The Bare Necessities

I know that some of the side links are hard to read, but I couldn't pass up this background. Everyday Magic is wearing its back-to-school clothes!

Now I know I'm not the only one who read the words in the title and started having flashbacks of an animated dancing bear and loin-cloth wearing boy singing a bouncy little melody together and throwing some papayas around. You all remember the words, right?

Look for the bare necessities
those simple bare necessities
forget about your worries and your strifes
I mean the bare necessities
Old Mother Nature's recipies
That bring the bare necessities of life.

I am discovering the truth to those words these recent days. I have finally come back to school - yes, indeed - and things are changing and shifting beneath my feet all over again. I have grown nervous and anxious thinking about whether I'll be able to find a job, what my classes will be like, how I'll be able to cover expenses, why I can't relax, what's going to happen after I've got my degree - and most important of all, whether my Father in Heaven really is watching out for me. I know that the answer to the lattermost is and unquestionable yes, as I have been so recently reminded - but sometimes it is hard to remember when life becomes overwhelming and times grow harder.

Just as was the case those eleven months ago when I first began this blog, those hard times have driven me to refocus and prioritize my needs and wants. I cannot go through life without taking time to remember the things that are really important - those bare necessities that are so a part of me and every other human being on this earth. And those evalutions and difficult days have made me remember how important it is to look for the Magic every day.

Yesterday I visited my favorite tree on campus - that big, gorgeous willow I wrote about all those months ago, which I've fondly come to call my Neverland Tree. When I left campus in April, it was still grey, skeletal, and bare limbed. Now, it is a palace of greenery, blooming with life all over again. Today I was the recepient of kindness, the singer of songs, the dancer of dances, the rider of a bike, the reader of books, the student of teachers, the seeker of help, the asker of prayers, the winner of races, the lover of life - and in everything I became, and everything I saw, I found something to love and enjoy and show gratitude for.

The past few days have been difficult. Times are hard, days are long, and change still threatens to shake me off my feet. But the Magic remains - the blessings, the gifts, the beauty, every little thing that makes life worth living. They are still there - those bare necessities that are so simple they are almost invisible. Air to breathe, food to eat, a wind to cool a heated brow... The embrace of a friend, the presence of loved ones, the smile of a stranger... music and dancing, laughter and smiles, green grass and bare feet... the coolness of water, the warmth of the sun, the annointing of rain... a prayer said in secret, a favorite scripture, a reminder of divine love... They are everywhere, anywhere, right before your eyes, just waiting for you to reach out, take hold, and delight in the blessings. We need them, or life loses meaning and vibrance, and despair isn't long in finding clearance to start its invasion. Moments of beauty, and physical revatilization, and quiet holiness - they are necessities. "Old Mother Nature" put them there, and a loving Heavenly Father who only wants us to be the best and happiest that we can be.

And you know, as I begin to see these little blessings all around, and begin to rely on them as my necessities, my "worries and [my] strifes" begin to fade away, one little bit of Magic at a time.

'Til next time, my friends...

Everyday Heroes

I met Wonder Woman yesterday.

No - not the one with long, flowing hair that wears a red and white girdle in the Marvel Books. That Wonder Woman has never been a real favorite of mine. Besides being severely immodest, I've just never found her hugely exciting. The Marvel creators had already taken brought fame to Superman and Spiderman, and DC had created Batman, before they all suddenly realized that their male to female ratio was off and that they had better hurry and throw in a girl before the ladies of America got upset. Thus, the girl super heroes - Wonder Woman, Cat Girl, Bat Woman, and so on - were brought into being. But because of their second place incoming, they always seemed to me to be kind of an afterthought - a little washed out, and not nearly as exciting as their bold, damsel-saving male predecessors.

Yesterday, however, I met Wonder Woman - and she could have kicked the colored tights right off of any comic book superhero.

I don't know what her real name was - I only heard it said once, and I couldn't hear it very well. Madi or Marci, I think. She sat in a small white tower, rather low to the sand. She wore a bright red bikini swim suit - which isn't hugely modest in itself, I realize, but what she did next was enough to make me forget any ammount of revealing swim wear.

I didn't see it happen, but I've been told. We were sitting on a sandy beach in Southern California, watching the waves roll in their course as the little ones made castles and hunted for sea shells and got their suits full of sand. Perfect family outing. However, hidden to all but the most skillful eye, beneath the waves a hidden danger lurked - a Rip current, which had the power to pull even the strongest swimmer out into the open sea.

I had felt it myself, while out body surfing with my brothers. We knew that there was a withstandable current that pulled us parallel to the shore, such that we always had to be taking two steps forward and one to the left, in order to go against it. However, when we started to get a little deeper, I felt a pull that was completely different. It hadn't seemed that deep, just to our waists, but with the swells coming in, the water could rise up to my neck in a second. And it did. Almost before I knew it I was swimming a rapid crawl stroke, which, though fast enough in the pool, now felt downright pathetic. I wasn't making any headway. For a moment I began to panic and sent a silent prayer heavenward that I would be able to get back to shore. I did, riding a few of the bigger waves to give me momentum. However, there was that moment when I had felt I would not be able to get back, that I would be stuck out there - I didn't think I could keep swiming like that for long. I was fine, though - if far more wary of the deep water after that.

I tell you my own experience with the Rip because not long after, so I am told, the same thing happened to another swimmer. I don't know what he felt exactly, but I give you my own experience so you have something to imagine. I had been near the shore, though, and had come in safely. He was farther out, and had been pulled away by the current. It held him there, far from shore, and he could not swim back. He must have been a stronger swimmer that I, because he kept at it longer than I could have, but the fact remained - he couldn't keep swimming for ever.

And then - when all hope seemed lost - Wonder Woman came to the rescue!!!

Again, I didn't see most of this until the end, but I know what happened. She brought nothing but a small flotation device, abandoning everything else at the tower, and plunged straight into the water. She swam out to sea, not withstanding the current, until she reached the stranded swimmer. She gave him her floater to assist him and swam along beside him, urging him on and directing him where to swim, navigating the tretcherous underwater pulls until they were bothed brought back to shore. The deadly Riptide was defeated, and Wonder Woman saved the day!

You've deduced by now that this was not actually Wonder Woman, but a life guard. She emerged from the sea, soaking wet, and after ascertaining the safety of the rescued swimmer, returned directly to her tower, where she wrapped herself in a pink and green towel and once again looked out over the sea, watching. My father, talking with her earlier on, found out that this woman had to pass a series of tests in order to prove herself sea worthy enough, so to speak, to get the job. One was to swim about a quarter mile in the open ocean, against the current, with no floatation device to speak of.

See? Wonder Woman.

Perhaps one day they big creative imaginations that cooked up the Superman and Ironman and Spiderman movies will come out with a breathtaking, heart-stopping, box office hit Wonder Woman movie that will prove me wrong. For now, though, she's not at the top of my list. This lifeguard is. I didn't get a chance to speak with her, though I had intended to. The next time I turned around, another guard had taken her place. However, she will always be a Superhero in my eyes. Marvel's Wonder Woman, with only some shiny underwear and a nice sparkly title to her name, has got nothing on her. That single beach lifeguard was ten times better. Strong, brave, defending others against the upredictable pitfalls of the ocean, keeping the beaches safe one life at a time.

