Good Shepherds

At a Primary Leadership meeting today, my good friend Hope relayed this story originally told by Elder John R. Lasater of the Quorum of the Seventy. It touched me deeply, and I wanted to share it with you. He tells his story as follows:

Some years ago, it was my privilege to visit the country of Morocco as part of an official United States government delegation. As part of that visit, we were invited to travel some distance into the desert to visit some ruins. Five large black limousines moved across the beautiful Moroccan countryside at considerable speed. I was riding in the third limousine, which had lagged some distance behind the second. As we topped the brow of a hill, we noticed that the limousine in front of us had pulled off to the side of the road. As we drew nearer, I sensed that an accident had occurred and suggested to my driver that we stop. The scene before us has remained with me for these many years.

An old shepherd, in the long, flowing robes of the Savior’s day, was standing near the limousine in conversation with the driver. Nearby, I noted a small flock of sheep numbering not more than fifteen or twenty. An accident had occurred. The king’s vehicle had struck and injured one of the sheep belonging to the old shepherd. The driver of the vehicle was explaining to him the law of the land. Because the king’s vehicle had injured one of the sheep belonging to the old shepherd, he was now entitled to one hundred times its value at maturity. However, under the same law, the injured sheep must be slain and the meat divided among the people. My interpreter hastily added, “But the old shepherd will not accept the money. They never do.”

Startled, I asked him why. And he added, “Because of the love he has for each of his sheep.” It was then that I noticed the old shepherd reach down, lift the injured lamb in his arms, and place it in a large pouch on the front of his robe. He kept stroking its head, repeating the same word over and over again. When I asked the meaning of the word, I was informed, “Oh, he is calling it by name. All of his sheep have a name, for he is their shepherd, and the good shepherds know each one of their sheep by name.”

It was as my driver predicted. The money was refused, and the old shepherd with his small flock of sheep, with the injured one tucked safely in the pouch on his robe, disappeared into the beautiful deserts of Morocco.
(John R. Lasater, “Shepherds of Israel,” Ensign, May 1988, 74)

As God's children, we are called to be good shepherds to those we serve-- whether it be as parents, in church callings, or in volunteer service. What separates the good from the mediocre is love. Truly Christ was the ultimate Good Shepherd, and I am certain it would do us all a world of good if we would strive to emulate Him. For just like the Moroccan shepherd, He knows all of His sheep by name and loves them dearly.

Sibling Revelry

Taylor: (singing) I am a child of God... and He has... Reilly, sing with me!

(pause)

Taylor: Reilly, please sing with me. You're my best friend!

Reilly: Best friend, too, Taylor.

Taylor & Reilly: (singing) I am a child of God... and He has sent me here. Has given me an earthly home, with parents kind and dear....

Be still my heart. Heaven's here on Earth.

Thanksgiving

Things to be thankful for:

1. a home filled with love & warmth
2. healthy, happy children
3. a refuge in rural Paradise
4. roasted turkey in the oven
5. laying hens in the pasture
6. family football on the lawn (JJ, thanks for picking me when Taylor didn't!)
7. a little gray sheep
8. watching Bryson lope the horses (few things sexier...)
9. young love blossoming
10. pie: apple, pumpkin, cherry, lemon meringue, &
    Georgia pecan (thanks to our southern gentleman)
11. conquering city-girl fears & learning to ride
12. laughter and acceptance
13. a unity of faith
14. the blessings of an abundance
15. the ease of feeling completely at home

For that which we have received,

Let us be truly grateful.

Goldfish Crackers and a Serenade

Busy, busy, busy.

Bryson came home yesterday to a tired household. Tired, but happy.
Oh, no-- wait-- that was just me.
I was happy. The kids... well, they were just tired.

I was buzzing around the house, trying to at least partially conquer the mountain of laundry needing to be done.

Taylor was grumpily snacking on some goldfish crackers he had found while I was cleaning up. Reilly was still waking up from her nap, and very unhappy (and vocal) about it.

Bryson decided to get dinner on the table.
He hit the jackpot-- leftover chicken stuffed with goat cheese & artichokes. Mmmmm. One of our favorites.
Add a pint of home-canned green beans and some homemade applesauce--and voila!
He even tried his hand at entertaining us with a 'dramatic interpretation' of the Killers' new song "Human." He doesn't really care for that song too much. (Sorry, Brandon Flowers.)

The kids, however, were not impressed.
Taylor did eat his applesauce and a token bite of beans. Reilly just screamed.

Hmmm.
It was one of those nights.

I was tired and running low on ideas. Bryson decided desperate times called for desperate measures.
The goldfish crackers made a return trip to the table.
This made Taylor perk up slightly, but Reilly remained unconvinced.

