The Redeemer. The Deliverer. The Light, the Life, the Way.

He saves, redeems, delivers. Resurrects us, even, from our cold and sinful ways to the warmth and vibrancy and safety of His love.

And oh, isn't that worth celebrating?

Today was spent taking Chris to Chicago to catch a place. He'll be in San Francisco for about the next week or so, giving a couple of presentations at a big conference. He really didn't think he was going to be able to pull it off, but somehow he mustered a lot of faith and courage and sure enough, it looks like he'll get everything done that he needs to in order to have a successful presentation. I'm awfully proud of him.

Even if it means that I walked into my apartment tonight, alone.

It gave me a fresh perspective, though. As I looked around, taking in the surroundings that would be solely mine for the next week or so, I noticed just how messy things have gotten. Just clutter and disarray. Nothing too horrifying, but it's hard to find a place that isn't littered with stuff.

But you know what? That's what our life looks like these days. We are exceptionally busy, occasionally lazy, and so completely in love that a lot of evenings, it's just more important to us to sit on the couch and snuggle than it is to do the dishes.

I guess what I really see when I look around here is a lot of love. Our awesomely decorated living room, where we picked out and arranged everything together. The load of clean laundry that Chris did without me having to ask. The basil plant Chris let me get just because I wanted it.

The last days and weeks have been tremendously hectic ones, but I have to acknowledge that we have been richly blessed even as we have struggled. I will deeply miss Chris every day that he is gone, not just because I will want someone around (although that's probably true too) but because I want him around. Every day I spend with him is another day's worth of love that I have stockpiled for this delightful person that Heavenly Father gave to me. How amazing is that?

family history

I've tried to link to information on concepts that those who are not members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints might not be familiar with. If you have questions beyond what I've tried to address, please don't hesitate to ask!

I testify that Heavenly Father knows us, loves us, and has provided a way for families to be together forever. If you'd like to know a little more about a piece of my forever family, you can read the brief accounts below.

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Mary Loretta Jackson is my paternal grandmother. When my dad was a single parent, my brother and I spent the summer with "Grandmom" (she hated being called "grandma"...I think it made her feel old!) so that my dad could continue to work during the day while my brother and I were out of school. I loved to sing the children's songs I learned in church, and many summer days found me singing "I am a Child of God" while I sat on the living room floor of Grandmom's apartment, playing Barbies:

I am a child of God, 
And he has sent me here, 
Has given me an earthly home 
With parents kind and dear.
Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
Help me to find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday.

Although I didn't really understand it at the time, this was strongly developmental of my grandmother's personal relationship with her Savior. My dad, who joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in his 20s, shared the gospel with my grandmother, but it was her granddaughter's repeated action of bringing the Holy Spirit into her home that began to influence her to change her life.


When Grandmom was finally baptized, she asked me to sing "I am a Child of God" at her baptism. I am so grateful that she chose me to be a part of that and recognized the power that the Savior can have in our lives, even if it comes from a child.

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My paternal grandmother was a creative person. She had more Bob Ross videos than I could comfortably count at age 9, and would often paint-by-number while I watched the progression of black and white outlines to full-color birds and animals with awe. My childhood was filled with elaborate, beautiful crocheted doll's dresses and carefully coordinated and sewn casual outfits which she had given me for Christmases and birthdays.
Perhaps one of her most enduring creative legacies, however, exists in the form of a poem. (If my dad knows where his copy is, I'll try to post it later!)
This poem is based on a particular experience she had, before she had even really considered joining the church. I hope to relay it accurately, but my retelling is based on cobwebbed childhood memory and therefore a little creative license of my own can be anticipated.
It was a rainy night, common to San Diego winters. My grandmother drove down the freeway, harrowed up by the anxieties and struggles she faced. As she drove, she began to pray, reluctantly at first, but with increasing earnestness as she took full stock of her life. Things seemed hopeless and she felt increasingly aware of how trapped she felt by her circumstances and personal weaknesses. In this dire moment of self-doubt and spiritual exhaustion, she cried out for help to the Lord. 