Spend a little time showing appreciattion to the everyday heros that are keeping the world safe and healthy and happy and peaceful every moment of every day. Superman and Batman can't hold a candle to the police officer who rescues a child or wife from abuse, or the EMT or doctor or nurse who forces life back into a heart that had stopped beating, or the teacher who elightens a stagnant mind, or the humanitarian worker who gives food and drink to a starving body. They are everywhere, always among us, saving us all...

One life at a time.

Signing off, my friends - til next we meet...

Enchantment by Moonlight

When I was in my early high school years, I happened to be doing some mindless sketching in a less than eventful class (though which one I shall not say). I had an idea for a scene of sorts, and in my sketchings I eventually ended up producing it as something like this:

This is a version I put together on Microsoft Paint. The original was only in pencil and very roughly sketched on notebook paper. This is a more polished draft, but the scene I envisioned is the same. In words, this is the scene my imagination provided:

The woman comes out onto the terrace to get away from the stuffiness and small talk of a party or ball or other such social function at which she has no desire to be. She comes out into the cool evening air, the sounds of music and conversation dying away behind her, and sees the moon shining above. She steps out of the shadows and into the fountains of moonlight, arms outstretched as though to embrace every part of this beautiful night. The stars shine, a gentle breeze blows, the darkness soothes, and the world seems to become at peace with itself. The woman stands on the terrace, leaning on the stone railing, drinking it all in - the cool air, the smell of nearby grass and jasmine blossoms, the sound of a distant fountain, all bathed in the light of the moon and stars. She knows, of course, that she will soon have to return to the heat and bustle and noise of whatever is happening inside, but for the moment the night is calm - and so is she.

I might put this scene in a book one day. Perhaps in context the girl will be a princess, trying to escape her obligations - a plot that has certainly been done, but that I continue to love. Perhaps she has some sort of magic powers, and the moon helps to make her more powerful. Maybe she has been experiencing intense pain or grief, and this moment alone is a time for her to heal. I don't know - I just drew it.

I wanted to share this with you because something magical happened the other day that had everything to do with this little drawing. It was Monday night, and I had just come home from Singles Ward FHE up at Wiskey Springs, where we had been having a ward Marshmallow Toast / Smores Making Party. After the drive back to the Cove, I pulled into the driveway to find my parents walking about the lawn, searching for my siblings who were nowhere in sight. Apparently they were playing Sardines, a variation on hide-and-seek the rules of which I shall not detail here, except to say that everyone was hidden and my parents were seeking.

I helped, and eventually we stumbled upon my hidden siblings, all crouched in the shadow of the Tower on a little patch of grass, nearly invisible. My parents took their turn at hiding next, and we all began to seek.

I was checking around the side of the deck when something caught my attention. The front of the deck was bathed in white light, creating a distinct dividing line between the lighted and shadowed. Mistified, I abandoned my search and slowly moved out of the shadows and into the light.

It was as though my drawing had come to life, and I had been thrown into it. I was the woman, standing in a pool of moonlight on the terrace, embracing the beauty of the night. My moon was a waxing gibous, a week away from being full, and I was wearing white pants and a t-shirt rather than a trailing gown - but for all intents and purposes the moment I was experiencing was identical to the one I had drawn.

The stars shine, a gentle breeze blows, the darkness soothes, and the world seems to become at peace with itself. The woman stands on the deck, leaning on the metal railing, drinking it all in - the cool air, the smell of nearby lawn and iris blossoms, the sound of distant laughter, all bathed in the light of the moon and stars. She knows that it won't be long before she must leave, and soon dawn will break and this moment will have to end - but for the moment the night is calm, and so is she.

It was perfect, glorious, beautiful, mystifying. I was under the enchantment of the moonlight and my own runaway imagination - but it was a spell I was reluctant to break. If all things didn't have to come to an end, I could have stayed there for hours, revelling in the beauty and magic I had so suddenly become a part of. But as things do have to end, I have to make do with a little magic of my own.

The next time I am overhwelmed with the heat and bustle of everyday life, when I am stressed or greiving or in pain, when I am drained of power and energy and need a moment to heal, I will lay my head back and close my eyes in some quiet place and bring the scene to life again. And I will be there - standing in the cool night air, the moon and stars shining above, feeling myself and the world around me settling into something real and constant and whole once again.

Thank you for being here and reading the ramblings of a misplaced muse. It means more to me than I can say.

'Til next time, my friends...

Summer Magic

It's amazing how magical summertime can be, especially to a child. As school is out, the mind is no longer preoccupied with the normal scholarly pursuits - mathematics, sciences, social studies, grammar, and so forth. Therfore, the minds other ways to keep itself alive...

A couple weeks ago, little Nathan decided to be a pirate. He decided also that I would join his crew as first mate. So we sat upon the Tower (our playhouse in the backyard) - but that afternoon it was the pirate ship, "Pirate Ship." Nathan became Captain Skeleton, and I was Pirate Cousin Sharla. We ate our buckaneer otter pops, raised the anchor (rope swing), and set off for some deserted Island out at sea. When we arrived, we descended to our new world, and began seeking an X upon the sand. We found one, and dug up the Silver Treasure - according to the Captain it was not the one we were looking for, but good nonetheless. We carried it together up the hill, where we then deposited our find in the bed of our Pirate Truck.

I believe there is something truly magical about running across the cool green grass in bare feet like a little fairy child, flying beneath a broad blue sky, with a warm summer wind at your back. I have done this, an so much more in the course of my childhood summers. I have turned my backyard into most any setting in the world that suited my fancy. A large kingdom, over which I was princess... a fairy garden under my care... the atlantic ocean, over which I was sailing on the Titanic itself... an unending blue sky through which I flew on an Amelia Aerheart style airplane... a desert island... a foreign country... a great kingdom... a jungle wilderness... anything at all. The world was my own for the taking, and without hesitation I took it.

Summer is the perfect stage for this kind of mental exercise, otherwise known as imagination. The warm weather is perfect for outside play - in fact, the half of what we do in summer takes place outside, from eating to gardening to whatever you please. Most especially, however, summer is the perfect time for imagining because school is not in session. Mark Twain once said, "I never let my schooling interfere with my education." I believe that children have a great capacity for educating themselves over the summer, if only they are let free to go and see and do and feel whatever they may dream of. And that, really, is the true magic of it - dreams and ideas and imaginings coming into being and begining to live, right there on the back lawn. Childhood dreams are a very unique and extremely potent branch of magic. It is powerful enough to create a world for a child, and perhaps enough to create a magic carpet for an adult - if only they are willing to take it and ride.

Summer won't last much longer. School approaches, and soon the long, carefree days will have to change. I am set on going out and enjoying all the potato salad and off-the-barbecue hamburgers and fresh summer fruits that I can get my hands on before that happens. I want to be a mermaid with my little sister in the swimming pool, read more fantasy books to my brother, write my novel like my sorry skin depends on it, and simply capture every moment and hold it for my own, hoarding it away like a chest of gold - so that on some snowy, somber, homesick day in December, I can peer beneath the lid and suddenly have the warmth and sun and magic of summer surrounding me again.

