My Valentine's Gift to You

For reading my blog, I'd love to give you something great. So here's something. These are some of my favorite words on marriage from one of my favorite bands, Chasing Owls. The video's not the most exciting thing ever, but the lyrics and the sounds—splendid.



"Walk with me between the mast and rigging. Walk with me to tell me what you're thinking. For I've watched you at the start, and I'll watch you 'til the end. That is her right now—your only friend."

I love everything about this song but mostly it's the idea of seeing others in love, believing in them, and doing as it says in the song: "Tell me that it's love, and I'll tell you that's enough. And I myself will push you down the river."

I can think of at least one couple I'd love to push down the river (ten points if you can find a post about it on here), one I have (except I don't take much credit for it), and several who work on pushing me (here and here [I need to write more about these people, obviously.]).

This Cookie Dough Cake Is An Event

Perhaps you'll remember how I made Super a 108 Oreo Cake to celebrate his successful completion of midterms?

I knew I needed to top myself for finals, so I made what Brother Joseph said is "not really a cake, but an event." It combines all of my favorite things: cookies, cookie dough, chocolate chips, and good frosting. If you're wondering where the no-egg cookie dough goes, it constitutes the filling between the cake layers. And yes, it's as lovely as you'd hope it could be.

If you'd like to make your own, check out the tutorial from Tip Junkie. Her buttercream frosting recipe with the cake has become my new favorite. It's far superior to any other I've tried. Beyond that though, here are a few suggested changes to the tutorial though.

1) The cookie recipe she gives is not my fave. You could easily substitute whatever cookie recipe you love most, which I recommend. We did however use walnuts in the cookies, which were graciously grown and donated by Super's cousin. Super contributed to his own cake by cracking walnuts with his bare hands. Here he is modeling his red hands. The pictures don't really show the new texture of his palms, so you'll have to just trust me that this cake resulted in battle wounds.

2) I often skip out on the mini chips, but they really do work best in the cookie dough. Big chips tend to make my teeth hurt. So if you're like me—cheap with over-sugared teeth—spring for the minis.

3) This cake tastes much better once when given a few days to sit. So plan ahead and let the flavors percolate to perfection.

Flinging chips on the cake. YES.

This cake took at least 8 hours to make, but I think it was worth it. It probably wouldn't have taken as much time if it weren't for the fact that Super's house is too cold for butter to soften. I doubt you'll have this problem though.

Superhero love

There are so many superhero movies these days, and I'm tempted to say that I'm sick of them. I'm not actually though. I'm still enjoying them along with the rest of the world.

Here's something I am sick of though: the idea that to save the world we must do something big,something flashy, something newsworthy, something death-defying. Let me explain why.

A mother's heart

Today, I went walking in search of the playground near my house. I took the long way, wandering down 7th East towards the school there instead of the smaller park. To my delight, I found a playground beyond my wildest dreams. They just installed it: a pirate ship—each turn of wood work gloriously crafted to make some child sure this is the real deal.

Yes. There is pirate candy.

Mostly though, it just looked cool. I walked around it and thought about how I could climb in it, but then what would I do? If I had a friend, I'd throw back a Jones soda and tell stories about the wind and how spring is coming. But I worried that there wasn't really much to do with the pirate ship besides just being in the pirate ship.

How very demanding that all sounds of me. As a child, I would have been far more capable of coming up with entertainment. I realized that I still am. I just need a child who will appreciate my efforts.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a mother. The idea of it thrills me. I get so excited when I think I want to be a mother. I want to have a family. These thoughts are beautiful and good, but sometimes, when I think more about what that entails, I get worried. I start thinking about what I will do all day with a house of children. I worry about filling the time everyday. I worry about always drowning in a mess. I worry about my kitchen looking like this play one I found today.

I'm afraid of not being able to handle the day-to-day living part of it, so much so that when I think about actually being a mom, my focus shifts to these areas and the excitement I feel at the simpler thoughts evaporates from me.

When this happens, I think of this quote from a woman who has nine children now. This comes from her essay titled "To the Mother with Only One Child." 

"When I had only one child, I told myself over and over that motherhood was fulfilling and sanctifying and was filling my heart to the brim with peace and satisfaction.  And so I felt horribly guilty for being so bored, so resentful, so exhausted.  This is a joyful time, dammit!  I should enjoy being suddenly transformed into the Doyenne of Anything that Smells Bad.