She drove her car around a bend in the road...and there was the temple.

The San Diego temple shone in its full splendor through the rainy, dismal night and my grandmother's tears. Light radiated from it in a holy proclamation of peace and majesty, and that holiness washed over my grandmother's heart. Tears fell anew as the Spirit bore personal witness to her that her prayers were heard, that her sacrifices and efforts were accepted, and that her Creator, her Heavenly Father, loved her with all of His infinite heart.
Grandmom's decision to put this experience into words influenced my own desire to become a writer, and her commitment to creating beauty to share with others inspires me to do the same. Most of all, however, I am strengthened by her testimony that Heavenly Father is aware of us, even in our darkest moments, and provides all of the promise and peace of the holy temple to bring us joy and light forever.

====

When my dad was a single parent, my grandmother was a strong influence in the life of my brother and I. Simply put, Dad needed the help, and Grandmom stepped up to the challenge of caring for the children of her children when she was needed.

Although she may not have realized it at the time, the most enduring aid she gave to me was allowing me to witness and participate in her conversion. My grandmother loved the temple, and the Primary songs I would sing to myself as I visited her. However, with all of the ways that the truths of the gospel resonated in her heart, she still struggled with the Word of Wisdom.

I remember a particular week when she had not been very successful in avoiding her addiction to coffee and cigarettes. She felt so weak, and the discouragement and disappointment she felt in herself hung like a heavy burden on her shoulders. That week in sacrament meeting, we could tell that she wondered why she was even trying.

During one of the songs in that meeting, I heard a sniffle. I glanced over to find my grandmother weeping, as her gravelly, tobacco-damaged voice sang:

I marvel that [Jesus] would descend from his throne divine
To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine,
That he should extend his great love unto such as I,
Sufficient to own, to redeem, and to justify.

Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me 
Enough to die for me.
Oh it is wonderful, wonderful to me.

She was reminded, before my very eyes, that Jesus Christ atoned for our sins, that we are blessed for every attempt we make to walk uprightly before God, and we are forgiven for each and every stumble.

Even almost 20 years later, this song still touches my heart and makes me think of my grandmother and her humble testimony. I, too, am amazed by the love that our Savior has for each of us, and with Grandmom, I testify that we can be free from every sin, addiction and weakness through His Atonement. And that is wonderful to me.

my amazing husband

My husband is on an absolute roll these days.

Before my new job, I've been the one responsible for housework and errands and things, mostly so that Chris could focus on school. After a couple of evenings lately when I was flipping out about how busy my life is, Chris sat me down. "I think you might be just as busy as I am, if not busier. You need to let me help."

We were very worried about what this transition was going to look like in our family. Was it going to cause fights if Chris didn't get around to what I'd asked him to do? Was I really going to make a new habit of asking for help? Were we going to be able to prioritize our very busy lives sufficiently?

We're at the beginning of my third week working, and it's been an impressive success so far. Mostly though, I'm impressed with my husband.

In the middle of a work project when I ask for help with dinner? "Be right there."

Being asked to do one of his least favorite chores? "Just do the first part to get me going, and I will do the rest."

Given a bigger job than he was hoping to be given? Does even more than requested, and when I ask about it, responds, "Well, it was dirty."

Stuck on the couch because his very tired wife just wants to snuggle? "You take a break. Can I tell you about my work project?"

Surrounded by clutter because we just haven't gotten around to it? "I'm sorry, I need to do better at checking our chore chart. We'll get it done, though. I really do want to help."

I am so impressed by Chris' humility, generosity, and work ethic. It seems that no matter how much Chris struggles with anything else, I really am his top priority. That blows my mind. With weeks like this one, I just can't imagine why he would ever doubt himself or whether or not the Lord is pleased with him.

I'm so blessed, guys. My husband is such a powerful example of goodness to me -- and that's not just with helping me around the house, either. In the last couple of months, we have made a friend through the missionaries. Frankly, our friend has needed a lot of help because her life is in such a huge transition, but I haven't heard Chris complain about it once. In fact, he's the one who baptized her this weekend.