And who knows? Perhaps there shall be time for one more adventure with Captain Skeleton before the month is out. We are going to the beach in California in a couple weeks... perhaps we can start seeking the Gold Treasure this time. And perhaps we might find it. And after that.... it's anyone's guess. We'll be off to wherever the wind and waves and Nathan's abundant imagination can take us.

I happily await the adventure.

'Til next time...

Sunday Scribblings #277: Distant



This is a painting that in part inspired this scribbling. I include it for whatever it may be worth to your reading.


He had been away at sea for eight years. Eight long years, and now he was coming home.

Sean had been her friend since before she could remember. Their fathers owned adjoining land, not far from the coast and half a day's ride from Belfast. It was beautiful country - long green grasses, blue sea, blue sky, the smell of new growth, the touch of the winds, the sentinel ruins on the cliff watching over it all... When they were small, she and Sean would run through the grasses and meet at the low wall dividing their two properties. Some days they would stay there, balancing on the wall or playing games in the grasses. Some days they would run up to the old watch tower and hide among the crumbling stone, pretending to be king and queen of their own castle, or fair folk in their lair. Some days, when the sun was particularly warm and the breeze especially fine, the would hike the mile and a quarter to the sea, where they would splash in the water and pretend to hunt for kelpies - sea deamons in the shape of horses, whom only the bravest could ride. They would draw pictures or build cities in the sand, staying as long as possible until the sun began to set and they knew that their mothers would be frantic with worrying where their young bairns had gone.

When they where small, they thought that their adventures were a grand secret, their friendship unbeknownst to anyone else. She realized in hinsight that their parents were well aware of their activities, and even encouraged them - for their was nothing to make a body grow up strong like running in the fresh air, and nothing to make a soul grow up good like being with a dear friend.

As they grew older, their adventures continued - though with less frequency, as Sean had to begin working on the farm and she herself had to start "learnin' to be a right proper lady," as her mother said it. So Sean worked in the fields, sowing and reaping, while she set to her "book learnin'" and her graces and baking and needlepoint. But in the evenings, when the baking and needlepoint were done, and it was too dark to see well in the fields, they two would meet by the wall again, and this time their meetings really were secret. At first, they would set off on adventures again, usually to the old ruins because they were closest. After a time, they would more often just walk in the moonlight, talking and enjoying each others' good company. Sometimes he would play his pipe and she would dance. Sometimes they would both dance without any music at all. It was upon that little wall that he kissed her for the first time.

By moonlight, they promised their love. They wanted to marry as soon as Sean could raise a little money for their support. It was still all a grand secret.

The next week, he signed on to a ship as a sailor. He would see the world, and earn good wages, and in a year or two return to his beautiful bride to be. He departed Belfast with her kiss lingering on his lips and her words of parting ringing in his ears.

Eight years. He had been sailing for eight years.

The first two years had been easy to bear. Soon her Sean would be home, she would be his forever. Surely she could wait a little longer for that. The third year had been harder. By the fifth, she was almost frantic. Now, six years beyond his promised return, she had begun to despair. Had he found someone abroad? Some beautiful, exotic maiden in a far off, adventurous place? Had he found a new world, with better prospects, where he had decided to stay? Had he been shipwrecked, or drowned, or worse? And her greaterst fear of all - had he promised to someone else the beautiful feelings he had once promised to her?

She knew she was thinking too hard. Her mother said that women needed men because women often delt in possibilities, while men delt with the present, right as it was. Her mother was right, but it didn't help. She didn't have a man to tell her what the present, right as it was, actually looked like. She tried to remember Sean as he was, as she had loved him, and felt as though that person were miles and miles and years and years away. She didn't know if the person out their sailing the world was the same person she had let into her heart on the little stone wall. For all she knew, that person was as far away as their childhood romps to the ocean.

When she received word from the shipyards that his ship was coming home, she became terrified.

He was supposed to come into port tonight. She stayed at home, fretting. A storm was boiling in the heavens and on the sea, thrashing about the waves and the countryside, and she worried for the fate of his vessel. The wind howeld and wuthered around her family's little cottage, driving sleep from her thoughts. She sat at the window with a candle, staring out at the storm. The moors and ruins and grasses and hills were invisible in the driving rain. She wrapped a shawl around herself and waited, staring, unsure what she hoped to see. A lantern... a light in the other farmhouse... a call in the dark... anything.

In the few moments when she dozed, she was tossed into dreams of tearing sails, splintering beams, spinning helms, and flying ropes... He was so close, so near, but the storm! The storm! What would become of the ship? If it wrecked, would their be any kelpie to rescue him from the water? He was brave enough to harness one... it would not pull him under the waves to drown him, as they creatures did to the faint of heart. He would tame the sea... he must... he must... But the wind howled on... and still no sign... no sign...

When morning broke, a little bit of sun managed to force a path through the clouds, which were now weakened from the night's downpour and begining to disperse. She lay at the window, her candle burnt down to a stub, awake but motionless. Her mother found her there and held her for a time, allowing her to cry away all the hopelessness and pain that had settled over the course of the night. The little ray of sun have little comfort.

The mother sat up slowly as a sound reached her ears. Footsteps on the path outside. The daughter didn't move. She didn't hear the sound, still weeping where she lay. Then the cottage door swung open - just a little ways, and familiar voice called to her, tearing her out of her grief. She leaped to her feet and whirled toward the voice - just one word, and she knew. Just her own name - and all other words could be left behind.

"Ailis."

Top 10 List #1: How I Know I am Meant to Be an English Major

So it isn't particularly magical, but I did find it funny to see how literature classes have been influencing me.

-oo0oo-

10. Dictionary.com and Thesaurus.com are two of my best friends.

9. My vocabulary has gained me a reputation (in high school especially) for being a walking dictionary.

8. I've done copy edits on my own journal entries.

7. My puns are intended more often than not.

6. I write in dactylic tetrameter for fun (and if you know what that means, it's possible that you are an English Major, too).

5. I can speak fluent Shakespearean (in soliloquy style, pun and play-on-words, dialogue and banter, or sonnet - you name it).

4. I manage to find situational irony if half the situations I encounter day to day (just ask my roommates).

3. My summer reading list looks like my ENG 292-293 syllabus (including but not limited to Great Expectations, Wuthering Heights, The Merchant of Venice, The Great Gatsby, and Moby Dick).

2. The most exciting thing to happen to me in the last three weeks was the discovery of a topic on which I could write a really good thesis paper (Societal Origins of the Princess Story).

1. Reading Dickens, Twain, Joyce, Bronte (any of the three), Shakespeare - and/or any other writer that has a place in about 80% of the classical and contemporary Cannons - excites me to the point of rapture.

-oo0oo-

Well, there you have it. If it there was any doubt before, it is now dispelled. I am a literary fanatic. A novel enthusiast, a poetry zealot, a short fiction nutcase, a Shakespearean disciple - all of the above and more.