"I loved my baby, I loved pushing her on the swing, watching squirrels at the park together, introducing her to apple sauce, and watching her lips move in joyful dreams of milk.  But it was hard, hard, hard.  All this work:  is this who I am now?"

This quote is comforting, because even for this woman, who is what we could call a good mother now, it was a struggle to make this change to all day care. Her days were long and hard, but she still felt moments of joy. Over time as she had more children, those long, hard days changed into more times of enjoyment, though the initial move may be very hard.

It's a shift to fill your entire day with the needs of one other person. But how glorious it becomes as you grow. It's a difficult balance to strike: realizing it's demanding, but stepping up with faith and cheer anyways.

I told a friend yesterday that I didn't feel like I was wanting the right things, meaning that my desire to be a wife and mother is sometimes shallow and overwhelmed by my worries about the less glamorous parts of it. She said, "Well of course! No one wants to be wiping butts all day." This bothered me. I suppose she was trying to make me realize that my worries are normal. But that wasn't what I needed to hear.

What I really want is to change my desires so that my focus is on the why and the beautiful rather than the how. The how is so important: you cannot give love to your family without being willing to give them the deepest acts of service, the "feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and administering to their relief, both spiritually and temporally, according to their wants" (Mosiah 4:26). For me, I need to focus on why those things are so important and what they say: the why, which is love—deeper and purer than anything else—for both God and His children.

After my frustrating encounter, I came across this quote from Kristen Oaks, an LDS woman who did not marry until her 50s.  

"I got a doctorate and became so involved in my profession that I forgot about being a good person. I would say to everyone in this room, always remember that your first calling is as a mother or as a father. Develop those domestic talents, talents of love and talents of service."

Her words validated the thoughts of my heart.

My dearest friend Kent once told me about a new mother who blogged. Her mom commented that all her daughter wrote about was pee and poop. The younger mother exclaimed, "You understand it now! That is my life." I love that this story was important to him. I believe it stuck with him because he understood the struggles of parenting, yet he has a much deeper conviction of the joys behind the struggles. He was willing to take it all.

For him it was so obvious that these things all fit together. Finding matching shoes, cleaning counter tops, and preparing food—all means to joyful moments of standing in holy places, creating praiseworthy projects, and partaking of the Bread of Life together. Those all sound pretty great to me. I can live with the means to get there if those are the ends.

Meeting my needs

This is not the essay I'm supposed to be writing, but I'm going to write this one first.

Today has been an up and down day. By seven in the evening though, I no longer had the emotional strength to do more than cry. This made me mad, so much so that I kept asking Heavenly Father for comfort and was frustrated when I felt like the Spirit didn't send that as I pleaded for it.

I think often on this quote: "God cares for us and watches over us, but it is often through another person that He meets our needs." (I'm sorry I can't find the citation for that right now.)

This is so true in my life that sometimes I don't even recognize it. But tonight, after my slightly demanding prayers, I recognized the several forms of comfort that came. There were two emails in my inbox from friends offering support, love, and assistance.

Tonight, I was supposed to do a class assignment but didn't have the book I needed. After seeing my facebook post about it, a friend I haven't talked to in nearly a year called to offer me his copy. He was willing to drive fifteen minutes just to get it to me. (My favorite part of this story is that he forget he'd already lent his car to someone. That's charity.) Another friend also offered to bring me her copy.

I am blown away by what these people offer me—mercy and love—and by what they teach me. Sometimes I mistakenly think that while God is merciful the world is harsh. It's true that the world can be harsh. But it's more true that God created the world and all the people in it. God is not only merciful when we are on our knees asking for forgiveness and help. His support and grace and love go way beyond those moments. His miracles don't cease at our amens. His Spirit and tender mercies range throughout the world, snatching us up, catching us off guard, and turning our hearts home.

In which I appreciate C Jane

I tend to fluctuate in my love and hate of C Jane, but at the end of the day, I must always confess that she is a great writer. After watching this vlog on her fifth love though, I must also confess today that she is a great person who is not so different from myself.

Skip it/See it/Savor it: Midnight in Paris

The story: Owen Wilson wanders Paris while his fiance engages in all kinds of nonsense. I'm on Owen's side, but then when am I not? I'm always impressed at his charm and acting abilities no matter who he plays. This Owen had me feeling sorry for the ridiculous selfishness of his fiance. May of you have probably never seen a Woody Allen film before. I never had, but I read part of the script for When Harry Met Sally once in a book of scenes for actors. After about seven years, it sticks with me still. This film didn't carry the wit and sharpness I expected, but the sincerity of it was nice, even if that was only something I extrapolated onto the film from the Allen name.   