Hearing the end of a laundry cycle, I seized the moment and left the room to swap loads.
From the hall, I suddenly heard a shriek of delight.
Then giggles, giggles, more giggles.

Returning to the kitchen, I found Bryson taking in a goldfish-- then squirming in his seat and squeaking, "Augh! They're swimming in my mouth!"
The kids were loving it.

Seeing me, he rose up to put his arm around me.
A kiss on the neck, a touch of the hand.

This is why I love this man.

Taking Pause

So much to do, so many things to get in order.
Ack!
Could we please find a way to stop the progressive advancement of the clock?
Just an hour or two?
No?
Dang.

Two days before Thanksgiving!!!
I am running around like a crazy person--
laundry to do,
floors to vacuum,
bathrooms to clean (oh the joy!),
pie to bake,
that weird green jell-o salad that Bryson adores
--as only a native Utahn could--
to prepare.

In my haste, I almost miss the tiny voice's request.

Mom, will you please help me?

Reilly.
She sits on the couch, looking up at me with that wistful smile. She taps the empty space beside her.

Mom, come please sit by me.

*Sigh* Is there really a choice here? Seriously now.

I sit-- the delight evident in her face. Her legs kick as she giggles with satisfied contentment.

Ahhhh...
There's always tomorrow... right?

I snuggle her and whisper softly
I love my Reilly.
And the whisper is returned--
I love my mom.

I Am What I Am

Me: You are so adorable.

Reilly: I am not adorable. I am Reilly.

Change of Tune

Sunday morning, rain is falling...

That's certainly the way it feels, at any rate. And when it rains, it certainly does pour.

Exhausted.
There are no other words.
I am completely drained-- body, mind, soul-- from taxing days and sleepless nights.

And so this morning I find myself singing...
Rain, rain go away
Come again some other day

There is just so much to do.
How on Earth do we pull through?
This morning there are meetings to attend, overnight "accidents" to clean up, breakfast to serve, kids to get ready for church, nursery snacks to distribute. Deciding to tag team it, Bryson puts on a movie to occupy Reilly so he can get ready for high council meetings-- enabling me to help clean up Taylor a little more easily.

I am grumpy.

After his much-needed bath, I lead Taylor back into the family room where Reilly is watching Snow White.

"What do you do when things go wrong? ...Oh! You sing a song!" the heroine exclaims on-screen.

This poor girl has just been betrayed by the queen, survived a murder attempt, and frightened beyond all recall in the dark forest.
And what does she do?
She sings.

With a smile and a song,
Life is just like a bright sunny day
Your cares fade away, and your heart is young...
I am laughing.

It occurs to me that I am probably singing the wrong song this merry morning. There will always be storms in life, whether it be today or some other day. What matters is my response to the approaching tempest.

So I try to change my tune.
The words come quickly.

Lead kindly Light, amid th'encircling gloom
Lead thou me on!

I'm There to Keep My Eye on Her

Alice Walker queried, "Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister?"

Certainly there are few things stronger in life than the bond between sisters-- whether that bond is for good or ill. Certainly I have been blessed in my own life-- with a baby sister that is also my absolute best girlfriend in the world.

Eight years separate us in age, but our friendship knows no such distance. Thick as thieves, we are. ;)

It has been 23 years today since we started our journey as siblings together. 23 years of shared joys, heartaches, lessons, memories.

Has it really been that long? Seems like it was only yesterday I was pounding on her bedroom door asking (read: yelling at) her to please stop singing Aqua's "Barbie Girl" at the top of her lungs. 

Ah, now that's good stuff.

I am so grateful on so many different levels to have my sister in my life. In so many ways we could be twins, and yet our differences are actually quite distinctive and complement each other. Her gregarious and fearless nature have taught me that most strangers are just friends-in-waiting. Her determination and tenacity have reminded me that all things are possible if you work hard enough to achieve your dreams. Her struggles with injury and heartache continue to show me that faith and hope can bring you through tremendous obstacles when there is seemingly no light to be found. And hopefully I've taught her a thing or two through the years as well.

As the chapters in our lives continue to unfold, I am glad to have such a strong, kind force for good at my side. Through the good and the bad the blessings of sisterhood remain, and I look forward to some seriously good girl talk in the eternities to come.

Happy Birthday, JJ.
Love you more.

The Quiet One

I wanted to be tall.

As a teenager, I kept wishing that some more of that lovely human growth hormone would kick in and give me a couple inches' boost. Oh, to be taller! Sadly, it was not meant to be-- I remain at the same 5 feet, 4 inches that I was in the eighth grade. However, over time I have made peace with my height-- even recognizing that there are some benefits to being vertically-challenged. I have accepted that this is just who I am, who I am meant to be. And I'm okay with that.