I don't think I shall be changing my major any time soon.

Thanks for reading through yet another example of my secret (and not-so-secret) craziness and eccentricity. Your patience and tolerance is much appreciated, as ever it has been.

'Til next time, my friends...

The Rainbow Connection

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
and what's on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions
and rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we've been told and some choose to believe it.
I know they're wrong, wait and see...
Someday we'll find it, the Rainbow Connection
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

I'm sure most of you have heard this song before. I can't sing it or play it on the piano without having a mental vision of Kermit sitting in his swamp, playing his little banjo and singing to the trees and lily pads and spanish moss. It's a beautiful song, about magic and belief and beauty - exactly what we're all about here at Everyday Magic. And it's sung by a muppet. Does it get any better than that?

I thought of this song yesterday as I was driving along highway 40 to singles ward FHE. The day had been gray and heavy, threatening rain since we first woke in the morning. The promise of a storm, however, had been kept back all morning and afternoon, held in suspense by the overhanging ceiling of clouds. Finally, just minutes after my father had finished grilling our hot dogs on the barbecue, the sky finally broke loose. The storm didn't last long - perhaps half an hour before temporarily abating - but it was long enough to water the plants, coat the windows, and turn the gray driveway pavement two shades darker. Just after the rain retreated, I clambered into the family van and headed out for FHE.

"Why are there so many songs about rainbows and what's on the other side...?"

As I was driving along the highway, I discovered that hanging overhead there was an enormous rainbow, stretching clear from the neighborhood I had just left to the other end of town (so if anyone asks me what's on the other side of the rainbow, I can say "Timber Lakes"). It was magnificent, a full arc of every color spanning the valley floor. I was probably a hazard to traffic, as I kept taking my eyes away from the road to glance at it again. The purple-gray clouds behind it and the vibrant green fields below accented its beauty and gave it a perfect background against which to rest. It was all I could do to stop gazing upon it in favor of the black asfault road in front of me.

"Rainbows are visions, but only illusions, and rainbows have nothing to hide."

Anybody could have explained it in science terms - an atmospheric phenomenon caused by water vapor and sunlight creating a colorful illusion - but it was magical to me none the less.

"All of us under its spell... we know that it's probably magic..."

It didn't last long - in fact, by the time I turned off the highway it had all but disappeared. Before it was gone, however, I had time to marvel at the number of cars that were driving straight past it - some even underneath it - and who's drivers and passengers probably didn't see nature's masterpiece hanging in the sky above them, just waiting for them to look up.

"Have you been half asleep, and have you heard voices? I've heard them calling my name..."

Take time, now and then, to open your eyes and look up from your life. You never know what kind of magic you might see or adventures you might find if you do. I myself discovered my own little Rainbow Connection yesterday. However, because it is you and your eyes and your heart, you may see something that I would never have discovered, something that is brand new and no one's in the world but your own.

What might your discovery be?

"Someday we'll find it, the Rainbow Connection - the lovers, the dreamers, and me." 

'Til next time...

God Bless America

Eleven score and fifteen years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in many great conflicts, both at home and abroad, testing whether that nation, or any other nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.

You will have recognized above a little of Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, but with my own alterations for the modern day. On this July Fourth, I read in the newspaper that only 4.5% of the world's past and present population has experinced the kind of freedom that we enjoy here in the United States. So few... I never imagined how fortunate I was until I read that article - how fortunate we all are.

I can walk outside of my house at night without fear. I can go to bed secure in the knowledge that I and everyone in my home will be alive and well in the morning. I can speak ill of the president or the senate if I choose, and not fear that I shall be arrested. I, a woman, can attend any college I choose, provided that my grades are good, and become anything I want to be - scientist, doctor, astronaut, lawyer, mother, writer, anything at all. I can stand up with others in a public place and raise my voice in protest against what I believe to be wrong, without arrest or law enforcement brutality. I will not be killed for choosing my own way, or going where I want to go, or saying what I feel is right. That is liberty.

So few countries enjoy or have enjoyed what I have just described. In Nazi Germany, enjoying music or literature that was not German was punishable by imprisonment or even shipment to a work camp. In China, youth raising their voices against their nation's wrongs were gunned down while protesting in Tianamen Square. Very recently, Egyptian pilots flying bomber planes had to seek asylum in other countries in order to refuse their orders to drop their deadly cargo among their own people, who were protesting a tyrranical rule of government. Yet we here in American speak and act freely, without fear.

It has not come without a price. Thousands, even millions of men and women have laid down their lives over the years to preserve that freedom. Some continue to do so today, and for them we are forever grateful. Their final sacrifice has placed the American cause in a temple where the whole world can behold it, and know that it is something worth dying for, concecrating our highest beliefs far beyond anyone's power to add or detract.

However, the brave military servicemen are not the only guardians of our freedom. It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought and died for this nation have so nobly advanced. The only way that this country can continue to house the kind of liberty we have thus far held dear is if her people resolve that those dead will not have died in vain, and that they will give their own full measure of devotion - their voice, their hands, and their hearts - to her cause.

If we can do this, then our God-given government of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the earth.

God bless America - land that I love!
Stand beside her and guide her
through the night with the light from above.
From the mountains to the praries
to the oceans white with foam...
God bless America,
my home sweet home!

And that He will my frieds - have no fear for that.

'Til next time...

In Memorium

This is a little piece I wrote in response to a writing prompt. In honor of Kalem Franco and those others who leave the world early, before anyone is ready to see them go.

Dear Friend -

I don't know if I know you. As of right now, that is. I don't know whether we have yet met. If we have not, though, I am sure we will in the not-too-distant future. I do not konw who you are or what you look like or what sort of person you will be. I know only that I will love you, that you will be my friend... and that I will lose you.

I have thought much of this lately, as a couple of deaths have occured not to far from me, though not so close as to cause me immense grief. However, I know that I cannot go through life without at least once (and likely more) losing someone near to me. I write to you now, so that when, someday, that does happen, I might be a little more prepared to endure it.

I want to thank you for all the happiness you have brought (or will bring) to my life. I am a creature of emotions, and especially of emotional connection with others. Though I can be independent, I crave human company. The friends who I consider my closest companions are the ones who have given me beautiful memories to look back on - happy times spent in good company. Thank you for all the sweet memories, the happy moments, and beautiful dreams that will be ours to share.

I want to thank you also for shaping me into the person that I am. I have seen myself change as I have been acted upon by those around me. As I have surrounded myself by those who, like yourself, are better men and women than I am. Simply being with them, I find myself turning into something new - someone like them. And I like that person. I love being the person I am when I am with those I love. In the words of the poet, "I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you... Not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me." Thank you for your example, for your presence in my life - and for the person you believed I could be.

Thank you for the gift your life was, or has been, or will be - and for the strength and faith your death will bring. I know that I will see you again one day, and that we will be as happy then as we were on earth. I truly believe that friendship can be a divine relationship in itself - especially when those friends are encouraging and strengthening each other in righteousness, as I have no doubt that you will do. In the meantime, though we be separated, I know also that the veil is a thin barrier. You will be near, and we will be friends apart, just as we were friends together.