I really do have the husband I always wanted, but never quite believed I would get. And I'm convinced that I'm able to recognize this because I've been diligently reading my scriptures lately. Because of the scriptures, I can see the truth:

He really is amazing.

worry

Worry worry worry worry worry.

Gnaw gnaw gnaw gnaw.

Worry worry worry worry worry.

These are the sounds my brain is making at 4am, which is why I am not currently asleep.

I just got called to lead the girls' youth group in the Spanish congregation, and they haven't had a leader in months. I feel like I have to start it from scratch.

But when it comes down to it, I don't.

The Lord is perfectly capable of accomplishing His purposes...I just happen to be the tool He has chosen to use this time.

He wouldn't have called me unless He thought I could accomplish His work. He's asked people to build ships, nations, and churches "from scratch," but He has always had a plan in mind for it -- both an end goal and a process to get here. I don't really know either of those right now, but at least I know I'm not alone in trying to figure out what is best for these girls. He already knows them and already knows what is best for them. So I'm not really starting from scratch at all. I'm just trying to know the mind of God.

Today I am grateful that I am not alone. God has a plan for me. He already has this all figured out, and as I come to know Him better, He will reveal his plans to me.

I am grateful to be a part of Christ's church restored on the earth. Strangely enough, no matter how much or how often I worry, I come back to one thing: I know where to find answers. The scriptures are meant to get us acquainted with God, to know who His is and who He will always be. I know they hold that power. And a part of me suddenly suspects...prayer is, in part, meant to get us acquainted with ourselves. What do we ask for? Do we plead for it sincerely? How often do we pray? When we know who we are and we bring our truest selves to Him, the answers come so much faster. Our eyes clear so that we can't be withheld from seeing Him. Even if we are incredibly weak.

I am grateful for personal revelation. My concerns matter to the Lord. My marriage is important to Him. My happiness and growth are way at the top of His priority list. He created me to have joy, not just now but eternally. That means that He is willing to give me the compassion and instruction that I need...and that He has given me the means to acquire it. He already knows what I need, and He clues me in as He provides it.

I believe that Heavenly Father already has a picture in His mind of what things are supposed to look like. I believe that He already has my day prioritized. I believe He does not want me to be angry or full of fear.

And so, at 4 a.m., I pray, O Father, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief.

My ways are not Thy ways. My thoughts are not Thy thoughts. 

Help me to empty myself of self so that there is room for Thee here. 

And surely, slowly, gradually, the peace comes. And I am not afraid.

a day to remember

On bad days, I want to remember what today looked like.

I want to remember that my rudimentary skills were enough to serve the purpose, and that I was proud of my work.

I want to remember that it was convenient to be nice to my husband, and I was genuinely excited about that.

I want to remember that I chatted with a friend and reveled in our comfortable, worn-in, beautiful dynamic.

I want to remember that I accepted feedback not as criticism, but as conversation.

I want to remember that I asked for help.

I want to remember that I compromised.

Life is so full of days like today, which are nothing too special by themselves. But put together, they make happy marriages and thriving homes and meaningful progress.

Today was a good day. And the best part about it was that it was completely normal.

simmering

Today I was going to go exercise with a bunch of girls at the stake center, but when I got there the doors were locked and the parking lot was empty.

So instead I called my friend, who is temporarily staying with a family not very far from the stake center. We had a good talk about how much calmer her life is now that she is out of the place she was living at previously. She's like a different person now. It makes me happy for her.

I also went to day three of my new job today. It was much better than the last two days have been, since I am getting used to working in a team/office environment again.

We fed the elders, too. They're always fun, and I love that my husband loves to serve with them. 

t'was the night before christmas vacation

T'was the night before Christmas vacation, and all through the house
There was no scurry of packing, no, not from either spouse.
The suitcase lay still in the hall by the door,
The dryer stood full but wholly ignored.

The lovebirds were sitting all calm on the couch
While they smiled bravely and tried not to grouch.
Chris in his basketball shorts, and Sara in some too,
Had gone to volleyball -- a favorite thing to do.