What's it got to do with loving and being loved? At one point, Ernest Hemingway says, "Cowardice is not loving or not loving well, which is the same thing." I didn't see that moment coming at me, but it hit me like the sea. I can't say that the rest of the film really supports the sentiment in a way I subscribe to, but I'm going to take this phrase and use it for all it's worth to me.

The verdict: See it. It's worth some contemplation, if only to say you have seen a Woody Allen movie. 

Concerned about cleanliness? I'll direct you to Parent Previews here.

One great lady

On January 2nd, my dear grandmother, Gertie, passed away after a long battle with poor health. I'm not really sure what I want to write here that isn't too close to my heart to share in a place like this. I worry about keeping the most tender memories of her safely tucked away.

Sometimes when I write things, the act of putting things down in words pulls them away from my deeper feelings. This makes for a positive experience usually, but occasionally, it lets me forget things that require more pondering than one bout of writing offers.

So instead of words, I'd like to share a few pictures of my grandma, who is a lovely, lovely lady. Also, I would like to express one thought that holds true in my heart no matter what I write about it: my grandma is still very close to me. Those who pass away are never too far away. When I say this, I am not talking about how we can remember them and that makes us feel close to them. No. I am talking about the literal reality of life after death. I know that when we leave this life, we enter the Spirit World where we engage in other work, taking with us all of the characteristics we have developed in this life. Like Jesus Christ, we will all be resurrected and be reunited with our physical bodies, which will be renewed and glorified. There's more to the story, and you can find that here.

The newer photographs are by my cousin, Nate and his wife Lori. The handsome man below is my Grampie.

Surprisingly, Bryon...

Here are two things you may not have known about New York City.

1) New Yorkers are actually super friendly. I present four evidences for my claim.

a) We are on the subway. Super looks down to check the map, having already figured out the best way to go but wanting to refresh his memory about the stops. The man on the seat below immeadiately begins to tell him the best way to get to where we are going. Super has said a total of four things, but we have found out that this man is from Columbia, has only been back once, loves New York a lot, has retired from the NYPD, and knows exactly how we should get to our destination regardless of where our car is parked. He was the kindest man I've ever conversed with on a subway, excluding Super who looks very much at home and very handsome on a subway.

b) Super and I exit the subway and head for the stairs. I ask what street we are headed to again. "Forty-second," he says. Upon hearing the name of a street, a woman in front of us whirls around as if we'd tapped her on the shoulder and tells us, "That way! Go through the tunnel and up." We went through the tunnel, finding our unsolicited counsel to be just what we needed at just the right moment. 

c) Standing up from the table in a crowded restaurant, I sneeze into my coat. From three tables over, a woman says, "God bless you." I feel blessed, though unable to locate the source of my well-wisher since it could be anyone of these people I do not know.

d) Beka and I make a break from the car to obtain frosties at the nearest Wendy's. Beka accidentally cuts in line. The man at the front of the line warmly directs her forward as he's still studying the menu. He's always lived in the Bronx he said, and every year he thinks he'll go to the ball drop in Times Square but always decides against it. "They say not to burn your bridges in things," he tell us. "But if I ever get a chance to get out of New York, I'm burning that bridge down."

2) On Long Island, they have squirrels. I forgot how beautiful squirrels are when they move. Their tails rippling gracefully. As I've been watching them out the window, they just get cuter and cuter to me.  

So, if you'll forgive me, I will continue to add some retrospective posts and pictures about my time in New York last week. Here are pictures of some friendly New Yorkers, namely Super's family. His dad took these lovely pictures for us.

Very happy New Yorkers, indeed.

Handsome, ain't he?

Coat. Courtesy of Aneka.

"You can bet your bottom dollar on me" -Indie Rock n' Roll

Last week, my ever lovin' Bethany and Mr. Jimmy G got married. I've been waiting about seven years for this day. In May of 2005, I insisted that Beth begin spending more face time with the boy who drew her ships and circles and thought he could love her. I pulled up my car in front of a maze of towering rose bushes and boldly knocked on his door that fateful day. That's where it all started—at least my part of it. And I always knew this was how it would end. And by end, I mean begin.