I love you, my friend - whoever you may be. God be with you until we meet again.

 Your friend,
Rachel

Do You Hear the People... Swing?

I have recently seen an excellent movie. It is called "Swing Kids" (starring I really don't know who). It takes place in Nazi Germany, among the German people, and centers for the most part around a group of teenage boys who don't want to conform with Hitler's rule. They refuse to join the HJ (Hitler Jugen, or Hitler Youth), wear their hair long, dress like English kids, and listen to American music. Their biggest act of rebellion, however, is...

Swing Dancing.

That's right. They make their stand against Hitler by getting together on weekends to dance. It's resistance that isn't just peaceful and nonviolent, but also fun. Protest evil in the world by doing the Charleston. Or singing Django Reinhardt music. Or listening to good records.

Some people do the same today. Music and dancing have often been forms of rebellion or protest over the past century. Teenagers listen to music their parents don't approve of, just to say that they can do what they want, or go to dances where such music is played. Women in South America living under tyrranical rule, whose husbands, sons, and friends had been murdered, rebelled by going out into the streets together and dancing - an act which the guards and soldiers could not punish.   Civil rights activists sang as they marched in the streets, "We shall overcome!"

However, while it is easy to sing and dance, it is not always easy to stand up for what you believe. The Swing Kids were beaten, imprisoned, shipped to work camps, and even killed for dancing against Nazi command. The women in South America were left without husbands and fathers, alone against opression. The civil rights movement was stained with the blood of unpunished murders, terrible abuse, imprisonment, and martyrdom.

But they all did it anyway. In spite of threats of pain, prison, and death, they continued to sing and dance. And, eventually, their songs and dances were not in vain. Change came, and the world was made better for their work and sacrifice.

A wise man in my life - my father - said it this way. The only way for evil to gain power in the world "is if good men and women do nothing." It is easy to sit in our homes, surrounded by close friends and family, and say, "I don't like the way things are going." That is what many Germans did during the Nazi regime. But to step outside the door and raise your voice against evil for all the world to hear... that takes great courage, and it is the only thing that will make a difference in the end.

Mohamas K. Ghandi, the originator of peacful nonviolent resistance and one of the greatest men of the last century, said that we must "Be the change you want to see in the world." He is right. If we want change to happen, the only way is to make it happen ourselves. It is easy to think, "I am only one person. Nothing I do will make any difference, so why worry?" This is why - in "Swing Kids," the father of the main character said in a letter, "We must all take responsibility for what is happening in our country. If those of use who have a voice do not raise it in outrage at the treatment of our fellow human beings we will have collaborated in their doom."

You have a voice. We, who live in the freeset nation on earth, have voices. Raise them in outrage against wrongs, and in praise for that which is right. If enough voices join the chorus, change will happen, and the world will become as we know it should be. We will become the change.

Raise your voice in outrage for that which is wrong, and in praise for what is right. You don't have to be a politician, humanitarian worker, public speaker, or anything else to make a change. Sing. Dance. Paint. Write. Play sports. Whatever it is you do, do it while keeping in mind the reaons why you are doing it, and what you believe in. I, for one, will be on the dance floor, doing the lindy hop with all of my heart. "It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing..."

'Til next time, my friends...

The Eve of Midsummer

As I have thus far undertaken the task of informing my dear readers about the occurence of significant astronomical dates, I do so here again. Yesterday, June 21, was the Summer Solstice, or Midsummers' Day - the longest day of the year. I make particular mention of it because in many cultures it is not only the longest day, but also the most magical.

From what my little tidbits of research have revealed (thank you, Wikipedia), most countries around the world celebrate some form of Midsummer ritual - particularly any countries in which either (or both) Paganism or Christianity in some form has been present. The Christians celebrate it as a saints day - the day of St. John the Baptist. The Pagans had something else in mind.

I have found that in much of modern English, the words "pagan" and "heathen" have become synonomous (or at least very similar). There was a time when the were used as synonyms, back in the day when the Catholic church was trying to rid the continent - indeed, the known world - of Pagan traditions. However, Paganism wasn't all evil, or all heathen. They were simply polytheistic in a world where monotheism was begining to take the stage. They worshiped many gods, worshipped primarily through ritual, and possessed a deep-seeded belief in magic.

To the Pagans, Midsummers day was special. It was the halfway point between the equinoxes, the farthest away you can get from Midwinter before you start coming back. It was a time to celebrate life (the survival of one winter) and to pray for future good fortune (plentiful harvest and a good winter to come). They often celebrated by lighting bonfires, jumping over the bonfires, telling fortunes, performing fertility rituals for the young women (midsummer being a good time to conceive so that children will be born the following Spring), and in general eating, dancing, and making merry. Midsummer was also said to be a time when magic could be used at its highest potency. Sorceresses, magicians, alchemists, healers, and potion makers would go out in the darkness before sunrise and collect their herbs and ingredients for a new year, believing that the presence of the Midsummer sunrise would give their spells and potions added power. Midsummer's eve was also a night to have great caution, as it was said to be the night when devils and evil spirits roamed free upon the earth.

Some of these traditions have carried on into modern times. People from most countries (including the United States, as it happens) still participate in bonfire festivals - with and without fire-jumping. Women in Russian and the Ukraine take part in fertility rituals and tell their fortunes by casting their flower garlands onto the water and reading the petals. Eating, dancing, and overall merriment still prevail. Some places, sorceresses and healers still roam the hours before sunrise, collecting herbs.

I, for one, took part in my own celebration. I sat in the sunshine and read books, my feet dangling into the kidie pool. I drank cold lemonade (though not with mint leaves, unfortunately). I laid myself out on the dew-covered lawn and looked at the millions of stars that adorned the night sky, trying to find constellations in their midst. I even danced on the grass in my bare feet, in the light of a setting sun.

It's not a bonfire. It's not remotely ritualistic. And it probably won't produce any magic whatsoever. But it's my way of celebrating the coming of summer, and to rejoice in the warm days, full harvests, and magical memories to come.

Happy Midsummer, my friends. 'Til next time...

Light on the Water

Sorry for the delay, friends - I have been living in a cabin by a lake this week, where (perhaps fortunately), there was no internet access. However, it was good to get away from technology and live near the untamed wilderness. It's a wholesome, healthy thing to be in company with nature, away from the hustle and bustle of modern life.

Lake Cushman - home to birds, chipmunks, various freshwater fish, and - occasionally - higher mamals like myself. It is a beautiful place, where the pine forests come down to the water's edge, where the mists rest on the lake's surface every morning, and where the blackberries ripen with the summer sun. Sadly, they where not wholly ripe when we arrived, but the nectarines were - so we bought many from the fruit stand on the way. As lovely as all of this is, I want to talk about something different - the water itself.

The lake's depths give it a beautiful color by itself - a deep, beautiful blue-green. The water's motion gives it a shimmering texture, always changing as you watch. But most beautiful of all is when the lake is touched by the heavens.

