Peace On Earth

Every year we read the same words and sing the same songs, proclaiming the same idea. Don't get me wrong; I am not a scrooge. In fact, I feel myself fully embracing the season this year. I need the lights and the excitement, the planning and the parties. I love the regularity of it--and yet the fact that these words and notes and decorations have been packed away for a while. It's all fresh again.

I made a fascinating observation last week. I had been assisting with the Festival of Lights at the Washington, D.C. temple. It was an exciting--and slightly stressful--evening. I was assigned to greet guests at the door, including ambassadors, diplomats, dignitaries, and representatives from the White House, Congress, and other churches. I was nervous, especially after the whole White House State Dinner crashers the week before. I had to run through a list to check off names and prevent interlopers. I also had to welcome these people in out of a terrible rain storm, from horrible traffic out on the Beltway, and help them feel comfortable at the visitor's center. No pressure. As the event progressed, and the bulk of the guests had arrived, I relaxed enough to listen to the program and observe the tired, anxious faces of the people. For the closing song, the choir sang the familiar "Let There be Peace on Earth," which, although not a Christmas song, presented a very clear, powerful message to a room full of international representatives and policy-makers.

All of a sudden, I got the message. This idea of angels proclaiming "Peace on earth" is very real. And we repeat it every year--even in a world raging with wars and strife and contention all around. But we work for it. We meet together to try to come to a common understanding, across racial and geographical and cultural and class divides. We seek escape and deliverance from each other and for each other.

But we also have to--we get to--repeat the same message and same songs. Year after year. And although not all in that room were members of my Church--not all were even Christian--we all, every one there, want peace. We share that one hope. And we keep trying, year after year.

Thank goodness for multiple opportunities. Thank goodness that peace can be a daily affair. And thank goodness for the realization that instead of waiting for it, it must begin with me.

This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again. Howard W. Hunter

Dirty Fingernails and Blisters

Note: NOT my picture (see here)
NOT my hands--my hands were caked in dirt and my fingernails are NOT that short, and I was wearing my BYU football T-shirt and the rest of me was caked in glorious dirt. For the record.

'Tis the season!

When my friend Mark moved into a new house, I jumped at the chance to plant bulbs. There is something delightfully magical about planning a spring garden this far in advance--the anticipation kills me! Tulips! Daffodils! Hyacinths! Those little purple flowers that aren't crocuses and the name I canNOT remember!

I love digging holes. I love squishing down into the dirt with my shovel to find the perfect place for the bulb. I love getting into the groove and yet feeling like each spot is different and requires a different tactic. I love the warm, crisp November/December sun. I love filling my days with the hope of a new seed that will grow and thrive in a few months. I love that I can create something by getting dirty and by covering things up with dirt. I love having spring to get me through the winter. I love the new idea that mothball crystals will keep the squirrels away from the tulips. I do NOT love the smell of mothball crystals, but oh I hope they work.

Here's to spring, and to preparing now, and to looking forward with anticipation.

Yes, I scrubbed and scrubbed and got most of the dirt out of my fingernails before the big event last night at the Festival of Lights. How can you shake an ambassador's hands with dirty fingernails? Those Americans...

This One is Married

What a day! I think my favorite part was watching Annie walk in with Ben. I have never seen her look so happy or feel so beautiful. It made my heart happy. It was a beautiful day at Sundance and it was so fun to see family and friends. I love Ben & Josh in this picture... so typical... I just wish you could see Lisa's Uggs in this picture. She was DONE with her fancy wedding shoes.

And I leave you with some Thanksgiving pictures...Wait, are Mom's eyes closed? Weird. Her rolls were awesome--although they took oven precedence over my sweet potatoes. I must say my new recipe of stuffing turned out fine... even better... don't tell GranNomi her recipe has been trumped...Savannah had only apple juice. I think she ate too many peppermint JoJos before dinner. What can I say--I admire her taste...

Yesterday's Top 3

Ok. I know. I have loads of things to write about (well not loads, but at least a few brilliant blog posts. But. Non c'e' la faccio, as they say in Italian (which doesn't translate well--but it's one of those brilliant phrases). It's just not in me. You bloggers know how that is.

But I must share yesterday's top 3. After two bits of bad news in the preceeding 12 hours, and loads (yes loads) of the heaviest stuff, and the third trip to Utah since the end of September (out of the frying pan, into the fire), I needed, nay NEEDED, these top 3 things, in this order:

1. A sweet, dear friend drove me all the way to BWI. In the pouring rain and the middle of the day. He arrived, saw I was in the middle of a conversation, didn't say a word, picked up my stuff, loaded his car, turned it to point in the right direction, and sat waiting for me. Then he listened to me talk for a really long time, to the point that he missed that crucial turn and there was recovery time in Anacostia (and yes, we've both lived in DC for years!), then dropped me at the curb with the kindest thoughts and hopes. Bless his heart.

2. When I arrived in Salt Lake City, another friend met me at the curb. She was headed to Mesa for Thanksgiving and needed someone to pick up her car to avoid long-term parking costs. She returns a day after I leave. So I have Sylvie, her car. Can I tell you, my friends, what it is to have a car? I know I'll be working in the sweat shop today (in preparation for Annie's big day tomorrow), and just the thought that I. have. a. car. means the world. Bless her heart.