Around senior year of high school, we began betting sodas. Not being real gamblers, we never staked more than an IBC on our opinions. I developed this idea though that Beth owed me a soda for saving her love life.

"If they don't get married, I'm giving up on love," I said. That become a sort of mantra to my dark dating life over the following years. I was certain that if things couldn't work out for Beth and Jimmy G, then they didn't work at all.

As we all entered our twenties, I realized my oath was a bit ridiculous. At times, I braced myself for the eventuality that things might not work out. I think I reached a point where I was willing to love for myself independently of what happened to two of my best friends.

Still, when I got the text from Beth saying they were engaged, I cried this mix of joy and relief and bliss that I didn't expect to well up from my soul. I asked for more story and laughed at her texted response, "Keep calm. I will call when I can."

Now that this deal is sealed, I've been thinking about why it was I felt fine staking my faith in love on two kids who started falling in love at fifteen.

Here are some reasons: 1) They talk. I believe they know how to communicate and to work through problems and difficulties. 2) They appreciate the strangest things about each other. 3) Something about the two of them together just feels so beautiful to me. They fit and balance and make all kinds of sense to me.

I can't think of any more reasons. The simplicity of that baffles me into a sort of reverence and awe at what love does.

I made sure to pay the debt Jimmy G said I owed him. "You owe me a soda—for saving your faith in love."

So, I sent them off with some soda. In an act of faith in the future, I also made sure that I caught her bouquet.

There's a party in Agrabah!

Disclaimer: I drew this heart in the sand, since I'm sentimental.

Just last week, my best friend, MaBeth posted these simple lines on her blog: "Want some happy news? Well, here you go. . . . We're engaged! And he's the best." (Some standardization of punctuation has occurred. I'm an editor, you know.)

I am still in awe about how much life stands behind those fourteen words. And I mean "life" rather literally. Why? Well, in one form or another, they have been dating for eight years! A really long time by almost anyone's standard. I've been around for at least seven of those years, and it even feels like a long time to me! (You know how time in your own life passes so quickly? Well, this did, but it still feels long.) I offer these pictures as proof of how we've aged.

I'm tempted to want a hard rule about how long people should or shouldn't date, but I realize that there is no easy rule. Everyone is so different, and everyone needs something slightly different.

More generally though, there is one rule: Love needs time. I've heard this idea expressed in many ways, but I've never encountered an explanation as beautiful, bright, and straight-forward as this one by Marvin J. Ashton. Some of my favorite parts follow, but you can also read the entire thing here.

"Love demands action if it is to be continuing. Love is a process. Love is not a declaration. Love is not an announcement. Love is not a passing fancy. Love is not an expediency. Love is not a convenience. 'If ye love me, keep my commandments' and 'If ye love me feed my sheep' are God-given proclamations that should remind us we can often best show our love through the processes of feeding and keeping. . . ."

Can you handle the meta?

"Feeding is more than providing food. No man can effectively live by bread alone. Feeding is the providing by love adequate nourishment for the entire man, physically, mentally, morally, and spiritually. Keeping is a process of care, consideration, and kindness appropriately blended with discipline, example, and concern. . . ."

"When were you last fed by a family member or friend? When were you last given nourishment for growth and ideas, plans, sorting of the day, sharing of fun, recreation, sorrow, anxiety, concern, and meditation? These ingredients can only be shared by someone who loves and cares. Have you ever gone to extend sympathy and comfort in moments of death and trial, only to come away fed by the faith and trust of the loving bereaved? Certainly the best way for us to show our love in keeping and feeding is by taking the time to prove it hour by hour and day by day. Our expressions of love and comfort are empty if our actions don’t match. God loves us to continue. Our neighbors and families love us if we will but follow through with sustaining support and self-sharing. True love is as eternal as life itself. Who is to say the joys of eternity are not wrapped up in continuous feeding, keeping, and caring? We need not weary in well-doing when we understand God’s purposes and his children.

"Undoubtedly our Heavenly Father tires of expressions of love in words only. He has made it clear through his prophets and his word that his ways are ways of commitment, and not conversation. He prefers performance over lip service. We show our true love for him in proportion to our keeping his words and the processes of feeding."

Continuing, keeping, and feeding. These words are more beautiful than any "I love you."

Didn't catch the cultural reference in my title? Oh, fine. You can start your repentance at 1:13, but the whole thing is still worth your time.