The sun's reflection on the water makes it gleam gold and silver in the afternoons, almost as brightly as the sun itself - more replendant than any gold or silver mined from the earth. I sat upon the roots of a felled, driftwood-smooth tree at the waters edge and watched it, wanting to preserve it in my memory.

Early the next morning - 3 AM or so - I woke with congested sinuses. I happened to look out the window, and was taken by surprise. The full moon was hanging low over the tree-lined hills, and below that, on the water, it's light had cast a stripe of pure, shining silver across the dark lake. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

It is amazing to me how much beauty can occurr in Nature.There are many beautiful things that don't occurr naturally - like architecture and paintings and musical theatre and thanksgiving dinners - but there are infinitely more that do. Flowers, mountins, soft grass, sweet smells, painted skies... I had the the privilege of enjoying one of them this week - the gleam of the heavens, brought down to the earth, just beyond my reach.

'Til next time, my friends... 

Say Not The Struggle Naught Availeth

Life continues to be as well as it ever has been. There have been blue skies and green grass and warm sunshine happening almost every day now (but as is hardly surprising on the Wasatch front, there have been interruptions to the warm streak). Popcicles have immerged from the freezer, and my 19th birthday has come and gone in the company of baked alaska and zoo animals and disney movies and frisbee and loved ones. On the whole, all is well.

Thanks for tuning in to the "Life and Times of Rachel" update. Now on with the post.

-oo0oo-

Today I wish to share with you a favorite poem of mine, one that my father introduced to me some years ago. It was written by English poet Arthur Hugh Clough, and without further ado I include it as follows:

SAY not the struggle naught availeth,
   The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
   And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
   It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
   And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
   Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
   Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only,
   When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
   But westward, look, the land is bright!

On several occasions - generally at the start of a new school year, when I was anxious and afraid that I would not be cut out for the new workload - my wise father shared with me the second stanza of this poem. "If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars," he told me. If hopes can be easily laid aside or stated faulty, can fears not be the same?

In the last year, I have learned a little of despair and fear. I have felt myself swallowed up by worries and difficulties, and found myself wondering if I was equal to the tasks before me. I wondered how it could possibly all be done. I discovered, though, that often "in yon smoke concealed, your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, and but for you possess the field." This certainly was so with my comrades - more often than not it was they who reminded me that my battle did not wage as sore as I believed. However, I think this idea applies even more so to my Heavenly Father.

I have felt sometimes that there is no way that every problem before me will work out. I tell myself I'll never be able to pay for all of my schooling, or I'll never be able to publish my book, or join the Tabernacle Choir, or find someone who loves me enough that he would take me his for all eternity - all of which are my brightest, dearest dreams and ambitions. Shadows of self doubt set in, and the hope of their coming true succumbs to despair. Yet in spite of my fears, I have seen, time and time again, that Heavenly Father is looking ahead of where I am, placing the solutions just beyond my vision, "in yon smoke concealed," waiting for me to go on a little longer until I can discover them. I have come to realize that He always possesses the field - no matter how our own smaller battles are progressing.

Do not despair. The world is sometimes harsh, and life can somtimes be too much to bear. Everyone has dark days and heavy burdens. However, I promise that "the labor and the wounds" are never in vain. Keep fighting the good fight, pressing forward, carrying on - and one day you will see how much of the field has been won beyond the smoke. The enemy will faint, things will change for the better, and are probably even changing now, whether you have seen it or not.

Westward look, my friends - "the land is bright."

Yours always, 'til next we meet...

Heaven Sent

I held an angel today.

This morning was the Joy School end of year field trip. Nathan (my four year old brother) has been participating in Joy School for the last year, along with three other children - two boys and a girl. To celebrate their commencement from the Joy School program, a trip to the zoo was arranged. So each Joy School mother packed up her children and brought them to Salt Lake, where we met at the entrance gates. The McKrollas came with three children, including their Joy School student. Among the three was Collin.

Collin McKrolla came into this world two months ago. He was diagnosed with down syndrome before birth, via ultrasound. He was also diagnosed with an aortic coartation - the same heart condition I had when I was born. When he was born, it was additionally discovered that he had clubbed feet. Miraculously, however, there was no sign of the anticipated coartation. No heart surgery necessary.

As we went through the zoo, he lay in his stroller, half asleep most of the time. His legs were both completely encased in plaster casts to correct his feet, and he wore oxygen tubes in his nose to keep his breathing regular as he slept.

Part way through the day, I had the opportunity to hold him for a while, and even take a turn carrying him - always close to the stroller, to keep attached to the oxygen tank, but at least giving him a chance to get out of it for a while. He lay almost perfectly still in my arms, occasionally shifting when the sun got in his eyes or his position was uncomfortable. Once or twice, he even pushed his eyes open and looked up at me.

I felt I was holding an angel. I was certainly holding a miracle - to have a heart defect disappear as it did was nothing short of that. He was so pure, so perfect, despite the hardships his physical body had suffered, and would continue to suffer later on. However, I knew also that despite the hardships, he would continue to be an angel for the rest of his mortal life. I have known several children like him - those sweet spirits who are not held accountable, who are incapable of evil. Those beautiful souls who come to this earth with bodies and minds incomplete, but who bless the lives of all those around with them as much as they are able to give. Collin was pure, and would always be pure - until that holy day when all shall be restored to its perfect frame.

It was a humbling, almost sacred experience to help care for that baby boy today. I held an angel. I kissed an angel's head. I comforted an angel when he began to cry. I pushed an angel in a stroller through animal exhibitions and crowded walkways.

And I can truly say that in doing so, I was brought closer to God and His angels above.

Yours always, my friends, 'til next we meet...

Learning to Fly

I must apologize to this poor little blog of mine for the terrible neglect it has experienced this month. I have no excuses, really... I still have my laptop, I still know how to read and write, and there's still magic everywhere to be written about. If anything, I should be writting more, with all the time I've got on my hands at work. I solemnly promise that I shall get with the program from hear on out - both to my blog and to my faithful readers.

My four year old brother Nathan said something particularly striking to me a couple evenings ago. He seemed a little sad - as sometimes he wilfully chooses to be - so I asked him what was wrong. He looked up at me with a sad little sigh and said, "I forgot to learn how to fly."

Now Nathan is a superhero in a little boy's clothing. I'm sure that what he was referring to was something like Clark Kent's version of flight. I, however, was reminded of something else.

You all are familiar with Peter Pan, I am sure - whether through book or stage or silver screen. The little boy from Neverland who never wanted to grow up, who ran around fighting pirates and indians every afternoon, and who lived in a tree with the Lost Boys and a fairy friend named Tinkerbell. The little boy who could fly. "All it takes is faith and trust and a little bit of pixie dust."

I was reminded of a moment at the end of the stage version of Peter's story. Peter returns to the nursery for Wendy, as he does every year at Spring Cleaning time. But the girl he finds there is not Wendy, but her daughter, Jane. Wendy has grown up. Not realizing as much at first, Peter tries to take Wendy with him, but she pulls back, saying, "I can't, Peter. I've forgotten how to fly."