3. I shared the rabbit room last night with my baby nephew. He was sound asleep in his pac-n-play, and there was no moving anything in that tiny room without him waking up. Plus I love the kid. LOVE the kid. So I climbed into bed and pretty soon he was awake and he climbed into bed with me. He just wanted me to hold him and he wanted to put his head on mine and he had to be touching me. I needed that physical contact. I needed that pat on my cheek and that reassurance that he's there. Bless his heart.

So tomorrow is this one's big day:
And guess what I realized I forgot, hanging from the doorknob of my bedroom in Virginia? Yeah. My camera. Oh well. Better that than my dress or my shoes, I guess.

One of those A-HA moments...

After a week full of those "adventures" (where you do NOT ask what else could happen because it DOES), I saved up Friday night to go visiting teaching (church program, see details here--it WAS, after all, the end of the month!). Julie and I had a nice, cozy visit with Jen, which went slightly longer than anticipated. At 9:45 pm, we realized we still needed to run into Georgetown to visit Karen.

Now, this story will have more meaning for those of you who know Georgetown on a Friday night, particularly the Friday night before Halloween. The traffic is crazy and the parking is crazier. There were folks testing out their costumes and cops all over the place. Julie left a husband and sleeping child and baby at home who may or may not have needed feeding. We brought melting pumpkin ice cream for Karen. Our situation was a teensy bit dire.

In my desperate way, I hurled out a very vocal pleading to God: "Please provide us with a parking spot if you want us to visit Karen!" I was half joking--ready to creep down M Street and Wisconsin, and all the hopeful street parking in between. When what to our wandering eyes should appear, but A PARKING SPOT RIGHT IN FRONT OF KAREN'S SHOP. I'm not kidding. It was there. And the street was lined with cars everywhere else, parked and waiting to park. You know.

We ran in and chatted and laughed with Karen while she took a break from work and admired her kitty hidden away upstairs and hugged her and told her Heavenly Father must love her. Then hightailed it home. Where I found another parking spot right in front of my house.

I believe in visiting teaching miracles.

Candle in the Wind

Last week I had to go to Philadelphia. Twice. For two separate conferences.

Ok. I was cheap. I had a ride up and back on Thursday and I didn't want to pay for a hotel room until my Saturday conference.

I decided that after a couple of intense weeks of research, writing, powerpoint making, and all that other stuff, I deserved a slight detour after my second presentation: the Diana exhibit at the National Constitution Center.Judge me all you want. I admit: Diana was my princess. I am a Diana-lover. My grandparents lived in London when she got married and send us news clippings and books and postcards. When I was on study abroad in London, I lived around the corner from Kensington Palace, and everytime our class was interrupted by the sound of her helicopter flying in or out, we wondered what activity was happening.

I loved her dresses. I loved that it took a while for her to find her style, but boy did she find it. I loved that she supported British fashion designers and I loved her sense of class.

I loved her emphasis on humanitarian aid. I loved that she used her station in life to do an incredible amount of good. She didn't shirk away from the difficult situations that were so far removed from her own palaces and royal activity. She jumped in.

Most of all, I loved that she loved people. She touched sick people and held people with crazy diseases. She wasn't afraid of the royal imprimature being polluted in any way. She was brave and fierce.
She obviously struggled privately. And yet she had a grace and a poise that stood strong despite her difficulties.

I remember exactly where I was when I found out about her death. At first I was convinced it was a conspiracy plot by the queen because Diana had stolen her spot light and because of all the troubles with Charles. I watched her funeral and I bought the Elton John cd in support of her, and I listened to it over and over. She was my princess.

The exhibit, by the way, was delightful. If you get the chance, wherever it travels, you should go. I LOVED seeing the dresses I had seen in pictures. The train on that dress? 25 feet long. Incredible. And well worth the $36 parking ticket for being three minutes late to my meter. Take that, Philadelphia. You can't ruin my Diana experience.

And I think I'm going to go to London this year for Christmas. Or to do humanitarian aid somewhere. Is anyone in?

A Misty Moisty Morning

A couple of weeks ago, a friend gave us tickets to the White House garden tour. We braved the rain and chill and metroed in for the biannual event.

I've lived in DC for over three years and have yet to be invited to the White House (I'm still hoping for a Christmas party invite this year... hehehe), so I jumped at the opportunity to come within yards of the famous building.

The Rose Garden

It was beautiful--and exciting to be at the same location where so much happens on the news: the Rose Garden, the Oval Office (I loved that it was literally adjacent to the playground for the OBama kids).

The other thing I loved was the additions from each administration: the magnolia trees planted by Andrew Jackson in memory of his wife Rachel, the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden, the Children's Garden (with handprints of many First Children and Grandchildren!). I found it very interesting that the Clintons planted an elm tree. Who loves the elm? Anyone? Isn't it the most common of all weed trees? At least it was at my mom's house in Utah. I loved seeing the Obama playground, but, I'll be honest here, I was a bit perplexed why the famous Michelle Obama kitchen garden was not on display (Could it be in disrepair? Is it a farce? Are they growing unmentionables there, not fit for public view?).After a warm sandwich at Pot Belly, we were on our way. One DC experience richer and a bit wetter... (is that a word?)