When, middle of game, Chris and a friend collided
His ankle sprained just like that and swelled up, one-sided.
Away to the stage Chris lay down with a wince.
It hurt a whole lot and hasn't stopped since.

The call to the parents wasn't much fun.
"Our plans might be foiled before they've begun."
Mom and Dad understood, but it wasn't their favorite.
"Put ice on the ankle, and make sure to raise it."

With a little sad pout, Sara went to the store.

They had some first-aid things but they needed some more.

An ice pack, an ace wrap, a slide of the card

They'd soon ice it, and wrap it, though plans might be marred.

Now sitting, now waiting, now swallowing pills!

On the phone, doing writing, or giving water refills!

To the health center they go? Or just stay at home?

Go lay down now, rest now, maybe tomorrow we'll roam!

For sleeping, the lovebirds would be apart that night.

To keep down the swelling, Chris raised his foot a good height.

And can you imagine, the pain he would feel,

If Sara bumped his ankle? It'd be less than ideal.

So then, in the living room, Chris spent the night.

Snuggling pillows, not a sweetheart -- not due to a fight.

As Sara turned out the light and left him with a kiss,

She knew in her heart that her husband she'd miss.

In the morn they awakened. "How's it feel? You okay?"

And Chris tested and tried it (but avoided ballet.) 

A twelve-hour trip still didn't seem very smart

And so they decided, that day, not to start...

home

Chris climbed into bed and I flipped off the light. The room was cold, and I was not looking forward to the cool sheets waiting for me underneath our comforter. Nor did I think Chris was looking forward to my icy toes tucked beneath his warm calf.

"I'm going to go heat up the rice bag," I decided. I made that rice bag over a year ago, and while the stitching has not held up very well in some places, it's still perfectly functional. Plus, the bright red fabric makes it a lot easier to find than several other things in our household. Like cell phone chargers.

The weight of the rice bag always surprises me when I pick it up. I shifted it in my hands, enjoying the susurration of some thousand grains of rice. I hoisted it into our microwave, looking forward to the warmth it would hold. I leaned against the wall in the orangey dimness. Just listening.

And in that moment, it felt suddenly, strangely, like home.

There are a lot of things I would change about our apartment. It's never as clean as I wish I could make it, and never quite big enough to hold all of our stuff, no matter how hard we try.

Yet, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and microwave, in the chilly stillness, it struck me that my heart has put down roots here. It's not perfect, but it's ours, and that all by itself is beautiful.

I'm especially grateful to be aware of that at this time of year. Our families are a long way away, and although it's my parents' turn to have us for Christmas, sometimes I can't help but feel lonesome for another time and place. Roommates scurrying to pack, delighted to be going home for the holidays, and yet equally delighted to be coming back to live with me for another semester. My siblings and I decorating the house with red ribbon and setting up the porcelain nativity, all with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir playing in the background and Mom baking in the kitchen.

Here, our Christmas decorations are scant. Our home is quiet. The snow falls outside, making this North Carolina girl feel a little further from what she knows.

And yet, this is home. This is the life I have chosen, and the life I choose to love. Day by day, and in unexpected little moments, we make this shared space more deeply ours. We will imbue it with the meaning that comes of a thousand memories, all rubbing together, ready to make us warm.

Ding. The rice bag was done. I took it out, and the warmth sank into my hands like a long hug. I poked it under the covers, and climbed in after it.

Oh yes, I thought as I snuggled close to Chris and buried my toes in hot rice. This, this, is home. 

another "cumplemes"

We have a tradition at our house.

(Note: I love being able to say that. I think every family should have lots of traditions. They're just repeated moments of meaning and fun and goodness. The repetition aids memory, and I want Chris and I -- and our someday kiddos -- to look back on our life together as a really, really good thing.)

That tradition is to celebrate our cumplemes. That's our "month-iversary," except that we've adopted the much tider Spanish translation.

So on the eleventh of every month, we have some form of ice cream and some sort of pizza, and we make sure to spend it together. I've cancelled plans at least once because I realized that it was our cumplemes, and there was no way I was going to miss out on that special bit of one-on-one time with my husband.