Sounds familiar, doesn't it?

We live in a world where faith and trust have begun to diminish. Science has explained everything, so who needs faith? A person is expected to make something of themselves, be independent, get something done right by doing it themselves - so why keep trust? We have bullet trains and boeing 747s and cars of every assortment of color to get us where we're going. We have money and influence and technology to give us a boost. So who needs to fly?

I would argue that it is simply for the sake of flying.

We continue to have faith because we need to believe in something - anything - to keep ourselves going. We continue to trust because when life begins to press upon us and we cannot keep our footing any more, we need someone else to pick us up and help us finish the journey. We may not have pixie dust, but these needs - these absolute human necessities - help us to fly when everything else in the world is fighting gravity's battle, keeping us anchored to the bustle and pain and weariness of the world. They bring us above it all and give us room to spread our wings and imagine what adventures may lie in wait, just beyond the horizon.

Little children, like my brother, know this better than anyone. A child will believe in anything without anyone telling them to - like faeries and monsters in the closet and Santa Clause at Christmastime. They will run to their mother or father or sibling in a heartbeat, never questioning the safety and comfort those open arms proclaim themselves to offer. They hardly need to be taught - they simply fly, without a thought.

Despite the dark and difficult world we live in, have faith and trust. Don't lose faith, but believe in something. Always remember those who are cheering for you. You are never alone, and must never despair. Though the world may seem bleak, the sun is only moments away from rising.

No matter how old you are or how long you have been away from Neverland, never forget how to fly. You learned as a child. You know how it's done. Just remember, believe in yourself, spread your wings - and soar.

'Til next time, my friends...

Topaz and Ebony Wings

I experienced something yesterday evening that I can only describe as magical - and so, of course, I share it with you.

It was evening. The sun was beginning to cast its last golden rays upon the world. My siblings had been playing with the hose on the deck, so the floorboards were moist. I went out the back door and stood there, on the deck, about to call out to the kids - when I spied something on the boards near my feet. It was a beautiful winged creature - at first glance a butterfly, but on closer inspection more likely a moth - with wings of bright orange and black. It simply sat there, unmoving except for an occasional shift in its wings. Then a moment later it fluttered upwards and flew, making several circles in the air, each time getting closer to the deck - until finally it landed right on my foot.

I froze. I didn't want to break the spell the butterfly had cast in that one act of unknowing trust. If it had been someone else, I don't know what might have happened to the creature. When Nathan saw it outside later on, he actually asked me if he could squash it (he was removed to the indoors in a hurry, suffice it to say). But I had no intent to hurt it. I wanted nothing more than for that moment to stay as long as I could keep it. The little butterfly held very still, sunning its wings (which I later assumed must have been dampened by the hose) upon my very skin, trusting that I would not upset it. I didn't. I held perfectly still for several minutes, watching it intently, until it finally lifted itself and flew to a new spot.

It repeated this cycle several times - take off, circle around, land again - each time touching down on a new part of the deck. I sat there on the quickly-drying floorboards and watched it, trying to hold onto that little piece of magic and preserve it in my memory. It was like seeing a faerie, living and breathing and flying before my very eyes. This gentle creature, with wings that even a strong wind or hard rain could have torn, was allowing me to look upon it, standing quietly by as it exposed itself to the life-giving sun.

That is one kind of magic that fills this world - the little, delicate, beautiful things that fill our lives with color. Even more magical, though, was that moment when the little faerie chose to put its trust in me, if only for a moment. In a world governed so dominantly by the rule of survival of the fittest, it is magical that this little creature - whose wings could be torn to ribbons by even a strong wind or hard rain - should even be alive, let alone that it should choose, by whatever instinct it possesses, to land upon a creature far bigger, stronger and fitter than it, and trust that that creature would not harm it. What faith - or perhaps blindness. I cannot say. I would like to believe that it was faith.

At length, the butterfly's wings were finally dry enough to keep him aloft. He left the deck for the last time and flew toward the roof - where we watched another butterfly join it, and together the pair flew skyward in a dazzling flutter of topaz and ebony wings.

All the Little Live Things

As you can see, Everyday Magic is once again sporting a new suit. I've always loved this template - all the bookshelves on the background. I was thinking about saving it until September, when school begins, but obviously I have changed my mind. I simply couldn't resist.

Unless you live in the far north countries or the southern hemisphere, you will have noticed that Spring has begun to make her annual appearance on Nature's stage. It's usually a quiet piece of blocking - a couple steps onto the back of the stage as Winter is finishing his final soliloquy. Sometimes she will slip into the wings again, but always she returns, each time appearing closer and closer to the spotlight, until Winter can no longer maintain his place. They have a bit of dialogue together, and Winter puts up a good fight - but always he is forced to leave the stage in the end and let Spring have her moment of glory.

I love watching this part of the Seasonal Play. I delight in watching Spring's chorus line dance onto the stage - all the Little Live Things that come with her appearance. The singing birds, the blossoming flowers, the green growing grass, the sweet-smelling buds, the bright blue sky, the fresh winds and new rain - all beneath the gaze of the smiling sun by day and a sea of stars by night. Such a beautiful cast dancing across such a dazzling stage! And all happening just beyond your doorstep. What a miracle!

This performance is happening beneath your very feet, and before your very eyes. However, this play does not come with a playbill or ticket which you could take home to attest to your attendance. You have only yourself and the play. I encourage you not to let it pass by. Go out into the world, dance on that same stage with the Little Live Things that have returned to your world once again. Be part of Spring's entourage before she gives way to Summer. It is a beautiful season, filled with more magnificence and mystery than any man-made production could claim. "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Go don the beauty of the lilies, rejoice in the new birth of the new season, and become one of the Little Live Things of the world Spring has created.

'Til next time, my friends - blessings go with you. 

Apart Yet Not Afar

Well, it has happened at last - I have come home from college. You remember how homesick I was when I first started this blog? How this whole thing kept me sane because I could commit my feelings to someone elses' eyes, albeit unseen? Well, now I'm doing the same thing again - but longing for a different home.

The move home has been hard, but as a result I've discovered something that I probably should have put together years ago. I think I knew it for a lot of that time, but I never really articulated fully, even to myself.

You know the old phrase "Home is where the heart is," right? It's about that saying that I wish to write today. However, I would make an addition. Consider it like one of those old logic problems: "Caius is a man, men are mortal, therefore Caius is mortal." Well, here's my spin off of Caius. "Home is where the heart is, the heart is with loved ones, therefore the home is with loved ones."

Does that make sense?

I've been with my parents and siblings in our beautiful mountain valley home, sitting by a fire and drinking wassail and watching a movie or reading books from Dad's library. I've also been with them in a room in the Holiday Inn on the edge of town, with next to no belongings and no house to go to. I've even seen them out in the wilderness, when all of us were living in a tent, wearing torn jeans and old sweatshirts and smelling like sweat and campfire smoke. But no matter where we were, I was happy - because I loved them anyway.

