Seasons

Today in church one of my very best friends bore her testimony and talked of the seasons of life, specifically as young mothers. She was honest and humble in her expressions about her faith along with the challenges that come with small children (like not getting a really good scripture study in the minute you wake up because you have a two year old staring you in the face right when your eyelids pop open, who hands you toys and also needs to go potty). Her comments about the season we are in now was so meaningful to me because it is always reassuring to know that I am not alone in feelings of inadequacies. I try to do good at what matters most (and I know that this is within the walls of our own homes and with our precious spirits entrusted in our care) and yet I feel most of the time that my best is not enough. I don't want to look forward to another season, but enjoy the one I am in now. And so, I am so grateful for friends like her who share the joys and struggles of motherhood with me, who validate my feelings and cheer on my own efforts. It's amazing what sisters in the gospel can give to each other.

So I have been thinking about seasons, like she has, for quite a time also. I looked over today and saw Tanner looking at my Grandpa Blaine's funeral program. He died this last December, the winter season which symbolizes death and quiet stillness in the earth around us. Some say this was an awful time to lose a loved one, but for me, I feel the winter was the perfect time for him to meet his bride again. My winters have always meant much more because most of my memories with Grandpa were in the this season.

Grandpa showed me as a young child the beauty and majesty of a winter as I rode in a sled behind his husky dogs. Even though I was all bundled up snow gear and blankets in that sled, I remember the fierce Idaho wind still finding a way to creep into my skin and freeze my fingers and toes. In front of me were excited dogs running silently and gracefully on the trail. Towering behind me was my Grandpa guiding the dogs and whose mere presence was soothing and safe for a young girl. His calm and reassuring voice I will never forget. The dogs knew his voice and with simple words they obeyed. It was in these exhilaration moments that I learned of the joys of snow and winter. There was not only the old brown heater and hot chocolate to look forward to after the ride, but the journey itself was indescribable because it was with him.

I will greatly miss this winter tradition which has been carried on even with my children. A new joy in the journey was felt as I experienced dog sledding with them. Still bundled in the snow gear and wrapped tightly in blankets with my little ones, Grandpa Blaine towered behind us. Interesting that last year I was so proud after I found out that my father was the only one of 10 children who carries Grandpa's voice which the dogs would obey. That means more to me now then ever before with Grandpa gone. I am learning that God allows us to feel safe, through the reassuring voices of others we love-specifically our parents. Even with the bitter cold cutting in, there is always someone towering behind us, riding the ride with us, and gently giving words which can soothe. I am so grateful for my parents who have guided me along my path here, and who continue to share in the joys of my journey. Even more so, I am grateful to be a parent and hope to realize more the influence that I can have on creating an atmosphere of safety amidst the storm. I want to have a more calm and reassuring voice, to listen to the stillness at times, and to bring them in from the cold.

I guess I am really learning that there is joy here and now, even in mourning.

Spring always follows winter,
but there is just as much magic
in snowflakes and sledding,
as in leaf buds and boating.

Thank you Grandpa! I love you.