Fast-forward to today.

Sitting and chatting with a group of friends yesterday, I found myself starting in on a familiar cycle. Not longing to be tall, mind you-- but something else entirely.

Standing around, as I listened to the swirling laughter & conversation surrounding me, I wished I wasn't such an introvert.

Now it goes without saying that I absolutely adore my friends. I'm one of those true-blue, faithful-to-the-core friends that really just enjoys people in general. But I don't know that I express it well... vocally, at any rate. I've always been more of a thinker than a talker. Which, really, isn't a bad thing. But yesterday I wanted to change that. What would it be like to be socially graceful? To be a fantastic conversationalist? To be irrepressibly charming?

It's not that I'm a wallflower-- because I'm not-- and it's not that I'm shy either.
It's not that I don't speak up and assert myself-- because I do-- and it's not that I'm afraid of rejection.

So why am I always the Quiet One?

In typical fashion, I was pondering over this as I drove away to pick Taylor up from preschool.

And thinking led me to a few conclusions. I realized that I actually like this quality in myself. I like being studious and thoughtful. I think it nourishes the creative side of me that is so important in my life. It helps me focus in on my goals and work hard to achieve them. It enables the Spirit to speak clearly to my soul-- even if I don't always recognize it for what it is at the time. It allows me to have an open mind about things, to study both sides of an issue. And lastly, I think it makes me extremely empathetic, and a good listener.

As I realized this, the tears came.

Though I may never be bubbly & effervescent, with a full social calendar like some of my dear friends, I discovered that in all actuality, I like myself this way. It is just who I am, who I was meant to be. And I'm okay with that.

Jake

Reilly loves the alphabet.

In fact, it is her most-requested bedtime song right after "You Are My Sunshine." She can sing the alphabet with the best of them... though she slurs over a couple of the faster spots as most toddlers do. She is also quite adept at recognizing the letters on sight... with a couple exceptions.
"H" & "J" have been just a tad problematic.

Instead of learning the pronunciation of the letters, she prefers to call them both "Jake."

Despite the amount of time spent trying to teach her otherwise, she is quite determined to reestablish those letters with a proper given name. And really, doesn't that seem more friendly anyway?

Feed My Sheep

When you're in the trenches of motherhood, there inevitably come those days when you question the decision-making process that led you to the present situation in which you now find yourself.

Not that you regret those decisions by any means, or would wish to go back and change things... it's just that there are those overwhelming times when you reflect and wonder how on earth you ever came to find yourself at this moment.

Back in high school I was one of those crazy over-achiever types. You know, officer in the National Honor Society, captain of the swim team, in the school musical... yep, one of those. 

Consequentially, I was surrounded by like-minded crazy over-achieving friends. These friends have gone on to impressive careers, some of them spanning the globe. Doctors, lawyers, consultants, scientists, professors, nurses, teachers... And I have to confess, there are those days I wonder what they must think of the personal choices I made with regards to my life's path, so different from their own.

Recently, Reilly came up to me, holding Sheep in her arms. Sheep is Reilly's most treasured possession. A little gray ball of fluff that she absolutely dotes on. Sheep goes everywhere with Reilly, be it the gym, grocery store, library, or church. Even in this year's Halloween pictures you can see Reilly running after Taylor to go trick-or-treating... with Sheep.

This day, however, Reilly had kicked it up a notch. She had found one of her baby doll's bottles and was cradling sheep in her arms with it. Bemused, I asked Reilly what she was doing. Reilly looked at me for a moment, then said rather matter-of-factly, "I'm feeding my sheep!"

Well, that gave me a chuckle... I bent over to give her a hug and was suddenly overwhelmed by the emotions I felt for this little girl. So precious, so vibrant, so important to me.

And through my tears the words of John 21 entered my mind...

"He saith to him again... lovest thou me? He saith unto him, Yea Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep."

My path might perplex some of my friends, but I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I truly believe that the world can be made a better place through the smallest and simplest of actions. It is my desire & hope to be the change I wish to see in the world-- as Mahatma Ghandi so eloquently stated before me. And I truly believe this world can be changed one child, one small act of kindness, one life at a time.

So I continue... doing my best to feed His sheep.

Hooray for Frozen Indian Food!

Having an injured foot is making me restless.