Well, today is our cumplemes, independent of the fact that we are both fighting off colds and deadlines. We ordered this pizza....

Chicago style, baby!

ate some of this ice cream....

how much of it we ate is not open for discussion...

and hung out on this couch....

a better look at the pattern on the ottoman and pillows 

because we have spent the day coughing and schlumping in PJs, two things that are discouraged in places of any greater respectability.

Happy 15 months, Chris. Even when we're sick, being married to you is something worth celebrating.

chiles rellanos casserole

Chris and I have been eating vegetarian dinners every other day for about a month and a half now. I love how much more cheaply we eat, how light the meals are, how much variety we have in our meals, and how creative I have to get to keep it that way!

I made this recipe tonight for the first time and we all raved about it. The original recipe can be found here, but I made enough alterations that I thought I'd post my own version, too.

1/2 pound fresh poblano peppers
1/2 pound fresh anaheim peppers
1 1/2 cup colby jack cheese
1/2 cup parmesan cheese
1/2 cup cheddar cheese
3 eggs
1/4 cup milk
1/3 cup wheat flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon oregano
1/8 teaspoon chipotle pepper

1) Preheat oven to 450; grease a 2-quart baking dish and set aside.
2) Quarter peppers, then remove stems, seeds, and veins. Immerse in boiling water for 3 minutes, then drain and allow to dry a bit on paper towels.
3) Place peppers, cut side up, in the baking dish, and top with cheeses. It's okay to layer if you have too many peppers for the surface of your pan.
4) In medium bowl, mix remaining ingredients. Pour egg mixture over peppers.
5) Bake, uncovered for 15 minutes or until egg mixture is cooked through (test with a knife or toothpick.) Let stand for 5 minutes before serving with corn tortillas and a salad.

SO YUMMY. My word.

happy halloween

Some pretty crazy things happen when you invite the missionaries over for Halloween.

In all seriousness though, it was a fantastic experience. We had two sets of elders over for dinner, then the sisters came over after they finished their dinner appointment. Everyone got their own hat to wear, but two of the missionaries surprised everyone with headgear of their own. One of them was the above wig -- very punk-rocker Ariel if you ask me. The other was a chicken. Not a fluffy, feathery chicken, but like a chicken you're going to cook, and then decided to put it on your head.

I love these people more than I can say.

The lot of us played Dixit and Bananagrams while we shared candy and snacks and even a veggie-and-cheese tray from yours truly. We even had one trick-or-treater despite the pouring down rain. My friend Deidra brought over her toddler, who knows every single one of the missionaries (and me) by name. There's just something unspeakably adorable about hearing a 3-year-old say, "Mommy, that's Sawa!" Not to mention "Ewder Melchior" and the rest.

As soon as they left, I almost turned to Chris. "Babe, can we do this every year?"

And I think he would have said yes.

la viaje a Nauvoo

Last weekend, Chris had to work. Nothing really new there. 

What was new, however, was that the Spanish branch asked me to come with them to Nauvoo. Two families were getting sealed and several members were receiving their endowments, and the whole branch decided to make a big trip of it.

I didn't mind driving and was excited about the prospect of going to Nauvoo. I've only been there once, but that was a "get there, go to a wedding, eat dinner, drive home again" sort of thing for Josh and Katie's wedding. Delightful, but not very touristy. The branch promised that we'd see Carthage as well as go on a carriage ride specifically meant for sightseeing around the Church historic sites. I was totally game.

My one request, however, was that I have someone in the car who could speak passable English. My Spanish speaking skills are tolerable at best, and my listening skills...well, let's just say they have a long way to go. So I ended up with Yali, who is a few years younger than me, along with her toddler and baby. 

Early in the trip, the toddler declared she needed to go to the bathroom. So I pulled off, breaking from the caravan of cars, and we found a place to stop.

Shortly thereafter, I received a phone call. "Hermana Hagmann, esta bien?" 

"Si! La niña necesite el baño, pero esta bien. Yo tengo direcciones," I assured her, grasping my printed directions a little more firmly in my hand.

"Oh...okay, bueno."