I have been with my fondest friends in the comfort of our apartments, laughing and enjoying good food (usually courtesy of Adrianne) and listenening to Brittany or Adrianne singing or Katie playing heavenly strains on the harp. I have also been with them when we were all makeup-less and wearing pajama bottoms in the middle of the day, hoping that none of the young men from the ward would choose that moment to call on us. I have seen them in snow and rainstorms, on campus and off, and while hiking up temple hill in the middle of January. But no matter where we were, I was happy - because they were with me.

Whether it be my friends, my kin, my parents, my brothers, my sister - it won't matter where we are. If they are with me, I am home.

And once you have made your home with someone, and bound up your heart so closely with theirs, something happens. No matter where you go, even when you are alone, there is a part of them that will be with you. It is as it is written in a poem my Grandma Pullan shared with me:

"Go thou thy way and I'll go mine
Apart yet not afar
Only a thin veil hangs between
the pathways where we are.
'For God keeps watch 'tween thee and me'
So never fear.
One arm round thee and one round me
will keep us near."

See? Isn't that an amazing blessing? Those that we love, though apart from us, are never far away. This even goes for those who have parted from this mortal world. I know that God keeps watch between me and my great grandparents who have passed on to their next habitation, just as he does between me and my fond ones who have parted from each other until next fall. And better still is the blessed promise that one day we will no longer be kept apart, but will be reunited before the Lord.

"I know not where thy road my lead
nor the way of mine
but coming to the judgement seat my soul shall meet with thine.
'And God keeps watch 'tween thee and me'
I'll whisper there.
He blesseth thee, he blesseth me,
and we are near."

'Til next time my friends - and may He always keep watch over thee and me.   

Raindrops and Hyacinth

Well, it seems that the old saying is come true. April showers we have had aplenty, and the spring flowers begin to emerge. The robins are back, singing in the tree branches and on telephone poles; t-shirts and pastel church dresses are becoming less and less endangered every day; the grass is rising greener, and the wind is blowing gentle from the East. Spring, my friends, is upon us. But, as mentioned before, that does tend to bring with it the occasional cloudburst - as was the case yesterday.

The day before, Sunday, was absolutely beautiful - but Monday dawned cold and gray. Everything outside was wet when the apartment woke, as though it had been raining earlier, and before too long it began to rain again. With all the anxiety and pressure of finals and the emotional ache of approaching partings weighing heavy to begin with, it did not improve my morale to look outside and see the dark, rain-laden clouds hanging low over the valley. The morning didn't change anything, filled only with the tense silence that accompanies rigorous study.

Later that afternoon, I hurried up to campus to take one of my finals and found myself wanting for cheer, feeling alone and troubled by many things. Feeling the need to see something beautiful so as to improve my thoughts, I went and stood for a time in front of the fine arts center, allowing myself to be rained on and looking at the blossoming tulips that grew there.

I remembered the way in which a friend had put things into perspective for me. The end of finals was right around the corner - and really, with all the hard study and reading I had done for my classes throughout the semester, I was more prepared than I thought I was. I would soon go home and have the best of summers, filled with family and friends, sunshine and sprinklers, petunias and popcicles, hard work and hard play... Then we would return to BYU and have a semester just as wonderful as this one has been. And after that, we would go to Jerusalem and have the experience of a lifetime... How blessed I have been! And how blessed I shall be! To think of it that way, I could not keep myself from being comforted.

As I came away from the tulip bed, I had a thought. It was spontaneous and out of character, but I acted on it anyway - I took off one of my shoes and tested the ground. It wasn't all that cold. The earth and pavement were warm, and the rainwater was fresh and cool. So without further ado, I removed my other shoe and set off for the JKB walking barefoot in the rain.

It was good and wholesome and healing - like new rain should be. The cool water splashed over my feet, and the still-falling raindrops delicately annointed my uncovered face and hands. The whole world was filled with the smell of moist earth and growing grass and - as I bent over one of the flower planters - the sweet perfume of fresh hyacinth. Every hue was brightened by the rain, turned by the storm's magical touch into the world's finest treasures - emerald grasses, jewel-bright tulips and pansies and hyacinth, ghost-white flowering tree buds, and paving stones of shining silver. And there I was in the middle of it - bare headed and shoeless and smiling.

Yes, it was probably not wise. Yes, I got funny looks - more than my usual share. Yes, I could have caught my death out there, and yes, the bottoms of my pants got soaked, and yes, my feet were nearly numb by the time I got to the appropriate building.

I don't care.

For a few moments, I was able to leave behind everything that was weighing me down. I was able to remove the intervening layers and make myself a part of the magic that was nature. I was at one with the puddles, the storm, the growth and newness and life all around me. It is as Ralph Waldo Emerson said:

"To speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most person do not see the sun. At least, they have a   very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and heart of the child.... To the body and mind which have been cramped by noxious work or company, nature is medicinal and restores their tone. The tradesman, the attorney, comes out of the din and craft of the street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again. In their eternal calm, he finds himself."

This time of year is hard and crazy, especially for students. My encouragement for the day is this: find a little nature every day. A flower, a bird song, a vernal breeze... whatever you will. As Emerson so perfectly put it, come away from the craft and din for a few moments, let nature work its magic upon you, and allow yourself to become a little more human. You don't have to go any futher than outside your door - no long hikes or retreats required - but even so, in nature's eternal calm, you will find yourself. Go see the sun, feel the moving wind, or walk barefoot in the rain - and let yourself become whole.

Faithfully yours - 'til next time...  

Sunday Scribblings #262 - Befuddled

I know why you're here. You've come to ask me what happened. That's right, isn't it? You want me to tell you the whole sad story.

Well, then, I don't suppose you'll believe me when I tell you that I don't know.

Don't look at me like that. I know what you're thinking. "Of course she doesn't know. That's what they all say." Think what you will - but its true. I don't know what happened.

It's not that I don't remember. Not really. I do remember, but only in flashes - like seeing bits of the landscape lit up in a lightining storm. Something here, something there, but never the whole picture. I can't even say for sure if I did it or not. They tell me I did, so I suppose I must have - but I don't know.

Could I have done it? Physically speaking, I suppose so... but I don't think I have the right psychology. Not normally anyway. Normally, I wouldn't be able to lift a finger toward such a thing. But people can become desperate. At that moment, perhaps...

Perhaps I could have done it.

You read books or hear stories where a character feels something "snap" inside them. I didn't have that moment. I didn't feel anything snap. Something must have happened, though... With a whole resevoir of emotion pressing against my every nerve, there must have been a point when the dam burst.

But I didn't feel it.

There we were, and he was... and I... and the next thing I knew, there were more people around... I couldn't say if I was on my feet or on my back... that horrible thing was in my hand and I couldn't say how it got there... He was bleeding... it was on me, too... Someone was shouting, people were shouting, running... People asking questions  I couldn't answer...

They took me away after that.

They say I should plead insanity. I won't do it, though... I won't... I wasn't insane. I don't know what I was, but I wasn't insane. I'm not crazy, I wasn't crazy then and I wasn't crazy now.

That's all I know. Please, don't ask me anything else. That's all I know.

I don't know what happened, I swear.

On my honor.

So help me, God.

I don't know...