So, this translates into excess energy that I've been burning off in the kitchen instead. Yesterday I decided to make an enormous batch of chicken tikka masala and freeze most of it to use on those crazy days I have absolutely no desire to cook. I am a huge fan of the Indian food. And thankfully, it freezes spectacularly. Here is the recipe for my concoction, if you feel similarly inspired... or just really really hungry. :)

Chicken Tikka Masala

Marinade:
5 cups plain yogurt
1/4 cup lemon juice
4 T garam masala
2 T black pepper
2 T salt
1 T cayenne pepper
2 t cinnamon
1 t cumin
3/4 t ground ginger

20 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-size pieces

Sauce:
3 T butter
10 cloves garlic, minced
12 T garam masala
3 T salt
2 t cumin
2 t paprika
10 cups tomato sauce (8 oz = 1 cup)
10 cups milk
3 T cornstarch
1/4 cup water

1. In a large bowl, combine yogurt, lemon juice & rest of spices for marinade. Stir in chicken, cover, & refrigerate at least an hour-- preferably all day for best flavor.
2. Preheat broiler on high.
3. Cover large cookie sheet with foil & nonstick spray. Place chicken on sheet & broil until done... a few minutes each side.
4. Melt butter in a large stockpot over medium heat. Saute garlic for 1 minute. Add tomato sauce & spices to pot. Stir in milk. Bring to a boil, then simmer 20 minutes. Combine cornstarch & water, stirring well, then adding to sauce to help thicken. Cook an additional 5 minutes. Add broiled chicken and simmer 10 minutes. Transfer to a serving bowl, garnish with fresh cilantro if desired. Serve with basmati rice.

Makes approximately 20 servings, give or take.

If you're looking for a good garam masala, I get my spices from a company called Rajah through Amazon. Here's the link if you find yourself in need...  I know I have a really hard time finding good Indian spices where we are. The more expensive links are for 6-packs for those of you (like me) who like to buy in bulk and get free shipping. :)

What We've Got Here is Failure to Communicate...

Bryson: Hey, you're handsome, Bud!

Taylor: Dad! My hands are not mud!!!

You Can Never Have Too Many Apples... I Think

There is a reason these posts have taken a bit of a hiatus...

It is because, apparently, I am a glutton for punishment. You would think that one 38-lb. box of apples would be more than enough to satisfy any fruit-crazed individual... But fate found the kids & I back at the Big Red Barn again.

We had come to get a small bag of apples to bring to Taylor's preschool class Halloween party. It was supposed to be a simple in & out procedure. Get in, get the apples, and leave before some kitchen-crazy idea entered my head. Trouble is, it rarely works out that way for me. We got into the crisper and I noticed that the Jonathan supply was alarmingly low. Thinking of all the goodies I hoped to put up this autumn, I grabbed another box instead. Another 38 lb. box. I have no idea what I was thinking.

On our way out the door we also grabbed a bag of apple cider doughnuts-- sugary, apple-y, fatty goodness that is probably sinful to some degree. You know, to make me feel better about the 76 pounds of apples now waiting for me to put up. Man, were those doughnuts good.

So this week has been spent swimming in apples. Bryson helped me get a large batch ready to dry on our handy-dandy dehydrator by peeling/coring/slicing the apples on our fantastic contraption that does all 3 chores at once. (That wonderful man, boy I tell you...) Yesterday was applesauce day, and I put up several quarts of that pink ambrosia. I am hoping to get some apple chutney made before too long as well... and maybe some apple pie filling? Hmmmmm....

Lead Me, Guide Me

Sitting through church with two toddlers is always an interesting experience. Please note the use of the term "interesting," and not other adjectives such as "peaceful," "devotional," and "worshipful."

I cannot remember the last time I was able to sit in the chapel and truly drink from that spiritual fountain without some form of interruption. Bryson & I try to encourage Taylor & Reilly to think about Jesus, particularly when the sacrament is being passed-- we read books with them, quietly sing songs they have learned... But to be honest, you never really know what lessons are being retained, and what is lost in translation.

A couple Sundays ago our little family was engaged in the ongoing reverence struggle. Taylor & Reilly were arguing over, well, pretty much anything they could find cause for. I pulled Taylor close to my side and quietly starting singing "I am a Child of God" to him, hoping that it would calm him down and help him grasp a moment's focus on the purpose of our church attendance.

Thankfully (heavens be praised) Taylor was quiet for a few moments, even thoughtful. The sacrament was being passed. I was basking in the peaceful quiet when suddenly Taylor loudly blurted out, "Mom, I'm a child of God." A quiet ripple of laughter ran through some of the neighboring pews. Looking over at my little boy, I too had difficulty keeping a straight face.

But then I saw the sincere look on his face.

I hugged Taylor close and reassured him, "Yes, Taylor, yes you are. And He loves you so very much!"

"I have said, ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High." - Psalms 82:6