"Pero gracias, hermana."

"Claro. Vemos pronto."

"Si. Ciao!"

As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again. It was Teandra, my fellow native-English-speaker friend in the branch. That conversation was comically similar.

"Hey Sara! You okay? I saw you pull off on the exit."

"Yep, we're great! Yali's little girl just needed to use the bathroom. No worries though, I have directions." 

"Oh...um, okay. Just checkin'!" 

"And I appreciate that! We'll try to catch up, but no big deal. See you there."

"Okay. Bye!"

Yeah stinkin' right. Thank goodness Yali's mom let her borrow the smartphone, or we'd still be out there, wandering the highways of rural Illinois. We finally got there almost two hours after everyone else, which also happened to be when they were leaving Carthage. I held it together pretty well until everyone wandered out of my car. Then I called my husband for a good cry. Turns out that the idea was that we'd call up to the lead car and let them know we needed to stop, and then the whole caravan would take a break, no big deal. I guess I missed that part!

Beyond that hiccup, it was a lovely trip. I hung out with Teandra and her husband (and their sweet baby!) and feel like that friendship was definitely strengthened. I can also sense a more warm and generalized acceptance from the branch. I'm so grateful they're persistent with their invitations. I think I'll have to go to more things in the future.

It was also fascinating how different it was to do temple work in another language. I could focus on such different things as a result, and it was a wonderfully spiritual experience. 

Moral of the story? You can't get that lost if you're on the way to the temple.

alone but not lonesome

Chris is not at home today. Currently, he's off in Ohio somewhere with his advisor, checking out a real-life warehouse and thinking of ways to make it more efficient. Or something. I dropped him off at 6 this morning and promptly went back to bed. He probably won't be back until midnight.

So I've been keeping myself company today. I just came in from a delightful dusky autumn walk to the library and back. Since I was going by myself, I brought along my iPod for company, to fill in any lonely blanks of my walk with some music. I also brought along my phone, mostly because I'm a girl walking by herself alone. It just seemed like the smart thing to do, much like carrying my keys in my fist, weapon like.

I failed to take into account, however, just how many pictures I would want to take on my walk. Someday I'll remember this, and have my camera at the ready, but in the meantime, my phone and I are unlikely pals in my adventures. (Some peoples phones are better for pictures than my camera. My phone is not of this camp.)

Wouldn't you know, three or four pictures and three or four blocks later, my phone informed me that it was out of space for the gorgeous and interesting photo-ops all around me. I grumbled internally, slowing my pace to frown at my phone. What on earth is on here, anyway?

So on my walk, I alternated between deleting (or gawking at) pictures and taking new ones. And sometimes I'd just stop and look, a grin spreading across my face and my eyes going wide.

we live near the historic district, so there's all sorts of details like this!

I was born in the autumn, and I take pride in that. I love cool weather and bright colors and warm drinks and school supplies and probably anything else you can think of that is associated with the fall. I've always wondered if it's a bit morbid to love the time of year when the year itself is dying, but maybe I just have a morbid streak, running deep.

Even with that deep-seated adoration of all things autumn, going through all those pictures ended up being one of the sweeter parts of my walk. There were several pictures of toddlers I've babysat, and a couple of stunning scenery and architecture pictures I'd forgotten I'd taken. And there were so many random little snapshots I'd sent to Chris, mundane little updates on our life together.

my favorite picture from the walk

By the time my two-mile round trip was ending, I was fill to the brim with love for this life of mine. I love that I have someone to send happy, quirky little pictures to, and eyes that find beautiful things everywhere, whether babies or trees or buildings. Today, I just loved being me.

It could have been a desperately lonely day, honestly. Having Chris around just makes everything in my life calmer and sweeter. But instead I wrote for a long time. Then, when it got too quiet, I played the piano. Then, when I got too restless, I went for a walk. Next, I might read, or practice Spanish, or tidy up the bedroom a little bit. It doesn't really matter what. My life is filled with important, special, beautiful things, and I am so grateful for that.

Being alone can be a terrible burden. But sometimes, it's a unique and distinct form of pleasure, too.